Gwenna the Welsh Confectioner Page 7

  Between breaths, sucking on his pipe to draw the flame of the match, Tom said, “Don’t worry, lad. All will be well. You’ll see. If prices go up, incomes will match it. They have to.”

  Charlie came and went, looking for something to eat while the adults tucked into the remainder of the food. More drink was consumed as the temperature rose and they moved the picnic blankets into the deeper shade of the tree.

  “Tom,” said Johnno, when everyone was sated. “Are you up to finding a friendly game of cricket or something? I’ll go to sleep here otherwise.”

  Tom nodded. “I am that.” Tapping out his pipe, he slipped it in his pocket, and the two men wandered across the grass, under the cloudless sky, leaving the women to their own conversation.

  “Going by the shouting and cheering I can hear, there’s a game of something going on,” said Tillie.

  “More than one, by the sounds of things,” said Bethan. “And the children are having fun. Whoever organised all those games and races deserves a day off to rest tomorrow. Look at them go.”

  The women watched the sack race, then the egg-and-spoon race followed by the three-legged race, laughing as much as the children when they fell over.

  “Rather them than me,” Gwenna said. “It’s far too hot for such activities.”

  “I’m so glad Charlie’s having fun,” said Bethan. “There wasn’t much laughter to be had over the last year.” She reached into the pocket of her skirt. “I’ve brought something for you, Gwenna, dear.” Pulling out a small bundle of envelopes – letters from ‘the old country’, as she called it – she handed them to Gwenna. “I saved them all.”

  Every Christmas and sometimes once in between, Bethan’s sister would write with news of parents and other family or the ‘goings-on’ in the town. She was a poor letter writer. Her sentences were disjointed, and her spelling often made it difficult to work out what she had written. To make matters worse, she wrote both ways on the page – across, and up and down – to save paper, but it didn’t matter. Bethan loved to hear the news and each letter was cherished and reread.

  “There’s a new one on top, but I found a couple of others I thought you might like to read again.”

  Gwenna took the letters and hugged them to her, knowing how precious they were to Bethan. “Thank you,” she whispered, folding the older woman’s hand within hers. “I shall enjoy reading them.” Although, if she was being honest, she had little recollection of, and even less interest in what was going on ‘back home’. She would always feel a bond with her homeland, and its spirit lived in her heart, but she couldn’t relate to those days long gone. Her home was here now. Nevertheless, these letters were important to Bethan.

  Gwenna felt tears prickle behind her eyelids and wondered, once again, what was wrong with her today. The raucous sounds of laughter, music playing, children screeching and overlapping conversations were swirling inside her head, making her feel weak and giddy, and her eyes ached from all the colours and constant movement. She hoped it was the effect of too much sun, but she could easily just lie down and cry. Except she had nothing to cry about, not when she had her family around her, and when her new life with Johnno was about to begin.

  “I’ve got other news, too,” continued Bethan. “In the last three months, ever since the day you left home, Gwenna, Elias is like a different person. He’s stopped drinking so much. He comes home early, quite sober, and eats supper with me. He spends the evenings working in the storeroom, organising the stock and keeping good records of what’s available and what’s needed.”

  Bethan sipped the tea Tillie had poured, grateful to ease her throat. She hadn’t talked so much in a long time. “I’m not as good as you, Gwenna dear, or you, Tillie, but I’ve got my own specialties and Elias has worked up a few batches to add to the stock levels. I don’t quite know what he’s doing about it all. I don’t see much stock moving out, but he gave me a few coins for food, so everything must be all right. Mustn’t it?”

  Gwenna didn’t answer, too distracted by everything around her to think about the change in Elias, but Tillie agreed. “I’m sure all is well, Mam.”

  Bethan nodded, appearing relieved. “I’m puzzled about one thing, though. For weeks, Elias has disappeared for long periods of time without saying a thing about where he’s going or what he’s doing. Whatever it is, he’s like a new man when he returns. He’s almost cheerful. I can hardly believe it.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it, Mam,” said Gwenna, her head thumping, and feeling out of sorts at the news. “For your sake. You deserve a little peace. It’s just a pity you had to pay the price of Charlie and me leaving home to get it.” Had it been her fault Elias behaved as he had?

