To Move the World (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Regina Sirois

  “I want my own farm when I come home,” he murmured. “I want to raise sheep, just like your dad. He’s taught me heaps and I like them well enough.”

  That can’t be helped. Even pig farmers get fond of their lot. But the sheep, as stupid and stubborn as they are, are the most endearing of all animals. “I like them, too,” I said, just so I didn’t stand there wordless.

  “I know. You’re fine with them.” His hand pressed harder into mine, an unspoken direction to slow my feet and listen harder. “Would you mind terribly, Eve? Staying on a farm?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Where else would I go?”

  “I mean later. When you’re…” he spoke through his blush, “married. I know you like your typewriter and you’re bright as a wick. Will a farm suit you?” But he seemed to be asking so much more. He seemed to be asking if he would suit me.

  “Don’t be daft. I belong on Brannon Farm.”

  “I ‘oped you’d say that. It’s the farm I ‘ope to buy. Your father says William will ‘ave nowt to do with it. He’s bound for university. I would like to save up and buy his portion and be a partner. But it would mean sharing it with you when you inherit.”

  Our feet stopped altogether and he gathered me an inch closer. The smell of ale and food and the chatter of voices confused me. “I don’t know.” I shook my head, trying to understand if I was being offered a marriage proposal or a business proposal, feeling certain it was neither and both.

  “You look warm,” he said, briefly touching my cheek with one finger. That certainly didn’t cool me down.

  “It’s too stuffy,” I told him, pulling away. “I’m stepping outside.”

  “But it’s snowing,” he argued, trying to follow as I wound between the moving couples. It was like swimming through a sea of icebergs and it only got worse as the song changed to a fast piece and feet skittered in all directions. I think for a moment I was part of a threesome dance before I untangled myself and made it to the hall. Theo caught sight of me and opened her mouth, but I rushed past with Alan in pursuit. “I’ll get your coat,” he said when he saw I wouldn’t stop.

  It gave me a moment alone. I flung open the door in a burst of night and snow that made me feel I was surfacing after being underwater. The frozen air and wet, heavy flakes landed on my hot face. There were a few couples milling about with cigarettes and secrets, murmuring low words to each other. I passed them on my way to the pavement and leaned against a light pole, ignoring the worried glance of Mrs. Haskell through the front window. I hoped she wouldn’t ask me how I was faring.

  I knew Alan was coming when I heard the door open again, followed by feet hurrying down the steps. I almost told him to take a care on the ice, but he made it to me safely without my warning. “Did I upset you?” he asked, holding up my coat so I could slip my arms in.

  “Of course you did.” I tried not to smile, but one snuck through, just out of sheer absurdity. “It’s not how it’s done at all. At some point you say, Eve, would you like to go to the pictures with me or what is your favourite colour? Not, I’m leaving for the army, but if I survive I want to buy your farm and marry you. That’s a bit rich.”

  “I knew I’d bugger it. I always bugger it. You’ve got so much older and I couldn’t tell…” A fine sweat moistened his head as he fought through the words. “For the last year I thought perhaps something...”

  That was certainly news to me. He’d given no indication he thought of me romantically at all. No Dalesman is prone to write ballads, but surely there is a middle stage between discussing the almanac and acquiring a wife. I looked down at the gathering snow, searching my memory for evidence of his feelings. I only found an abundance of my own girlish fantasies.

  “You are so pretty.” The words came thick and unsure. “And when you smile at me…”

  My head jolted up. He stood several feet away, almost frightened, but the buttons of his waistcoat were fascinating me again. It made him look more like a clerk or a professional and that did strange things to my head.

  “My favourite colour is crimson,” I told him, studying the brass buttons. “And I would like to go to the pictures with you.”

  His face smashed into a grand grin and he let out a breath that smoked in white clouds around us. “Really? And you don’t mind my enlisting? You think you would wait for me here?”

