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long summer rains, the events of the last two days had sprouted out of nowhere, growing so fast they seemed to close around Aaron. He was angered because they’d grown out of his control.
    It didn’t help when Aaron recalled all the remarks he’d made last night to Mary, remarks that echoed now with implication he’d absolutely not intended.
    â€œNature’s been giving me a hell of a time lately. It takes two to do a lot of things. A man’s needs can sometimes be greater than his common sense.” Did I really say all those things to Mary, he thought. The memory of how he’d let his foolish tongue run wild blistered his conscience now, creating bubbles of fear, fear that Mary might somehow mistake his intentions, especially after all that was just said in the house.
    He knew both Jonathan and Mary understood the reason he’d left the farm for the city two years before. He’d gone to give them privacy, hoping they’d accomplish in his absence what hadn’t happened while he lived with them. Feeling like the outsider in his own house, he’d left it to them, gone to that miserable city to work in sweatshops among strangers, giving Jonathanand Mary time alone. But nothing had come of it, and after a year Jonathan had written, asking him to come back home. It was a two-man farm. They’d made it so after their pa died. In his absence, Mary had worked in his place. But she was a small woman, city-bred, and much as she loved the country, she never did take to field work. They all knew it was hard on her. And Jonathan wanted Aaron to come back, and so did Mary, he wrote. Aaron had come, and gladly—leaving behind the hated city and carrying with him the memory he now ruefully referred to as “the time I went to town.”
    Now the memory came back to Aaron, and with it the threat that he might have to leave the farm again. Surely there’d be no living together as they had before. Why, he couldn’t sleep in the house tonight! Not on the other side of their bedroom wall!
    So Aaron climbed to the haymow, still simmering. But the hay was nearly all gone from the loft, and what was left lent small comfort, compacted as it was from months of winter storage. He was exhausted after the long day yesterday at the Volences’, the turmoils of tonight, and last night’s arguments. When the heat of his anger cooled somewhat, he was left in the comfortless barn, tired and cold, and he finally gave in and returned to the house and his room, sleeping like a drugged man, worn beyond caring who was on the other side of the wall.
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    When Mary came back to the house, it was dim and still. Jonathan had left a lantern in the niche at the bottom of the stairs. There was nowhere for her to go except to bed, but she wouldn’t take the lantern up. She couldn’t face Jonathan yet, even in the dimmest lantern light.
    She blew out the flame and made her way up the dark stairwell, hoping he would be asleep. But the house was old and dry, and it creaked, signaling to Jonathan she was coming.
    He lay very still, with his arms folded under his head, watching her come in and change into her nightgown in the moonlight. She brushed out her hair and braided it, taking an endlessly long time. His heart beat out the minutes until she finally climbed over the foot of the bed to her place between him and the wall.
    It had always been a spot where she’d felt such security, with Jonathan there on the outside, but tonight she felt trapped in it, held there by Jonathan’s elbows, which loomed just above her pillow. She knew he wasn’t asleep, but hoped he’d say nothing. When he spoke quietly in the dark, she jumped, realizing how tense she’d been.
    â€œMary?”
    She didn’t answer.
    â€œWhere’d you go?”
    â€œJust walking.”
    â€œYou gave me a scare, being gone so long.”
    â€œI didn’t think you’d miss me if I didn’t