Millicent, the Early Years—the Making of a Matchmaker
To read more about Millicent and how she came to embrace her gift, go to Lost Poles, Found Souls.
Millicent sighed. Here we go again. Yet another love match to be made. Yet another afternoon interrupting her own plans in order to bring about a happily ever after between two people who hadn’t even met yet.
As superpowers go, there are others she would have preferred.
Invisibility, for one. That would have allowed her to avoid her 5th-grade teacher—the one who had forever admonished her to get her head out of the clouds and focus on schoolwork.
X-ray vision, another solid choice.
The ability to fly? What better way to amaze her friends.
But no. She had to have a superpower that even at age 30 she didn’t fully understand, and certainly didn’t want.
Now here she was at the grocery store and all she wanted to do was grab a can of pumpkin and some fresh nutmeg and get on her way. But no. Her eyes were almost blinded by the arc of brilliant white lights, visible only to her, that connected a young woman in the produce aisle carefully reviewing her shopping list with a twenty-something off-duty fireman perusing the offerings in the butcher case. She sighed again. There was nothing for her to do but bring the two of them together. That’s what she did. That’s what her gift compelled her to do. Her pumpkin spice bread would have to wait.
* * *
On her 11th birthday, after the cake had been eaten, presents opened, and the guests had gone home, her mom Kaitlin pulled her into the kitchen for a talk.
She’d frozen. Was this the sex talk? She’d heard some things on the school bus and wasn’t sure she wanted to know more.
“Have you noticed anything unusual lately, Millie?” Her mom dunked a teabag repeatedly while keeping concerned eyes on her daughter.
Anything unusual? What was her mom talking about?
“Any strange connections?” her mom pressed.
“Strange like how?”
“Well . . .” Kaitlin began, speaking with care. “Remember when Benjie and his family moved into the neighborhood, and he had no friends? You were the one who convinced him to join the Magic Club, where he met Max—and they’re now best friends.”
Sure, she remembered. But what of it? “Mom, I was just being a good neighbor to Benjie—the way you’ve taught me to be. What are you getting at?” Pinpricks of unease began to tingle on her neck. Her mother was being annoying.
Kaitlin broke the news that Millie had inherited the gift of matchmaker, an ability to see and facilitate connections between people who were complete strangers, but who were meant to be together.
Kaitlin continued, explaining that the paranormal gift passed down from the women in the family, skipping every other generation. She did not have the gift, but her mother–Millie’s grandmother, did. The gift typically began to reveal itself at around age 10.
Millie sat in the chair, blinking. Clearly her mom had gone mental.
“Gran says your power will grow over time, and once she’s out of the rehab hospital, she will be able to help you manage it. I know this is a lot to take in. And it kills me that Gran can’t be here to help you understand what I’m telling you. But she insisted I tell you that the gift can enhance your life.” Her mom spoke emphatically, as though trying to convince herself, leaning forward to look directly in her eyes to let her know she meant it. “It doesn’t have to control your life.” She paused before adding, “We won’t let it.”
Ha!
* * *
Much as she’d tried to put the conversation out of her mind, from that point onward she became hyper aware of the strange occurrences that happened around her. There was that time in middle school when she’d stepped into the public library with her mom and stopped mid-stride as she noticed a middle-aged woman browsing books in the Health & Wellness section. In her gut she knew, with 100 percent certainty, that the woman’s soulmate was at that very moment perusing science fiction three aisles over. But how to bring them together? She hadn’t a clue.
“Mom, what do I do?” she asked after quickly explaining the situation.
“I’m not sure, sweetheart. Your grandmother was always so clever about finding ways to make people meet. I suppose we could try to think of something.”
“Pull the fire alarm?” Millie asked.
“No, definitely not that.”
She was stumped. But then, the man pulled a book from the shelf and began reading it while wandering down the aisles. Not paying attention to where he was going, he wandered into Health & Wellness and, wouldn’t you know it, smacked right into the woman.
Millie and her mom watched it all in wonder and then continued into the library so Millie could research her school project on the life cycle of the South African newt. While she would never know about the whirlwind courtship of the two people who had just bumped into each other, their joyful wedding atop a Vermont mountain, and their surprise and delight to find themselves late-in-life parents to not one but two unexpected offspring, Millie didn’t need those details. She knew in her heart that a happily ever after was what was coming next.
Even so, she didn’t fully realize the power of her gift until she met Ms. Lansing, her 8th-grade substitute teacher and, without a doubt, a perfect match for her everyday teacher, Mr. Matthews. But there seemed to be no way to bring them together. The very nature of substitute teaching ensured their paths never crossed. She wrestled with how to bring them together and cursed her supposed gift for not showing her the way. She may have had a power, but at times like this she did not feel that it was in any way “super.”
