Aaron made his decision the day he first saw Sarah. Folly, he'd thought it was to touch her. And folly it was to stay here any longer. He should have left last summer when common sense told him to the first time. But something had kept him here until he was sure everything would be okay. Now that the baby was born and she and Mary were both doing all right, he knew he had to leave. Jonathan had stepped into the father's role so smoothly there was no doubt that Aaron wouldn't be needed around here anymore. Mary treated Aaron exactly as she always had. But the difference now was that sometimes when she turned to say, "Aaron, hand me that wash cloth," Sarah was there on her arm. He stayed away from the house as much as he could, but he began to hate the granary steps where he sat and shelled corn or mended harness or did nothing in the evenings. He began going down to the hall again. But he made plans to leave as soon as he could.
Farmers all over the state would need field help soon, and he could find work anywhere. He'd been to Douglas County before and liked the look of the land out that way. He remembered once when he'd taken a load of geese to Osakis, passing farms much larger than those around here. The land west of Alexandria bore farms of even greater acreage, and besides, the country there was as pretty as here, not flat and desolate like Dakota.
He subscribed to the Douglas County Courier and waited for the first paper to arrive by mail so he could read the want ads.
Meanwhile, spring moved closer. Jonathan was again full of plans for Vinnie. He never tired of searching the farm journals for information on Black Angus cows and seemed obsessed with the idea of buying one soon. The bull had matured over the winter and broadened in its wide, powerful shoulders. Aaron had to admit he was a beautiful specimen as Vinnie's coat glimmered in jet sheens. Jonathan had a right to be proud. The way the bull handled for Jonathan was a thing of beauty. He could walk near the animal and say some mysterious thing near the smartly angled ears, and as if the animal truly understood the man, he followed, doing as he was bid. His polled head would turn in response to Jonathan's nearness and his throatlatch would tighten as he became alert to the man.
They started preparing the fields for seeding but an early April blizzard unexpectedly forced them all inside for two strained days. When the mail came again, Aaron had two replies to his inquiries from Douglas County. The pay wouldn't be as good as in Dakota, but it would do. He wrote back inquiring when he could start work. Then he and Jonathan found their days frenzied with spring activities, and Aaron waited for his reply.
Aaron could hear the grindstone downyard where Jonathan was sharpening implements. He walked toward the sound, and Jonathan finished honing the piece as Aaron approached. Jonathan looked askance at his brother as he poised a harrow spike over the wheel. Before he lowered it, Aaron spoke. "I've decided to leave, Jonathan." "Seems you're always leavin'. But you always come back. So why not just stay?"
Aaron hunkered down, elbows on knees, and picked up a stone, tossing it repeatedly as he answered. "It's different now. I've got to go now."
Jonathan started the wheel up again, his foot rising and falling in smooth rhythm. The blade touched the wheel, sending sparks and swarf spraying around it. He had to shout to be heard above the whining noise. "There's still room for you here." "Three's a family-four's a crowd," Aaron replied. "What?" Jonathan yelled.
Aaron raised his voice. "Never mind. I'll be gone in early May." "What?" Jonathan yelled again.
Aaron put his foot on the paddle, stopping the wheel. "Stop that damn thing, will you?" he demanded gruffly. "I got a job in Douglas County. I'll be leaving in early May."
Jonathan had felt more comfortable with the noise of the grindstone grating around them. "It's a two-man farm," he reasoned. "Not anymore," Aaron said. "You'll just have to let some lie fallow. Vinnie's calves will bring in plenty extra cash to make up for it." "What about the house?" Jonathan asked. "We'll settle that when we must. I'll get my room and board there, so for now let's let it ride." "I want to buy a cow this year," Jonathan said, meaning he couldn't pay for a house, too. "We'll let it ride, I said." And with that Aaron left. The wheel shrilled behind him once again.
Mary knew what was coming before she was told. She'd seen the Courier arriving for Aaron, then those two letters right after the blizzard. It could only mean that Aaron was after a job.
Jonathan told her it was true one night at bedtime while they whispered in the dark, not wanting to awaken Sarah, who slept beside them. He seemed to accept it quite readily, even to using the house again without settling anything on Aaron for its use. It rankled her that Aaron shouldn't even realize a bit of rent for it. But she didn't say so, for there was one thing Jonathan had a fixation about and that was building his Angus herd. He could start that only if the house came free.
But she made up her mind that she would not see Aaron pushed away from his home without any compensation at all. She knew they couldn't continue this way but felt a guilt at her part in forcing him out. She began thinking about asking Jonathan to build another house, maybe down in the woods west of this one. She expected him to balk at the idea, but why should Aaron get cut out? Knowing how he felt about this place, she thought of him leaving it again and formed questions she would put to Jonathan. But she and he were getting along so well, and if she argued in Aaron's favor, what would Jonathan think? She thought of the money she still had from selling the geese. More had come from the down they sent to Chicago. She decided she'd offer it as a start. Maybe Jonathan wouldn't doubt her sincerity.
