one more thing Aaron had to make sure of. Would Jonathan under- stand that even though he gave up any claim on the baby he was still concerned for the child's welfare and happiness? 'About the baby…' Aaron started, then hesitated.
And for once in his life Jonathan grasped Aaron's feelings intuitively. 'I'll love it, never fear. And it'll never know the truth from me.' 'Jesus, it'll be hard,' Aaron admitted in a husky voice. Thinking of the life he'd helped create, of giving it up before it was even whole, he added, 'It'll be hell, Jonathan.'
The men arrived then, cutting short the sifting of the chaff. Both Aaron and Jonathan lay awake for hours, thinking.
Work made the days go faster, and Mary kept busy in an effort to hurry them. She'd put off making winter sauerkraut until this time when the men were gone. She'd stored the largest, firmest heads of cabbage in the root cellar and now sliced them, added salt and caraway seeds, and beat the mixture with a stomper, smashing it into its own juices and leaving it to ferment.
Navy beans from the garden had been drying since picking time. She spent a day winnowing these in the windy yard, pouring the beans noisily from dishpan to roaster many times until the dried pods were gone, blown free by the October winds. She stored away the cleanly blown kernels.
She dug up gladioli and dahlia bulbs from the garden, tearing their dried tops off, washing and storing them until next spring. The frosts had finished all but the last few resist- ing chrysanthemums, and she picked them and took them into the house for a bit of cheer. She burned the pile of dead stalks and leaves from the garden on a late, cool afternoon, feeling the days cooling toward winter, the westering sun lowering earlier each day.
She cleaned the coops, the last time before the snow flew, and went down to the barn to visit with Tony and Amos when they came to do the chores. But they'd never take time to come up to the house for a cup of coffee. They had work of their own to do and couldn't take time for pleasantries. So the house remained too silent, the tabletop too free of crumbs, the early-morning fires too lavish for just one.
She talked to the baby, referring to herself often now as 'Mama,' but never calling anybody 'Daddy,' feeling that she couldn't yet give that name to either Jonathan or Aaron.
The evenings were the worst, the time right before supper when families should be a-gathering home, but when she had the urge to feel sorry for herself she quickly talked herself out of it, saying again, 'I'm a fine one to be feeling sorry for myself!'
She waited until she thought they'd be coming home very soon before she washed blankets and bedspreads, giving them their last prewinter airing. Hauling the heavy things up the stairs late one day, she made up her and Jonathan's bed first, then took the other fresh things into Aaron's room, where the slanted rays of sun sliced low through the west window. Tugging at the sheets and laying the fresh quilts and coverlet on his bed, she thought again of the night she'd spent there with him, of all it had yielded and all it had cost. She caught herself doing more than just dropping the pillows into place, then shook herself and freed her mind of Aaron once again.
17
It seemed like the answer to all their problems when Getchner approached Aaron in early November, saying, 'The threshing'll be done the end of this week, but I could use an extra hand around here till Christmas or so, if you'd care to stay on.'
The other hands were all married. Aaron, being single, would be more likely to agree. 'The missus'd like to visit our girl in Fargo and do some shoppin' for the holidays. Need somebody to see to the small stock if we go. Machinery needs a good goin' over after harvestin', too.' Getchner hurried on, ''Course, you'd sleep in the house. Gettin' too cold to expect you to stay in the barn.' Getchner couldn't know that right now Aaron would have slept in the fields for such an offer as he'd just made. 'Pay'd be as good as if you was threshin',' Getchner added.
Aaron smiled, offered his hand, and said, 'You've got a man till Christmas, sir.' 'Getchner offered to keep me on for a few more weeks-as kind of an odd-jobs man, you might say.' It was the night before their return.
There was a holiday feeling among the men, a camaraderie created by their eagerness for tomorrow. 'I told him I'd stay on,' Aaron finished, watching as Jonathan folded and rolled his extra clothes, preparing them for morning.
