Chapter 5 - One Last Spring

It rained for almost two weeks. The Rivers Cedig and Vyrnwy swelled dangerously close to overflowing, the streets became muddy walkways, and everyone stayed indoors as much as possible. Gwen stopped cleaning her boots at the end of each day because by the time she arrived at school the next morning, it was as though she’d never touched them. She felt damp to her bones and longed for sunshine to clear away the gray pall that seemed to hang over everyone in the valley.

Unfortunately, the somber skies were a fitting reflection of Gwen’s heavy heart. Robert’s absence was hard to ignore. She missed his reassuring presence and playful banter in the house, and the kitchen wasn’t the same without his work boots at the back door or the telltale trail of crumbs that always marked his extra trips to the pantry.

She made an extra effort to fill the voids her brother had left in her life by focusing on new meaningful moments. Taking time to express appreciation to her aunt for the warm kitchen when she came in out of the rain and taking a loaf of bread to Rosie Evans who’d just had a baby had helped. Guiding old John Roberts across the muddy street because his eyesight was too poor to see the potholes, and showing Catherine Williams’s twin boys how to make paper boats that could successfully sail the largest puddles had also been rewarding. But as much as these small acts of kindness lifted Gwen’s spirits, she still longed for a letter that would tell her Robert was safe and well.

Every evening Aunty Jane came back from the post office empty-handed. Gwen guessed that her aunt was almost as anxious for word from Robert as she was, but she rarely spoke of him. Sometimes Gwen would catch her gazing at something that belonged to him—his copy of Moby Dick in the living room, his old hat on the coatrack, or his favorite mug in the cupboard. On those occasions, Gwen thought she saw emotion in her aunt’s eyes, but it was never verbally expressed, and Gwen found herself sharing her own feelings of loneliness with the small portrait of her parents in her room.

Unfortunately, her feelings of being alone only intensified whenever she allowed the memory of her earlier, disastrous outing in the rain to surface. Simply thinking of her interaction with Lewis filled her with mortification, and she did everything she could to avoid running into him again. She walked to and from school as fast as possible, never lingering to watch the duck family at Pont Cedig, and walking particularly briskly past the smithy. She even kept an eye out for Ioan Llanwddyn, but someone in the village must have taken him in during the inclement weather because he was nowhere to be seen.

On the three occasions that her aunt had sent her to the local shop to pick up a few items for dinner, she was grateful to find it almost empty. Emlyn Williams, the shopkeeper, asked about Robert. Gwen found that she preferred his open curiosity to the uncomfortable whispers more common among the villagers. Apart from her teacher and fellow students, whom she interacted with every day at school, the only other people she saw during that time were the ones in chapel on Sunday. There again, the weather had everyone hurrying into the meeting and hurrying back home again afterward. No one lingered. Gwen assumed Lewis was in attendance, but she made a special effort to not look in the direction of his family’s pew, so she never saw him.

The rain impacted work at the dam too. By the end of the first week, construction had slowed to a standstill. It was too muddy to work at the dam site, and the navvies working at the quarry one mile to the north were unable to keep the dynamite dry long enough to blast safely. The masons were left to chisel blocks of stone that had already been roughly cut, but even they could not work for long in the downpour. The workmen filtered into the village as the week progressed, looking for something to do. They lingered at the pub and loitered in small groups outside any of the establishments with an overhanging roof.

Gwen tried to remind herself of Robert’s reassurance that many of the navvies were good men with families at home, but she still felt uncomfortable walking past them. Her logical side told her she’d managed to disregard the workmen in the village successfully for over three years; time and maturity should only help. Her instincts told her otherwise.

She felt their stares as she passed, sensed their muted conversations, and occasionally heard a catcall that made her squirm. On the few occasions that she opted to walk to or from school with Mabel Richards, the other girl giggled and snuck coy glances at the men, making the journey all the more uncomfortable. It did not take Gwen long to realize Mabel was not interested in arriving at school on time. As far as Mabel was concerned, the more they dawdled, the better.

On Friday, Gwen left school late. She was coming to the end of her schooling in Llanwddyn, and her teacher, Miss Ellis, had encouraged her to take an examination to see if she qualified to continue as a boarding student at the larger school in Llanfyllin. Gwen enjoyed school and loved reading and learning new things, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about going away to school. Already she’d had more schooling than many of her peers, and moving on meant facing yet another big change in her life. But Aunty Jane had agreed with Miss Ellis, that it was best to keep her options open.

Only two other students took the examination that day, and they finished before her. Gwen didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. Miss Ellis had allowed her to take all the allotted time, and when she finally handed in the papers, she felt both relief and exhaustion. In fact, thinking through the answers she’d given on her test while circumventing the mud puddles on her journey home took so much of her flagging concentration she almost ran into the men on the road before she was even aware of them being there.

“Now then! This is what we’ve been missing, lads.”

“She’s a bit of all right, this one! Might have to fight you for her.”

The men’s voices were loud, their words slurred. And they were speaking English. Gwen looked up in time to see three men slowly circling her. Their gaits were unsteady, and as they drew progressively nearer, they brought with them the distinctive smell of alcohol. She froze.

“What’s your name, darlin’?”

A heavyset man with straw-colored hair reached out to touch her. Gwen instinctively stepped back but bumped into another man standing behind her. He grasped her around the waist, and Gwen tore at his hand, desperate to be free of his hold. The third man with small eyes and a hooked nose laughed.

“Doesn’t look like she’s much taken with either of you knuckleheads,” he said. He looked Gwen up and down as though eyeing a piece of meat hanging in a butcher’s window. “I think she likes me better.”

He slid a rough hand behind her head, his fingers hooking into her hair as he pulled her closer. His reeking breath turned Gwen’s stomach; his lecherous smile filled her with panic. Frantically, she tossed her head back, her hair pulling painfully as it caught in his fingers. She gave a small cry, and the man grinned.