Aunt Mabel and Uncle Garner came at last. They arrived in a buckboard one hot Sunday in late April, bringing their entire troop of kids and half of their larder along for a picnic. Mary was ecstatic. Her confinement and the time since Sarah was born had left her little time to feel lonely, but she often missed Aunt Mabel.
The big, mothering woman took over the house and the new baby with a largess of familiarity that left Mary in a compliant, amused frame of mind. "Why, this child is damn near as pretty as my Bessie was when she was born!" Mabel raised the baby aloft while Mary wondered why Sarah didn't cry, suspended as she was. "Land! Girl, you got this tyke so wrapped up you're lucky she ain't mummified!" Mabel Garner loosened the blankets and freed the baby's feet, removing booties, chuckling and talking to Sarah. "This here's one hell of a hot day for April. 'Lizabeth, fetch that blanket!" she ordered one of her children. She used it to make a pad on the floor in the living room to lay the baby there.
"Won't she be too cold?" Mary fussed. "Cold! Must be eighty-five degrees! She ain't no different'n you, child! Give 'er some air! Besides, a-trussed up like she was, how's she gonna find room to grow?"
It was impossible to feel criticized. The big woman had an air of authority and homespun good sense that couldn't be denied. As if to prove the point, Sarah slept peacefully. Mabel drove her own brood out into the yard, giving orders for laying out the picnic dinner. And they weren't the only ones she raised a tongue to. Jonathan, Aaron, and Uncle Garner heeded her gusty orders, too. Nobody gave Mabel Garner short shrift. Mary alone took her leisure for this one day, thoroughly enjoying the unaccustomed vacation.
The heat intensified as the day wore on, surprising every- one into lethargy with its unexpected force. It pushed a lusty wind ahead of it, graying the sky. After their meal and a rest on the lawn, Uncle Garner said a walk would feel good and told Jonathan he'd like to walk out to the south pasture and see Vinnie. Jonathan was more than happy to oblige, and the three men left the yard together.
When they returned to the house it was late afternoon, and the Garners made ready for their long ride home. When the hugging and hand-shaking was done, the buckboard pulled away under a lurking sun. The heat had sapped everyone. Sarah slept unusually long, and even Jonathan lay down on the sofa in the front room to rest a bit.
Aaron's suit jacket had blown off the fence post, but he was nowhere to be seen. Mary sat in the kitchen, watching the colors changing outside. She saw the dish towels standing straight out from the line, and suddenly one let loose, flew like a kite, and was plastered against the woodpile downyard. Sitting inside, out of the wind, she'd been unaware of its growing force. Aaron appeared then, fighting his way against it, and she rose and opened the screen door, but it was ripped out of her hand and flung against the porch wall. "Get Jonathan!" he called against the wind, "We have to get the stock inside!"
The baby awoke and began crying as the sudden cold draft gusted through the house. Jonathan awoke at Sarah's sudden squalling, flew off the sofa, and scooped her up off the floor, depositing her in Mary's hands on his way out the door. She put Sarah in her cradle and ran to the porch door again as the men headed for the yard. Aaron had turned his head to protect his face from the wind that now was blowing bits of flotsam before it. With his head screwed around, he saw Mary making as if to follow and knew she must be heading to the chicken coop.
He motioned her back inside, but his words were garbled by the wind. She heard him say "chicken coop," so he must have shut it up already. Sarah was squalling inside, and she went back in to pick her up, holding the baby against her, as much to settle her own thumping heart as to still the child.
"We've got to herd the cows inside," Aaron shouted. "Vinnie!" Jonathan hollered, jabbing a finger repeatedly, pointing at the south pasture.
Aaron grabbed his arm and tried to stop him. "It's too far!" he screamed, but Jonathan wrenched his arm away. Aaron grabbed Jonathan around the neck and yelled into his ear, "You can't make it-too far!" But again Jonathan pulled away. The jaundiced sky had turned the color of an old bruise, an unearthly yellow tinged with green. Aaron felt Jonathan wrench away from him, saw him break into a run toward the field lane. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Come back, Jonathan," but the wind had swiftly shifted to the southwest and blew his words back down his throat. He knew the cattle would stand facing the storm as always, letting it knock them senseless. He had to get them into the barn. "Damn Jonathan!" he cursed. But he couldn't follow his brother. He had to get the stock inside.
