5

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4 December 1899

Johnno hugged her, grinning from ear to ear. “Now you can’t refuse me. You have to come away with me, Gwenna, my girl.” In his excitement, he started to bounce them both around.

“Johnno, stop,” she begged, trying to push his arms away even while laughing at his antics. Gwenna was relieved and delighted by his reaction, but she had to make him appreciate the difficulties that lay ahead of them. “Be sensible. This isn’t a game. We have to work out what to do. Time is short.”

Johnno released her, tugged his jacket into place, shrugged his shoulders back and put one hand on his jacket lapel. “Is this better?” His smile belied the attempted seriousness of his pose.

Gwenna laughed again. “Much.”

She took the arm he extended and they continued their walk through the park. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves over their heads, shielding the early summer sun, while birds twittered and flitted around them. Gwenna loved the park – their park, she now called it, recalling that special night not so many weeks ago. She could see the waters of the harbour from the top near the Ponsonby Road end. The sense of awe and wonderment her ten-year-old self had felt as their ship had sailed into Auckland had never left her, despite the reality of life since.

The pair followed the steep, meandering path through the trees leading to the flat area people used for games and picnics at the lower end.

“And I am being serious, Gwenna. We can get married now. As soon as you say the word.”

“But where we will live? You can’t expect me to live with your father. He frightens me. And Onehunga is too far away. We need to find somewhere nearer Bethan so I can help with Charlie ...” She couldn’t stop, not now she’d started. All her worries came pouring out in a flood of words and ideas. “And I need to set myself up somewhere to make my own sweets. Mam says I should fight Elias at his own game. And you have to find a job. You won’t be able to go off for days or weeks on end with your father any more. We’ll have the baby to think of. Oh, how will I manage to make all those sweets with a baby as well?”

Johnno dismissed her worries. “Living with Jack will be all right to start with. At least you’ll be out of Elias’s reach. And Jack would never hurt you,” he reassured her. “He’s a rogue in many ways, and he’s not fond of women – interfering busybodies, he calls them – but he’ll more than likely avoid you.”

Gwenna still didn’t like the idea. “I remember what he was like. I wouldn’t put anything past him. Nor do I want the police knocking on the door.”

Walking perfectly in step, with her arm linked in his, Johnno folded his hand over hers. “He’s a tough trader, and a man would be wise not to cross him in business, but trust me, he’ll leave you alone. I promise. Not so sure about the bobbies, though,” he smiled. “But I’ll be there if they come calling.”

“It’s not how tough he is as a trader that worries me, it’s the not-so-legal side-trade you told me about. I don’t want you involved in anything like that. And, Johnno, I must have somewhere to make my sweets. It’s important.”

The conversation waxed and waned as they continued their walk, turning towards Hepburn Street and zigzagging their way towards the shoreline at Freemans Bay.

“I love it down here, close to the water’s edge,” she said.

On a bright summer morning eight years ago, they had sailed into the harbour shimmering under the sun as if someone had scattered jewels upon its surface. The Waitemata – place of sparkling waters – captured her heart. The greens of the land were colours she had never seen before, and the new city bustled with optimism. And nothing had changed as far as Gwenna was concerned.

Ships and coastal steamers lined the wharves or were tied up along the waterfront, loading and unloading goods; the steam from their engines rose into the sky, and the smell of coal and oil mixed with the salt-laden air.

“When I was younger, I used to wander out to Point Erin with my friends, to visit the Maori pa site or stand and watch the sawmillers handle those floating logs.”

Johnno started to say something, but she stopped him.

“Listen. Can you hear the birds cawing and the waves lapping against the rocks?”

She’d learnt to love the sea in all is guises and seen it as angry as the howling winds or the moody skies above, but she never felt threatened by it, even through its wildest days – unlike the storms at home. Today, it was as peaceful as a lake under the bluest of blue skies.

“Not really,” said Johnno. “There’s too much other noise.”

She shrugged, dismissing his indifference. “There’s been a lot of talk about reclaiming the land at this end of the bay next. I wish they wouldn’t. I love it as it is.”

Over the last half-century, most of Commercial Bay, Official Bay and Mechanics Bay had been reclaimed, using fill from cutting back Point Britomart to create the rail link south. Wynyard Pier and the Queen Street wharf had been built back in the 1850s, leading to the formation of Customs Street and Quay Street by the 1870s. Now the authorities were turning their sights on the western end. They wanted to create flat land between the shore and hilly streets above for more industry.

“If you think it’s noisy now, wait until they’ve done all that. They’ll ruin it.”

“It’s called progress,” said Johnno, not at all in keeping with her thoughts.

By the time they’d climbed their way back up Union Street to Karangahape Road, they’d agreed to a pre-Christmas wedding. “We’ve less than three weeks,” Gwenna said. “We’d better hurry if we’re going to get everything organised in time.”

For a few brief moments, images of the sort of wedding she once imagined flashed through her mind, but she couldn’t regret that now. She doubted Johnno would remember the age-old tradition of the man hand carving a lovespoon for his bride, let alone make one. He’d been too young when his family had emigrated. But a wedding, even in a registry office, was better than none. She’d never live down the stigma of being an unwed mother, which would mean she’d never bring her pa’s dreams – her dreams – to life.

With too many reservations still in her heart, she agreed they would move in with his father – if he would let her – until Johnno had saved enough money to lease a suitable property just for the two of them. Somewhere, she insisted, where she could make the boiled lollies and other sweet treats that would be the start of her business. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed Johnno avoided answering, never mind how many times she talked about what she wanted.

But, since neither of them was twenty-one, they needed permission from their head-of-household before anything could happen. Only then could they apply for a Notice of Intention to Marry and ask the registrar, or better still, a minister, to marry them.

Gwenna was less concerned about getting approval. “Mam told me she would give her permission, and since Elias isn’t blood kin, I’ll not need his consent. I’m almost tempted not to tell him at all and just disappear from his life, but it wouldn’t be fair on Mam. She needs money coming into the house, and Elias won’t be happy he has to find someone to replace me, what with Hugh gone as well.”

“He won’t try and force you to continue working for him, will he?” Johnno sounded anxious. “I don’t want you near him once we’re wed.”

Anything was possible with Elias. Maybe he would stand back and let her go. Or he could threaten Bethan or Charlie and bully her into staying. Or he could decide she was a wanton, bringing shame on the family, and refuse to let her see them again. She fretted about what he would hold over her.

“Let’s just wait and see. I’d better hurry, it’ll be dark soon.” And with a quick peck on Johnno’s cheek she turned and ran the last part of the way home.