spreading layers of newspapers to be covered by soft, absorbent layers of something that felt warm and good beneath Mary. Doc Haymes hitched straps to the foot of the bed, and the sight of them gripped Mary with a sudden, repulsive fear. Agnes stroked her hair back from her forehead, calming her wild- eyed fear with a quiet voice, 'No worry, girl, you'll be happy to have them when the time comes. Rest now while you can.' And Mary closed her eyes to do as Agnes said, happy the woman was there.
The pains subsided a short time later, and Mary seemed to be resting fitfully. Agnes left her to see how the two downstairs were doing. Jonathan looked gray, so she made coffee, encouraging him to drink. It seemed there'd be a wait yet and no sense in his hanging around, looking like a whipped pup. 'You got something to keep you busy outside awhile, Jonathan?' she asked. 'Might do you good to get away from the house a bit.' 'I ain't leaving now,' Jonathan retorted sharply.
But Agnes explained, 'She's resting for a spell. Why don't you get a breath of air, and Aaron can come and get you if something happens?'
Aaron was agreeing and Jonathan didn't care to battle both of them, so he grabbed his jacket and swung out the door, going down to talk some sense with Vinnie. Vinnie always listened.
He stayed in the barn, talking to the bull, a long time. If he'd been a drinking man, he'd have had a snort right now, and he told Vinnie so. He hadn't thought about this waiting around before. This was hell! He could tell him anything, old Vinnie. Never before had he appreciated the black ear quite as fully as he did now.
Aaron sat in the kitchen, his chair propped back, studying the snowy yard. He let himself think of the baby trying to come into the world right now, of Jonathan as shaken as any father might be, of Mary and the pain she'd soon bear. But he permitted no thoughts of himself. He remained locked outside himself, a muscle twitching in his tense jaw while he waited.
Jonathan was cleaning Vinnie's stall when he heard Aaron enter the barn with the milk pails. At his questioning glance, Aaron answered, 'Everything's the same. She's quiet.' They started the evening chores together.
Mary came awake with a gasp. She'd been drifting and dreaming in a pictureless place when her eyes flew open at the pain and she saw Doc Haymes's face near the bed. She didn't know how long she'd lain quietly, but as if her body had enjoyed sufficient peace, it now dictated battle. The contractions built and swelled, leaving less rest between each one. She felt a gush of wetness and realized her legs were bound, her body exposed.
'What is it?' she gasped.
Agnes was there, holding her hands. 'It's just your water.' How did Agnes get here? Doc Haymes was supposed to come. Then she felt other hands on her and realized he was there, too, before a jagged pain made her clutch at the hands she held. She felt her hands being placed on the cool iron of the bedstead above her head, and she grasped it and pulled.
She was aware of calling out Jonathan's and Aaron's names as the undulating contractions came and went, but her senses soon became blurred as the pushing pains started. Someone was telling her it was all right to scream, and she heard the rasping growl of her own voice as her legs strained, her arms pulled, and a rush of warmth washed the baby from her. She felt its feet kicking against her thighs before she slipped past the ether into unconsciousness.
Jonathan was in the kitchen, pale as the porcelain coffeepot on the table before him. Aaron sat beside him, a cup in his hand. He had raised it to his lips when a muffled sound of pain drifted through the house from the bedroom upstairs. Aaron shot from his chair to stand before the window, his back to the room, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. He heard the cry increase in volume and strength, and his own breath matched it, slowly exhaling, silently pushing the air from his lungs, while the wail above drew out interminably.
During the minutes he stood there, the baby had no part in his thoughts. Only Mary. She labored with a pain too deep for him to compre hend, and all he could do was futilely wish to share it, ease it some way. She possessed him in that time as surely as if they'd spoken vows. The false front he had shown in these past weeks had worked so well he'd convinced himself he was nearly free of her. But now, hearing her give birth to their child, she gave birth again to his love for her.
He'd been so tense that even his eyes had dried out from his unblinking stare. When suddenly Mary's voice was stilled, his shoulders lurched forward and his head dropped. He gulped for air suddenly realizing he'd matched her breath for breath. The sound of a baby's gusty cry brought such exhaustion to him he sank into a chair again. His knees had buckled.
