pasture.
He could see Vinnie standing with his rump to the rain. He had slowed to a walk, his fear crystallizing as he ap- proached the gate that lay loose where it had fallen.
The bull moved when he heard the man coming, and Aaron saw a shape on the muddy earth in front of Vinnie. He knew it was Jonathan before he could discern any more than that. He ran toward the two and gave the bull a vicious kick in his wide belly. 'Git away from him!' he screamed as the bull pranced sideways, surprised.
Aaron dropped to his knees beside the inert figure that lay crumpled facedown in the mud. He knew before he turned the lifeless body into his arms that Jonathan was dead. 'Jonathan,' he cried as he saw the rain falling on his brother's battered face and chest. 'Jonathan why didn't you listen to me? Jonathan…' He pulled him up and shielded Jonathan's face and railed at the sky, 'Stop that! Don't rain on his face!' But the rain splashed on the torn, bloody face and ran over Aaron's shirt sleeve, staining it a weak red. 'Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus, no. You can't be dead. Jonathan. Wake up!'
The bull took a step nearer, and Aaron pulled the still form closer in his protective embrace while he railed again, 'Keep away from him, you bastard!' But his words ended in sobs as he rocked his brother. The bull stood by, watching.
He carried Jonathan beyond the fence and locked the gate again. It was too far to carry him back to the house, so he stripped his own white shirt off and covered Jonathan's face with it.
He ran across the cornfield at an angle this time, taking the shortest way to where the lane joined the yard. Before he reached the edge of the corn, he saw Mary standing in the lane waiting for him.
Runnels of rain were trailing down the strands of hair that washed over Aaron's forehead. They camouflaged his tears as he ran. But there was no hiding his bare chest. She saw it, saw how hard Aaron ran to meet her, and her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a cry.
Aaron panted to a halt just short of her and saw her open, silent mouth beneath her hands, her wild, frightened eyes above them. He choked, 'Oh, God, Mary.'
As if his words tore her loose from the spot, she lurched, trying to pass him, screaming, 'Jonathan! Jonathan!' But he caught her shoulders and stopped her. She tore at his hands, scratching his chest, screaming again, 'Let me go!' She fought with a mindless strength and tore herself loose, her arms flying free as she spun from him. She was racing down the lane when Aaron caught her from behind and stopped her flailing arms, pinning them to her sides in an encircling grip. 'No, Mary. You can't go out there. Jonathan's dead.' His words at last took the fight from her. 'Vinnie…' But he didn't need to finish it. Her head dropped back against Aaron's chest, a keening wail beginning as she lost control. The rain licked her face. Her body was consumed by sudden, violent spasms that quaked through her limbs with such force that Aaron could feel his own body being jerked by hers. She began slipping down, and he lowered her to her knees in the wet grass. He knelt behind her, and she suddenly fell forward onto her hands, knelt there on all fours, sobbing Jonathan's name over and over again. He surrounded her waist with his arms and leaned his face on her back, trying to still her shaking but unable to. For he was shaking, too, as they both cried for the man they loved.
It was hard to tell what time of day it was, though the rain had stopped. Aaron saddled the mare. He knew he had to go for help, but what about Mary? 'I can't leave you alone here,' he said again. 'I'll be all right,' she answered, 'just hurry!' But she was still far from under control.
He slapped the reins, and the horse shot forward. Hooves thundered beneath him, but to Aaron it seemed he moved on a treadmill. When he had barely started down the road, doubts assailed him. Should he have left Jonathan like that in the field? Oh, God, why hadn't he brought him up to the house? But he couldn't do that and leave Mary there to see him. Mary, Mary…I shouldn't have left you alone. But you said you shouldn't take the baby in the rain. No matter, you shouldn't be alone. What should I do?
As he rode, one thought recurred: he couldn't leave Mary there alone while he made the long trip to town. At a curve in the road he slowed the mare to turn around and go back for her. He could take her and Sarah to a neighboring farm. Why hadn't he thought of that before?
But before the mare had completed the turn, a miracle took place. The buckboard full of Garners appeared around the curve. They pulled up, hands waving and voices calling Aaron's name. The children were babbling about the tor- nado. Mabel Garner silenced them with a quick word as she and her husband saw Aaron's face. 'What is it, boy?' Uncle Garner demanded. 'It's Jonathan,' Aaron's voice quaked. 'He's been gored by the bull.' 'How bad?' The terse question cut through Aaron's shock. 'He's dead.'
The instant he said it, the Garners took over. Aaron felt the easing of a weight as Mabel quieted the children and left Garner to question Aaron. 'Where's Mary?' he asked. 'Back at the house. I was going back to get her, take her to a neighbor's.' Aaron was sobbing pathetically now. 'And Jonathan?' 'In the south pasture,' Aaron began, but his voice broke, faltered. 'I didn't know what…' 'It's all right, boy. You turn around and follow us back.'
Uncle Garner stopped at the first house he came to and sent the neighbor to town for help. When they reached home, he saw to Aaron's horse and everything else.
The Garners' presence during that endless night was the loving thread that held them in one piece. Uncle Garner drove the buckboard out to the pasture and brought Jonathan in, then saw to the arrangements when the undertaker arrived.
Aunt Mabel took over the house, dispatching her children to collect eggs, see to the milk that still sat in the barn, make beds in the loft, help lay food out. She forced order where, without her, chaos would have threatened. She made them drink coffee when they would have no food, made them put on dry clothes when they'd have sat damp, made them rest when they would have resisted. Somehow they all made it through the night.
20
Moran Township folk always turned out for weddings, births, and deaths with a great show of strength, their under- standing making them a people unequaled in generosity.
The tragic death of Jonathan Gray brought out these good people with full hands and full hearts. In the days before and after the funeral, they filled the house, bringing comfort, companionship, and food. They saw to it that Mary had company and Aaron had help. They helped him put in his crops. Some came to call at chore time, even helping for the first few days. Someone else pastured Vinnie, knowing his presence on the Gray farm was unthinkable. Someone came with crosscut saws and took care of the fallen trees, repairing fences where needed. Someone else offered to repair the roof of the chicken coop, but Aaron finally refused, saying they'd all done enough already. They all had work of their own to do, and many of them had suffered damage from the tornado, too, and had let their own repairs go. But the neighbors had done what they set out to do. They made those first days possible.
Aunt Mabel stayed several days after Jonathan's funeral, but she had her own family at home, and soon had to return to them. 'Y'know you can come live with us, girl, and we'd be happy to have you,' she told Mary.
But Mary knew that two more additions would be a hardship to the family now. The Garner children were bigger now, bigger eaters and bigger helpers. Mary wouldn't be needed, as she once had been. 'I need time to decide what to do,' she answered. ''Course you do, dear,' Aunt Mabel said, accepting the girl's refusal with understanding.
When everyone was gone at last and things were quiet, Aaron came into the yard and found Mary kneeling listlessly near some green things sprouting in the garden. She held a trowel forgotten in her hand. 'It's too damp on the ground. How long have you been kneeling there?'
She sighed and began absentmindedly chucking the trowel in the dirt. It made a rhythmic scratching sound as she did it. He knelt down on one knee and stopped her arm. 'We have to talk about…some things,' he said.
He pitched the tool in the dirt and said, 'Come on.'
She shivered and got up to follow him into the house. He went to the stove and did something to the fire, then said, 'Sit down. We've got to talk about the farm, Mary, and what we should do.' His eyes looked sunken and completely out of place in his already tanned, healthy-looking face. When she saw how haggard he looked, she felt worse but didn't know what to do for him.
