by Vicky Adin
“Eli,” he’d responded using a name no one else called him.
“You’ve got to love what you do, lad, to be successful. You should think about selling up.”
“And do what? I’ve a mother who relies on me. And there’s a stepsister and a half-brother.” Elias had shrugged his shoulders, the ones that carried the weight of his conscience, and ordered more ale. As the night wore on, Thomas talked about his love – wood.
“I’ve even got the right name for it – Woodman. Get it?” he laughed. “But a piece of wood talks to you. It tells you what it’s best suited for as soon as you start to work it.” He paused to take a mouthful of his ale and wipe his lips. “But like all business, it’s not always the way you want it. Sometimes you have to make a table or a cabinet the way the customer wants it, but even then, there’s joy in the feel and smell of working a good piece. There’s nothing like a perfectly crafted bit of furniture with a good coat of varnish to bring out the colour.”
Their conversation had haunted Elias, and in the weeks following he sought out the man who would become his liberator.
“Why don’t you come along to the workshop with me?” said Woody. “I’ll show you what I mean.”
As soon as the door opened on that early December afternoon and Elias smelt the aroma of fresh wood shavings, something changed within him. Hours passed while he watched and listened as Woody handled a piece of kauri.
“This is real soft wood, so it’s easy to work with.” Thomas rounded the edge to make a circular top for a side table. “But just as easy to make mistakes, too. Look at the colour, see the way the grain flows.”
He clamped a block of macrocarpa on the workbench and gave the smoothing plane to Elias. “Here, have a go. You’ve got to go with the grain. Just ease it along, lad.”
With the plane resting in his hands the way Thomas showed him, Elias pushed it forward. A thin curl came away and fell, then another, and with each sweep of the plane, the wood seemed to come alive under his fingers. He stopped and ran his hand over the surface, surprised at how sleek it felt. He’d never come across anything like this before, nor felt as emotional. No wonder Woody was so fervent.
“You have the knack, Eli,” said Woody, watching Elias turn the legs of a writing desk. “You’re a natural. I wish you’d come work for me full time.”
As the wood took shape in his hands, Elias allowed himself to envisage how he could do what Thomas – and he – wanted. “I will one day, Woody. I just need a bit more time to work things through.”
During his last conversation with Bethan, he’d almost – almost – told her what he was doing and about his newfound love for wood. She often asked him where he went or what had put him in such a good mood, but so far he’d resisted telling her.
Life with Mam since Gwenna and Charlie had gone was as near perfect as a man could expect. He still filled the regular monthly orders from stock left over after Gwenna’s efforts, which kept the business running for the time being. If he couldn’t match the request, he sometimes got Bethan to make a few varieties, but it couldn’t last much longer. Time was running out. He’d stopped making anything months ago. Not since Hugh had gone, in fact.
But he was finding he couldn’t do either role justice. He felt like a different person when he was working with the wood – and he was becoming more skilled with every stroke and turn – but he couldn’t get away from the sweet business often enough to practise. He was torn between what he should do and what he wanted to do.
Thomas understood, and let Elias come and go to suit. He paid him when he’d completed something worth selling, and Elias gave the extra money to Bethan for housekeeping.
He smiled, content, for now. It was a new feeling. One he had still to come to terms with.
The older man slapped Elias on the back. “Don’t think too hard, or too long. The answers’ll come to you, lad. They always do.”
But Elias couldn’t stop thinking.
Shaking his head to clear his mind of memories, Elias stood up to stretch, ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head to get rid of the sawdust. Bethan was always on at him about his clothes: ‘They’re so dusty. Where do you go to get so mucky?’ but he didn’t care.
Mam would know soon enough. They all would.
“Here you go, Dad,” said Alice Woodman as she placed the basket on the workbench. “There’s fresh scones this morning. And I brought butter and jam.” She walked over to the wood-burning stove where Thomas burnt the offcuts and moved the kettle into place to boil.
