With that I forgave her and followed her from the room, mimicking her swaying steps that made her nylons sing as her legs rubbed together. It was like the call of a cricket crooning for a mate.
Even though Theo’s house is in town, her father drove us to the village hall so we could keep our feet out of the snowbanks. “Can’t have a soggy dancer,” he said as he dropped us off with a red-faced smile. He is the cheeriest man I’ve ever known, but William says it’s because he’s a banker and anyone who isn’t a farmer has an easy life. Several women from the Civic Club waved to all the new arrivals from the front doors, clucking like mother hens to get us out of the snow.
“We’ll get a ride home, Dad. See you in a few hours,” Theo said as she exited the backseat. I thanked him and followed her, trying to look confident as I picked the spots with the least ice to get up the stairs. Theo’s skirt brushed back and forth in front of me. How she managed to keep her shoulders still and regal and still swish her hips captivated me so much I didn’t notice Mrs. Haskell say hello to me until I nearly passed her. I held out my hand and took hers, our clasped white gloves hiding the callouses of farm life beneath a thin layer of fabric.
“I need to come by and get some of your cheese,” she said. “I ran clear out making danishes for tonight.”
“Sounds delicious. I’ll weigh another stone before tomorrow.” Even from outside I could smell the tempting treats provided by the Ladies’ Civic Club. “I have three pounds of it in the cold storage. I could have Alan run it by.” I shivered as some of the snow melted against my bare arm.
“Is that young man coming tonight?” she asked with a sly bend of her white eyebrow. “He should see ‘ow you look.”
I’ve often wondered what made the older women so keen to bake for hours to feed rowdy young people at these dances every month, but the selfish interest in her face made it suddenly clear—this was her sport. The men had cricket and pubs and work. The women had love. I decided to play along.
“I fully agree,” I said with a smile. “We’ll knock him flat.”
Her eyes widened before she let out a laugh and pushed me forward. “Get on with you.”
I slipped inside to find Theo hanging up her coat. “I need a drink,” she murmured as she surveyed the room. Clouds of cigarette smoke almost obscured a large contingent of young men already glassy-eyed at the bar, accompanied by girls laughing rather too loud.
“Oh no you don’t! Last time you ended up dancing with drunk farm boys all night.”
“Good dancers,” she argued.
“When they keep the beer on the inside. That was humiliating. Out of the question. Punch,” I ordered her, pointing to the bowl valiantly guarded by widow Avery.
“Shall I order you some warm milk?” she teased, ignoring me and stepping up to the bar. She leaned her body against the gleaming stretch of wood, her creamy bosom making the boys forget their drinks and slide their eyes furtively to her neckline as she prepared to order.
“Can I tempt you with some wine?”
I looked up to see an older man with a moustache and dark suit holding out a glass. Only he wasn’t addressing Theo— he was speaking to me. I’d never seen them hire professional waiters before for a village dance but he was kitted out in the black suit and all.
He tilted his head in confusion when I faced him, his moustache just brushing the edges of oddly shaped dimples that nestled close to his mouth. “Are you old enough for drink?”
I wrinkled my forehead. “Of course I am. But you could tempt me much more with that plum pudding,” I said, gesturing to the table crammed so full of baked goods it looked like it would bow under the weight. One dish of pudding made a proud centerpiece, holding its golden-crusted offering high over the heads of the other plates.
The waiter gave me a baffled expression. “So you would like me to get you a bowl of pudding, then?”
“Thank you. That would be delicious.”
He looked about, checking for a place to set the wine glass before he handed it to another girl entering the foyer, and went to fetch my plate.
Theo rejoined me, holding her glass up close to her bust, where neither could be missed.
“Honestly,” I muttered. “You’ll only get what you set your trap for.”
“Not trapping. Fishing. I’m just curious to see what I pull up. I’ll throw the bad ones back.” One of the young clerks at her father’s bank passed by, his eyes glued to Theo’s dress. Or perhaps what was coming out of her dress. Theo gave him a vixen grin and he stumbled on the threshold as he moved into the dance hall.