  My back stiffened. A large snowflake caught on his lashes and I watched it melt and bead there. His eyes were blue. I’d always wanted blue eyes. And a man who loved the farm. And he stood right in front of me, warm and flesh. “I do mind the enlisting. I think it’s a fool thing to do, especially when you’d inherit the farm for free anyway…if we ever...”

  His face looked like a man who’d been kicked by a horse. I stopped speaking.

  “So you feel the same?” An ecstatic light glowed in his features. He rushed forward and kissed me without any warning. It tasted like bilberry pie and snow. It was my first kiss, but I didn’t have time to think of what I should do because it was such a heavy press of lips and then it was over, before I’d done a thing.

  I stared at him a moment, looking at his lips that had just been on mine. “When do you go?” I managed to ask.

  “The first weekend of April.”

  “But that’s lambing time! How will we manage?”

  He closed his cold hand over mine. “William will pull more weight. Your dad will hire extra hands. It won’t be easy.”

  “And if I ask you to change your mind and stay with us?”

  He diverted his eyes, the shadow of the streetlight leaving his expression in darkness. “I’ve already enlisted. That’s what I’ve been doing on the weekends—passing muster.”

  I sucked in a breath as if he’d struck me. I looked down to be sure he hadn’t.

  “Eve, I think it will be safer this way, to enlist before conscription.”

  “There won’t be a war!” I spat angrily, wishing I could yank the kiss back from him.

  “You’re young. I know…”

  “I’m not that young. You’re young,” I flung back at him, sounding more childish with every word. “I want to go home.”

  “I borrowed your father’s car. I can take you now.” He glanced in relief at the glowing windows, silhouetted with party goers.

  “Not with you.” I set my chin, as stubborn as I could pretend to be. I felt tears coming.

  “Eve,” he said with a patient smile. “It will all turn right.” He leaned toward me for another kiss but he got only an angry, strangled sound as I stepped back.

  “I’m going to finish the dance,” I told him, rushing back up the steps and ignoring the way it stung when he said my name, calling me back.

  He caught me just before I reached the door, circling my wrist with his hand. “I know you’re mithered. I only want to know one thing.”

  Before I turned my wide eyes to him, I glimpsed Mrs. Haskell, her face a picture of captivated suspense. “What?” I asked, pulling back where we couldn’t be ogled.

  “I want to know what upset you.” His blue eyes burned bright, even in the shadows. For a moment I imagined him in my room and my spine shivered from my neck to my tailbone.

  “You joining the Royal Army! The Royal, forsaken, bloody fool Army.”

  “Because you worry?” he said it so softly, as if he didn’t dare believe. “About me?”

  “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t? How could you think to ship yourself across the channel for target practice and believe I wouldn’t care? And stop smiling! I’m angry.”

  “You always smile when people are angry,” he countered. It was strange to be countered by the boy who usually ducked his head and said nothing.

  “Well, I didn’t know how awful it was to be angry. I don’t try it much.”

  He chuckled and caressed my arm. I took my chance to yank it free.

  “When you’re through being angry can we talk? There are plans to make for the farm and the…future.”

  How old he loo
ked! Not in wrinkles or face, but in wisdom. As if knowing what you wanted in life equalled years and time.

  “I’m not sure I want to talk to someone who is abandoning us in the middle of lambing season and tells me how he feels on the same night he tells me he’s leaving. I’m not sure I will stop being angry.”

  His sad smile looked just confident enough to irk me more. “I’ve said enough tonight,” he confessed. “I reckon I said o’ermuch, really. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ll let you finish the dance.” He was too quick for me to refuse when he leaned forward and kissed me again, and he didn’t notice I didn’t kiss back. He left me standing in the snow while he walked out into the night. How I hated the way his soft brown jacket flapped about him whenever the wind blew! Hated the crunch of his footsteps in the creaking snow. Hated he didn’t give me a chance to kiss him back. Or at least refuse to. The cold burrowed straight past my nylons into my skin and I ripped open the door, practically falling into the heat and smoke.

