To Move the World (Power of the Matchmaker) Read online

  His eyes flashed. “Your coveralls didn’t fare too well, either.”

  “We’ve never had such a time lambing. I didn’t realise how much Alan did until he wasn’t here. Usually we hire a man to help but everyone is shorthanded. Come inside.” We crossed the yard and I forced my hands close by my side so I didn’t fidget self-consciously with my ugly, stained clothes. “Would you mind terribly if I changed?” I asked him once we got into the kitchen. “You can wash at the sink.” Without waiting for a reply I bolted for the door and rushed upstairs for the mirror to see how bad I looked. To my immense relief my face was clean and the flushed red of my cheeks due to hard work and embarrassment had a certain charm to it. I yanked off my coveralls and shirt and replaced them with a simple yellow skirt and a white blouse I had been saving for Sunday, but felt the Lord would be more forgiving about how I was dressed than a rich young man.

  When I returned to the kitchen Jonathon had several dark, wet spots where he’d tried to scrub off some of the worst of the formula, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d used my floor mopping rag instead of the hand rag. “You used the cold tap. It comes out like ice. You must be frozen.”

  “No, I’m well, thank you.” He gestured to my new clothes. “I just look poorly next to you now.”

  “I could have some scones for us in just a few minutes or some hot tea.” I reached for a bowl to begin, but he held out his hand to stop me.

  “No, please, don’t bother. I’d much rather see your stock and ask you about them. If you don’t mind taking the time. I know you told me not to come yet.”

  “Well,” I said with a brave smile. “You’re here now.” I replaced the bowl on the counter and led him back outside. Skip barked and bounded forward, trying to guess which way we’d go. “The ground is wet,” I warned Jonathon. “Please don’t ruin your good shoes, too.”

  “I promise they’re not irreplaceable,” he said with good nature and fell into step beside me. He looked so happily confident I decided to make him work for his tour. With a slightly wicked resolution I set my eyes on our highest buildings.

  The sun seemed to like the idea of us walking through the empty fields after such a bitter winter and burst full out of the lingering clouds to escort us. Sunlight certainly obliterated the shadows, but it didn’t do a thing against the persistent wind. Jonathon handed me his damaged jacket and insisted I wear it when a sudden gust made me take a step backward and cross my arms over my middle.

  “I can’t have you blow away,” he argued when I tried to refuse.

  The sleeves were ridiculously long, hiding my fingers even when I extended them. “Are you truly this stretched out?” I asked in wonder, studying his arms that looked so deceptively proportionate to the rest of him as he rolled down his shirt sleeves against the cold.

  “Perhaps you are truly that small,” he suggested.

  “Impossible. I’ve never lost my hands before and I’ve worn jackets all my life. It must be you.” We laughed together and only stopped when I pointed out things he wanted to know: where the sheep graze, how often we rotate pastures, how much grain we supplement, the cost benefit of taking lambs to market versus raising them.

  I handled the first hundred questions easily, but eventually I admitted, “I’m afraid we’re getting out of my depth on the business end. I can make up some grand sounding answers, but I won’t be sure I’m right. Even my father gets irritated with the ledgers sometimes. I fear we’ve come to rely on Alan with all the figures.” I smiled brightly. I’d forgotten Alan is a natural at arithmetic. That was another quality I could boast about on his behalf.

  We stopped to watch Skip round up one ewe that had wandered far away from all the others. Despite his best attempts the sheep only moved a few steps and then buckled to the ground.

  “Let’s see what that’s about,” I told Jonathon and squinted with every step, trying to see the problem from a field away.

  “How cute that you wrinkle your nose so much when you do that,” he said, jerking me out of my quiet concentration. I recalled his terrible words at the inn and tried to blot out the memory.

  “I’d give my eyes to be something other than cute,” I told him. “It is fine for primary school, but one does hope to outgrow it.”

  “Unimaginable,” Jonathon said. “Though, if you gave up your eyes it might go a long way toward achieving your goal. I’d hate to see you without them.”

  I would have responded, but firstly, I had no idea whether he teased me or genuinely complimented me; and second, I had just caught sight of something white in the grass. The longer I looked, the worse it was that it didn’t move. I whistled for Skip to call him off the sheep. He didn’t do anything but look at me and go back to his task of yipping at it. “Honestly!” I complained. “Do you mind very much calling my dog?”

