Tears suddenly welled up in her eyes, and she didn’t try to hide them from him but looked at him squarely and answered, “Yes, Aaron. I know that.”
“Do you love me?” he asked, and a tear rolled off her cheek while she tried to stop it from staining the precious old ivory satin.
“Oh, Aaron, I do. I love you so very much.”
He gripped her hands more tightly and looked at her, standing slim in the beautiful old wedding dress, and said, “You will always be my beautiful bride. If I could, I’d dress you in this gown for our wedding and give you the rest of my name.”
Her tears were falling freely now, and as he took her in his arms, her face was lost in the old yellowed ruffles of his shirtfront. He rocked her as they clung together, and as they swayed, the oats gave way beneath their feet. They stumbled a bit, off balance, but righted themselves again.
The rain was wearing itself out, disintegrating into a soggy mist, when Aaron and Mary packed away the lovely old things in the trunk again. They were sadly quiet. The trunk was too heavy to hoist back up again, so Aaron slid it into a corner of the oat bin, saying, “The mice won’t get into it. It’s made too well. I’ll have Jonathan help me put it back up someday.”
They climbed out of the oat bin then and stood in the open aisle in front of the door. Aaron put his arm around Mary, and she dropped her head into the hollow of his shoulder. They stood like that a long time, watching the misty rain outside.
They saw the vague outline of the horse and rider come over the rise of the road from the east and disappear from their view as the barn came between them and him.
“What time did the stationmaster say the train comes in?” she asked.
“Three-fifteen P.M.,” he answered, but he needn’t have bothered. They knew it was Jonathan. They saw the man and his mount again, nearer now, and Aaron pulled Mary back into the shadow of the granary to hold her one last time. He kissed her so hard she could feel her own teeth cutting into her top lip. Both of her arms were around his neck, and she strained her body into his, feeling nothing but the bulky work jackets between them as he cinched her in arms that were already feeling the loneliness of not holding her, even before it came to be so.
“Just remember that I love you, even though I can’t say it or show you how much,” Aaron said, his hand at the back of her head, pulling it against him.
“Aaron…” she choked, but he pushed her gently away, saying, “Go feed the geese now.”
Then he grabbed a gunnysack of grain and tipped it up to half fill a pail standing near the door. He turned up his collar before stepping out and heading for the well in the yard.
12
Jonathan had had a miserable ride from town. He’d thought about waiting for the weather to lift, but it looked like it had settled in to stay, so he’d put on his oldest jacket, tied the suitcase onto the back of his mare, and headed for home. Coming up the last stretch of home road, he saw Aaron by the well, raised a hand in greeting, and Aaron waved back. When he brought the horse to a stop near his brother, Aaron said, “You had a wet ride, Jonathan.”
“Yup. We’re both soaked clear through. I’d better get the horse in the barn right away.” And he clicked a sound that sent the mare the rest of the way to the barn door. Once inside, Jonathan took care of the horse thoroughly, disregarding his own discomfort in favor of the animal. He dried her down and brushed her, then caparisoned her with a warm wool blanket as Aaron came in with the milk pails.
“How was your trip?” he asked.
“Successful,” replied Jonathan.
“You found the Black Angus to your liking?”
“I not only liked them…I bought one.” There was an excited expression on Jonathan’s face as he said it. He was drying the saddle kneeling on one knee on the floor. Aaron began the milking.
“Well, that was fast work. Where is he?”
“He’ll be shipped on the train at the end of the week. He’s a real fine little beauty, Aaron. That he is.”
Aaron wondered how long it would be before Jonathan remembered the wife he hadn’t seen in three days. He was rubbing the leather off that saddle, and it was well past dry.
“Yessir, a little beauty,” Jonathan repeated ruminatively and gave the saddle a slap, then stood up.
“Maybe you better get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death,” Aaron said. “I’ll do the chores by myself tonight.”
“I appreciate it, Aaron. I’m mighty chilly, at that.” He left the saddle there rather than take it through the rain to the lean-to. He figured Mary must be up in the house fixing supper, for there was a light burning in the kitchen. It’d sure be nice to get out of these soggy clothes and into some dry ones, he thought.