Then she hit upon an idea. She was a top-notch student. Straight A’s across every subject. When Mr. Matthews was away in Florida for a week to tend to an ailing parent, she knew what she had to do—grades be damned.
“Millie, can you stay after class for a minute today.” Ms. Lansing looked concerned as she handed the pop-quiz results back to the star student.
Shocking as it was for Millie to see D-minus scrawled in red across the top of the page, she reminded herself that this was all part of the plan. When she met with Ms. Lansing after class, she continued to execute the plan, responding to her substitute’s gentle inquiries by saying that she was sure her answers were exactly what Mr. Matthews had taught her.
Ms. Lansing knit her brows together and said only that she was sure Millie was mistaken.
When it was time to take the midterm later in the week, Millie swallowed hard and intentionally flubbed several of the multiple-choice questions. Of course, she knew that the Civil War occurred before the Civil Rights Act, but she circled the wrong answer even though it hurt her heart to do so. It was all for the greater good.
The next day, Ms. Lansing again asked her to stop by her desk.
“Millie,” she began, disappointment clear in her voice. “I know you know the answers on this test backwards and forwards. What is going on? Is everything OK at home?”
Millie stuck to her plan. She attempted a look of dismay at the stark C marked at the top of the test Ms. Lansing passed to her. This C, and the D-minus earlier in the week, had never been part of her academic experience. She was the type of student upset by a B+, never mind any grade lower. But she held firm.
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong at home, Ms. Lansing. I promise. I’m as confused as you are. I studied like I always do, and I swear my answers reflect my notes from Mr. Matthew’s lectures. Do you think maybe you should call him and check?”
She held her breath, hoping Ms. Lansing would take the bait.
One year later, Millie had to smile when Ms. Lansing entered the classroom sporting an engagement ring with a diamond that caught the sun and shot rainbows across the classroom.
She gave herself a silent “high five.”
* * *
Each success strengthened her control. She could suppress the gift when it was inconvenient and embrace it when she had the emotional strength to assist yet another love connection. What had begun at age ten as a gut feeling evolved over time to include a visual element. Now, she’d walk into a room and, if there was a match to be made, she’d see it as a string of twinkling white lights connecting one person to another. At times, the lights were so bright she couldn’t fathom that others in the room were unable to see it.
She never talked about her gift to anyone beyond her immediate family. And to date, no one seemed to suspect. But if she were ever questioned, she had a ready answer. “Think of all the seemingly random chances that bring people together,” she’d say. “A man catches a bus going the wrong way and meets the love of his life. A student gets bumped from Psych 101 and enrolls in the evening seminar series and falls in love with the teaching assistant. There are countless occurrences where fate intervenes and brings people together. It happens all the time.” And it did. No one needed to know that sometimes she was the one giving fate a little boost.
While each connection brought its own frisson of joy, in time something began to shift inside of her, to the point where she no longer took pleasure in matchmaking for the pleasure it brought to others, but rather for the sense of power it brought to her. Each matchmaking came with a dopamine hit that she not only enjoyed, but increasingly needed. But as the need grew into a hunger, her power began to abate.
* * *
One Monday, after a particularly intense weekend of grad school studying, Millie walked into the University of Vermont lecture hall, anticipating the crowd that would be there. She was practically vibrating with excitement from the connections she anticipated making. With 200 or more people in attendance, there was bound to be at least one love match, and maybe more.
She walked up the stairs to the cavernous lecture hall, the largest one on campus. The muscles in her stomach did the little dance they always did in anticipation of what she knew was to come. At the entrance to the classroom, she stopped and scanned the room. Hmmmm. Odd. There was nothing but the chatter of voices as the students assembled and settled into their seats. She scanned again, looking intently at the crush of students. There was nothing to see but the lights from the fluorescents overhead. Deflated, she walked down the aisle and took a seat.
Toward the end of that same week, she went to the movies with a girlfriend. The same thing happened. Or didn’t happen. She had the customary flutters of anticipation, that moment of entering a crowded space and expecting to be blinded by twinkling lights stretching like a line of stars connecting one person to another. But, there at the movie theater, at a blockbuster release with every seat in the theater filled, she saw and felt nothing.
She sat through the movie but barely paid attention. Massive iron bands took hold in a circle around her heart. Every time she contemplated the possible loss of her magical gift, the bands tightened. Was this the way other people lived? Did everyone else go about their days without moments of magic? It was unthinkable.