“Nicely done, Hurst!” The blond shoved the man with the hooked nose aside with his shoulder and reached for Gwen with his other hand. “You stick with me, darlin’. A few kisses won’t hurt at all.”

Gwen pulled her arm free of his grasp and spun around. Whatever happened, she would not let her fear of these men paralyze her. She had to focus on finding some means of escape. The men were standing too close, each one set against her slipping past them. She looked back the way she’d come. The street was deserted. Would anyone hear if she called for help?

Up ahead she heard the distant creak of well-worn hinges, followed by the sound of someone whistling the familiar melody of an old Welsh folk song. The men must have heard it too. All three turned, two of them swaying uncontrollably. A gap opened up between them, barely wide enough to give Gwen a glimpse down the street to where a dark-haired man was opening the doors of the smithy. Despite the distance and the drizzling rain, she knew him. And with that recognition came a sense of safety. The antagonism she’d been harboring over Lewis’s recent behavior suddenly seemed insignificant, and without stopping to think, she simply acted. “Lewis! Lewis! Help me!”

Immediately the three men swung around.

“What did she say?” the blond one yelled. “Curse this foul language. What did she say?”

“How are we supposed to know?” The man behind her said. “Ask that bloke. He can probably tell you.”

He stuck out a wobbly arm, hitting Gwen across the shoulder as he pointed down the road toward the smithy. The man with the hooked nose swore.

“Peters, you’re the biggest idiot I know.”

He took a stumbling step away from the other two, and Gwen used this opening between the men to break free. She ran, heedless of the rain, the puddles, the mud, or anyone watching. Her sole focus was on reaching the smithy.

At her cry, Lewis’s whistling had stopped abruptly. He had turned and was scanning the street, his gaze immediately falling on the figure running toward him. She saw his posture change the moment he identified her. He left the smithy door behind and hurried to meet her.

“Gwennie! What is it?”

“Those men . . .”

Her viselike grip on his arm and the shake in her voice expressed Gwen’s terror far better than words.

“Which men? What happened?”

Lewis’s urgency brought the first tears to Gwen’s eyes. She pointed behind her.

“Three English navvies. They were drunk, and they . . .”

“Did they hurt you?” Lewis was already scanning the street again, barely suppressing his anger.

“No.” Gwen thought of the men’s ugly expressions and shuddered. “I think perhaps they would have, but you came out of the smithy, and I ran.”

The street was empty once more, but from beyond the row of houses, she heard a faint clatter of footsteps and a distant shout. Under her clenched fingers, she felt Lewis’s arm muscles tighten.

“I’ll go after them.”

“No,” she said again. “There are three of them, and they’ve all been drinking. Who knows what they’d do if you chased after them.”

Lewis’s expression hardened. “They can’t get away with this.”

She shook her head. “It will be my word against theirs. And, truth be told, they probably won’t remember anything about it tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t mean they won’t try something like this again. And the outcome could be much worse.”

Gwen would not allow herself to think that way. Not now. Not while her fear was so real. “Please, Lewis,” she begged. “Please just take me home. Aunty Jane and I have been the subject of village gossip for two weeks already. I don’t want any more hurtful whispers.”

He looked down at her, indecision written across his face. “But if you hadn’t run—”

“But I did. And they didn’t harm me.” She released his arm and took a shaky step back. “I need to go.”

Lewis glanced back down the street. All traces of the three navvies were gone. Only the pitter-patter of falling rain broke the silence. With frustration, he ran his hand through his hair.

“Very well,” he said. “I don’t like it, but we’ll do it your way. If there were another man here, it would likely be a different story, but Dad’s over at Dai Williams’s farm helping with lambing.”

Gwen knew her relief showed on her face. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He gave a reluctant nod. “Come on, then.” He put his hand on her elbow and propelled her forward. “Let’s get you home.”

They walked in silence until they were within a few yards of Aunty Jane’s house, then Lewis’s steps slowed.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the smithy a couple weeks back,” he said. “It was stupid of me to bring those things up in front of Ioan.”

Gwen gave an embarrassed shrug. “Well, you were right about one thing; maybe I do need someone checking on me every once in a while.” She looked over at him. “I’m glad you were here today and that you ignored what I told you before.”

“You mean the part about me leaving you alone—the part I could understand completely?”

Gwen recognized his teasing tone and managed a small smile. “Yes, that part.”

“Ah, so can we establish that that too was a bit stupid?”

“Not stupid,” she said defensively. “A bit overstated, maybe.”

They’d reached Aunty Jane’s front door, so Lewis dropped his hand from her elbow and stuck both hands deep into his pockets. Gwen felt the loss of contact immediately and didn’t like the feeling of vulnerability that came with it. She didn’t want to be alone. Nervously, she glanced around, but there was no one to be seen—no villagers and no navvies.

“Is there someone you can walk home from school with from now on?” Lewis asked as though sensing her disquiet.

She gave a slow nod. “Mabel Richards is usually at school, but she . . .” Gwen didn’t want to discuss Mabel’s flirtatious tendencies with Lewis. “She doesn’t always leave at the same time I do.”

Lewis raised one eyebrow. “Well, can you wait for each other? It’s probably best that neither of you be on your own.”

Gwen hated that they were having this conversation. Young women’s safety had not been an issue in the village before the dam construction began.

“I’ll talk to her,” she said.

Lewis looked pleased. “Good,” he said. He jerked his head toward the house. “You’d best be getting inside.”

Gwen nodded and opened the front door. “Thank you for bringing me home, Lewis,” she said.

He gave her a small smile. “Just remember those ‘overstated’ things you mentioned a couple of weeks ago are now null and void,” he said. “I’ll be around.”