  “What, me?” Jonathon asked in surprise.

  “Only he’s a rather misogynist dog. He never heeds me. He listens only to men. Except William—he won’t listen to him, either, but perhaps because he’s too young. “Skip. Lie down! Lie Down!” I tried again, but he didn’t even pretend to hear me that time.

  “What do I say? Just ‘come on, boy?”

  “Tell him to lie down and say it like you mean it, please.”

  Jonathon gave it a valiant try, but he did look red and sheepish, and Skip must have heard it because he merely bent his legs a bit and hunkered there.

  “Again. Truly, be fierce.”

  “Lie down!” Jonathon bellowed. Skip dropped to the ground and sat whimpering, begging to be released.

  “Tell him to ‘come by’ now. You’ve got it.” I ran forward while Skip raced toward Jonathon. “Do be sleeping,” I whispered, but already I knew something was wrong. If the lamb and mother were well they would have kept up with the flock grazing on the south hill in the sun. The white cloud of wool was far too small, and instead of lying in a contented ball like all lambs it lay tense on its chest. “It’s not right,” I said to Jonathon as soon as he reached me. The lamb’s ear flicked at the sound, but it kept its gaze forward, concentrating on some inner pain.

  I lifted the tail to check for scour but saw nothing. The mother nudged my hand away as if to say she was already attending. “I know girl,” I told her. “We’ll take it from here.” I took off Jonathon’s jacket and started for the lamb, but paused when I remembered the fine material.

  He saw my hesitation and nodded quickly. “Please do. I’ve never assisted in a rescue before.”

  I wrapped the lamb, glad it had a bit more muscle tone than I expected. Its head was not as limp as I feared as I lifted it against my chest.

  “Do you have any guesses?” Jonathon asked.

  I bent my head around and touched its eyelid. “I know a few things it isn’t. Good eye colour and it blinks fine. No scour. I think it might just be a vitamin deficiency. The vet left us extra packets. I’ll try dosing it because vitamins never hurt anything and let my dad figure it out when he gets home. He knows them like he is one of them.”

  As we walked away the ewe sprinted after us, shoving us in the legs with her great, curved horns. “How are you not black and blue?” Jonathon said, looking at my knees where the ewe battered me. I followed his eyes to the bottom of my skirt and grinned at the grass.

  “I suppose sometimes I am. I’ve learned to dodge a lot.”

  The ewe let out a deep, warbling note and the lamb kicked against me, answering in its high voice. “This one has fight in it, even if it is sick. The truth is they’ve all been a bit dowly this spring.” The vet had already been out three times to dose them with vitamins and for worms and calcium deficiency. The lamb protested again and I set it down to see how well it stood on its own. Jonathon and I stepped back to watch as it trembled. The mother circled and inspected it as the wind nearly pushed the puff of an animal over. Jonathon took hold of my arm as a gust rushed past us with spectacular power. He wasn’t quick letting go when it passed.

  I swallowed and watched th
e sheep, unsure what to say to him. My tongue was heavy in my mouth. Luckily, he bent over to look the lamb in the face and broke the silence. “It’s really more charming than an animal has any right to be, isn’t it? I fear you’re wrecking lamb chops for me.”

  The lamb looked up, the brown of its nose wound up over its eyes. The markings weren’t good. It certainly wouldn’t show well, but none of that mattered on a hillside. Jonathon was right, its newness was irresistible. Its plaintive attempts to trot forward ended in the front legs buckling and the mother prodding it upright to no avail. This time Jonathon beat me to it and knelt down beside the lamb, running his large hand over its tight curls, digging his fingers into the wool.

  “Would you believe I never touched a little one before? Even in my agricultural classes we only spoke of them, never handled them. We had dogs growing up, but that’s not a fair comparison.” Unable to bear being left out any longer, Skip crawled forward, his belly on the ground and his teeth bared in a hideous grin, eager to see what what was happening. He gave a pitiful whine. “Dogs are much needier,” Jonathon added. He cautiously put his hands under the lamb’s small body and lifted it, uncertain what to do with the dangling, jerking legs.

