retrieve it and quickly threw it around her shoulders, gaining the porch steps just as the buggy drew up under the elms.
Jonathan was stepping down, his back to her and the wind, and she flew down the yard, down the wind, calling his name. His big, welcome arms circled her small shoulders, and his face was cold against her warm cheek. His mouth, though, was warm on hers as he tasted her welcome.
Releasing her, he scolded, 'You'll catch your death, girl. Get back inside.' And he turned to grab his roll from the buggy.
But glancing into the empty conveyance, she said, 'Where's Aaron?'
Jonathan swung back to face her, the roll between them as he answered, 'Getchner asked him to stay on awhile.' He watched her face, but no glimmer of change marked it. The wind threw a stray strand of hair across her cheek, reminding him that she had only a light shawl on. 'Get back up to the house,' he ordered easily. 'I'll be up as soon as I stable the mare.'
When he entered the kitchen she was kneeling beside his opened bedroll, picking stray wisps of hay from it. His spare clothes were in a pile beside her. She looked up and smiled at him, and he saw what he had not seen outside, how much she had grown. Her belly had rounded, and her thighs, as she knelt, formed a cradle for its bulge. 'You brought home half the harvest,' she smiled, sweeping the transient pieces of hay into her hand.
He turned to hang his jacket on the hook behind the door, chuckling as he crossed the kitchen to where she knelt. 'Maybe,' he said, reaching a hand toward her, 'but it doesn't need raking right now.' He made a tug at her hand. She rose and he noticed a new awkwardness that her added weight caused now.
She lifted the stove lid and brushed the hay into the fire, a jumble of thoughts and feelings threading her mind. In the five minutes he'd been home, Jonathan had shown a solicit- ousness to her that was unlike him. The hardness seemed gone from him. Was it because he'd missed her, or because Aaron hadn't come back, or what?
He sat down in the rocker by the stove, sighing, 'Ahh, home.'
She put the bedroll at the foot of the stairs and, coming back into the kitchen, caught Jonathan's eyes on her stomach. As if acknowledging his glance, her hands went to it. She was suddenly self-conscious and could no more hide it than she could hide her newly acquired girth beneath her splayed fingers.
Jonathan cleared his throat. 'Mary,' he began, and she knew he was having his usual difficulty voicing his thoughts. 'Yes, Jonathan?' she urged.
He rocked forward, resting elbows on knees, rubbing his palms together as if he might find the words between them. 'Everything's all right between Aaron and me.' He paused, then went on haltingly, 'We talked…we talked like you said, and it's good we did.'
'Then why isn't he here?' she asked as gently as she could, but her question still cut into him. Some quiver of muscle at his temple told her he mistook her question, and she hurried on, 'Oh, Jonathan, don't look away from me. Didn't I promise in my letter that there was no more between me and Aaron? Will you look at me like this every time I mention his name? He's your brother, Jonathan. This is his house we're living in. I must know.' 'Getchner asked him to stay on till Christmas or so. He didn't know exactly how long. We settled our differences, though, and Aaron'll be back before long.' 'To stay?' she asked. 'I don't know,' Jonathan admitted. 'It's a two-man farm, Mary.'
But she knew that. Instead of replying, she walked toward the pantry and got the coffee grinder. 'I'll get supper,' she said quietly, 'and then you can tell me all about Dakota.'
She was on her way back to the stove when Jonathan rose slowly from the rocker, a look of near-agony on his face. 'Dakota was lonely,' was all he said, but it stopped her in midstep and she whirled to reach her arms toward him. 'Oh, Jonathan,' she crooned as her arms went around his neck. He felt the coffee grinder dig into his shoulder blade, but he didn't care. He crushed her against him, murmuring her name against her hair. The coffee grinder fell to the floor with a splintering crash, but they remained as they were, holding each other, sharing a new bond. 'I love you, Jonathan,' Mary whispered, and she found it was true. It was easier to love this warm Jonathan, easy to think he loved her, too.