In a panic, she spent the following week ditching classes and going to every concert venue and sports arena holding events in the town. Not once did she feel that once-familiar soaring in her chest or see the twinkling lights she’d come to expect. She calmed herself with rationalizations. She’d been spoiled with making matches so regularly over the years. But love was mercurial, and a true connection with a soulmate was not to be taken lightly. Perhaps she’d had beginner’s luck. Many years of beginner’s luck, but still.
A thought struck and hit her hard. Could it be that there was less love in the world? Had everyone become so enamored of the technology carried in their purse or pocket that there was no longer time for love, what with weather and stock markets to be checked, texts and emails to be answered, and Instagram stories to be posted? No. She may have to come to terms with the loss of her gift, but she would never accept that there was less love in the world.
She decided to discover, once and for all, if any of her gift remained. She’d do one final test. And if it failed, well then, she’d learn how to live in the world in a different kind of way.
The Syracuse University stadium was one of the largest sports arenas within a one-day driving distance from Burlington. There was a home game that Saturday against one of their greatest rivals, and the stadium, holding 50,000 people, was bound to be packed. No matter what it took, she was going. 225 miles. Four+ hours in the car. She could do this. She had to do this. It was the only way to know, once and for all, if the gift she’d taken for granted for so many years had run its course.
Once inside the stadium, she had her answer quickly. There was nothing to do but get back in the car and return to school.
But as she passed Saratoga Springs in upstate New York, she had an urge to veer to the right into the backroads that would take her to the Mad River Valley. There wasn’t much waiting for her at school in Burlington. Her roommate probably wasn’t even aware that she’d left town, and she had no classes for the next few days. She didn’t need to go back to school. Not yet anyway. She needed to go home.
* * *
No sooner did she turn off the highway than her blood pressure dropped. Ten points, easy. Her mom would know what she should do. Her Gran really would know what to do, but Gran had died years ago—unexpectedly in her sleep, well before Millie understood her gift well enough even to know what questions to ask her. Whenever she had gone to Gran for guidance, her response had been general and cryptic and usually concluded with advising trust and patience–characteristics in quite short supply for Millie these days.
The dirt road brought a familiar rumble to the tires. She eased her foot off the gas, rolled down the window to breathe in the fall air, and swore she could smell the apples heavy on the trees and the smoke from the wood-burning stoves coaxed back into service for the first cool days of the season. Much as she loved Burlington and grad school life at the university, the Mad River Valley was home. When she pulled into the driveway, the front porch light was on in welcome, and a soft glow beckoned through the curtains of the kitchen at the front of the house. She’d texted her mom not to wait up for her, but secretly hoped she would. Now there Kaitlin was, standing at the open door, welcoming her inside.
She ran and collapsed into her mom’s embrace.
She started to speak, to tell her about how her gift had gone dormant, but no words came out, only tears.
Kaitlin led her to the kitchen table, sat her down, and presented a tin of homemade cookies.“There’s not much that a good ginger cookie and a cup of tea can’t solve,” she said. “You get started on these while I work on the tea.”
Millie sighed contentedly and looked around the comfortable room. When she thought of home, she didn’t think of her bedroom with the oversize canopy bed covered with quilts made from generations of family members. She didn’t think of the barn where Dollop, the first pony she’d learned to ride, lived a long and happy life. She didn’t even think of the living room with the high ceiling and massive fireplace where family would gather to roast chestnuts and marshmallows during the holidays. No, she thought of this cheery kitchen, with its buttery yellow walls, low timbered ceiling, and massive green enamel Aga range that reigned supreme over the lesser appliances. Once her mom had mastered the intricacies of the oven, she seemed to keep it in constant use. Her ginger cookies, renowned through the Mad River Valley, had been awarded first prize at the PTO bake-off so often that she’d been banned from further participation.
Still, Millie stared at the award-winning cookies set before her and didn’t feel much of an appetite. Too much upset and despair. Maybe just one bite, to appease mom.
Her teeth sank into the thick, chewy cookie and an explosion of sugar and ginger hit her palate. Heaven. Two more bites and a few sips of chamomile and lavender tea and she was ready to share her story with her mom, waiting patiently opposite her.
She told her everything, even the painful part about how she’d taken her gift for granted, and let the power of it go to her head.
Kaitlin sat quietly, eyes on her daughter. Finally, with a big inhale of breath, she pushed back her chair, stood up, and said: “Right. It’s time for the letter.”
Millie could hear her mom rummaging in a desk drawer in the library. She returned in moments, brandishing an ivory-colored envelope. “You might want to read this by yourself,” she said, as with some solemnity she handed over the letter.
