Jonathan stepped outside just as they approached, and climbed aboard. When they were on their way home he said, breaking the silence, 'The train pulls through at noon on Sundays. I'll be going a week from tomorrow.' 'Time enough between now and then to get a good start on the spuds, if not finish them,' Aaron said, and Jonathan noticed an old, easy-going roll to his brother's words. 'If the weather holds, we should get them all in this week,' Jonathan mused. 'Quartering spuds has never been my favorite job,' Mary put in. 'I'll be glad when the wagon is empty.'
'Maybe the day'll come you won't have to quarter spuds-if this Angus turns out to be all they say. I figure one Angus calf'd bring in the same money as ten acres of spuds.' 'First you gotta buy the calf, then raise the herd, Jonathan,' she reminded him, and there was the old note of teasing in her voice. 'How much do you figure the bull will cost you?' Aaron asked. 'I won't know till I get there. The only prices I've read about are on-the-hoof for slaughter.'
Their ride passed in pleasant conversation that genuinely eased the tension among them for the first time in days. What Aaron had said so openly to Mary had at last relaxed the knot of wariness they'd been feeling. Jonathan too found himself drawn into the camaraderie that had been absent among them for too long.
When they arrived home, Aaron pulled up under the elms. The wagon didn't need unloading. The potatoes could wait there until they were quartered for planting. 'If you don't mind, Jonathan, I'd like to start the chores early,' Aaron said. 'I'm thinking I'll go down to Pris's and see if she'll go to the hall with me tonight.' 'That'll be fine, Aaron,' Jonathan agreed.
Mary felt that Aaron's plans put the capper on this healing day. He's going back to Priscilla at last! If she'll only take him back, everything will be fine.
Mixed in with her relief were small tuggings, whimsical longings to go to the dance herself. It had been so long since she'd been down to the hall on a Saturday night. They used to go often when they were first married. She was still young, and she felt the urge for a little socializing. It would do Jonathan good to get away from the farm for the evening, too. While he didn't care much for dancing, he enjoyed a cold beer and a bit of visiting.
Jonathan was already unhitching the horses, and she hur- ried to speak up before he finished. 'Jonathan, I think we could all use a little relaxation. You've been working hard, and it'd do you good to get away a bit. Why don't we go up to the hall, too?'
He was already releasing the traces from the collar. He didn't think he needed to go to the hall to relax. He could do that right here at home, just sitting on the porch looking out over the fields. But Mary hadn't been away much lately, except for Sundays at church and the visit to Volences' a couple weeks ago. She probably could do with an outing.
He didn't answer immediately, so Mary hurried on while he ducked under the horses' heads to the wagon tongue. It didn't look like he wanted to go. He was releasing the horses as if to stay home. 'I wouldn't mind going in the wagon, and Aaron could take the buggy and the mare. It doesn't matter about the potatoes. Nobody'll bother them.' There was pleading in her voice.
He hadn't meant to make her beg. After all, it was a per- fectly natural thing, her wanting to go out for a bit of Sat- urday night fun. 'That'd be fine, Mary,' he said then. 'I'll feed and water the horses, though, and leave 'em off the wagon till we go.'
She was already racing up to the house as fast as she could, with a small box of groceries in her arms. Jonathan thought, I'd better hurry with the chores. Looks like she'll slam supper together quicker than greased lightning. I'll eat it cold if I don't move myself. Leading the horses toward the watering trough, he felt pleased that Mary was snapping out of the mood that had kept her tight and silent these past weeks. But he'd known she'd come around. Just like lightning, too, she had too much spark to hide it long.
Mary met Aaron coming out the kitchen door after setting a heavier box of groceries inside. 'What did he say?' he asked her, but he knew from her flying skirts as she jumped both porch steps at once what Jonathan had said. 'He said you can take the mare and buggy and we'll take the wagon.' She was slamming stuff around in the kitchen, hurriedly putting the supplies away, and he could hear the staccato sounds as he sat on the back step and pulled his work boots on. He knew full well it was she who'd said he could take the buggy. A man didn't go a- courting in a wagon full of potatoes, but Jonathan would never think of that.