  “Hold it tighter and against yourself,” I motioned with my arms. “I think he likes you.”

  “Is it a boy?”

  “It is. And see this mark on his mother’s ear? She was born last year. This is her first lamb. I think she’s doing rather well for a first-timer, don’t you?” I looked at the bundle in Jonathon’s arms, pressed tight against his chest.

  “Except for knocking us about with her horns I think she’s champion.” As we walked back I noticed his fingers stroke the lamb several times absentmindedly. I tried to think of Alan’s hands when he tucked the lambs under his arms. I’d never seen him pet one. But then he understood they weren’t pets. And one does start to get used to them when there are hundreds. Jonathon looked the lamb over as I covertly looked him over and I realised he was not unpleasant to spend time with.

  He interrupted my thoughts with a question. “To the barn?”

  “I don’t see much harm in taking you out to the the nearest shelter first. You can see the pastures much better from there, and this lamb isn’t critical. If you don’t mind holding him.”

  “Not in the least. I’d love to see more.”

  I started out in front of him and he followed, huffing a bit in a way that made me feel very satisfied. It always felt good to see city-goers get a taste of rural life. But reversed, I would very much hate to be made fun of in a city. He asked a few questions about William’s plans for university and if we had heard from Alan.

  “Not half,” I said with too much gusto. “He writes every week, every inch of the page.” I didn’t mention the bulk of it was about sheep diseases. “He’s coming home for a week next month before he meets for unit training.”

  “And you are still intended?” I noticed him staring and it took a moment before I realised he was trying to get a look at my fingers. I held up my hand. “No ring yet, but it was very sudden. I hate for him to spend the money on it.”

  That was a lie. I’ve been daydreaming of a diamond so large it would blind people.

  “May I lodge complaints without offending you?” he smiled, half-cautious, half-conspiring.

  “Not if you call me young again. I will be outraged.”

  “Oh, not a word on your age. It is the issue of names that concerns me.” He stopped and adjusted the lamb who let out a volley of cries.

  “Names?” I put my finger in the lamb’s mouth to make sure it was not too dry. My skin stuck to its tongue. “Let’s see if he’ll eat if we put him down again. Put his head right by the teats.”

  Jonathon set him awkwardly beneath his mother who had kept step with us the entire way and gave his head a little push toward the dangling udder. I laughed at how shy he looked doing it and let him fumble until the lamb got the idea and clamped its narrow mouth down and started tugging with determination.

  “Nice work,” I reassured him. “Now what do you mean about names?”

  “Well, yours is so iconic. Eve.” It did sound marvelous when he said it in the brisk wind, his white shirt beating against him like a flag.

  “I know. You think I am named for the woman who spoiled the entire world and gave us lice…”

  “Hardly! Don’t interrupt,” he said it so kindly I blushed as if it were a compliment instead of a rebuke. “I think you’re named after a woman so irresistible a man would fall to the depths of hell to keep her. What a name to carry around.”

  I laughed out loud and seated myself on the sharp grass. “You are wrong, but I give you credit for a fine imagination.” I waited until he sat next to me to continue. “I am named for the night. My mother always said the Eves were the most marvelous times. When Christmas or May Day finally came she was a bit flat and depressed because they were never quite as lovely as she imagined them in her head the night before. She told my father that no one was ever disappointed with an Eve.”

  Jonathon gazed at me with a look that made me fidget because it was tinged with awe. I didn’t like it at the moment but I knew I would replay it when I was alone with my typewriter. I am doing it right now and he does look a bit magnificent in my mind’s eye.

  “That is wonderful,” he announced. “I must meet her. I could invite her to the house for Midsummer’s Eve. That must be the best sort of Eve, don’t you think?”

  “She’s dead.” I didn’t look at him when I said it. So often I don’t even think of it, but it is strange how she felt more dead in that moment than she had in a very long time.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” he whispered. “I feel for you.” He paused. “My father is very close.”

  “Close?” I looked at his straight lips beneath his tidy moustache and saw a pinch of pain before I realised he meant close to death. “I’d heard only vague rumors. What is the matter?”