Her words brought a quickening to his loins and a quick wish to his mind. I wish I could take her up to bed right now, he thought as he ran his hands over her back, bringing her body tightly against his. But he forced a calm to himself, burying the thought that seemed suddenly prurient again when he opened his eyes to the kitchen light. Releasing her, he almost felt that she'd have responded, regardless of the time of day. He chastised himself, reluctantly turning Mary free, wondering what folly had captured him to even think such a thing, especially with Mary in her condition.
Mary turned to her supper preparations to hide her chag- rin. Her body felt suddenly chilled, abashed at being turned away so abruptly. She had offered herself to Jonathan, and he'd denied her. Would this be the way of it forever? Her needs had been so simple before Aaron. She longed to return to that state, to quell these urgings that now overtook her without warning. But what had lain asleep in Mary had lain too long, rested too well. It seemed it would stay aroused for a long time to come.
Aaron's decision to stay on in Dakota necessitated some changes in the early-winter planning. The serious snows had held off, but November's temperatures dropped down below freezing, cold enough to keep meat, bringing butchering time. Jonathan and Clem Volence made plans to exchange help with the chore because it required two men. They butchered at Jonathan's place one cold day in late November, out on the south side of the granary where the steam rose from a huge cast-iron pot. In spite of the chilling cold, the fire under the pot warmed Jonathan's hands as he added ashes to the sim- mering water. A pulley and rope hung in the sturdy oak tree that had been pressed into such use many times before. To- gether he and Clem slew the hog, bled it, and hoisted it into the oak with the aid of the pulley. A large wooden barrel leaned on a cross-prop beneath the carcass, forming a kind of chute that held the boiling ash water. It regurgitated belching bubbles as the two men lowered the pig's forequarters into it. The drenching and scalding continued as they slid the carcass up and down, removing bristles as it scraped against the barrel staves. The process was repeated on the rear end, with more scalding water and more scraping. On a table of saw-horses and planks the carcass was laid to be knife-scraped until the hide was clean and hairless. 'This time of year I wish I had a boy to help out,' Clem confided. 'Yup. A boy Priscilla's age would be mighty helpful,' Jonathan agreed. ''Course, I wouldn't trade Priscilla. She's been a big help to her ma since the baby came and all. We thought for a while there we might lose her to Aaron, but he sure ain't been around much lately.' Clem squinted a look at Jonathan as he replied, but Jonathan remained his stolid self, scraping away at the carcass. 'Reckon Aaron doesn't know what he wants right now.'
'That young Michalek has been hangin' around a lot. Ag- nes don't think near as much of him as she does of Aaron. That don't faze Priscilla none, though-she just tells her ma to quit worryin'. Just the same, we miss seein' Aaron around.' 'Mary misses seein' Priscilla, too. Used to get together a lot on Sundays.' Jonathan stopped his scraping then and looked at Clem from under lowered brows. 'Guess it's not for you nor me to say what they do, though.' Then he reached for a board and drew it through the hog's ankle tendons and said, 'Let's hoist 'er up now. She's ready to be split and drawn,' and the subject of Aaron and Priscilla was put aside.
Mary came downyard, swaddled in mittens, scarf, and coat, a dishpan of salt water propped on her hip. 'I came to get the heart and liver for soaking,' she called. They needed immediate attention if they were to be edible. 'We got 'em out,' Jonathan said, pointing to the tub at his feet.
Mary had suffered little nausea during her first six months of pregnancy, but at the sight of the unsavory tangle of innards in the tub, her stomach gave a sickening lurch. She took what she'd come for and hurried back to the house. But the chosen sections of gut also needed cleaning and scraping for sausage, and she finished her day with the gorge threat- ening to erupt from her throat. Even the fresh liver she fried for supper lost its usual appeal, but Jonathan ate heartily. 'You're not eating much,' he noted, looking at her plate.
Involuntarily her hands went to her stomach and she said, 'When the butchering is done, I'll feel more like eating again.'
He was surprised. She never got sick at all. This was something new, and he realized the peculiarities of pregnancy were something they hadn't shared at all. He wondered if there were other things that bothered her. 'I can finish scraping those sausage casings after supper,' he offered. And in spite of her queasy stomach, Mary smiled. It was so unlike Jonathan, and she understood his full inten- tions. His concern was all she needed right
