The Fulfillment by Lavyrle Spencer

“Breakfast is all ready.”
    The men never washed until after chores, and they did it at the kitchen sink, stripping off their shirts while they did. The kitchen range and the sink were side by side on the north wall. Usually, while Mary took up the food, Aaron was beside her, washing. But today he left his shirt on, opened up the front, and washed himself inside it, suddenly self-conscious with her moving about right there beside him. When he came to the table his shirt had damp, uncomfortable spots where he’d gotten it wet.
    â€œAre you spreading today, Jonathan?” she asked, passing him a bowl of fried potatoes.
    And Jonathan was forced at last to talk.
    â€œIt’s thawed. It’s ready to spread.”
    â€œHave some side pork, Aaron.” She thrust the platter toward him. “Which field are you starting with?” She looked directly at him, forcing him to answer in an everyday way.
    â€œI suppose the south ten.” They always fertilized the south ten first, but Aaron knew what she was up to, and to make it easier on her, he added, “Right, Jonathan?”
    Jonathan looked briefly at his brother, nodded his assent, and answered, “Yup, the south ten.”
    It was a start, anyway.
    â€œBefore you go out there, will one of you fetch me the big crock from the shed? I need it for the pork today,” Mary said.
    They answered at once:
    â€œSure, Mary.”
    â€œYup.”
    She quelled the irritation that rose in her stomach as they glanced at each other hesitantly across the table.
    â€œThank you, Jonathan.” She settled that.
    They went out after breakfast, putting on boots at the back porch step and heading off across the yard. Jonathan returned with the crock she needed, then left again. During the day she’d catch sight of them at times out in the barnyard where the frozen pile of manure was thawed enough to use. They need time to thaw, too, she thought, watching them pitch together, filling the spreader before it disappeared out to the field again. She wondered what they had to say to each other, but when they were out of sight she returned to her pork. It took her mind off them for a while, anyway.
    Pork was their mainstay. It was butchered in the fall, after the freezing weather had settled in for good. The frozen pieces were stored in a wooden barrel on the north side of the house until the weather warmed enough that it mightspoil. Then, what remained was fried down slowly until its fat rendered and could be poured around the meat again, preserving it for the warm months ahead.
    Mary worked with the pork all during the day, packing the crock until it was full to the top. The house reeked, and in the afternoon she opened the windows and the back door to let the spring breeze freshen it.
    She could hear Jonathan whistling somewhere outside and knew his spirits must be lighter than they had been that morning. The first field work usually did that to him, made him more alive than at any other time of year. She and Aaron sometimes teased Jonathan about his whistling, telling him the robins wouldn’t return until they heard him. It was just a thing Jonathan did. The feelings he couldn’t put into words, he warbled in his tunes.
    All day, Mary felt herself caught in the middle between Jonathan and Aaron. When they came in for supper, the crock was sitting on the floor, all packed with fried-down pork and fat. When she tried to lift it, they both offered to help. Aaron ended up doing it. Why had such small favors suddenly taken on the hint of chivalry? It had never mattered before who helped her do small things.
    At supper, Aaron flinched when he reached for the sugar bowl at the same time she did. She pretended not to notice.
    â€œTomorrow I aim to get this grease smell aired out of here,” she said. “I think we can get along without the heater stove in the front room. If you two would move it out, I’d do it all properly andgive the