The Fulfillment (16 page)

“Fetch me a glass of beer, sonny!” she yelled imperiously to a boy nearby. “I worked up a sweat with all that laughin'! How you doin' girl? You havin' a good time?”

“I really am, Aunt Mabel. I don't know when I've felt this relaxed. Of course, it's easy to feel
that way at your place. You know, it's just like home to me.”

“I still like to hear you say that, girl, and that's as it should be. Ain't none of my own girls means more to me than you.”

“Well, then, you should have let me come and help you this week just like your own had to. I can tell an extra hand would have been kept busy.”

“Pshaw!” Mabel Garner snorted. “I set them kids to work, and the place never knew what hit it!”

Mary couldn't help laughing. The boy came back with a glass of beer for Mabel Garner and a telltale mustache of foam on his mouth.

“You let up snitchin' that stuff, boy, or you'll be sicker'n a hog in a barley patch!” she admonished him, then raised the glass to down half its length before smacking her appreciation and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I suspect you kept yourself busy enough without comin' to help around here this week. I seen them strawberry preserves you brung for Catherine, and they're as pretty as if I put 'em up myself.”

“I put them up this week, but just barely! Aunt Mabel, you know what I did? I fell asleep cleaning berries. I don't know what came over me, but I was cleaning berries in the kitchen, sitting at the table, and I got so tired. The men were nearly due for dinner, and I knew it was time to start the meal. But before I knew what hit me, I was sound asleep and Jonathan was waking me up. I've never done a thing like that before in my
life. And no dinner ready for Jonathan and Aaron. I felt so foolish!”

Mabel Garner picked a blade of grass and bit on its soft, sweet end, took a swig of beer, and said, “Used to happen to me all the time when I was first pregnant.” She was looking off again at the comedians across the yard.

“When you were first pregnant?” Mary's voice was quiet. “Why?”

“Most natural thing in the world for a woman's body to call for rest with all the changes that's goin' on inside it then. Happens mostly at the beginning and the very end.”

Of course, Mabel Garner knew how badly her niece missed having children of her own, and she didn't wish to raise any false hopes in her. Yet, with no mother near at hand, Mabel felt it her duty to question Mary. Anyway, she considered herself the nearest thing to a mother Mary had, after the years the girl had lived with the Garner family.

“You had any other signs, Mary?” she asked.

“No.” But she hesitated before adding, “I'm not sure what some of them might be.”

“You missed any of your monthlies?”

“Not exactly. I'm a couple weeks longer than usual, but I hadn't thought much of it.”

“Well now, mind, I'm not sayin'…it could be anything at all, but you been sick? Throwin' up or anything?”

“No.”

“You feel unusually thirsty lately?”

“No.”

“You get dizzy spells?”

“No.”

But after she said it, Mary remembered the day in the berry patch when she'd accused the sun of making her dizzy. She'd spent hotter, longer hours in the garden before which had not affected her like that day.

“Sometimes when I have to stoop over for a time, like berry-picking, I get kind of light-headed, but I figured it was just the heat.”

“Did it happen any other times?” Mabel was being very casual now, while Mary's insides were jumping and shaking and doing all kinds of monkeyshines. She sat up and hugged her knees to get a grip on herself, both inside and out.

“Just in church this morning. I felt a little light-headed, is all. But it was awfully close in there.”

“You ever feel like fainting in church before?”

“No.”

“Well, girl, you sure got the signs of an expectin' mother. How about hungry…you been awful hungry lately? You get the feelin' in your throat after you eat like the food's fillin' your whole neck?”

“I—I don't remember. I don't think so.”

“Well, you watch for it. It's a sure sign you're pregnant. When you're young, you got a constitution like iron and you can eat anything. But get pregnant and your food likes to roil your insides. Even if you don't get sick, you get that full, burning feeling in your throat.”

Mary was sitting there gripping her knees and looking, to Mabel Garner, as if the feeling were in her throat right now.

