for you to help, Mary.'
'Don't be silly, Aaron,' she said. 'I'm not so helpless I can't give you a hand.' But his rhythm was nearly double that of hers, and he'd already moved on to the second cow while she was still struggling with her first. Her unaccus- tomed hands needed frequent rests. When she'd resumed her stroking, the muscles of her forearms grew hot and tight. She lay her forehead against the warm, wide belly of the cow while she waited for her muscles to relax.
He came around the cow and saw her like that. 'Here, let me finish her.'
Mary turned her face toward him, her forehead still resting on the cow, and said, 'Fine help I am, huh?' 'I told you your company was all I needed. You'd better get out of there before that old gal decides she's all done giving out and heads for the door.'
She did as she was told, and while she waited for him to finish the job, found the empty tins and brought them near so Aaron could squirt them full for the eager cats. Standing beside him, she looked down over his bent head as he filled the tins. She came near to putting her hand down onto his heavy russet curls, but he finished and handed her the tins and her hands were saved from folly. She stayed away from him then until he finished, and spent her time trying to coax the unfriendly cats toward her. Freedom had made them skeptics, and they came near enough only to cadge their warm drink before scampering away. 'You go on up to the house. It's getting cool out here, and I'll be up in a minute,' he said.
'Okay, but I thought I'd help you carry the milk up,' she said. 'I'll bring it when I come. Just go on in and tend to sup- per.'
While she began cooking supper, he came in with the milk pails. Before she could turn from the stove to fetch fresh dish towels to cover the pails, he was there at the breakfront, taking them from the drawer, something he'd never done before. He acted different, with Jonathan gone, almost as if he were playing the master of the house. When he turned to the pump to wet the towels, he found her watching his movements, her back to the stove. She thoroughly enjoyed his doing for her the small task that had always been her duty. 'What are you cooking?' he asked, and she started a bit, as if caught doing something indecent by watching him. But she smiled and turned back to the stove. 'Eggs,' she said. 'There were five tonight.'
He smiled. At this time of year, when the hens were molting, eggs were scarce. The precious few they had were usually saved for other cooking purposes. To fry them and eat them so was as close to lavish as their eating habits came. He figured, and rightly so, it was her way of gifting him, for he loved fried eggs.
When he had covered the pails in the buttery, he went outside, down by the well in the yard, and took off his shirt. Pumping with one hand, he leaned toward the running water and splashed his arms. He had to keep starting and stopping the pumping action several times be fore he had splashed all of his face, neck, and chest. The water was like ice. It raised goosebumps on his arms. It caused him to suck in his belly with a heaving gulp before he backed off and shook his entire torso like a nickering horse.
He had forgotten a towel, so he came running up the porch steps and burst through the kitchen door like a shivering pup, cold drops of water spraying from his lips as he ex- claimed, 'Brrr!'
Mary turned from the range, grabbed a towel from the stand at the sink. 'You could have washed in here with warm water,' she said when she brought it to him, wishing she could rub him warm and dry with it. But the eggs were del- icately done and they needed taking up right now, so she threw the towel at him, returning to the stove. 'I thought it might make you uncomfortable,' Aaron said, watching for her reaction from the corner of his eye, rubbing himself. She kept her back to him.
He threw his shirt back on haphazardly, leaving it un- buttoned, and sat down at his place. Coming to her chair she saw how the white shirt clung to the skin of the chest where he'd not quite dried it. They began their meal without words. Sometimes they would look at one another, but it seemed as if they had reached the saturation point. Any more gazes would burst an invisible bubble.
She ate one of the two eggs on her plate, then said, 'I'm full, Aaron.' He half-smiled, covering her hair, eyes, neck, face with one glance, answering, 'So am I.' But he took the other egg from her plate and finished it before sitting back.
She poured his tea, using a small strainer to catch the leaves. 'Why did you make tea tonight?' he asked. He knew why, but he wanted to hear her say it. 'Because you like it best,' she answered, knowing he knew why.
Aaron lit the lamp, shut the back door to keep the chill out, and returned to his tea and her. 'You know a lot about me, don't you?' he questioned over his raised cup. 'Like what?' 'Oh, like…that I like tea better than coffee… that I like fried eggs, things like that.'
She shrugged her shoulders, as if suddenly bashful. 'We've lived here in the same house for most of seven years. Of course I know a lot about you.' 'Yes. But it seems you learned more about me than I did about you. You have a way of knowing a man's needs.' 'It's a woman's job to know a man's needs. Besides, all they are is food, clothing, and shelter. It doesn't take much knowing to see how to fill those.' 'Is that why you came here-to tend to our food and clothing and shelter? Jonathan's and mine?'
She folded her hands in her lap, hunching her shoulders up and catching the hands between her knees. 'I came here because…because from the first minute I saw this place I loved it and I wanted to build a life here…with Jonathan.' Here she glanced all around the comfortable kitchen, be- decked in blue-and-white gingham checks, touched by the hominess she'd created,
the plants growing at the windowsill, the crisp curtains at the windows and around the counter that held the sink. 'The two of you seemed to rattle around in this house, and I guess it's true that I enjoyed the idea of having it to tend to. And the two of you need a woman to do for you.' Here she hes- itated again. 'But I came here ever so proud to be Jonathan's wife.'
Aaron gazed steadily at her. 'A marriage should be built on more than pride,' he said. 'Food, clothing, and shelter aren't enough either. What about love?'
He was leaning back, his chair angled away from the table, an ankle crossed over a knee as he raised the cup to his lips, studying her. 'We have that, too,' she said, 'it's just…'
He waited for her to continue, but when she didn't, he said, 'You're very different, you and Jonathan. It strikes me that if either of you were to choose a friend, you would not choose each other, yet you chose to marry.' 'You don't have to be friends and playmates to fall in love,' she stated, her hands still clasped between her knees. 'No, but sometimes it makes it more fun.' 'Fun? I didn't need fun. I needed security. When Daddy died…well, I couldn't live at Aunt Mabel's forever. And Jonathan needed someone here. Maybe those don't seem reasons enough to marry, but they were at the time, and love came afterward. I didn't think of a husband as a playmate or a friend, and I still don't.' 'No, because you've always had me for that,' Aaron said.
Their eyes caught and held, and she resisted owning up to the truth of that, lowering her eyes then from his direct gaze. But the lack of anger in his flat statement made it hit home. 'Yes, I guess I have,' she admitted quietly. 'But Jonathan has put an end to that, too, hasn't he?' Aaron asked, still in his relaxed pose, one elbow resting on the table edge. 'Oh, I hope not,' Mary said, looking him directly in the eye, feeling again how she had missed his friendship these last weeks. His brown eyes darkened, brows drawing together as he met her gaze and held it. Then he sighed. 'Mary girl,' he said and, leaning forward, reached toward her hand, which now lay on the tabletop next to her cup and saucer. Touching only her little finger ever so lightly, he confessed, 'I find it harder and harder to be only your friend.'
She looked at their hands, her heart hammering formidably as his finger slid from hers. He stood up, taking his cup and saucer. 'Let's do the dishes,' he said, 'I'll help.'
She got up and gathered dishes in front of her. He did the same, and they went to the stove together to wash them. She filled the dishpan with water from the reservoir and pumped cold water to add to it. She kept the dishpan on the rear of the stove where the water would stay warm while she worked. For the second time tonight, he took a dish towel from the breakfront drawer, and they worked side by side until the kitchen was clean.
9
