There were many small preparations to fill Mary's last weeks before the baby was due. She hemmed flannel for diapers, made small blankets and buntings, prepared the necessary rigging for the cradle, and completed the baby's layette with the clothing she thought it would need.
In the evenings during these longest nights of the year, they all sat around the kitchen table with bags of washed goosefeathers beside their chairs. Feather-stripping was a te- dious job, but it brought in good money when they sent the feathers off to a buyer in Chicago. Perfect goose-down brought a tidy price with little work, but the larger, coarser feathers had to be stripped, drawn between thumb and forefinger to take off the fine, soft fuzz, leaving the bare quill to be discarded. As the nights wore on, Mary would rise from her chair more and more often, bracing a hand against her back, arching it to remove the cramps of discomfort be- fore returning to the feather-stripping. She seemed to grow extra inches daily, and the men never left her alone for long now. When it was necessary to go to town, Aaron went alone, leaving Jonathan home with Mary.
The only hint of discord among them came when Aaron returned from town one day in late January. He'd had time to ponder during his ride. Lately there'd been times when they all sat around the table and his eyes would wander to Mary's girth, seeing for himself the commotion of the baby within her. Her belly at times heaved in ballooning fashion under her dress as the child shifted and rolled. She would hitch herself up on the chair then, tightening her stomach muscles to still the action within. He'd catch himself wonder- ing if it must not hurt her, but she never complained.
He had never heard her ask for anything regarding the baby or the birth and wondered what plans she and Jonathan had made. He was sure Aunt Mabel couldn't leave her large brood to come to Mary for the length of time she'd be con- fined. Most wives had mothers or sisters to help out, but Mary had neither. He'd hesitated to ask questions, not wanting to ruffle the smooth relationship among them. But the questions nevertheless lay heavy on his mind, and when he returned home that day, he cornered Jonathan in the granary to ask him. "Who's going to help Mary with the delivery?" Aaron kept his eyes on the grain Jonathan was shoveling into a pail. "We'll get the midwife," Jonathan answered, and Aaron felt his ire rise. "No, Jonathan," he said with quiet insistence, "no midwife. She'll have Doc Haymes."
Jonathan stopped shoveling, and their eyes met. "Haymes is an old fool," he said. "Mary doesn't think so," Aaron argued. "You know she'd feel easier with Doc Haymes. With two of us here, I can go to town easily when the time comes and get him."
Jonathan's eyes seemed to level, but not relent, as Aaron, too, stood fast.
Aaron spoke. "I haven't staked any claims. I haven't asked anything-but now I'm not asking, I'm telling you, Jonathan. That's how it'll be. She'll have Haymes, and nobody else."
The shovel bit into the grain again, and Aaron knew he'd won his way. He softened then as he offered, "If it's the money, I've got it to pay him."
Jonathan felt the barb and couldn't let it pass. "You know it's not the money, Aaron," he defended himself.
Aaron knew it was true. He knew Jonathan resisted because he'd never liked Doc Haymes much. "Yes, I know that," he admitted. "But I'd pay if you'd let me. I'd like to," he finished. "That's for me to do," Jonathan said in finality, and Aaron had to accept that.
They'd each taken a little and given a little. While the conversation had caused the first rift between them since Aaron's return, they knew they would overlook it, for Mary would need them both in days to come.
There was nothing extraordinary about the day it started. The feared snowstorm of Aaron's dreams was nowhere in the offing. The sky was true blue, the roads rough but dry. As he drove to town, he wished they had a telephone, but nobody out their way had a phone yet because the line hadn't come out that far. The closest phone was nearly in town, so he might as well go clear in to Doc's office to fetch him. Suppose Doc was out in the country on a call? I'll just go track him down, Aaron thought, while his mind raced. But Doc Haymes was in his office and acted almost casual in light of Aaron's anx- iety. "First one takes some time a-comin'," he reminded Aaron, collecting his bag, stuffing some strange-looking things into it while Aaron chafed at his slowness. Finally he donned his coat, clapping Aaron on the shoulder to push him ahead out the door. "It's usually the father gets the jitters. Now calm down, Uncle Aaron," he chuckled good-naturedly as they headed for the rig.
