Chapter 3 - One Last Spring

The whispering began as soon as Gwen and her aunt walked into the chapel the next morning. Gwen didn’t know how word had spread. It wasn’t as though Robert had never missed a chapel service before. He’d had his share of illnesses and injuries as a boy, and some of them had kept him away from his Sunday meetings. But somehow everyone seemed to know that Robert’s absence was more meaningful this time.

Gwen felt everyone’s stares boring into her back as she walked down the aisle. Not for the first time, she wished their bench were a little closer to the door. She glanced at her aunt. If possible, Aunty Jane’s stiff posture seemed even more rigid than usual. The older lady’s lips were set in a thin line, and her pale-blue eyes did not waver from her ultimate goal: the family pew near the front of the chapel. She said nothing until they were safely seated on the bench.

“What possessed me to tell Bronwen Richards about Robert leaving, I’ll never know,” she muttered more to herself than to Gwen. “That woman has never been able to keep anything to herself. I believe she comes into the post office just so she can be the first one to hear news and spread it.”

“I don’t understand what the fuss is about,” Gwen said softly. “It’s not as if Robert’s done anything wrong.”

Aunty Jane gave the loudest tut acceptable in a chapel and gave Gwen a look that suggested her niece had left her intelligence in bed that morning. “Gwen Humphreys, respectable young men do not run away to sea. It shows a gross lack of common sense, reliability, and decorum.”

Gwen stared at her aunt, completely flabbergasted. Only the knowledge that she was in the chapel prevented her from giving an indignant retort. Instead, she counted to ten in Welsh and then did it again in English. It saved her. By the time she’d repeated the numbers backward, the organ prelude music had come to a close, and the Welsh Methodist minister, John Ellis, had taken the podium.

Mr. Ellis launched into a rousing sermon. At least, Gwen assumed it was rousing. The minister’s voice certainly ascended to fever pitch, but she didn’t actually hear his message. Instead, her aunt’s words repeated themselves over and over again in her mind. Was that really what people thought? Even those who knew Robert and had never questioned his character before? Or was her aunt overreacting? Were the buzzing whispers a sign of genuine interest among villagers, or were they voicing their disapproval?

Aunty Jane was obviously upset about Robert’s departure. She’d said very little to Gwen since he’d walked out of the house, and what she had said had been terse. Secretly, Gwen had been relieved. It was easier to hide her own pain if she didn’t have to talk about it. But she hadn’t anticipated her aunt’s bitterness or the censure of friends and neighbors.

As the congregation echoed the last amen of the closing prayer and came to its feet, Aunty Jane slipped on her gloves. “I believe we will go straight home today,” she said. “There is no one I wish to speak with.”

The fact that Gwen’s wishes were irrelevant was not lost on Gwen, but she had to concede that leaving quickly was probably for the best. If her aunt lingered after Sunday meetings, Gwen would occasionally talk to Bronwen Richards’s daughter, Mabel. They were the same age and in school together, but Mabel’s interests tended to lean toward socializing with boys, while Gwen preferred solitude and drawing. Besides, with Mabel’s mother undoubtedly hovering nearby, Mabel would be a particularly poor choice today.

Gwen slid out of the pew first and led the way out of the chapel. She purposely avoided making eye contact with anyone all the way to the main doors. When she stepped outside, she realized it had started raining. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned to make sure her aunt was still behind her. The poor weather would lessen the likelihood of people congregating outside and make their hasty departure seem less obvious.

Just as her aunt appeared at the doors, someone separated themselves from a small group standing beneath the chapel awning. Gwen glanced up and saw Lewis walking toward her. Dread filled her. Not here. Not now. Didn’t he understand that her emotions were too close to the surface to have a conversation about how she was feeling in front of everyone exiting the chapel doors?

At the last minute, Lewis must have seen something in her face. He raised his eyebrows in question. Frantically she shook her head, and his steps faltered. He stopped a few feet away and watched as Aunty Jane swept through the doors, took Gwen by the arm, and, with her head lowered against the drizzling rain, marched her through the chapel gate and down the road toward home.

“Well,” Aunty Jane said as she shook the rain off her coat in the kitchen a few minutes later. “There aren’t many days that I’m thankful for the rain, but this is one of them.”

“We can’t avoid talking to people forever,” Gwen said.

Aunty Jane gave her a stony look. “I am well aware of that, child, but I will do it when I’m good and ready. Not before.”

She hung her coat on the coatrack in the corner and began pouring water into the kettle. “Besides, I daresay Robert will be back within the week. He’ll only need a few days on his own in Liverpool to realize the mistake he’s made. And then, as long as he can talk Dai Williams into rehiring him, we can put all this foolishness behind us and go on as if it never happened.”

