Chapter 2 - One Last Spring

The next few days were very difficult for Gwen. Knowing that Robert would soon be leaving for an undetermined length of time made it hard to not begrudge every moment he was gone working with the sheep on Dai Williams’s farm or cutting peat to replenish the dwindling stack in the back shed. The days went too quickly, and she saw too little of him. On the other hand, the dark cloud that hung over her as she contemplated life without him made it hard to focus on the most basic household chores or the simplest schoolwork. Then the days seemed interminable.

The puzzled expression on Aunty Jane’s face when Gwen redid the same arithmetic problem three times before getting it right became more of a frown when she later discovered that Gwen had left the milk jug out on the kitchen counter in full view of the cat. As challenging as it was, Gwen knew she had to do better, or her aunt would start questioning her behavior. She was not about to tell Aunty Jane about Robert’s plans. That had to come from him.

Gwen was making bread in the kitchen the next Saturday when she heard the sound of Robert’s and Aunty Jane’s voices coming from the living room. Robert’s voice was a persistent rumble, while Aunty Jane’s continually increased in intensity and volume. A bang sounded down the hall, and Gwen dropped the dough onto the counter, brushed her floury hands off on her apron, and quickly moved to the kitchen door in time to see Robert bounding up the stairs toward his bedroom two steps at a time. A minute later, he reappeared, this time carrying a large duffel bag. When he reached the bottom step, he looked over and saw her.

“It’s time, Gwennie,” he said.

She nodded, not sure if words would come without tears.

Robert jerked his head toward the closed living room door. “I didn’t expect Aunty Jane to understand, but I didn’t want to leave on this bad note either. Will you try to explain to her for me?” He gave a rueful smile. “I don’t think I’ll ever be a good enough man to be a preacher like Dad. And I truly believe I would go mad if I had to tend sheep the rest of my days.”

Again, Gwen nodded.

He lowered his bag to the floor, closed the space between them, and gave her a fierce hug. “I’ll write from Liverpool,” he said.

“You’d better,” she managed.

Robert chuckled softly. “I have connections at the Llanwddyn post office. It will get to you fast.”

He pulled away, and Gwen brushed off the traces of flour that had transferred from her apron to his shirt.

“Travel safely,” she said as her tears began.

This time it was Robert’s turn to nod. “I will.” Then he turned on his heel, picked up his bag, and walked out the front door.

Gwen followed him and stood at the doorstep as he walked down the road, his duffel bag over one shoulder. She saw him greet Ioan Llanwddyn, the cripple who often sat on the grass verge beside Pont Cedig, but Robert didn’t stop until he reached the smithy. He paused there, and a moment later, Lewis stepped outside. They exchanged a firm handshake and a few words before Robert moved on again. Gwen continued to watch until he reached the fork in the road. At that point, he turned and, seeing her at the doorway, gave a final wave before taking the road to the right that led to Llanfyllin and the train station.

Gwen saw the curtain in the living room window twitch as she reentered the house and shut the door behind her. The last thing she wanted to do at that moment was face Aunty Jane, but somehow she had to go on with everyday life. Not caring about the tears streaming down her face, she walked back into the kitchen and picked up the waiting bread dough. Feelings of abandonment vied with feelings of sorrow, and by the time the dough was in the pans, she suspected it had been pummeled more than any dough had ever been pummeled before.

As Gwen walked up the mountainside a few hours later, she wondered what her aunt was thinking. Soon after Robert’s departure, Aunty Jane had left to open the post office and had been there ever since. Gwen had methodically worked her way through her Saturday chores so she could escape the confines of the house for a short time before darkness fell.

Kneading the bread dough and allowing herself to cry had drained Gwen of all emotion. She felt empty and wondered vaguely how long she would experience this hollowness and why loss of any kind was so hard for her to bear. Perhaps, as Robert had suggested, she really was overly silly and sentimental.

She reached the boulder she’d long since claimed as her own and sat down. She held her sketchbook but kept it closed, holding it against her chest as she looked out over the valley. It was illogical, perhaps, this deep love she had for a village and a valley that had been strange to her only six years before. Her only explanation was that she felt a connection to her mother here. This was where her mother had grown up, been married, and was buried. And where her mother’s parents had lived before her. Gwen had come to know and love many of the villagers. They too were important to her now.

She openly admitted she didn’t like change; once she put down roots, it was very hard to remove them without damage. And it was the same with people. Robert’s ease in talking to strangers was completely alien to her, but the people she knew and loved, she loved fiercely, and if they ever left, she felt the loss terribly.

