She stepped away from the barn and stood waiting for them. They got down and approached her slowly, calmly, as deliberately as church deacons, as if they were not at all surprised to see her. They moved heavily in their winter coveralls and they had on thick caps pulled low and cumbersome winter gloves.
You’re going to freeze yourself standing there, Harold said. You better get out of this wind. Are you lost?
Probably, Maggie Jones said. She laughed. But I wanted to talk to you.
Oh oh. I don’t like the sound of that.
Don’t tell me I scared you already, she said.
Why hell, Harold said. You probably want something.
I do, she said.
You better come up to the house, Raymond said.
Thank you, she said. At least one of you is a gentleman.
They went back to the old house across the frozen lot in the wind. The dog came out to meet them and sniffed at her again and retreated once more into the open garage. They mounted the steps to the house. On the little porch the brothers bent over and unbuckled their manure-caked overshoes. Go on in, Raymond said. Don’t wait on us. She opened the door and entered the kitchen. The house was not warm but it felt better out of the wind. They came in after her, closed the door and took their gloves off and set them out on the counter where they looked as stiff as firewood curled open in the permanent shapes of their hands. They unzipped the tops of their coveralls. Underneath they wore black button-up sweaters, flannel shirts and long underwear.
You want any coffee? Raymond said.
Oh, that’s too much trouble, Maggie said.
It’s only what’s left over from noon dinner.
He set a pan on the stove and poured the coffee from the pot into it. Then he removed his cap and the hair stood up in short gray stiff shocks on his round head. She thought his head looked beautiful, had a clean perfect shape. They both looked that way. Harold had removed the greasy pieces of machinery from one of the extra chairs and had dragged it up to the table. He sat down solidly. When they were inside the house the McPheron brothers’ faces turned shiny and red as beets and the tops of their heads steamed in the cool room. They looked like something out of an old painting, of peasants, laborers resting after work.
Maggie Jones unbuttoned her coat and sat down. I came out here to ask you a favor, she said to them.
That so? Harold said. Well, you can always ask anyhow.
What is it? Raymond said.
There is a girl I know who needs some help, Maggie said. She’s a good girl but she’s gotten into trouble. I think you might be able to help her. I would like you to consider it and let me know.
What’s wrong with her? Harold said. She need a donation of money?
No. She needs a lot more than that.
What sort of trouble is she in? Raymond said.
She’s seventeen, Maggie Jones said. She’s four months pregnant and she doesn’t have a husband.
Well yeah, Harold said. I reckon that could amount to trouble.
I’ve had her staying with me in my house for a while, but my father won’t accept her being there anymore. His mind’s gone. He’s all mixed up and sometimes he gets violent. He’s made her afraid to be in the house with him.
What about her kinfolk? Harold said. Don’t she have any family?
Her father left her years ago. I don’t know how many years exactly. Now, lately, her mother won’t have her in the house.
On account of her carrying the baby?
Yes, Maggie said. Her mother has problems of her own. You probably know who I’m talking about.
Who?
Betty Roubideaux.
Oh, Harold said. Leonard’s wife.
Did you know him?
Enough to drink with.
What ever became of him, I wonder.
Nothing good. You can bet on that.
Well, he might of went to Denver, Raymond said. Then he might of went back to the Rosebud in South Dakota. I doubt anybody knows. He’s been gone a long time.
But the girl’s still here, Maggie said. That’s my point. His daughter’s still here. She’s a good person too. Her name is Victoria.
What about the sire? Harold said.
Who? she said. Oh. You mean the baby’s father.
Where does he come into this?
He doesn’t. She won’t even tell me who he is except to say he doesn’t live here. He lives somewhere else. He doesn’t want her anymore, she says. Or the baby either, apparently. Well, I don’t know if he even knows about the baby. Whether she told him.
On the stove the coffee had begun to boil. Raymond stood up and set three cups out and poured out the coffee, the pan hissing wildly as he tipped it up. The coffee was black and thick as steaming tar. You take something in it? he said.
Maggie looked in her cup. Maybe some milk?
He brought a jar of milk from the refrigerator and set it on the table and sat down again. She took the lid off and poured a little into her cup.
All right then, Harold said. You got our attention. You say you don’t want money. What do you want?
She sipped from her coffee and tasted it and looked in the cup again and set it back on the table. She looked at the two old brothers. They were waiting, sitting forward at the table across from her. I want something improbable, she said. That’s what I want. I want you to think about taking this girl in. Of letting her live with you.
They stared at her.
You’re fooling, Harold said.
No, Maggie said. I am not fooling.
They were dumbfounded. They looked at her, regarding her as if she might be dangerous. Then they peered into the palms of their thick callused hands spread out before them on the kitchen table and lastly they looked out the window toward the leafless and stunted elm trees.
Oh, I know it sounds crazy, she said. I suppose it is crazy. I don’t know. I don’t even care. But that girl needs somebody and I’m ready to take desperate measures. She needs a home for these months. And you — she smiled at them — you old solitary bastards need somebody too. Somebody or something besides an old red cow to care about and worry over. It’s too lonesome out here. Well, look at you. You’re going to die some day without ever having had enough trouble in your life. Not of the right kind anyway. This is your chance.
The McPheron brothers shifted in their chairs. They watched her suspiciously.
Well? she said. What do you think?
They didn’t say anything.
She laughed. I believe I have robbed you of speech. Will you at least think about it?
Hell, Maggie, Harold said at last. Let’s go back to the money part. Money’d be a lot easier.
Yes, she said. It would. But not nearly as much fun.
Fun, he said. That’s a nice word for what you’re talking about. More like pandemonium and disruption, you mean. Jesus God.
All right, she said. I tried. I had to do that much. She stood up and buttoned her coat. You can let me know if you change your minds.