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 in- side, 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 ex- cited 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 down- stairs, 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 anim- atedly 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 character- istics, 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 siring 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 tempera- ment, 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 re- gistered 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 al ways 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 cap- able 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 ques- tion 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 con- versation 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 plat- form 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 do- cilely 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 cylindric- al 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 coun- tryside 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 cul- tivating, too, and when the potatoes were once again weed- free, the corn patch fell under curved blades.
Mary was feeling the strain. It was easy enough for her to say she must reconcile herself to her life with Jonathan, but her mind slipped too often into memories of Aaron. She worked hard, using work as an antidote for depression. She hoed the garden, pinched the tops of the newly sprigged seedlings of vegetables and annual flowers, that pinching of stems tinting her thumb green, that "green thumb" making the garden thrive. But this year she seemed to find less satis- faction in gardening. The strawberries were already ripe, and she put up the first of her summer preserves, putting aside several special jars to give to her cousin Catherine for her wedding. Not even the thought of the upcoming wedding celebration could lift her spirits. Most days, the hard, hot work was wearying, and she felt it wear her down long before the day ended. Sometimes the chore of canning seemed too enormous a task for her to handle. It was a small amount of work compared to what would follow when the bulk of the garden crops matured, but that didn't seem the way of it as the berries continued to ripen and needed daily picking if they weren't to be sacrificed to the birds. She had tried picking the partially ripened berries and holding them in the cellar for a few days, but it made even more work because they reddened at varying times and necessitated an extra sorting and handling each day. They ate as many fresh berries with cream as they could, but still more needed putting up.
She had spent a sickening, hot morning in the berry patch, squatting and stooping until the sun and the posture made her dizzy. When she fi nally finished picking and went to wash the berries at the barnyard well, the icy water was pure, sweet relief as she dunked her wrists into it. Then she took the berries up to the house and sat at the kitchen table to pick their green caps off during the time remaining before dinner. The house was quiet, and outside sounds were soothing. Here inside the kitchen the strawberries made a pinging sound as they hit the bottom of the dishpan.
It was times like these, lax times when her guard was down, that Mary's thoughts strayed to Aaron. They seemed to move apace with the pinging berries. You know there can be no more between us, Aaron, she thought, so why don't you go off down to the hall Saturday nights anymore? If you went, and I know you should, do you know how it would break my heart? But I have no right to you, nor you to me, so why continue salving so deep a wound when we both know that a swift cauterizing is what it needs? Did you know the lines are as deep as scars between your eyes these days? Your daddy's smile and teasing are gone from you, and I cannot reach to smooth away the worry from your face as I once did.
Jonathan and Aaron had spent a morning of near-misery digging holes for the posts and setting them in under the hot sun. They were more than ready for a good, refreshing meal and a sit-down afterward. Coming in the back door to the kitchen, they saw Mary slumped over the kitchen table with one limp arm sprawled across the oilcloth and her cheek resting on it. Fear flashed through both men simultaneously, and they exclaimed at the same time: "Oh, God…" "Mary…"
Both men were at her side in the second it took to jump from the doorway to her chair. It happened that Aaron gained the side toward which her head was turned, and he saw her slack mouth pushed distortedly against the table-top, opened slightly. A very small, very delicate snore snuffled from her half-flattened nostrils. Her right hand was in a kettle of strawberries on her lap, and her left rested against a dishpan on the table near her head. "She's sleeping, Jonathan," Aaron said as soon as he recog- nized the fact. Seeing her there like that, Aaron had a sudden flash of beautiful memory of her asleep in his bed. Too beautiful! He stepped back and let Jonathan awaken her, going to the sink to wash up so he wouldn't have to watch the two of them together.
To his amazement, the first utterance from her as she woke was, "Aaron?" He began working the pump handle to create some diversion in the room, so he didn't hear his brother's reply.
They had an unusually quiet lunch that day, the only real talking done by Mary, who repeatedly apologized for the second-rate meal she slammed together in lieu of hot food. At the end of the meal she promised them a hot supper, but food was not really uppermost in their minds. Both men were hearing again Aaron's name as Mary had murmured it in her half-conscious state. It was the nearest thing to an endearment that Aaron had heard since she'd told him she loved him in the rainy granary. It was the only hint Jonathan had that he might have been right. Mary knew she'd been dreaming of Aaron when Jonathan woke her up, and was glad that dreams could be perceived by nobody but the dreamer. She didn't remember reaching out a caressing hand to Jonathan's face as she spoke Aaron's name.