“If they didn’t love it so much I would say you were cruel,” I whispered.
“You can still say it.”
“Your plum pudding.” The waiter reappeared and handed me a plate with a lady-like mound of pudding and a sliver of chocolate cake. “I took the liberty of fetching the cake only because it wouldn’t last long and looked too good not to sample,” he said, motioning to the slice.
“How nice. Thank you!” I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to tip him, but I didn’t see anyone else doing it and I didn’t have a coin with me even if they were. I fidgeted in embarrassment, hoping he would move quickly along to someone else.
He held another similar plate of treats and I waited for him to hand it to Theo, but he just grinned at me. A small noise pulled my attention to Theo. She looked at me with the same waiting expression as the waiter. “Are you going to introduce us, Eve?” she prodded with tight, but smiling lips.
“Well, I don’t know,” I stammered. “Um, this is Theo Weller and this is...our waiter.”
The tiniest squeak escaped her lips. It made my face go red with hot embarrassment because I knew I’d done wrong. I just didn’t yet know how.
The waiter’s dimples deepened and his dark eyes flashed with joy.
“Eve,” Theo said through a smile so strained it looked painful. “This is Jonathon Doran from Buchanan Estate. Not the waiter.” The last part limped from her mouth, weak like a moan.
The night froze, like the instant before the snowflake melts and you can see it in all of its detail against a cold, glass pane. My humiliation crystallised in front of our small half circle and I studied it outside of time, thinking of what humble apologies I should make. Then my chance was gone because the horrible reality broke on a laugh I could not contain.
“I’m so…terribly…” I took a deep breath trying to finish the sentence, but the laughing won. Over my giggling I made out Theo’s mournful sigh.
I think it is proof of very good manners that the sporting man joined me in the joke, his mustache twitching.
I managed to compose myself enough to speak. “I never thought I’d be served refreshments by a …” I couldn’t finish the words because my stomach was quivering with giggling again. I set my plate down and wiped my eyes. “I’m a dunce.”
Theo held so still with her terrible smile I knew she was planning my demise.
“I’m afraid I already forgot your names in the commotion,” Mr. Doran said, when he found his voice again.
“Eve Brannon,” Theo answered for me, her voice all composure and power, as if her poise could make up for my faux pas. “And I am Theo Weller.” She extended a brave, gloved hand, her arm deliciously bare and supple. Mr. Doran’s eyes traveled to the tempting dimple at her elbow.
He took her hand in not quite in a handshake but rather a suave hold, and pressed it kindly. “It seems you are the mature and proper one of this trio." Theo’s eyes narrowed dangerously and he tried again. “I’m not teasing, truly. I just never got to play the waiter before. I’m suddenly tempted to run off and join a troop of unemployed actors in a cafe. Miss Brannon—may I call you Eve?—made it so entertaining.”
“Well you played the part well. If you are hard up, I think you can cut it in a restaurant. I blame my terrible mistake on you for being so overdressed.” I thought that would amuse Theo but her face hardened. I scooted just far enough away she couldn’t strike me because
it certainly looked like she wanted to. As I moved I caught a glance of the room and stopped when I saw Alan’s face. He stood several feet away, studying our small group, looking unsure whether to approach or retreat.
“Alan,” I called when our eyes met. “Come here and save me.” He approached warily, his eyes locked on my laughing face as I wiped away the last of the tears. “If you’ll both excuse me,” I said. I thought that very neatly done. I found a good reason to leave my humiliation behind while allowing Theo to stay and make a conquest.
“Please don’t,” Mr. Doran said, pointing to the bar. “I’ll get you a wine still. I don’t mind playing the waiter.”
“Her father doesn’t like her to drink in mixed company,” Alan’s low voice rumbled softly, like a deep but turbulent brook. Theo and I stared in surprise. For Alan it was a bold declaration. He stepped closer, his work-hardened shoulder wedging between Jonathon and me and touched my arm awkwardly.
“Don’t mind that,” Theo said with narrowed eyes. “Alan’s a strict Methodist. Teetotaler. But Eve would love a drink.”
