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A new life within reach
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Late May 1900
The tortuous weeks that followed nearly broke Gwenna’s spirit.
“Stop fretting, little sister,” said Tillie, now a constant visitor to North Street, and Gwenna’s crutch. “You are the strongest of all of us. And anyway, you and I have a thing or two to prove to those snobby stepsisters of ours.”
Disgusted that Louisa and Janetta had chosen to stay away – ‘for the sake of propriety’ – Tillie became more determined than ever that the Price sisters would succeed. “Sorry, Mam, I know they’re your daughters, and I shouldn’t speak badly of them, but they are no friends of ours.”
Tillie assured Bethan Charlie could continue living with her and Tom. “Unless you want him home with you.” She had been as astounded as all of them with the change in Elias. “And I’m right gladdened to know Elias has found something – and someone, by all accounts – to make him happy in life. Maybe now he can forget his earlier troubles.”
In the end, they decided Charlie should remain with Tillie and Tom.
“He’s happy and that’s what counts,” said Bethan. “Between Gwenna, the baby – when it arrives – and the sugar boiling, there’s more than enough to do around here. I couldn’t give him the time he deserves. And Tom is good to him. Charlie needs a man to show him the proper ways, and so he can start to forget the things he saw Elias do.”
“So that’s sorted. Now what are we going to do with you, Gwenna, bach?” said Tillie.
Gwenna had no suggestions. Her increasingly restless unborn child kept her awake at night, and on edge during the day. “I still can’t believe Johnno’s gone – before we even started. He’s like a ghost in my head. He spent so much time away from me, with his father, I’m beginning to think he only married me because of the baby. Did he ever truly love me?”
“Of course Johnno loved you. I know he did.”
Deep in her heart, Gwenna admitted Tillie was right. And she had loved Johnno in return, but sometimes she didn’t know what to believe.
It didn’t help that Elias refused to talk any further about the whole affair and spent every waking hour away from the house.
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t afford the time to go into mourning for twelve months. Not now Elias has walked away from the business. I can’t lose it now.”
“People will understand when they know. And I’ll do what I can to help.”
Gwenna held her sister’s hand. “I know you will, Tillie, dear, but you have a husband and Olwen to care for. You can’t neglect them.”
“I won’t. But you’ve talked and talked about bringing Pa’s dreams to life ever since he died, and we are a team – are we not? That grandchild of his you’re carrying will arrive any day now. Surely that’s more than enough reason for you to start anew – even if you have to flaunt convention a little.”
Refreshed by Tillie’s comments, Gwenna rallied and began to make a few trays of toffee and caramels, but she just didn’t have the strength to stretch the sugar the way she usually did to make the hard sweets – not the way she liked. Yet between them, she and Bethan began replenishing the dwindling stock, adding a few chocolates and Tillie’s fudge to the mix to expand the range.
Bethan fussed over her as only a mother can. “You must rest as much as possible, Gwenna. You don’t want those false pains to start up again. And eat – you must eat. You are so thin, my dear, you won’t have the strength to do what you must, otherwise. Try some of this soup, at least.”
Bethan did her best to help with all the things Elias usually took care of, but she wouldn’t answer the telephone. Not that it rang much these days. Except for the few loyal customers who continued to place orders.
“Thank you, Mr Green. I appreciate your custom,” said Gwenna, scribbling the order on a piece of paper as she hung up the phone. Word had not yet got around that a woman would be responsible for the business from now on. She counted on the men accepting her in this more enlightened age. Meanwhile, she needed to fulfil the orders coming in.
* * *
Tossing and turning in her bed on the first day of winter, she sensed something momentous was about to happen but, unlike her other dream, she couldn’t quite grasp its essence and awoke gasping. Sleep eluded her, and when the pains started she instinctively knew they were real this time. Unwilling to waken Bethan, Gwenna rolled to the side of bed and pushed herself into a sitting position. With the next pain, she grasped the bedpost and stood up.
Shortly after, a gush of warm water flowed down her legs onto the rag rug. A random thought she would have to wash it next time the copper was lit flitted through her head. She wouldn’t ask Mam; it was too much to expect. Pacing the floor, she stopped on every second turn to peer out the window. She could see little. The cloudy night obliterated the stars, and the moon only shone its light briefly when the wind shifted the clouds.
Ever since arriving in New Zealand, she’d loved the sky. Clear and blue during the day and with a fathomless depth at night, drawing her eyes further and further into the darkness, past so many stars she couldn’t name. Even the rain – and it rained a lot during the winter and spring months – fell differently from the soft rains of her childhood. Here the grass grew greener, the trees grew taller and the crops grew in abundance thanks to the sun and the life-giving rain. She loved her new home, despite all she had lost.