Gwen considered counting again, but since they were no longer in the chapel, she ignored the idea. “I don’t understand Robert’s desire to go to sea any more than you do,” she said. “But he’s wanted to do this since he was little, and for years he’s saved almost every penny he’s earned for this opportunity, maybe because he knew he wouldn’t get it any other way.” She paused briefly to let that sink in. “I don’t think that’s the kind of behavior anyone would expect of someone being reckless or irresponsible. And if you were being as fair as you pride yourself on being, you wouldn’t either.”

Her aunt gasped, but Gwen hadn’t finished. “I’m no happier than you are about Robert leaving, but I won’t call him foolish for following his dream. In fact, you’re the one who is foolish if you think he’ll be coming back anytime soon!”

Aunty Jane’s initial shock at Gwen’s outburst was rapidly giving way to anger. “That will be quite enough, young lady,” she ordered.

“Yes,” Gwen said. “It will.” She walked across the room to hang her coat up beside her aunt’s before moving to the door. “For what it’s worth, Robert was sorry that his decision upset you. He wanted you to know that.”

She opened the kitchen door and let herself out into the hall before her aunt had a chance to respond. A few moments later, Gwen heard the clang of the kettle hitting the hob a little too hard, but by then she was already halfway up the stairs, and she didn’t look back.

Her bedroom was far too small for her to pace efficiently. She walked back and forth in a tiny triangle between her bed, the dresser, and the window, but it did little to ease her wound-up emotions. She and Robert readily acknowledged how much they owed their aunt for caring for them for so many years, but it was sometimes hard to reconcile her prickly, proper manner with the warm, fun-loving personality of her late sister, their mother.

Gwen paused at the window and leaned her head against the pane. “Oh, Mam,” she whispered, “I probably shouldn’t have spoken to Aunty Jane that way, but what she said about Robert was so . . .” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Why did you have to leave? Why did everyone have to leave?”

She watched the raindrops trickle down the glass, and a memory of her parents surfaced. Her father had been about to visit an ailing parishioner, and her mother had protested his leaving because of the rain. He’d laughingly told her that no one born and raised in wet Wales should allow a bit of rain to stop them. With a smile, her mother had reluctantly agreed.

Gwen’s lips curled into a similar smile at the recollection. The leaden sky did not suggest a break in the weather anytime soon, but she would not stay cooped up indoors all day. With new determination, she walked over to the wardrobe, took out her everyday brown woolen skirt and boots, and quickly changed out of her Sunday best. Grasping her oldest hat in one hand and the doorknob in the other, she opened the bedroom door a crack and listened. The house was silent.

Quickly and quietly, Gwen slipped down the stairs, stopping when she reached the kitchen door. After listening again for a few moments and satisfying herself that her aunt was no longer inside, she entered, hurried over to the coatrack, took down her coat, and put it on. She tied the ribbons of her hat securely under her chin, then let herself out of the house.

Instinctively she turned toward the mountain, but the rain was even heavier now than it had been when she and her aunt had left the chapel, and she knew the path to her boulder would be muddy and the uneven ground slippery and difficult to traverse. Reluctantly she turned around and took the road that led to Pont Cedig instead.

Big puddles were already forming in the street. Gwen walked along the grassy verge when there was one and wove her way around the collecting water when there wasn’t. She passed the short row of terraced houses lining the road without seeing anyone else. Because it was Sunday, the village shop, the pub, and other business establishments were all closed. Regardless of the weather, that fact alone kept the navvies away from the village one day a week. On Sundays, the village had the same sleepy feel it had known before the changes brought on by the announcement of the dam. And Gwen was glad.

By the time she’d reached Pont Cedig, the wind had picked up, and the rain was falling diagonally. She pushed down on her hat, making sure it was still securely in place, then she tucked her hands into her coat pockets and stood looking down at the river below. Three ducks were huddled together beneath the bridge, their heads turned under their wings.

“Bit wet, even for ducks, isn’t it?”

Gwen swung around as Ioan Llanwddyn slowly made his way across the bridge toward her. She wasn’t sure what Ioan’s real surname was—she assumed he had one, even though no one in the village ever used it. He was known far and wide as Ioan Llanwddyn, and the name fit because he was a permanent fixture in the village.

She guessed he was in his seventies. His weathered face, lack of teeth, and grizzled, gray hair and eyebrows attested to a long life, which was quite remarkable given the fact that he’d never had full use of his legs. Crippled from birth, Ioan’s life had been as difficult as his disposition was cheery.

