Chapter 28 - One Last Spring

It was far easier to see the gradual change in the tenor of the neighborhoods in daylight than it had been the night before. As they drove toward the docks, Gwen watched the upscale homes become more modest town houses and the large shops with alluring window displays become small, rundown establishments with torn awnings and dirty glass fronts. The gray smoke Liverpool’s many chimneys produced obscured the blue sky Gwen was used to seeing, and all the buildings seemed to be coated with a layer of soot and grime.

The closer they got to the docks, the more ragged the appearance of the men, women, and children along the roadside, and Gwen started to notice more and more children sitting on the corners of the streets or weaving unsteadily between buildings. At one point, a boy who could not have been more than six or seven years old staggered across the road right in front of their carriage. With a shout, their driver reined in the horse just in time to avoid disaster, but the boy did not even look up and the carriage moved on.

“I don’t understand,” Gwen said, shaken by the incident. “Why didn’t that boy run out of the way? He didn’t seem to even notice how close he came to being trampled by the horse.”

“He was drunk,” Thomas said.

Gwen stared at him in horror. “Drunk? But he’s a young boy!”

Thomas pointed at the three children slumped together on the ground at the next corner. “They’re all drunk.”

She clutched the side of the carriage. What kind of place had she come to? Where were these children’s parents? How could they allow this to happen?

Her distress must have shown on her face because Thomas took her hand. “As difficult as this is to witness,” he said, “perhaps it will help you realize why it is so important that we build the Vyrnwy Dam.”

“The Vyrnwy Dam?” Gwen could not see the connection.

Thomas nodded. “The reason those children are drunk is because they don’t have access to drinking water. The water shortage in the city is so bad water only runs through the pipes two or three times a week for two or three hours at a time. And even then it’s not clean. These children have learned from painful experience that if they drink the water, they’re likely to end up with dysentery, cholera, or typhoid. They’ve seen the devastating effects of those diseases, so they turn to the only other liquid available to them—alcohol.”

Gwen covered her mouth with her hand, hoping the gesture would hold back her tears along with her cry. She was starting to understand why Robert had expressed gratitude for his Welsh-village upbringing in the first letter he’d sent from Liverpool.

“Can nothing be done to help them now?” she whispered.

Thomas shook his head. “The problem is too widespread. But the sooner we can start pumping from the Vyrnwy reservoir, the sooner they’ll have access to clean water.”

Gwen turned her head away as though she was gazing through the carriage window, but instead of seeing the rundown buildings and dark alleyways, she was picturing the green hills, running streams, and gray-stone houses of Llanwddyn.

A little girl with tangled hair and a torn dress stood at the curb, watching the carriage go by, and a tear rolled down Gwen’s cheek. Her own childhood had been spent chasing Robert and Lewis through the heather and making daisy chains while they fished. She would never take those things for granted again.

The carriage wheels groaned in protest as they rolled from the hardpacked road onto the cobblestones of the dock. Thomas pushed open the window, and immediately the sound of seagulls, creaking timber, splashing waves, and shouting men filled the carriage.

Gwen sat on the edge of her seat, her eyes scanning the forest of masts that stretched as far as the eye could see. “Can we get out here?” she asked.

She could see Thomas’s concern, but he gave a reluctant nod. “We’ll ask about your brother’s ship, but we mustn’t stay long.”

He opened the door and helped Gwen out, then he placed her arm in his and walked toward a large warehouse. The sign above the door read “Sail repairs,” and an old man was sitting on a stool, sewing an enormous piece of white canvas. As they approached, the man looked up.

“Mornin’,” he said.

“Good morning,” Thomas replied. “Can you tell us if the SS Talookdar is in port?”

The older man rubbed his white stubbly beard and considered the question for a moment. “Talookdar,” he repeated thoughtfully. “She’s the newest ship in the Brocklebank line, I’m thinkin’. A Welsh captain, no less.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Gwen said.

The man’s tongue made a sucking sound against the gaps in his teeth. “Left port three days ago,” he said. “Weren’t here long this time ’round.”

Disappointment hit Gwen like a lead weight.

“Can you tell us where she was berthed?” Thomas asked.

The man waved his hand toward the other end of the dock. “Not far,” he said. “Right next to the Mahanada, I reckon she was.”

