Chapter 19 - One Last Spring

Over the next few weeks, as Aunty Jane spent more and more time at the post office, Gwen was able to spend less. She still went every morning to help with the mail sorting, but if her aunt was functioning well, she sometimes excused herself after a few hours to return home to study her school textbooks or, if the weather was good, to go hiking. It wasn’t long before her sketchbook was full of pictures she’d drawn while on the mountains, but the view from her boulder remained her favorite.

One afternoon, Gwen was sitting on the boulder, engrossed in her sketch, when a long shadow suddenly crossed her page. Looking up, she discovered a man had entered the clearing and was standing less than two yards from her. With a small yelp of surprise, Gwen leapt to her feet, dropping her sketchbook to the ground.

“I’m very sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t know anyone was here.”

English. He spoke English. Gwen’s already-racing heart started to pound even harder. She was all alone on the mountain with an Englishman she’d never met before. Instinctively, her eyes darted to the path. Could she make a run for it? Then she remembered her sketchbook. She swung around in time to see the man reaching down to pick it up. Frozen, she watched as he brushed the dead leaves off the page before pausing to study it. He looked out over the valley, then back at the drawing.

“This is amazing!” he said.

Gwen stood silent, poised for flight.

“Do you speak English?” he asked.

“A little,” she whispered.

The man smiled, and Gwen felt herself relax a fraction. It was a genuine smile—not mean or lascivious like some of the navvies she’d encountered before. For the first time, she noticed his clothes. He didn’t dress like a navvy. They usually wore old smocks and worn corduroy trousers held up with a piece of string or a strap. This man was wearing a brown wool suit. His shoes, although muddy at the moment, did not look shabby in the least. He appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, his light-brown hair was well groomed, and his dark-brown eyes showed no hint of the fog so common in the eyes of the navvies leaving the pub.

He moved toward her. Despite her hopeful assessment, she took a step back, and immediately he stopped.

“I should introduce myself,” he said. “My name’s Thomas Henley. I’m an engineer working for the Liverpool Corporation.”

“You’re an engineer?” Gwen hadn’t intended to say another word, but she couldn’t help herself. For as long as she could remember, she’d loved drawing, and her time in Llanfyllin had taught her that she had an aptitude for geometry. She’d often wondered what it would be like to design a real building, to be responsible for blending precision with beauty. And here was a man who did just that.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Do you know what that is?”

Gwen nodded. She knew she was about to reveal that she spoke considerably better English than she’d first implied. “What do you design?”

“Dams,” he said. “Not much of surprise, I suppose, seeing as I’m here in Llanwddyn.”

Gwen worked hard to hide her wince at his mangled pronunciation of the village name.

“I’ve worked on a few other things, but dams seem to have become my specialty,” he added, looking down at the picture he was holding. “When we first survey an area, I usually draw some rough sketches to show the lay of the land, but believe me, they’re nowhere near as good as this.”

An unexpected breeze caught a few of the pages in the sketchbook, and for the first time, he realized there were more pictures beneath the one he’d already seen.

“Would you mind if I look at your other drawings?” he asked.

Gwen wasn’t sure what to say. What she really wanted was to have him hand over her sketchbook so she could leave, and she didn’t know which response would give her that outcome the fastest.

He seemed to take her silence as assent because he started slowly flipping through the pages, pausing every once in a while to study some of the details more carefully. Finally he raised his head and looked directly at her.

“Can I buy some of these?”

“You . . . you want to buy my drawings?” Gwen couldn’t hide her astonishment.

“Yes. Your attention to detail is amazing. It’s an incredible record of the work we’ve done here.”

His reference to the record she was keeping struck a chord. For a split second, she was transported back to the year before when Lewis had first seen her sketches in this very clearing and had begged her to keep drawing, to preserve a record of how the valley once was.

“I . . . um . . . I’m not sure I want to sell any of them,” Gwen said.

“Think about it,” Thomas suggested. He pointed at the dam in the distance. “You see the building that’s closest to the crane?”

Gwen glanced back at the familiar scene. “Yes.”

“That’s my office. If you decide you’re willing to sell, you can find me there.”

“Very well.” Gwen had absolutely no intention of ever going anywhere near so many navvies, but she did not feel she needed to share that with Thomas Henley. She held out her hand, and he handed her the sketchbook.

“Will you tell me your name?” he asked.

“Gwen,” she said.

“Well, Gwen, it was a pleasure to meet you, and I hope I will see you again.”

She gave him a tiny nod of acknowledgment before tucking her sketchbook under her arm and escaping down the path as quickly as she could.

He wanted to buy my sketches! Gwen’s bewilderment mingled with delight as she hurried down the narrow trail. If only Lewis were here, she’d go straight to the smithy to tell him what had happened. What would he think of it? Other than Robert, Lewis was the only other person who’d ever seen her sketches. She knew he appreciated them, but would he encourage her to sell them or hold on to them?

As her thoughts tumbled over each other, her steps slowed. Lewis had not bothered to exchange a word with her in months and months, so why did she even think he’d care? An all-too-familiar ache filled her. Clutching her sketchbook a little closer, she desperately tried to redirect her thoughts. Perhaps she would make pancakes for supper. If she was fast, she could surprise her aunt by having them ready when she returned from the post office. Without even glancing in the direction of the smithy, Gwen ran down the road toward home.

The next Sunday, John Ellis was in fine form. There’d been another drunken brawl in the village, this time at the Cynon Huts, the navvies’ housing north of the dam, and it had fueled a rousing sermon. For at least thirty minutes, Mr. Ellis expounded on the ills of strong drink and filthy lucre. He reminded his flock of their commitment to abstinence from alcohol and urged them to be free from the love of money. Gwen couldn’t help but think that the minister was preaching to the wrong people since no member of his flock had set foot inside the Powys Arms and very few villagers had enough money to do more than subsist. But his message did help firm her resolve to not sell any of her drawings to Thomas Henley.

