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When options run out
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Furious, and fired up enough to take silly risks when he found out what Elias had done, Johnno threatened to knock him through into next week and hope he’d never get up.
Tom Griffiths – dear Tom – managed to calm him down enough to listen to reason and hear Gwenna’s side of the story.
“You’ll put Bethan in danger if you go round there,” she said, grateful for the sanctuary Tom had offered her. “I’m all right. Really, I am. And I’ll be safe here at Tillie’s for the time being. Elias won’t come here, not into another man’s home. He’s too much of a coward.”
When Johnno started to protest again, Gwenna handed him an envelope she’d taken from her pocket. “Stop your babbling now, and take this to the registrar – it’s Bethan’s permission for me to wed – and get us a licence as soon as possible.”
Johnno didn’t take the proffered letter; instead he let his eyes wander around the room to where Tom sat by the window, smoking his pipe and reading the paper. The headlines were full of news about the re-election of the Liberal Party and Richard Seddon as prime minister, and the war in South Africa. Tillie sat perched on the edge of her chair opposite, sewing.
Gwenna stared at Johnno, realisation clicking into place. “You’ve not spoken to your father. Have you?” she demanded, rising. “Have you?” He shook his head. “Look at me, Johnno Jones. Look me in the eye and tell me what game you’re playing.”
Johnno leapt to his feet and tried to reach out to Gwenna, but she backed away, her eyes flashing and her face white with disbelief.
“I tried to,” he explained. “Honest, I did, but something’s up with him. I don’t know what ’tis, but he’s not his usual self. And he was far too drunk to listen. I’ll talk to him. I will.”
But Gwenna wasn’t ready to give in quite so easily. “You promised. The other night, you promised. If you can let me down once, how can I be sure you won’t let me down again?”
He reached out for her a second time but let his hand drop. “You’re the best thing ever happened to me, Gwenna, that you are. Give me the letter and I’ll get us a licence, quick as a flash. You’ll see. And I’ll look after you for the rest of our lives.” He crossed to where Tom sat. “Thank you kindly, sir, for taking care of Gwenna.”
He extended his hand, but before Tom could stand or say anything, Gwenna added, “And Charlie. Don’t forget Charlie.”
Turning towards her, Johnno was confused. “What’s Charlie got to do with anything?”
“He’s at school right now, but Charlie comes with me – with us.” Her pulse raced as doubts entered her head. They’d not talked about Charlie. Maybe Johnno wouldn’t want him. Maybe Black Jack would refuse.
Twisting her fingers together, she spluttered, “It’s not safe for him. He Pa’s son, just like I’m Pa’s daughter, and Elias hates us both. He’ll hurt him. I just know he will. Please, Johnno. Please. For my sake. Let me keep Charlie with me.” Moments before, her eyes had flashed with anger; now they beseeched him.
For too many long seconds not a sound could be heard except for the ticking of the clock.
The whole room stopped breathing, waiting.
Shuffling his feet awkwardly, Johnno cleared his throat. “I’m not so sure I could talk Jack into letting Charlie come.”
Gwenna covered her mouth with her hand and her legs started to shake. What she was about to say could destroy her prospects. “If Charlie can’t come, then I can’t ...”
Tillie was on her feet before Gwenna had finished her sentence. She placed her hand on her sister’s arm to stop her from saying the wrong thing. “Don’t listen to her right now, Mr Jones. She is too overwrought to know what she’s saying. Let’s just wait until after you’ve talked to your father before we say anything further.”
Tom agreed. “Mrs Griffiths is right, lad. Talk to your father, get his permission for the two of you to wed and then we can talk about what happens next.”
* * *
In time, they reached an agreement. Not the one Gwenna wanted, nor Bethan, but it met their needs for the time being, even if Gwenna and Charlie had little chance to say anything about their futures.
At first, Black Jack refused to give his permission for his son to marry, but when Johnno threatened – no, promised – he and Gwenna would find somewhere else to live, and his father would be on his own in a household of one, Jack relented. His father needed Johnno to run the cartage business more than Johnno needed his father. How else would Jack have the freedom to expand the money-lending business but, Jack was emphatic – no children. Johnno omitted to tell him he’d have a grandchild before long, whether he liked it or not. That surprise could come later.
Tom came to the rescue before Gwenna could call everything off.
“Charlie can live with us, for the time being, at least,” he announced. “He’ll be a good introduction to having youngsters around the house.”