Jonathan was standing at the foot of the stairs when Agnes stuck her head over the upstairs banister. 'It's a girl, Jonath- an.' 'A girl,' he breathed. He stood in hesitation, one hand on the railing, one foot on the stairs. 'Should I come up, Agnes?' he whispered. 'No, later. Mary's asleep right now.' 'Is she…are they…all right, I mean?' 'Fit as a fiddle, both of 'em.' Jonathan knew it must be so by the pleased grin on Agnes's face. 'That's fine,' he said, more to himself than to her, 'just fine.'
Jonathan came back into the kitchen, and the two men saw each other's haggard faces. 'It's a girl,' he said. Aaron's face remained unchanged. He thought that he didn't give a damn what it was as long as Mary was okay. 'How is she?' 'Both fine.'
In this intimate minute while they both drew deep gulps of air with eyes locked, the two brothers found an even deeper understanding. Aaron remembered Pris saying there's no time when two people feel closer than after a birth- ing-and he knew now, fully knew, how true that was.
Then Aaron quickly covered his feelings, afraid to have Jonathan see any more. 'You'd rather it was a boy.' 'It doesn't matter,' Jonathan said, going to the sink to pump a glass of water, uncomfortable now with what had passed between them for that instant. 'I'll take Agnes home whenever she's ready to go,' Aaron offered. 'That'll be fine,' Jonathan agreed, slipping back into famil- iar ways again.
It was nearing midnight when Doc Haymes left and Aaron returned Agnes Volence to her home. By admitting to himself that he still loved Mary, he'd exposed himself to more tor- ment. Now there was the baby, too, to add to it. A girl, he thought. Agnes had said she had lots of curly hair. She's got my curls, he thought, then shut out the thought. 'You look like you did as much fretting as Jonathan did,' Agnes said. 'I guess no man feels at ease with birth.'
Agnes laughed tiredly. 'No, that's for sure. But you still got the worst one com- ing-when it's that first one of your own. Tonight's fretting will seem like child's play then.'
It cut into him, but he replied, 'That time's a way off yet, I guess.' And of course they were both thinking of Pris. 'You know, Aaron, I always favored you for Priscilla. I was sorry when you stopped comin' around. Now mind you, I'm not pryin'. I don't know what happened between you two, but she lost a good man when she lost you, and I just wanted you to know, that's all. I wish…' She stopped then and heaved in a breath of the cold night air. 'Mothers sometimes talk too much,' she finished, and Aaron felt a closeness to Agnes Volence then, wishing things were differ- ent.
When they got to her house, he took her hand, and mittened though they both were, there was contact of a close sort. 'I just can't thank you enough for coming down, Agnes,' he said. 'It means a lot to me…to us.' 'Don't mention it,' the woman said, sorry all over again that circumstances had drawn this man away from her daughter. 'You're sure Mary's okay?' he asked one last time. 'You don't have to worry about Mary. She might be tiny, but she's tough. She bent two spokes of that bedstead out of joint. Don't worry.' 'Okay. Thanks,' he repeated. 'Good night, Aaron.' 'Good night.'
He rode home in a tangle of thoughts that played tricks on his mind, appearing and disappearing so fast he couldn't grasp any one of them. Mary's hands pulling on an iron bedstead hard enough to bend it…a head full of brown curls…a different head of honey-colored hair swaying over bare skin…Jonathan's face when he said it was a girl…then, hands bending iron rails again…
The house was dark when he got there. He made straight for the cellar and brought up two quarts of chokecherry wine. He took them to the barn to do the honors, as he ironically put it to himself. When he'd finished the first quart and reached to uncap the second with stiffly moving fingers, he bellowed into the quietness, 'Don't tell me when I've had enough!' as if someone had scolded him. But there were only the animals and himself, and his voice softened as he blubbered, 'Man's gotta right ta get drunk whenniz wife az a baby.' He'd forgotten she was
