He waved her hand away. 'You don't need to fuss and do over me, Mary.' And he hung the jacket on a hook behind the door. 'It's a Christmas present for myself,' he said.
Aaron looked around the room then, saw where she'd been working at the table when he came in. There was a dish towel covering a mound atop the warming oven, and he asked, 'Making the hoska?' Everything was the same as always, and a rush of contentment filled him. 'Aha,' she answered. 'Where's Jonathan?' he asked. 'Down in the barn someplace. Probably with Vinnie, Why don't you walk down and find him?' 'Soon as I get my fill of this kitchen.' She watched him as he walked around, touching things, warming his hands at the stove. He acted as if he couldn't get enough of it. 'We didn't think you'd come.' She busied herself with the bread while he took care of the things he'd dumped on the floor. 'Getchner kept me busy. I wasn't sure myself when I'd leave.' 'What's in the box?' she asked as he took it to the front room.
But instead of answering he complained from beyond her sight, 'What? No Christmas tree?' 'It's not time yet, Aaron. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve. Jonathan says he's got a perfect beauty picked out, though.' 'When the tree is up, you'll find out what's in the box,' he informed her. He had returned to the kitchen, bringing his teasing grin with him. 'Is it a present, Aaron?' she asked, turning to him with floury hands, unable to conceal her curiosity and anticipation. 'Tell you what,' he said with the air of one about to make a generous offer. 'If you let me poke my finger in that dough, I'll consider telling you.' The elastic white puff was mush- rooming over the edge of the crock, ready for its last kneading. 'What?' she said, amazed. 'Well, once when I was a kid, Ma let me do that, and it was so much fun. But after that when I asked her she said it made the bread tough, and she never let me do it again.' 'Has anybody ever told you never grew up, Aaron Gray?' she teased, then stepped aside. 'If it'll delight your immature whimsy…by all means, have at it.' And she made a sweeping gesture, giving him leave to indulge.
He rubbed his palms together. 'Oh, boy!' Then he took aim and sunk one finger in the airy puff and watched it de- flate and collapse while they giggled at their own absurdity. 'Now get away and let me shape it before it's ruined,' Mary scolded, still giggling, then began slicing, flouring, studding the dough with jeweled cherries and golden nuts while Aaron left to find Jonathan.
The hoska was baked and cooling before Jonathan and Aaron returned to the house together. Mary heard their voices as they came, and cleared the steam off the east window with her forearm, watching them as they approached. Their bare heads were lowered as they came; then Jonathan's rose as he laughed at something Aaron had said. Aaron threw a loose arm around Jonathan's shoulder for a moment as they reached the back porch steps. Everything must be okay, just like Jonathan said, Mary thought. And she opened the door for them both, loving the sound of their laughter-filled voices.
The gay, careless mood in which Aaron returned affected them all. His first evening home, the house seemed trans- formed by the voices, the holiday preparations, Aaron's spirit of fun. Mary strung popcorn and the men ate from her bowl while she playfully scolded them until another batch had to be popped. They talked of rabbit-hunting in the morning, the invitation from Aunt Mabel Garner, what Aaron had done for Getchner in Dakota, what they'd earned from the harvest, an Angus cow in the spring, and of course about Aaron's first taste of rare beef.
In the morning Jonathan found a fat cottontail when he checked his snares in the woods, so the hunting wasn't ne- cessary after all. Rabbit was their traditional Christmas Eve meat, and it had taken Mary many failing attempts before she'd learned how to cook it the way they remembered their ma and their grandma cooking it. It was simmered in a stock laced with onion, bay leaf, and prunes, then thickened with spicy chunks of gingerbread. The aromas were heavy in the house when, in late afternoon, the men brought in the pun- gent pine.
The box Aaron had brought remained mysteriously sealed, the source of much amusement, for Mary refused to give up about it. 'You promised to tell what's in it if I let you have your way with my bread dough,' she niggled. 'I did no such thing as promise,' he teased. 'Jonathan, didn't I tell you it's my dirty laundry? Tell the woman it's my dirty laundry.'
Jonathan chuckled. 'You'd better watch what you say there, brother. She does up the laundry around here, you know.'
Then when they returned from milking, a hurried affair that evening, Aaron found one corner of the box turned back, although nothing of its contents showed. 'O-ho!' he bellowed. 'Some sneaking cur has been chewing on my private possessions!' 'Sneaking cur!' came a shriek from the kitchen. 'You said yourself it was just dirty laundry, so I merely put it in a tub of lye water to soak.' And she heard laughter from the front room.
