“The fare,” I whispered. It would be ruinous. I’d have to go through London.
He ducked his head and worked furiously on his plate. “Aye. It were daft to say.” Beneath his pockets his chest jerked up and down with something more than just breaths. I don’t know why it moved me so. Perhaps because he is the last one to show how he feels.
I leaned forward, reaching my hand almost to his. I was too timid to take it. “It’s not the least daft. If I can manage. And I will. If I can. Perhaps Theo will loan me a bit, just until…”
He closed the gap and took my fingers, but in some strange way it didn’t feel like he was holding on. It felt more like letting go. Our eyes met and I saw a blank future in his blue gaze, like a castaway searching over the endless ocean and seeing nothing.
“I can’t see a way straight if we lose the farm,” he said hoarsely.
My eyes started to sting under his gaze. The only way to fight the tears was to push my lips into a smile. “Don’t worry about that. You be safe and have a nice dinner.” I wiped my lips with my napkin and it came away smeared with pink. Better stained with lipstick than wet with weeping.
“Eve?”
“Nothing sad. This is your last night home.” I meant to say something terribly brave, but something hit my back with incredible power and pushed my head down. I bent under it, the tears rushing faster than I could catch them with the back of my hand. It wasn’t until my breath turned into a sob I recognised the sudden force as grief.
Alan and I both gave simultaneous glances at the bar, to see if anyone had noticed. A few farmers nursed some ale quietly, but no one paid any mind to us. And luckily the fierceness and suddenness of my outburst did not translate into volume. I’d managed to lose my dignity almost silently. I scooted into the darkest corner of the settle and turned my head in a futile attempt to hide, but Mrs. Buckey passed by with a tray of bitters and caught sight of me. Down went the tray on the corner of the bar and she bustled over, tongue clucking. Even though she barely comes to my chin, she is not one to argue with. She wins all fights on sheer tenacity and volume. “You poor dear,” she fussed, tugging me roughly from my safe hideout. She used her apron to wipe my face, mingling the salt of my tears with old scotch that burned my nose. “Come with me. She’ll just be a moment, luv,” she said to Alan before marching me into the kitchen where her sister fought pans at the rangetop. Mrs. Buckey pushed me onto a bench and handed me a drink while she wagged her finger.
“I know, dearie. I was ‘ere in this very pub when the Great War came. Whole world falling down. Drink that. You’ll feel better.”
I raised it toward my lips, but the smell was nauseating. I simply bent over in imitation of a sip and set it down to wipe my face.
“I thought me Geoffrey wouldn’t come ‘ome wick, but seethee, he’s alive as you, to this day ‘e is. There’s only one thin fer it, and it’s a bugger, I knows, but you got to get thissen right and bear up. Yer tears are not what he wants t’ think on. And it scappers yer beauty, I’m not jesting.”
I started laughing mid-blow but she thought I was crying harder because I wouldn’t come out of my napkin.
“Whate’er appens ya allus send ‘em off with yer best grin. That’s a woman’s lot.” She sighed and rubbed my back but it nearly pushed me off my seat. “Now jes be grateful you’ve a yoong lad like that t’ luv yuh. ‘E’s a dasher in that suit. Go shine up and get back out there with a smile.” She herded me into the pantry with a clean wet cloth and a hand mirror and left me there.
I closed the curtain so I could laugh in privacy at my patchy reflection. She was right about the crying doing my beauty no good, but since I haven’t so very much of that anyhow I just wiped away my mascara and tried not to smear my pan stick too badly in the process. When I stepped back out I had an inexplicable case of the giggles, but I bit them back and tried to look sober as I nodded to Mrs. Buckey and left the kitchen. Alan stood by the entrance door, his back ramrod and his jaw set. I didn’t recognise the stance. I gave him a dazzling smile and took his hand, leading him outside. “Let’s walk,” I told him.
“Eve?”
“I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
He gestured to the restaurant. “You didn’t finish your food.”
