Chapter 6 - One Last Spring

Gwen wasn’t sure what buoyed her spirits the most the next morning—the fact that it was Saturday and she didn’t have to worry about the walk to and from school or the fact that the sun had finally broken through the gray clouds to reveal a clear, blue sky. They both filled her with gratitude, and she scrambled out of bed feeling much better able to face the world than she had when she’d climbed under the covers the night before.

As usual, Aunty Jane had a long list of chores that needed to be done before Sunday. Gwen glanced over it and refrained from groaning only because personal experience had taught her that complaints tended to add items to the list rather than eliminate them. Mopping the kitchen floor was backbreaking work, but as she was the one who had tracked in most of the offending mud, she supposed it was only fair. Besides which, she’d rather mop the floor than have to hand wash the pile of muddy clothes her aunt had taken care of while Gwen was at school.

She was emptying her second bucket of dirty water outside when she saw Edward Hughes, the postman, walking past the house toward the post office. He wore gray woolen trousers and a navy jacket. A peaked cap covered his thinning hair, and as always, he carried his official postbag across his shoulder.

“Good morning, Mr. Hughes,” Gwen said, greeting him with a smile.

Known throughout the area as Ed the Post, the friendly postman had been delivering the mail to Llanwddyn for over seventeen years and was considered an honorary member of the village, even though he actually lived in Llanfyllin. He walked the twelve-mile journey one day, stayed overnight in the village, and returned to Llanfyllin with the outgoing letters the next day. Day in and day out, back and forth, he made the trek, and up until recently, when bridges were built to accommodate the dam construction, he’d had to ford three rivers each way.

Gwen wasn’t quite sure why he kept doing it. She’d even asked him once. He’d told her that the long walk kept his legs strong enough to keep up with his two grandsons and gave him plenty of time to work on his singing without a critical audience. It was hard to imagine that Ed the Post had much time or energy for chasing grandsons after his long daily walk, and after seventeen years of singing, Gwen thought he ought to already be proficient or have no hope for further improvement. But she was wise enough to keep her opinions to herself.

“Lovely day at last,” Ed the Post said. “About time that rain stopped. Made for a slow walk all week. By the time I got here yesterday, your aunt had already closed the post office. But don’t you worry.” He gave her a wink. “I slept with the postbag under my pillow for safekeeping. Wouldn’t do to lose any letters. Especially one from Liverpool.”

Gwen gasped, dropped the empty bucket, and ran over to the postman. “Do you have a letter for me from Liverpool?”

He chuckled. “Why don’t you come with me to the post office? It seems to me that the postmistress is someone else who’s been looking for a letter from Liverpool for some time now. I daresay she’ll be especially anxious to sort today’s mail and might just get it done extra fast.”

“I’ll come right away,” Gwen called as she picked up the bucket and ran back to the kitchen. Placing the bucket in the entry and grabbing her shawl off the coatrack, she was back within seconds.

“Well now,” he said, “if your aunt’s half as efficient as you are, we’ll have everyone’s letters to them in no time.”

“Let’s hurry, Mr. Hughes!” Gwen said, grabbing the older man’s hand and pulling him toward the post office.

Ed the Post picked up his pace. “I suppose I’d better start praying I’ve not got your hopes up over one of those arrogant letters from the Liverpool Corporation,” he said. “Mind you, I’ve delivered plenty of those over the last few years, and I’ve never seen handwriting this poor before.”

Gwen laughed. “It has to be Robert. It has to be.”

Aunty Jane pulled the letter from the small pile that spilled out of Ed the Post’s bag and onto the post office desk. Robert’s penmanship—or lack thereof—made it easy to spot. The envelope was written out to Gwen. Without a word and in her usual straightforward manner, she handed it to her niece. Gwen thought she caught a glimpse of disappointment in her aunt’s eyes but was too intent on tearing open the envelope to dwell on it. She pulled out four pages of scribbled text. Oblivious to anyone else in the room, she began to read.

Dear Gwennie,

I have so much to tell you, I hardly know where to begin. First, let me reassure you that I am safe and well. The journey to Liverpool was long but relatively uneventful, and I was able to get directions to the docks and secure a small room at a nearby inn without difficulty.

The inn is noisy and dirty—as is Liverpool as a whole. I confess there’s not much to recommend the city, and when I see how many people live in squalor and share the same air as the smoking chimney stacks, I’m all the more grateful for my Welsh upbringing. My short stay in this industrial city has helped me understand why so many seek a life at sea, where at least they can breathe fresh air.

