To Move the World (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Regina Sirois

  “No, Marty, certainly not.” She turned to me and said, “I shall only be gone a few minutes. You’ll please excuse me.”

  Before I finished saying, “Of course,” she was making her way out of the room.

  “How is he?” I asked Jonathon in the quiet after her departure.

  He was still scowling about the sheep and it took him a moment to answer. “All English phlegm rising to the top. A brave man.” He sounded so lonely when he spoke those words, but he cleared his throat. “How would you feel about a walking picnic? We could carry our sandwiches and eat them while I show you the grounds. It’s too fine a spring day to be penned up.”

  “And your mother?” Then in a low voice I added, “I cannot believe I spoke of sheep brains in front of her.”

  Jonathon laughed. “She didn’t think a thing of it. She hears much worse from my father’s nurses.” He took a sip of lemonade. “She’ll putter about outside with us when she’s done. She’s getting round only sitting by my father all day. It will be good for her.” He grabbed two sandwiches and pressed one into my hands. “Come. It will be ghastly. We’ll get crumbs all over our clothes and be completely improper.”

  “How can a girl say no to that?” I laughed and took up a crocheted napkin. “But you must carry my lemonade.”

  “A small sacrifice for a grand walk.” He took the crystal glass and raised it as if in a toast before he took me out the garden door. It smelled of the lilacs that spilled over the stone wall in luxurious bunches so soft I had to touch them. They did look so lovely against my white glove.

  “There is a hidden statue of a telescope, just on the other side of the wall,” he said as he studied the flowers in my hand. “Do you like astronomy?”

  “I like it well enough, but I am horrible at it. I cannot tell one star from the next. They are all identical.”

  “And yet your sheep have names to you, I suppose?”

  “They certainly do. But they are all so different.”

  Jonathon laughed. “I suppose most things are like that; only a muddle until we know them.” He set my glass of lemonade on the wall and managed to roll up his shirtsleeve despite his sandwich. It seemed the thing I knew best in the world at that moment was the way his fingers moved in the sunshine. They were fascinating subjects—scientifically speaking—very long and dexterous.

  “A telescope is a strange statue for an English garden,” I told him. “No small parthenon or grecian goddess or winged cherub?”

  “I asked for a telescope when I was still in primary school.”

  “Eton and Oxford and all of that?” I asked in a voice meant to be teasing, but it came out more accusatory.

  “I am just an identical star to you like all the others,” he replied. “You’ll have to learn to know me better. I went to Durham, right in the shadow of the Cathedral.”

  “Well, that’s more local. I supposed you’d been raised in big cities, though Durham is massive next to Kepsdale. Perhaps you’ve a bit of Yorkshire in you yet. After all, Kepsdale is your election seat.”

  “Correction,” he smiled most soberly. “Kepsdale is my home.” He walked out along a cobbled path to the lawn and a row of untidy flower beds. (I do think they look more English and lovely when they have a bit of wild to them.) He moved aside a clematis vine to show me the weathered statue.

  “Is that a plaque?” I asked, parting some ruffled leaves at its base. “Galileo Galilei,” I read aloud. “E pur si muove.” I looked up to Jonathon, not sparing myself any embarrassment for my ignorance. “I certainly butchered that. Is it Latin or Italian?”

  He sat down in the soft grass and I followed suit, forcing myself to keep several proper feet away. I watched the hair on his arms catch the sunlight as I removed my gloves. He took a sip of the lemonade and then held it out to me. “You don’t mind if we share?”

  “I’d be ungrateful if I did,” I said easily, but my heart gave an extra thrum looking at the smudge on the glass where his mouth had pressed.

  “Italian. And I don’t speak any languages other than this one so don’t look to me for any coaching on pronunciation.” His thick black eyebrow arched playfully. “It means ‘And yet, it moves.’”

  I ran my eyes along the stone telescope pointing its blind eye up to the blue day. “Meaning the earth, correct?” I asked.

  Jonathon set his sandwich on his napkin in the grass and laid back, his dark hair tangling in the green blades as he stretched himself out.

