Chapter 11 - One Last Spring

If Gwen had been worried about Mabel’s questions when they met to walk to school on Monday, she needn’t have been. From the moment Gwen stepped out of her door to the moment Miss Ellis called for quiet in the schoolroom, Mabel talked of nothing but her experience at the dance with Lewis. He’d danced with her twice; he’d brought her a cup of tea; he’d stayed beside her and talked about every little thing. The list of Lewis’s virtues was never ending, and by the time Gwen had endured a second installment all the way home, she was quite sure she never wanted to hear Lewis Morgan’s name again.

She stomped into the kitchen, feeling particularly grumpy. Leaving her muddy boots at the door and hanging her shawl on the coatrack, she marched over to the kitchen table and dropped her satchel on the floor beside her chair. Then she sat down heavily and rooted through her satchel until she found her arithmetic textbook and her workbook.

Pulling them out, she set the books on the table in front of her and glared at them. She normally excelled in arithmetic, but today, for some reason, she hadn’t been able to concentrate, and that had led to an unusually long homework assignment. Gwen frowned. She may as well get the problems behind her before she made supper. Having them hanging over her head all evening would simply make her more miserable.

Gwen made it through three-quarters of the problems before raising her head long enough to glance around the room. When she did, her eyes fell upon a yellowed envelope standing upright against the china plates on the Welsh dresser. Even from a distance, she could see the sloppy penmanship and the unusual pink-colored stamp. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stood, pushing back her chair with a clatter.

“Robert,” she whispered before hurrying across the room to retrieve the letter. She picked up the envelope and studied it. The paper was very thin and crinkled when she touched it. The pink stamp in the upper right corner bore the word India, and the envelope was written out to Miss Gwen Humphreys. With trembling hands, Gwen opened it and withdrew three sheets of fine paper. She walked back over to her chair, set the papers on the table, smoothed them out gently, and began to read.

Dear Gwennie,

It has been barely three months since the SS Talookdar set sail from Liverpool, and already we have arrived in India. We made port in Calcutta early yesterday morning amidst great cheering from the crew. The ship has withstood strong currents and violent storms, but we were spared becoming becalmed as we navigated the Cape of Good Hope, and according to the captain, we traveled here faster than ever before.

It is marvelous to see brown earth and green trees again, although I confess, now that I’ve finally found my sea legs, walking on land is quite strange. I walked along the dock this morning and found that I could not do it without swaying from side to side. No wonder sailors are known for their odd gait!

I’m pleased to report that my ship has truly become my home away from home. I know my way around the vessel, even in the dark of night, and I feel as though I’m becoming a more competent cabin boy. Captain Owen has been patient with me—as have most of the other men. There are always a few who like to cause trouble, but my ability to speak to the captain in a language that only he understands has been a great blessing.

My closest friend on the ship is Monk. His real name is Jimmy Abbott, but everyone calls him Monk. It doesn’t make much sense, seeing as he’s a Methodist and has probably never met a Catholic abbot in his life, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Almost every crewmember has a nickname. They call me Taffy. Not very imaginative, but since I’m the only Welshman on board, other than the captain (and no one would dare call him anything but Captain), it was an obvious choice.

Monk is from Manchester and is only a couple of years older than I am. Until recently, he was a cabin boy on a different ship, so even though he doesn’t know exactly how Captain Owen likes things done, he’s taught me a lot, and he’s saved me from making an idiot of myself more than once!

I can see a little of Calcutta from the top deck, and it’s unlike anything I’ve seen before. The heat and the flies and the smell of strange spices are overwhelming—even here on the water. The Indian people working on the dock are dark haired, dark eyed, and dark skinned, and when they speak to each other, it’s impossible for me to understand a word. Believe it or not, however, I think the elephants know exactly what they are saying.

Yes, Gwennie, I’ve seen my first real elephant! It was the most incredible thing. It was the height of two men combined and as broad as a barn, and it lumbered down the dock with an Indian sitting astride its neck. The man had nothing more than a short stick and his voice to guide the massive beast, but I watched it roll its trunk around a wooden crate, pick the crate up, and carry it the length of the dock. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. Monk tells me they use elephants here the way we would use a wagon and a team of horses. I hope I will see many more of them before we set sail again.

I’ve heard that we could be in Calcutta for up to a fortnight. The ships don’t usually dock for so long, but because we arrived earlier than expected, we will have to wait for all of our return cargo to arrive. Perhaps I will be here long enough to see more exotic animals before we put to sea again.

I think of you every day and pray that all is well. Tell Lewis that after three months of hardtack biscuits, I’ve concluded that my memories of his mam’s bara brith are the worst form of torture. I hope he never takes her cooking for granted! Give my best wishes to Aunty Jane.

Cofion Cynnes,

Robert

Gwen finished the letter and released a long breath. He was safe and well and happy. With a thankful heart, she picked up the pages and read them one more time. Then she tucked the pieces of paper back into the envelope, hurried over to the door, and pulled on her boots. It took only a couple of minutes to tie the laces, but she didn’t waste any more time reaching for her shawl. Instead, she ran out through the back door and up the street toward the smithy.

She was halfway there when she remembered that only an hour before she’d determined that she’d had enough of Lewis for the day, the week, and quite possibly the entire month. What was she thinking? After all, it was quite possible that after the fiasco at Saturday’s dance he’d had enough of her too. According to Mabel’s account, he’d certainly had a much more enjoyable time when he’d returned to the village hall than he’d had with her.

