Chapter 14 - One Last Spring

Within a fortnight, the snow’s novelty had begun to wane. The cold, damp conditions made it hard to keep the school warm, and by the time Gwen walked to school each morning, her boots, hat, and coat were already wet. Her feet were constantly cold. She tried to warm them by the fire in Mrs. Pritchard’s sitting room each evening, but if she faced the fire, her back became cold, and if she turned around, her nose turned pink. The most obvious solution was to slowly rotate, but that just made her dizzy.

Mrs. Pritchard provided a warm brick wrapped in flannel that she placed in Gwen’s bed each night. That and the feather eiderdown were the things Gwen looked forward to the most at the end of the day, even if it did make getting out of bed in the morning all the more difficult.

Unfortunately there didn’t seem to be any end in sight for the wintery weather. According to Mrs. Pritchard, the locals had been predicting a hard winter. The almanac and the animals had all pointed to it. The sheep farmers had talked about how unusually thick the wool was this year, as though the sheep had been preparing for colder-than-normal temperatures. The wild winberry crop on the mountains and the blackberry crop in the hedgerows had been particularly good, and farmers’ wives claimed that that meant more for the wild animals to hoard. How much truth there was to these things, Gwen didn’t know, but as the end of the school term drew closer, she began to worry that her long-anticipated return to Llanwddyn might be in jeopardy.

She’d heard that Ed the Post was still making the journey back and forth but was now doing it on skis. Two days before school was supposed to close for the Christmas holiday, Gwen and Alice saw him on the High Street.

“Mr. Hughes!” Gwen called.

Ed the Post turned and saw her across the road.

“Hello, Gwen,” he said, waving in greeting.

She hurried across the road with Alice close behind her. “I’ve heard the road to Llanwddyn is bad,” she said without preamble. “Are people still getting through?”

Ed the Post raised his cap a little and scratched his head. “I daresay a good horse could still make it, but I’m afraid the snow on the pass is too deep for a cart already,” he said. “I’ve managed on my skis, but another six inches of this white stuff and there’ll be no going anywhere over that mountain for a bit.”

Gwen bit her lip and looked up at the cloud-laden sky. Two days. She needed the snow to hold off for two more days.

“Thinking of Christmas, are you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ve been looking forward to going home.”

Ed nodded understandingly. “I’m sure your aunt’s anxious to see you too.” He gazed up at the sky just as Gwen had moments before. “I don’t know, bach. It might be wise to have a backup, just in case. It smells like another storm to me.”

Alice stepped closer and slid her arm through Gwen’s. “If she doesn’t make it to Llanwddyn, she’s coming home with me,” she announced.

Gwen turned to her friend, her expression a mixture of surprise and appreciation. “But, Alice . . .”

“There are no buts about it,” Alice said. “There’s already nine of us at home; one more won’t make any difference. Mam will be thrilled to have someone to spoil, even if my dad makes up for it by having you get up early to help with the milking.”

Ed the Post looked relieved. “I’m sure Dai will come if he can, Gwen. But it’s good to know you’ll be taken care of if the pass is closed.”

A gust of wind rattled a nearby window, and once again, Ed surveyed the skies. “I’d like to think I’ll make it to Llanwddyn tomorrow,” he said, “but I have to confess, I’m beginning to have my doubts.”

Ed the Post was right. Later that night a blizzard moved into the valley. Howling wind and swirling snow prevented anyone from leaving their homes until midafternoon the next day, and when the storm finally moved on, Llanfyllin was a sea of white. Snowdrifts reached above the windowsills, and roads were indistinguishable from open fields. As people slowly emerged into the winter wonderland, the only sound that could be heard above the excited cries of playing children was the steady scrape of shovels.

It did not take long for word to spread that the headmaster had been forced to close the school and would not reopen it until after the Christmas holidays. The students were thrilled, but it was difficult for Gwen to share their enthusiasm for the biggest snowstorm the area had seen in twenty years. Swallowing her disappointment at not being able to go home, she accepted Alice’s offer and traveled with her by horse-drawn sleigh to her family’s nearby farm.

