getting the rigging at that time. 'Who's here, Cora?' Agnes Volence asked as she came up behind her daughter. 'Well, Aaron, hello! Don't leave him standin' out there on the doorstep, child. Come on in, Aaron,' she invited. 'No. I guess I won't tonight, ma'am, but thanks just the same. I came to call on Pris, but seeing as how she's not here, I'll be on my way again.'
He thought he could detect a look of disappointment cross her face as he backed down a step and turned to leave. 'Come on back down again soon, Aaron,' she called after him.
What next? he thought as he headed east again. Couldn't a man have a plan turn out in his favor just when he'd strengthened his resolve enough to put it into action? If there was one thing he didn't need tonight, it was to be casting around at that dance hall without a girl to steady him. He'd better pull into his own yard and stay put at home.
When he reached the drive, he stopped the mare under the elms and left her there while he went up to the dark house. It was quiet and bleak inside, and he walked through the kitchen into the front room. Silence and darkness greeted him. He stood in the doorway a moment, then wandered to the pantry door that led off the west kitchen wall. The pantry seemed like her special place; she was in it so often. He hooked his thumbs through his belt and stood with his weight on one foot, the other foot slightly forward, relaxed, as a man might stand who surveys all he has. But Aaron's survey found him lonely and disconsolate. He knew he should stay home, but he wasn't fooling himself one bit that he was going to hang around the gloominess alone. Why hadn't he unhitched the horse and put the buggy away? But he sat down for a minute at the table in the black kitchen. He sighed and propped his elbow on the table. But his hand dropped down, and in the darkness he felt his fingers touch a bit of ointment on the oilcloth. In the darkness around him it seemed that a bright yellow light was reflecting off a dimity dress. He rubbed his fingertips together until the salve was no longer there. Then he went back outside, back to the buggy drawn by that yellow beacon that led him to the Bo- hemian Hall.
Mary and Jonathan made fast time getting to the hall, in spite of the wagon full of potatoes. She had to laugh at the absurdity of herself all dressed up for the dance but heading there atop a wagonload of spuds. She couldn't laugh, though. There was nothing funny about what had happened back there in the kitchen. She thought how foolish she must have seemed to Aaron, coming downstairs all gussied up for a husband who didn't care enough to compliment her. If it hadn't been for Aaron's own sudden response, she would have died of mortification at Jonathan's tepid remark. But now she was being untruthful with herself.
Hadn't she been so overcome by Aaron that it hadn't mattered about her husband? Oh, please, no! What was she thinking? She had to stop this nonsense right now. In light of Jonathan's plans to leave them alone, she had to get every slightest inkling of these thoughts from her head. Anyway, Aaron was back with Pris again by now, and that was a measure of safety. He'd be spending his free time with her while Jonathan was away.
The hall was filled with noise and music and vibration. The smell of beer from the taps in the back room was pleas- ant in a yeasty, heavy way. It seemed as if she'd never seen a crowd so large jammed into the hall. Folks from a long table by the west wall were waving to them and beckoning them over. Jonathan led the way through the boisterous crowd, and she followed behind his tall back. When they'd passed several tables, a brown head caught her eye. She thought it was Priscilla. But it couldn't be, for Aaron couldn't have beaten them to the hall. But just then, she saw Willy Michalek come up behind Pris and set a bottle of soda in front of her. Her heart hit her throat, and she felt her face heat up. But she followed Jonathan and sat down at the place cleared for them as the acquaintances at the table greeted them heartily and hands were shaken all around. The ladies were full of chatter about friends and events they all had in common. The men went off to get a supply of drinks for the newcomers, and Mary joined in the talk as best she could in her present state.
It wasn't long before the subject rolled around to Priscilla, and the ladies plied her with questions about the situation between Pris and Aaron. What could she say? The Bohemian women jumped at the chance to glean any gossip they could. This aspect of them had always irritated her.
She was holding her irritation in check but running out of answers when both of the women clapped their mouths shut, like school books at the ring of the afternoon bell. Without needing to turn around, she knew why.
