To Move the World (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Regina Sirois

  I pointed to the sheep. “Is Holton here?”

  “He will be. I’m sorry it took me so long. I went to Nichols’ Farm myself and he was lying on the cobbles with half his self up a cow’s backside. I made him swear on his life he would come the moment he could. Is she going in?” He gestured to the ewe who was too distracted by some inner discomfort to be much concerned with us.

  I nodded and then shook my head. “I tried…”

  “Don’t be silly. She’s bigger than you.” He lowered himself to the ground and I helped him get her on his shoulders. It was the first time his height looked like power to me. Always before I’d thought him all stretched out, his strength diluted by too much area, but the sheep didn’t seem to burden him at all. I wondered where he’d come by such muscles sitting in an office signing papers, but I was too busy to dwell on it. I found two more lambs and carried them while their mother followed slowly.

  As we walked I described the disease William thought it could be. I told him about the parasites that infest the wet pastures when you get snails and then lamented I’d never seen them strike a herd before June and it was only the start of May. “When liver fluke is at its worst they call it black disease.” I explained quietly. “It starts with the staggers like this and then they just drop down dead. It’s always fatal. There not a thing anyone can do. We’ll lose them all.”

  “That can’t be right,” Jonathon stammered. “There must be something…” He stopped speaking very abruptly. “Except that’s what I said about my father. Sometimes there is nothing. Oh, Eve, I’m sorry. What would you do?”

  “We’re lucky enough to own the land. Most smallholders don’t. I guess you know that,” I corrected myself as I glanced at him. “If we sell it all we can pay the debts perhaps. But we’ll have so little left.” I caught sight of William far ahead of us carrying another ewe. “We couldn’t send William to university and that’s all he ever wanted.” I managed a weak smile. “My mother always said, Only those who has them can lose them.” He looked so devastated by my attempt to be brave that I changed the subject. “I’ve got on so well with my typewriter and that adds another string to my bow. Do you think I could be a secretary even if I don’t know shorthand? I’ve tried to get the hang of it, but it never sticks.”

  “Don’t sell off yet. Let’s wait for Holton before we despair.”

  “You’re right. We’ll wait and despair later.” And despite the terrible weight of pending doom we both managed to laugh for an instant and his teeth did look so clean and white. That is my main memory of the walk to the barn. Though it only lasted a moment, his smile branded itself into my mind.

  When we got back to the yard Jonathon deposited the sheep with the others in the barn and my father noticed our guest for the first time. He pulled the cap off his head with a quick “Hullo.”

  “What can I do to help? I’m at your disposal,” Jonathon told him, his face anxious to please.

  “I thought yer were t’ vet’s man,” Dad answered in confusion.

  I stepped forward. “Dad, this is Benjamin Doran’s son, Jonathon. He sent for Holton and he’s on his way soon.”

  If my father found it remarkable that a rich landowner stood in his barn sweating from carrying sheep, he did nothing to show it but squint and nod. William, however, gawped.

  My father looked over the sad host filling the barn. Some trembling, some stretched out on their sides, all of them with that inward, distracted look of pain. “They’re all dotherin’ fair,” he murmured. “What the ‘eck?” He shook his head in utter bewilderment and then spoke again. “Let’s shuft ‘em up and number ‘em so to ken what we got.”

  Jonathon hesitated, looking to me for clues and I realised he’d caught very little of what was said, half because he didn’t know old farming terms like ‘dothering’ and partly because my father spoke fast and low, an impossible combination with his accent. “Just count them,” I whispered.

  Jonathon went to the pens on the west side of the barn and began pointing and counting silently.

  “Eight here,” William called out after a moment.

  “I have thirteen. No twelve. One of ‘em a lamb,” I answered.

  “Six ewes back ‘ere,” Dad said in a heavy, tired voice. “And four more lambs.”

  Jonathon turned around, the last to answer. He met my eyes and hesitated before saying as factually as he could manage. “Twenty six sheep in the pens. Four lambs.” I stared at the sheep, not able to concentrate long enough to come up with the horrible tally. “51 sheep, I think, and nine lambs.”