  “The planets. The solar system. Everything but the sun. That, Galileo insisted, stayed still, just like the heretic Copernicus insisted. A hard argument to make when every day every person on Earth watched the sun glide from one end of heaven to the other. So Pope Paul V— this is where everyone hisses the villain just like in vaudeville,” Jonathon gave me a smiling aside and I laughed as he continued, “hauls him in for an inquisition. Rather like some of the luncheons I’ve been obliged to attend with London ladies, I imagine. And because torture and death don’t sound like a nice holiday at all, Galileo recants.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said, still laughing. I’d never seen the comical side of him and it was wonderfully amusing.

  “Yes, you sound heartbroken,” he wisecracked. “But do be sober. This is important history. They graciously forgave him and agreed to let him go. But just when his freedom is won, on the very threshold of liberty, he stomps his foot and mutters, ‘And yet, it does move!’”

  I stopped laughing, too lost in the story. The Galileo in my mind looked just like Jonathon.

  “You see, it’s the truth. It simply won’t go like a lamb to the slaughter,” Jonathon said; his voice rang with admiration. And then, “Forgive any reference to your poor herd. Only, it is a much harder thing to move a man to truth than to move the entire world.”

  “Did they kill him?” I asked, my stomach tight with suspense.

  “They must have been tired of the whole ordeal because they sent him home in poverty and under house arrest. He died blind and wretched, but he had the truth. My history professor at Durham could tell it until you almost wanted to weep for the old man. So I wrote home and said I wanted a telescope and to be an astronomer and related the whole tale to my parents.”

  He sat up and leaned his body close to me, his arm draped over one of his knees.

  “But you’re not an astronomer,” I pointed out.

  “Dash it all. I got the telescope. It’s in the carriage house as we speak. But I found out they’ve got most of the stars labeled by now. There doesn’t seem much left for me to do. But my father placed the statue there for my eleventh birthday.”

  “He sounds so good,” I said, taking a sip of lemonade, hovering my lips a moment against the cold glass. “I remember my eleventh birthday. It was my last birthday with my mother.”

  “Was she an angel mother?” he asked gently. “It seems the dead ones always are.”

  “What a funny question.” I met his eyes and realised how unafraid we were to look at one another. “I actually remember her getting quite cross. She was often scolding, but when she laughed it was marvelous. It’s a hard life for a woman on a farm. Work never ends.”

  Jonathon searched my face. “So why do you want that life?”

  “It’s getting better. There’s modern appliances and tractors and electricity and better veterinary care. It’s not as hard as it used to be.” I felt a blush creep up my face. I searched mentally over the farm, looking for an answer. “It is beautiful, too. The hills and the fields and I love the lambs. And it’s Alan’s dream.”

  “So what is yours?” He leaned forward, his hand extended. My body trembled in its stillness, waiting for his touch, but he only closed his fingers around the glass, taking it from my hand for a drink.

  A breath shuddered quietly from my lips. “I haven’t seen enough to know.”

  “I thought you would say to marry the man you love and keep your farm.”

  My eyes flashed with alarm. “Of course, that. I take that fo
r granted. I thought you meant something besides.”

  “Like my dream to become an astronomer,” he offered. “Who am I to ask you when I am such a hypocrite?” He smiled kindly and kept talking. “I think that old dream is why I prefer to join the RAF. Should something happen, should my time be up, I think I would like it to be up there, close to the stars.” His dark, bright eyes darted from cloud to cloud, perhaps imagining his demise.

  “Please don’t. I really can’t bear it. Alan says the same thing about the soil. He would die in a trench given a choice.” I twisted my rose-coloured napkin mercilessly. “I hate the thought of war with a passion. And,” I announced heatedly, “that is one more reason to shave that ridiculous thing off. Not a good time in history for men with moustaches. I think of Hitler every time I see it.”