  “Let’s hope it lasts then, Mam,” said Tillie, sensing her sister’s unease. “My turn. I’ve got something for you, Gwenna.”

  She pushed a small, round tin with a typical English countryside scene on the lid towards her. Gwenna prised it open and let out an excited cheer. Her mouth salivated as the smell of butter and sugar wafted upwards. Hidden between pieces of waxed paper, the tin held three layers of Tillie’s best fudge: vanilla, clotted cream and chocolate.

  Gwenna couldn’t decide which to try first. She drooled at the thought of them all, but it had been such a long time since Tillie had made any, she wanted to savour each one. Her hand hovered. Her fingers stretched into the tin and she selected a piece of the clotted cream. She considered it Tillie’s best recipe. Taking a bite, she closed her eyes, tilted her head back and let her taste buds delight in the rich smoothness as it melted and slid down her throat.

  “Tillie. That must be the best batch you’ve ever made. I don’t know how you get it so creamy. Mine is never as good.”

  “Mine is made with love,” Tillie responded. “For you.”

  Tears threatened again. Annoyed at her soppiness, Gwenna clambered to her feet and gave Tillie a hug. “I love you too, my dearest sister. Thank you. And I’m glad I’m such an inspiration. Especially if it means I’ll never be without fudge ever again.”

  An idea took shape at the back of her mind as to how she could use Tillie’s fudge to attract customers, if ever she could get her own sweet-making business started.

  All too soon, the New Year’s Day picnic came to an end. The band had long since departed, the games had finished and the children had become noisy and quarrelsome.

  “I should be going,” said Bethan. “I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. Too much sun, I fear, but it’s been a great day.”

  “I’ve ordered a carriage,” said Tom. “It’s too far for Tillie to walk. You can have my place.”

  “Thank you, Tom. How thoughtful,” said Bethan. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Charlie and I will catch the tram. Or walk if it’s too full. You ladies go ahead. We’ll be there before long.”

  “We’re heading the other way, back to the station,” said Gwenna before Johnno could speak. They didn’t have the money for a carriage, although she wished they did. Her legs wobbled, she was that tired. “It’ll be good for me to get a bit of exercise. I’m getting lazy these days.”

  The women said their farewells with hugs and kisses, agreeing they’d all had an excellent time. Gwenna watched them go. She linked her arm in Johnno’s, and they started their trek back to the train.

  She shivered as a weird sense of foreboding surged through her.

  10

  Learning to survive alone

  January 1900

  The honeymoon period came to an end more abruptly than even Gwenna anticipated.

  They were barely inside the door after returning from the New Year’s Day celebrations, when Jack insisted he and Johnno head south. “I’ve business to do,” was all he’d say in explanation.

  Johnno tried to argue it was too soon to leave Gwenna on her own. “She doesn’t know the area, or met any of the neighbours. Let’s leave it for a while, eh Jack? Let her get a bit more settled.”

  “We leave tomorrow.” Jack thumpe
d the table, ignoring Johnno. He glared at Gwenna, daring her to contradict him.

  Feeling too weak to fight him, she dropped her gaze. It went against all her instincts to let him win, but now wasn’t the time to pick a fight.

  “Make yourself useful,” he snarled at her. “Pack his stuff and get some food ready.”

  They ate their meal in silence. Resentment oozed from Johnno, while Gwenna began to regret jumping from the frying pan into the fire, even if she’d had no choice. Jack smirked and held out his mug or his plate when he wanted her to serve him. Once Johnno protested; only once.

  “If you want her to remain under my roof, she does as she’s told.”

  Later, in the privacy of their room, Gwenna begged, “Please, Johnno, we have to get a place of our own. Soon. I can’t live here – not with him, and certainly not without you being here with me.”

