Chapter 24 - One Last Spring

Gwen wasn’t sure how long someone could go before lack of sleep really took its toll, but two weeks later, she was beginning to think she was close to reaching her breaking point. Every morning, she went to the post office and sorted the letters, greeted customers, and helped her aunt with the bookkeeping. At noon she returned home to do housework or schoolwork or to prepare something for supper. She went through the motions of everyday life as though nothing was wrong, but physical and emotional exhaustion were definitely starting to affect her.

She saw the dark circles under her eyes each morning, and she no longer had the stamina or concentration to draw for more than half an hour at a time. If she went to the dam and Harry asked if she was all right, the question was no longer cursory but an inquiry of genuine concern. And Thomas was especially solicitous. Whenever he was able to join her, he’d sit beside her on the logs, even if she’d put away her pencils and didn’t want to talk. He never pushed her to tell him what was wrong, perhaps because he sensed she didn’t know the answer herself.

The only thing Gwen did know was that she was haunted by the pain she’d seen in Lewis’s eyes when he’d last spoken to her and that the memory of his disappointment that she’d been with Thomas was constantly at odds with her aunt’s counsel to consider Thomas as more than a friend. Her nights were filled with stress-filled dreams, and more often than not, she woke up crying, desperately wishing her mother were there to comfort and guide her.

She’d thought a lot about her parents since her conversation with Aunty Jane, and even though she was only able to draw on childhood memories, she was convinced her mother and father had loved each other deeply. She’d seen her father hold her mother tenderly on more than one occasion, and sometimes she’d caught them holding hands when they were sitting near each other. She also remembered their joy at being reunited, even if they’d only been apart for a few hours. Losing them both in one week had been devastating for her, but for her parents, it had been an incredible blessing. Neither would have wanted to be without the other.

That was the kind of relationship Gwen wanted. She could not believe that Aunty Jane’s cut-and-dried approach to marriage was right. There had to be an emotional attachment between a husband and wife, and she still believed it could be a love like no other. Thomas had been unfailingly good to her, and she certainly considered him a valued friend, but would she ever feel more than friendship for him? The question tortured her.

Then her traitorous thoughts would turn to Lewis. He’d never asked to court her, and she was convinced he didn’t see her as anything more than Robert’s little sister. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t put aside all they’d shared as though none of it mattered anymore. And at night, when doubts and dreams wove together, she’d think of the rose he’d given her and wonder if there could be something more between them.

There had been times when they’d been together—like the evening he’d walked her home from the St. John’s Day dance—when it had been as if he’d known what she was feeling and he’d felt it too. She thought that perhaps he’d been as reluctant to part as she had when he’d held her for a few minutes in the clearing the night before she’d left for Llanfyllin, but then he’d started spending time with Mabel, and after the first letter, he’d never written another. Gwen didn’t know what to think anymore. In fact, if she could just stop thinking altogether, perhaps she would be able to sleep again.

She hadn’t spoken to Mabel for a few weeks, but her mother, Bronwen, came into the post office regularly to see Aunty Jane. Usually Bronwen came bearing some sort of news, and Gwen always marveled at how many miscellaneous details the woman could remember about everyone in the village. However, on the Wednesday morning two and a half weeks after Gwen had seen Lewis, Bronwen came into the post office in the biggest flap Gwen had ever seen.

“Oh, Jane, I have the worst news!” She puffed her way up to the counter where Aunty Jane was sorting letters. “I had to come tell you as soon as I heard, but quite honestly, I’m going to have to go right back home afterward. My poor Mabel! I’ve never seen her in such a state.”

Aunty Jane lowered the small pile of envelopes in her hand and waited. From past experience, she knew she wouldn’t need to prompt Bronwen to continue; she merely needed to give her time to catch her breath.

A few seconds later, Bronwen placed her hands on the counter and leaned forward. “There’s measles in Pen-y-Bont Fawr,” she said.

All the air left Gwen’s lungs. She reached for the shelves behind her and held on until the room righted itself again. Aunty Jane gave her an anxious look, but Bronwen continued talking, seemingly unaware of how her news was affecting anyone else in the room.

“I heard it from Mr. Williams the Shop,” she said. “You know he has family in Pen-y-Bont Fawr. Well, he was supposed to go there this morning to make a delivery, but Edward Jones, one of the local farmers, stopped him not more than a mile from the village. Mr. Jones told him the doctor from Llanfyllin had been there yesterday and confirmed six cases of the measles. They’re quarantining the village. Mr. Jones was told to turn back anyone approaching from the Llanwddyn road, and presumably they’ve got someone else monitoring the other roads.”

“Did Mr. Jones say how it started?” Aunty Jane asked.

“Gypsies,” Bronwen said, her tone expressing exactly how she felt about the nomadic people who wandered the countryside in their colorful caravans. “They arrived in Pen-y-Bont Fawr a week ago. Within four days, one adult and two children had the rash. Now three village children have high temperatures and runny noses.”

As Bronwen spoke, a flood of memories washed over Gwen: lying listless on her bed, crying for her mother because her throat hurt so badly, listening to her father coughing, suffering the discomfort of a body covered in red, itchy blotches, and then sitting stoically through her parents’ funerals. She would always associate the measles with suffering, sorrow, and death; it terrified her.

“Can anything be done to help?” Gwen already knew the answer, but she had to ask.

“Well that’s it, isn’t it?” Bronwen said, raising her hands helplessly. “There’s nothing to be done. No one can go in or out of the village until the quarantine’s lifted, which means the delivery of even letters and basic supplies will be uncertain. Who knows when we’ll next get word on what’s happening there.”