They had barely pulled up in front of the large redbrick farmhouse when the front door flew open and five children of varying ages poured out.

“They’re here, Mam!” the tallest boy yelled over his shoulder as the youngest girl made a beeline for Alice.

“Hello, Elsie,” Alice said, picking up the little girl. “What are you doing out here without a coat?” She turned. “This is my friend, Gwen.”

Elsie buried her face in Alice’s shoulder but peeked out long enough to give Gwen a shy smile.

“Hello, Elsie,” Gwen said. “You look just like Alice. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Elsie’s head nodded up and down.

“Come on, Alice!” One of the boys shouted from the door. He was bouncing up and down with excitement. “You need to see the Christmas tree Dad cut down this afternoon.”

“Hurry!” the other children called in chorus.

“Did I mention that we don’t have quiet, peaceful Christmases?” Alice asked, her expression apologetic. “And we’ll all completely understand if you run off to the bedroom with your hands over your ears to escape the noise.”

Gwen shook her head good-naturedly. “Don’t worry about me. I’m excited to see the Christmas tree too.”

Alice grinned and handed Gwen her bag from the bottom of the sleigh. “Let’s take our things in, then.”

Gwen followed Alice along the snowy path to the front door. Alice’s siblings backed into the hall to allow them room to enter, and from the other end of the hall, a door opened, and a short, slightly plump woman bustled in, wiping her hands on her apron. She gave her attention to the girl standing nearest the door.

“Lizzy, Dad and Ben will be in from the milking any minute. It’s time to set the table. And maybe Elsie would like to help you.”

Elsie wiggled out of Alice’s arms and disappeared after Lizzy.

“I’m glad you got home safely,” Mrs. Jones said as she came over to give Alice a kiss on the cheek. Then she turned to Gwen. “And this must be Gwen.” She put her arms around Gwen and gave her a quick squeeze. “Welcome to Glanypwll Farm.”

“Thank you,” Gwen said. “It was very kind of you to let me come.”

“It’s our pleasure, bach,” Mrs. Jones said. “I always say Christmas is meant for sharing. It will be a treat to have you here.” She moved toward the stairs. “Give your bag to David. He can carry it up for you, and I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

The nearest boy reached for the bag, and Gwen handed it to him. “Thank you, David.”

“Welcome,” he said, his smile exposing the gap where his two front teeth should have been.

“Come on.” Alice linked her arm with Gwen’s. “You’re sharing a room with me and Lizzy, and as soon as we’ve shown you where it is, we’ll go into the parlor to see the Christmas tree.”

“Yeah!” David cried as he raced ahead of them with her bag.

Gwen moved toward the stairs and blinked back the tears that threatened. Perhaps she’d have to miss John Ellis’s Christmas sermon in her own Welsh chapel, and she may not taste her aunt’s delicious mince pies this year, but she had a feeling that being with these good people would make being away from home bearable after all.

A week after school resumed following Christmas, Ed the Post left Llanfyllin in his third attempt since the holiday to ski into the Vyrnwy valley. The previous times he’d tried, he’d returned hours later, having been unable to cross the huge snowdrifts still covering the pass. This time he didn’t come back. Gwen prayed that he was safe and that his continued absence meant he’d successfully made it to the isolated village.

Even though Alice’s family had done a marvelous job of making her feel welcome for Christmas, her thoughts had never been far from her loved ones in Llanwddyn. She hoped Aunty Jane had not been too unhappy spending Christmas alone. And more than that, she hoped her aunt had all the provisions she needed to survive comfortably until the pass cleared and supplies could reach the villagers.

