now. 'They're all done, Jonathan, but thank you, anyway.' And he returned to cutting the meat on his plate, a bit flustered by a new, expansive warmth inside him.
The following day, he brought the quartered carcass into the kitchen table and sawed it into meal-sized pieces. These he placed on planks covered with dish towels, and left on the back porch to freeze overnight. Hopefully no wild animals would brave coming that near, even for a free dinner.
The hams, bacon, and side pork Mary put into brine crocks to soak and turn red as the saltpeter did its work. Slabs of lard, too, were cut and frozen in preparation for rendering. The grinding and frying down of the fat permeated the house for days with a heavy odor. Jonathan had packed the frozen meats into a barrel on the north side of the house long before Mary's job was finished. The sausage-making took on a more pleasant aspect for her, although Jonathan mercifully boiled the hog's head in the caldron in the yard. But when she cooked the meat from it with pearl bar ley and spices, it filled the house with a pungent garlic aroma, reminding Jonathan of the coming holiday. 'It smells just like when Ma used to cook it at Christmas,' he said. 'I'm saving it for then. We won't have our first taste till Christmas, just like when you were boys.' 'How'd you know we always saved it till Christmas? I never told you, did I?' 'No, Aaron did one time.' 'Oh…sure,' he said, glancing at the kettle that bubbled away on the stove, then back at Mary again. 'Do you suppose he'll make it home for Christmas?' she asked. 'I hope so,' Jonathan answered, and he truly did. 'Me, too.' And for once her husband didn't feel threatened by her words.
But the hams were smoked in the smokehouse, tied into sacks Mary had sewn for them and plunged deep within the loose oats in the grainary, for storage, and still no word had come.
At Getchner's farm, a changed, quiet atmosphere filled the days. Aaron was kept busy, but the work was lighter, the days shorter. After the frenzied harvest activities Aaron felt the abrupt loneliness.
The Getchners took their trip to Fargo, and Aaron was left alone in the strange house. It might have warmed or charmed him, for it was a comfortable place, but it wasn't his home and it left him wanting and lonely, remembering his own place.
It was a week before Thanksgiving, and Aaron pictured the kitchen at home, the table covered with geese being readied for market. His nostrils seemed to catch the smell of wet feathers and melting paraffin. How he hated picking pinfeathers! But he'd do it gladly to be home right now.
The slow-moving days brought Thanksgiving. He spent it alone, his thoughts miles away. The late-found understanding between Jonathan and himself had left him missing his brother and Mary equally. He found he was again thinking of them as a pair, and the longer he was away, the less he singled out one or the other in his thoughts.
The Getchners returned, and December blustered across the bleak Dakota landscape, the raw winds sweeping its flatness. Christmas was nearing, and Aaron waited for the word from Getchner, word that he was no longer needed. It couldn't come fast enough. He'd had enough of the flat- lands, the emptiness.
Some years, Jonathan and Mary had traveled as far as Osakis to find the best market for Mary's dressed geese. This year, though, Jonathan sold them all in Browerville. Mary had kept back two for themselves, one for Christmas dinner and another to be hoarded until midwinter, when it would be a welcome treat after a steady diet of pork and wild game.
They'd had no word from Aaron, and with Christmas only a week away, both Mary and Jonathan were anxious. Mabel Garner had written, inviting the Grays to join her great, raucous, crowded family on Christmas Day. But Mary's condition forced them to decline. Also, they didn't know if Aaron might make it home. So they waited uncertainly, not wanting to be gone if he arrived without warning.
In the wintery dusk the streets of Fargo were shimmering with lights. Motorcars and horses shared the roadways, parked or tethered, chugging or trotting. The backs of the horses gleamed wetly under melting snow. The hoods of the autos were dusted with it.