  He laughed so hard I barely heard his mother pipe up from behind the garden wall. “Thank goodness someone else is trying to talk some sense into him.” She appeared in the gateway, her woolen skirt a terrible colour of mustard that clashed even worse with the beautiful garden than it had with the beautiful house. “I’m up to my ears with the Orphan Society and writing to Marion and praying he doesn’t do anything terribly foolish and seeing to Benjamin that I haven’t any time to spare for my good child’s grooming.”

  “Good child? Don’t believe a word of it, Eve. She would sell three of me to get one more Marion. And mine looks like nothing like Hitler’s.” He rubbed his moustache fondly and made room for his mother as she sat down, puffing a bit. “It does make them take me more seriously in the office.”

  “That is your wisdom and not your moustache,” she informed him. “I couldn’t breathe without Jonathon,” she said fondly. “I think one tends to take for granted he is there because he is so constant.” She looked him over, her motherly affection unable to hide beneath her clipped, factual voice.

  “You can trust in his love,” I murmured without a thought in my head. I was only thinking aloud of Alan’s letter.

  “Not half,” she agreed, the local expression sounding comical with her proper, southern accent. “You always can with the good ones. I’m sure your young soldier is the same.”

  “Of course,” I whispered. Only saying it made me sad and I was in no mood for sadness. Jonathon gave me a strange look I felt more than saw. I blinked and changed the subject. “Jonathon’s been giving me a history lesson on Galileo.” That started his mother with stories of the boys when they were away at Durham and the various times they threatened Marion with expulsion. It seems he had a knack for goading people even at a young age. He adopted a horribly ugly mongrel and named him Hardy after a professor he hated. Whenever the professor was within earshot he would shout terrible things to his dog such as “Get your nose out of your arse, Hardy!” I must admit I liked Marion even more after hearing that.

  We talked a bit about the farm, but it was depressing and I always get a falling sensation when we discuss it too much, as if the world is tipped onto its side and threatens to spill me off. When the afternoon was well spent I excused myself saying there was so much work still to get done.

  “May I drive you home?” Jonathon offered.

  I told him I’d hid my cycle on the lane and it was too fine a day not to ride home.

  “Then let me join you. Truly, I’ve not ridden since Durham, but I wasn’t half bad.” His cycle was in terrible condition when we found it so he borrowed Marion’s and after a quick tire pump we were on our way.

  “You look too fine and dressed up to crease yourself on a bicycle,” he said after we got started.

  “Do you really want me to throw it in the back of your car and accept a ride from you?” I asked.

  “No. I truly don’t. It’s a lovely view to see a pretty girl coasting down a hill.” He had to half shout because he was behind me and the wind carried his voice far away.

  “Flattery is terrible,” I answered back, my voice like a kite spinning behind me.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “Not for anything,” I hollered. I let the breeze whip back my hair and press its cool hand against my chest. I paid dearly on the hills, but every time we crested one and went gliding down all smiles and freedom I felt like the day had washed the age right out of both of us and left us young. I beat him home but halted at the top of the drive, well away from the house.

  Jonathon panted a bit. “Not fair. Now I have to make it all the way back with no companion. I didn’t think through that part.”

  He straddled his cycle and I stood behind mine, the steel frames like armor between us. Mine made me brave. “I thought men were twice as strong so that shouldn’t be a problem for you at all.”

  “We can be weak as kittens when you find the chink in our armor,” he answered.

  “And your chink is cycling?” I started to walk my cycle along the gravel and he did the same.

  “Hardly. I think mine is you.”

  My step arrested, my head thrown toward his face, but never quite making it there. I stopped my eyes at his shoulders, afraid to advance. “What do you mean?” I asked, my ribs contracting like a cinch around my heart.

  “I don’t rightly know. I hadn’t planned to say that.” And with that he kept walking.

  “Wait,” I insisted. “You cannot say something like that without an explanation.”

  His smile returned, and I felt it across the distance as surely as I could feel the pulse of my veins inside my fingers.

  “I think I only meant…” He shifted, thinking, for just a moment too long.

