by Vicky Adin
The girl was far too infuriatingly pragmatic to suit Gwenna’s mood, but Gwenna did admire her logic and calm. Yet another reason to consider Alice would be good for Elias – like water and fire. Fire to keep the water warm, and water to calm the fiery beast.
Despite Alice’s rational viewpoint, Bethan and Gwenna still wanted to find Elias.
“I feel it’s my duty,” said Bethan. “He doesn’t have a father to stand up for him.”
“Dad’s doing that,” Alice said breezily. “He likes Eli. He won’t let anything untoward happen.”
“I could at least take them some food,” said Bethan, meandering from task to task, clutching for any reason to go. “They’ll be hungry. It’s been a long time since breakfast.”
“Mam. Calm yourself.” Gwenna took her stepmother’s hands in hers to steady the uncontrolled fluttering. “It’s no good. Much as I hate to admit it, Miss Woodman is right. Whatever happens, Mr Woodman will tell us when the time is right. I can’t take Georgie out into the cold weather without knowing where to start.”
In the end, they agreed rushing down to the police station or the gaol, or wherever Elias could have been taken, would not be in his best interests.
“Dad says if we repeated anything Eli told us it wouldn’t help. We’ve only heard his version of events. Dad will vouch for Eli.”
Gwenna hoped Alice was right.
* * *
They waited throughout the endless day. Gwenna made more jars of boiled sweets between feeding Georgie. The rhythm of pulling and twisting the sugar mixture suited her mood and kept the worst of her agitation at bay. Bethan baked and prepared the meat for dinner with enough vegetables to feed an army. Warm, homely aromas filled the air, and the three women knitted together as they worked.
Alice threw them off guard by sweeping and dusting, but for much of the time she watched Georgie and chattered about Eli. “He’s been such a godsend to Dad. I can’t tell you what a difference he’s made.”
Alice prattled about how her father loved his furniture making, but he was getting tired, he said.
“But it’s not a physical tiredness, it’s a subconscious thought. He was worried there’d be no one to take over the business. And he couldn’t see the point in carrying on.”
“But your father can’t be old,” said Bethan. “What if you marry and have children one day?”
“Wouldn’t matter. Unless it was to another wood-loving man. Dad says a piece of wood has its own energy, and a good wood-man knows how to find the heart. It’s not something that can be taught. But once you lose the desire to find it, it’s gone for good.”
Gwenna heard her father’s voice echo in her head at Alice’s words, and understood. You have to love what you do to succeed, Gwenna, bach. If you don’t have the heart for it, you’ll always find an excuse not to do it.
Bethan couldn’t bear to admit this slip of a girl could know more about her son than she did. “So what’s Elias got to do with it? He’s never known one piece of wood from the next, except to split it for firewood.”
“No disrespect, Mrs Price, but I believe you’re wrong. Dad reckons Eli has a natural ability to draw it out in abundance. It’s given him a new lease on life to teach Eli how to develop it.”
A suspicion crept into Gwenna’s mind. “How long has Elias been working for your father?”
“Since last December. I remember because it wasn’t long after the election. Dad says ...”
Gwenna was getting a little tired of ‘Dad says’ and interrupted. “And if you don’t mind me asking, who keeps the ledger?”
“I do.” A slight frown marred Alice’s forehead. “Dad can measure something to within an eensy amount to make a table stand square, or mitre a join, but he can’t add up a column of figures and get the right answer.”
Mr Woodman and Elias would be two peas in the same pod in that case, chuckled Gwenna to herself. “And you do sell the furniture he makes, don’t you?”
Alice frowned, perplexed. “Of course. How else do you run a business?”
But Gwenna hadn’t quite finished. “And who works out the costs of time and materials so you know what price to charge?”
“I do. Dad made me go to school and learn my numbers properly.”
Gwenna nodded, satisfied. In hindsight, she could now piece together when Elias started to change and become a better person. Bethan had been right in her assessment that something was making him happy. And Gwenna’s leaving wasn’t the cause.
