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Happier Times
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Mid-December 1900
Hugh returned after church the next day, as Bethan had asked. Gwenna had only vaguely taken in his appearance the night before and hoped he hadn’t noticed her shock when she saw him in the light of day. His upper body drooped and his jacket hung loosely on the once broad, strong shoulders. With dark bags under his eyes and sallow skin, he looked ... well, ‘haunted’, was the word, but the vacant expression in his eyes upset her the most.
Hugh had been back in the country for a month, and while the government talked of returned soldiers being offered a plot of land to farm, Hugh was a townie and he didn’t want to move to the country. Not that he looked fit enough to do any manual labour, to her. Without hesitation, Gwenna asked him to help her again, just like he used to – if he felt up to it.
Briefly, light entered his eyes and he pulled his shoulders back momentarily before they sagged again. He assured them he was fit and well enough to do whatever they wanted of him.
Over the next few days, in an effort to fatten him up, Bethan made sure he had more food than he could eat, and Gwenna found that, while not as strong as he once was, Hugh was more than willing. Having been forced to package her sweets into smaller boxes so she and Bethan could lift them, they found Hugh lifted the larger boxes effortlessly.
They developed a pattern she’d forgotten they possessed. He could read her needs before she asked, placing the sacks of sugar and other ingredients within easy reach, and improved on the system of labelling and order of storing the sweets waiting for despatch. One day, he rescued a pot of sugar Gwenna had left on the heat when she’d been called through to the shop. When she returned, he was working the sugar almost in the way he always had, except she could see he’d adjusted his pull-and-wrap rhythm, as if one arm was not as supple as it once had been. Whatever the problem, his batch of sweets was still as good as ever.
But he hated noise. If she accidentally banged pots together, or a metal spoon scraped the bottom of a pan, he would recoil. Sometimes, for no apparent reason, he’d step away from what he was doing and, leaning forward in a crouch, would put his hands over his ears. Other times, he’d stand frozen to the spot, staring at something she couldn’t see, or shudder violently. He never explained his reaction and returned to what he’d been doing. Never mind how many times she asked, he refused to talk about what happened in South Africa.
Whatever his demons, Gwenna was happy to have him back working with her. The difference he made in less than two weeks was impressive, and she hoped for longer-term effects. The one aspect that had hardly changed at all was that he rarely spoke unless spoken to first. She could cope with that, happy to work in companionable silence, knowing he was there.
* * *
In the days since the shadow from her dreams had scared her half to death, and Hugh had appeared out of nowhere, she’d been run off her feet in the shop. She’d not had a spare moment to worry or fret over anything, except ensuring the customers were served. The tables were full with ladies ordering teas, coffees and hot chocolate, even though the summer temperatures reached the high seventies.
Mrs Turner had called again, bringing two acquaintances. Gwenna later found out one was the wife of Mr Ernest Yates, the seed merchant, and prominent in social circles, and the other, Mrs Annabella Geddes, whom Maude Turner referred to as Mary. Gwenna had met Mr John McKail Geddes once or twice in passing after purchasing coffee and tea supplies from the firm still known as Brown Barrett, even though Mr Geddes was the sole owner. The Geddeses were a wealthy, influential couple. Mrs Geddes was known for her patronage of the welfare of women even if her Maori heritage was often a topic of discussion. A simple word from either Mrs Yates or Mrs Geddes would make all the difference to Gwenna’s clientele.
Apart from that pleasing but singular episode, Gwenna recognised several women from church. She hadn’t noticed their absence until they started to become regulars but had no idea why they hadn’t come in the first place.
Gwenna asked Janetta about it as they left church together after the Christmas service.
“Because of Louisa.”
“Sorry, Janie, you’ll have to explain better than that. What’s because of Louisa?”
They paused in their conversation to shake hands with the minister and comment on the sermon before continuing their walk down the path and onto the street, where they waited for Bethan and the others. Percy Lewis stood talking to three gentlemen, Tom and Tillie were passing time with another couple Gwenna didn’t know, Bethan held Janetta’s two youngsters by the hand, while Charlie, excited by what the rest of the day would offer, bounced alongside.