“Now, it's too early to tell, girl. But you take care of yourself and rest a bit between chores
until you know. If your monthly hasn't come in a couple of weeks, you can be pretty sure.”

“Please don't tell anyone yet, Aunt Mabel.”

“Don't be foolish, girl. I wouldn't take that pleasure away from you after all these years you been waitin' to do it yourself.”

“Thank you…thanks, Aunt Mabel,” Mary said, leaning over to kiss the sunburned cheek beside her. “I've got to think for a while now.” Then she got up and excused herself.

Mabel Garner wasn't piqued at Mary's sudden departure. She knew she'd planted a seed of mighty long-awaited hope in Mary's heart. A thing like that'd bear some dwellin' on, and she knew Mary needed time alone to do just that.

“The good Lord's been holdin' out on that child long enough,” she mused to herself, watching the slim from walk away. “It's a damn sight time He came around!”

 

There wasn't much space to be alone in the busy farmyard. Mary wandered among the people, returning greetings, stopping to talk when others approached her, but she avoided long conversations for she found her mind swaying with a force of its own. It was impossible to keep from touching her stomach. As if what Aunt Mabel had said was certain, she crossed her arms over her front, pulling her forearms against the place where she thought a new life lived. She knew that if it were true, the life had been placed there by Aaron, for Jonathan hadn't sought her since his return from the city. She hadn't bothered to ask herself why, for Jonathan was not a demanding husband, and found the need only
occasionally. She remembered how in days past she'd sometimes had to turn his way first, when she'd been reckoning on Doc Haymes's calendar. She was accustomed to lengths of time sometimes longer than this had been, times he didn't approach her, especially at this time of the year when the field work seemed to fill him.

Jonathan was pitching horseshoes in a foursome and, watching him, she recalled how he'd requested the liaison between herself and Aaron, but it was little consolation now. Would this bring about a rift between the brothers?

He sought her out later and said he was going home to do chores and would return in time for the dancing. She smiled at him, quailing inwardly, wishing she could go home with him, for she again felt dully tired and remembered Aunt Mabel's directive to rest whenever she could. But it would look strange if she were to miss the dance, so she stayed behind. She saw Aaron stop Jonathan as he left the yard, but Jonathan motioned Aaron to stay. It stung her heart. She imagined him saying, “Should I come home and help you with the chores, Jonathan?” and her husband replying, “Naw, I'll do it. You stay.” And again she envisioned an end to their brotherliness. Aaron turned as Jonathan left the yard and, seeing her studying him across the way, smiled and raised his chin in a kind of backward nod, a nonchalant greeting. She again put her arms across her stomach.

Darkness fell and lanterns were set around the yard to light the plank floor. Now and then there would be the flash of a dish towel in the lantern light as one of the women was abducted from
the kitchen by an impatient partner. Mary took a turn at kitchen duty but no partners came to abduct her, and in her present mood she was grateful. The children danced on the dance floor when they could get by with it, and on the grass when they couldn't. But one by one their number dwindled as tired babies were bedded down on blankets in the straw-filled wagons to sleep while their parents raced the clock into Sunday.

Mary had lost her yen for dancing and spent the night anxious to go home, but Aaron captured her once and insisted on a dance. He was polite, though, and kept his distance. She was glad when the dance was over. He noticed how quiet she was, that she hadn't had any of her usual chatter. He made no comment, for he thought her pleasantly worn out from the day's festivities.

The long day ended well past midnight with Aunt Mabel calling to all the leave-takers to return next day and help them finish off the remaining food and enjoy some more dancing before the floor was taken up. With the moonlight to guide them, the horses moved off homeward, bearing their weary owners. Some slept, to awaken in their own yards, finding that the horses had made their way unaided by human direction.

In their rig Mary rode home sandwiched again between Jonathan and Aaron, her stomach sometimes gently buffeted by her husband's elbow while its side rested softly against Aaron.

