Gwenna the Welsh Confectioner Page 6

  The ceremony over, the bride and groom emerged. Charlie scattered rose petals on the ground while the others threw rice over the couple. Small it may have been, but no two people could have behaved more lovingly, and no one else could have wished them a happier future more than the four people there to watch: Gwenna’s stepmam, her sister and two brothers by law and birth.

  They sat down to a scrumptious breakfast of sausages and bacon on fried bread, with baked beans, eggs and fried potato, far more extravagant than their usual fare, and washed it down with copious quantities of tea.

  “A meal fit for a queen,” announced Tom, rubbing his stomach.

  Charlie ate like a king, as if he’d never eaten before.

  “Oh, how beautiful,” Gwenna squealed when Bethan carried through the delicately iced and decorated fruit cake. Tom poured them each a glass of sweet wine and proposed a toast. “May you both have lasting happiness.”

  As soon as the clinking of glasses had been completed and the first sip taken, Tillie insisted they cut the cake. In high spirits, the couple fed each other a bite – a symbol that each would provide and care for the other for the rest of their lives. Amid applause from Tom and Tillie, and trying to suppress laughter as crumbs fell from mouths too full of cake, Gwenna felt fit to burst with a joyfulness she hadn’t felt since before her pa died. The glow from Johnno’s eyes warmed her to the core, and the day became a dreamy swirl of jubilation.

  By mid-afternoon, Johnno was keen they get on their way. Bethan had delivered the last of Gwenna’s belongings, and she and Tillie had packed the bags with bed linen, towels, tablecloths and other knick-knacks that would help turn a masculine household into a family home. Johnno and Gwenna said their goodbyes, picked up their bags and headed to the horse tram, which would take them to the impressive railway station, opened four years earlier, at the foot of Queen Street.

  Their new life together was about to start. With only a 45-minute trip to Onehunga ahead, Gwenna couldn’t decide if she was shaking with excitement or trepidation. She had no idea what to expect.

  * * *

  The house where Johnno and his father lived was far worse than she could ever have imagined. The ramshackle farmhouse, in desperate need of a coat of paint, sat up a long driveway and in the middle of nowhere as far as Gwenna was concerned. Wobbly fences and fields were all she could see. Even the animals were sparse. Some distance away, a neighbouring house was visible.

  The isolation scared her, even if the house was within walking distance of the train station, along a rough dirt road. Its biggest advantage, from Johnno and his father’s point of view, was the easy access to the road south for the goods wagon.

  Hand in hand, she and Johnno walked up the driveway, around to the back of the house and up a set of steps. Battling the instinct to run, she entered the neglected and miserable house. She didn’t want to be there – and definitely not on her own.

  Wrinkling her nose at the musty smells redolent of mould, dirt and stale smoke, an eerie sense of sorrow passed through her. She tugged on Johnno’s sleeve and whispered. “This place frightens me. It’s got such a feeling of sadness about it.”

  He smiled down at her and patted her hand. “It’s not that bad. You’ll get used to it.”

  Gwenna doubted that was possible and clung tighter to Johnno. He had a habit of dismissing her concerns. An apparition arose at the opposite end of the gloomy kitchen. Trembling in fear, she emitted a loud squeal and buried her face in Johnno’s arm.

  “Shut that girl up before I do,” growled a voice from the shadows. “Can’t stand women’s noises.”

  “Behave yourself, Jack,” answered Johnno. “You scared her, that’s all. Hiding there in the dark. This is my wife Gwenna. Your new daughter-in-law. Gwenna, my father Jack.”

  Gwenna could hear the pride in Johnno’s voice as he made the awkward introductions, and smiled encouragingly as she raised her head.

  “Make sure she’s useful and keeps out of my way,” the gravelly voice grunted.

  As Gwenna’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw Jack, wearing an ancient military-style overcoat, and wide-brimmed hat, standing by a horsehair sofa spewing its contents through tears in the covering. She remembered him in an instant and shuddered. While of the same tallish and thin build as Johnno, hardly anything else about him was like Johnno. Gwenna could see little of his shaded face, even when he stormed past her and out the door.