I told him Mrs. Buckey would save it for us and pointed us away from the clock tower on the square because the last knots of people still gathered there. The shops were closed, sleeping in the sunset before the ruckus of the Saturday market crowds. After a brief discussion we decided to walk to the crooked street of pensioneer row houses. There wouldn’t be a person in sight and their front strips of flowers always do look nice in the spring. Alan took my hand and I moved my finger along his, surprised when it fell into empty air. I remembered his hands being longer.
“I wasn’t tryin’ to say I didn’t want to marry you, Eve. You’ve got to know that. I’d take you now if I could. I just think it best we wait until I’m ‘ome and can care for you proper. I never meant to make you cry.”
Good heavens! Is that why I cried? I could hardly tell myself anymore.
“And as far as my visits, I’m mithered they worry you. Things’ll go right once we’re settled about the future.” He stopped next to a rusted stairrail and peered into me, searching for something.
“Of course your visits don’t bother me,” I flustered. I searched the moon but the sky was dark with dreary clouds. As handsome as Alan looked, as long as I stared at the knot of his tie, I always felt surprised when I looked at his face and saw no dark moustache.
“You’ve a bit more o’ t’ world to see,” Alan said. “But when you do, you’ll find what I found. That the people of Kepsdale are the right good sort. This is life at it’s best.”
“I already know that,” I swore to myself as much as him.
He walked me back to the car, telling me how much money he hoped to send home once unit training wrapped up. He’d sell all of his cigarette rations for extra change and promised not to spend anything on drink just to be able to help more. I told him I thought he might have a dreadfully boring time in the army without cigarettes or liquor, but he told me thinking of the farm never bored him.
Should I save an orphanage from fire I wouldn’t deserve such love. Not when I kept…well I cannot type it. I’m too embarrassed. Only that my mind wandered no matter how many times I reminded myself it was only a psychological block. I fear I had a much longer conversation with Jonathon in my imaginings than I did out loud with Alan. I know you think I’m a child and it’s all a game to you. Only I won’t play it anymore because I’ve got such important things to do now like save the farm and make Alan happy and…
“Eve, if we could do anythin’…anythin’…to hold on one more year. The demand will rise with war and we’ll get by.”
I came back to Alan and saw a frantic flush in his pupils. I’m afraid I hadn’t heard anything he said before my name. “They’ll be no war,” I murmured. It was nearly Pavlovian the way I said it now. “But I’ll speak to Mr. Weller again about a loan. Perhaps you could before you go tomorrow.” Or… “I could ask Jonathon Doran. He seems keen to help.” I did try to hold my face so steady, but what a trembling beneath!
“Not ‘im.” Alan gazed above my head, his eyes like crosshairs resting on a target.
“Why not him?” I bluffed. Perhaps if I pretended...
“Not ‘im. The interest would be too high.” Those crosshairs fell on me, like a roe frozen in the woods. “I dunnit wan t’ put idears in your ‘ead, but I think you best let ‘im alone.”
I nodded, my lip tremoring. Oh, Alan, there isn’t an idea you could possibly put in my head that didn’t live there already.
“I’ll get you ‘ome,” he said, tucking my arm into his and leading me down the street to collect our uneaten food. Our shadows marched bravely ahead of us, leading the way into the night. He didn’t even kiss me after the drive home. He just slipped my jumper around my shoulders and held his hands there about
my arms as he told me he would see me tomorrow. But as I laid sleeplessly in my bed I kept wondering if it was the last time I would ever know that I would see him tomorrow. For years at least. And it felt like all of my childhood was falling out from under me, leaving only a narrow scaffold even a fool wouldn’t attempt to cross no matter what promises were at the other side. I made a most fervent oath, whispered out loud so every supernatural force or spirit could hear, that I would leave him with a grand kiss and a brilliant smile at the bus tomorrow. And if I couldn’t mean it when I sent him off, I would certainly mean it by the time he came home.
CHAPTER 7
21ST MAY 1939
Three letters came this week that say everything far better than I can tell it. Four, if you count a bill. It’s odd how a few slips of paper in the post can sum up your entire life, future included. And it is also odd how shameful a slip of paper can make you behave.