Tillie had recovered from her morning sickness and was thriving in her pregnancy and, wanting to give the boy much-needed love and security, his big sister had readily agreed. “Charlie’s closer to Mam here too,” she added.
Bethan had disagreed. “Isn’t it too close? I don’t trust Elias, despite what he said. He could still decide to use Charlie as his punchbag. I can’t risk it. He’d be out of reach with Gwenna. Elias wouldn’t bother travelling to Onehunga to find them.”
Tom’s assurances swayed her decision. “He’ll be safe with me. And you can come around anytime. Spend as much time with your children, and your grandchildren-to-come, as you like.”
Dear Tom, always giving them strength and comfort.
Gwenna sat alone in Tillie’s living room, weighing up all that had happened in the last few whirlwind days. Their first shock had come when Bethan had rushed around late in the afternoon the day after Gwenna had found shelter with her sister.
“You’ll never believe it,” Bethan blurted, ignoring the usual pleasantries as Tillie let her in. “Elias came home looking like he’d slept in the hedge and unable to string two words together.” She’d waved away Gwenna’s concerns and told her to listen. “I was in the kitchen, making bara brith, and all of a sudden he was there, staring at me, saying he was hungry. After I’d fed him and given him several cups of tea, he seemed a little brighter.”
Tom arrived home then, interrupting Bethan’s tale. Tillie made them all a pot of tea, and after Tom lit his pipe, they sat together listening while Bethan continued her story.
“He must have noticed how quiet the house was because he asked where you and Charlie were. I told him you were gone.”
Gwenna held her breath, anticipating the worst.
“I expected him to demand to know where, or for him to lose his temper or something, ’cept he didn’t. He just sat there staring at me.” Bethan’s voice faded; she seemed sad and far away.
“Mam! What did he do?” demanded Gwenna.
Bethan jumped. She viewed the trio before her as if she didn’t quite know where she was. “He looked terrible, and my heart went out to him. I remembered the little boy he used to be and wanted to hug him and kiss it all better like I used to.”
“After all he’s done to you!” Gwenna’s bitterness made her sharp.
Bethan sighed. “He’s still my son. My firstborn. You’ll understand when you have children of your own, my dear. You both will. You never stop being a mother, and never stop loving your children even when they disappoint you.”
Removing the pipe from his mouth, Tom brought the conversation back on course. “What did he say, Mrs Price?”
Bethan smiled for the first time. “He said, ‘good’.”
“Good?” echoed Tillie. “Just good?”
“To start with. Then he said, ‘It’s probably for the best. It’ll be just you and me now, Mam, just like it should have been.’ And then he got cleaned up and started to sort and tidy the storeroom.”
In the days since, Bethan reported Elias was the happiest she’d seen him since his father had died all those years ago. “Long may it last,” she said. “And he’s willing for me to find something suitable to bring in a few coins. Only if I want to, mind. I’ll ask around and see what there is. Neither of us are anywhere near as good as you with the sugar, Gwenna dear, and until Elias finds someone to replace you, we’ll need something extra in the coffers.”
Gwenna had accepted the arrangements must stand until after the baby was born and until she and Johnno had the time and money to make other plans. Her main concern now was getting through the rigmarole and paperwork of getting married before she started to show. No doubt the busybodies and gossips would put two and two together when the baby came, but they’d be married by then.
“I’ve got it.” Johnno waved the marriage licence above his head as Tom let him in. “It took a lot of persuasion, I can tell you. But the girl at the counter liked the idea it was a surprise Christmas present.”
“Hardly a surprise,” laughed Gwenna, relieved by his news.
“Maybe, but she didn’t need to know that, did she?” Johnno grinned and knelt on one knee beside Gwenna. He took her hand, kissed it, his gaze not leaving hers. “So, my lovely girl. Will you please do me the honour of marrying me at 8 am on Christmas Eve?”
“Christmas Eve?” Surprise put a squeak in her voice, which didn’t quite match her glee.
Put out by her response, he got to his feet. “And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.” Gwenna jumped up and stood in front of him. “Nothing at all. In fact,” she dipped her head in a flirtatious manner and placed her hands on his chest, “it’s rather lovely.” And smiled up at him.
Pacified, Johnno grinned back. “I’m glad. The minister’s agreed to marry us first thing, before the normal church service.”
If Tom and Tillie hadn’t been watching, she would have kissed him but all of that would have to wait.
“There’s no time to lose, then,” Tillie said. “We’ve lots to organise. Who should we invite? I suppose we’ll have to ask Louisa and Janetta, but let’s not let on the reason just yet. They’ll find out soon enough. We’ll need food for the wedding breakfast ...”