  I meant to be impressed that he could do that so neatly in his head amidst the noise and the nerves, but the thought got buried by the terrible truth that 51 sheep was a full quarter of the herd, and there were plenty outside that didn’t look lively. I didn’t move a centimeter, waiting for Dad’s reaction.

  “It could be all,” he finally said. “We’ll hold on.”

  I wasn’t sure if he told the truth or feigned bravery for me. One year when I was ten we lost twenty-eight and lived on bread and beans and the charity of neighbors for months. I didn’t see how we could get past this with only a few pounds from Alan’s cheques to help us.

  “Mr. Daily always needs help this time of year,” William said. “I can hire myself out, though I don’t know how you two can manage this alone.” Before we could answer he left the barn, his head bent and shoulders stooped. We all wanted to stop him, but there was no choice. And how terrible to speak of it in front of a man who never worried for money in his life.

  I am so thankful Holton appeared at that very moment before I had to meet Jonathon’s eyes. Our vet, though only in his forties, has nearly white hair. I suppose days like this drained most of the life and colour out of him. He stood in the doorway, taking in the scene, his shoulder slumped and fagged out. “What’s the worst, Mr. Brannon?” he asked, moving toward the pens next to Jonathon.

  “Staggers. Per’aps fluke. Pair of t’ ewes scouring, but nowt others.”

  The vet pulled out his thermometer and we waited while Dad rehearsed the symptoms. “It’s too early for fluke and there’s no fever,” Holton announced. “We’ve been watching them and labs showed no worms last time we checked.”

  “Two dead in t’ yard,” Dad told him.

  Holton glared in frustration and followed him outside to inspect the corpses and Jonathon and I stayed in the dim barn; shadows, like death, waiting in the corners. Just to have something to say to stave off his sympathy I petted the ewe nearest me. “This one doesn’t seem so bad.” I looked into her watery amber eyes. “He’ll probably be wanting samples of their feed and the pasture and their stools. I could start on some of that.”

  When I went outside to ask, Dad and Holton scratched their faces and peered at the dead sheep. “It has a look of lockjaw,” Holton mused. “But so many? And one with blood in the nostrils.” I wasn’t used to Holton being stumped. He’d seen every livestock disease of the Dales for decades. Alan had an almost idol-like worship of the man. I asked him if he would like me to get samples of the grazing pastures and he went to his boot for two sterilised boxes.

  “Thank you, Eve,” he said. Then looking over my head he nodded in greeting. “Surprised to find you here, Jonathon.”

  “Just learning,” Jonathon answered. “I’ll help her collect them.”

  Just when they thought we were beyond hearing I heard Holton say, “That’s a rum one, Brannon,” but somehow I knew he was talking about seeing Jonathon and not the mystery of the sheep. My heavy feet went slowly to the pasture and Jonathon measured his steps to mine.

  “Eve, I’m sorry.” He took one of the boxes from my hand his finger touched mine. “Could I help somehow? Perhaps with William? I like him.”

  “You heard Dad. We’ll come out fine. Alan has a real pay cheque now. Or he will soon.”

  That quieted him until we reached the far pasture. The air was overwarm and hazy, making the landscape undefined. I reached my hands into the gra
ss, prying my way to the dirt, which was wetter than I hoped. After several minutes of prodding I found the first snail. Jonathon found three more. I wanted to curse but it certainly wouldn’t look right in front of him. I pulled out a good lump of green for a pasture sample when Jonathon settled his hand on top of mine, both of our fingers in the cold mud.

  When I looked up his expression trembled nervously for a moment before it steadied. “Perhaps I could assist until Alan’s cheques come in? I would like to.”

  “We’ve never taken when we can’t give back,” I argued, remembering the dance when he told the other man that he thought I was fourteen. But then, his hand was warm on mine and neither of us moved as our fingers anchored us to the same spot of land. I don’t think he thought of me as so young at that moment. And for the first time, I didn’t think him so old.

  “I don’t mean it as charity. I just find that I mind,” he said. I waited for him to say what he minded, but he seemed unable to finish.

