LaVyrle Spencer - The fulfillment

And what did Aaron think? Riding through that April morning, taking Priscilla home in her father's rig, he recog- nized how deeply he'd settled himself into her family. He was so comfortable with them all that it seemed as if he were already a part of them. Maybe that was why his hackles rose when he thought of marriage. It seemed he and Pris had never had the chance to think about marrying before every- body in the township had the knot tied for them.

He admitted that he'd given Pris more than enough reason to expect his proposal. They'd been constant companions for the last year, and once, but only once, they'd been more. Granted she'd given in to him only once. But that was enough to build her assumptions on. The memory of that encounter didn't set lightly on Aaron. He knew she wasn't the type to dally with every young buck in the county. Indeed, he'd been her first. And just because that was true, Aaron felt a responsibility toward Pris. But it made him feel he was being forced toward marriage. And he simply wasn't ready for marriage.

Still, habits are hard to break, and spending time with Pris wasn't exactly a hardship. She was pretty, she lived close by, and they had fun together. So here he was again, headed down to her place to while away a Sunday, driving her pa's rig like he'd already married into it!

None of the others in Pris's family had gone to church that day. Agnes, her mother, was due with her fifth baby. Coming up the rise now where his own driveway angled off to the left, Aaron asked, "You want to go straight home today, or should we have breakfast with Jonathan and Mary?" "It's best I get straight back," Pris answered. "Ma will need help with the meal and all."

From behind them Jonathan saw Aaron's hand wave a farewell. The lead rig continued over the crest of the hill to- ward the Volence place, which lay a quarter mile beyond, at the bottom of the hill. "Looks like they're not stopping for breakfast," Jonathan observed.

Mary watched the dust settle ahead of them, saw the rig disappear over the crest of the hill, and felt a wisp of loneli- ness dim the bright day. She would miss their usual Sunday breakfast together. The house would seem empty. Mary thought about the bustling Volence household with all those kids and didn't blame Aaron for preferring it to their own silent house, which always seemed a little bigger and a little quieter on Sundays. Well, at least she could escape to the garden today, Mary thought, shaking off the bothersome emptiness, but what she said was, "Agnes will be needing help. It's best they didn't stop, anyway."

Newt Volence came charging down the driveway on his stubby six-year-old legs, a-hollering all the way, "Ma's havin' the baby! Ma's havin' the baby!" "You git down to the barn and stay there!" Pris yelled as the rig passed Newt in the dusty gravel. She was down and running to the house before Aaron could bring the rig to a full halt. When he stepped down, Newt was right on his feet, pulling at his hands and hollering, "Do I gotta go to the barn, Aaron, do I? Pris can't make me!" And little drops of spit came flying out where his tongue peeked between his teeth. "Better do like she says, Newt, so you won't be in the way," Aaron said. "She just doesn't want me to hear if Ma does some yellin'."

Aaron laughed and reached down to grab Newt under the arms and hoist him up, astraddle his own waist. "How do you know that?" "Jimmy Martin said his ma did plenty o' hollerin' last time," Newt confided, "and so did Clara when her calf was born."

There was no arguing with that, Aaron decided, and offered to keep Newt company down in the barn with his sister Gracie-for a while, anyway. Cora was sixteen, so it seemed she'd be allowed to remain in the house.

As it turned out, the baby was nowhere near to being born yet. The day lengthened and Aaron stayed, entertaining the young ones, getting news now and then from the house. Clem Volence wandered in and out of the house, and Aaron wondered what a man said to his wife at a time like this. Pris fixed sandwiches when the sun was well past midday and brought them to the barn for Aaron and the kids. She said Aaron needn't stay, but he did. The afternoon dragged on. Finally, near suppertime, she sent Aaron to town to fetch Doc Haymes. Riding past his own place, he saw Mary coming from the hen house clutching an apron full of eggs. He waved and she waved back, stopping to watch him disappear toward town.

On his return trip it was dark outside, but the lights were on at home. The house looked good and he wished he could pull in and stay, but he thought it best to hang around the Volences' until he was sure he wasn't needed any longer.

Doc Haymes wasn't far behind him. Priscilla was relieved when she saw both rigs pull in. "Nothing yet," was all she said before she and the doc went inside, leaving Aaron in the damp chill, uncomfortable and restless.

The barn was warmer, drier, and Aaron found the kids bedded down there, so he joined them, alternately dozing and waking, finding his thoughts hazily reconstructing the memory of Pris and himself, that one time in the hay in the chill of a February night.

Later she came without a lantern, and Aaron awoke at the sound of her entering below. He came down the ladder from the mow. Turning, he nearly bumped into her in the dark- ness.

"Mama had a boy," she whispered. "How are they faring?" "They're both fine." "Is the doc still here?" "No. He offered to give you a lift home, but I fibbed and told him you'd most likely be sleeping the night in the barn. I wanted to talk before you got away. Let's go outside in the air."

He took her hand and led her out into the crisp, glittering night. As he carefully closed the barn door, holding the latch from making its customary click, Pris sighed, a confession of how long the day had been.

Aaron turned and drew her into his arms, pushing her head down until it nestled beneath his chin. "Tired?" he asked.

She moved her head, and it bumped his chin. "But happy." "Yes, I reckon everyone is, now that it's over. Won't Newt be happy he's got a brother?"

She pulled away from him momentarily. "Oh, I should have checked on the kids. Are they all right up there?" "Yes, yes, don't worry over them. They're tuckered, too, and sound asleep." "You know, you didn't have to stay in the barn. Ma just meant for Newt and Gracie to stay out from underfoot." "I was more comfortable out here, too," he admitted. "How did Cora take it?" "Oh, you know Cora…never misses anything. Sixteen and snoopy." Pris laughed, remembering Cora's grown-up at- tempts to be helpful and her undisguised chagrin at the sounds going on in the house. "And you, Pris, what do you think of it all?" Aaron asked, brushing a hand across her cheek, the memories from the hayloft still fresh in his mind. "I guess it's more beautiful every time it happens. I remem- ber when Newt was born, and it was something to treasure. But now that I'm older-of age, you might say-well, it's just about the most beautiful thing there could be. You should have seen Mama and Papa together afterward. I guess there's no time two human beings feel closer than after a birthing." She paused, as if expecting a reply, but when he made none she went on, "Thank you for staying, Aaron. I appreciate your taking to the little ones the way you do and keeping them from underfoot." "I couldn't very well run off without knowing whether it was a boy or a girl, could I?" He leaned back and smiled down at her. "Which would you rather have, Aaron, a boy or a girl?" she asked, and there was a catch in her heart, a moment of uncertainty during which she knew it was a mistake to press Aaron. She sensed his withdrawal. His hand dropped down from her face, where it had been, and the night cooled the skin he'd been touching. "What difference does it make?" There was an edge of annoyance in his words. "Things like that matter to a woman," Pris replied. "She'd like to think they do to her man."