When the last amen was said, Gwen stood and offered her arm to Aunty Jane. Her aunt still relied heavily on her cane, but she was now strong enough to work half days at the post office and attend her Sunday meetings. Her speech had continued to improve, and there had even been a few times when Gwen had witnessed the return of her aunt’s sharp tongue.

“I’d like a word with the minister today, Gwen,” Aunty Jane said as Gwen led her slowly down the chapel aisle toward the door at the back.

Gwen waited for the Williams family to exit their pew ahead of them. As usual, the minister was standing at the arched doorway, greeting his congregation as they left the chapel. When they reached him, he shook Aunty Jane’s hand warmly.

“Mrs. Jones, how lovely to see you here today,” he said. “You’re looking remarkably well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ellis,” Aunty Jane said, moving her weight to her cane so she could lean a little closer to him. “I appreciated your sermon. In fact, I wanted to mention that the scripture you quoted in 1 Timothy has long been a favorite of mine. I’d be very interested to hear your interpretation of God’s ability to ‘quicken all things.’”

“Why, of course,” the minister said. “It’s certainly worthy of our consideration.”

At her aunt’s gratified expression, Gwen suppressed a groan. She’d waited through similar doctrinal discussions before; they were never short. Concerned that a few people still needed to exit the chapel, she checked that Aunty Jane’s footing was secure, then slipped her arm free and moved to stand just outside the chapel door. Half a dozen people slipped past her, wishing her a cheerful good morning before moving on to talk with others who were standing outside in the spring sunshine.

“Hello, Gwennie.”

Gwen swung around, her heart hammering. “Lewis!”

For a terrifyingly long moment, she could not put a single coherent sentence together. Only two thoughts rattled through her head: he’d caught her unawares again, and why had she not remembered how handsome he was?

He smiled. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” she said, willing her brain and her mouth to finally connect. “When did you get back?”

“Late last night,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to come for weeks, but one thing or another kept preventing . . .” He stopped and started again. “I heard that Mr. Williams the Shop was making a trip to Pen-y-Bont Fawr this weekend, so I thought if I walked home after work on Saturday, I could maybe get a ride back.”

“And have you talked to him?”

“Yes.” With a frustrated sigh, he raked his fingers through his dark hair. “He’s leaving in an hour . . . much earlier than I’d hoped.”

Gwen was sure her disappointment showed. “Well, I’m very glad you . . .”

“Lewis!” Mabel’s voice reached them seconds before she arrived at Lewis’s side. Sidling up to him with a coy smile, she slid her arm through his. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. Mrs. Evans simply wouldn’t stop talking.” She tore her eyes off Lewis and gave Gwen a brief glance. “Oh, hello, Gwen.”

“Hello, Mabel.” Gwen clasped her hands together, hoping the action would prevent her from giving in to her overwhelming desire to reach out and pry Mabel’s fingers off Lewis’s arm one by one.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to endure the discomfort for long. Lewis took matters into his own hands, gently disengaging Mabel’s arm and taking a small step to the side. “I’m sorry, Mabel,” he said. “I was just explaining to Gwen that Mr. Williams the Shop is giving me a ride back to Pen-y-Bont Fawr within the hour. I’m afraid I can’t stay.”

Mabel gave a petulant frown. “But you haven’t been here for weeks. When will you be back again?”

“Soon, I hope.” Lewis looked as let down as the girl at his side; Gwen’s heart sank. He really did want to spend time with Mabel.

“Have you heard from Robert, Gwennie?”

“No,” she said. “It’s going on six months since he was here, so I hope I’ll hear soon. He should have arrived back in India by now.”

“It was good to see him in November. He stopped by the smithy to talk for a bit, but it was Ioan Llanwddyn who heard all his stories.” His deep blue eyes shone with humor. “I really think Robert came as close to talking Ioan’s ear off as anyone has ever come.”

Gwen laughed. “We both knew what to expect. Perhaps we should have warned Ioan.”

Smiling, Lewis shook his head. “It was good for them both.”

“Goodness me,” Mabel said. “Everyone knows that once Ioan starts talking, there’s no stopping him. Most people avoid him for that very reason. It’s about time someone gave him a taste of his own medicine.”

Gwen stared at Mabel, all trace of amusement gone. Why would she say something so catty? And why would Lewis want to spend time with someone who did?

Behind her, she heard the rustle of fabric and the distinctive tap of a cane.

“Good morning, Mrs. Jones,” Lewis said.

Gwen had never heard him sound so formal. She turned around in time to see her aunt give Lewis a curt nod.

“Lewis.”

“I was sorry to hear of your illness,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said. “As you can see, I’m much improved.”

“I’m very glad,” he said.

Aunty Jane turned to Gwen. “I’m ready to leave now, Gwen,” she said.

Gwen was quite sure it wouldn’t matter how old she was or how independent she became; Aunty Jane would always treat her with some measure of condescension. She lived in hope that at some point her aunt would refrain from doing so in front of others.

With resignation, she took her Aunty Jane’s arm. “Good-bye, Mabel,” she said. “Good-bye, Lewis. It was very nice to see you again.”

“Good-bye, Gwen,” Mabel and Lewis said together.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mabel’s pitying look, but Lewis took a step forward as though he would say something more. Aunty Jane, however, was not going to have it. Making sure Gwen’s arm was securely around her own, she started walking, and Gwen was forced to follow.