Will exploded, grabbed Jesse by his collar, and yanked him upright.
Mary and the nearest guests backed away.
Will grabbed Jesse’s arm, spun him around, and like a full grain bag, he hoisted him overhead. His mom was right: it had been a terrible mistake to invite Jesse. But how could he not have wanted all his family here?
Jesse flailed as Will raced toward the water tank at the far end of the barn. “Put me down, you bastard! Let go of me!”
Will strode to the water tank and raised Jesse high overhead, then slammed him down so hard that water surged over the curved metal rim and drenched the both of them.
Jesse popped up with a gasp. “You bastard. I hope you’n’ that bitch are miserable.”
No one, not even a drunken brother, would slander his wife. Will grabbed Jesse’s shoulders, pushed him deep into the water, and held him there while he watched the breath slip from Jesse’s foul mouth and bubble to the surface. He’d never again call Mary a vile name.
But Jesse fought back with the strength of a man who knew he might die.
Thomas and Frank raced to catch up. Each grabbed an arm and pulled Will away. “For God’s sake,” Thomas said, “don’t kill him!”
Now as soaked as Jesse, Will brushed water from his hair and eyes as he bent over to catch his breath.
Frank pulled Jesse from the tank. “One of these days your liquor’ll get you killed.”
Jesse gasped for air, tried to respond, but couldn’t get the words out. He pushed Frank away, stared at his brothers the way a wild animal gapes at his tormentors, turned, and staggered down the road.
* * *
“I might have killed my own brother. And on our wedding day.”
Mary leaned forward and kissed him ever so gently.
Will’s anger and embarrassment subsided and he took her in his arms.
Eighteen-year-old Bernie Burns had driven them by car to the Walker House on the edge of Ashley Springs. Mayor Burns’s only son was the spittin’ image of his father, Tommy, and Will knew that his father shamefully spoiled him. A bit taller than Tommy, Bernie had the same freckles, carrot-colored hair, and an easy-going manner.
Bernie would come back in the morning and drive them to Madison, where they planned to honeymoon for the next three days. At first Will rejected Bernie’s offer, but when Bernie said he was going anyhow, needing to pick up legal papers at the state capitol for his father, Will agreed.
They had cancelled the shivaree. Will’s friends who attached tin cans to the Ford sedan’s bumper and wrote “Just Married” on its back window wanted to go ahead with it, but Thomas O’Shaughnessy agreed with Charlie Nesbitt, who said, “There’s been enough excitement already. They need some quiet time. It’s a rough way to start life together.”
Will sat in the big wingback chair, waiting while Mary busied herself in the bathroom. He remembered that Mary had said she loved his gentleness and kindness. He stood, walked to the window, and looked across the terrace, across a lawn of white trillium nestled under red oak and sugar maple trees, a tranquil scene that mocked his recent madness. And when she emerged with her hair pinned into a bun, he said, “I’m still embarrassed about my brutish behavior.”
She walked to him and placed her arms around him. “It’s over, and not much harm was done.” She leaned back and flashed a wan smile. “Lucky it was a big cake. Mother salvaged enough to feed all the guests.”
Will barely remembered that part. “I shouldn’t have asked him there today.” He took Mary in his arms. “Mom warned there’d be trouble, but I didn’t listen. I wanted a new beginning, not just for us, but for Frank and Jesse, too. And I made it worse.”
She reached up and gently stroked his cheek. Lifting his chin, and with a sparkle in her eye, she said, “Maybe there’s more lion here than I know.”
Without further words, she walked Will to the bed, sat him down, opened his suitcase, and removed his nightshirt. She tossed it to him, then turned to her valise. “I’m going to the powder room. When I come out, promise me that you won’t look until I’m under the covers.” She strode to the lavatory door. “And you’d better be ready, my fierce Celtic lion.”
Will slipped between the fresh white sheets and fluffed Mary’s down-filled pillow until it puffed up like a silken balloon. He thought about his young bride’s body, a body that drove him wild every time he was with her. A slim and lithe body — but plump, too, in all the right places. The more he thought, the more excited he got, and the earlier events faded from his mind. He was about to explode by the time the light bulb darkened and he heard footsteps approach the bed.
“Are you in here?” Mary said as she lifted the top sheet.
Will raised the sheet all the way for Mary to slide in beside him. He reached for her and held her close. “You can’t know how I’ve looked forward to this night,” he said. “How I’ve wanted to touch and hold you. Wanted you next to me.”
“You might be surprised at what I know, my dear.” She touched her lips to his, and they kissed long and hard.
The night flowed toward morning. The wonder and excitement surpassed Will’s greatest expectations for their first night together, exceeded his most passionate fantasies he had on those hot nights when he lay alone in his bed. They lay together, absorbing the warmth of the moment. They talked about their future, about children, about Mary’s students and her hopes for their futures. They chatted about Will’s business, its blossoming prospects, and his life on the farm. But not once did they say the names Frank or Jesse.
