bundles into the thresher. One of the men who'd arrived with the rig was tending its operation, another was leveling the spewing grain around in the double box as it filled. Another double box waited to be filled while the first was driven to the granary, where one man shoveled it in and Jonathan waited to push it into the farthest corner of the bin.
The straw pile, cast off to one side, grew in proportion to the dwindling of the grain stacks. The men sweated outdoors while the women sweated indoors. The heat of Mary's sunburn was multiplied by the radiating heat from the stoked range, yet the cooking went on.
Noon dinner was only the first big meal. It seemed the hungry workers could put away mountains of spuds, gallons of gravy, quarts of pickles, dozens of rolls, and roasters full of chickens. But appetites were totally whetted again by midafternoon, when an enormous lunch of sandwiches, pies, cakes, and hot coffee was wolfed down while the big engine kept puffing away under a full head of steam. By evening the chaff covered the yard with its dusty coat and the men scratched ineffectually at the pesky stuff where it mixed with sweat and encrusted their skins. No part of the body was immune to it. 'Them men ain't gonna have no armpits or crotches left, they go on scratchin' like they was at dinnertime,' Mabel Garner commented wryly, making Mary laugh. 'Look at Tony. What's he doing?' The two women were standing in the kitchen doorway, the men down by the well washing up for supper. 'I'd say he's feelin' his oats!' Mabel Garner laughed as Tony Vrensek danced a crazy jig, scratching and rubbing himself in disgustingly funny places. Suddenly Vrensek catapulted for the cattle tank and dove in, startling a cow, which backed off with a complaining moo. The man came up spluttering, wearing a cap of green moss from the cow tank. The men hooted their enjoyment.
'What is it makes them men go crazy when threshin's over?' Aunt Mabel questioned no one in particular, enjoying the scene down at the cowtank and Mary's laughter. 'Well, girl, we'd best get the platters loaded. They'll be ravenous. Especially Tony, after takin' that swim!'
It was completely dark by the time they finished supper, which meant that the crew would wait until morning to move on to the next farm. They'd finished this one, and the hay- mow was filled with snores and snorts as the weary men bedded down in the sweet wild hay, thinking nothing of its itch after what they'd already been through.
The crew was fed breakfast before dawn and moved on, leaving full grain bins. Even so threshing left a curious empty feeling in its wake, the void of a thing completed, the hesita- tion before stepping into winter with hands idle. Even Mabel Garner felt it and hadn't any of her usual rackety chatter as she sat with Mary over a final cup of coffee. 'Guess I never got a chance to get after that Jonathan, did I? You see that you take it easy, Mary.'
It grew quiet, and from outside somewhere came the sound of the grindstone as one of the men sharpened an ax. It brought to mind the coming of winter, the wood to be put up, the separations that lay ahead. 'Jonathan and Aaron will be going to hire out in Dakota again this year,' Mary said quietly, and Mabel heard the lonesomeness in her voice, as if she were already alone.
'Are you worried about being alone in your condition?' 'No, not really worried. I just dread the loneliness, like every year.' 'Yup. It ain't easy bein' without your man.'
If only you knew, Mary thought. But she said, 'This is the last year I'll have to be completely alone, though.' 'Aw, that's the spirit, honey,' her aunt replied. 'I've been expectin' you to do more talkin' about the baby but since I been here you hardly said a word about it. Somethin' both- erin' you, child?'
The truth of what was bothering her welled up in Mary and brought with it a desire to tell Aunt Mabel the whole thing. But such honesty would only cause the other woman unnecessary concern. Mabel would worry herself sick if she knew. So instead, Mary reached over to pat the workworn hand that lay on the tabletop. 'I'm just tired, I guess. We've been too busy to talk since you've been here, and now that the work is done, it's time for you to leave. I just hate to see you go.' 'If you ain't talked about the baby, I guess it's because you're scared like we all are when it's our first one,' Mabel offered. 'I'm not scared, really,' Mary said. 'Then what? You sure ain't happy.' Mabel Garner had that way of getting at the eye of a thing. 'I'm just not used to the idea yet. It takes a little time, I guess.' 'Well, you'll have plenty of time when them men leave. Meanwhile, you cheer up and try to think of the blessing you been handed here and what a joy it'll be when these here dull days're done. It's only natural, you bein' a little blue now, but wait and see-it won't last.' Mabel Garner knew that for a fact. She'd been through it enough times herself to know the feeling, and she worried about Mary being left alone while the men went out to Dakota. 'Are the men going to the same place as last year?'
