Little House On The Prairie Novels & Stories

Slone shrugs, "I don't see anyone around, maybe they didn't notice." Now that we are finally able to see where we are going, I have a moment to appreciate the beauty of this place. This clearing is somehow situated in the middle of the forest, a piece of private property bordering public land. The custom-built house taking up most of the clearing is a stunning example of local architecture. Two stories high with a peaked roof on the second floor, it is made entirely of redwood and windows. The light streaming through the trees into this clearing makes the house seem enchanted.

Really slept. I dreamed about the little town where we met. Janet was the only college grad there. The mayor, the rich families—they all wanted her married off to their sons. She turned them down. Said she'd been promised to me since we were kids. Said a person shouldn't be faithless. Shouldn't betray someone. She spent all her savings on a bicycle. Told me it was my wedding gift. I took her out of that town, into the city, so she could go to school.

Ten months. Ten. What was in Forreston that kept a royal blooded wolf grounded? If I were a betting man—and I often was—I’d put every coin I had on a girl. Maybe a certain girl named Lila. It didn’t take long to cross-reference Forreston’s council records and scrape through public databases. Population: under ten thousand. Mostly farmers and small business owners. Internet security? Laughable. Within an hour I had every registered resident named Lila or close enough. Four candidates stood out:

This time, I didn't chase him, didn't clutch at his sleeve, didn't sob and beg him to stay. I just stood there, staring after him, until his footsteps grew fainter. The sting in my nose began to spread, sharp, hot, and unrelenting. The photos had only just been developed, and already they lay in shreds. But the face on them was already carved into my memory. So this was Winnie Leigh. She was beautiful. I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from breaking into sobs, but the tears spilled anyway, rolling down my hand like beads from a broken necklace.

She snapped. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Do one thing, give the medicines to your baba, cook for everyone, clean the house, I am leaving for work and I will be late today. There is a party in madam's house so I have to serve them," the mother announced. "Ok," she quietly nodded and entered the room from where her mother came out. The house was small, one room, a verandah attached with a kitchen and a bathroom. Four people took shelter in that small house, which included the girl, her parents, and her elder brother.

If I were into high-maintenance girls, she'd be at the top of the list, and guys in Harden, Georgia, weren't used to the Peyton Holsteins of the world. "Your house is cute." I would never describe a man's home as cute. "Thanks." "I'd love to have a little bungalow like that." "Bungalow?" It was a three-bedroom, two-bath ranch. Nothing bungalow about it. "You know, a cute little house."

The snap sounded like my body's last protest before my hand finally loosened. I had been clutching a transparent ziplock bag, the kind my grandmother used to store her blood pressure medicine. The scientist opened it carefully and removed a folded piece of paper. The bag had protected it from the water. Only the edges were slightly damp. Crayon marks covered the page, words mixed with simple musical notation. The title read, "A Song for Mom." [One little duck went out one day. A home from my dad not far away. Daddy duck said quack quack quack. That little duck came home right away.

As night fell and the family gathered in front of the small fireplace in the house, Lowly would stare into the flames and imagine a bigger fire somewhere far away, envisioning a different life. Lucille, the youngest, was a lively and imaginative girl. With her blonde hair always flowing wildly, she would run with the wind around the house, as if trying to capture the outside world that kept drawing her curiosity. She would often take Loudy and Lowly to play by the lake, creating imaginary adventures where they were adventurers exploring the wilderness, even though they were actually just around the house.

I stepped inside, slamming the door shut behind me, and immediately looked around the small living room. Nathan was sitting on the floor, curled up against the base of his sofa. He wasn't wearing his usual oversized grey hoodie anymore, it was thrown across the room in a crumpled heap. He was in a plain white t-shirt, his knees pulled tightly against his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs as he cried.