The waving
pastures of wild hay had begun trading their verdure for the yellowing hue of dry ripeness. Jonathan knew it wouldn't be long now until it could be cut. Standing in the hay near the edge of the pasture, he listened for the sound of it. When it was green, it whispered a sibilant s, but when it touched his ear with a
shh
, it would be ready to cut. It was saying something in between right now. He broke a piece between his fingers and found it not quite ripe enough. He tasted it. If the weather stayed dry, he'd be able to drive the team over the rich peat soil to cut the hay within a week. If it rained, the peat would hold the moisture like a sponge. The horses would sink and flounder.

He said a little prayer of supplication for good weather. Glancing at the new fence in the adjacent wooded pasture, he added another of thanks. The fenced land was a source of great pride to Jonathan. It was a reminder of Vinnie and the goal Jonathan aimed for, begun with the purchase of the black bull. In the weeks he'd been here, Vinnie had grown considerably, feeding on the plentiful, rich grass. After the cutting
of the wild hay, that pasture, too, would be his to forage.

Jonathan was happy in Vinnie's company, happier than he was at nearly any other time.

Jonathan called to Vinnie and trilled a high whistle as he approached the fenced pasture where the bull was grazing. Bending to separate the strands of barbed wire, the man stepped through, then, still whistling, approached the shining black beast. When the bull blinked and Jonathan drew near, his whistling stilled and his soothing voice lay mellow on the animal's ear.

“Won't be long now, and you'll have the wild hay all to yourself. Won't be long now, and I'll know the truth about Mary…and Aaron. You see, I brought it about between them, so I got no cause to complain, do I, boy?” The man's calloused hand caressed the animal's black ear. “I heard tell that your kind sometimes don't lunge at the ladies like they ought. That's how it is with me right now, too. Guess you might say I got to wait till I know for sure. Don't reckon I could spend the rest of my life wondering who sired the child—if there is one. This way, I'll be sure. Some men might rather live with the doubt instead of wanting to admit their own shortcomings. But I'm not made that way. I'd have to know the truth, eh, Vinnie?

“Well, if it turns out there's a babe and it's not mine, we still got you and your strong seed. You just keep on like you are, a-growing strong, and between us we'll work things out.”

With a last affectionate scratch behind an ear, the man left the pasture. Coming toward the
yard, he glanced toward the sumacs behind the outhouse. They were now in full leaf, and he had no way of knowing whether she'd dried her cloths there, concealed from sight, or not. But it had been nearly two months now, and if she carried a child, she'd have to tell him soon. He wondered how long he ought to wait before he could be sure she didn't carry one. Awhile longer, he thought.

And meanwhile, Jonathan's life remained full because of Vinnie and his fields and the ripening grain. The absence of sexual fulfillment caused him no discomfort, physically or otherwise.

Mary's discomforts grew daily. The feeling that food was stuck in her throat was one of Aunt Mabel's predictions that had come true. A sudden implacable burning was there each time she ate, and to make matters worse, she ate all the time, with the hunger of a starved person. She was constantly tired. She never got a full night's sleep because she had to go to the outhouse so often during the night. Waking up in the mornings, she would drag her body from the bed, feeling she'd left her consciousness still in it. When any jot crossed her up, tears would spring to her eyes. It made her feel foolish, yet she couldn't control the tears.

One day in July she had spent at a most unpalatable but essential task, killing potato bugs. The orange-and-black insects were an inescapable plague of the farmers. As sure as potatoes were their biggest cash crop, the potato bugs were their greatest enemy. If not dealt with, the bugs would eat the fresh green leaves of the
plants and sustain a healthy life, laying eggs on the undersides of the leaves so that the yellow baby bugs would continue the cycle.

Carrying a pail and stick, Mary had spent the day walking up and down the rows knocking against the potato vines with the stick and catching the falling insects in her pail. The insects were then covered with boiling water before the disgusting mess was buried in the woods behind the house.

The day had left her tired and miserable. Even a sponge bath in the late afternoon had not washed away the crawly feeling from a day spent among the bugs.