* * *
Without a word, Millie took the envelope and retreated to her favorite reading chair in her bedroom. She turned on the reading lamp, covered her legs with a cozy throw, opened the envelope, and with the reading of the first lines felt herself transported into her Gran’s embrace.
Dearest Millicent,
If you’re reading this, something has happened to make you question your gift. I’m sorry I’m not there to help you through this, but please know that you will get through it. And your gift will be waiting for you on the other side.
It may help to know that I, too, went through a period of doubt. I was young, impetuous, and had come to see my gift as a curse. I got fed up. Totally and completely sick of the whole thing. What was once a game became a chore. And I did my best to ignore it. I decided that if I pretended my gift didn’t exist, it would go away.
And then, the worst possible thing happened. My gift did go away. I woke up one day and no more magic. At first, I was relieved, and embraced what I thought of as a normal life. I went to work, had dinner out with friends, fed my cat.
But after I hit 30, I began to yearn for love in my own life, and the gift I once had took on new meaning for me. I’d brought together countless people, brought so much love and happiness to others, yet had come to see this incredible ability of mine—of ours—as nothing more than an inconvenience.
I’d like to tell you there was a dramatic switch that toggled and brought the gift back to me. That’s not what happened. What happened is your grandfather. Benjamin bumped into me at the Waitsfield Farmers Market. He was carrying a basket overflowing with corn and heirloom tomatoes and plowed right into me. I would have fallen to the ground if he hadn’t dropped the basket to catch me. He sputtered apologies as I caught my breath, regained my balance, and took a good look at the man who’d almost knocked me over. One look in his brown eyes and I was a goner. I smiled at him and he smiled back at me—a warm, kind smile that enveloped me. Over his left shoulder, I caught a quick glimpse of an older woman standing on the far side of the gazebo, looking at us with quiet satisfaction. I knew that look. I’m sure it was she who not only brought your grandfather to me, but brought my gift back to me as well. I never again took the gift for granted.
And I think somewhere in this story is the key for you. Give yourself some time and grace. Trust that things will work out as they’re meant to. Believe that you’ve inherited this gift for a reason, and when you’re ready it will be there for you again. Just wait and trust.
All my love,
Gran
Millie bowed her head, folded the thick writing paper, and inserted the letter back into its envelope. She could feel Gran enveloping her in warmth and love.
She stayed in her room and hoped her mother would understand why she didn’t emerge to say goodnight. Instead, she lit a candle and remained in her reading chair, thinking. Later, when she pulled back the quilts covering the bed, she marveled anew at their artistry. One of the quilts had been made by her grandmother. A second, smaller quilt, had been stitched by Gran’s grandmother.
As she snuggled deep under the covers, she breathed in the scent of soap and lavender from countless gentle washes and drifted off thinking about each tiny stitch that had gone into the quilts, some of them worked by candle and kerosene lantern. She prayed that the ancestors who had poured so much love into the making of the quilts would help her find her way.
* * *
There was no “ah ha” moment when she awoke. But, almost as satisfying was the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and what could only be her mom’s buttermilk biscuits. She flipped off the covers, slipped on her bedroom slippers, and went downstairs to join her mom.
“How was your night?” Kaitlin asked, looking concerned.
“Exquisite, actually. I didn’t expect to sleep so well, but I did. I kind of hoped Gran would come to me in a dream and tell me what to do, but she didn’t. The letter helped. Thanks Mom.”
Kaitlin nodded and poured two mugs of coffee.“Gran assured me I’d know the right time to give you the letter. I hope I got it right. Do you know what you want to do next?”
Millie smiled, surprised to be feeling lighter than she had in a while. “Well, right now I’m going to eat a biscuit. And then I’ll probably eat another one. After that, I’ll just have to see.”
As she reached to place one of the warm biscuits on her plate, she realized that she was fine with this plan. She had tried forcing things and that had been a total fail. For now, she’d live her life and trust that Gran’s words would prove accurate. She’d give herself some time, some grace and, at this particular moment, a large dollop of Ploughgate salted butter.
* * *
Back at school, she easily settled into a new routine that sustained her through the fall semester: classes, evening lectures, concerts with friends, and a new volunteer gig reading to residents at a home for the elderly just off campus.
It was there, while reading a mystery novel to Mrs. Elliott, a longtime resident and Queen Bee of her floor, that the old fluttering of her heart returned. She pushed it aside, not allowing herself to acknowledge what that familiar sensation might indicate. She continued reading , even though Mrs. Elliott had drifted off to sleep.