  In those small, black eyes, she saw menace.

  Now they were alone, Johnno showed her the rest of the four-roomed cottage, except for the room where Jack slept and the room she assumed was the front parlour. “Jack keeps it closed,” was all Johnno said.

  There wasn’t much to see. The room at the front, where they would sleep, was the best room in the house with windows on two walls, which would let in the afternoon sun. Johnno had made some effort to tidy up, but eyeing the grey walls and partly made bed, Gwenna was thankful Mam and Tillie had given her fresh linen and towels.

  Too distressed to put her thoughts into words after seeing where Johnno expected her to live, they returned along the darkened corridor to the kitchen.

  The room offered no comfort whatsoever. A higgledy-piggledy assortment of plates, bowls and mugs overflowed every surface, and the place was filthy. A rough wood table and three chairs filled the centre of the room; the single sofa was undoubtedly Jack’s domain. Johnno moved the unwashed plates and stacked them on top of others on the bench under the window so they could sit at the table.

  Supper that night was a sorrowful affair. All Johnno could find was some day-old bread, a chunk of hard cheese and the pitiful remains of a ham hock. Without any butter or pickle to help with the taste, Gwenna could do little more than pick at her food. Most of the time she stared at the cold coal range, hoping it worked and wishing for a cup of hot tea.

  “It’s Christmas tomorrow,” announced Johnno into the silence that had grown between them. “I’ll kill us a chicken, and I think I can find some potatoes to go with it.”

  Christmas.

  Gwenna blocked her mind to what Christmas would be like without her family in this dismal house. She fought back tears.

  “Aw, don’t cry, Gwenna, my girl. Look on the bright side. You have me to make you happy.”

  He took her hand and led her to their bedroom. As Johnno shut the door to their small world behind them, Gwenna remembered today was her wedding day and supposed to be the happiest day of a girl’s life. Yet the mood of the house, a mood she couldn’t quite put a name to, had changed all that, and what she felt most was an unnatural foreboding.

  “Everything will be all right, I promise,” whispered Johnno.

  He took her in his arms and her fears disappeared as they became one.

  9

  Future hopes

  New Year’s Eve 1899

  Gwenna cheered and clapped at the loud crack of exploding fireworks. The colours and beauty of the sparkling shapes lighting up the sky filled her with wonder. Johnno had been his usual sweet self, suggesting they go to the Queen Street Wharf to watch the display at midnight. Seeing an old year out and a new year in was now a ritual, but for Gwenna being present at the change of a century was truly special.

  She couldn’t quite understand the articles in the newspapers where people argued how the new century would not begin until the end of 1900 because the Gregorian calendar did not start with the year nought. It didn’t make sense to her. Tomorrow would be the first day of 1900; it was no longer the 1800s. It must be the start of something new.

  For Gwenna, it would be the start of her new life. The year 1900 could only be a good one with Johnno at her side.

  Dozens of boats crowded the harbour. At the striking of the hour, bells rang, horns sounded and whistles blew. The cacophony continued for what seemed an endless time. People laughed and danced, lovers held hands and kissed, while children ran around without fear of reprimand for this one night.

  “Didn’t I tell you it would be fun
?” Johnno spoke into her ear so she could hear him above the noise. His face was lit by another explosion, and the playfulness in his gaze gave her gooseflesh, and she tingled from head to toe. Delighted, she nodded her head, clapping her hands as yet another shower of glitter illuminated the blackness. Her face shone like a child’s in awe.

  Although she much preferred living in town to living in the country, Gwenna had never seen so many people in one place before. She would have believed it if someone had told her every citizen who lived anywhere within travelling distance of Auckland was crowded into the streets that night. The government reduced the rail and ferry fares so people could afford to travel, and thousands took the opportunity.

  Earlier in the evening, the two of them somehow managed to find space on the top deck of the paddle steamer Eagle for an excursion around the harbour. From the water, the lights of the city twinkled as far as the eye could see. Every street and every window appeared to have been lit up specially for tonight. The new electric lights shone brighter than their traditional gaslight counterparts, and the outline of Partington’s Mill stood tall and proud above everything else on the Karangahape Road ridgeline. Gwenna saw for herself how large Auckland had become.

