She returned with her pailful. Karl dug a hollow, stood back while she poured water in, then knelt on one knee to replace the herb and tamp moist earth upon its roots with the sole of his big foot. Above him, Anna grasped the rope handle of the wooden bucket with both hands, mesmerized by the sight of his bare back and the shallows of his spine diving into the back of his pants. He'd been hewing in the sun before he came over; his shoulders gleamed with a film of sweat. The hair at the back of his neck was wet, curling in rebellion at the heat. He stood up, took the pail from her, lifted it and drank deeply, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "I must get back to my hewing."
She wished she could help with hewing instead of poking potato peelings into the ground. At the same time, it was disconcerting being near Karl today. It was probably a good thing, their working separately.
The sun wore low and the pigeons began moving again. The day cooled slightly as the birds fluttered to the edges of the clearing, then to the roof of the springhouse with throaty clucks and soothing coos. At the spring the chipping sparrows dipped their rust caps for an evening drink. Barn swallows swooped out across the open, darting in blue-gray flashes on their evening pursuit of bugs, cutting sharply to scatter the gray haze of gnats. Dragonflies left the potato blossoms, disappearing somewhere to fold away their jaconet wings for the night. The inchworms gave up their incessant measuring of the cabbage plants, flexed their backs one last time and disappeared within the leaves where the hungry birds wouldn't find them.
Karl, too, flexed his back one last time. The ash handle of his axe slid through his palm and he scanned the first tier of logs, which lay now in place. Anna had gone from the garden to the springhouse.
"Well, boy, what do you think?"
"I think I'm tired."
"Too tired to take a walk to the clay pit?"
"Where is it?"
"Up along the creek a little ways. We need fresh clay to seal up the kiln."
"Sure, I'll come with you, Karl."
"Good. Ask your sister if she wants to come along, too. And tell her to bring an empty pail from the springhouse."
James thought Karl could have asked Anna as easily as not, but the two had acted strangely standoffish all day long as if they'd had a tiff or something. Anyway, James called, "Hey, Anna, Karl says do you wanna come with us to get clay!"
She turned from latching the springhouse door. Karl was standing just behind James, watching her.
"Tell Karl yes," she called back.
"He says to bring a pail."
She went back in to get it.
Anna carried the bucket, James the spade and Karl the rifle. Karl led the way, explaining, "The pheasants are feeding now, filling their crops with gravel along the creek bank. I want you behind me if I flush one up." Both he and Anna remembered how he'd missed that sitting target this morning.
They walked in single file along the worn footpath to the creek. But halfway there they overtook a sluggish porcupine headed the same place they were. He waddled along unconcernedly on stout, bowed legs, sniffing his way with a flat nose until he realized he had company. Then, giving a warning snort, he tucked his head between his front feet and brandished his tail, protecting his barbless little belly.
"Give this fellow wide berth," Karl warned, leading the way around the quilled rodent. "It pays to remember we share the woods with him and he likes the salt from a man's hands. He is the reason why I always teach you to hang up our axe at the end of the day. He will eat up the sweaty handle in short time if you let him. It takes a man some time to fashion his axe handle."
They continued walking and came to where the yellow clay lay thickly at the feet of the willows. There were countless footprints in it. Intrigued, James at once knelt, asking what they all were. He and Karl squatted a long time, inspecting the markings while Karl patiently identified each one. Raccoon, skunk, mouse, otter, long-clawed porcupine. But no rabbit or woodchuck, for they, Karl said, needed only the moisture they took in with the dew-laden leaves of early morning. At last Karl had satisfied all of James' questions. They filled the pail with clay and started back through the emerald caress of the forest light.
When they returned to the clearing, they found the kiln aglow with hardwood coals, which Karl scooped out, leaving only the heated brick radiating within. After the loaves were inserted, he quickly sealed the opening, packing it with handfuls of damp clay, smoothing, shaping, watering, then smoothing again, with the thick yellow rivulets oozing between his fingers, running down the backs of his hands.
There was something sensual about the sight and Anna could not tear her eyes away. She was reminded again of the many times she'd watched his hands stroke the horses, and of the night he had fondled her breast. Something wild and liquid and surging happened within her as she stood above and behind Karl's shoulder, watching the task he performed. She looked down at the back of his neck, his shoulders, which shifted sinuously as he made wide circles on the new kiln wall he was building. She remembered the salt of him upon her tongue from the droplet she had taken from his temple.
Suddenly, Karl swiveled around to glance up at Anna from his hunkered pose. He watched her face turn the color of ripe watermelon, and quickly she looked aside, then down at her own hands with dirt from the gardening still imbedded beneath the nails.
A thrill of anticipation shot through Karl, and he turned to give the kiln one last pat. "We will open it in the morning and there will be fresh bread for our breakfast."
"That sounds good," Anna said, but her face had not faded yet, and she studied the barn wall across the way.
Karl stood up and stretched. "Probably every Indian for ten miles will be here, too. They can smell that bread baking clear across forty acres."
"Really?" James put in excitedly. "I like the Indians. Can we go swimming now?"
Karl answered the boy, but watched his wife. "Anna is afraid of snakes since I mentioned the timber rattlers."
"No I'm not!" she quickly interjected. "Yes, I am, but ... I mean ... well, let's go. I'm full of the garden anyway."
Karl controlled an impulse to smile. Nothing made Anna react like a challenge thrown her way. He watched her face carefully while he noted, "And I am full of our kiln." But she swung around, away from him, and he could not tell if she still blushed or not.
"Let's go then!" James said, leading the way.
An honest sense of shyness had sprung up between Karl and Anna now. It heightened their anticipation as well as their apprehension at the coming of night.