“I’m not,” Alan protested.
“And I wouldn’t,” I announced. “Mostly, I would love a graceful exit and since I spoiled that, I’ll settle for this new development.” I shrugged at Theo, trying to understand why she scowled at me still. “Again, I’m so sorry, Mr. Doran.” I used my free hand to give him an apologetic wave and followed Alan as he backed away.
“Call me Jonathon,” he called after me before the crowd separated us.
“Thank you,” I whispered as he led me to another table. The three-piece band (a middle-aged man banging on a tuneless piano and a drunken fiddler accompanied by a young singer who usually hit the right notes) played bravely through the clouds of smoke and the noise of conversation. Alan moved me closer to the small stage where they performed, which made it harder to speak. “I just mistook a squire’s son for a waiter, Alan. I better think of something to do on Saturdays because I don’t think I can show my face here again.”
“That’s not Marion,” he said looking back.
“No, not Marion. That’s the older Doran, Jonathon.”
“I forgot all about him,” Alan said, his lip curled just enough to tell me he’d like to go on forgetting.
“As did I. I don’t think I’ve seen him in ten years. Hence my humiliation.”
Across the room, as if beckoned by our conversation, Marion Doran entered. We were used to him because he was our age and frequented village activities whenever he was home from university. He grinned to the room at large, bonhomie swirling around him, entangled with his cigarette smoke. He managed to hold a beer in each hand without giving up his cigarette, which would have looked tacky on anyone with a less brilliant smile or less golden hair. I’d spent many childish hours dreaming of how he’d fall in love with me. He stepped up to his brother who was still deep in conversation with Theo. She did look stunning, and every girl in the room turned her attention to the vignette of the prettiest girl providently placed between the richest man and the most handsome man in the room. And brothers to boot!
“I wanted to talk about the farm,” Alan said, but I held up my hand to hush him. Surely, he saw something monumental was happening.
“Which one do you think she’ll fix her crosshairs on?” I asked him, crossing my fingers for Marion. Who minds he won’t inherit the land? A woman could live a pauper all her life if she had that face to look at. Even Alan, who is widely acknowledged as a grand specimen, looked a bit dowly next to Marion.
“Do you know how old he is?” I asked, studying Jonathon as he took one of the pints from his brother. When I first saw him I thought him more than thirty, but the longer I looked the more I suspected the moustache added years.
“Same as me, I reckon,” Alan replied, his voice tight with annoyance.
“No, the older, rich one we both forgot about. Jonathon. Do you think him more or less than thirty?”
Across the room Jonathon gestured to Theo who held out her hand to Marion.
“Blast the glove!” I said out loud. I willed her to take it off and touch him with her warm fingers so I could ask about it later, but she actually moved a step closer to Jonathon. “Honestly!” I grabbed Alan’s arm and turned him toward them. “Do you think she likes the ugly one?”
His expression flinched painfully and I blushed, turning away from Theo. I’d only meant to include him on the fun. “Nevermind. I only like to tease her. Did you want to talk about something?”
“I don’t think she should smoke. You don’t smoke, do you?” I followed his eyes to where Theo stood with a cigarette balanced in her pale fingers. Both Doran brothers watched her arm as she rested it in the air, the curve of her limb tempting the eye to slide to her bare shoulders and then her smooth neck.
“It’s harmless,” I said before I looked to his stricken face and added, “but I don’t do it myself. We haven’t the money for them anyhow.”
“This doesn’t seem the place for you,” Alan said, scanning the room and stopping at the doorway where the drunk young men from the bar were making wobbly progress toward the dance floor.
“Well, it’s good enough for everyone else in the village,” I quipped. I rather liked the pulse of excitement in the air from squeezing every grown person in the neighborhood into one room, and I didn’t know any girl in Kepsdale who couldn’t handle a Saturday night drunk. You simply pat them in a motherly way and point them home. “Besides, what harm can be done with all the Civic Circle ladies hovering about?” They were stationed at nearly every corner, but they looked less like guards and more like curious gawkers.
