“May I help you, sir?” the chipmunk chirped.
“How much for this gramophone?” Aaron inquired.
“This, sir,” the mustache twitched, “is the newest Edison grrraph-o-phone.” The little man enunciated each syllable, rolling the r’s like an outraged pedagogue.
“How much for this Edison grrraph-o-phone?” Aaron repeated, rolling his r’s, too, superbly, but with a smile twitching his cheek.
“The device sells for a mere nine dollars.” But as the chipmunk said it, the music wound down and he had to crank the handle to speed up the singing voices until they, too, sounded like chipmunks before settling once again to a human cadence.
The little man ruffled at Aaron’s open amusement, but relaxed when Aaron said, “I’ll take one anyway, and some records to go with it.” The salesman scurried away to find a carton for the purchase, looking even more like a chipmunk in his brown, striped suit.
Aaron also bought a pair of soft kid gloves for Jonathan and a length of white organdy for Mary. For himself he bought a heavy, warm sheepskin jacket, spending a sizable lump of his earnings but enjoying it.
When Aaron at last boarded the train he was weighted down with packages like many of the other homeward-bound holiday travelers. It was hard to contain his excitement amid the babble of voices around him. But darkness passed the train window and he thought of the two who waited for him at home. He pictured the rolling, snow-covered hills, the contrast of black tree trunks against them. The yard, the house, the barn—all the familiar, loved scenes lulled him to sleep along with the clacking of the rails beneath him.
Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve, and still no word from Aaron. Every day, when the mail carrier came without a letter, it was hard to keep the disappointment from showing. Mary was preparing dried fruits for her Christmas hoska when she heard the chug of the mail car coming over the hill. She finished chopping the last few cherries, then went to fetch a jacket. She was reaching for the door when it opened and there stood Aaron. His face was red and snowburned, but he wore a huge smile as he threw his bedroll inside and followed it to scoop Mary up in an engulfing hug, booming, “Merry Christmas!”
She was so stunned she could only give herself over to the bear hug, stammering, “Aaron, where did you come from?”
“I came from Dakota!” he laughed, swinging her around in his exuberant hug while she struggled to push out of it and look at him.
“But how did you get here?”
He finally released her and answered while he leaned to pull a large carton in from the porch, “I rode the milk train and caught a ride in the mail car—and here I am!” As he finished, he knocked the door shut with the heavy box.
“Milk train? Mail car?” She couldn’t believe it yet. “Why didn’t you write and have Jonathan pick you up?”
“And spoil a good surprise?” His booming, exuberant mood was infectious. She still had a surprised gape on her face, and he reached out a finger and pushed her chin up, saying, “Good thing it’s not summer or the flies would get in there.”
Her mouth closed then, but it took on a scolding pout while she shook her finger at him as if he were a naughty schoolboy. But she couldn’t fool him, and she couldn’t hold a straight face. They eyed each other, snickering; then their merriment grew and blossomed into rich, free laughter. Aaron hooted unabashedly at just being home again.
When they stilled a bit, they looked each other over, noting the changes the last two months had made.
With a little raise of the eyebrows and a perfectly calm expression, Aaron surveyed her rounded shape. “Well…look at you.”
She spread her hands on her belly as if measuring its growth, shrugged her shoulders, and smiled. “Big, huh?”
He nodded. “But pretty as ever.”
“Oh, I don’t know about pretty,” she corrected. “Clumsy and slow, but not too pretty anymore.”
He laughed at her description as he shrugged out of his jacket. She noticed it was new as she reached for it automatically to put it away.
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 mushrooming 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 deflate 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 transformed 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 necessary 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 pungent 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. Normally, 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 miniature 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 momentarily 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 moment 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 anywhere, 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 before. 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 exhilaration. He’d been unsure if it was wise to give it to her in front of Aaron, but seeing Aaron’s relaxed pose and smile, he was glad now that he’d done it. It seemed like another barrier safely crossed.
