Chapter 4 - One Last Spring

Gwen followed Ioan into the warm, dry smithy and looked around with interest. Two anvils sat immediately in front of her, but behind them, a huge stone fireplace dominated the room. Large leather bellows jutted out of the left side of the fireplace, and hundreds of tools and chains lined the walls and hung suspended from the ceiling. To one side of the fireplace, half a dozen heavy mallets of varying sizes stood upright beside two metal wagon wheel rims, and on the other side, a small pile of horseshoes lay on the smooth flagstone floor next to a wooden barrel half full of water.

Ioan shuffled awkwardly to the far corner of the smithy, where Lewis was already pulling out a pallet covered in a green-and-brown wool blanket. With a muffled groan, Ioan lowered himself onto the makeshift cot, set his pattens and walking sticks to one side of it, and lifted his legs into their customary crossed position in front of him.

Slowly Gwen untied the ribbons beneath her chin and pulled her hat off, shaking it slightly to expel any rain that had not already soaked into the felt. She placed her hat on a nearby wooden table and sat down on a stool beside it. As much as she hated to admit it, it was lovely to be out of the cold, wet weather.

She watched silently as Lewis moved away from Ioan toward the fireplace. He took off his jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall before picking up three blocks of peat and placing them carefully in the fireplace. Using a poker, he positioned the peat over the smoldering ashes, then stepped over to start pumping the bellows.

It was obvious that Lewis had done this chore many times before. His broad shoulders and strong arms made the job look easy, and within seconds, tiny flames were licking the fresh fuel. Giving one last pump, Lewis straightened and ran his hand through his dark hair, pushing back the wet strands that had flopped forward into his face. He glanced her direction and met her eyes. Immediately Gwen looked away, embarrassed at having been caught watching him.

“That should help,” Lewis said.

“That’s grand, lad.” Ioan spoke from the corner. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“Will you be needing anything else?” Lewis asked.

Gwen looked over at Ioan in time to see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Well, that all depends on whether there’s any of your mam’s bara brith at your house,” he said. “The thought of her bara brith certainly stirs up a need.”

Gwen lowered her head to hide her smile, but when she heard Lewis chuckle, she looked over at him.

“What about you, Gwennie?” he asked. “Do you need some of my mam’s bara brith too?”

Color filled her cheeks. “Oh, I don’t want you to go to any trouble for me,” she said.

Lewis gave an impatient sigh and walked over to the pallet on the floor. “All right, Ioan. I’ll make a deal with you. Your need for my need. I’m willing to go back out in the rain and run home to get you some bara brith if you’re willing to help me understand what Gwen’s saying.”

“What do you mean?” Gwen got off the stool. “Why don’t you understand me?”

Lewis ignored her.

Ioan, however, had the same glint in his eyes that he’d had just moments before. “Having a hard time with the way she talks, are you, lad?”

“It’s worse than trying to understand the Irish navvies speaking English,” Lewis said.

“That’s ridiculous!” Gwen strode across the room. “I’m speaking Welsh just like you, just like I always have.”

“No, bach,” Ioan said with a grin. “You’re speaking female. And unless I’m missing the mark, I’m betting Lewis here, who only has one brother and no sisters, can’t make head nor tail of it.”

Gwen stared at Ioan, and then when she realized he was not going to be any more forthcoming, she transferred her attention to Lewis. “Would you care to explain?”

“Well, it’s like this,” Lewis began. “If I asked a man if he wanted any of my mam’s bara brith, he’d say, ‘Yes, please’ or ‘No, thank you.’ When I asked you, you said, ‘I don’t want you to go to any trouble.’ So, is that, ‘I don’t want you to go to any trouble, but I’d love some,’ or is it, ‘I don’t want you to go to any trouble because I don’t want any’?”

“That’s it? That one sentence has you all confused?”

Lewis ran a finger under his shirt collar as if to loosen it. “Not just that one,” he said. “Earlier today, at the end of church, I came over to ask about you.” He looked down. “I heard all the whispering when you and your aunt came into the chapel and knew it had to be difficult.”

Gwen hadn’t even considered how their neighbors’ thoughtless actions would impact Robert’s best friend. It had to have been unpleasant for him to sit through chapel today too.

Clearing his throat, Lewis continued. “I saw you shaking your head by the chapel doors, but I didn’t know if that meant ‘No, I’m fine’ or ‘No, I’m not all right.’”

“Actually,” Gwen said quietly, “it meant ‘No, please don’t talk to me about how I feel in front of all these people.’”

Lewis threw his arms in the air. “See! I didn’t even consider that possibility.”

A loud chortling sound drew their attention back to the older man on the floor beside them.