There were two hours to fill before the night train departed. Aaron had tried rare beefsteak at the Comstock Hotel, finding it surprisingly flavorful and juicy, as Jonathan had read it'd be. Wait till I tell Jonathan about it, he thought. Every thought now was of home. Passing ladies in their hobbled skirts, he tried to imagine Mary hobbling around the kitchen in one, and laughed at the thought. How could she jump the porch steps in a getup like that? Childish voices drifted along the street, and Newt Volence's face came to him, one tooth missing. Through a bakery window he saw decorated delicacies, and he could almost smell the kitchen at home. Mary would be making holiday breads, he thought. The sound of a carol wafted through the evening as a door swung open. He paused and entered the department store where music was spinning off a gramophone. Standing before it, listening, he was approached by a mustached man who moved like a chipmunk. 'May I help you, sir?' the chipmunk chirped. 'How much for this gramophone?' Aaron inquired.
'This, sir,' the mustache twitched, 'is the newest Edison grrraph-o-phone.' The little man enunciated each syllable, rolling the r's like an outraged pedagogue. 'How much for this Edison grrraph-o-phone?' Aaron re- peated, rolling his r's, too, superbly, but with a smile twitching his cheek. 'The device sells for a mere nine dollars.' But as the chip- munk said it, the music wound down and he had to crank the handle to speed up the singing voices until they, too, sounded like chipmunks before settling once again to a hu- man cadence.
The little man ruffled at Aaron's open amusement, but relaxed when Aaron said, 'I'll take one anyway, and some records to go with it.' The salesman scurried away to find a carton for the purchase, looking even more like a chipmunk in his brown, striped suit.
Aaron also bought a pair of soft kid gloves for Jonathan and a length of white organdy for Mary. For himself he bought a heavy, warm sheepskin jacket, spending a sizable lump of his earnings but enjoying it.
When Aaron at last boarded the train he was weighted down with packages like many of the other homeward-bound holiday travelers. It was hard to contain his excitement amid the babble of voices around him. But darkness passed the train window and he thought of the two who waited for him at home. He pictured the rolling, snow-covered hills, the contrast of black tree trunks against them. The yard, the house, the barn-all the familiar, loved scenes lulled him to sleep along with the clacking of the rails beneath him.
Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve, and still no word from Aaron. Every day, when the mail carrier came without a letter, it was hard to keep the disappointment from show- ing. Mary was preparing dried fruits for her Christmas hoska when she heard the chug of the mail car coming over the hill. She finished chopping the last few cherries, then went to fetch a jacket. She was reaching for the door when it opened and there stood Aaron. His face was red and snow- burned, but he wore a huge smile as he threw his bedroll inside and followed it to scoop Mary up in an engulfing hug, booming, 'Merry Christmas!'
She was so stunned she could only give herself over to the bear hug, stammering, 'Aaron, where did you come from?' 'I came from Dakota!' he laughed, swinging her around in his exuberant hug while she struggled to push out of it and look at him. 'But how did you get here?'
He finally released her and answered while he leaned to pull a large carton in from the porch, 'I rode the milk train and caught a ride in the mail car-and here I am!' As he finished, he knocked the door shut with the heavy box. 'Milk train? Mail car?' She couldn't believe it yet. 'Why didn't you write and have Jonathan pick you up?' 'And spoil a good surprise?' His booming, exuberant mood was infectious. She still had a surprised gape on her face, and he reached out a finger and pushed her chin up, saying, 'Good thing it's not summer or the flies would get in there.'
Her mouth closed then, but it took on a scolding pout while she shook her finger at him as if he were a naughty schoolboy. But she couldn't fool him, and she couldn't hold a straight face. They eyed each other, snickering; then their merriment grew and blossomed into rich, free laughter. Aaron hooted unabashedly at just being home again.
When they stilled a bit, they looked each other over, noting the changes the last two months had made.
With a little raise of the eyebrows and a perfectly calm expression, Aaron surveyed her rounded shape. 'Well…look at you.'
She spread her hands on her belly as if measuring its growth, shrugged her shoulders, and smiled. 'Big, huh?'
He nodded. 'But pretty as ever.' 'Oh, I don't know about pretty,' she corrected. 'Clumsy and slow, but not too pretty anymore.'
He laughed at her description as he shrugged out of his jacket. She noticed it was new as she reached for it automat- ically to put it away.