  Johnno tried to comfort her. “Not just yet awhile, Gwenna love. You’ll be fine. I’ll talk to him while we’re away. Make him understand I’m a married man now. He’ll come round, I just know it.”

  He tried to kiss her, caressed her face with a gentle finger that wandered down her neck to her breasts, but she was too tense – and too upset to be persuaded. She turned away from him and, making as little noise as possible, cried herself to sleep.

  When she woke in the morning, his side of the bed was empty.

  * * *

  With a start, she leapt out of bed and, grabbing her dressing gown, hurried towards the hallway. Before she’d taken three paces her head started spinning and nausea rose from her stomach. She slumped to the floor by the doorjamb, trying to take deep breaths and gather her senses.

  “Johnno,” she called, then again louder, but received no response. She willed herself to be still and quiet her breathing, straining to hear any movement. Anything, but no sounds reached her ears. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it pounding and echoing in her ears. She pulled herself to her feet and, holding onto the wall, made her way down the dark, wood-panelled hallway leading to the kitchen at the back.

  The early morning sun seeped in through the grimy window; an errant thought she’d have to clean it drifted through her mind as her eyes searched for evidence she wasn’t alone. Any sign. Anything to quell the mounting terror, but she found nothing. No signs. No note. No fire in the range. She’d never been this alone before.

  Shaking, and with the queasiness mounting, she opened the back door, ran down the steps and across the grass to the outhouse before she realised she was barefoot. The stench emptied her stomach in seconds.

  Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she tiptoed back across the grass, her feet now sensitive to every stone and foreign object in her path, and into the dimness of the house. Her teeth started to chatter, despite the warmth of the morning, as she stood by the door surveying the room. Clamping her jaw tight, she folded her arms across her body trying to calm her nerves while her mind listed what she should do next.

  The square wooden table was as she’d left it last night, so the men hadn’t had any breakfast. The hamper she’d packed for them had gone, so they’d not go hungry. Although why she should worry about whether they’d eaten or not when there were more immediate things to worry about, she couldn’t explain.

  Light the fire. At least then she could have a cup of tea. That might help calm her. As soon as she moved the dizziness came on her again; she reached for a chair and sat down, scared she would faint. And then what? How long would she lie there before someone found her? The quivering and shaking started again.

  Sunlight shining into the room highlighted its dinginess. The sagging scrim-lined walls, yellowed with age and darkened with soot from the fire, closed in on her. Despite her meagre efforts, ingrained dirt still lay on every surface. Doorknobs wouldn’t turn, window catches wouldn’t shut, and the cracked and broken floorboards let the vermin in. She loathed the place, but she felt so weak and shaky at the moment she doubted she had the strength to do anything about it.

  How she would tackle the outhouse on her own she had no idea, and the thought of carrying the water from the rainwater tank up the steps at the back seemed impossible. Johnno had done that for her. Tears fell as she contemplated her lot. They would have to get out of here before winter – before the baby was born. She couldn’t, just couldn’t live here any longer. Giving way to her unbearable gloom, she laid her head on her arms and sobbed.

  She must have dozed off because when she next stirred pins and needles prickled her arm and her back ached. She stretched, easing her strained muscles, and this time she did light the fire. Johnno had left a pile of kindling, a basket of logs and a scuttle of coal for her.

  Sipping on a cup of tea, she weighed up her options, her mind spinning with questions to which she had few answers.

  Should she stay here, not knowing how long Johnno would be away? Could she introduce herself to the neighbour so she’d have someone to talk to? But her strength had deserted her in the last few days. She’d never felt so weak. She didn’t know if she could walk the good half-mile to the nearest house.

  And where were the shops? Johnno had collected what she’d needed when he’d taken the wagon out last time. Could she walk to the village to get fresh food?

  Should she go to Bethan? She was sure her stepmother would be more than pleased to take her in, but Gwenna couldn’t risk upsetting the precarious balance that existed between Bethan and Elias right now.