  “He joined the Royal Army,” I spat at Mrs. Haskell before stalking up to the bar. Her appalled look warmed me just enough to press the gooseflesh back down on my arms. I smiled at how good it felt to holler at someone, but the boy beside me thought I grinned at him. He slid his backside over to one end of his stool, slapping the other half in invitation. Only he was sloppy already and missed and slapped the air instead. He looked down as if concentrating hard on which stool was the real one. For all he knew I was a set of twins. I yanked off my coat in disgust and pushed up against the bar, just like Theo, minus the bosom.

  “Anything,” I demanded. The bartender wasn’t amused. He shrugged at me in boredom and grabbed a wine glass.

  “What are you drowning?” Theo’s voice snaked into my ear.

  “A stupid boy.”

  Now she looked genuinely interested. She shook her head at the barkeep and pulled me away, her cigarette still held aloft with one hand and her stole I had left on the table dangling from the other. “I was going to blast you, but it can wait. What in the world did he do?”

  “If you ask me now, I will cry. I figure I’m in for a good cry no matter how we slice it, but until we’re alone, I want to dance. And I want that drink!”

  “Dangerous,” Theo mused, not at all worried. “Boys and booze. Such a horrible combination for a broken heart. But dancing—that might work. And to bring me back to my sore point—someone nearly nicked my best fur and Jonathon Doran would like a dance with you.”

  “Be serious.”

  “I am.” Her white curls glossed with light as she nodded. She snatched my arm and pulled me toward the dance floor.

  I pulled back hard. “I am tired to being yanked about by every fool person tonight. I can walk on my own. And I can certainly find my own dance partner who isn’t ancient.” I put up my chin and passed her, amazed I could scrounge up so much dignity. I was so busy being dignified and marching forward I collided shoulders with a young man and made him slosh his ale about. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  He looked up with annoyance, but his face softened. “I’ll forgive you for a dance.”

  “Perfect,” I breathed in relief. He barely had time to set his glass down before I fell rather hard into his arms and put my head on his shoulder, though I knew not the slightest thing about him, except that he was short and had a very strong shoulder.

  He stiffened at first, but then settled right in, his hands taking plenty of liberty with my waist. If he slid it any lower I’d bruise his shins, but for the moment I listened to the piano and the tired violin and the pitiful moaning in my chest. I think Theo was wrong. I think the drink would have been better than the dance.

  “Pardon my friend. I just need to borrow her.” Theo gave the boy a smashing smile, all of her brilliance turned to full power. Not even a drunk boy with an armful of girl could refuse. He turned me loose, his face pulled between a smile for Theo and regret for letting go of me. “Honestly!” she whispered in my ear, her teeth still gritted in a grimace.

  She led me to a dark corner and sat me down at an empty table. “Draping yourself all over the knackerman's son is not going to gain you points with anyone. Thank the saints Jonathon and Marion are dancing with other girls and didn’t notice.”

  “Why in the world would they notice what I do?”

  “I am so glad you have me because you are a simpleton.” Theo glared at me as she sat down, plunging her cigarette into an abandoned glass with a billow of smoke. “You made Jonathon laugh. He asked you not to go. And you turned your back on him for your farm boy. Need I go on?”

  “Jonathon Doran? Why would I want to? You know I’ve been in love with Alan for years.”

  Theo made a scoffing noise that rippled in her throat. “Love.”

  I tore off a glove and threw it in a heap on the table before reaching for the next one.

  “Is the gauntlet down? Do you want to fight me?” Theo arched one eyebrow and gave me a bemused look as she said it.

  “I might,” I said, staring at the soft mound of white satin. “Alan wants to be married.”

  “Hello!” Theo pinched my arm with her long, claw-like nails. “Are you both mad!”

  “Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time for courting. He enlisted in the R.A.” I looked hard at the tablecloth, fighting the tears pushing their way from my cold chest to my burning eyes.

  “Oh, Eve…” I couldn’t see her face, but her fingertips softened.

  “Can we please go?” One tear fell on top of my hand, stood bravely in one wet heap before it broke and ran over my finger.