“Enough to be gettin’ on with,” Alan answered, hardly moving his lips. “Would you like some punch?” He led me toward a corner table far from the band who were now sawing their way through a love song, cutting it to ribbons. Across the room Theo still managed to hold both brothers captive, but her eyes scanned the room occasionally. She was looking for me. I lowered myself in my chair and removed the stole to be less recognisable. Unless she fell in love quickly and forgot everything but her new happiness, she’d give me a fine piece of her mind tonight.
Alan set a red glass of fruit punch in front of me, along with a slice of pie, and took his seat, adjusting the chair first closer to me, than farther, and at last, right where it had been. “They had a bilberry,” he explained, pointing to his own slice.
I looked down at my second plate of untouched food. “So the farm?” I said, with an obviously disingenuous smile. I resented he’d brought it up at all in the middle of such fun, but I bravely feigned interest.
Alan took a drink and swallowed too hard. “Eve, I know it puts a burden on you, so I hate to tell you the news. I’ve been stalling.” He ran his hand down the lapel of his brown suit jacket. It was worn thin in several spots.
He looked so different, sitting at that table with the music swirling around us. Sundays I see him in a shirt and tie, sometimes a jacket. I’d never seen him in a waistcoat before. When I finished my first bite of pie, we both glanced around awkwardly. I hadn’t any idea what to say. I was about to get desperate and ask about one of our lame sheep when he cleared his throat. “You look all grown up tonight.” His eyes met me with a gravity that was too heavy. It made me miss the boy carrying pitchforks of hay and telling me to watch out for muck piles.
“Well, perhaps not all.” I shifted in my chair, embarrassed to think of what he meant by that. I wanted to cross my arms over my chest but then he would know what I was thinking. Perhaps he did anyway because he ducked his head. “You’re stalling again,” I added.
“You’re old enough not to be lied to. I feel like I’ve got to discuss the future with you. I’ve talked to your dad about it, but…”
My chest went hot with panic. For a flash I thought my dream had come true and he was going to confess his love to me. But certainly he wouldn’t make love to me right in the village hall with no preamble at all. And to admit he spoke to my father already…
. My head got very tight, like someone pushing on my skull.
“I won’t be around much longer.” He paused while my eyes went from bashful to bewildered. “I’m going to finish up a few things on the farm and then I am joining the Royal Army.”
It was as bad as falling. “Do you mean enlist?” I asked sharply. “Everyone says Chamberlain is going to take care of everything. If there’s no skirmish you’ll be stuck in a barracks for years instead of a farm. And you’re a reserved occupation. How could you consider it?”
He read every movement of my face. I hoped he saw my fury at his betrayal. He was supposed to be humiliating me with his pent-up love, not leaving me with a list of worries about how to take care of the farm without him.
“I’m not so optimistic about things. I think it’ll come to blows. But if I enlist early there’s a chance of getting an officer post, which means more pay. Which means when I get home there might be enough money to get a loan for my own farm. And farming is only reserved for family men, not day labourers.” He said it so seriously and slowly.
“There won’t be a war. There can’t be another one.” I think I believed it. “And the boys rushing into it will look like fools when it’s all said and done.” It came out angrier than I planned. I searched his face to see if it hurt him, hoping it had, but he only looked old and tired.
Alan’s eyes washed indecisively over the room before he stood up and took my hand. “Dance with me.” It was a gentle command, softly given. The floor was full enough to get lost amongst the other dancers and the tuneless piano had turned so lilting in its song that I wanted to cry. I shuffled behind him until he stopped and faced me. I’d never thought about Alan’s fingertips in my life until one grazed my back. He grasped my hand just fine, but when it came to my back his fingers hesitated, refused to hold tight. It made me feel deliciously shy.
I thought his touch would be hot, but I was surprised to find his fingertips chilly. I’ve often seen him blow on them while working outside. perhaps a shepherd's fingers never do fully thaw. We quietly circled for a minute, getting used to the new closeness. I was pleased at how quickly I adjusted.
To Move the World (Power of the Matchmaker) Page 3