“Thank you,” Thomas said. “You’ve been most helpful.”

Tightening his grip on Gwen’s arm, Thomas turned and began walking in the direction of the anchored ships.

“I’m sorry, Gwen,” he said. “I wish we’d arrived in time.”

“I’m glad we came, even if we didn’t see his ship,” she said, trying to remain positive. “At least now I can say I’ve seen the sea and stood at the dock Robert left from.”

They walked until they reached the SS Mahanada and stood in front of the empty berth beside the gently swaying ship. Waves slapped against the dock, the greenish-gray water stretching out far beyond the row of vessels at anchor. Gwen knelt on the cobblestones and reached her hand into the water. It was cold.

“Do you think the ocean is warmer near South Africa?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” Thomas said.

Gwen nodded and rose to her feet again. She wanted to believe Robert was buried somewhere a little less forbidding, but as she gazed out at the ocean that had beckoned to her brother for so long, she realized he was where he would have wanted to be. She put her hand into her skirt pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper. She carefully pulled back the corners to reveal a small pile of pink and yellow rose petals.

“They’re from Aunty Jane’s bushes,” she said. “I picked them yesterday morning before we left.”

Thomas gave an understanding smile. “Would you like help?” he asked.

Gwen poured half the petals into his open hand and kept the rest for herself. They stepped up to the edge of the dock and scattered the petals onto the water below. Gwen stood silently for a moment, watching the petals bob up and down before swirling out to sea.

“I love you, Robert,” she whispered. “Rest in peace.”

Thomas touched her elbow. “I’m sorry, Gwen, but we should probably be on our way,” he said.

Over the sound of the waves and the creaking of the ships, the sound of coarse laughter reached her. Gwen looked to her right to see half a dozen men sauntering toward them. Memories of her encounters with the navvies in Llanwddyn filled her mind, and she felt a flicker of fear. “Yes,” she said. “We should go.”

Thomas took her arm, and they walked briskly toward the waiting carriage. Gwen heard one of the men call out to her, but she ignored him. Quickening her step, she reached the carriage within seconds, and as Thomas closed the door behind them and the wheels began rolling over the cobblestones toward the city, she breathed a grateful sigh of relief.

The next two hours passed in a blur. Thomas had his driver take them through the streets of Liverpool so Gwen could see some of the city’s landmarks. They passed one magnificent building after another: the Walker Art Museum, the World Museum, the St. George Hall, and the Philharmonic Hall. With towering stone pillars and grand staircases, water fountains and domed roofs, each new edifice seemed more imposing than the last, and Gwen found herself struggling not to feel overwhelmed by the size of the city and the throngs of people filling the streets.

From her position in the slow-moving carriage, it was hard to reconcile her view of the well-groomed gentlemen and perfectly dressed ladies going about their business in town with the hollow-eyed men, women, and children wearing ragged clothing at the docks. And no matter how hard she tried to focus on all that Thomas was showing her, no architectural wonder could replace in her mind the face of the drunken young boy they’d passed earlier.

Perhaps Thomas, with his usual sensitivity for her feelings, suspected she needed time away from the busy thoroughfares and buildings because he ended their tour with a drive through the carefully tended lawns, rocky terraces, and formal flower gardens of Stanley Park. The manicured landscape was different from the wild Welsh hills Gwen was used to, but the greenery was a welcome balm, and as the carriage rolled along the banks of one of the park’s small lakes, Gwen found herself beginning to relax.

“This is lovely,” she said as the road rounded a small copse of trees and entered yet another garden.

Thomas looked pleased. “I’m glad you like it.” He pulled his watch out of his front pocket and glanced at it, his forehead creasing into a slight frown. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I wish we could stay longer, but . . .”

“Please don’t apologize. You’ve already spent far longer on this outing than you should have, and I don’t want you to be late for your appointment.”

He gave her a grateful smile. “I will look forward to spending time with you this evening.”

A few hours later, Gwen stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom and studied the young woman reflected there. She was wearing her Sunday-best navy skirt and white blouse, and she’d rolled her hair into a twisted knot. A few curls were already escaping the hairpins, but she’d noticed that Cecilia had curls framing her face, so she let them be. She was thankful that her eyes didn’t show obvious signs of her tears. It had been a long, emotionally draining day, and unfortunately, it wasn’t over yet.