  “Slow decline due to heart failure. The good man is turning blue in front of our eyes. That is why I try to learn whatever I can as quickly as I can because soon it will fall to my shoulders. Marion believes I should sell off in parcels and buy a neat home in London. He doesn’t believe in legacy. Particularly since we are new money and have no proper name to salvage.”

  We both watched the lamb crash its soft head into its mother’s flank and go to work on another teat while the ewe grazed with a smug look on her face.

  “I’m so sorry about your father. I don’t know a thing about legacies or land parcels. I know smallholding and the pains of it, but that is all.” My skirt fluttered around my ankles and I kept my hands smashed on top it so the wind didn’t force it up.

  “It is a relief to be with someone who lives so far from an office and bank notes. I find…” He never said what he found because he paused and smiled again, resolutely. “I haven’t lodged my complaint yet. You got me distracted. Your name is still Eve, whatever the reason behind it, which makes this engagement of yours nearly impossible.”

  I grinned in advance, knowing a good joke was coming. “I cannot wait to hear what you’re thinking.”

  “Simply that Alan and Eve is absurd. And somewhat lurid, don’t you think?”

  “Lurid?!”

  “It has such a carnal sound to it. Am I shocking you?”

  I laughed until my eyes teared in the cold wind. “How is it you put any thought into a farm girl’s engagement at all?” I asked, teasing back.

  “Oh, it’s just the principle of the thing. If you were Sarah and he were Abraham it would be very absurd; Samson and Delilah wouldn’t do at all. Alan and Eve would make you a laughing stock. You’d get fig leave bouquets until the end of your days. I think I must rescue you. Or persuade you to use your middle name.”

  “I haven’t one. Eve Brannon is all I’ve got to work with. We don’t have frills and extras like middle names in Kepsdale. Besides, he isn’t Adam, he’s Alan.”

  “It all sounds the same. I have lo
dged my protest and you must do with it what you like.”

  “Then I will keep it for amusement purposes only. And I think I shall make you hike all the way to the top buildings and bring down a rake for me.” I pointed to the speck of a shed shivering at the top of the rockiest hill.

  Jonathon followed my finger with his dubious gaze. “Is that yours, too? All the way out there?” He glanced down at the lamb (they do get heavy after half a mile or so). “What do you need a rake for?” he asked, his voice thin with dread.

  I laughed. “I don’t at all. I just think it would teach you not to meddle.”

  He let out a great sigh. “Thank goodness. You frightened me.” He looked at me but it was hard to see him because the wind battered my curls into my face. I felt so glad I had pinned them the night before. I’d fallen out of practice with Alan gone, but sometimes one wants to be pretty just for one’s self. It was pure luck I’d been caught out at it. “Although I bet the view from up there is fantastic,” he told me.

  “The best time for it is early summer when it’s most green. You must come back when the heather is out.” I caught myself staring at his moustache. In the windy sunlight it did look much softer and less repulsive than usual.

  “Does it repel you?” he asked.

  “Heavens no,” I answered too quickly, ashamed he had read my mind. “It looks better than usual today.”

  Jonathon laughed so hard he had to set the lamb down where it kicked free and rejoined its mother. “I want to pocket you,” he finally said. “I know that must sound terribly insulting, but I don’t mean it that way. Only when I talk with you I feel so happy.”

  “I would say amused,” I countered warily. “Which is not so nice as happy. Haven’t you any rich glamourous girls to make fun of? You can’t begrudge a couple of poor villagers their share of happiness.”

  Jonathon cupped his hand over his eyes as some light sliced apart the thick clouds and spread itself like a blanket on the brown grass, just starting to green. “I’d never begrudge you any happiness. Nor do I think you poor,” he promised. “I just felt it my duty to warn you this engagement isn’t meant to be. If it were meant to be your mother would have named you Beth or Betty or he’d be Frank or Edwin. Then I’d have no argument at all. The fates have decided it, don’t you see?” He smiled so kindly, I knew he didn’t mean a word of it, but he did make for such fun company after weeks of sheep. He continued in a softer voice. “But no, I don’t keep any glamourous women locked up in the tower. Perhaps if I borrowed a few of Marion’s extras.” As soon as he mumbled it with a smart little grin, he sobered and shook his head in embarrassment. “I don’t mean your friend, of course.”