To Move the World (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Regina Sirois

  “Is it a midnight party?” she asked, looking at the array of food balanced on her son’s arm. “Honestly, what are you trying to make?”

  “Please, let me,” I said reaching for the ingredients. “I’ll make all three of us egg sandwiches.” I knew it would cost me several kisses to invite his mother, but I was so full of good cheer I wanted to share it with everyone. I was glad to see their gas range was very much like Theo’s. “If you would like one, Mrs. Doran?”

  “Egg sandwich? I’ll not pass on that.” Her eyes shifted from me to her son, shrewd and curious all at once.

  I noticed his pink blush when he looked away from his mother’s eyes. I wondered what state my lipstick was in and quickly ran my hand across my mouth.

  “May I asked the occasion?” Mrs. Doran asked as I spooned butter into the pan.

  Jonathon cleared his throat. “Eve agreed to go on a date with me tonight, but I was late picking her up because of work so we are eating here.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek, wondered if the reality of a farm girl in his kitchen had struck him yet. Would I look very primitive when transplanted into his world? I cracked the eggs open with a certain ferocity.

  “It’s some kind of girl who gets this pretty, then gets stood up, and will still cook you dinner at this ungodly hour.” Mrs. Doran gave Jonathon a level stare, obviously disappointed in his manners.

  “It is some kind of girl,” he agreed, a smile flickering against his fighting cheeks. “I did try to make amends.”

  I exhaled in relief. “He certainly did,” I confirmed but could not hold back the laugh. It was too much for Jonathon and he joined me.

  “I’m too embarrassed to say a word tonight, Mother, so scheme away in your head and I’ll tell you more tomorrow,” he promised with a pat on her shoulder.

  She pursed her lips the way I do when adding long rows of figures before she grabbed the smoked ham and began to saw off pieces. “So be it,” she said, almost hiding the glint of amusement in her eyes. We ate our sandwiches in the kitchen, the lights blazing against the August night. Jonathon asked after his father and Mrs. Doran reported he had rallied that week.

  “I keep bracing for goodbye, and he spares me a while longer,” she told us, her eyes distant with private thoughts. “He does loves his letters from Marion. I think at first he lived out of worry for him, and now out of pride that he’s growing into himself a bit.”

  Jonathon put an arm around her more affectionately. “Then we will have him write every day for a hundred years, agreed?”

  “I like that,” she said, looking up at her tall son. “Of course, you grew into yourself ages ago.”

  “Remember that, woman, the next time you’re in the mood to rail on about the furniture in my flat or the hours I keep.”

  “His flat is repugnant,” she told me, as if I’d never seen it before. I blushed as I remembered my head on his feather pillow.

  “I’m sure it’s not,” I said, picturing the black windows and the city beyond.

  Jonathon cleared his throat. “This could be the part where we talk more about what’s wrong with Marion.”

  At midnight, Mrs. Doran ordered Jonathon to get me home safely at a decent hour and released us, her black eyes assessing every movement as Jonathon led me to the car. “And don’t be overlong,” she chided him, her hand closed around the neck of her dressing gown as she stood in the doorway. “Or I’ll tell your father.”

  He looked at me in the darkness. “Dad would take my side.” He helped me into my seat and started the car. “I told you she likes you,” he said as we pulled away and the cool wind pushed into our faces. He drove slowly, his arm curved around my shoulders while he worked the gear lever and steering wheel with only one hand. As clumsy as it seemed, I wasn’t willing to give his left hand back. We were nearly home before he said anything. “Speaking of parents, what will your father think of us? I gather he was rooting for Alan?” He said it like he wasn’t worried, but I caught the jerk of his Adam’s apple.

  “You saved his farm. He can’t want anything fairer than that.” I beamed at him.

  “And your former engagement?”

  I flinched and looked at the streaks of light made by the stars as the car rolled along. “I can’t explain it, only you came along a bit too late. I would have known right off if I’d met you sooner,” I told him.