Regardless of all that, there were times when she felt the strange pull of her homeland even though she would never return. There was a word for it in the old language – hiraeth – a special word, a word she’d never forget. There was no other word to describe the feeling of intense longing; an unbreakable bond for a place you belonged to. There was something about the essence of that land, its mountains and valleys, its rivers and streams, that spoke to her, just like it did here.
She whispered a wish her child would feel as strongly about its birthplace, with its generous light, its life-giving heart and indomitable spirit. One could only but thrive in this country. And thrive she must.
As the pains became stronger and more regular, she recommenced her pacing, the floorboards creaking under her weight, a feeling of heaviness in her limbs. At some stage during her march, Bethan appeared. In the periphery of her mind, Bethan came and went. Hot water appeared, and towels. Someone wiped her brow with a cool cloth and helped her change into a dry nightdress. A teacup against her lips, a glass of cold water. She swallowed gratefully. Slippers warmed her feet. She couldn’t rest. Sitting became a torment, lying down impossible. Time passed and daylight crept through the window. And still, the crushing, squeezing pressure persisted.
“Gwenna, dear, you must lie down. You’re exhausted. You can’t bring a baby into the world like this. Gwenna. Stop.”
Through eyes stinging with hundreds of tiny pinpricks, Bethan’s face wavered in and out of focus. Hands touched, pushed; voices urged; noises swirled. Stars danced on the ceiling above her head. Her head pounded with the sound of a thousand hammers, and the solid band around her body tightened with each breath. Every sinew strained against the torment. Neck arched, hands clenched, her jaw bit down. A mist appeared and darkness fell.
* * *
Through the window, a faint glimmer heralded the dawn. Gwenna could hear a few birds singing their morning chorus in the lone tree at the corner. Slumped in the high-backed wooden armchair slept Bethan, but her snores hadn’t woken Gwenna.
Turning on her side, she felt an unfamiliar tightening in her breasts at the sight of her newborn. The baby lay sleeping in the dresser drawer on the floor beside the bed, wrapped in the exquisite shawl Bethan had crocheted. A tiny fist escaped its covers and blindly rubbed at a pint-sized mouth and nose from which came the snuffling, mewing sounds that had woken her. “Hello precious,” she whispered, a faint smile crossing her lips.
“Ah, so you’re awake now, are you? Welcome back.” A stranger’s voice came from behind her. The woman moved quietly around the bed to where Gwenna could see her. “I’m Mary Williams, the midwife. Mrs Price called me – day before yesterday – and I’m glad she did. You were in a right poor way when I got here. Do you remember any of it?”
Gwenna shook her head. “Everything’s pretty much a blur. I was aware of sounds and feelings rather than anything real. And then nothing, until now.”
Bethan woke at the sound of Gwenna’s voice. “Thanks be to God. I thought we’d lost you.”
While the two women fussed about, helping Gwenna to sit up and guiding the baby to her breast, they filled in the gaps in her memory. Tillie had spent almost as much time with Gwenna as in her own house, bringing food to save Bethan from cooking, and fudge to build up the stock. Elias, too, had called, which surprised them all.
“You nearly left us, Gwenna, bach. I was that afraid, I thought the fairy folk had come for you. But you’re a plucky one, our Gwenna. You are that.”
Gwenna smiled weakly. She had no intentions of going anywhere just yet, and she wasn’t sure she believed in fairy folk.
“That tightening is your milk coming through,” said Mary. “We need to encourage it. We’ve been feeding your son with a bottle for the last forty-eight hours, hoping you’d pull through on your own. He’s a fighter, this one. Like you, by the sounds of things, but he’s a long way to go. He’s very little and underweight.”
A son. She had a son.
Overjoyed, Gwenna did as she was told, knowing something special, magical even, had just happened, but she had no words to explain it. Whatever this feeling meant, it would be something between her and this child. She’d never considered herself a fighter, nor an ancient who could foretell things, but maybe she was wrong – on both counts. Her future lay in her arms, and she would fight anyone who tried to take it away.
“What will you call him?” Bethan bent down over the baby and ran a gentle finger over his cheek.
In her son, Gwenna saw echoes of Johnno. She recalled the fateful morning, the morning Johnno left forever when she’d stared at him, committing every detail to memory as if she sensed he would not return.
Tears flowed down her face, but she left them unchecked. For the first time in many months, these were tears of joy and fulfilment, even if they were still tinged with sadness. Johnno had been a glorious interlude in her life, someone she had hardly known, but this happiness would live on in his son.
“George. After Pa.”
