And he did.
In spite of the rain there were chores to be done and work for both of them to fill the morning. The range was stoked up and it dried and warmed the kitchen, making it the most comfortable spot in the house. After breakfast Aaron said he'd take care of all outside chores so she wouldn't need to go out to the chickens and geese through the rain. He shrugged on a big, loose denim jacket and kissed her with his hands rubbing the base of her spine, then went out. She hummed while she set up the plank for ironing, resting the butt end on the table, the narrow end on the back of a chair. The three irons were heating on the range, and her chore began.
She worked on into the morning. She kept the fire well fed to heat the irons. She put a pan of sauerkraut on the back end of the range, lacing it with caraway and pork. The sim- mering mixture made a delectable odor. Through it she could smell the hot starch as she pressed the shirts. She protected their freshness by removing them from the kitchen as each one was done, keeping the food smell from them. Later on, she mixed dough and dropped it into the boiling broth, and at dinnertime she and Aaron ate the dumplings and kraut, taking the makeshift ironing board away from the table to make room for their plates.
In the afternoon, with the rain still falling and time on their hands, Aaron brought two big jackets, put one on and helped her into the other, saying, 'Come on, I want to show you something.' He grabbed her hand and pulled her along after him through the puddles and showers to the granary. Depositing her in- side, he ran out again to fetch the ladder.
He braced it on the rafters over her head, and she asked, 'What's up there?' as he climbed up. 'You'll see,' he said. He stood above her with his feet astride the beams, testing the weight of the old, crusty trunk he'd found up there two days before, when he'd fetched the suitcase. 'Get me the rope that's hanging by the door and hand it up to me.'
She got it and went up the ladder with it slung over her arm, using one hand to lift her skirt as she climbed.
Aaron was above her, looking like a giant as she gazed up at his spraddled legs. 'Be careful!' he warned. 'Be careful, yourself! You're a man, not a monkey.' 'Yes, my sassy wench.' He smiled down at her, taking the rope.
He tied it around the heavy trunk, grunting as he lifted it to lace the rope through the handles and under it where it rested on the beams. She was still standing on the ladder looking up at him when he finished, asking, 'Can you tie a decent knot?' 'Hmph!' was all she replied as she reached toward him for the rope. He tossed it back to her, and she went down the ladder and looped it around an upright, leaving slack in it before tying the end to another upright. Then she came back to the slack near the first post and grabbed the rope, saying, 'Okay, Aaron.'
He wondered just how okay it was as he watched her ap- prehensively from above, but with an appreciative smile on his face. Standing below him, hanging onto the rope, she looked like the weight of the trunk would catch her and whip her up and over the beam like a sunfish on the end of a cane pole. But he bent down and began easing the trunk over the beam. Just as it was ready to drop free, he warned, 'Here goes!' and lowered it over. Then he quickly dropped to his seat, lowered himself to a hanging position, and let go to drop into the oats below. He was at her side seconds after she'd taken the full weight of the trunk, and he eased the looped rope around the upright with slapping, uncoiling motions until the trunk rested safely in the oats. 'This had better be worth it, Aaron Martin Gray!' she scolded, jabbing at his belly with one small finger. 'Let's find out, Mary Ellen Gray!' And they knelt down in the oats and took the rope off and pushed the trunk around until it lay level on the grain. He opened the lid and folded back some white cotton pieces and exposed a black suit of some dull, heavy fabric. 'What is it, Aaron?' she asked, peering inside inquisitively. 'It's clothes of my mother's and father's,' he said, taking the white piece and laying it on the oats as a bed for the black suit and the other pieces to follow. He lifted out the garments and held each one up, all of them plain and wrinkled and dusty. There were sack coats and fitted coats before they came to one dark chesterfield with a matching waistcoat and pants. Below that were women's dresses, all plain until at the bottom, wrapped in its own separate liner, was a garment of crackling ivory satin. When Aaron picked it up and lifted it, Mary cooed a soft, appreciative sound and looked up ad- miringly as Aaron held the dress raised above them. 'It must've been something in its day,' she said. 'It was my mother's wedding dress,' Aaron said.