  “Then I take all blame for tardiness. But I do feel for him. I know what it is to be cast off.” He pulled into the driveway where Bartlett’s car was parked, which meant he and Dad were home. Hopefully they were sleeping off a long night at the pub and would leave us in peace a few minutes longer.

  “Are there any you still think of?” I nearly choked on the small words.

  “Girls? Eve, you must know I don’t. It’s only the feeling of the thing. I sympathise for how it must feel to lose you.”

  Neither of us moved for a spell. I don’t know what ricocheted through his mind, but when I looked at him I was startled to see sadness inching its way around his eyes.

  “I keep trying to see the next step, Eve. I want to tell you I’ll take you to the symphony and Coventry Gardens and in the fall we can drive through the country. None of that works now. I cannot imagine what becomes of anything. I can’t see…”

  “A future?” I finished for him.

  He looked into my eyes like my words startled him very much. “Surely I wasn’t going to say something that morbid? Do you think it’s true?”

  “Of course not. I don’t mind you can’t see it because I can see it for both of us,” I smiled like no grief loomed ahead of us.

  “Do you mean that?” he asked.

  I assured him I did and he turned off the car and leaned his head back onto the seat, taking in the fathomless sky. “Will you tell me what you see?” he asked.

  “Not all of it. You do hate the part in twenty years where you go paunchy and bald.”

  His mouth fell open in laughter that bounced off of his throat. “That sounds dreadful.”

  “It is. But I’ll tell you the next year until this war is over.”

  “One year?” he asked.

  “Didn’t Chamberlain tell you? I got the telegram yesterday.” I talked over his chuckling. “You will galavant off to Australia where an Aborigine will fall in love with you and offer you six kangaroos to marry her.”

  “Tempting. They are very bouncy. Will I succumb?”

  “Almost, but you do hate the bones in her ears and one of my letters will arrive just in time to make you long for England.”

  “They will certainly do that. Though not all of England,” he amended. “Just this spot.”

  “You will come home to find the Brannon herd wildly successful and I will be writing pieces for the village paper at the speed of light. Eve, you will say, please come to London and be my secretary now that the war is ended.”

  “That is what I am going to propose to you—a position at an agricultural firm?”

  “Yes and I will agree, leaving Dad and Alan in partnership to run this farm. Alan is going to marry Doris from Woolwich.”

  “Who is Doris?”

  “She is a beautiful nurse I made up for him who has a passion for sheep. I don’t wish him to be cast off at all, but terrifically happy.”

  “Please stop,” he said, laughing again. “You’re making fun.”

  “I’m not. But I will take the job and you will take me to many museums and make scandalous love to me in front of nude sculptures in the National.”

  “Shocking!” he said with false alarm. Jonathon looked like he meant to put a hand on my leg, but settled for my empty palm instead. “Would you not mind if Alan fell in love today?”

  I blinked, amazed he could not see the answer clearly in my face. “There is only one thing I mind right now.”

  He waited for me to continue.

  “This night coming to an end,” I confessed. “I’ve daydreamt it a million times but it is so much better at night, with you.”


  “Because Eves are when no one can be disappointed,” he recited, tender thoughts beautifully restrained in the lines of his face. Before I could reply he made a concurring sound like a happy hum. “Bless your dear mother. And what if I wanted a quiet existence here in Kepsdale away from the cities, running a sheep farm?”

  This time I laughed and clapped my hand over my mouth. “I didn’t mean that. Only that you would look all wrong in spattered coveralls.”

  “Would I?” His eyes flashed. Stepping out of the car he came for me and opened my door.

  “I wish I could go with you,” I told him.

  “If I could tuck you into my pocket I would. But they take only enlisted women as secretaries and what if they posted you a world away with a more handsome officer?”

  “I’d have to drop you, surely.”

  “Don’t I know it. So for now keep our people full of lambchops and in warm blankets. It would take years to train someone to do what you could do in your sleep on this farm. Besides that, I think you are much safer here. For that reason alone I beg you to stay out of the cities, especially London, should there be a fight.”

