She began to object, 'But Aaron, I have to…'
He placed a finger on her lips, stilling them and ordering her, 'You have to rest and let me out of here so I can take care of Sarah.'
She spluttered, but he'd have it no other way. He nudged her again toward the inviting bed, and she acquiesced, sitting down. From there she looked up at him and asked, 'What would I do without you?'
He reached to push her hair behind one ear, saying, 'Pray, love, that you never find out.' Then, cupping the back of her head in his hand, he leaned to kiss her mouth lightly, feeling her lips quiver beneath his.
He went to the crib then and picked up Sarah, saying, 'Come on, Corncob, you need drying out, too.'
The day Aaron spent in the house put him a day behind in the fields. Threshing was starting earlier than last year, for the grain had filled out sooner. He not only had to make up the lost time but spent some days helping Dvorak get his crops in. The arrangement benefited both men, for Dvorak would help Aaron at threshing time.
Those following days kept Aaron too busy to idle in the house. Until Uncle Garner came with the rig, he saw Mary and Sarah only at mealtimes, and those were hurried.
Mary improved so fast it amazed her. It seemed her body was easily dissuaded and her comfort grew greater each day until, by threshing time, she wore her old shape, slightly filled out.
She'd spent many hours remembering the endearments Aaron had spoken, recalling the way he had charged into her room, the concern on his face, and his kiss. But he hadn't touched her again.
The end of threshing was approaching fast, and when she thought of Dakota, Mary got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Aaron hadn't mentioned it at all, but she knew they couldn't avoid talking about it much longer. She waited for him to bring it up, but when he didn't, she knew she'd have to.
It was a heavy, gilded morning with the sun slanting low through the east window and the kitchen door, backlighting the dust motes that ever hung now in the harvest air. Aaron had taken a kitchen knife and sliced a sliver from a piece of firewood in the woodbox to use as a toothpick. He was heading straight outside, but something made him stop and look back at her. She was standing with some things she'd gathered from the breakfast table; only she wasn't moving, just following him with her eyes.
'Is everything all right?' he questioned, stopping in front of the window. 'You haven't mentioned Dakota,' she said. 'No, I haven't.'
The sun was at his back, on her face, and she couldn't make out his expression when he spoke. His voice didn't tell her much. 'Are you going this year?' 'I haven't decided.' 'You've been thinking about it then?' 'Yes. I never wrote Getchner about Jonathan. I suppose he's expecting both of us.' 'Oh.' The things in her hands got heavy and she set them down again on the table. 'Do you want me to stay?' he asked, giving her the chance to keep him here with a single word. 'I…I just wanted to know, because I'll have to find someone to help around the place if you go.'
His teeth were clamped tightly on the wood sliver and she could see the silhouette of his right jaw against the gold glow behind it, could see the muscles tensed, but he stood as if the rest of him were as pliable as warm butter, softened in that sunlight. 'You didn't answer my question,' he said quietly. 'Do we have to have the money?' she asked, and he made no comment about the way she now seemed to lump the money as both of theirs. Instead, he turned his head slowly, from side to side. As he did, indicating no, it made shadow, sun, shadow, sun, play across her face. 'Do you want me to go?' he repeated, and this time it was she who turned her head, silently, left and right, left and right. And as she did, the sun repeatedly glanced into her cornflower eyes, again…and again…and again.
She saw him reach up and thought he took the toothpick from between his teeth. She thought he was moving toward her, but it was just the sun in her eyes creating the illusion. 'Then I'll stay. I wanted to be here to take you to the wedding anyway,' he said. 'Will you go with me?'
She was momentarily confused by something she'd expec- ted, some other thing she hadn't, and she questioned, 'The wedding?' 'Priscilla and Willy's' he reminded her. 'Will you go with me?'
She wanted to say simply, yes, she'd go anywhere with him, but instead, she answered, 'I don't know what I'd do with Sarah.' 'Bring her along,' he said, and then more sternly, again, 'Will you go with me?' 'Yes.'