She had gone to do her evening chores, feeding and watering the goslings and chicks who were all over the barnyard these days. She filled the shallow pan with water and left it in the coop while she went to the granary for feed. But when she returned to the coop she found that the larger birds had clumsily fought for a place at the watering pan and in doing so had managed to spill the whole thing. She stood there in her long cotton skirt, hitched up into the waistband to keep the hem clean, and she felt the bird droppings that she trampled under her bare feet. She gaped at the empty pan and watched it grow watery as tears filled her eyes. Didn't those stupid chickens know how it caught her stomach muscles when she worked the pump handle these days? And those miserable geese were no better. “Look what you've done,” she wailed at the dumb birds. “You spill everything I feed you, and you crap all over the yard, so I have to
shovel behind you! Stupid, squawking, weak-witted…”

She was crying and sniffling while she poured mental imprecations on the animals, all out of proportion to the injustice they'd done her. She grabbed the pan and crossed the dung-splattered yard to the pump. Her tears came faster than the water from the pump. She was choking on her inhalations, and her limp efforts at the pump handle were made sorrier by her hanging head and slumped shoulders.

Then someone was there, taking her hand off the pump handle and turning her before she felt what she needed most—warm, comforting arms around her and a hand pulling her head into a shoulder. She buried her face and bawled, arms hanging limply at her sides under those which encircled her.

“What's the matter, Mary?” It was Aaron's voice.

She jerked up and reached for her apron pocket, but there was no handkerchief there, so she raised the apron and wiped her nose and face with it.

“You shouldn't b-be h-holding me li-like this out here,” she choked in huffs. He turned her loose but kept his hand lightly on her shoulders as she struggled to clean up her face.

“You shouldn't be crying, either, so we're both doing what we shouldn't.”

“I couldn't he-help it. The dumb chickens spilled their water again.”

He took the pan from where she'd put it, far from where the water had been falling, and, cen
tering it beneath the pump's mouth, began pumping.

“Spilled water shouldn't make you cry like this. What's wrong, Mary?”

She watched his feet.

“Everything's wrong,” she said, hoping he'd stay his distance instead of touching her again. It had felt too good the first time.

“I know—and it's my fault,” he admitted. “I can see you feel caught in the middle between Jonathan and me. I'm sorry, Mary. I mean to talk to Jonathan about it and somehow see our way clear of this situation. I've put it off because it may mean leaving this place, and this isn't a time of year the farm could stand that without suffering a loss.”

“No, Aaron. You mustn't talk to Jonathan about this at all.” She looked up at him then with her swollen eyes, and it was like a soothing balm to see his face, filled with concern for her. “Just let it go, Aaron. There's no other way.” But the look on his face told her Aaron didn't want to let it go.

She was sure by now of her pregnancy and also that the baby was Aaron's, but she feared that by revealing it she might force him to leave, just as before. That thought was unbearable, yet she knew that the fact of her pregnancy bound her even tighter to Jonathan, for now there was even more disgrace to be suffered from leaving her husband. If she were to do that, everyone would guess that the child was Aaron's.

All these thoughts were upon her as she looked at Aaron. She thought of a life with his baby, but without him, and the misery of it was
reflected in her eyes, which welled once again with tears.

“Don't, Mary…don't,” he pleaded, seeing her tears. He felt like a puppet who'd made a careless move and entangled itself in its own strings. “You're tearing me apart. If you don't stop, I swear I'll grab you again and kiss you right here before God and my brother both.”

She knew if she didn't control her tears he'd make good his threat—his promise—so she got the upper hand over her tears again, but still looked bruised. She realized the injustice of her withholding from Aaron her precious secret. Whatever it cost her, she must tell him and tell him first before Jonathan. It was the only consolation she had to offer him.

She looked quickly toward the barn, but it was quiet, the cats sitting outside the door. Oh, please, God! Don't let Jonathan come out yet, she thought before looking up at his brother, hoping that her face revealed the depth of feeling she had for him.

“What I have to tell you is the most important thing in the world to us, Aaron, but the most painful.”