It was just as Jonathan had thought. She had her chickens and geese tended to in record time and was calling the men to supper while they hustled the milk pails up the yard. He didn't have to worry about eating it cold, though, for she had been in too much of a tizzy to make a hot meal. The range was piping, though, and she'd found time to pump bathwater in the midst of her headlong hurry.
The meal was a hurried affair, and dishes dis appeared from under their noses before the men could get around to seconds. What held the dishes in one piece was hard to say, the way she threw them into the dishpan, rattling and clacking and chinking as she rushed.
Aaron brought in the washtub from the porch. There was no need to ask who'd be first tonight. If they didn't clear out and leave the kitchen to Mary, she'd jump into the tub with her clothes on.
Aaron decided he'd take a pail of warm water upstairs for his own bath rather than wait for the kitchen to be free. It would save time. It was getting late, and he'd better be on his way. He wished now that he'd taken the time to drive over during the week and ask Priscilla in advance, but there should be enough time to get down to her place, do the asking, and make it to the hall in time to get a table. But suppose she said she was going with Michalek? He made up his mind that if it turned out that way, he'd pursue her at the dance, Michalek or no Michalek.
Up in her bedroom after her bath, Mary opened the wardrobe and took out a dress of yellow dimity. Its raised twills caught the waning light from the window. She took a chemise from the dresser drawer and put it on, looking in the mirror at her image. During the week she wore a simple homemade binding over her breasts, but her wedding chemise was still good, and fit her youthful shape just as it had seven years before. She buttoned her long petticoat around her waist before taking the celluloid hairpins out of her hair. It fell down her back, and as she combed it she had to pull it over her shoulders to stroke its full length. She began to reform the knot at the base of her neck, but a thought crossed her mind, making her drop the hair back down.
She had already gotten Jonathan to agree to go to the dance. That was a step in the right direction. Perhaps she herself could do more to bring back the old closeness. For the first time, it crossed her mind that as the seven years of their marriage had progressed she had paid increasingly less attention to her toilette. She kept herself clean and neat, and the childless state of her body had kept it firm and youthful. But maybe there was more she could do to rekindle the light that, with the passing years, had faded from Jonathan's eyes. Most farm women had plenty to keep them busy without fussing over affected hairdos and painted faces. She had been no different.
But here, tonight, in the favorable twilight that shone on her profile, she again raised her arms and combed the cas- cading hair high on her head. Securing it there with curved metal combs, she lit the kerosene lantern on the dresser, then dug through the bottom dresser drawer until she found what she sought, the long-unused curling iron. She heated it over the lamp chimney. Then, separating a tress of hair, clamped and rolled it up. She could smell the acrid odor of singed hair, but as she continued she got the feel of it back after all these years and gauged her heating better so the iron didn't singe her hair anymore. When she'd finished the coiffure, she found a small jar of petroleum jelly and dipped her little finger into it, running it across her lips, leaving them glistening. The last thing she did, on impulse, was to turn to the faded old wallpaper that surrounded the room with red morning glor- ies. Wetting her fingers with her tongue, she touched a morning glory, and its dye left her fingertips pink. She smoothed the color on her cheeks. She thought how lucky she was to have two men working the fields, so that she was spared that job most of the time. The sun had not had a chance to toughen her skin. Smoothing the color onto it, she wondered if Jonathan would notice.
The yellow dimity dress fell over her petticoat, and its buttons pulled it tightly over her midriff as she worked them as far up the back as she could reach. The neck was cut square and high, but it showed the shadows of fine, small round bones below her neck. She had no cologne, but in the bureau drawer among the linens was a small sachet pillow filled with lavender. She found it and pinned it on her chemise between her breasts, reaching in easily where the unbuttoned bodice was still slack at the top.
There was only one thing more she needed, and here it was, easily found: a smile, making her face a perfection, all for her husband.
Taking a last look at herself in the mirror, Mary clasped her hands together, pressing them tightly against her