  I hated the good, solid sense of it and looked up to the towering trees in frustration. “If I’m useful here, I’ll stay. But how could we have only weeks left? I’ve known how I’ve felt ever since Woolwich and all that time is wasted,” I complained.

  “Then let’s not waste this,” he said, running his hand up my arm until his fingers wrapped behind my neck and held me in place while he closed his lips over mine. And then I felt like a hot summer day, every part of me melting into the next, colours bleeding and blurred. There was no sight as I closed my eyes and drank him in, only bursts of light behind my eyes. With Alan there were always thoughts behind the kisses, my brain working despite the distraction. With Jonathon my mind washed clean to a white oblivion, warm and endless as a desert.

  I released him only after he promised to fetch me first thing in the morning for a breakfast before he drove back to Harrogate.

  “I do like your plan,” he murmured as he gripped my hand in one last goodnight. “I’m a bit excited about the Aborigine, but I think we could vastly improve my homecoming.”

  “Well, I suppose there might be a little room for variation,” I pulled back until I could stare into his shadowed face. “I know there are a million ghastly things, but I just can’t help being glad.”

  He had no answer for that but to blink several times and swallow as he held on to me. His dark eyes said more than words. We didn’t speak as we parted, the shock of the night and late hour settling over us as surely as dark had settled across the distant mountains.

  I slipped through the still house and up to my bed without meeting anyone. Stretched out, my hand resting on my fluttering stomach, I repeated over and over that I wasn’t dreaming. It surprised me to find the ache of winning him nearly as severe as the ache of being denied him. I lay in beautiful agony, somewhere between exquisite tears and laughter, the truth of losing him to the war almost small compared with the gift of loving him for an entire evening.

  I stared up at the ceiling, occupied with every long inhale and exhale. I think I actually felt the Earth speeding through the empty blackness of space. “So it does move,” I murmured through my smile. Then I imagined my telephone call to Theo the next day and laughed until I had to smother my mouth with my pillow. I pictured a lovely nurse looking at Alan as he slept beneath the moonlit window and made her a very longing sort. I even tried to explain my choice to William but he was vastly uninterested and vaguely annoyed I’d dragged him into my daydreams.

  Finally, as even the sheep stopped lowing outside and silence fell over the black world, I asked my mother what she thought of Jonathon. I imagined her telling me he was a fine catch, but I couldn’t hear her voice or see her face properly. Every time I tried I only saw the Oriental woman from the dress shop. I imagined her black eyes and soft fingers. She waited behind the counter, her grin a mixture of curiosity mingled with mischievousness. I gave her my best smile and whispered into the dark, warm night, “In case you were wondering, it was the perfect dress.” I closed my eyes, looking for some empty space in me where the growing happiness could go, but I was already filled from my toes to the last strand of my hair. I lowered my voice even more, a secret only the stars could hear. “And I retrieved the boy.”

  Epilogue

  15 SEPTEMBER 1941

  Dear Eve,

  I never imagined how dreadful it would be to get my mother’s telegram when I am so far from home. She told me you were like a daughter, sitting with her at the end, receiving visitors, and helping with arrangements. I was not surprised in the least. I cannot think of anyone I’d rather have with her in her dark hours. My father was such a fine man, Eve. I feel more grief than I ever expected.

  I am almost grateful things are so urgent here in the Philippines. I work outside as long as there is sunlight and spend the evenings running calculations and drafting letters. I have an American secretary since I am working under their direction, but he is not nearly as attractive as you. I was supposed to leave for farm assessments in India, but my passage is delayed due to the high number of American soldiers pouring in. It looks like it will be several more months before I am on any part of the British Empire. I’m promised they’ll have me on my way after the December rice harvest. When I think it has now been exactly two years to the day since I laid eyes on you I feel lost. I am due a leave as soon as I am back on British soil and will rush to you.