  “Mind William missing school?” I offered.

  “No. I mean, yes, very much that,” he corrected himself.

  I shouldn’t have looked up at that moment, but it wasn’t purposeful. My eyes stumbled upon his face and I saw his moustache there and it didn’t look so dreadful to me. I found I rather wanted to see what it felt like against my lips. He took away his hand and retreated by standing up. I looked down at my lonely fingers and tried to order up all of my thoughts when I noticed it was my left hand. The one that should be wearing a ring. And then I had a mad thought of hell and wondered, Am I an adulterer? That took all of the life out of the moment and I felt too ashamed to look at him again.

  “That is so kind,” I said, trying to hide all my disgraceful thoughts behind a bright voice. “I am sure Theo’s father will give us a fine loan. It’s advantageous to be friends with the loan officer.” And then, just to prove to myself my heart was in the right place I added, “Alan will sort it out when he gets home.”

  “Of course,” Jonathon answered well enough, but something in his voice sounded miles away. “Forgive me if I offended you.”

  “Don’t be daft. You’ve done nothing but help and you’ve been kinder than we’ve any right to. I don’t know what made me think to trouble you today. I was in a panic…”

  “And you just thought of me?” He wondered aloud.

  “Isn’t that odd?” For a mad moment I thought of looking at him again. I was sure I could tell him silently with my eyes it would be alright to kiss me, just a little. And at the same moment I told myself it had nothing to do with romance or Alan. But there were so many lies in me I couldn’t bear to let him see them all. I kept my sights on the ground several feet ahead of me where the grass bent in the filtered sunlight, changing from an emerald green like Theo’s dress to an almost yellow glow.

  When we got back to the barn Holton had one of the dead sheep open, working on a postmortem while my father looked on grimly.

  “I don’t think we can rule out Black’s,” Holton said as he moved his hands through the pulpy organs of the dead sheep. Jonathon watched with horrible fascination when Holton held up an organ. “It doesn’t look fair. There is a brown cast and the liver is certainly affected.”

  “I got samples of the pasture. It was a bit damp. There were a few snails.” I held open the box where he could peer inside without touching it.

  “Ryegrass?” he asked, his voice sharp.

  “Aye, a fair bit,” Dad answered.

  “Then we’ve also got to consider the ryegrass staggers.” Holton moved toward the wash bucket, turning the water red with blood.

  “Nay. Too early,” my father said. “We’re weeks from Solstice.”

  Holton worked the hard piece of soap over his knuckles. “But we’ve had all that heat for two weeks before the rains hit. The grass may have germinated early. I’ll put it under my scope. First, let’s go take another look at the sheep.”

  We all followed him inside the barn where I noticed for the first time the sheep all seemed to nod in miserable agreement with one another. Their heads bobbed softly in the dim air.

  “Keep it dark like this. The light or noise can send them into convulsions and then you have the possibility of broken limbs.”

  “And if it innit staggers?” Dad asked.

  “Let’s pray it is. We can save them if you keep them here and give them your best feed. No grazing until labs are back.”

  I swallowed. To feed over fifty sheep for… “How long?” I asked.

  “If the grass is fungal you cannot graze them there until fall and the fungus is dead. Not when they’re this far gone,” Holton didn’t look at us when he said it. I reached out and caught hold of the door of a stall. “And you’ll have to get the healthy ones off it immediately,” he continued. “They simply can’t graze until we know.”

  “But…” I started to protest.

  “Do ya favour the creep feed?” Dad cut me off, sending me a private message; we do not complain in front of company.

  “Meal, if it all possible. I know that’s dear. And you said there are some that aren’t affected?”

  “The orphans I’ve been bottle feeding are all well,” I told him miserably, thinking of the ruinous bill for meal for the entire flock for the entire summer.

  “If you come round to my surgery I’ll give you more vitamin doses to help with deficiencies. No drenching or shearing or anything of the sort. What they need is good dry food and rest. We’ll see tomorrow.” Holton said it so bravely, his back arched like he was announcing good news. But surely he knew a sheep that couldn’t graze was as good as dead to us.