  “Eve!” A fast shout of my name cut him off entirely. I knew it was William’s voice but it felt like it came from all around me. I spun my head round searching before I saw him leaning out from his bedroom window. “Eve, come in now. We’ve had news.” He sounded much too urgent for me to comfort myself with the idea of good news.

  “About the farm? The sheep?” I called back, but he’d already retreated inside.

  “Excuse me,” I said, hastily leaning the cycle against the stone wall before trotting for the house. Perhaps there was a buyer already. Perhaps more sheep went down. I steeled myself, pushing a hand against my stomach. When I reached the door Jonathon’s long arm snatched the handle a moment before I did, and he held it open.

  “Do you mind?” he asked, pointing his chin inside.

  I felt nothing but relief that he came with me.

  William met me at the bottom of the stairs and the two of us nearly collided. Dad rose from his chair by the fireplace. “The sheep?” I asked them both.

  My father took a slow step forward, a caution to his movement that alarmed me more than anything else. “I doan want you t’ panic. All’s well enow,” he spoke without moving his lips much, the way he does when addressing a worried sheep.

  “Dad?”

  He held up a square of paper. “It’s a telegram abouts Alan. He’s fine.”

  The air ripped out of my lungs. “Then why are you talking like that?”

  “You’re scaring her, Dad,” William said, taking the telegram and handing it to me. “There was an artillery accident. He’s in hospital at Woolwich.”

  I fingered the paper, not sure what to do with it. “What’s wrong?” I asked, afraid to read the words. For some reason I felt certain he’d lost something, an arm or leg.

  “Shrapnel to the lungs. He’s had surgery and is recovering. He’s asked for you.” My father wasn’t finished before I managed to grope my way to the stairs.

  “I need to pack. Woolwich is all the way to London. How will we make the fare?”

  “I’ll see to it,” Jonathon interjected. “Get your things. May I use your telephone box?” he asked Dad as I hurried to my room.

  I shut my door behind me. It seemed symbolic, keeping Jonathon on the other side. I had enjoyed a picnic with another man, teased about his moustache, and listened to his school stories while Alan…what? Coughed up blood? Lay hacked to pieces in a hospital? Hot tears ran as I pulled out slips and brassieres, stuffi
ng them into my mother’s old case that was coming apart at the seams and smelled of mildew. I put in two dresses and stockings and then ran out of strength so I sat on the bed, crippled under the weight of my guilt.

  By the time I made it back downstairs Jonathon’s long car waited in the drive, a stranger behind the wheel. He must have called for it immediately.

  “Won’t you go with me?” I asked Dad, hoping I wouldn’t have to navigate trains and stations and strange roads all the way to Woolwich alone.

  “I was hoping I could ride along,” Jonathon said kindly. “I could see Marion and perhaps get more details.”

  Dad shrugged helplessly. “He’d be more help to you than me. Tell Alan to be strong.” We exchanged a dreadful glance all shadowed in fear before he looked away. He tried to hide the weight of it, but we all knew Alan was a son to him.

  “Please let Theo know where I’ve gone,” I asked William. He allowed me to give him a fast kiss on the cheek and then I followed Jonathon into the car. We sat a mile apart in the backseat, the bench stretched to terrible lengths between us.

  “I read the telegram,” he finally spoke up. “It says he is doing well. I don’t think there is any permanent damage.”

  I nodded just to make him stop. He understood and didn’t speak again until we got to the station. I came out of my stupor a bit when we approached the buying counter.

  “What about your bags? You’ve nothing,” I pointed out as he held our tickets.

  “I’ve a stocked wardrobe at my flat. You can stay there tonight for lodging. I’ve plenty of friends who will take me in if I look forlorn enough.”

  “I want to go straight to Woolwich. Tonight.” I needed Alan to know how desperate I was to get to him.

  “Eve, we wouldn’t get in until the middle of the night. There’s not a nurse alive who would let you see him at that hour.” He took my bag, ignoring the embarrassing state of it. “But if you sleep and look less terrified and have a chance to wash up, think of how the sight of you will cheer him first thing in the morning.”