  Theo patted my back, traced a shape in the soft fur of her stole. “There’s a lady’s closet upstairs no one uses. Why don’t you sneak up there and mop up. And then I’ll make excuses.”

  “Wait! We have no ride.” I groaned. “Alan offered but I…” My voice faltered.

  “I’ll manage it. Give me half an hour, and see if you can pull yourself together by then.” She challenged me with her eyes, daring me to stiffen my lip.

  “Fine,” I sighed. “I should have never come.”

  “A marriage proposal is hardly a waste of an evening. But honestly, Eve, he’s a labourer. He’s had no school past primary. I know it was a fun fantasy to roll in the hay but you couldn’t possibly…”

  “What a snob you are,” I said. “He’s better looking than any man who ever proposed to you. Oh, wait…”

  Theo snorted again. “You’re a mean drunk.”

  “I never got a drink!”

  “Then you’re drunk on power. You must have just figured out how charming you are. Get out of here and come back as my darling.” She nudged me toward the door, her amusement wearing thin, but holding steady.

  It was a dream-like feeling, weaving through the people, feeling that they were all moving much faster and I was in slow motion. I didn’t try to adjust my face to be pleasant. They were all too absorbed in their laughing groups and piles of food and cold drinks to notice if I didn’t smile. I found the water closet at the end of a very red hallway with a burgundy rug and dark wallpaper. I didn’t know what I detested more—the hideous Victorians or the people who left it that way for decades. The village hall got very quiet on the second story, the sound buffered by the stained carpeting. I took a deep breath and asked myself why the night didn’t feel like a victory as I pushed open the door to a small room with an ancient toilet and cracked sink. It reeked of old perfume and something else. I wrinkled my nose trying to figure out the other scent mingled in the air. I finally placed it when I saw an old fur coat hanging on the back of the door covered in dust. It smelled like limp, expensive death. I refused to sit on the toilet so I made a seat for myself using a crate in one corner.

  The muffled sounds of the party pulsed through the walls like murmurs. It was a perfect spot for reflecting, so I reflected on Alan. He had kissed me twice. He wanted to speak of the future. And he is certainly not the first boy in Kepsdale to go play army, I told myself firmly. There is still a challenge lef
t over from the trenches. I think our young men want to know if they could have managed like their fathers in the Great War. So they must find new wars to prove themselves.

  But there would be post at the post office if Alan went—there was some comfort in that thought. I could collect it in town and read it on the long walk home. I could leave my reply letters on the stone wall until they soaked in the smell of sunshine and shadow and smelled of home before I sent them. I wouldn’t type his letters. I’d make sure to form every word, showing him just how I felt by the slant of the ink or the emptiness of my o’s. He could show the other boys my picture and make them jealous.

  I reached behind me for a tissue. It came out as dusty as everything else in the room. With a sigh that was only for me because no one else could hear it I turned my toes in and stared at my scuffed shoes. But by then I felt less angry, the tiny room made my eyes water, the fur coat was vaguely revolting and I felt more bored than sorrowful. I heaved a couple breaths, just to test how they felt going into my chest. There wasn’t a terrible pain. More of a flat annoyance really. I stood up, dusted off my skirt, and left the room wondering how many years that coat had hung there and which old woman left it behind. There was some satisfaction knowing the next girl who hid upstairs to cry would stare at it and wonder the same thing. Perhaps she would even take it down, ignore the dust, and bury her face in it. Though it didn’t look particularly soft. It reminded me of a wiry badger.

  In the dark, quiet hallway I dawdled, letting myself imagine Alan in a uniform (he looked brilliant) and how confident he would be when he came home trained and manly. Perhaps he would sweep me up into his arms and know exactly what to say. Perhaps he’d travel and be stationed with lusty Italian boys who would show him how to woo a girl. I dwelt on it overlong just so I wouldn’t look calloused or fickle for rejoining Theo too quickly after falling apart. Though I didn’t truly fall apart. More of a falling out. But anger never holds fast to me. I tried to look a bit mournful and sorry for myself as I descended the back stairs and made my way back to the dance.