* * *
Bernie knocked on their door at ten o’clock. “I didn’t want to come too early,” he said, “didn’t know what pool I’d wade into.” He laughed.
Mary didn’t bat an eye. Will knew she was accustomed to her student’s wise cracks.
“And you can wade right back out,” she said as she pointed to two fully-packed suitcases, “with those suitcases in hand.”
The drive to Madison would take two hours, but there was no hurry. They couldn’t check into their hotel until afternoon. Will felt like money, with a chauffeur in front and Mary beside him in back. He described the farmland as they rode along. “Looks like a good year for corn,” he said. “It’ll be knee high by the Fourth for sure.”
“By the Fourth of July?” Mary said.
“That’s what they like now, but I tell you, the day will come when it’ll be taller.”
Bernie hollered back, “How so? Are they going to stretch the stalks? Besides, what difference does it make?”
“They’ll not stretch anything, Bernie. You’re taller than your dad. It’s that food you stuff down your gullet.”
“They’ll push meat and potatoes up those stalks?” Bernie laughed. “I like mine mashed, with lots of butter.”
“They’ll add nutrients to the soil, more nitrogen and phosphorus, and other minerals, too. They’re experimenting all the time over in Iowa.”
“Oh, Will,” Mary called out. “Look at those sheep. They all have jackets.”
And they did. A hundred sheep in the field, all with cloaks tied around them.
“Why would they do that?” Mary said. “I’ve never seen them with jackets before.”
“Farming practices are changing. It’s still cool weather and sheep catch cold after they’re sheared, but you don’t see cloaks very often. Not many farmers change their ways.”
“You sure know farming, Will,” Bernie said. “Sounds like you miss it.”
“Yeah,” Will said as he turned away from the pastoral scene.
“I’m glad we don’t have to go home for milking tonight,” Mary said. “Most of my boys could be good students if they didn’t miss so many days working in the fields. It’s a pity to sell one’s future so cheaply.”
Will knew she was right. Farm boys missed far too much school, but he still felt like he’d been punched in the belly. He had never heard Mary talk this way before, but it didn’t matter now. So he said nothing.
When they got near Madison, Will directed Bernie to the square, toward the Baldwin Hotel. It’s on West Johnson, I think.” He turned to Mary. “It’s a small hotel, but the rooms are comfortable.”
Mary raised an eyebrow.
Will felt his face warm. “That’s what I’m told. Never been there though.”
“I hope it’s heated,” Mary said. “I hope they’ll keep it warm.”
Will leaned toward her and whispered, “We’ll provide our own heat.” But he must have been too loud because he heard Bernie laugh.
“Mind your manners!” Will shouted forward.
Mary harrumphed and said, “I’ve slapped more than one ear that couldn’t mind its own business.”
“But, Miss, I was just sitting here,” Bernie said, but his complaint went unanswered.
“Baldwin Hotel, 1902” was printed across the circular half-silo that seemed to hang unsupported above the entry door.
“How does that stay up?” Mary said as she stepped from the car. “I hope our rooms aren’t in there.”
Will was hesitant to tell her they were, that he had asked for the room that hung out front where they could look up West Johnson or down State Street.
“I’m sure it’s safe enough,” he said. “It’s hung there thirteen years, so it won’t fall now. It must be cantilevered or something. Looks strong enough to me. Doesn’t it to you, Bernie?”
“I don’t know,” Bernie said. “It looks a bit shaky to me.”
Mary shuddered and looked away.
“Bernie, whose side are you on?” Will said.
Bernie broke into a broad smile. “It’s brick, Miss, and only two stories high. A Kansas twister won’t shake your bed.” He glanced toward Will. “You’ll sleep like two bugs in a rug, and if you don’t, it’s not the building you’ll be blamin’.” He laughed again.
Bernie turned back to his car and Will and Mary walked through the lobby and up one flight to their room. “Oh, the view is wonderful,” Mary said. “I can see Lake Mendota out one window and the capitol square out the other side.” She turned to Will. “Can we walk around the capitol? I’ve ridden around the square, but I’ve never walked it. I’ve always wanted to look into the capitol rotunda. I’ve shown pictures to my students, and it looks beautiful, but I’ve never seen it. I can’t wait to see it.” She grabbed Will’s hand and pulled him toward the door.
“Slow down, my dear. Let me get my coat, and you better take yours. The wind will be cold off the water.”
They walked up State Street toward the capitol square. “Madison is set among four lakes,” Will said. “Lake Mendota,” he pointed, “off to your left, Lake Monona on the other side of the square, Lake Kegonsa, and Lake Waubesa. It’s a beautiful city.”
“Maybe so,” Mary said, “but it’s the capital city through subterfuge, you know.”
“I know it could have been in Southwest Wisconsin, but it didn’t pan out.”
“Ha!” Mary said. “Our capital could have been Ashley Springs or maybe Hinton.” She stomped hard on the pavement. “Why, in the early 1830s Ashley Springs and Hinton had populations greater than Milwaukee and Chicago combined.”