She came every morning with food for her father, who preferred not to clean up to eat in the house during the day, even though it was but a few steps away. Some days, Woody worked like a demon until his aching body could no longer stand, then he would clean up in the wash house at the back of the workshop, eat his supper early and go to bed. Other days, satisfied with his efforts, he would finish earlier and visit the pub before supper. The Edinburgh Castle, where he’d met Elias, was his favourite.
“Eli, would you care to wash your hands while I make the tea?” With a small, shy smile, Alice handed him a towel. Ever since Elias had first seen her when she’d come to collect the basket that first afternoon, he’d been smitten. Petite and dark-haired, she stirred a memory of happy times he couldn’t identify, a time in his childhood.
He was still nervous in Alice’s presence and often stumbled over his words, but then she’d look at him a certain way, and he began to believe she felt as he did.
“Thank you, Alice. I will. Your scones are nice. You’re a good cook.”
Elias didn’t know what had happened to Alice’s mother, but the girl ran the household, doing all the cooking and cleaning. “I’m glad you like them. I made them specially this morning.”
But what Elias liked most was that she liked to spend time in the workshop. Her main task involved sweeping up the ever-accumulating sawdust, but she was a dab hand at the fine finish sanding and loved doing the staining and lacquering. She understood the business inside out.
“You look pretty today, Miss Alice,” said Elias, admiring the trim figure emphasised by the well-cut gored skirt and pleated blouse.
Pulling an apron from the basket and tying it on, she blushed under his gaze. When he still hadn’t moved, she broke a small piece off the side of the freshly baked fruit cake and held it up. He opened his mouth and she popped in it. “That should keep you going for a minute. Now away and wash your hands.”
Her father watched the scene from the other side of the workshop. “Don’t get too keen on him, young Alice.” His eyes stared fixedly beyond the door where Elias had gone. “The boy has problems he needs to work through before he’ll make marriage material.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed her father on the cheek. “You worry too much, but I love you for it. Now, go wash your hands.”
15
Fortune or fate
16 April 1900
“Elias!” yelled his mother, breathless and anxious. “Elias, where have you been? I need you.”
By fortune or fate, he’d arrived back in the yard and was still unsaddling his horse when Bethan rushed outside.
“You’ve got to help,” she gabbled without preamble. “There’s a telegram from Gwenna and it’s got me fair worried.” The pleading expression on Bethan’s face halted the terse response on the tip of Elias’s tongue. “Will you hitch up the cart and take me to her? Please, Elias, bach. I don’t ask much of you, but I do ask this.”
Not so long ago, he’d not have lifted a finger to help Gwenna in any way, but working with Thomas and meeting Alice had tempered his anger – towards his mother, if no one else.
“What’s she got herself mixed up in?” He continued to groom the horse, moving around the stable area to avoid making eye contact with his mother, while he tried to decide how to answer.
“I don’t know what’s happened. The telegram says: ‘Johnno missing. Desperate to find him. Pains started.’ I’ve got to go to her ... Elias?
... Please?”
The action of grooming reminded him of the effect the plane and sanding had on him. He couldn’t explain why it should be so, but the continual, slow, back and forth movement calmed him and allowed him to think more clearly. If he did this favour for his mother, then she – and Gwenna – would owe him something in return. It might be worth it.
He stopped to stare at Bethan, the brush still in his hand. Moments passed before he grunted ungraciously, “Help me take the cover off.”
Bethan complained the preparations were taking far too long as she rushed about helping him ready the cart, and packing her things and everything she thought she would need for Gwenna. They began their journey with little daylight remaining.
“What does she mean, Johnno’s missing? And how can she find him if she doesn’t know where he is? And, oh dear, she shouldn’t be having pains yet. She’s not even seven months.”
Bethan chatted away incessantly beside him, but Elias didn’t want to be drawn into any conversation about Gwenna. Not yet. His time would come.