He didn’t have a home of his own, so on most days, he could be found sitting along the side of the road with his legs folded in front of him like a tailor. He always had a kind word for those who passed by, and in turn, the villagers did what they could for him. Apart from regular offers of food and lodging, people went out of their way for Ioan. His britches had a large leather patch sewn onto the seat to keep him warm when he sat on the ground, and several years before, someone had fashioned two wooden pattens with iron rings on the base that enabled him to get around when the road was wet.

He was using the pattens now, springing from one to the other as he navigated the puddles and mud with the aid of his walking sticks.

Gwen waited until he’d almost reached her. “Hello, Ioan.” She smiled and received an almost toothless smile in return.

“Missing your brother, I daresay,” he said, wheezing a little from his recent exertion.

Gwen nodded. “Yes.”

“A good lad, that,” Ioan said. “He stopped to say good-bye when he left, you know. I told him then—and I’ll tell you now—he’ll go far. You mark my words. That brother of yours will make something of himself.”

Gwen blinked several times to keep the tears at bay before trusting herself to face the old man again. “Thank you, Ioan. That’s very nice of you to say.”

“Good heavens, bach. Nice has nothing to do with it,” Ioan said. “It’s the truth. That’s what it is.”

“Ioan!”

In unison, Gwen and Ioan turned to see who else was braving the stormy weather. A dark-haired man was hurrying toward them. Ioan swiped at the raindrops covering his face and peered at the oncoming figure.

“Lewis Morgan? Is that you, lad?”

“Yes,” Lewis panted as he reached the bridge. “My dad sent me to find you. Said he saw you down the street and wanted to remind you that the cot he made up in the smithy is still there if you need a place to wait out the rain. The furnace is banked for the day, but it’s still plenty warm.”

“Well now, that’s right good of him.”

Ioan shuffled forward on his pattens, and for the first time, Lewis noticed Gwen standing behind him.

“Gwennie! What are you doing here?”

“I was out for a walk,” she said. “Ioan stopped to talk to me.”

“But it’s pouring with rain,” he said, looking at her as though she’d taken leave of her senses. “You’d best come to the smithy too. It’s closer than your house. You can wait there for the rain to pass.”

“That’s all right,” Gwen said, planting her feet firmly against a particularly strong gust of wind. “I won’t stay out much longer.”

“There’s a river of water running off the brim of your hat, and I can only imagine how wet your feet are,” Lewis said. “You should get out of the rain before you become ill.”

“Really, Lewis,” Gwen began, “I’ll be—”

“Come along, bach,” Ioan said, moving jerkily in the direction of the smithy. “Now’s probably not the best time to be stubborn. You and I could both do with a little drying out.”

Gwen saw Lewis’s lips twitch, something she recognized from their childhood, a sure sign that he was fighting back a smile. “I didn’t know you knew Gwennie so well, Ioan,” he said.

“Well, that goes to show how unobservant you are, lad,” Ioan said. “Young Gwen’s been stopping to talk to me and bringing me presents ever since she moved to Llanwddyn.” He pulled on a ragged blue scarf that was cinched tightly around his neck. “I have the honor of being one of the only people in Wales wearing a Gwen Humphreys scarf.”

Lewis looked at Gwen with wide eyes, and she felt herself blush.

“It was my first try at crocheting. Aunty Jane almost gave up on me because the rows were so wobbly.”

“Nonsense,” Ioan said with a toothless grin. “This scarf’s got personality, just like me.” He tucked the ends of the soggy fabric back under the lapels of his ragged jacket. “Now, I don’t want my scarf getting any wetter than it already is, so I’m off to the smithy.”

A large drop of water fell off the brim of Gwen’s hat and trickled down her neck. She suppressed a shudder and raised her skirt a couple of inches to survey her soaking wet, muddy boots. The wind snatched the fabric out of her hand, and in an effort to steady herself, she stepped right into the nearest and deepest puddle.

“Well, that’s done it,” she said as she felt the water seep into her stockings. “I’m now officially as wet as the ducks.”

Lewis chuckled. “It’s still not quite as bad as the day you fell into the river trying to catch Robert’s fish before it escaped the hook.”

The memory of her unforgettable dunking in the Vyrnwy River brought a reluctant smile to Gwen’s face. “Robert didn’t even bother asking if I was all right. He just wanted to know if I still had the fish.”

“And you did too!”

“I knew I’d never hear the end of it if I let it go,” she said. She looked at him shyly. “I seem to remember you were the one who helped me out of the water while Robert was busy putting the fish in the bucket.”

Lewis smiled and extended his hand to her. “Looks like it was a practice run,” he said.

With a groan, Gwen took his hand and stepped out of the puddle. “Thank you,” she said. “Again.”

“You’re welcome,” he said with a small laugh. “Now, let’s see if we can’t catch up with Ioan.”