Gwen’s steps slowed, and she came to a stop on Pont Cedig, indecision gnawing at her. Did she really want to rush into the smithy carrying Robert’s letter? Would Lewis be pleased or irritated that she hadn’t waited until he was off work to share it with him? Maybe she should walk up the mountain and wait for him to join her there whenever he was free.

She chewed on her lip, considering her choices. She didn’t want to sit on her boulder and wait for Lewis; he may not show up for days. And no matter what had happened on Saturday between Mabel and him, he was still Robert’s best friend. Gwen tightened her hold on the envelope in her hand. For Robert’s sake, she would do it now. It would be all right. She would simply show Lewis the letter and leave.

The ringing sound of metal hitting metal reached her several yards before she arrived at the smithy. The large door was ajar, so Gwen grasped the heavy latch and pulled it toward her, creating a gap large enough for her to enter. She slipped inside, then paused, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the change in light. Straight ahead, bright orange flames hungrily reached up from the furnace, creating a tangible wall of heat around the two men working in the center of the room.

With his back to the door, Owen Morgan was placing a long metal bar into the fire. Right behind him, Lewis was standing at the anvil, holding a pair of long metal pinchers and an enormous hammer. Gwen watched as Lewis used the pinchers to adjust the position of a red-hot horseshoe on the anvil, then with a mighty swing, he slammed the hammer onto the horseshoe. Sparks flew, and Gwen covered her ears as the deafening sound reverberated throughout the small room.

A leather apron covered the front of Lewis’s trousers and button-down shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, and the top two buttons at his neck were undone. From across the room, Gwen could see the sweat glistening on his skin, and as she lowered her hands from her ears, he raised his arm to wipe his forehead with his sleeve. Using the pinchers, he lifted the horseshoe and rotated it, studying it carefully.

“I think it’s getting close, Dad,” he said, holding the horseshoe up for his father’s inspection.

Owen turned to look, and as he did, he spotted Gwen standing at the doorway.

“Hello, Gwen!” he said with surprise. “When did you slip in here?”

Lewis swung around, barely maintaining his hold on the horseshoe.

“Just now, Mr. Morgan,” Gwen said, doing her best to focus on Lewis’s father rather than Lewis. “I’m very sorry to disturb you. It’s only that a letter came from Robert today, and I thought Lewis would want to know.”

“Did you now?” Owen said.

With a clatter of metal, Lewis placed the pinchers and horseshoe on the anvil, grabbed a nearby rag, and hurriedly ran it across his face, neck, and arms.

Gwen was rapidly regretting her decision to enter the smithy. It had been a very bad idea after all. Why had she ever thought the matter so urgent? It had taken Robert’s letter weeks to reach her. Mr. Morgan was probably wondering why a few hours more would make any difference.

“One more time in the fire, and I think that shoe’ll be finished, Dad,” Lewis said. “I’ll have it ready before Mr. Gittens gets back.”

“Very well,” Owen said. “Mind you don’t take long though.”

Lewis untied his heavy apron and hung it across the back of a wooden chair before walking over to join Gwen.

Feeling foolish, Gwen handed him the letter. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I should have waited.”

“Did I look like I was enjoying myself?” he asked with a hint of amusement. “That was the seventh horseshoe I’ve made today. I’m going to owe any feeling I have left in my right arm to you.”

He pointed at the window a few feet away. “Let’s go over there so I can read it in better light.”

They moved toward the window, and Lewis withdrew the three sheets of paper from the envelope.

“Is it good news?” he asked.

At Gwen’s nod, he smiled and started to read.

When she heard Lewis chuckle, Gwen knew he’d reached the end of the letter.

“First Ioan Llanwddyn, now Robert. What is it about your mam’s bara brith that has people dreaming about it?” she said.

Lewis grinned. “I don’t know. She wins ribbons at the county show whenever she enters, and I have yet to taste any better.” He handed the letter back to her. “Robert’s doing well—and I don’t think going without a little bara brith will hurt him any.”

Behind them, a light knock sounded on the smithy doors, and a second later, Mabel walked in.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Morgan,” she said, walking into the room but only seeing Owen in front of the furnace. “I was wondering if Lewis is here.”

Gwen glanced from Lewis to his father and wasn’t sure which of them looked more astounded. Mabel smiled prettily as though walking into a smithy and asking for the blacksmith’s son was an everyday occurrence.

Owen, who probably couldn’t believe this was happening twice in a fifteen-minute period, ran a weathered hand across his face. “Well, yes,” he began.

“Wonderful!” Mabel said. “I made some bara brith today, and I thought he might like to try some.”

For the first time, Gwen noticed the metal plate covered with a white cloth in Mabel’s hands. Gwen looked at Lewis and saw him swallow hard. Poor Mabel! She would have to tell her that the way to Lewis’s heart was not through any bara brith but his mother’s. But she couldn’t do that today. Instead, she would simply leave as quickly as possible.

Clutching Robert’s letter, Gwen stepped away from the window and toward the door. Mabel turned around.

“Gwen!” she said in astonishment.

“Hello, Mabel,” Gwen said. “I just came to give Lewis a message from Robert.” She turned quickly. “Good-bye, Mr. Morgan. It was nice to see you again.” Then, before anyone could respond, she slipped out through the door and hurried back the way she had come.