“Really, Gwenna, sometimes you are so clever, but other times you’re too gullible. Louisa is the leader of the Ladies Committee.”
“Why should that matter?”
Janetta rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Gwenna. You’re too good to be true. Do you remember the day we came to the shop when you first opened and Louisa was all snippy?”
“Yes, but then Louisa can be difficult when she wants to be.”
“Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. She took it into her head that you didn’t deserve to have so much luck. She was jealous. Like she used to get sometimes when we were kids.” Janetta moved them further down the street in case they were overheard. “I don’t know what she said, but I suspect she threatened the other ladies with their position on the committee. Saying it was in jeopardy if they patronised your shop.”
Gwenna couldn’t believe her ears. “Surely not? Louisa isn’t spiteful. I know we haven’t always got on, not since she married Mr Evans, and I get so cross with the way she treats Mam, but I can’t believe she’d deliberately do something quite so mean.”
“Well, she did, Gwenna. She did. But, much to my surprise, she also did the reverse.”
Now Gwenna was utterly confused. “You mean she’s since told them they can come to the shop?”
Janetta nodded. “Word gets around and your name – or rather the shop’s name – has come up a few times at meetings. You know, someone said they’d overheard someone else say how good it was, and so on. Lately, she’s basked in the associated glory of telling everyone she’s related to you, and suggesting they were, indeed, missing out if they didn’t patronise the place.”
“Why would she do that? And didn’t anyone take her to task for her about-turn?” Such behaviour was beyond Gwenna.
Janetta shook her head. “Some of the ladies value their social positions, however false they may be, and follow the most vocal opinions in order to be part of the crowd. I’m just not sure what’s happened to change Louisa’s mind. But something has. And something is definitely wrong. I’m certain of it.”
* * *
Sitting around the dining table later on Christmas day, Gwenna admired the miniature pine tree Charlie had decorated. Its aroma filled the room. Fresh foliage interspersed with the clusters of red stamens of the pohutukawa flowers festooned the mantelpiece. Other more traditional decorations sat on tabletops and cabinets, and Bethan’s precious cards and letters from the home country hung on a string above the fireplace, to be read and reread many times.
“You’ve excelled yourself, Mam. The place is very festive,” Gwenna congratulated Bethan, thankful to be surrounded by her family who helped block out memories of the Christmas she and Johnno had shared last year. Still euphoric and wrapped in new love at the time, she’d pretended it didn’t matter, never mind how bleak and cheerless their day had been. She hadn’t fooled herself and she doubted she’d fooled Johnno either. “And the food is magnificent,” she added, in an attempt to rid her mind of the past.
Tom ceremoniously carried the roast turkey, surrounded by potatoes and carrots from the garden, and set it on the table next to a bowl of peas and a jug of gravy. Expertly carving slices from the bird, he placed two on each plate, until everyone was served.
“Can we pull the crackers now?” asked Charlie, once Tom had sat down.
“Course you can,” said his mam.
Bethan had made them herself, and Charlie would find the best gifts inside his – a whistle, a marble or two and a miniature puzzle, at least – on top of the comics she’d given him earlier.
Tillie had given him a new set of clothes since he’d grown again, and he adored Gwenna’s box of toy soldiers, but his favourite present was the hand-painted, cast-iron fire wagon Tom had given him.
“Look, Mam. The wheels turn and the ladder can be swivelled around and extended. And look at the little firemen sitting up top. Even their buttons are painted on. Oh, thank you, Tom. What fun.”
After they said grace, Tom raised his glass. “To family, to posterity, and to you, Gwenna.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Gwenna. You. Despite all the setbacks, all the hardships and all the anguish you’ve suffered, you have risen above it all and come out on top. I’m honoured to know you and call you sister-in-law. May the coming year bring you both joy and success.”
Bethan and Tillie echoed Tom’s praises, and the clink of glasses tinkled amid the laughter and babbling from Georgie and Olwen. Gwenna smiled through eyes wet with happiness, relief and optimism.
Maybe the tide had turned.