  Should she go to Tillie? Her sister had enough to do, with her expanding girth and seeing to Charlie as well as caring for Tom who had his job. She was sure Tillie would welcome her in, but she couldn’t put her in such a difficult position.

  So, she was back to staying here – alone.

  Every fibre in her body screamed, ‘No!’

  But stay she did.

  Her father’s words kept echoing in her head. “Gwenna, bach. We can do anything we put our mind to.”

  It was the argument he’d used when they’d moved to the Valleys to live with the Hughes family in the first place. He used the same argument after Owen was killed and he married Bethan and rose to be head of the household. He’d said the same thing over and over to push his argument about coming to New Zealand. Pa had had such hope.

  At first, thoughts of her father deflated Gwenna’s spirits further. If he hadn’t died, life would be so different, but then her mood lightened. Pa said she could do anything. She just had to get on with it.

  From somewhere in the centre of her being, she would find the strength. She had to. She placed her hands over her stomach. “I don’t know who you will be yet, but you are Pa’s grandchild and that means something. You are the future. For your sake, I will fulfill Pa’s dreams. I will.”

  * * *

  The house Johnno walked into the following Thursday afternoon was nothing like the one he had left. The open windows sparkled in the light. The newly blacked coal range shone, and the sink bench had been scrubbed almost white. A tablecloth covered the table, and the bright-coloured crocheted blankets thrown on the sofa hid the splits, despite Jack’s warning about fripperies. It felt cosy and lived in.

  “Gwenna?” He dropped his bag on the floor. “Where are you, Gwenna?” When there was no reply, he went exploring. He found her asleep on their bed, but it wasn’t the same room he had left a little over a week ago either. He touched her shoulder and she stirred.

  Turning over, she opened one eye against the glare of the afternoon sun and was awake in an instant. “You’re home. Oh, Johnno. Thank goodness.” She threw her arms around him so hard he lost his balance. “I thought you’d gone forever. Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

  “Steady on, Gwenna love.” Sprawled half across the bed, he laughed as he disentangled himself. “Let me breathe.”

  Once he’d extricated himself, he sat beside her and held her in his arms. “I missed you, too.” He planted several kisses on her forehead and face. “I’ve been worried about you, which is why I’m here. But I can’t stay long.”
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  Her face fell and she pulled out of his embrace to peer at him. “Why not? Where are you going? How long will you be gone? Don’t leave me again,” she gabbled.

  “Slow down. I’ll explain everything, but first, how about you tell me what’s been going on here.”

  “Do you like it?” A smile of deep pleasure lit her eyes.

  The furniture had been moved around, a new white candlewick bedspread covered the wrought-iron bed, lace curtains Tillie had made for her hung in the windows and a vase of flowers decorated the dresser making it smell clean and fresh. The whole room shone.

  “It’s very nice. Did you do all this by yourself?”

  “Yes. Well, no. Not exactly. Oh, Johnno. I was in such despair I didn’t know where to start.”

  She explained how tired she’d been and how sick. “I lay around for two days after you’d gone. Every time I moved I felt sick or faint, and I couldn’t eat anything. I was that scared, but I felt Pa’s spirit inside me, urging me on.” She stopped, unable to explain what she meant. “Maybe the baby moved or something because I felt less sick and giddy, but I was still so weak.”

  She’d finally eaten an egg with a cup of tea and, with several rests along the way, had walked the distance to the neighbour’s house.

  “She was such a nice person. Mavis Milligan is her name. She said she’d get a message to Mam for me. I gave her the telephone number, but I suspect she sent a telegram.”

  She’d needed to explain to Mavis, who had never seen ‘one of those newfangled things’, how telephones worked. Elias, resistant at first, had agreed to install one since telephones had become popular for business purposes. For most people, telegrams were still the best way of getting in touch.

  “The next morning Mam arrived on the doorstep. I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life. In the meantime, Mavis had given me some Dinneford’s tonic. She said she could tell I was carrying and I was too pale. It worked wonders.”