Mary hated the thought of their going, but there was nothing she could do about it. 'Yes, the same place. Jonath- an's already written to Enderland, and he's just waiting for word to come. He and Aaron will leave when the grain's ready out there.'
This time it was Mabel's turn to pat a hand and say with gruff affection, 'Chin up, child, the time'll pass before you know it.'
The morning that Martha Culley finally put her oversized Bohemian nose in Mary's business, she did it when Aaron was within earshot. They were all out in the churchyard again on a Sunday in late September. The women were clustered near enough to the knot of visiting men so that Aaron heard every word. 'You've put on a little weight, haven't you, Mary?'
Aaron's ears had already pricked at the voices behind him. 'A little, I guess.' 'Couldn't be you're pregnant at last, could it?'
At last! Aaron thought. Why, that insufferable crow bait had her nerve to say a thing like that. He had no way of knowing Mary was wishing she could spit point blank in the middle of Martha Culley's eye. Aaron heard Mary an- swer coolly, 'Why, I believe it could be, Martha.' Then, like a gaggle of excited geese, the women flapped and squawked and wrapped their wings around Mary, then broke ranks to gather their ganders in and tell them the juicy news. Aaron thought the congratulations would go on forever after the first shrill voice announced, 'Mary and Jonathan are going to have a baby.' He stood there among the well-meaning men and women with a rock in his stomach, and ground his teeth behind his pasted smile. Someone said, 'It took you a while, Jonathan, but better late than never.' And Jonathan nodded and rocked back on his heels like a strutting rooster. Mary's smile was tight, and she kept her hands crossed loosely in front of her as if shielding her unborn child from the carping flock. 'I suppose you want a boy, eh, Jonathan?' another voice asked, and Aaron heard his brother reply, 'Sure thing.' Then there was laughter and backslapping be- fore someone whacked Aaron on the shoulder, saying, 'So you're gonna be an uncle, Aaron! What d'you know about that!' He kept his smile broad and thought, I know a damn sight more about it than you'll ever guess. But he answered, 'They waited a long time for this,' which was true enough yet feeble enough that he could force himself to say it. When his eyes flicked across Mary's they both smiled a little bigger, but the others couldn't tell these were forced smiles. To add his old touch of brotherly affection, Aaron dropped his arm lightly around her shoulders for all to see, squeezed her arm, and said, 'She'll be a hell of a mother.' Then dropped his arm while he smiled at Jonathan convincingly and said, 'Congratulations, Jonathan.' Jonathan nodded, and the babble went on around them.
Jonathan felt good. He was lying beside Mary under the warm eiderdown comforter. The chill of early autumn that touched the air couldn't touch him. He was full of plans. It had never occurred to Jonathan that the baby might be a girl. Whatever misgivings he may have had about the expec- ted baby were all gone, replaced by hope.
Mary was still awake, he knew. 'Mary?' he said softly, but even so, she jumped. He wondered why she'd flinched like that and asked, 'You okay?' 'Yes, Jonathan. What were you going to say?' 'With the money I earn in Dakota harvesting, I figure I can buy an Angus cow and start breeding a herd in the spring.'
It was the last thing in the world she expected him to say. All day long, since the scene in the churchyard, she'd been aware of the feeling generating in him, and she guessed it to be pride. She was baffled. Not once had he blamed her, acted jealous or hurt. How was she to generate any kind of feeling for him if he accepted her faithlessness so easily? She needed to feel loved enough by him to bring out the feelings any normal husband should feel. She had made an effort to please him in the past weeks, trying to recapture a sincere affection for him. But he seemed cold, and that coolness was reflected in her. She was prepared for him to say nearly anything but what he'd said. 'Buy a cow?' She sounded puzzled to Jonathan. And then she said a curious thing. 'Could we talk about something important, Jonathan, just for once?'
He sensed an even deeper irritation in her than her voice held, and wondered what had brought it on. 'This is important, Mary. For the baby.' 'Ah, the baby!' she said with a quiver now quite discern- ible in her voice, 'Now
