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Against the tide
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3 June 1900
To Gwenna’s frustration, neither Bethan nor Mary would let her out of bed.
“You’re to have complete bed rest for at least seven days,” ordered Mary. “And your mam has no say in the matter either. So even if you could persuade her around to your way of thinking, it isn’t going to happen.”
The risk her son might not thrive as well, otherwise, convinced Gwenna to do as she was told. In truth, her body told her the same. After living with anxiety and exhaustion for so long, she had little energy left, and if Georgie needed her, then she would get strong again for him.
In the hours when he lay by her side and she watched him sleep, sometimes dozing herself, a new sense of purpose and resolve bubbled inside her. From now on, when all her doubts and fears rose to the surface, as she was sure they would, she would remember she wasn’t working just to fulfil Pa’s dreams, nor for her benefit alone. Everything she did, everything she planned and everything she achieved would be for her son, and she would let no one stand in her way.
She had refused to consider naming her son John. That evil man, known as Black Jack Jones, still roamed freely somewhere. She wouldn’t let the boy be held back by sharing the same name as the man who, by law, was his grandfather but who would never lay eyes on him if she had her way. Gwenna would also keep her Price name – G Price & Family. That had been what George stood for, what Pa wanted to give Gwenna, and it would be her legacy to George junior.
Bethan had been delighted. “Baby George will keep your father’s memory alive and give you both something to strive for. Your pa was one of a kind.”
Tillie, too, supported her decision when she brought around a layette for the baby.
“Oh, Tillie, this is so beautiful. You shouldn’t have.” Tears flowed down Gwenna’s face again, and she wiped them away. She was doing too much crying these days.
“Of course, I should. Georgie is my nephew and deserves the best. As do you. Don’t cry, sweet sister. There are benefits to being a widow, you’ll see. You are mistress of your own destiny now.”
Taking advantage of her recovery time, she and Tillie spent hours closeted in her room while Georgie and Olwen slept. Between them they wrote down all the ideas they could remember their father giving them, adding several more of their own. They calculated the costs, itemised the risks and considered the threats. Every time, they found the positive column outstripped the negative.
“So why is the business in such a state?” Tillie turned another page and chewed on the end of the pencil. “Gwenna, you’re the one for figures. You could calculate the weights in your head quicker than we could on paper. What is the problem here?”
They poured over the accounts, evaluated the errors and missing information, and reached the conclusion Elias had no idea about running a business.
“No wonder he was losing money,” said Gwenna. “He either overcharged and lost the client or undercharged and was taken advantage of. Sometimes, he clean forgot to invoice the customer at all.”
“Let’s hope he’s better at his furniture making, then.” Tillie laughed, but Gwenna took it seriously.
“He will be,” Gwenna assured her. “They are higher priced items and he doesn’t have to calculate the costs. Either Mr Woodman will do all that, or I suspect, Miss Woodman.”
“Have you met her?”
“No, not yet. Why, have you?”
“I have,” said Tillie. “I overheard her name in the fabric department of Smith & Caughey and introduced myself. I found her quite charming.”
“So she sews, too? What was she buying?” Gwenna was curious what sort of girl could tame Elias so easily.
“She makes the most beautiful patchwork quilts. Her stitching is finer than mine. I admired the section of quilting she had brought along to match up with some new colours and pattern. She was so easy to talk to, quite open and natural.” Tillie went on to describe Alice in detail: petite, dark-haired, dark gentle eyes, with a soft, thoughtful voice. “Her dress was well made, too, and fitted her perfectly. She wore a pretty pastel yellow, I recall. I can see why she would be good for Elias.”
“All that, after one meeting? I’ll look forward to the experience.”
* * *
“I will not stay in bed a minute longer.” Gwenna threw back the covers and climbed out of bed to the protests of both Bethan and Mary. “I’ve finished my seven days. I’ve eaten. I’ve slept. I’ve rested. But no more. There is work to be done.”
“At least a bit of colour has returned to her cheeks,” the two older women agreed, ignoring the younger one. “And she is certainly full of energy again.”
“I’ll be keeping a close eye on her, though,” said Bethan sternly. “And I’ll make sure she eats well and conforms to some sense of propriety.”
“And she must rest every afternoon after Georgie’s feed,” insisted Mary.
Satisfied they had Gwenna’s next few days under their control, Mary relented. “Just promise me you won’t overexert yourself.”
Gwenna closed her eyes. There was little chance of that happening, she thought, but with Georgie to feed and boxes of sweets to sell, sitting around wouldn’t get things done either.
“I’ll have to go out, Mam. I have work to do. But no, I won’t go to parties and the theatre. I don’t want to anyway.”
Sometimes the restrictions placed on women by laws and society, despite the fact women now had a real say in those laws, infuriated Gwenna. She would never be able to take control of her life and make progress as a businesswoman if she was constantly held back.
A new determination to make Pa’s dreams come alive infused her whole being, although for ‘the sake of propriety’, as Louisa was so fond of saying, Gwenna agreed to wear black. Tillie had come to her aid yet again by making a suitable day dress and draping a hat, while Bethan dyed two of Gwenna’s cotton house dresses.
The first task Gwenna set herself was to contact all the clients listed in the books. Most she wrote to, some she visited in person and others who had telephones she steeled herself to call.
She wrote explaining how, as the daughter of George Price, she would now handle the family business. “Elias Hughes has chosen to seek his own business venture elsewhere.”
She didn’t elaborate. He could drum up his own business if he wanted to – or let Alice handle that side of things. As long as he didn’t get on his high horse about being head of the household again, but it wasn’t her problem – not any more.
She signed her name, Gwenna Price.
By tradition, in Wales, and in the north in particular, married women could retain their maiden name if they chose to. The tradition did not apply in New Zealand, but neither was it against the law. Since her marriage had been short, barely four months, and no notices had been placed in any of the newspapers for the wedding or the funeral, and few people knew of her married name, she decided to keep the one she loved the most. As Mrs Price, she could still protect her son and it would endow her with the benefits and freedoms a widow could expect.
Unused to doing so much writing, Gwenna’s hand cramped as she held the latest style fountain pen. She would much have preferred to write with a pencil, but doing so would not be considered businesslike. While the pen was easier to use than the old quill, filling it with an eyedropper was far too messy, and the pen left blots on the page and stained her fingers if she wasn’t careful.
“Honestly, this is too much to bear.” Gwenna laid the pen down to massage her palm, and rolled her head to ease her neck. She viewed her stained hands in disgust. She couldn’t risk transferring the ink from her hands into the sugar, and her hands were so sore from writing, she couldn’t do much more.
“I’m going out,” she announced to Bethan, putting on her newly draped bonnet and coat, and wrapping a scarf around her neck. She avoided the mirror, knowing black stripped all colour from her face, leaving her pallid. In contrast, her eyes seemed larger and brighter with her hair tucked away out of sight.
“Where are you off to this time?”
“I’m sick of writing letters. I’ll post a couple of them along the way, but I want to talk to Edward Turner.”
“The greengrocer?” Bethan sounded surprised.
“Well, Smeeton wasn’t keen on dealing with me, so I’ll go to his opposition and see what happens.”
“But you wouldn’t expect to find lollies at the greengrocer’s. That’s not like a regular grocery shop.” Bethan sounded puzzled.
“No, you wouldn’t. But if you did, would you buy some?” Gwenna tingled with the idea. It was a novel concept, but it could work.
Edward Turner had an even better idea.