Whatever must James be thinking? Anna worried, knowing exactly how stilted she and Karl had acted toward each other most of the day. But there was no cure for it. James was given to think whatever he might. But in a way James became the blessing Father Pierrot had predicted. For while they talked to him, they communicated through him.
As is often true with breathless lovers, it was not the things they did say that mattered, but those they didn't.
"I've never seen a timber rattler at this time of evening. They hunt for food during the day, and they are not swimmers."
"I'm not the one who's worried about them, Karl. Anna is."
"If I thought there was danger, we would not be going to the pond."
"James, slow down! You're walking too fast!"
"It's not me, it's Karl. Slow down, Karl! Anna can't keep up."
"Oh, was I hurrying?"
"Hey, Anna! Come on out here in the deep part with us!"
"No, not tonight."
"How come?"
"I'm going to wash my hair instead."
"Wash your hair! But you always said you hated that lardy soap!"
"Leave your sister alone, boy."
"You shaving again, Karl? You shaved once this morning."
"Leave him alone, James."
"Man! I'm starved after that swim! Pass me the stew."
"Sure ... here."
"Hey, how come you two ain't eating tonight?"
"I'm not very hungry."
"Me either."
"Hey, Anna, you sure been quiet all day."
"Have I?"
"Seems like it. How come?"
"I pulled up Karl's comfrey and I think he's disgusted with me."
"Is that why you two are mad at each other?"
"I am not mad at her."
"I'm not mad at him."
"Help your sister clean up the supper things, James. She's had a hard day."
"So have I!"
"Just do as I say, James."
"I'll see to the horses."
"What in the world is there to see to out there when they're all put away for the night?"
"Leave Karl alone, James."
"Well, heck, I just asked is all."
"Get your bed ready, okay?"
In the barn, Karl lit his pipe, but it lay fragrantly forgotten in his hand.
"Hello, Belle. Just came to say goodnight." Karl stroked the heavy neck and mane, running the coarse hairs through his fingers until Belle turned her giant head curiously. "What do you think, old girl? Do you think she's ready for bed by now?"
Belle blinked slow, there in the dark. But tonight, her presence and Bill's soothed Karl less than usual.
"Ah, well ..." the man sighed. "Goodnight you two." He gave them each a pat on the rump, then walked slowly to the house. He took the latchstring in his fingers. He paused thoughtfully, then turned to the wash-bench and cleaned the smell of the horses from his hands.
Back inside, Karl found James still up. Time moved like the soft-shelled snails on a dewy morning. Anna brushed her hair, while James seemed more interested than ever in erecting log walls. His questions went on interminably. Karl answered them all, but finally arose and raised his elbows in the air, twisting at the waist and yawning most convincingly.
"Don't tell me," James warned Karl, "tomorrow is another day ... I know! But I don't feel sleepy at all."
Anna's stomach flipped sideways. "Well, Karl is. And he can't entertain you here all night, so get to bed, little brother."
At last James hit the floor.
"I will bank the coals," Karl said. He knelt, heard the lid of the trunk squeak behind him and stayed where he was, poking at the fire, fiddling until finally the cornhusks spoke.
Karl stood up, pulled his shirttails out, stepped over James' feet and slipped into the deep shadows cast upon his and Anna's bed. Karl wondered if the hammering of his heart might make the ropes creak. Surely a commotion like the one inside him would rock the world!
His entire life had come to this, to lying beside this woman, this girl, this virgin; and his Papa had taught him well and fully how to be a man in this world in all ways but this. Papa had given him a deep and abiding respect for women, but beyond that, little more. From his older brothers Karl had gathered that this aspect of marriage was distasteful to some women, chiefly because it brought them pain, especially the first time. How to make this pleasant for her, this was what Karl wondered. How to lead her slowly, how to soothe her. What is Anna thinking, lying over there so still? Did she put that nightgown on? Don't be asinine, man, of course she put it on! It is no different tonight. Oh, yes it is! How long have I been lying here like a quaking schoolboy?
"Come here," Anna heard him whisper, and felt him raise his arm to put around her. She lifted her head and his arm slipped close, gathered her in and passed downward along her back. Softly, he rubbed in ever-widening circles through her nightgown. Shivers danced along her spine. Fleetingly, he hesitated at the base of her spine, moved again in gentle motions until he felt her relax a little. Deftly, he had rolled her onto her side until her ear was pressed upon his biceps.
Within her head resounded her own thumping heart. How long had she lain stiffly on her back, telling her locked muscles to relax? Now, slowly, his hand began to achieve what her will had not. Close your mouth, she told herself, or he will hear you breathing like a jackrabbit and know how scared you are. But breathing through her nose was worse. And so when Karl's lips touched hers, they were already parted.
He pulled her fully into his kiss. Her lips were soft and seeking. Halfway through the kiss he swallowed. Fool, he thought! Surely the boy heard you swallow clear over there! Saliva pooled in his mouth and he was forced to swallow again. But when Anna, too, swallowed, Karl quit worrying about it. And the problem took care of itself.
One-armed he'd captured her, rolled her toward him so her hands rested lightly upon his chest. As the kiss lingered and lengthened, her fingers timidly began to move, as if she'd only now realized his skin lay beneath them. She glided lightly over the silken hairs she'd so often seen in the sun. It felt like thistledown, so softly textured in contrast to the firm muscle from which it sprang. Her tiny movements set his senses on edge, awakening nerves he'd not guessed he possessed. Inadvertently, she brushed his nipple, quickly passing it by. He captured her hand to place it again where the touch had brought pleasing sensations. Again her fingers fanned his chest in butterfly movements of encouragement, while she wondered what it was he waited for.