Aaron's statement slowed Jonathan's hands. He knew this was a blessing in disguise, yet an emptiness crept through him as he replied, 'The pay's good here. Getchner's a right fair man.' 'That he is.' Aaron kept his tone light. 'I'll have full pockets, come Christmastime.'
Jonathan continued fiddling with the clothes unnecessarily, keeping his hands busy to cover his confused feelings. He and Aaron had changed since their talk. What they shared might not be exactly peace, but it was an understanding of feelings that was new. The mellowing had sweetened their relationship, strengthened their brotherhood. Jonathan felt that new closeness now. He'd miss Aaron at home, and he knew it. Under this newfound amity, Jonathan was still at a loss to say what he felt, the turmoil within him still beyond expression. The closest he could come to voicing it was, 'Have I put you out of your own home, then, Aaron?' 'No, Jonathan,' Aaron assured him offhandedly. 'No, why-hell! It's only a few weeks.' 'You'll be home for Christmas, then?' 'That depends on when Getchner's through with me here, huh?' A fleeting picture of the Yuletide living room at home limned Aaron's memory, but he pushed it away. 'Mary'd be lookin' for you,' Jonathan said, meaning that he would, too. But he simply couldn't say so yet.
Aaron chuckled and answered noncommittally, 'We'll see, we'll see. Meantime, I'll need a few more winter things. Could you ask her to pack them up and send them out to me?' 'Anything, Aaron,' his brother offered.
They spent the time before the lantern dimmed making verbal notes on what should be sent to Enderland, guessing it wouldn't take but a couple of days for a carton to get out there.
As if the morning knew the men's jobs were finished, it signaled their release with the first, fine-flown flecks of snow. Getchner, at the seat of the buckboard, hitched his collar tighter to his red neck, anxious to roll. The men were arran- ging their packs on the crowded wagon, jostling one another in good spirits. Jonathan tossed his roll up, saying, 'Stash that for me, Joe, will ya?' Then he, too, hitched his collar up, turning to Aaron. His breath was white in the crisp air as he admonished gruffly, 'Now, you take care of yourself, boy, you hear? And we'll be lookin' for you, come Christ- mas.'
Aaron stood jamming his gloves on tighter, taking longer than necessary, jabbing the left hand against the right long after the gloves were snug. At last he reached one toward Jonathan, who clasped it tightly as Aaron said, 'You've got a sight more to take care of than I do. You see to it, brother.' 'Don't worry, I will.' And as he said it, they pitched to- gether, roughly slapping each other's shoulders, their gloved hands making dull thuds before Jonathan broke away to jump onto the buckboard. It jerked to life with a lurch as Getch ner slapped the team into action. Aaron stood with shoulders hunched, hands in pockets in spite of the gloves. The wind blew from the northwest at the wagon's tail, hustling it as it went, ignorant of the loneliness in the man who watched it go.
The men had been gone twenty-six days, but it seemed like a year. Then, at last, Jonathan's letter arrived, saying they'd be in on the late-afternoon train. Amos and Tony had come to do chores for the last time this morning. Clem Volence took the rig to town and left it at Anson's. All that was left to do now was wait.
The day had flown by. Mary had cleaned the already clean house, baked bread, and butchered a fat hen for noodle soup. It was a joy for her to be doing again for the men. It seemed as if the house itself took on an expectant air. The warmth of the range, the aromas of the foods, the scrubbed and polished rooms extended a welcome.
As the day flew, the last hour crawled. Mary's footsteps returned again and again to the east window, where she watched for the rig. The weather had turned suddenly cold during the night, and she worried about their warmth, as if Jonathan and Aaron were children.
She smoothed her apron for the hundredth time; then, glancing outside, she caught first sight of the horse topping the hill. As if surprised at finding herself in an apron, she flew to the pantry, tearing at the ties to remove it as she went. Returning to the window, she saw the rig pull over the nearer hill, but the bonnet was up and she couldn't distinguish any figures inside. Where was her shawl? In the living-room closet…She charged there to