She turned toward the door as he came in, saying, “Hello, Jonathan. How was your trip?” just like Aaron had asked.
“Fine,” Jonathan answered. “I’d like to get out of these wet things before I tell you about it, though.”
“Do that and I’ll heat the kettle,” she said, turning back to the stove.
Upstairs, the dry, warm clothes felt soothing after the chafing, wet ones he’d suffered on the ride home. It felt good to be home again. The house had the faint, musty smell of sauerkraut, not at all unpleasant. He wondered if they’d had it for dinner. He wondered, too, as he carried his wet stuff back downstairs, how much corn they’d got planted and if it had rained all day today. It’d be good for the new seeds, but at the same time it had probably delayed the last of the planting.
“This rain will sure bring the crops up. Did it rain all day?” he asked, coming back into the kitchen.
“Aha, it’s been at it like this since before dawn,” Mary said. She was glad Aaron was still outside doing chores. It made it somewhat easier for her to face Jonathan again. He had laid his wet clothing in a heap in the wet sink, and it irked her, for she was busy with the food and supper. Aaron wouldn’t do that.
“Would you mind drawing up a chair by the stove and hanging your stuff over it to dry?”
He was the slightest bit taken aback, not because he minded doing it but because she’d never requested such a thing before. She always just took care of things like that. He did as she asked, though, then stayed near the stove to take the chill off himself.
“I bought us that Black Angus,” he said, rubbing his hands above the radiating heat, and she was relieved that he hadn’t approached her for a kiss of greeting. “He’s a real beauty, too. Promises to be a fine, healthy stud.”
The remark hung on Mary in a strange and formidable way, and she opened her memory’s door for only a fraction of a second to let in the thought that, after all, it was the reason Jonathan had made the trip—to gain a fine, healthy stud. She felt the hot sting of guilt; then she quickly closed that hidden door and answered her husband.
“It’s what you went for. I’m happy you got what you wanted, Jonathan.” Her voice betrayed none of her real thoughts.
“Wait’ll you see him, Mary.”
She busied herself cooking while Jonathan raved on about all he’d seen and done at the Cattle Exposition, describing the bull he’d bought, the plans he had for it, talking so animatedly that he was unaware of Mary’s lack of response.
Aaron came in with the milk pails while Mary dished up supper, and he went directly to the breakfront and took out clean dish towels to wet and cover the pails, taking them to the buttery to cool. It puzzled Jonathan why Mary hadn’t come forward to get the dish towels for the pails as she’d always done, but then supper was on and he forgot about it.
The suppertime talk was all of the trip and the bull; very little about the trip, actually, but much about the beautiful Black Anguses Jonathan had seen firsthand, their characteristics, their assets, and their future. Mary remained quiet, but Aaron encouraged his brother with questions about the calf. They discussed the pasture situation and the extra fodder that would be required for the winter. The barn was big enough to hold the extra animal, but when he began sir
ing calves, their present barn might be outgrown, even though the Angus calves would be marketable at a much earlier age than other breeds.
Talking of the Angus’s calm disposition and even temperament, they decided that ringing his nose would not be necessary, as it was with most bulls. Jonathan said that the American Breeders’ Association strongly urged that all pure-bred Angus calves that were registered be given a name to make identification easier.
“Since the owner has already registered the birth, his name is recorded as Vindicator,” said Jonathan with pride. “I’m sure anxious for you to see him, Aaron. We’ll ride in with the double box on Friday to meet that train.”
Then a bursting double sneeze issued from him, and an involuntary shiver followed it.
“I think you caught a chill coming home,” Mary said.
“Maybe I did. It might be best if I went up to bed with a warm bri-hi-hi-hick-achoo!”