Will hastened his pace to keep up.
“There wasn’t even a village here at the time,” Mary said, “not even a house when that scoundrel Doty made his move.”
Will didn’t answer. Their marriage had begun with enough conflict already, and Mary was even more adamant than when she stated her dislike for farming. She raced past the first capitol entrance, but Will knew there were three others.
“He gave land to enough representatives that they saw profit in voting the capital here. Probably plied them with alcohol, too. Crooked politicians, that’s who did it.” She picked up her pace. “But that’s not new.”
They approached the next entryway. Mary strode past.
“Do you plan to go in, my dear,” Will called ahead, “or should we just continue our stroll around the square?” He quickened his pace to keep up.
Mary stopped and placed her hand at her mouth. “I get carried away, but it makes me so angry. Nicholas planned to run for a seat, but he went west instead, to the gold. Just as well, I think. He’s far too honest to be a politician.” She turned back toward the west entrance. “Let’s go inside.”
Sunlight sparkled off the marble pillars, and when they pushed through the doors, the setting sun followed them inside, casting its light across the hand-carved furniture and glass mosaics that graced the great rotunda.
Mary stood with her mouth unhinged, mesmerized by the rotunda’s beauty. She leaned back and craned her neck to look more than two hundred feet above to where Edwin Blashfield’s mural, “Resources of Wisconsin,” decorated the huge circular ceiling. “Oh, Will, it’s beautiful.” She grasped his hand and squeezed tight. “I teach this to my students, but it’s more breathtaking than I ever knew.”
* * *
The room was bright with sunlight. They lay close, comforted by the warmth of each other. After years of greeting the sun’s entrance into his world, Will smiled at the thought of lying in bed like this. But this morning, with Mary by his side, leaving his bed when the sun beckoned felt like a habit he could easily discard. He turned toward the half-awake Mary and touched her cheek. “Are you ready for an outing or should we just stay in bed all day?”
“Maybe just for a little while.” She laughed and pulled him close.
At mid morning, Will and Mary took flight down State Street. Their destination: Agricultural Hall and the great Bascom Hall at the top of Bascom Hill, the buildings where Will took classes.
“It’s a long walk. Are you sure you can keep up?” Will said. Then he remembered the last evening’s outing. “I guess you’ll do okay.”
“You’d better have brought your running shoes along,” Mary said, “because that’s the only way you’ll catch me.” Mary laughed heartily. “Haven’t you learned by now that I’m the runner in this partnership?” She scowled in his direction. “But I’ll slow down, if I must.”
They slowed when they reached the 100 block of State Street, walked past the Popcorn Shop and G. & A. Jewelers. “Can we stop for popcorn?” Mary said. “I love buttered popcorn.”
“Let’s cross the street.” He pointed. “See down the block, Shiphe & Dorn grocers. We’ll buy some bread, butter, and ham, then make sandwiches and eat them on Bascom Hill. We’ll stop for popcorn on the way back. Is that okay? We’ll be hungry by then.”
“You’re in an awful hurry to get to Bascom. You must have farming on your mind again,” Mary said.
Will didn’t answer.
“You seem right at home in Madison,” Mary said. “Did you ever think of moving here? I always thought I’d like to teach in the city. They pay much better.”
“Never! I’m a country boy through and through. My roots are in Iowa County.” He leaned over and pulled Mary to him.
By the time they reached the 500 block, trees began to replace cement, and as they neared the university, elms overhung the curbs.
“You’re sure in a rush to get to your classrooms,” Mary said. “My students run from them every chance they get.”
“I want you to see where I attended classes. I’ve not been back since I graduated.”
When they got to the top, Mary looked across Lake Mendota and said, “How high are we, anyway?”
And Will knew the answer. Every student who trudged Bascom Hill more than once knew the answer. “It’s eighty-six feet high and eight hundred fifty feet long.”
After they had eaten their sandwiches, Will led Mary down the backside of the hill to Agricultural Hall on Linden Drive. He looked into each classroom, remembered his professors, and talked about things learned. After they climbed the great hill once more, he led her through Bascom Hall, and when they exited the building, he pointed up. “See that plaque?” he said. “See what it says?”
Mary read aloud, “Whatever may be the limitations which trample inquiry elsewhere, we believe that the great state University of Wisconsin should ever encourage that continued and fearless sifting and winnowing by which alone the truth can be found.”
Will sat on the ground and looked up, reading and rereading his creed. “Farmers winnow grain from the chaff and sift to separate the fine from the coarse.” He looked at his hands, at the grease he could never clean from his nails. “I learned that creed here, and Dr. Carver told how to apply it. ‘We must find what works best,’ he told me when I visited him at a conference in Illinois. ‘There’s a hungry world to feed out there.’”
“George Washington Carver?”
Will nodded. “A great man.”
“You loved the farm, didn’t you?”
Will looked toward the western horizon, toward a sun that now settled over his fields and pastures. “We better start back before it gets dark.” He took Mary’s hand, and they walked down the hill in silence.