Later, when she wheeled her charge into the dining room for dinner, the flutter returned, more urgent this time.
An elderly gentleman stood in front of them, grinning a broad grin.“I can take it from here,” he said to Millie, winking as he reached for the wheelchair.
Mrs. Elliott sat up taller and smoothed her hair. She didn’t say goodbye to Millie, just raised her hand in a farewell salute as the man wheeled her off.
Millie smiled. She didn’t need any type of special gift to know chemistry when she saw it.
* * *
For the rest of that fall, through winter and into spring, she came to see that there was life beyond her gift. While there was no shaking the emptiness in her heart, there was satisfaction to be had devoting oneself to school, family, and friends. At least, that’s what she told herself.
She continued to visit and read to Mrs. Elliott, even though she’d long ago fulfilled the volunteer hours the university required of every undergraduate and graduate student. During most of their visits, Mrs. Elliott nodded off, but she would from time to time have a burst of energy and brag to Millie about her grandson, the math whiz. “He’s such a bright boy,” she insisted. “He always has his head in a book. He likes to read aloud to me too, just like you. You should meet him.”
She could only laugh. Romance was far from her mind these days. But she played along and took the business card the dear old lady pressed into her hand as she urged Millie to call him. Call him? Ha! She pocketed the card and forgot about it. Weeks later, she happened upon it as she was rummaging through her jacket looking for quarters for the parking meter. It took a moment to remember who Brendan James Elliott was, and why she’d have the card of someone who was a senior quant at a hedge fund in Greenwich, CT. But then she remembered Mrs. Elliott. A pang of guilt hit as she moved to drop the gilt-edged card into the recycling bin on the street corner before thinking better of it and returning it to her pocket. Something told her to keep it.
From time to time, she caught glimmers of her gift, like it was coming back to her in stutter steps. She’d feel that telltale lift to her heart and see faint flickers of sparkles in the air. But she merely acknowledged the occurrence and went on with her day. She knew intuitively that if she tried to force things, the little wisps of magic would disappear like vapor. Instead, she’d take note of the sparkles and think to herself, How interesting, before turning her attention to something else. She kept repeating her Gran’s words like a mantra: Wait and trust.
* * *
The last of the ice melted on Lake Champlain and daffodils poked eager heads out of the muddy ground. Whether due to the arrival of spring or something else entirely, Millie’s heart lightened. She put the finishing touches on her thesis work and looked forward to a summer internship at the State House.
There was a spring to her step as she walked the half mile to the Sunrise Assisted Living Center just outside the campus. This was not her usual reading day, but the receptionist had let slip that it was Mrs. Elliott’s 85th birthday. She was on her way to surprise her with a new novel and a dozen assorted cupcakes to share with her dining hall buddies.
“Mrs. Elliott?” she called upon entering the suite of rooms, surprised not to see her friend sitting at her usual spot in the chair by the window where she’d watch the birds for hours. She was just about to turn and check the common areas when the elderly woman’s animated voice filtered from down the hall. Millie poked her head into the corridor and saw Mrs. Elliott walking toward her, side-by-side with a tall, sandy-haired man who held one arm around her delicate waist with a proprietary air.
Millie saw them before they saw her. But the second the man’s eyes looked away from his companion and met hers, it happened. An arc of brilliant white lights exploded in a line that shot from her heart, straight down the hallway, and directly into his solar plexus. The return of her gift in such a dramatic fashion caused her to laugh out loud, and it was a wonder that the man didn’t topple over from its force. But rather than rushing forward and wrapping Millie in an embrace and proclaiming her his one true love, he looked at her with a mix of curiosity and alarm.
She fidgeted. What to say or do, exactly, in a moment such as this? Hadn’t Gran’s letter mentioned something about this–something about the return of her gift coinciding with the meeting of her soulmate Millie’s grandfather? Millie stood mute and stiff, keeping her eyes on the handsome stranger as the pair slow-stepped toward her. After what felt like an eternity, Mrs. Elliott stopped directly in front of her and placed her hand on Millie’s shoulder.
“What a lovely surprise to see you today, dear. And your timing couldn’t be better.”
“I heard it was your birthday. Of course, I had to come and say hello,” Millie said. “And I’ve brought a treat for you.” She held out the box of cupcakes.
“How delightful, dear. But I wasn’t referring to timing related to my birthday.” She had a mischievous glint in her eye as she proceeded to introduce Millie to her companion.
“Millie, dear. I’d like you to meet Brendan James Elliott. My grandson.”
❤️ ❤️ ❤️
To be continued.