“Why all the questions?”
“Just curious, Miss Woodman. Just curious.” Gwenna smiled. “However, I suggest you don’t let Elias anywhere near the ledger either.”
From her position seated on the floor next to the sleeping Georgie, Alice tilted her head to one side. The radiant smile that lit her face and reached deep into her eyes startled Gwenna with its brilliance. “Now, why would I let him do that? To each his own, I believe the saying goes.”
No wonder Elias was smitten.
* * *
At the point of suggesting either Alice return home before dark, or inviting her to stay the night, Gwenna heard the latch click on the door. As soon as the two men entered, Bethan rose from her chair preparing to go to her son, but hesitated, unsure of her welcome. Alice leapt to her feet and stood beaming from ear to ear before Elias, her hands folded behind her back. Gwenna felt sure Alice would have preferred to wrap her arms around Elias’s neck but restrained herself at the last moment. A vacant, lost expression dulled his eyes, and his face sagged with exhaustion. He began to tremble as all three women threw questions at him.
“What news?”
“Are you all right?”
“What happened?”
An awkward laugh filled the void.
“All is well,” answered the older man.
“Thanks to Woody,” confirmed a relieved young man.
Gwenna extended her hand as she approached Alice’s father.
He was nothing like she had imagined. His neatly trimmed, auburn beard and moustache suited his lined, craggy face, even while his thick mop of hair stuck out at strange angles, but the warmth in his eyes was what drew Gwenna to him. “Welcome, Mr Woodman. We’ve heard a lot about you. Thank you for rushing to Elias’s aid.”
Thomas held his trilby against his chest as he took Gwenna’s hand, bowing slightly in a stiff, old-fashioned way. “Mrs Jones. I am delighted to make your acquaintance and be of service to your family.”
“Please, call me Gwenna.” She would explain about being Mrs Price later. “I feel I know you already, and you’ve done so much for this family.”
For a few moments, nobody moved. Elias and Alice were too intent on staring at one another while Bethan wrung her hands.
“My brother seems to have forgotten his manners. Please take a seat and tell us about the day’s events.”
Bethan began making a pot of tea and emptying the cake tins onto plates. Gwenna watched her from the corner of her eye, wishing she would sit down but, from experience, knew she wouldn’t.
Thomas Woodman repeated what Alice had told them about the police turning up at his workshop, accusing Elias of being an ‘accessory after the fact’ and wishing to talk to him down at the station. Despite Alice’s interpretation, they had not in fact formally arrested Elias, but Thomas had, nevertheless, considered it prudent to attend the police station. During his explanation, tea was poured and cake handed around, both of which helped fill the momentary silences when no one could decide what to say.
“Something funny is definitely going on,” said Elias as their tale came to an end. “I’ve always had my suspicions that Jack’s wagon did not go over the edge by itself.”
“You have?” Gwenna’s voice rose to an unusually high pitch. The tea cup clanked in the saucer as she replaced it.
The expression of horror crossing Elias’s face at that moment told her more than any words. He was hiding something, but was it just from her or was he trying to protect Alice – and Bethan �
�� from the details?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you before, Gwenna, just like I tried to spare you the details of what I found, but they’ve come out now anyway.” Elias rubbed his hands through his hair.
“I apologise to you too, Alice. Mam. There’s no point trying to keep any of it from you any more. It’s got too involved.”
At length, he reached the point in his story where he related the conversation in the Tuakau pub. Bit by bit, Gwenna learnt how others had feared and loathed Black Jack as much as she did. She wouldn’t be sorry if she never saw the man again, but to discover people meant him serious harm came as a shock.
“We all agreed someone, or maybe more than one person, would sooner or later teach Jack Jones a lesson,” said Elias. “But after Will remembered seeing Black Jack only a matter of days earlier, I realised the accident was more than likely a case of mistaken identity. Johnno had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“My problem was I had no way of proving it, so I said nothing,” admitted Elias. “And apparently, that was their problem, even though Bill reported the accident and told them about finding Jack’s wagon. Someone – one of the men who helped haul the Pokeno Store’s delivery van out of the bush, I suspect, but it could have been anyone at the pub – reported me to the police saying I was hiding something.”