Lewis was in Pen-y-Bont Fawr, and he would not be able to leave. Gwen took a deep breath, trying to push past her fear. Please, Father, she prayed silently, bless the people of Pen-y-Bont Fawr, and please protect Lewis.

“Have you talked to Mair Morgan?” Aunty Jane was obviously thinking of Lewis too.

“Yes,” Bronwen said. “And I must say she’s taken the news remarkably well. Much better than my poor Mabel. Poor girl. She’s quite beside herself about the possibility of Mair’s eldest boy getting the measles.”

“Well, maybe you should be getting back to her, then,” Aunty Jane said.

Bronwen seemed to suddenly remember her self-imposed injunction to return home quickly. “Yes, indeed,” she said. “Thank you, Jane.” With a swoosh of her long skirt and the clack of her heels, she left the post office as quickly as she’d entered.

Aunty Jane turned to Gwen, her expression worried. “Are you all right, bach?”

Gwen nodded. “It’s a horrible disease, Aunty Jane,” she said softly.

“I know, and just hearing about it brings painful memories.”

“Yes.” Gwen swallowed hard. “I hope they contain it quickly.”

“Dr. Edwards will do everything he can to stop it from spreading,” her aunt said.

Gwen nodded again. She could only pray it would be enough.

Rather than going straight home at noon, Gwen took the road that led to the smithy. As she crossed Pont Cedig, the distinctive clang of metal hitting metal rang out across the street and brought back memories of the time she’d taken Robert’s letter to the smithy for Lewis to read. It seemed like such a long time ago, and if she were to enter the smithy now, she’d find Rowland, not Lewis, working with his father. The thought was a sobering reminder of where Lewis was presently, and she picked up her pace.

She followed the road past the smithy until she reached the third house from the corner, where she stopped. She stood facing the navy-blue door, suddenly filled with indecision. Should she knock? What would she say when Mair opened the door? She didn’t really know why she was there. It didn’t make any logical sense, but her desire to visit Mair had been so strong when she’d left the post office she couldn’t ignore it. She took a small step forward and let the brass door knocker fall before she could talk herself out of it.

The sound of footsteps reached her, and seconds later the front door opened.

“Hello, Mrs. Morgan,” Gwen said.

A look of surprise flashed across Mair’s face before she hid it behind a welcoming smile. “Well, Gwen, how nice to see you.”

“I . . . I . . .” As Gwen floundered to come up with the right words, Mair’s eyes met hers. They were red. Mair had been crying. And in that moment, Gwen knew she’d been right to come. “I just heard about Pen-y-Bont Fawr,” she said.

“Come inside, bach,” Mair said.

Gwen followed as Mair led her down the hall and into the kitchen at the back of the house. Bowls, flour, eggs, sugar, and butter sat on the wooden table, and on the stove, a pan simmered.

“I’m making bara brith,” Mair said. “When I first heard the news, I had a good cry, then I decided there were much better ways of working out my worry.” She gave a small smile. “It’s amazing how much better you feel after you’ve beaten eggs and batter for a while.”

“I pummeled my bread dough for over half an hour when Robert left,” Gwen confessed.

A slightly mischievous look appeared on Mair’s face. “Can you imagine what the horseshoes will look like today? They’ll be banged as flat as pancakes.”

“There was an awful lot of noise coming from the smithy when I passed,” Gwen said.

The two women looked at each other, then they started to giggle.

“Oh, Gwen,” Mair said when she finally had her laughter under control. “I’m so glad you came. I needed that.”

Gwen was glad too. She hadn’t laughed so much since she’d been with Alice and Rosamond in Llanfyllin, and she’d missed it. Mair’s friendliness combined with the inviting warmth of the Morgans’s kitchen was a welcome reprieve from the feelings of loneliness and disquiet that had plagued her for so long. Reluctant to leave, she leaned over and peeked into the small bowl closest to her. It was full of raisins. “Would you show me how you make your bara brith?” Gwen asked.

The twinkle was back in Mair’s eyes. “I will on one condition,” she said.

“What’s that?” Gwen asked.

Mair lowered her voice. “You don’t tell Bronwen Richards. She’s been after this recipe for years.”

Gwen smiled. “I promise,” she said.

“Right, then.” Mair pointed at an apron hanging on a hook behind the kitchen door. “Good bara brith starts with putting on an apron.”

With a lighter step than she’d had in weeks, Gwen walked over to the hook and retrieved the apron. When she’d put it on, she moved back to the table and watched as Mair started pouring flour into the largest bowl.

“Here you are,” Mair said, handing her the spoon. “Start mixing.”

It wasn’t long before the batter was ready, poured into the tin, and placed in the oven, and as the two women sat down at the kitchen table to have a cup of tea while they waited for the bara brith to cook, their conversation circled back to the reason for Gwen’s visit.

“You know about the measles firsthand, don’t you, bach?” Mair said.

Gwen looked down at the brown liquid steaming in the teacup in front of her, fighting back the memories again. “Yes,” she said quietly.

Mair reached over the table and placed her hand over Gwen’s. “It seems to me that it’s human nature to focus on the worst-case scenario,” she said. “I certainly did. As soon as Mr. Williams brought us the news, all I could think of was Lewis dying or losing his hearing or some of the other awful things we’ve heard happen after people get the measles. For you, those things are even more real because you’ve experienced them personally.

“But I had no excuse, so I took myself to task. We don’t even know if Lewis will catch the measles. He’s a strong man, and if he does go down with it, I have to believe he will fight it successfully—just as you did.”

Gwen nodded. She wanted to believe that too. “Will you let me know if you hear anything?” she asked.

“Of course I will, bach,” Mair said. “And in the meantime, we’ll all pray for everyone in Pen-y-Bont Fawr.”