“All right, enough now, Mary.” He stopped her and pointed to Aaron’s carton. “Maybe Aaron will let you look inside that thing now.”
Aaron rose from the sofa, hiding his morose reflections behind a smile, and pulled the carton into the middle of the floor. “Who wants to do the honors?”
Mary was kneeling beside him in a minute, all grinning and eager. Aaron gave her the go-ahead with a wave of his open hand, indicating the carton. He winked at Jonathan as they watched her pull it open, voice high with excitement as she asked, “Oh, Aaron, what did you get?”
When she got to the last layer of enveloping cardboard and pulled it back, she sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with her hands in surprise as she exclaimed, “A gramophone! Aaron brought a gramophone!”
“Not quite,” Aaron corrected. “I was told it was an Edison grrraphophone!” And he rolled the words off his tongue, imitating the salesman. “I bought it from a chipmunk! And he made it very clear that only an idiot would call it anything else.”
He described the fussy, brown-striped gent and his haughty treatment. They all laughed and repeated the word “grrraapho-phone” over and over while they examined the records, the knobs, and the crank on the machine. They played all the records. There were two Strauss waltzes, the Christmas carol Aaron had first heard playing, and a Sousa march. They took turns cranking the machine as it needed it, laughing when it slowed to a distorted growl. The music wound down, then back up. Mary wanted to dance.
“Aw, you dance with Aaron,” Jonathan dissented. “You know I’m not much for it.”
So she and Aaron spun a few slow circles around the room, leaning and swooping exaggeratedly as if they were in a Vienna ballroom while Jonathan shook his head, enjoying their antics. Aaron bowed at the end of the dance, and Mary curtsied, holding her dress away from her bulging sides.
“Thank you Mrs. Gray,” Aaron said.
“Likewise, Mr. Gray,” she laughed. “Ahhh,” she sighed as she sunk down tiredly into a chair, “what a gift you brought, Aaron. But it wore me right out.”
“I guess we all need some rest. Tomorrow we can celebrate some more,” Jonathan said.
“Why don’t you two go up and I’ll bank the coals and fill the w
oodbox?” Aaron said, then watched Jonathan lead Mary toward the stairway.
When they got there, Mary turned toward Aaron again. “Merry Christmas, Aaron,” she said.
“You, too,” he answered.
On their way up the steps, she said to Jonathan, “It was the best Christmas ever, I think.”
“Are you glad to have Aaron home?” Jonathan asked.
“Oh, yes,” she answered, and she reached behind her to take Jonathan’s hand.
Downstairs, the door closed as Aaron went out to the woodpile.
18
There were many small preparations to fill Mary’s last weeks before the baby was due. She hemmed flannel for diapers, made small blankets and buntings, prepared the necessary rigging for the cradle, and completed the baby’s layette with the clothing she thought it would need.
In the evenings during these longest nights of the year, they all sat around the kitchen table with bags of washed goosefeathers beside their chairs. Feather-stripping was a tedious job, but it brought in good money when they sent the feathers off to a buyer in Chicago. Perfect goose-down brought a tidy price with little work, but the larger, coarser feathers had to be stripped, drawn between thumb and forefinger to take off the fine, soft fuzz, leaving the bare quill to be discarded. As the nights wore on, Mary would rise from her chair more and more often, bracing a hand against her back, arching it to remove the cramps of discomfort before returning to the feather-stripping. She seemed to grow extra inches daily, and the men never left her alone for long now. When it was necessary to go to town, Aaron went alone, leaving Jonathan home with Mary.
The only hint of discord among them came when Aaron returned from town one day in late January. He’d had time to ponder during his ride. Lately there’d been times when they all sat around the table and his eyes would wander to Mary’s girth, seeing for himself the commotion of the baby within her. Her belly at times heaved in ballooning fashion under her dress as the child shifted and rolled. She would hitch herself up on the chair then, tightening her stomach muscles to still the action within. He’d catch himself wondering if it must not hurt her, but she never complained.