“You won’t travel back tonight in the dark, will you, Elias? I don’t want to worry about you too. You’ll stay, won’t you? At least for a while, until I can find out what’s going on. And what I should do. We might have to bring Gwenna back with us. Oh dear, but then, she might be too far gone. Maybe her neighbour, Mrs Mavis Milligan’s her name, will be a help.”
Elias was amazed his mother could talk so much and barely take a breath. He’d forgotten she could get like this when she was worried. He’d not spent so much time in her company of late. Not for many years. A flicker of regret passed through him for all he’d lost, only to be replaced by exasperation. He hoped he wouldn’t rue his decision.
With a twitch of impatience at his wild, random thoughts, he shook the reins over the back of the mare, urging her to a faster pace. They arrived at the house a little less than an hour and a half later.
Partway up the driveway, Bethan clambered down while the cart was still moving. She ran up the front steps and through the door while he drove around the back. With no plans of staying, he didn’t unhitch the horse but led it to the water trough. Leaving the animal to its own devices, he entered the house.
He found Bethan, Gwenna and another woman in the kitchen. He’d not seen Gwenna for months, not since that horror night when he’d lost all sense of anything decent. He’d been appalled when his mother slapped him and he realised what he’d done. Not that he’d let on to them how he felt, but seeing Gwenna now, he was struck by how thin she was, despite being heavily pregnant.
“Um, I should get going,” he said, feeling awkward and out of place, and unsure about the propriety of his being there in the first place.
“Don’t be silly, Elias,” snapped his mother. “You can’t leave yet. Give me a chance to decide what’s best. Stoke up the fire for me. I might need it. And see if you can find some more coal. Or wood.”
Grateful for something to do, he went back outside. With daylight almost gone, the pitch-black interior of the old shed beside the tank stand revealed little through the half-broken door. He’d need a lamp if he were to find anything useful inside. He could smell coal but had no idea how much was there. Much of the pile of wood stacked along the outside wall was still too green and would smoke, but he picked out the driest logs by weight and smell.
Going inside again he dumped the logs in the basket, picked up the poker and stirred the embers, adding more fuel as the flames took hold. After a few moments, the fire settled and burned steadily.
Behind him the women were helping Gwenna walk up and down the kitchen, encouraging her to breathe slowly. He didn’t want to be in the room with women doing whatever women did in this situation, so he lit a lamp and took it outside.
He stroked the horse’s neck and whispered into its ear. “Aye, girl. How ya doing? Better’n me, I bet. I wish it were you that was birthing. I’d know what to do then. I remember helping my da when I was a little fella.” Now his thoughts had taken him back, he opened the box of memories from his youth. Life was great back then, when it was just Mam and Da, and his two giggly sisters. He’d not been quite so happy when Samuel had been born – another boy to steal Da’s attention – but he’d turned out all right in the end. “It’s a silly thing to say after all these years, but I miss my da ...” Elias patted the mare and began to undo the buckles. He’d be here for hours yet and should release the animal from the shafts. “It was my fault. You know that, don’t you. It was my fault Da died ...” Heavy-hearted, he led the horse into the field at the back and let her loose. “It’s never been the same since.”
“Elias? Are you there, Elias?” His mother’s voice reached him from the back door. As he emerged from the darkness, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. For a moment, I thought you’d gone. Come inside. We need to talk.”
“I’ll stay out here.”
The relationship between the two of them had improved in the last few months, but she was still wary of his reactions. So was he.
“Please, Elias. We need your help.”
Misunderstanding her meaning, he stepped back in alarm. “I want nothing to do with any woman’s work or babies. There’s nothing I can do.”
His mother smiled. “It’s not woman’s work I want you to do, bach. It’s man’s work. Mrs Milligan and I can manage here. What you have to do is far more important.”
Mollified, he followed her up the steps.
Elias listened to Gwenna’s version of events when Black Jack had returned without Johnno, and Mavis’s story about how she’d found Gwenna after seeing Jack leave in such a hurry.