When she and Thomas had returned from their outing, she’d been glad to escape to her room for a while. She’d needed time alone to process all that she’d experienced that morning. The vastness of the city made her feel small and insignificant, and the disparity between the affluent and the destitute among its population filled her with helplessness. But it was her final farewell to Robert and her sorrow over the plight of Liverpool’s children that had brought her to tears.

At last, when she could cry no more, she’d lain on the bed, thinking about home, wondering how Aunty Jane was faring without her, wondering if the quarantine had been lifted in Pen-y-Bont Fawr and whether Lewis had remained healthy.

Her longing for home and all that was familiar had intensified when she’d joined Mrs. Henley and Cecilia for dinner. Thomas had still not returned from his meeting with Mr. Wainwright, which meant she didn’t have his support when his mother insisted that she repeat everything multiple times. She also had to face the daunting task of eating a formal meal without coaching. There were more dishes on the table than she’d ever seen in her life, and the rows of knives, forks, and spoons at her place setting were baffling. It didn’t take long for her to realize that her only recourse if she were to make it through the meal without too many social gaffs was to surreptitiously watch to see which utensil Cecilia used for each course before choosing a matching one of her own.

By the end of the meal, keeping up appearances with the Henley women had further exhausted her, and she was more than happy when Cecilia declared that they needed to return to their respective rooms to get ready for the theatre. Gwen wasn’t sure what more she could do to prepare. She was already wearing her nicest clothes and didn’t think she could do much to improve her hair, but she was glad of the excuse to leave the dining room and to remove herself from Mrs. Henley’s critical eye.

She didn’t know exactly what time she was supposed to go downstairs again, but concerned that she not be the one to keep everyone waiting, she gathered her shawl and slipped out of the bedroom as soon as she heard the front door close and footsteps crossing the main hall. She hurried down the stairs, following the sound of voices until she reached the door of the sitting room. The low rumble of Thomas’s voice was followed immediately by his mother’s shrill exclamation.

“You cannot be serious, Thomas! She’s just a chit of a thing, has no breeding, no sense of social decorum, and can barely speak the Queen’s English.”

Gwen froze.

“I will not have you speak of Gwen that way, Mother,” Thomas said. “You are the only person I know who has struggled to understand her speech, and if you were being reasonable, you’d acknowledge that her fluent English is a credit to her.”

“And if you were being reasonable, you’d consider that the woman you marry will need to take on the role of hostess for all the social functions your position demands,” Mrs. Henley retorted. “That Welsh girl barely knows what knife and fork to use, let alone how to oversee a dinner party.”

Taking two steps back, Gwen leaned against the wall, praying that her shaking legs would not fail her.

“Listen, Mother.” It sounded as though Thomas was barely controlling his anger. “I did not come here to ask your permission on this matter. I came merely to show you the courtesy I thought you deserved. When Mr. Wainwright told me he has recovered well enough to resume his position at the Vyrnwy Dam and that I will be returning to the Liverpool office, I determined then and there to ask Gwen to marry me. I love her; she is quite simply the most remarkable young woman of my acquaintance. And despite your objections, I have no doubt she is capable of rising to any challenge our marriage might afford.”

Gwen closed her eyes and focused on keeping her breathing even. Whatever happened, she could not be found here eavesdropping on this conversation, but she was terrified that if she as much as moved a muscle, the sound would give her away. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, willing her racing heart to calm. Thomas was moving back to Liverpool. He wanted to marry her and bring her back here permanently. She took another breath. Why was she so shocked? Wasn’t this what Aunty Jane had hoped for all along? But was this what she had hoped for? As though sent to torture her, the question circled around again. Was marriage to Thomas what she’d hoped for?

She opened her eyes and turned her head. At the foot of the stairs, an upholstered chair had been positioned beside a large vase of flowers on a pedestal table. Splaying her fingers out against the wall to keep her steady, she took a tentative step in that direction. Another step followed and then another. Within seconds Gwen had reached the chair and carefully lowered herself onto it. Less than a minute later, Thomas exited the sitting room. Oblivious to the fact that Gwen was sitting behind the flower display, he marched across the hall and took the stairs two at a time, disappearing from view as soon as he reached the top.