  My father thanked him gravely, and politely, and showed him to his car with the samples.

  “Jonathon,” Holton called through his open window once he started his car. “Perhaps you could swing by for them and get the medicines if you have an hour to spare? I have one for your mother’s dog, as well.”

  “Nay,” Dad shook his head. “Don’t be mithering Mr. Doran w’ us.”

  “But of course I will,” Jonathon agreed. “I won’t hear of anything else.” He gave me a look that told me I couldn’t argue and silently got in his beautiful car. It looked so strange in our yard, the bottom sweeping just above the horrible ruts. It was made for smooth city roads, not washed-out drives. After his car disappeared Dad and I looked at the last spot we had seen it, perhaps both wishing we had something to do other than turn around and face the farm.

  “Do ya reckon he’s a suitor?” Dad asked, still squinting straight ahead.

  My mouth opened in shock. “Certainly not. He knows all about Alan. He’s just very helpful and good. His brother is after Theo. That’s how I know him.”

  Dad’s lips moved very little, but just enough to make my stomach go queer. “Best to stick to our own, I spose,” Dad agreed. His heavy steps carried him across the yard to the feed shed where he opened the door and stared inside at the pitiful supply. “We best order it now.”

  I swallowed back a tear for his sake, but couldn’t help asking. “How can we?”

  “There’s been skint years afore. We’ll addle some brass.” He started across the pasture to gather up the healthy sheep. When he reached the edge of the yard he whistled for Skip and the piercing note floated over the entire farm, echoing back like the only sound in the world. Perhaps it sounded that way because I had never felt so alone. I looked to the road where even the dust and exhaust had disappeared, as if Jonathon had never been here. And with every unhappiness burning my breast, one wild thought snuck through the dread and comforted me, He’ll be back with the medicine. He’s coming back.

  The next hours got swallowed up in sheep. Dad and I gathered them all and what a racket it was. Usually we only have them in the buildings for shearing or vaccinations. The sick barn was ominously quiet, the bleats few and far between. The healthy barn resounded with sharp protests until I brought out the good alfalfa, which set them to quietly eating. I only paused when William came in and grabbed a pitchf
ork from the wall. His face was a set mask, hard and inscrutable.

  “William,” I asked, “you saw Mr. Daily?”

  He grunted and pierced the pile of alfalfa as if slaughtering it.

  I tried to comfort him. “It will just be a short delay. You’ll be back to school in…”

  “Don’t talk about it,” he ordered, the chaff spiraling through the air around him as he glared at the empty space in front of him. His face softened. “Sorry. I meant, please.”

  That made my chin quiver. It was so much easier to bear his anger than his humility. As much as I respected the work of a farm and the men who did it, William didn’t belong to the world of grain bills and ruminant diseases. He belonged to the world of science and lab coats and academia. I thought of how carefully he had shed his dialect, practicing every word to precision by repeating whatever he heard on the wireless. He’d been longing to escape since he knew the world spread beyond our stone walls, and just when it was in sight to have it snatched by a worm that lived on a snail. It was too cruel.

  “Perhaps when Alan is home…” I didn’t finish because I had no idea what Alan could do anyway, and saying his name was like piercing my throat with a barb. It stuck painfully, catching my tongue as it scratched off my lips. Perhaps… “Do you think Alan and Eve sounds absurd?”

  “Come again?” That fuddled him enough to strike the anger from his eyes.

  “Like Biblical. Adam and Eve.”

  He scrutinised me as if I were one of the samples he studied under his lens at school. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” I turned my head to hide my furious blush. “I’ll go do the bottles for the orphans.”

  It wasn’t until I was inside washing up that Jonathon appeared at the kitchen door. I saw him before he knocked and motioned him to come inside.

  He set the brown bag of medicine on the table. “Sorry I’ve been so long. I’ve been on the phone calling every vet in Great Britain. From what I described I got five different possible diagnoses. Grannett in Melton highly doubts the ryegrass because the two dead ones. He said they can’t go down that fast. You would have seen them deteriorate for days or even weeks.”