The rucked ivory still had a sheen, even after all the years it had lain interred. The leg-of-mutton sleeves ended in a point at each wrist, where tiny seed pearls trimmed the edges. More seed pearls and satin braid were sewn in intricate whorls across the bodice and down the front, where it nar- rowed to a tiny waist that flared out in a peplum at the hip. The high choker collar was trimmed in ruching that still stood stiff and firm. Up the center front ran uncountable satin loops that encircled pearl buttons. The skirt was flat in the front, and Mary said, 'Turn it around.' When he did, she saw the dirndled rear where it must once have puffed out behind the pleated tail of the bustled bodice. 'Oh, Aaron, your mother must have been so proud to wear it.'
He lowered it and draped it over the opened lid of the trunk and began unhooking the front buttons. 'She showed it to me once when I was a little boy, but I'd forgotten about it until the other day when I saw the old trunk up here.'
Mary picked up the old gray chesterfield coat and asked, 'Was this your father's wedding suit, too?' 'I don't know, but maybe, since it's the fanciest one here. Somehow I can't imagine him in it. He was much bigger when he died.' 'I wish I had known them,' Mary said. 'Oh, you'd have loved them. Pa had an everlasting smile on his face, and he could tease Ma until she'd have liked to throw him out. At least she pretended she'd like to. But in the end they'd always wind up laughing. He could always make her laugh no matter how serious she pretended to be.' 'I reckon you got a lot of your pa in you,' Mary ventured. 'It'd be nice if I did. I got a little of both of them in my name, anyway. I'm not sure where they got the 'Aaron' from. But Ma's name was Martinek. When her folks came from the Old Country they shortened it to Martin. Pa's family name was Sedivy, but in English that means Gray. Ma was always so taken with the name she gave me, said it was a 'prideful' name.' 'What was she like?' Mary asked, seeing his hands on his mother's old wedding dress. Aaron dropped both hands to his thighs as he knelt in the grain, remembering. 'Oh, she was little, like you, and always in a hurry, and she was a hell of a housekeeper-made us help her turn out the entire house every spring, Jonathan and me, and she'd jump around like a banty rooster giving orders and making the dust fly. She could gossip along with the best of 'em, but woe unto the one who spread any gossip about her or hers.'
He laughed at the memory. Mary laughed along with him but ended by saying, 'I never knew about your name, before, Aaron. I guess…well, I guess I'm lucky to have at least part of that prideful name. I think I would have liked them both.' 'I know they'd have liked you, Mary. I know they'd be happy at the choice Jonathan made.'
At the mention of his name Mary grew sober, but Aaron stood and picked up the ivory gown, saying, 'I want to see it on you.' 'On me?' She looked wide-eyed back at him with a hand on her chest in surprise. 'But Aaron, I don't feel like I should. It doesn't seem right to put on someone else's wedding gown.' 'I don't think my mother would mind. Besides, it was made for a slim little thing like you. Let's give it a treat, after all its years in that musty old trunk.'
She looked at it appreciatively and touched the delicate seedwork on it. 'Do it for me?' he asked. 'All right, Aaron, on one condition. You put on your father's gray chesterfield suit.' 'All right, it's a deal,' he agreed.
They were still standing in the oat bin. They took off their big jackets and threw them down on the grain. The rain kept falling, and it tittered across the roof, as if enjoying their whimsy along with them. The big door was open, and the misty gray light was enough for them to see by. The cool draft from outside gave them shivers as they took off their outer- wear. Aaron had trouble standing on one foot in the shifting grain, so he sat down in it instead, complaining that it bit his skin. He had to pick some oat kernels out of his under- wear before he drew on the gray trousers.
Folded inside them had been a very yellowed shirt with a ruffled front that must have been more than dandy in its day. He put it on under the chesterfield, and when he was all dressed, stood and watched Mary struggling with the numer- ous pearl buttons on her bodice. She had started working them from the waist, so he made his way to her in four mushy steps and began helping her, from the neck down- ward. The whalebone framing inside the bodice extended up into the high neck and prevented her from lowering her chin with any ease. So she looked up at Aaron and felt her way up the remaining buttons until their hands met. Then she dropped hers and let him finish the buttons.
When he'd done up the last one, he reached for her hand and backed off a step to bend low over it and kiss it, saying, 'You look lovely, young wench.'
She curtsied deeply and wobbled, losing her balance on the grain. 'Likewise, my lord,' she laughed.