She’d thought a lot about Lewis too. She wondered if he was at all disappointed that she’d been unable to return home. His lack of communication still troubled her. It seemed so unlike him to sever all ties after he’d made repeated efforts to reach out to her after Robert left. Each time she pondered it, the same niggling worry surfaced: perhaps it was Mabel who consumed his thoughts and attention now.

When a second day passed with no sign of Ed the Post, however, Gwen’s overriding concern was for the welfare of the postman who had risked so much to reach her family and friends. Darkness had already fallen, but she still sat beside the window in Mrs. Pritchard’s sitting room, watching the road. She’d just about given up hope of seeing the postman when she noticed a bright speck of light in the distance. She continued to watch until the light increased enough that she could make out the silhouette of a man around the glow of a lantern.

By the time she reached the front door, the vague silhouette had materialized into a man with skis on his feet and a bulging bag across his shoulder.

“Mr. Hughes!” Gwen shouted.

The man holding the lamp veered toward her, the swishing of his wooden skis against the hardpacked snow echoing eerily in the night.

Gwen held up her candle, its feeble light giving him direction. “I’m so glad you’re safe!”

Breathing heavily, Ed the Post came to a stop and leaned on his ski poles. “I was very glad to see the lights of Llanfyllin, I must say.”

“Do you want to come in?” Gwen said.

He shook his head. “No. I must be getting home. The wife will be anxious.” He pulled back the flap on his bag and reached inside. “But I’m glad you stopped me. I have something for you.”

“A letter?” Gwen asked hopefully.

“Well, I think there’s one of those in here somewhere too,” he said with a smile. “But I can’t give you that. It has to go through the post office first. No, this is more of a personal delivery.”

Puzzled, Gwen watched as Ed the Post pulled out a long, thin package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to Gwen.

“What is it?” she asked.

Ed the Post laughed. “I’m afraid I didn’t ask.” Then, perhaps sensing her confusion, he continued. “I’d just started back to Llanfyllin and was crossing Pont Cedig when Owen Morgan’s son called out to me.”

“Which son?” Gwen asked, her heartbeat suddenly quickening.

“The eldest, I think,” Ed the Post said.

“Lewis?”

“That’s the one.”

Gwen tightened her grip on the package. Why was she so thirsty for news of him?

“He gave me that and asked if I’d get it to you. Said he’d planned on giving it to you himself, but when you didn’t make it back for Christmas . . .Well, I could tell he was right anxious to have it reach you soon, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him no.” Ed the Post looked a little uncomfortable. “Having said that, I’m not sure that I should be carrying parcels that haven’t gone through the post office, so it might be best if you didn’t say anything to your aunt.”

“It was very good of you to bring it,” she said. “And I won’t say a word.”

Ed the Post gave a relieved nod. “Well, there we are. It wouldn’t do to upset the Llanwddyn postmistress, after all.”

Gwen gave a small laugh. She wasn’t sure what Aunty Jane did to intimidate fully grown men, but she did it well.

“How is Aunty Jane?” she asked.

“Just the same as always,” he said. “I asked her how everyone in the village is managing. She said most people are relying on their coffers of oatmeal, and the local farms are keeping them in milk and eggs. They’ll be right glad to have the pass open again though.”

Gwen was relieved to know the villagers were safe but knew that by now she would be very tired of having oatmeal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. “How much longer will it be before fresh supplies can get through?”

Ed the Post shrugged. “If we get a little melting and the storms hold off, it’s possible a cart could do it in a week or two,” he said, moving stiffly as he straightened up. “It’s a long, hard journey at the moment though.”

“Thank you for doing it, Mr. Hughes,” Gwen said. “I’ve been very eager for news.”

“You’re welcome, bach. Now get inside before you catch your death of cold out here. And I’d best be on my way before all my joints seize up and I can’t even make it as far as the local post office.”

Still clutching her package, Gwen stepped back, and with a grunt of effort, Ed the Post pushed off on his skis. She watched only long enough to see him turn toward the town center before she slipped back into the house.