The first is from Alan and isn’t shameful at all so I’ll start with that and see if I can work my way up to my confession. He must have written it on the train because the script is terrible and he is usually so slow and careful.
Dear Eve,
I feel like I am writing with only half my mind. The other half is already ahead to Monday and artillery training. But for a girl as bright as you perhaps it always seems like people are only using half their mind. I hope you laughed there. I just realised I didn’t hear it much when I was home. It is too terrible about the sheep, that it should happen exactly now. Some nights I wake up tearing at my hair. But then I think of you and know it will all come out right. You belong on that farm, God knows. I’ve always known. Sometimes I’ve wondered if you knew. When you almost went to university I worried you would get some other idea. I’ve always been glad you stayed. I think that is when I began to think there may be a future for us. Even if we should have to make another farm somewhere else, we’ll manage. I think you’ve become as fine a girl as there ever was. And when you kissed me on the train platform I knew any worry was for nothing. You may be young but you are true. I trust in your love. And will most likely have to learn to trust in it for years if Hitler gets his way. (Which we won’t allow.) In the meantime, I will shoot straight. You needn’t worry about me.
Your loving fiancé,
Alan Canavan
I did do a fair bit of blubbering on the train platform when Alan left us. Dad hid his eyes and pretended to read the train schedule and William only shook his head in exasperation. I admit it felt for a moment like I played a part, but I thought I played it so well and it gave me a thrill to do everything the girls do in the pictures. I kissed him in front of the small crowd and tucked my handkerchief into his pocket and promised to write him. I think Theo rolled her eyes. It does make others jealous to see people very much in love. I hoped Alan would put his head out the window and wave because his blonde hair shines so well in the sun and I wanted everyone to see him blaze in the afternoon light, but perhaps he didn’t get a window seat.
It was a labourious drive home because I couldn’t think of anything to look forward to. With Alan gone, the sheep lame, gasping and dying, future days blended into a grey tedium. I listened to the road under the bald tires that hiccuped along the rutted asphalt and thought over and over, What does it matter? What does it matter? I didn’t perk up until three days later when Alan’s letter came. Except that something rippled between my shoulders when he mentioned the university. I’m not sure I fancy it made him glad when I didn’t go because it was a bitter blow for me at the time. I considered it more my duty to my mother to care for her men than a choice I truly made. If all was well and rich at home I’d certainly be training myself to be a... I actually haven’t the slightest notion what I’d train to be. I’ve no discernible skills at all. Only it would be fun to know a great deal more than I do now. How I would lord it over William because I am convinced he is not one whit brighter than me. But there is certainly no lording it at all now, what with both of us coated in sheep muck and too tired to hold a book at night.
Which leads as well as anything to the letter that came next. It was simply a bill for our alfalfa and meal. It would be painful on a good year. Impossible this year. Every time I look at the number of zeros I want to weep. I couldn’t even speak of it to Dad. I just left it on the table and made sure not to be there when he found it.
So that brings me to the worst one. The letter isn’t nearly as awful as how I behaved when I got it. It was from Mr. Weller at the bank sending his regrets that our loan was denied. Should more collateral be secured or circumstances change, please let him know. He regretted our misfortune sincerely and wished us all the best. William got to it first and came outside where Dad and I were trying to get a ewe to walk for us so we could check her gait. William slapped the letter on top of the fence post and said, “Well, that’s it then.” He glared at us like we’d written it. I rushed over, but Dad snatched it from me and after reading it he pushed his hat tighter on his head and stared at a tuft of grass in front of him.
“Dad?” I asked.
“I’m jes roaming up yonder for a span.” He pointed his grim face to a distant shed and walked away, brisk and heavy, all at once.
“It can’t be right!” I said to William who only shrugged. “They misunderstood. I’ll change their minds.”
“Let me know how that goes.” William shoved the letter into his pocket.
“I will. You doubt me, but I will.”