It seemed forever that the tensing pains had been flowing and ebbing through her. Mary had walked the floor until an especially severe spasm caught her, made her grab her belly, and give in to the bed at last. Jonathan hovered near her, then left the room again to check the road for signs of the rig.
Aaron arrived with the doc and dropped him off, saying, "You might need help. I'm going to fetch Agnes Volence." A woman's presence might be comforting to Mary, whether the doc needed her or not. He hadn't consulted Jonathan, hadn't really thought about what he was doing-just acted on instinct.
There was no dallying when Agnes came to the door and heard what he'd come for. She didn't stop to question or give orders to the fam ily she left behind. She just said, "You see to everything here, Pris," and Aaron was following her stubby shape toward the buggy.
When Mary saw the reassuring, familiar face at the foot of the bed, she sighed, "Agnes," before another pain took her breath away.
The two visitors took over, Doc Haymes issuing orders, Agnes carrying them out. They prepared the bed, spreading layers of newspapers to be covered by soft, absorbent layers of something that felt warm and good beneath Mary. Doc Haymes hitched straps to the foot of the bed, and the sight of them gripped Mary with a sudden, repulsive fear. Agnes stroked her hair back from her forehead, calming her wild- eyed fear with a quiet voice, "No worry, girl, you'll be happy to have them when the time comes. Rest now while you can." And Mary closed her eyes to do as Agnes said, happy the woman was there.
The pains subsided a short time later, and Mary seemed to be resting fitfully. Agnes left her to see how the two downstairs were doing. Jonathan looked gray, so she made coffee, encouraging him to drink. It seemed there'd be a wait yet and no sense in his hanging around, looking like a whipped pup. "You got something to keep you busy outside awhile, Jonathan?" she asked. "Might do you good to get away from the house a bit." "I ain't leaving now," Jonathan retorted sharply.
But Agnes explained, "She's resting for a spell. Why don't you get a breath of air, and Aaron can come and get you if something happens?"
Aaron was agreeing and Jonathan didn't care to battle both of them, so he grabbed his jacket and swung out the door, going down to talk some sense with Vinnie. Vinnie always listened.
He stayed in the barn, talking to the bull, a long time. If he'd been a drinking man, he'd have had a snort right now, and he told Vinnie so. He hadn't thought about this waiting around before. This was hell! He could tell him anything, old Vinnie. Never before had he appreciated the black ear quite as fully as he did now.
Aaron sat in the kitchen, his chair propped back, studying the snowy yard. He let himself think of the baby trying to come into the world right now, of Jonathan as shaken as any father might be, of Mary and the pain she'd soon bear. But he permitted no thoughts of himself. He remained locked outside himself, a muscle twitching in his tense jaw while he waited.
Jonathan was cleaning Vinnie's stall when he heard Aaron enter the barn with the milk pails. At his questioning glance, Aaron answered, "Everything's the same. She's quiet." They started the evening chores together.
Mary came awake with a gasp. She'd been drifting and dreaming in a pictureless place when her eyes flew open at the pain and she saw Doc Haymes's face near the bed. She didn't know how long she'd lain quietly, but as if her body had enjoyed sufficient peace, it now dictated battle. The contractions built and swelled, leaving less rest between each one. She felt a gush of wetness and realized her legs were bound, her body exposed.
"What is it?" she gasped.
Agnes was there, holding her hands. "It's just your water." How did Agnes get here? Doc Haymes was supposed to come. Then she felt other hands on her and realized he was there, too, before a jagged pain made her clutch at the hands she held. She felt her hands being placed on the cool iron of the bedstead above her head, and she grasped it and pulled.