After her parents died, she’d quickly learned that it was the everyday activities that were the hardest to endure without them. Choosing which color ribbon should go on the end of her braid each morning, running outside to rescue the clothes on the washing line when it began to rain, or going to visit a friend or neighbor in need—these were all things she used to do with her mother, but now she did them alone.

When she’d first moved to Llanwddyn, her feelings of loss had been so raw she’d barely set foot outside her aunt’s house, but even at that young age, she’d recognized that her best hope for recovery was to stick to her mother’s belief that every day should have at least one meaningful moment. That meaningful moment could be something as simple as expressing gratitude for the sunshine or as time intensive as making a pie and giving it to someone else. Whatever the activity, it meant that no day passed unnoticed or unappreciated.

It had been hard to continue her mother’s legacy alone, but as Gwen had looked beyond herself to see the blessings in her life and the small, quiet ways she could reach out to others, her mother had seemed closer. Picking a few flowers to give to a neighbor, watching baby robins fly from their nests, and complimenting the postman on his new hat might seem insignificant to others, but for ten-year-old Gwen, those meaningful moments had helped ease her grief and had formed the foundation of her love for her new home.

With a sigh, Gwen closed her eyes. They stung from her earlier crying. She would add writing to Robert as something she could make into a meaningful moment. Sharing the good things happening in the village would help them both. She turned her face toward the lowering sun and soaked in the last of the warm rays. The sun would rise again tomorrow, she told herself. It would rise on Robert. It would rise on her. And she would make the most of whatever the new day brought.

“Are you all right, Gwennie?”

Gwen jumped; her eyes popped open as her sketchbook fell to the ground. For a fleeting second, she thought it was Robert. Very few people called her anything but Gwen. Only her father, her brother, and—she looked over at the young man standing in front of her—Lewis. She’d spent little time with Lewis since they’d grown out of their childhood games of make-believe, and she’d forgotten that he’d adopted Robert’s name for her then.

“I’m not sure if my heart will ever beat the same,” Gwen said, catching her breath.

“Sorry.” He looked uncomfortable. “I thought you might . . . I didn’t mean to . . .” Embarrassed, he ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Robert told me I might find you here. He asked that I watch out for you—at least for a bit. So I thought I’d better come check and make sure you’re all right.”

At Lewis’s confession, myriad emotions flooded through Gwen. First came irritation that Robert had shared the location of her special place with someone else, but that was quickly followed by gratitude for his concern. Discomfort with her current situation soon mushroomed into perplexity regarding how she was supposed to respond. She really didn’t want to admit that she felt as though she’d been abandoned and that she’d spent a good part of the day in tears. It didn’t seem like those were emotions a nineteen-year-old young man would readily understand. Somehow she had to feign some level of maturity.

“I’m fine, thank you, Lewis,” she said. “It was nice of you to come and ask.”

Relief flooded his face. “Well then,” he said, “I’ll let you be.” He stuck his hands deep into his trouser pockets and took a few steps back. “If you don’t mind, I’ll check with you again before long. I gave my word to Robert, and I’d like to keep it, if it’s all the same to you.”

Gwen managed a small smile. “I’m not sure I can refuse when you put it like that,” she said.

“That’s good,” Lewis said with an equally hesitant smile. Then, without another word, he turned away and started back down the mountain.

He covered the uneven ground quickly and easily, and Gwen was reminded of how light on his feet he’d been when they were young. Robert, as captain of each imaginary endeavor, would barge into every situation with his wooden sword blazing. Lewis had preferred stealth, catching his enemies unprepared. It was not surprising that he’d caught her unawares just now.

She watched him go until he disappeared between the trees. She hadn’t spoken to Lewis for a long time. He and Robert had left school almost three years ago, Lewis to start working in the smithy and Robert to shepherd for Dai Williams. Without an obvious vocation in the offing, Gwen hadn’t understood Robert’s desire to leave school at sixteen to earn a steady income—until a few days ago.

Now that he no longer attended school with her, virtually the only time she saw Lewis was at chapel on Sundays. His family’s pew was not near hers, and even though Robert had often stopped to talk to him after the meetings, she had not. Gwen thought about that. It was a strange situation—to know someone well enough that they shared your childhood memories, yet know them so little that any conversation between you was stilted and awkward.

She sighed and slowly got to her feet. Gathering her shawl a little closer, she bent down and picked up her sketchbook. She hoped, for Lewis’s sake, that he did not feel compelled to check on her very often. She wasn’t sure how many uncomfortable exchanges she could abide.