“This is the best entertainment I’ve had in weeks,” Ioan said through his laughter. “Excellent. Both of you. Truly excellent.”

“Ioan, if this is your idea of helping, I don’t think I’ll have to make a trip in the rain to pick up bara brith after all,” Lewis said.

“I think I’d better go.” Gwen turned around to pick up her hat. She did not want to be the subject of Lewis’s consternation or Ioan’s mirth anymore. The only time she could remember feeling this humiliated was three years ago when she’d tripped while refilling her inkwell at school and had accidentally poured black ink on Llewelyn Jones’s head.

“Wait.” Lewis reached out and grabbed her arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m the one who . . .”

Gwen twisted her arm free. “I’ll say this as clearly as I can,” she said. “You don’t need to check on me or talk to me anymore. Please forget about whatever it was that Robert said; I would much prefer that you do nothing. I will be fine.”

She pressed her hat onto her head and, without taking the time to tie the ribbons, hurried to the door.

“Good-bye,” she said to the two men who were staring at her with equally stunned expressions. Then she slipped outside and closed the door firmly behind her.

The storm still raged, but Gwen didn’t care. It matched her mood perfectly. Raising her skirt a few inches, she started to run, and she didn’t stop until she reached her aunt’s house. She cut around to the back and stood on the doorstep, breathless, mud spattered, and soaking wet. Taking a moment to collect herself, she turned the knob and walked into the kitchen.

“Heavens above, child! Where have you been?”

Aunty Jane’s expression mirrored the shock in her voice as she surveyed the muddy puddle collecting at her niece’s feet.

“I went for a walk,” Gwen said.

Aunty Jane’s exasperation was obvious, but after a quick study of Gwen’s face, she must have realized Gwen was quite miserable enough without a further tongue lashing. Compressing her lips into their familiar line, Aunty Jane walked over to the linen cupboard, pulled out a large towel, and walked it over to Gwen.

“Take your clothes off here,” she said. “We’ll have to take care of them tomorrow. And let’s hope your old school skirt still fits well enough for you to use it until this one’s washed and dried.”

Gwen dropped her soggy hat to the floor and used the towel to wipe her hands and face. Then she bent down to untie her bootlaces.

“Thank you,” she said as her cold fingers fumbled with the job.

For a moment, her aunt stood silently watching; when she spoke, her voice had softened. “I have some oatmeal on the stove. As soon as you’re out of those wet clothes, come sit at the table, and I’ll get you some.”

An hour later, Gwen’s wet clothes were still lying in a pile beside the back door, but she was wearing her warm flannel nightgown and was sitting in front of the fire in the living room. She untied the ribbon at the bottom of her braid and shook her head to loosen her long, chestnut hair. Her unruly curls were still damp, so she ran her fingers through them, rotating her head slightly with the hope that the heat of the fire would help dry her hair before bedtime.

Behind her, Aunty Jane sat in the wooden rocking chair, crocheting by candlelight. Her fingers wove in and around the yarn as she used an ivory hook to develop an intricate pattern for the blanket she was making.

They had spoken very little, but the anger in the air earlier that afternoon had dissipated, and they seemed to have reached an unspoken truce. The peaceful feeling was a balm to Gwen, who still felt battered by the events of the day. She stared into the fire, wondering where Robert was and how he was faring.

“I hope he’ll be safe,” Aunty Jane said, breaking the silence between them.

Gwen turned to look at her. She didn’t need to ask what her aunt was talking about.

“It’s not what I would have chosen for him,” her aunt continued. “But I realize now that it wasn’t my choice to make.”

Gwen nodded slowly. “Nor mine,” she said softly.

“So now I suppose all we can do is pray for him,” Aunty Jane said. “And hope that before too long we hear that he has found a position he’s happy with.”

“He said he would write,” Gwen said.

“That’s good.”

The crochet hook continued its even rhythm: in, out, around, in, out, around. Gwen waited, but when her aunt remained quiet, she turned and spoke into the fire. “I hope we don’t have to wait too long to hear.”

“Maybe we should pray for the postmaster in Liverpool too.” This time Aunty Jane’s voice held a hint of its usual crustiness. “It will take a miracle to read that boy’s penmanship. Goodness knows how many Welsh villages he’ll send that letter to before it reaches us.”

Gwen stifled a smile. Robert’s handwriting was quite possibly the worst she’d ever seen. Their aunt had once told him his papers looked like a drunken spider had fallen into an inkwell and walked across the page. Perhaps it would take them both to decipher any letters that made it as far as Llanwddyn. Strangely, the thought lightened her heart. She knew it would take some time before she felt whole again, but even if it were only for a brief moment, Aunty Jane had made them sound like a family once more.