She was aware of calling out Jonathan's and Aaron's names as the undulating contractions came and went, but her senses soon became blurred as the pushing pains started. Someone was telling her it was all right to scream, and she heard the rasping growl of her own voice as her legs strained, her arms pulled, and a rush of warmth washed the baby from her. She felt its feet kicking against her thighs before she slipped past the ether into unconsciousness.
Jonathan was in the kitchen, pale as the porcelain coffeepot on the table before him. Aaron sat beside him, a cup in his hand. He had raised it to his lips when a muffled sound of pain drifted through the house from the bedroom upstairs. Aaron shot from his chair to stand before the window, his back to the room, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. He heard the cry increase in volume and strength, and his own breath matched it, slowly exhaling, silently pushing the air from his lungs, while the wail above drew out interminably.
During the minutes he stood there, the baby had no part in his thoughts. Only Mary. She labored with a pain too deep for him to compre hend, and all he could do was futilely wish to share it, ease it some way. She possessed him in that time as surely as if they'd spoken vows. The false front he had shown in these past weeks had worked so well he'd convinced himself he was nearly free of her. But now, hearing her give birth to their child, she gave birth again to his love for her.
He'd been so tense that even his eyes had dried out from his unblinking stare. When suddenly Mary's voice was stilled, his shoulders lurched forward and his head dropped. He gulped for air suddenly realizing he'd matched her breath for breath. The sound of a baby's gusty cry brought such exhaustion to him he sank into a chair again. His knees had buckled.
Jonathan was standing at the foot of the stairs when Agnes stuck her head over the upstairs banister. "It's a girl, Jonath- an." "A girl," he breathed. He stood in hesitation, one hand on the railing, one foot on the stairs. "Should I come up, Agnes?" he whispered. "No, later. Mary's asleep right now." "Is she…are they…all right, I mean?" "Fit as a fiddle, both of 'em." Jonathan knew it must be so by the pleased grin on Agnes's face. "That's fine," he said, more to himself than to her, "just fine."
Jonathan came back into the kitchen, and the two men saw each other's haggard faces. "It's a girl," he said. Aaron's face remained unchanged. He thought that he didn't give a damn what it was as long as Mary was okay. "How is she?" "Both fine."
In this intimate minute while they both drew deep gulps of air with eyes locked, the two brothers found an even deeper understanding. Aaron remembered Pris saying there's no time when two people feel closer than after a birth- ing-and he knew now, fully knew, how true that was.
Then Aaron quickly covered his feelings, afraid to have Jonathan see any more. "You'd rather it was a boy." "It doesn't matter," Jonathan said, going to the sink to pump a glass of water, uncomfortable now with what had passed between them for that instant. "I'll take Agnes home whenever she's ready to go," Aaron offered. "That'll be fine," Jonathan agreed, slipping back into famil- iar ways again.
It was nearing midnight when Doc Haymes left and Aaron returned Agnes Volence to her home. By admitting to himself that he still loved Mary, he'd exposed himself to more tor- ment. Now there was the baby, too, to add to it. A girl, he thought. Agnes had said she had lots of curly hair. She's got my curls, he thought, then shut out the thought. "You look like you did as much fretting as Jonathan did," Agnes said. "I guess no man feels at ease with birth."
Agnes laughed tiredly. "No, that's for sure. But you still got the worst one com- ing-when it's that first one of your own. Tonight's fretting will seem like child's play then."
It cut into him, but he replied, "That time's a way off yet, I guess." And of course they were both thinking of Pris. "You know, Aaron, I always favored you for Priscilla. I was sorry when you stopped comin' around. Now mind you, I'm not pryin'. I don't know what happened between you two, but she lost a good man when she lost you, and I just wanted you to know, that's all. I wish…" She stopped then and heaved in a breath of the cold night air. "Mothers sometimes talk too much," she finished, and Aaron felt a closeness to Agnes Volence then, wishing things were differ- ent.