Jonathan felt the first rain riveting into his face as he ran down the lane. The trees were arching toward earth as if rigged for snaring animals. He cut sharply across a stubbled cornfield, away from the line of trees on his right, and the rain began to slash at him. When he reached the south pas- ture, he had to struggle with the gate. It was no more than barbed wire strung between two posts and secured by a loop of wire off an adjacent post, but the wire loop slipped from his wet fingers and he had to grasp the post to keep from blowing over. He opened it at last, but the wind was a wall of violence now that knocked him from his feet. He could make out the black, hulking shape of Vinnie and began crawling toward it, his clinging, wet clothing dragging him back. "Vinnie!" he screamed into the banshee wind. "Vinnie!"
But the relentless force swallowed his sound. A slashing bolt of lightning cleared his view, and he saw the animal above him. He struggled upright on his knees, waiting for the slightest ease in the gale so he could reach for the anim- al's halter. His only thought was of forcing the animal down to the ground, forcing Vinnie to lie where he'd be somewhat protected from the fury around them. If only he'd put the ring in Vinnie's nose, he could give it a yank and make the animal lie down instantly. But there was no ring, only the halter, and he straightened his arm, straining his body up- ward, seeking it, groping blindly while the rain blinded him and the wind pushed him flat.
The bull danced in dumb terror as the twister threw itself in crazy commotion, carrying leaves, wood, branches in its gaping maw. The scream of the wind became an earsplitting rumbling as the tornado hit them with full force. The animal swayed in a terrorized dance, its hooves striking left, then right, its powerful chest rippling, its eyes bulging in fear. Vinnie had no horns to meet the force that tried to grasp him from below, while the sucking wind pulled at him from above. So the bull struck at it with his hooves instead, stamping at its softness, knowing only terror. The wind howled and the animal stamped-left and right, left and right-until both the wind and the bull quieted at once.
In the barn Aaron shivered inside his wet, clinging clothes. There was a small, cobwebbed window facing the house, but only the main door facing in the direction Jonathan had gone. If he opened it, it would be torn from its hinges. He rubbed the dust from a pane and peered toward the house, but he couldn't even define its outline in the pounding tor- rents. He could hear objects striking the barn as they were driven by the wind, and his mind flashed from Mary to Jonathan to the Garners in their open buckboard.
The cattle were restive, the storm making them shift and low noisily. He'd brought the pails down earlier. It might soothe them if he started milking. It would soothe him, too. There was little he could do for the others, and the milking had to be done sometime. Jonathan would be in no shape to help when he came back. What a fool thing to do! Chase after that bull in a storm like this. There was no denying Jonathan had a way with that animal, though. Aaron thought, I wouldn't be surprised to see him ride Vinnie in bareback. The idea made him smile as he tried to shake off the worry that was nagging him, worsening the longer Jonathan was gone.
He left the pails in the barn, for it was still raining when he finished. The howling wind had waned to a less fearsome strength, and the rain had eased off.
When he opened the kitchen door, he could see the trapdoor open on the pantry floor. He called Mary's name, and she came running from the other room with Sarah in her arms, her face pale. "Are you all right?" he yelled. But he could see that she was. His main concern now was for Jonathan. "Yes," she assured him. "I had the cellar door open in case we needed to go down…" Then she stopped abruptly. Her voice became intensely quiet. "Where's Jonathan?" "I hoped he'd come back," Aaron said. "Back from where? Wasn't he in the barn with you?" She clutched the baby closer. "Don't worry, I'll find him." Aaron's voice was trailing him as he ran back out into the rain.
She held the door open and pulled the blanket over Sarah's head as she shouted after Aaron, "Where did he go?" But Aaron was already halfway across the yard. She could see that he was heading in the direction of Vinnie's pasture.
Aaron had hoped that somehow Jonathan had gotten back to the house. Now as he ran he knew it had been a foolish hope. He could see ahead of him strange shapes on the edge of the woods. A fear clutched his gut as he identified the broken boles of trees.
Jesus, it must have been a tornado, he thought, realizing only now just how bad the storm had been. The house had gotten only the side winds, but the path of the funnel was easy to mark.
He began to call Jonathan's name, and the longer he called, the slower he ran. He jogged around great gnarled roots that had been ripped up by the storm. He reached the end of the lane and swerved east, toward the pasture.
He could see Vinnie standing with his rump to the rain. He had slowed to a walk, his fear crystallizing as he ap- proached the gate that lay loose where it had fallen.
The bull moved when he heard the man coming, and Aaron saw a shape on the muddy earth in front of Vinnie. He knew it was Jonathan before he could discern any more than that. He ran toward the two and gave the bull a vicious kick in his wide belly. "Git away from him!" he screamed as the bull pranced sideways, surprised.