And he moved away from the sun, leaving black spots before her eyes from its brightness, a heat in her heart from its fire, from him. But he never touched her, only said before leaving the house, 'I like it when you tie your hair back and let it hang that way.'
Mary made up the ivory faille into a slim skirt that sheathed her hips, then flared to drift and swirl above her ankles. She ordered a new pair of high-button shoes. From the white organdy that Aaron had given her last Christmas she made a blouse of full sleeves, pointed collar, and tucked bodice, trimmed with black shell buttons. A black cummerbund completed the outfit, and she eyed herself with approval as she waited for Aaron on the morning of the wedding, late in October.
Mary hurried to gather the baby's things. 'Oh, Princess, aren't we gonna dance?' she asked Sarah. 'Your daddy loves to waltz-you'll have to learn how, too. Here, let's get your blanket…he should be here any minute.' Mary pulled it from the crib, added it to the stack on the bed. It was impossible to be patient, to keep her feet still, to keep from squeezing Sarah too hard.
Finally she heard Aaron pull into the yard and collected the stuff she'd readied, scooped the baby up in her other arm, and went down to meet him.
He had somehow acquired a new suit without telling her. It was sienna-brown serge with pale pinstriping. The smartly cut jacket lay open to reveal a waistcoat that hugged his lean torso. A golden chain spanned the open area, disappearing inside a hidden pocket. His round ivory shirt collar was the perfect contrast to his summer- tanned skin and burnished hair. He looked to Mary like some harvest god, his coloring so like the colors of the season. She swallowed hard as she took in his flawless elegance.
Aaron drank in the vision before him. In ivory and white, she could have been the bride of the morning. Her hair was lit by the morning sun, its simple, pristine lines more alluring than any elegant tresses would have been. He recognized the white organdy he had given her, felt a tingle of appreci- ation at how it looked on her narrow shoulders and rounded breasts. Through the opaque lightness of the blouse a hint of skin was discernible, and he could almost smell it, remembering lavender mixed with her own scent.
Suddenly Sarah demanded attention. Aaron swept an eleg- ant bow to break the electric silence that lay between them. 'You shall be the most beautiful woman at the wedding, and I shall be the luckiest man,' he bantered in a theatrical voice.
She came out of her reverie, lifting her skirts in a curtsy. 'Then let us away!'
The morning was brisk but warming, an autumn stillness enhancing it, for most birds had left, save the crows and the hidden pheasants that now and then carped their barking cry. They savored the ride to church, knowing it could be one of the last pleasant jaunts before winter.
They took their accustomed pew and for a moment felt Jonathan's absence from his familiar spot. But Sarah was there now, and, like all babies in church, took some man- aging. While they waited for the ceremony to begin, Sarah was busy looking at the unfamiliar surroundings and the faces of those in the pew behind. When she made loud, babbling sounds that resounded in the quiet, Mary and Aaron glanced at each other and smiled, the newness of this exper- ience as exhilarating for them as it was for Sarah.
The organ music captivated Sarah, however, and she be- came a well-mannered lady as the service began.
When Mary saw Pris coming down the aisle, a knot came to her throat. Pris was radiant in white satin, smiling as she came forward on her father's arm. Mary's thoughts slid backward to a night long ago when she and Aaron had sat on the dark summer steps. She heard his voice again, saying it takes two to do a lot of things-to make love and to get married-and she wondered again about their intimacy, Aaron's and Pris's. Now here she was, more beautiful than Mary had ever seen her. Aaron's eyes followed Pris, too, and Mary wondered, Is he sorry after all? But as if he divined her thoughts, Aaron's russet head turned away from the aisle and his glance flickered over Mary, reassuring her somehow.
As the ceremony proceeded, Aaron thought of the myster- ious tether that held him from marriage with Pris. What had held him was that he didn't love Pris. He knew it for a fact because now he knew what it felt like to love someone fully. He was struck by the irony of his search for that love of his finding it in the place from where he started: at home. Hearing the vows, he knew he'd waited long enough, played the passive brother and acquiescent uncle long enough. Today was the perfect time to begin his suit. The public be damned. He'd wait no longer.