Mary got up to fetch the brick that was used as a door-stop to hold the pantry door open. She put it on the hottest part of the range to hurry it hot, instead of in the oven, as usual. She lifted the lid and used the poker to stir the fire up. She fetched a bottle of camphorated oil for Jonathan’s chest, but when she brought it, saying she’d rub it on for him, he took it from her and said he’d do it upstairs if she would give him a rag to tie around his neck. She found one in the pantry, the one from which she’d torn the piece for her hair, just yesterday morning. Jonathan bade them a weary goodnight and left, armed with oil and rag.
“I’ll bring the brick up as soon as it’s hot,” Mary called after him. “The basswood trees are in bloom. I’ll brew you some basswood tea, too. That should stave off a cough.”
When she turned to begin clearing the table, she found that Aaron had already started it.
Jonathan lit the lamp so he could see what he was doing with the oil and also to give Mary some light to see by when she brought the brick up. When he’d attended to his anointing and tied the rag around his throat, there were steps sounding up the stairs. It was Aaron who came in with the hot brick, however, all wrapped in newspaper and a Turkish towel.
“Thanks, Aaron,” Jonathan said, his nose already stuffed up.
“Mary’s busy doing dishes, so I thought I’d bring this up.”
Jonathan had turned back the coverlet and the bedclothes, way down to the foot of the bed so he could place the brick parcel there to warm his feet. The sheets were fragrant with fresh-air smell, and he was happy to get back to his own bed once again. Aaron had a blank look on his face as he watched Jonathan put the brick between the sheets. Then Jonathan spoke and Aaron moved to turn off the lamp before he left.
As Jonathan eased his weary body into the downy comfort of the bed, he was remembering the look on Aaron’s face. He reached underneath and pulled the header of the sheet out and over the blankets and smoothed it under his arms. As he did so, he realized the sheets were freshly laundered. Had they not been slept on? But hadn’t Mary said it had been raining since dawn? If that were so, then she must have washed the sheets yesterday—Monday was always washday, anyway. The fresh-air smell was too pungent for them to have come out of the bureau.
There was no denying it. These sheets had been washed yesterday but not slept on last night. And faster than he could catch it, the idea that had been running around the back of Jonathan’s mind since the start of his trip began to take hold. Mary had not slept in this bed last night.
Jonathan paused and drew a long, slow breath. The only other bed in the house was Aaron’s. The look on Aaron’s face, the unused sheets—yes, even a small change of routine in the kitchen. It all came together in an instant, bringing a sudden vast hollowness to the inside of Jonathan Gray. And as he lay in his own fresh bed, that hollowness began to spread, making a place for second thoughts, thoughts it was now too late to consider.
As Mary climbed the stairs later, she was thinking over what Aaron had told her before she left him sitting in the kitchen. On the one hand, perhaps she should have thought about the unwrinkled sheets. On the other, it was as Aaron had said: what they’d done, they’d done, and it was too late now to undo it. Rumpling the sheets intentionally would have been a low, sneaky thing to do, and Mary wasn’t capable of it.
She wondered if Jonathan knew now, then realized she’d be foolish to assume he didn’t. Whatever the case, Jonathan was back, and she must make the best she could of her life with him. It had always been a good life before, and it would be again. What the outcome between herself and Aaron would be had been a question she’d not delved into.
Lying in bed beside Jonathan as he slept fitfully, she turned a key in her heart that would lock in forever the beautiful memory of what she and Aaron had shared, and lock out any more of the same. Jonathan was back, and with him had returned her common sense. This was the man with whom she must live, and the sooner she resumed that life, the less hurt would come to all concerned. There could be no question of leaving one man for another.
In the kitchen below, Aaron was trying not to think. Mary was back in bed beside her husband. He, Aaron, was again on the outside. He must take up the question of what to do about himself and Mary, but he would wait a few days. For now he would content himself with the fact that Mary loved him and he loved her.
The rain left Moran that night, and the town awoke under a brilliant late May sun that warmed it for the remainder of the week. Routine returned, and the warm days saw Jonathan and Aaron completing the last of the planting. Mary stayed pretty much to the house and chicken coop. It was nearly time for the chicks to hatch. They would be followed a week later by the goslings, each flock numbering about fifty if all went well. It would bring a tidy profit when she butchered them in the autumn.