Thomas Woodman picked up the story, telling them how he had argued finding a wagon in the bush was not a crime. Nor was finding a body, even one the police were now saying could have been suspiciously placed.
“Suspiciously placed?” Gwenna couldn’t believe the nightmare was continuing.
The shock of knowing Johnno was dead was bad enough, but to learn someone may have deliberately caused the accident and tried to conceal it was much worse. It was almost beyond belief, but believe it she must. Nothing would change the outcome. And if she was honest, she had always suspected there was more to the tale than anyone was telling her.
She listened as Mr Woodman and Elias finished their story.
“Mrs Jones, er ... Gwenna,” interrupted Mr Woodman. “I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m sure this is all a great shock to you – and you, Mrs Price. It’s a terrible thing to see your children suffer, whatever causes their suffering. I do understand.”
Bethan smiled, and Gwenna could read the relief in her eyes, knowing someone shared her distress for her son. Her shoulders relaxed.
“But I believe in Eli, if it’s any help. He has a future as a woodturner, and I am sure we eventually convinced the police Eli had not committed a crime in any way. He reported what he’d found and told them all he knew. It was not his place to cast suspicion or suggest foul play.”
“Are you certain?” asked Gwenna. “This family has had more than its share of upheavals of late. We cannot move on with our lives with anything more hanging over our heads.”
Thomas Woodman smiled. He turned his head towards Elias and Alice who had drifted into their own world made for two. Gwenna followed his gaze towards the unusually quiet and now pale Alice and Eli, this new person Gwenna would one day get to know better – and maybe even like.
“Yes. I’m certain,” said Mr Woodman.
24
The market turns
Mid-June 1900 – the next day
In the cold, early morning light, Gwenna scurried down Grey Street towards the huge central marketplace filling the interior of an entire block at the bottom of the hill. She was running late. Her watch said it was already six minutes past seven, and the market would be well under way before she got there. While Mr Turner still maintained his greengrocery shop in Karangahape Road, he had recently begun holding auctions three days a week at the central market. He’d invited Gwenna to meet him.
Rushing through the south entrance from Cook Street, past the hay and corn hall, she came to a standstill. The cross-shaped timber building with its lean-to extensions on either side had been badly built many years ago, and was quite unsanitary thanks to the Wai Horotiu swamp, often called the Liger creek. Although the ground had been well drained since those earlier days, the area was still unpleasant and often stank. She shivered in the cold air.
The place was bursting at the seams with stalls of every kind set out in aisles and crammed into every nook and corner. Voices were raised as Chinese market gardeners offering fruit and vegetables vied with European growers for space and customers. Alongside were the flower sellers, the butchers and poulterers, and other food suppliers, but she hadn’t expected to find fancy goods, second-hand goods and furniture dealers among them. Gwenna sneezed at the varied and strange aromas confusing her nose, and her ears rang. Adding to the noise, hucksters peddled and entertainers performed before passing the hat around.
How would she ever find him in this crowd? The place was chaotic.
She wandered up the southern aisle and watched groups of people gathered round one auctioneer, bidding for the crate of cauliflower at his feet. The next caller, with a change of pitch and tone, captured her attention and her eyes followed her ears to where he stood, selling boxes of carrots. Behind her, another auctioneer raised his voice offering a fresh sack of kumara, those amazing sweet potatoes, so creamy and tasty, that she loved. As she moved around, she discovered a sense of order among the cacophony.
The bidders knew what they wanted, and the sellers knew how to get them to buy. A nod here, a finger there, and the deal was done. Although how this all related to her, she had no idea.
“Mrs Price ... Mrs Price.” Someone called her name. “Over here, Mrs Price.”
She scanned the space around her, unable to place where the voice had come from until she saw an arm waving. Having reached the central section where the east–west halls crossed with the north–south halls, she saw just how large the market was, and how busy. From her vantage point, she could see the separate but connected buildings on each of the outside four corners.