For the first few days after my arrival, I spent my time wandering the dockyards, asking for word on any ship that might be hiring. My attempts to join in conversations with other sailors were often frustrated by my poor grasp of the English language. If I’d only known that being Welsh would end up being my biggest asset, I would have been saved from hours of discouragement.

Two days ago, I heard rumor that the captain of the Talookdar was looking for a new cabin boy. I immediately set off to find that sailing ship. Oh, Gwennie, you should see her! She’s almost one hundred yards long, with three huge masts, all of them fully square rigged with a small gaff sail on the stern, and she’s newly arrived from the dockyard, so her lacquered bows positively gleam.

Somehow I managed to persuade the sailors working on dock to speak to the captain about me. Perhaps I have your prayers to thank for that? Imagine my surprise when I was introduced to Captain Tecwyn Owen and discovered that he’s as Welsh as you and me. He told me his mother was born in Pennant near Llanfyllin, so he’s familiar with Llanwddyn. I would never dare say this to his face (he’s quite an imposing and intimidating man), but I believe that my small connection to his mother was what prompted him to hire me then and there.

And so, my dear Gwennie, I write this from the deck of the Talookdar, where we are readying for our maiden voyage to Calcutta, India. We aim to sail before the end of the week and will be gone for several months. I will send you a letter the moment we reach port, but until then, do not worry about me. Already I have a great love for my ship and deep respect for my captain. I anticipate that many of the crew members will become my friends as my English improves and we work together on the long voyage ahead.

Please share my news with Aunty Jane and with Lewis. I hope that despite her initial displeasure at my decision to go to sea, Aunty Jane has now come to terms with my leaving. I will always be grateful for the way in which she took us in when Mam and Dad died. With your inherent goodness, perhaps you can be a big enough blessing to her for both of us.

Cofion cynnes,

Robert

Gwen raised her eyes from the letter to find Aunty Jane and Ed the Post watching her.

“Well?” There was anxiety in Aunty Jane’s voice.

“He’s fine,” Gwen hurried to reassure her. “He’s been hired by a Welsh captain. They sailed for India this week.”

“Well, I never!” Ed the Post looked suitably impressed.

“The captain’s Welsh?” Aunty Jane said.

“Yes.” Gwen felt giddy with relief. “Here.” She offered the letter to her aunt. “You can read it.”

Surprise lit her aunt’s eyes. “You want me to read your letter?”

“Yes,” Gwen said with a smile. “I think you should. You need to know how happy he is.”

Aunty Jane reached out and took the proffered papers. “Thank you, Gwen,” she said with genuine gratitude. “That’s very good of you.”

Gwen felt a twinge of remorse that Robert had not written to Aunty Jane personally. She suspected their aunt cared for them far more than she would ever admit. She had been married for only three years when her husband had passed away. Never having had children of her own, Gwen guessed that her aunt had known much loneliness in her life. Her parents, her husband, and her sister had all preceded her in death. Perhaps Robert’s leaving had reminded her of how often she’d been left behind by those she loved.

Aunty Jane read the letter quickly. When she handed it back, she gave Gwen a nod of acceptance.

“It’s as he wanted, and I’m glad for that,” she said, “but with all he has ahead, he will need our prayers more than ever.”

“India!” Ed the Post said as though he were still trying to talk himself into believing the place really existed. He shook his head. “Well, that gives me something new to think on as I walk back to Llanfyllin, that’s for certain.”

Ed the Post’s words seemed to snap Aunty Jane back to business.

“We need to let you get on your way, Ed,” she said, reaching under the counter for the pile of outgoing letters.

“Yes, indeed,” the postman replied, taking them from her and shoving them into his postbag. “I should like to get home before dark.”

Within minutes he was ready, and with a friendly wave and the jingle of the bell on the post office door, he set off down the street.

Gwen replaced Robert’s letter in the envelope and tucked it carefully into her pocket. “I’d best return to mopping the kitchen floor,” she said.

Her aunt’s thin-lipped frown was back. Picking up a handful of the letters Ed the Post had left on the desk, she started to sort them. “Notwithstanding all this excitement, I expect the cleaning to be done well, Gwen.”

With a quiet sigh, Gwen walked toward the post office door. “Yes, Aunty Jane.”

Maybe any sensitivity or caring she thought she’d seen in her aunt moments ago had been nothing more than hopeful imagining after all.