  I think there is something very wrong with what I am about to do, Eve, but my hand is steady and I must write it, despite being half a world away. I hope in some future day you will forgive me.

  You were a daughter to my mother when she faced death at home, and I suppose, still fears it abroad. Would you be her daughter indeed by agreeing to marry me?

  There are a million more words and not enough paper to hold them. Will I love you do for now? Because I do. Perhaps as you read this you’ve already said yes and I will be wandering somewhere, hot and tired, and will have a fiancé and not even know it! How glad that makes me. Please speed back an answer at once and put my wondering to rest. I will ask my mother to give you a ring on my behalf if you accept.

  I am (hopefully) officially yours,

  Jonathon

  20TH OCTOBER 1941

  The letter arrived only hours after Dad and I put William on the train to London for RAF training at the Lord's Cricket Ground. William said the RAF had the best food and he thought aeroplanes much more scientifically thrilling than rifles. Plus he is so adept at figures and just the right height. He left stoically, but I noticed a look pass between him and Dad that no typewriter can transcribe. After our brave goodbye my father drove home in silence, his thoughts so deeply tangled in his memories of the Great War I could see the trenches in the lines across his forehead.

  When we parked at home he stepped out of the car and leaned his face far back to take in the enormous autumn sky. I know he imagined William up there, more fragile than a bird in the interminable blue.

  I had the same stunned sensation that I felt after Alan enlisted and then Marion and Jonathon, all leaving great gaping holes only work and fortitude can fill, if only I could get my numb hands to do something. I felt, as perhaps I have from the very beginning, that cheerfulness can shield them. If I believe in their safety and live as if it is a sure thing, they will come through.

  As I pulled out a clean towel to finish the breakfast dishes I touched this typewriter, dusty on the corner of the counter, and remembered the day it arrived and how I wouldn’t let William touch it. Pulling it from its place of neglect, I held it in my lap, surprised how familiar the keys felt to my fingertips despite the months I’d ignored it. Somehow the sound of it always reminds me of falling out of love with Alan and into love with Jonathon and it seems to be the accompaniment to all of my hopes, which can make me terribly sad. I sat beside the stove and considered a moment before I cranked in
a fresh piece of paper and decided to type a long letter to each of my boys. You will be so glad to know Alan and Marion are both well and are captains now, both in North Africa.

  I started with Marion because I wondered if he was very heartbroken about his father and needed extra care. I told him how stunned Theo has been to find him such a faithful penpal and how she teases the soldiers at the village hall by telling them she has a boy she’s training to be her lover, but he’s proving a slow learner. They do try to steal her away from you, but I think you are safe because none of them are quite rascals enough or handsome enough to keep her attention, I wrote him, relishing the words. I knew that would amuse him and I think amusement might keep Marion alive. If there is fun to be had he will defy death to get at it.

  I chuckled over the thought of his expression when he reads my story about the sailor who came through town last month and stopped into the hall for some coffee and a free luncheon. He spoke to Theo for five minutes before he offered to marry her on the spot and give her his car in the trade. Don’t worry, it wasn’t a very nice car, I assured him. My laughter and the clicking keys were the only sounds in the room other than a knock that sounded at the open door. I raised my eyes to see Teresa Fulton holding the post on our kitchen doorstep. She’s been delivering ever since her husband left for France. We chatted as I flipped through the letters, finding the blue envelope buried between a WI flyer and an announcement of new air raid procedures. I stopped speaking to her mid-word.

  “Eve?”

  “It’s from Jonathon. Post finally got through!”

  “I’ll leave you to it,” she said softly, turning away with a knowing smile. There is no job more important in all the world right now than a mail carrier, because there is nothing more precious than blue envelopes.

  It was the first I’d heard from him since the funeral and I opened it in haste, desperate for his reaction. The October breeze ushered a few dry leaves past the threshold, as if even they wanted to know what Jonathon had to say. Seated beside my Corona, wrapped in a soiled apron, I read my marriage proposal.