  Time passed in a flash until the sound of train whistles reminded them they must return home. Feeling more tired than normal, Gwenna climbed aboard. Sleep beckoned if she was to enjoy the planned picnic with Tillie, Tom and Charlie tomorrow. Resting her head on Johnno’s shoulder, Gwenna crossed her fingers that Bethan would join them.

  “Saying thank you seems hardly enough, Johnno. I’ve had such a good time tonight. I’m so glad we came.” She pushed her arm through his as they sat in the overfull carriage surrounded by other tired but exhilarated passengers. She would never forget this night.

  “Anything for you, my sweet girl.” Aware of the many eyes around them, he patted her hand and winked. She flushed at the thought of how they would celebrate when they got home. No more hurried fumbling; no more dread of being found out; no more misgivings – they were husband and wife. Together. Forever.

  As long as Jack wasn’t there to spoil things.

  “What did you tell Jack about tomorrow?” Gwenna avoided him as much as possible. He’d eaten with them once in the last week, but his mere presence put a damper on what she and Johnno could do together.

  “Just that we’d be away for the day,” Johnno replied. “Why?”

  Jack came and went as he pleased, but Johnno had no such freedom. Every day Jack had chores for him to do. So far, they’d all been local, and Johnno hadn’t been away from the house for long.

  “Oh, no reason.” Gwenna couldn’t explain how much she dreaded the time when his father would take Johnno away on one of their long-distance trips and she would be left alone in that sad, lonely house.

  Jack had not returned for two days after their first meeting. She’d made an ad hoc attempt to make the place seem less shabby for Christmas, but Gwenna decided she couldn’t live in the place as it was. She had to clean it up, even if she ran the risk of incurring Jack’s wrath. He couldn’t be any worse than Elias, and Johnno was there to protect her.

  She’d boiled the filthy rag rugs scattered on the floors in the copper in the outside laundry, washed and rearranged the assortment of crockery and cooking pots, thrown out all the stale and rotten food, and sent Johnno to buy fresh flour and other essentials to cook with.

  Gwenna then cleaned the front bedroom she shared with Johnno, thankful she had fresh linen, since what she’d found was not fit to use. Although now clean, in her eyes their room remained cheerless.

  When Jack came back demanding Johnno help him with some deliveries, he turned on her. “I’ll have no women’s fancy fripperies in my house. Keep your things out of my sight, and, by God, if you so much as touched a single item of mine, you’ll pay for it.”

  Gwenna took him seriously. He made it only too plain she lived there under sufferance, and she’d be out on her ear faster than lightning if she got in his way. Within the first week, she sensed she was going to be worse off living with this bully than with the one she’d grown up with.

  The train rattled its way along the tracks, and Gwenna put Jack out of her mind. She was excited at the thought of seeing her family again in the morning. They’d considered going to the monster picnic and camp day at Swanson, since the train fare was so cheap. She’d never been in native forest before, but in the end they decided to go to the Auckland Domain instead. Charlie was in the Sunday school parade, led by the Salvation Army band, who would march from the corner of Queen Street and Karangahape Road, past the mill, down Symonds Street around Grafton Gully and back up the other side to Park Road and into the Domain. The forecast was for a fine day and, with all the shops closed, there was no reason why they shouldn’t all attend.

  The next morning, she and Johnno got off the train at Newmarket and walked the distance up Carlton Gore Road to watch the parade enter the Domain. They hurried as best they could, but even with Johnno carrying the hamper, Gwenna couldn’t keep up. She couldn’t understand why her legs dragged and she couldn’t summon her usual strength.

  From the top of the rise, they could hear band music floating in the air. Once they got closer they could see groups of children waving flags, both the traditional Union Jack and the informal New Zealand ensign, marching behind banners showing the name of their school. As each school group arrived at the spot where the band was still playing, the children dispersed and started shouting for their parents. Even from a distance, Gwenna could see Charlie looking lost when he couldn’t see her.