Aaron dropped to his knees beside the inert figure that lay crumpled facedown in the mud. He knew before he turned the lifeless body into his arms that Jonathan was dead. "Jonathan," he cried as he saw the rain falling on his brother's battered face and chest. "Jonathan why didn't you listen to me? Jonathan…" He pulled him up and shielded Jonathan's face and railed at the sky, "Stop that! Don't rain on his face!" But the rain splashed on the torn, bloody face and ran over Aaron's shirt sleeve, staining it a weak red. "Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus, no. You can't be dead. Jonathan. Wake up!"
The bull took a step nearer, and Aaron pulled the still form closer in his protective embrace while he railed again, "Keep away from him, you bastard!" But his words ended in sobs as he rocked his brother. The bull stood by, watching.
He carried Jonathan beyond the fence and locked the gate again. It was too far to carry him back to the house, so he stripped his own white shirt off and covered Jonathan's face with it.
He ran across the cornfield at an angle this time, taking the shortest way to where the lane joined the yard. Before he reached the edge of the corn, he saw Mary standing in the lane waiting for him.
Runnels of rain were trailing down the strands of hair that washed over Aaron's forehead. They camouflaged his tears as he ran. But there was no hiding his bare chest. She saw it, saw how hard Aaron ran to meet her, and her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a cry.
Aaron panted to a halt just short of her and saw her open, silent mouth beneath her hands, her wild, frightened eyes above them. He choked, "Oh, God, Mary."
As if his words tore her loose from the spot, she lurched, trying to pass him, screaming, "Jonathan! Jonathan!" But he caught her shoulders and stopped her. She tore at his hands, scratching his chest, screaming again, "Let me go!" She fought with a mindless strength and tore herself loose, her arms flying free as she spun from him. She was racing down the lane when Aaron caught her from behind and stopped her flailing arms, pinning them to her sides in an encircling grip. "No, Mary. You can't go out there. Jonathan's dead." His words at last took the fight from her. "Vinnie…" But he didn't need to finish it. Her head dropped back against Aaron's chest, a keening wail beginning as she lost control. The rain licked her face. Her body was consumed by sudden, violent spasms that quaked through her limbs with such force that Aaron could feel his own body being jerked by hers. She began slipping down, and he lowered her to her knees in the wet grass. He knelt behind her, and she suddenly fell forward onto her hands, knelt there on all fours, sobbing Jonathan's name over and over again. He surrounded her waist with his arms and leaned his face on her back, trying to still her shaking but unable to. For he was shaking, too, as they both cried for the man they loved.
It was hard to tell what time of day it was, though the rain had stopped. Aaron saddled the mare. He knew he had to go for help, but what about Mary? "I can't leave you alone here," he said again. "I'll be all right," she answered, "just hurry!" But she was still far from under control.
He slapped the reins, and the horse shot forward. Hooves thundered beneath him, but to Aaron it seemed he moved on a treadmill. When he had barely started down the road, doubts assailed him. Should he have left Jonathan like that in the field? Oh, God, why hadn't he brought him up to the house? But he couldn't do that and leave Mary there to see him. Mary, Mary…I shouldn't have left you alone. But you said you shouldn't take the baby in the rain. No matter, you shouldn't be alone. What should I do?
As he rode, one thought recurred: he couldn't leave Mary there alone while he made the long trip to town. At a curve in the road he slowed the mare to turn around and go back for her. He could take her and Sarah to a neighboring farm. Why hadn't he thought of that before?
But before the mare had completed the turn, a miracle took place. The buckboard full of Garners appeared around the curve. They pulled up, hands waving and voices calling Aaron's name. The children were babbling about the tor- nado. Mabel Garner silenced them with a quick word as she and her husband saw Aaron's face. "What is it, boy?" Uncle Garner demanded. "It's Jonathan," Aaron's voice quaked. "He's been gored by the bull." "How bad?" The terse question cut through Aaron's shock. "He's dead."
The instant he said it, the Garners took over. Aaron felt the easing of a weight as Mabel quieted the children and left Garner to question Aaron. "Where's Mary?" he asked. "Back at the house. I was going back to get her, take her to a neighbor's." Aaron was sobbing pathetically now. "And Jonathan?" "In the south pasture," Aaron began, but his voice broke, faltered. "I didn't know what…" "It's all right, boy. You turn around and follow us back."
Uncle Garner stopped at the first house he came to and sent the neighbor to town for help. When they reached home, he saw to Aaron's horse and everything else.
The Garners' presence during that endless night was the loving thread that held them in one piece. Uncle Garner drove the buckboard out to the pasture and brought Jonathan in, then saw to the arrangements when the undertaker arrived.
Aunt Mabel took over the house, dispatching her children to collect eggs, see to the milk that still sat in the barn, make beds in the loft, help lay food out. She forced order where, without her, chaos would have threatened. She made them drink coffee when they would have no food, made them put on dry clothes when they'd have sat damp, made them rest when they would have resisted. Somehow they all made it through the night.