“It was just as well I came round, it was,” Mavis preened, glad to be involved in something quite shocking. “Young Gwenna here was in such a state. Dishevelled and half-dressed, and determined to go after that man. It took me all my time to stop her. What was she going to do, after all? He was long gone and she on foot. That’s when the first pains started. Well, she obviously couldn’t go anywhere then, could she? So that’s when I sent the telegram to you like she asked.” Despite asking several rhetorical questions, Mavis had not paused long enough for anyone to agree or disagree. Until this trip, Elias had no idea women could talk so much, so quickly. Alice didn’t.
During it all, Gwenna suffered more, but still infrequent pains.
Bethan reassured her they were still too far apart to be concerned about. “There’s plenty of time yet. Just keep breathing like I said; it’ll help.”
“I’m that scared for him.” Gwenna eyed Elias warily, as uncertain about his presence as he was. “We have to find him. We have to find Johnno.”
“Do you know where Jack was, or who he was meeting?” asked Elias.
Gwenna shook her head.
“Or the route Johnno might have taken?” he pressed.
“No. Nothing. South, he said, but he wouldn’t tell me more. Jack had made him promise.” She gazed at Elias, imploring. “But I had a terrible dream last night. I saw Johnno swallowed up by the earth, lying covered in vines and creepers or such like, completely hidden from view. Please, Elias. Find him for me?”
“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll ask around.”
Elias got up to leave, but Bethan put her hand on his arm. “Wait until morning, son. There’s nothing you can do tonight.” She stood and led him to one side of the room. “And I’d like to take Gwenna home with me in the morning. The baby’s not coming any time soon. Will you let her come and stay, Elias? I can do more for her there than here. Will you?”
Turning his head towards Gwenna – thin, frightened, desolate – she looked a different person to the girl he’d known. And she was visibly wretched.
“Very well. If it makes you happy.”
* * *
How Elias managed to control his temper while Bethan and Mavis fussed over how the quilts should be folded on the floor of the cart and where the pillows should be placed so Gwenna wasn’t shaken around too much, he did not know. Eve
ntually, with him driving, Bethan sitting beside him and Gwenna lying in the back, they left for Auckland not long after eight o’clock the next morning.
Mavis stood at the gate waving them goodbye, disappointed the diverting commotion was leaving her behind.
After a long half hour or so, Elias urged the horse beyond the dawdling pace they had so far maintained.
“Don’t go so fast,” protested Bethan. “Think of Gwenna.”
How could he not think of her! Bethan never ceased to remind him every few moments about poor Gwenna. For a while last evening, Elias had almost believed his animosity towards her was fading, but his mother was doing a good job of stirring it up again.
“We’ll never get there at this rate,” he snapped. “And since you expect me to go haring off all over the place in search of someone I barely remember and care even less about, then leave me alone.”
By the time they reached North Street, the morning was well advanced. Bethan continued to fuss over Gwenna until even she showed signs of crossness.
“I’m all right, Mam. Honestly, I can walk by myself,” Elias overheard her say as they entered the house, but he wasn’t off the hook yet either.
“Elias, bring the quilts and cushions inside for me,” Bethan shouted over her shoulder. “And don’t forget our bags,” she added as an afterthought.
Elias unhitched the wagon, fed, groomed and watered his horse, and did as his mother asked. “I’m ’way round to the King’s Arms,” he told her after dumping everything in the middle of the floor.
“What’re you going there for?” Bethan sounded piqued. “Don’t you want to get on the road? There’s no telling how far Johnno has got.”
Elias took a deep breath. He didn’t want to argue with his mother, but his patience was wearing thin. And he wanted to see Alice before he went anywhere. “Don’t you think I know that?” he snapped in a much sharper and louder voice than necessary. “But there’s no point in riding off willy-nilly. I need some clues about Jack Jones and his business dealings, or who his associates are, before I head off.”