  As soon as she caught up with him, she wrapped him into a tight cuddle. “I’m here, Charlie, bach. Give us a cwtch then,” she said, rocking him from side to side. Without realising it, she often slipped in Welsh words she’d grown up with, but which Charlie never used. She’d forgotten most of them herself.

  Even when they’d lived in Wales, there were few enough Welsh speakers other than in the more traditional northern parts. With so many outsiders from England and elsewhere coming in to find work in the mines, the Welsh people had needed to learn English to coexist. Before the family had emigrated to New Zealand, they’d decided not to speak the language any longer – including Bethan, who’d grown up speaking Welsh. They needed English if they were to prosper, but sometimes the odd word crept in when she was being sentimental, like today, and no other word seemed appropriate. She remembered a little Maori girl from school had said the same thing was happening to her language. She spoke Maori at home with her parents and grandparents but was not allowed to speak it at school or at the milliner’s shop. It seemed such a sad state of affairs; Gwenna liked mixing up words from both languages when she could.

  Feeling the need to sit down soon, Gwenna kissed the top of Charlie’s head and scanned the crowd for Bethan.

  “Mam’s not here,” Charlie said, his voice muffled against Gwenna’s belly. “She made sure I was in line and walked someways with me before she went back home to get the picnic.”

  Behind them, Johnno and Tillie spread blankets on the grass in the shade of a tree, and Tom helped Tillie sit down. With three months still to go, she felt ungainly and awkward. Johnno sat reclining on one elbow, leg extended and hat tilted back, watching Gwenna’s every move.

  “There she is,” Gwenna pointed, as Bethan hurried towards them carrying a laden basket. Her heart lifted. She let go of Charlie and rushed forward to wrap her stepmother in a warm embrace. She missed her mam’s steadfastness, even after a week.

  The women unloaded their baskets onto the blankets, chattering away and vying to provide food enough to feed the entire gathering, rather than for the six of them. They laughed when each of them unwrapped a batch of Welsh cakes, a bara brith tea loaf and their traditional, skinless Glamorgan sausages made from vegetables.

  “My favourites,” shouted Charlie. He grabbed one of each from his mother and his sisters, and ran off to play with his friends.

  “Don’t go to
o far,” Bethan called after him. He disappeared into a crowd of children all yelling at one another, kicking and tossing balls.

  Once the adults were settled, the ladies handed the tins of food around. The conversation turned to what they had done since they’d last seen each other at the wedding a week earlier: Christmas Day services; the St Benedict’s fair Bethan had attended; foods they’d prepared; cards and presents received and given. Gwenna managed to say little about her day, avoiding specifics other than ‘we had chicken’, but nodding in agreement when Bethan said she’d missed Gwenna.

  The men were more interested in the Auckland–Otago cricket match, which Auckland had won a few days earlier, and the article in the morning paper stating: ‘the year which came to a close yesterday will rank among the most memorable of the century’.

  In a semi-recumbent pose, Tom folded the paper to a manageable size so he could read it more easily. “Listen to this. Here’s an interesting article about the state of affairs in South Africa which, I must say, I find unsettling. And it goes on about the Federation of Australia. I’m glad New Zealand didn’t join. ’Twas a silly idea, in my opinion. And the war in Samoa caused by German annexation. But what’s really interesting,” Tom explained, “is that it ends up stating the last century has been one of prosperity for ‘the whole world’ – England, the United States, the continent of Europe, and, of course, New Zealand. How about that?”

  Tom sat up with his legs crossed to read the final paragraph aloud. “The New Year, apart from the shadows of war, presents a bright and hopeful aspect, and we are justified in anticipating that it will prove as prosperous as the one that has now come to a close.” He slapped the paper with the back of his hand. “Now, isn’t that something to look forward to?”

  The three women agreed with him; prosperity was good for everyone.

  Johnno was the one to niggle. “I hope they’re right. I ’eard more soldiers were going off to fight that crazy war, wherever South Africa is, and prices for basic goods would go up. I can’t afford no more, what with a baby comin’ ’n all.” He reached for Gwenna’s hand to reassure her.