Mary neither avoided Aaron nor sought him out, but treated him as she always had in the old days. She was aware of his many and constant considerations for her, and they couldn’t help but warm her heart.
In spite of his second thoughts about Mary and Aaron, Jonathan found he could not question either of them about it. Although it hovered around his mind, he was wrapped up with happy expectations for Saturday, the day the bull would arrive. The week seemed to drag until the awaited afternoon came at last. Aaron had agreed to make the trip into town with him, but Mary declined, saying she was tired and would like to wash her hair with the water from the rain barrel while they were gone. But she sent her shopping list along with the men as they set out in the double box wagon.
The subject of Mary never came up between the brothers during their ride, for the subject of fences kept them in conversation all the way as they laid plans to fence off a piece of woods adjacent to the rich, wild hayfield and connect it with gates to a lane leading to the barnyard. The wood for the fence posts would come from the woods themselves, and the proximity to the wild hay would make it easy to turn the bull into that field for foraging, once the initial hay crop had been put up in early July. June would give them time to do the fencing, for their main responsibility then would be only the cultivating of corn and potatoes.
They arrived well before train time in Browerville, saw to the list Mary had sent along, went to the hardware store to inquire about barbed wire, and were at the railway station in plenty of time to catch the drifting sound of the whistle as the wind blew it in from the south. They saw smoke from the pufferbelly before they saw the engine itself. Memories of the last time they’d stood on the waiting platform were in both of their minds, but for both it was easier to blot it out and think about the arrival of the bull.
The door of the cattle car was run open and a ramp put up. The head of a black bull appeared at the top of the ramp. He eyed his reception committee and pulled his head back with a complaining bawl. But Jonathan walked up the ramp then, and the animal stopped his balking and followed docilely down the ramp. Jonathan brought him up near the side of the wagon and tied his rope halter onto the end of it so that he could walk clear around the bull to admire him.
“Isn’t he a beauty
, Aaron?” he asked, rubbing the sleek black coat on the bull’s sides and back.
“He sure is,” Aaron agreed.
“You are my little beauty, aren’t’cha, Vindicator?” Jonathan asked the bull. “Vindicator seems like a mighty fancy name for a little feller like you, though. How’s about I call you Vinnie? Would you like that?” He leaned near the bull’s ear to ask it. But the animal became skittish with the closeness of the man and pushed his head downward until the rope was taut.
Aaron and Jonathan both laughed at the feisty creature, trying to look so mean but with the facial expression of a lovable baby.
“Come on, Vinnie,” Aaron laughed, “let’s take you aboard and get you home. The ladies are waiting.”
Mary was sitting on the porch steps as they arrived with the bull. When the wagon was used for small loads, the men put a single tier of planks around it. Then it was called a “single box.” Now, decked with a second, higher tier of planks, the “double box” hid the bull entirely from Mary as the wagon pulled into the yard. Her first glimpse of him was from behind as Jonathan lifted the backboards free. He was so thoroughly and completely proud of this creature that she hadn’t the heart to do anything less than join in his enthusiasm. She really couldn’t see what all the hoopla was about, but Jonathan was certainly agog with it. He called the calf Vinnie already, nicknaming it as he would a child. He patted and rubbed it, admiring its cylindrical shape and low-set body in spite of the gangly, youthful legs. By the time he and Aaron led Vinnie down to the barn, Mary had heard Jonathan bestow more gentle words on it than he ever had on her. The animal inspired a depth of feeling in Jonathan that she’d never been able to.
During the days when June eased her way over the countryside and Moran felt the full flush of the simmering summer sun, Jonathan and Aaron worked on the fencing project, the subject of Mary still tacit between them. They felled small trees, trimmed them, and sawed them into equal lengths. As the stack of fence posts grew, so did the weeds in the potato patch. Aaron broke the stride of their activity to begin the first cultivating. The change of pace was welcome after the arduous days of woodcutting. Jonathan took his turn at cultivating, too, and when the potatoes were once again weed-free, the corn patch fell under curved blades.
The Fulfillment Page 15