I’m afraid I pumped my cycle tires and went straight to the bank, certain something had been lost in translation. Mr. Weller’s secretary led me into his office where I sat straight on the edge of a blue upholstered chair, my toes quivering against the ground. My smile fluttered like a blown blossom on my face and I tried to hold it in place as I peered at the watercolour of a waterwheel on his wall. The bank smelled of cheap scent that made me feel faint.
“Hello, Eve,” Mr Weller said as he slipped his large body behind his desk. He frowned kindly at me, his eyes tightened at the corners. “Care for tea?”
The truth is that I did very much because I was curious what tea tasted like inside a bank, but I didn’t trust my hands to hold a saucer without clinking. I gave him a polite ‘no, thank you’ and smiled at him, trying to soften him before we started. He avoided my face so I launched right into the thick of it, telling him surely he could give us a loan since he had known our family for ages and knows how hard my father works.
Mr. Weller shook his head sadly. “I’m so sorry. If it were about the goodness of a man, the riches of the world would be yours, Eve. It’s about the farm, the bills, the prognosis of the sheep, the poor grazing fields, and our inability to sell it as crop lands since it is so rocky. I’ve been over the papers until I’ve nearly worn them through. It is just a host of things beyond anyone’s control. Do you understand?” He nodded as if that would convince me to agree with him. His head bobbed sympathetically and his eyes begged me to be a good girl and see it his way. Only I wouldn’t.
“No. No I do not understand.” Everything in me jolted like an earthquake on the first no, but I think you get the hang of refusals because by the second “no” I got stronger and steadier. “You want to ruin him. Ruin him!” I jumped up. My knee caught the leg of his desk smartly and tipped over a framed picture of Theo with a crash, but I ignored the pain and the cracked glass. “You know he is good for every shilling. It is grubby, money-grabbing…”
That is when his secretary pushed through the door, her worried face scanning me as I rubbed my knee. “Sir?” She inched closer, should he need a hand.
“Are you alright, Eve?” he asked, coming to help with my knee as if he hadn’t heard one awful word I’d spoken.
I sidestepped his proffered hand. “Oh, nevermind it all.” I took one unsteady step away from both of them and half stormed, half limped, out of the bank. I went straight to Theo’s house three streets down and, well…it was hard enough to write how terribly I behaved to Mr. Weller. I cannot make myself tell you wh
at I said to my truest friend. But the fourth letter gives you an idea.
Dear Eve,
I cannot believe I have to write you a letter. You’ll most likely tear it up before you even read it, just as you’ve refused to answer your phone or be home when I come over. I nearly tore your house apart Wednesday looking for you. William wouldn’t give you up though I threatened a good maiming. I hope you were hiding in a haystack and got coated in fleas. It’s the most absurd thing I can imagine to treat me like the enemy. I begged my father to give your father the loan. And if you could only see how much he wanted to. The very thought of you making such a scene at the bank nearly makes me hate you if it didn’t impress me so much. What did get into you? Despite your newfound spunk, the bank can’t grant the loan without more assurances. There is too much debt. Even if they foreclosed and sold it they would lose a small fortune. Which I think my father would do for you if he could, but no one else will allow it. If I could do anything you must know I would. It is ruining my mascara to write it but my father says if you sell everything, sheep and all—before they eat you out of house and home—then you might make enough to pay off the mortgage and go in for a smart little row house in town. You’d be close to me. And your father should get his pensioneer cheques soon, so it will make an easier retirement. Perhaps he could help others on their farms for a little extra. I know you love that scrap of land, but if you could help your father see his way through before more harm is done… Perhaps you and I could sign up as Army nurses and William could get scholarship. You and Alan can begin new when he comes home. Sometimes these things are blessings in terrible disguise.
Your still loving, but most irritated, friend,
Theo
So there it is. One week of post and my doom is all spelled out. We can comfort ourselves a few more months on the farm and be ruined forever, or sell now and watch my father wither away in dejection in a sterile house crowded in the middle of town. And as much as I try to work up a good misery about it, I am distracted entirely by one last letter.
To Move the World (Power of the Matchmaker) Page 14