Mary hadn't peeked into the carton, but she'd pushed it across the floor a bit to see how heavy it was, and she'd found it was excitingly weighty. For all the give-and-take, the box had her giddy with excitement. She fairly squirmed through supper, willing everybody to hurry up. She barely tasted the food, eating a small portion while the men took exasperating second helpings, then agonizing thirds. Nor- mally, she would have been gratified, but tonight it only held them up.
Even Jonathan could see her impatience and played along with Aaron, tipping the tureen sideways and peeking inside, saying, 'This stew wants finishing, brother, and you know how Mary's always after us to clean up the bowls.'
She jumped up then and snatched the spoon from Aaron's hand, saying, 'Just you try it, Aaron Gray, and you'll draw back a stub!'
She flew through the dishes while the men stood the tree erect in a pail of water in the front room. At last, free of her kitchen duties, she joined them.
They trimmed it with tiny candles, each in its own mini- ature holder, the popcorn Mary had strung, tiny wooden figurines from Jonathan and Aaron's childhood, molasses gingerbread men new this year. At the top went the painted cardboard angel with white horsehair halo, the same as every year. The candles remained unlit until Christmas Day, but the glow of the kerosene lantern lent a rosiness to the room. Small packages had mysteriously appeared, but with the time at last here for their opening, Mary held back, saying, 'I don't want to open them yet.' 'Leave it to a woman to change her mind, huh, Jonathan?' Aaron winked. 'I hate to have it over so fast,' Mary added hastily. 'It's been such a wonderful day.' She expressed what they'd all been feeling, drawing them close but making the men mo- mentarily uncomfortable with emotion. But the moment passed, and they sat to open the collection of packages. The small ones from Mary yielded necessary items, bought with her money from selling the geese, mostly socks and plaid flannel shirts. Jonathan's luxurious kid gloves brought a gentle rebuff to Aaron-'These are pretty fancy for Moran Township'-but he was pleased, and his eyes showed it. At the length of white organdy, Mary cooed, 'Ooo, it's so fine and soft,' then draped it around her shoulders like a shawl. From Jonathan, Aaron received a new bottle of bay rum, Mary a woolen scarf.
Aunt Mabel had sent a package that proved to be a selection of homemade kimonos, saques, and bibs for the baby. While Mary was pulling them out, examining each one, even putting them to her nose to smell the newness of the fabric, Jonathan quietly left the room. There was a mo- ment of apprehension as Mary and Aaron looked at each other across the tiny clothes that lay on her lap. Jonathan's absence was brief, however, and as Aaron began to rise to go after him, they heard the porch door close. Then Jonathan came back in, bringing with him a wooden cradle. He stepped inside the doorway, and there seemed to be a faint flush on his cheeks as he stood there, holding the cradle self- consciously. 'I…ahh…here…' he began haltingly. 'Well…I dug this out of storage and painted it up a bit,' he finally managed. He looked at Mary while he said it, and her face registered her delight as she came to her feet, exclaiming, 'Jonathan, your own old cradle! And look how you've done it up!'
He set it down, and she was beside it, touching it to make it rock, walking all around it to view it from all sides, happily expectant as she circled it. 'It's just perfect. I'll have to make a mattress for it. When did you paint it? How could you get it done without me knowing? It's small enough to fit any- where, and we could move it around the house to any room we want. I have enough yard goods to make sheets for it, too. Oh, Jonathan,' she finished, wide-eyed with delight.
Aaron hadn't seen her in this jubilant maternal mood be- fore. He sat on the sofa, elbows on knees, studying her in an element he couldn't share. He smiled as he watched and listened to her, but a hollow yearning settled in the pit of his stomach. He'd known it would happen at times like this, but this was the first time, and he hadn't expected the force of it. She was radiant in her excitement, glowing with her plans, pleased and proud of Jonathan. As he heard her exclamations he looked at the cradle, and Aaron thought of how he'd slept in it as a baby, too. That ought to be some consolation, but it was none at all.
Jonathan beamed at Mary while she jigged around the cradle. He'd felt the awkward moment pass with her exhilar- ation. He'd been unsure if it was wise to give it to her in front of Aaron, but seeing Aaron's relaxed pose