Both Johnno and Gwenna tried to protest it wasn’t necessary, but Tillie put a stop to their arguments.
“Of course we’ll celebrate. You’re to come back here. And I’ll have no more arguments about it. And I’ll have no arguments about the dress I’m going to make you either.”
“Tillie. No. You can’t. That’s too much. I don’t deserve it.”
Tillie took her sister’s hands in hers and, bobbing her head to and fro, forced Gwenna to meet her eyes. “Listen to me, my girl. I never want to hear you say you aren’t deserving ever again. It’s absolute nonsense. You are the most loving, the most loyal and the most worthy person I know – apart from Tom.” She paused long enough to smile at her husband, the glance they shared private and reassuring. “You will have a new dress. You will hold your head up high, and you will look forward to your new life with John Jones and the little one with pride.”
With joyous tears coursing down her cheeks, Gwenna nodded, overwhelmed with gratitude. She croaked out a whispered ‘thank you’ and flung her arms around her sister’s neck.
8
The happiest day of a girl’s life
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Christmas Eve 1899
On the morning of her wedding, Gwenna laughed as she twirled in her china-silk dress. Tillie had used the heaviest weight she could get and stitched the full skirt and contoured jacket to fit to perfection. Gwenna appeared taller and slim. Slim enough no one would guess her condition.
“It’s beautiful, Tillie. Thank you so much. And I love the colour. It reminds me of summer roses.” Her smile said it all. She turned first to one side, then the other, to see in the mirror the way the pleats fell over the small bustle.
“I must say the deep mauvish pink suits you well,” agreed her sister. “I’m glad I chose it now. It puts colour in your cheeks.”
A plain ivory cotton blouse with a lace jabot peeking out under the collar and lace cuffs completed the ensemble.
“Look,” Tillie said. “It’s practical as well as pretty. I’ve gathered and stitched it here and here at the waistband so you can let it out when you need to. And you can let out the blouse and corset. I purposely put the lacing at the front and gave you extra-long ties.”
Tillie picked up the matching hat, decorated with a jaunty feather and a handmade rose and tilted it on an angle over Gwenna’s curls. Pulling a detachable veil over her sister’s face, Tillie glowed with happiness at the picture before her. “There. Perfect,” she said, kissing Gwenna’s cheek. “Shall we go?”
Tom escorted Gwenna down the aisle to where Johnno stood, with Charlie as her page. The ladies of the church had decorated it beautifully in readiness for the Christmas celebrations, but the only other people in attendance to witness their marriage were Bethan and Tillie. Black Jack hadn’t been invited; they had not placed any announcement in the newspapers, which might have drawn onlookers, and no one was surprised when Louisa and Janetta declined the invitation. Although privately hurt and saddened, none of them said anything. Louisa thought only of herself, and Janetta always did as Louisa said.
The ceremony over, the bride and groom emerged. Charlie scattered rose petals on the ground while the others threw rice over the couple. Small it may have been, but no two people could have behaved more lovingly, and no one else could have wished them a happier future more than the four people there to watch: Gwenna’s stepmam, her sister and two brothers by law and birth.
They sat down to a scrumptious breakfast of sausages and bacon on fried bread, with baked beans, eggs and fried potato, far more extravagant than their usual fare, and washed it down with copious quantities of tea.
“A meal fit for a queen,” announced Tom, rubbing his stomach.
Charlie ate like a king, as if he’d never eaten before.
“Oh, how beautiful,” Gwenna squealed when Bethan carried through the delicately iced and decorated fruit cake. Tom poured them each a glass of sweet wine and proposed a toast. “May you both have lasting happiness.”
As soon as the clinking of glasses had been completed and the first sip taken, Tillie insisted they cut the cake. In high spirits, the couple fed each other a bite – a symbol that each would provide and care for the other for the rest of their lives. Amid applause from Tom and Tillie, and trying to suppress laughter as crumbs fell from mouths too full of cake, Gwenna felt fit to burst with a joyfulness she hadn’t felt since before her pa died. The glow from Johnno’s eyes warmed her to the core, and the day became a dreamy swirl of jubilation.
By mid-afternoon, Johnno was keen they get on their way. Bethan had delivered the last of Gwenna’s belongings, and she and Tillie had packed the bags with bed linen, towels, tablecloths and other knick-knacks that would help turn a masculine household into a family home. Johnno and Gwenna said their goodbyes, picked up their bags and headed to the horse tram, which would take them to the impressive railway station, opened four years earlier, at the foot of Queen Street.