He took a turn glancing down at the barn before turning a puzzled, questioning look at her.

She drew in a ragged breath and tried to erase the strain from her face so that his memory of her telling him would not be grim.

“Aaron, I'm going to have a baby.”

She caught the full impact of his surprise as his mouth dropped open at the same instant Jonathan emerged from the barn with two milk pails. Aaron looked thunderstruck but struggled
to regain a casual countenance as Jonathan approached. But it didn't work. Aaron had been gone from the barn long enough that Jonathan had guessed something was amiss. Mary picked up her chicken water and hurried away toward the coop, thinking she was fleeing like a coward, but unable to stop herself. Aaron was left to fill the void hanging between himself and his brother.

“I meant to come back down, but Mary needed a little help with the chickens and geese. Sorry, Jonathan.”

“Yup. It's all done now, anyway,” answered Jonathan, heading for the house, leaving Aaron there alone to damn the poor timing, which had cut Mary away from him again, and at the most inopportune moment.

For several days, no chance came up for Aaron to question Mary. It wasn't a conversation to be picked up with the risk of interruption, or with the risk of being observed.

The work that Jonathan did, Aaron did beside him, so they were together most of the days. The wild hay was cut and left to dry. Tying the hay into bundles in the hot, dry field, Aaron went over and over again the simple statement Mary had made.

Aaron, I'm going to have a baby
. Not “Jonathan's baby”…not “your baby.” Just “a baby.” Would she know whose it was? Was it his own or Jonathan's? If she didn't know whose it was, it would be torture for them all.

Mary had the advantage of knowing who the father was, but it was little consolation, for she was feeling Aaron's confusion as keenly as he,
and was impatient to answer his unasked question. Her impatience was compounded by her wish to be able to tell Aaron that Jonathan hadn't sought her out in bed since his return. She truly didn't understand why he hadn't, but knew it wouldn't be long before he did again.

She felt compelled to tell Aaron the entire truth before she broached the subject with Jonathan. If this should be impossible, Mary would feel a kind of disloyalty toward Aaron. This was what confused her, for in her heart she knew Aaron could never claim the baby outright. Yet Jonathan would, even knowing it wasn't his. Why, then, the disloyalty toward Aaron? Shouldn't she feel it toward her husband, instead?

Jonathan was the only contented one of the group. Harvesting any crop always filled him with a sense of fulfillment, and this year the taking of the wild hay meant a new pasture for Vinnie to forage in.

 

Vinnie.

Yes, Vinnie was the bright spot in Jonathan's life. Not a day went by without his stopping by the wild hay to admire the bull and play the imaginary game of watching a hayfield filled with Vinnie's pure-black offspring fattening for market. When the bull caught the flicker of any motion, his head came up and his red eyes followed the movements as he stood dead still. The alert pose was accented by the breadth of his powerful body, which was growing fast in the rich, nurturing Minnesota summer. Vinnie's stance would be held until Jonathan neared the fence. Then his natural curiosity would take
over, and he'd approach the fence with an unblinking eye, studying the familiar man. The man and the bull would stand eye to eye, at ease with each other while they carried on a conversation.

“Hey, big boy, you're lookin' fine. Come on over.” And Jonathan held a clump of fresh, long grass invitingly toward Vinnie.

But the bull took his time, studying the man, listening to his soft, low voice.

“Come on, now, it's the least you can do to step over to the fence after I come clear down here to see you.”

The bull relented, made a low grunt, flared his nostrils, and stepped nonchalantly toward the proffered grass.

Jonathan scratched Vinnie's face, enjoying the grinding sound as the bull scratched the grass.

“You like that good stuff, huh? Good. You just eat to your heart's content because we gotta grow you up and get you breedin'. Any breedin' to be done around here's gotta be done by you, you know. There won't be any done by me. But it don't matter, Vinnie…” And after a long, quiet pause, the bull's head jerked a little as if he wondered why the man had grown quiet. Jonathan seemed to hear the bull's question.