“Mr Turner. Thank goodness I’ve found you. What did you want of me?”
“No time to talk now. Just stand here and watch. I’ll explain later.”
Two hours passed in a flash. Auctioneers kept up the call, and the men behind the tables shifted the sold boxes and heaved fresh stock into place. After a while, she began to recognise certain voices and patterns. Although how they spoke so fast and how the buyers heard anything intelligible was beyond her comprehension. The timing of the end of each sale and the start of the next was finely tuned to the second. Buyers paid for their goods, barrows came and went, creating more disorder, but somehow the system worked. At long last, Mr Turner was free.
“The boys’ll take over now. I do the calling, but they can handle the paperwork and delivery. Come, Mrs Price, join me in a cup of tea.”
Edward Turner led her to the café area. Gwenna could see many work-weary faces and dirty hands taking a well-earned break, eating a late breakfast of bacon and eggs and fried potatoes.
“We start early – often around four o’clock. The auctions have to be quick so people can get the goods back to their shops and on the shelves while they are fresh. By this time of the day, we’re starving. Would you like something to eat?”
They joined the queue; Edward ordered two teas, a full English breakfast for himself and a boiled egg for Gwenna with a slice of fresh bread. Finding a table proved as difficult as finding Mr Turner in the first place, but people were willing to move for Edward Turner, and he soon found somewhere for them to talk. He spooned two large teaspoons of sugar into his milky tea and stirred while he spoke. “This is the way of the future, Mrs Price.”
“I don’t see how it helps me, though, Mr Turner.”
Between mouthfuls of food, with his fork pointing this way and that, he outlined his plans. How she envied his foresight, and the way his four elder sons, although still young – and he had younger ones still at home out west in Huia, he said – were already involved and planning their collective future.
“Mark my words, Mrs Price. The Turner name will become synonymous with auct
ions for wholesale fruit and vegetable at markets like these.” He patted the side of his nose and chuckled. “Although as many deals are done over a cup of tea as on the floor – but that’s good for business, too.” His eyes sparkled with devilment.
Around her, voices competed with each other above the sounds of tea cups rattling in their saucers, the squeaky clatter of cutlery on plates and chairs scraping the floor. She asked a few questions, hoping they were pertinent, but Edward didn’t seem to mind what she said. He kept talking.
“Add-ons are what you need in this world. Haven’t you noticed how every shopkeeper has something that doesn’t quite fit? I know nothing about flowers, but I always have some in my shop. A little extra for the little lady to take home, or the man walking past who needs to apologise.”
Put that way, Gwenna could see his point. Canned foods appeared amongst the fresh food. Ready-made fizzy drinks lined the counter to entice customers to buy, and sweets could be found at the tobacconists and the pharmacy.
“When you came to me the other day, I thought to myself, this girl’s got pluck. Nobody else ever asked me if I’d stock sweets. And since Smeeton seems to prefer another source, I thought, why not. But then I thought, I can do better.”
Gwenna’s heart leapt and her eyes teared up, but she batted them away. She hadn’t realised how tense she’d felt until this moment and forced her clenched hands to relax. She had taken a wild chance, but she would be no worse off for asking. Now it seems she would be better off. “Do I take it you are prepared to offer my sweets in your store?”
“In time. I haven’t quite decided how it would work for me yet.”
Gwenna’s spirits fell as rapidly as they had risen. She took a sip of tea to conceal her disappointment and swallowed hard, forcing back the tightening sensation in her throat and the tingle in her jaw. She must not cry.
“But I’ve a better idea. It’s not been done before – and it may not work – but it’s worth a shot.”
Gwenna’s emotions see-sawed so fast she couldn’t decide how she felt. Maybe she would just cry later, whichever way it went. Happy. Sad. Tears came regardless, these days. Bethan said it was because of breastfeeding. With that thought in mind, she felt her breasts fill, and she would need to hurry away soon to feed Georgie.