From behind her she heard his voice greeting the two women and asking where the men were. But the men were coming back to the table with glasses and bottles, and it was natural that Aaron was established as a member of their party.
It was the custom at a Bohemian dance for the music to be played in sets of four or five songs, all of the same rhythm. Thus, when the band began with a polka and the two neighbor couples went onto the floor, Mary knew it would be a while before they rejoined the table. It was also a custom that once a couple began a set they would not change part- ners until the set ended. Sometimes, however, two couples would inter change partners in midfloor as the gaiety picked up and the dancing became less inhibited.
The floor was aswarm with people, but miraculously all moved in one direction, flowing in a smooth circle as the agile dancers cranked their heads this way and that, checking their course as they spun. Once the polka started, no talk was necessary, sometimes not even possible, with the thumping noise all around them.
Mary was grateful for it. She and Aaron sat at the table alone. They could feel more than hear when the bottles and glasses of other spectators came alive in their hands, clacked onto the tabletops in rhythm with the band and the pounding feet. Mary's lemon soda bottle bobbed along with the others, and, listening to it, she began feeling the tension ease away from her body. When the set ended, the steaming dancers returned to their tables and glasses were drained and refilled. More soda bottles appeared. When the new set began, she was asked to dance. Each set gave way to another, and stamping feet pounded the evening on toward midnight.
That night, Aaron chose to drink strawberry soda instead of beer. Beer sounded good, but when he got tight, even slightly, the first thing he wanted was a woman. To be on the safe side, he stuck to soda.
Priscilla was on the dance floor every set, and between sets she seemed surrounded by a crowd of people younger than himself. He danced with some of the women from his table, other girls he knew casually, but he avoided dancing with Mary. When he wasn't dancing, he stood much of the time in the taproom, drinking soda and visiting with whoever was there, for it was always crowded, and everyone knew everyone else. While leaving the taproom he passed Willy Michalek, who was on his way in. On im- pulse, he tapped Michalek's shoulder and asked, 'You mind if I ask your date for a dance?'
Willy shrugged and replied, 'Long as it's not the last set.'
Aaron approached Pris and asked without preliminary, 'Want to dance, Pris?'
She barely looked up at him as she replied, 'Not with you, Aaron. Sorry.'
There were others around them, and he could tell by her attitude that she was having fun. He could hardly stand there and try to convince her. Nor could he take her forcibly onto the dance floor. All he could do was bow out gracefully, which he did, and then stand with a group of stags.
When the music stopped, he moved with a surge of people to where one of the men had just asked Mary for the next set. Jonathan wasn't in sight. At that moment, Joe Shymek wielded his concertina and announced that it was the last set of the evening. Mary's partner turned apologetically to her and explained, 'Oh, Mary, I'm sorry, but my wife will be looking for me, since this is the last set.' Not wanting to leave her standing there on the edge of the floor while he hurried to find his wife, the fellow asked, 'Where's Jonath- an?'
Aaron, whose passage was blocked by dancers filing onto the floor, replied, 'I don't know.'
And so, unwittingly, the man brought about what Aaron and Mary had been avoiding all night. Pushing them none too gently toward each other, he said, 'Well, I'll leave you in equally good hands, Mary.' And he scurried off and disappeared, leaving the two standing there, facing each other. 'Do you mind?' he asked. 'No,' was all she replied.
A waltz drifted around them as Aaron encircled her waist and began the steps. She found his free hand with hers, not having to look to know it was there waiting. When her fin- gers touched his open palm, she felt again the blistered flesh she had salved earlier. His steps were not wide and sweeping as some men waltzed. He led her instead in small, precise patterns, the turns so gentle that her skirt scarcely flared. They danced with their bodies apart, but in their nearness each could feel the breath of the other. He smelled of berry and bay rum; she, of lemon and lavender. Times past they had danced thoughtlessly with their bodies much closer than now; this time they made efforts not to look at each other, keeping their eyes on the other couples around them. When the first song ended they stood silently, waiting for the next to begin, the silence between them again a strange thing. With the new song begun, they turned again toward each other, and now he didn't need to reach for her. She was unbelievably close. The space closed between them as they danced and he pulled her lightly to the spot where she