When they got to her house, he took her hand, and mittened though they both were, there was contact of a close sort. "I just can't thank you enough for coming down, Agnes," he said. "It means a lot to me…to us." "Don't mention it," the woman said, sorry all over again that circumstances had drawn this man away from her daughter. "You're sure Mary's okay?" he asked one last time. "You don't have to worry about Mary. She might be tiny, but she's tough. She bent two spokes of that bedstead out of joint. Don't worry." "Okay. Thanks," he repeated. "Good night, Aaron." "Good night."
He rode home in a tangle of thoughts that played tricks on his mind, appearing and disappearing so fast he couldn't grasp any one of them. Mary's hands pulling on an iron bedstead hard enough to bend it…a head full of brown curls…a different head of honey-colored hair swaying over bare skin…Jonathan's face when he said it was a girl…then, hands bending iron rails again…
The house was dark when he got there. He made straight for the cellar and brought up two quarts of chokecherry wine. He took them to the barn to do the honors, as he ironically put it to himself. When he'd finished the first quart and reached to uncap the second with stiffly moving fingers, he bellowed into the quietness, "Don't tell me when I've had enough!" as if someone had scolded him. But there were only the animals and himself, and his voice softened as he blubbered, "Man's gotta right ta get drunk whenniz wife az a baby." He'd forgotten she was someone else's wife. The wine had done its work.
Jonathan found him there in the morning. Aaron's sheep- skin jacket was pulled up around his ears, his knees drawn up for warmth. In the hay beside him the second bottle of wine stood, nearly full, straight up. Not a drop had spilled.
Jonathan took the bottle and dumped it in the gutter. He went back to shake Aaron awake and smelled his fetid breath as his brother snored, unaware. He felt a sort of pity for him, but realized that this kind of self-indulgence would gain them all nothing. The deed was done. They had to proceed.
He leaned down and shook Aaron's shoulder, resolution in his voice as he ordered, "Wake up, brother, I need you. C'mon, let's do chores!"
Aaron opened his bleary eyes and did a most surprising thing. He got straight up, as if he'd been caught napping during a sermon. But when he was upright he wavered a minute, then slammed back down. "Gotta get started with the chores," Jonathan said, and turned away, leaving Aaron to locate his equilibrium.
Aaron pulled it off with wretched aplomb. He got up, straightened his jacket, joined Jonathan with not so much as a whine. But he felt as if he'd been horse-kicked.
They couldn't work in the close barn without words between them. After all, Aaron had left the house with little news of Mary or the baby. "How's everything up there?" he asked, with a nod in the general direction of the house. "They're doin' okay," Jonathan replied. "Must be some things that need doing in the house…" But before he could finish the thought, Jonathan was nodding, "Yup. Agnes says the women from around here will be comin' up each day to lend a hand." "Good," Aaron answered. But he felt a ripple of regret that events were already flowing on, out of his hands. The women were coming to help out, and there wouldn't be much need for him to. He'd gladly have helped at any unaccustomed job. It would've made him feel closer to Mary and the baby. "I'll tend to the chickens and geese," he obliged. That, at least, was Mary's job. But even that wasn't much now in the winter with the dwindled flocks.
The first day was oblivion for Mary. She never remembered a sleepiness as heavy as she felt that day. She slept for long hours at a time and was awakened when the baby was brought to suckle. But Mary fell asleep with the warm, wet tugging at her breast, in a deep, delirious contentment. She ate something once when the sun had circled past the south side of the house, drank huge glasses of milk when she was told to do so. It wasn't until the second day that she awoke, refreshed, at first light, to the tiny sounds from the cradle beside the bed.
The house was silent. Jonathan must have slept on the couch or in Aaron's room, she thought.