Their new life together was about to start. With only a 45-minute trip to Onehunga ahead, Gwenna couldn’t decide if she was shaking with excitement or trepidation. She had no idea what to expect.
* * *
The house where Johnno and his father lived was far worse than she could ever have imagined. The ramshackle farmhouse, in desperate need of a coat of paint, sat up a long driveway and in the middle of nowhere as far as Gwenna was concerned. Wobbly fences and fields were all she could see. Even the animals were sparse. Some distance away, a neighbouring house was visible.
The isolation scared her, even if the house was within walking distance of the train station, along a rough dirt road. Its biggest advantage, from Johnno and his father’s point of view, was the easy access to the road south for the goods wagon.
Hand in hand, she and Johnno walked up the driveway, around to the back of the house and up a set of steps. Battling the instinct to run, she entered the neglected and miserable house. She didn’t want to be there – and definitely not on her own.
Wrinkling her nose at the musty smells redolent of mould, dirt and stale smoke, an eerie sense of sorrow passed through her. She tugged on Johnno’s sleeve and whispered. “This place frightens me. It’s got such a feeling of sadness about it.”
He smiled down at her and patted her hand. “It’s not that bad. You’ll get used to it.”
Gwenna doubted that was possible and clung tighter to Johnno. He had a habit of dismissing her concerns. An apparition arose at the opposite end of the gloomy kitchen. Trembling in fear, she emitted a loud squeal and buried her face in Johnno’s arm.
“Shut that girl up before I do,” growled a voice from the shadows. “Can’t stand women’s noises.”
“Behave yourself, Jack,” answered Johnno. “You scared her, that’s all. Hiding there in the dark. This is my wife Gwenna. Your new daughter-in-law. Gwenna, my father Jack.”
Gwenna could hear the pride in Johnno’s voice as he made the awkward introductions, and smiled encouragingly as she raised her head.
“Make sure she’s useful and keeps out of my way,” the gravelly voice grunted.
As Gwenna’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw Jack, wearing an ancient military-style overcoat, and wide-brimmed hat, standing by a horsehair sofa spewing its contents through tears in the covering. She remembered him in an instant and shuddered. While of the same tallish and thin build as Johnno, hardly anything else about him was like Johnno. Gwenna could see little of his shaded face, even when he stormed past her and out the door.
In those small, black eyes, she saw menace.
Now they were alone, Johnno showed her the rest of the four-roomed cottage, except for the room where Jack slept and the room she assumed was the front parlour. “Jack keeps it closed,” was all Johnno said.
There wasn’t much to see. The room at the front, where they would sleep, was the best room in the house with windows on two walls, which would let in the afternoon sun. Johnno had made some effort to tidy up, but eyeing the grey walls and partly made bed, Gwenna was thankful Mam and Tillie had given her fresh linen and towels.
Too distressed to put her thoughts into words after seeing where Johnno expected her to live, they returned along the darkened corridor to the kitchen.
The room offered no comfort whatsoever. A higgledy-piggledy assortment of plates, bowls and mugs overflowed every surface, and the place was filthy. A rough wood table and three chairs filled the centre of the room; the single sofa was undoubtedly Jack’s domain. Johnno moved the unwashed plates and stacked them on top of others on the bench under the window so they could sit at the table.
Supper that night was a sorrowful affair. All Johnno could find was some day-old bread, a chunk of hard cheese and the pitiful remains of a ham hock. Without any butter or pickle to help with the taste, Gwenna could do little more than pick at her food. Most of the time she stared at the cold coal range, hoping it worked and wishing for a cup of hot tea.
“It’s Christmas tomorrow,” announced Johnno into the silence that had grown between them. “I’ll kill us a chicken, and I think I can find some potatoes to go with it.”
Christmas.
Gwenna blocked her mind to what Christmas would be like without her family in this dismal house. She fought back tears.
“Aw, don’t cry, Gwenna, my girl. Look on the bright side. You have me to make you happy.”
He took her hand and led her to their bedroom. As Johnno shut the door to their small world behind them, Gwenna remembered today was her wedding day and supposed to be the happiest day of a girl’s life. Yet the mood of the house, a mood she couldn’t quite put a name to, had changed all that, and what she felt most was an unnatural foreboding.
“Everything will be all right, I promise,” whispered Johnno.
He took her in his arms and her fears disappeared as they became one.