She reached an arm out and, without leaving the bed, pulled the cradle up close. The baby was lying on her stom- ach, and all Mary could see of her was a silken cap of brown curls on the back of her head. Tiny, disgruntled complaints came from the wriggling bundle, and Mary recalled how that same wriggling had felt inside her own body. A surge of feeling coursed through her at the moment as she reached to pick up her daughter. She thought, How can I contain all this joy when it grows into love? A giddy sensation of com- pleteness aroused everything maternal in her as she cooed to the babe, examined her perfection. "Hello, precious girl. Look at you, all wet and complaining. Mama has to learn everything, so be still while I get this off you." Inside, she found the skinny, bowed legs, the perfectly formed toes. "Princess, you're beautiful. Yes, I'm hurry ing," she said, reaching for a diaper from the foot of the cradle, "I'll get faster when I learn." She continued the flow of soothing talk until she'd changed the baby and settled her at her breast. Then she ran her forefinger over the delicate earlobes, the eyebrows that looked no more than a fine mist. The baby's perfection seemed a miracle.
Oh, Aaron, she thought, how can I ever repay you for giving her to me? And how will you bear it not to share her? Her newfound feelings still imbued her with this sense of fulfillment, making her sharply aware of what Aaron would suffer. With the living reality of their baby in her arms, she admitted the magnitude of the sacrifice he was making. But she was helpless to change it.
Jonathan came to the door at midmorning, as spit-shined as a boy in a school play. She couldn't help chuckling. "Jonathan, I've been waiting for you," she said, reaching a hand out toward the door.
He came in and took it, but she thought if he'd had a hat in his hand he'd be turning it nervously by its brim. "How you feeling?" he whispered, dropping her hand. "Fine. Sit down," she said, moving her legs over. "Oh, no," he said as if she'd accused him of something. "Did you see her yet?"
He shook his head, and she couldn't tell if he meant yes or no, he was so nervous. "Don't be scared, Jonathan. She's only a baby."
"Yeah, I guess so," he said, peering into the cradle. "Sorry it couldn't have been a boy for you." "Oh, no, it don't matter. She's…she'll do just fine." "I reckon she'll have to."
He stood above the cradle, nodding repeatedly as his arms dangled uselessly at his sides. Then one hand reached out tentatively, jerked back again in doubt. "It's okay to touch her," Mary said. "She'll be waking up pretty soon, anyway."
He touched some of the brown curls with his large knuckles. "She's sure small," he said. When he turned, he caught Mary wiping quickly at a tear, trying to get it gone before he looked at her. All he could do was clear his throat, but it sounded like thunder in the quiet room. "Could I get you something?" he asked. "I reckon I've got all I need," she said.
He cleared his throat again. "Mrs. Orek is cooking up some dinner down there," he said, not able to think of anything else. "Why don't you sleep awhile till it's ready?" But when he'd left she couldn't sleep at all. She couldn't forget Jonathan's big brown knuckles on the baby's hair.
That first week brought a steady parade of neighbor wo- men each day. The house seemed invaded, overrun. No matter that they came one at a time. You never knew who you'd run into next, Aaron thought, and stayed away most of the time. Priscilla came one day, and he made a special effort to remain outdoors so their paths wouldn't cross any more than necessary. They were civil to each other at mealtimes, but each felt distant from the other.
Aaron had pulled himself together after that first night, but it took a full day for his body to return to normal after the abuse he'd done it. He put off seeing the baby for the first time, not wanting to disturb Mary during her first un- comfortable days. He chose the time carefully, waiting until he was armed by the presence of others in the room.
Mrs. Hawkins was there that day, with her perpetually flapping jaw. He knew she would run plenty of interference for him during his visit. Jonathan was in the bedroom, too, when Aaron stepped to the door.
Mrs. Hawkins was changing the baby's diapers, and for once Aaron was grateful for the woman's chatter. "Well, lookit here! And if it isn't the proud uncle. Now don't you be rude and put up a fuss when your uncle comes to see you. Yeees"-she drew the word out in the pouting way some adults talk to babies-"yes, yes, we're nearly through here, little one."
Mary was sitting up, wearing a silk bed jacket. Her hair was tied back but unbraided. He remembered the night she'd taken her braids out because he'd asked her to. She turned a radiant smile to him as he stood in the doorway and Mrs. Hawkins jabbered to the babe. But Mary's face gave away no secrets, and neither did his. Except maybe that he couldn't keep his eyes from the metal rods of the bedstead, and sure enough, it was easy to see the two that were bent a bit out of line.
"Aaron, you've come at last," she chimed. "Jonathan and I couldn't guess why you waited so long."
Aaron stepped inside the room, throwing a wink at Jonathan as he declared, "The wee ones are a bit overpower- ing to us bachelors."
Mrs. Hawkins guffawed as she brought the wrapped bundle and thrust it toward him. "This little thing ain't but a mite. You hold her, Aaron, you'll find out."
But Aaron staved her off with open palms. "You can hold her, Mrs. Hawkins. I'll just look over your shoulder." That brought their laughter on him as he peeked inside the con- cealing blankets. He could see dark eyes that didn't seem to focus on much, a tiny mouth that sucked at nothing. He kept his hands folded behind his back and rocked forward on his feet as if cowed. Actually, he knew it'd be folly to touch her, especially that curly brown hair. "What'll you call her?" he asked. "Sarah," Mary answered. "It means princess. That was the first thing I called her, so it seemed right for her name." "It's a pretty name." He nearly said it aloud to hear it-Sarah Gray. But he bit off the words, saying instead, "She's mighty pretty, Mary," then added tardily, "Jonathan."
Jonathan cleared his throat. "Mrs. Hawkins cooked a fine- smelling meal. Reckon I'll go have a bite."
Mrs. Hawkins made for the door, and Jonathan followed her. Aaron turned, too, but Mary stopped him, saying, "Aaron, can you stay for a minute?"
He thought, I could stay forever, but a minute is harder. "Sure," he said.
When the others had left, she said, "Jonathan told me you went after Agnes, and I just wanted to thank you. You can't know how happy I was to have her here that night." "We all felt better having her here," he returned, and his eyes went to the spokes behind Mary's head. "Is everything okay? I mean…you?"
She just nodded, that same brilliant smile on her face.
He wanted to say, "Call if you need me, let me know anything you want and I'll get it for you, do it for you, buy it for you." But instead he just said, "Good. Be seeing you, okay?" And he hurried from the room.
Most women stayed in bed for two weeks after giving birth. Mary refused to be pampered, coddled, or cajoled longer than seven days. When Doc Haymes came around, she asked his okay to get up and start doing for herself again. He real- ized the willful girl would do as she pleased, anyway, and judged it wisest to give her rein and at the same time some sensible advice to go with it. "All right," he agreed, "but no lifting, no straining, and plenty of short rests for a couple of weeks." "Oh, I promise, Doc Haymes," she conceded. "The neigh- bors have been grand with their help, but I can do most of it now, I'm sure. And Jonathan and Aaron are here to help, too."
"Well, see that they do, young lady," he warned.
She chuckled at his grudging, grumbling warning, hearing, too, the concern behind his words. On an impulse, she stayed him with a hand on his arm, saying "You were right, Doc."
His grizzled eyebrows raised questioningly to her. "About what?" he asked. "About the time of the month. I tried it till it worked."
She was happy she'd told him when his wizened face broke into a smile. He patted the small hand on his arm, gave it a squeeze as he spoke. "Good for you, girl, good for you."
He'd seen many babies into the world, but few had been wanted as much as this one. It was heartwarming to see the couple blessed after seven fruitless years. It was downright gratifying, he thought as he walked through the kitchen on his way out. Jonathan was waiting for him there. "I'd like to settle up with you," he said. "No need to be in a rush, Jonathan," the older man answered. "It's not my way to let debts go for long," and he seemed intent upon having it done. He held a number of bills in his hand.
Doc Haymes named his fee, and Jonathan placed the proper number of bills in his palm, abrading the corner of each between his callused fingers as he counted.
The doctor folded them in half, then looked at the man as he thanked him. But before turning to leave, he said, "You have a fine daughter, Jonathan…and a hell of a fine wife." "Yes sir, I do," Jonathan agreed.