by Vicky Adin
Gwenna hated admitting she was close to defeat. The wholesale side had picked up considerably, thanks to Edward Turner’s auctions, even if the business wasn’t quite back to the level her father once enjoyed. On his half-day, with Charlie’s help, Tom packed the orders into boxes ready for the carter to deliver them if he couldn’t do the deliveries himself. Some evenings, too, one or more of them helped Gwenna parcel up the sweets she’d made, label and store them.
But she couldn’t decide whether the shop helped or hindered since the shop itself had not yet turned into the dream she’d held for so long. Some days she was rushed off her feet, others she hardly saw a soul. While she’d never say so, even paying Tillie was a stretch, but since Tillie had given up her piecework sewing job, Gwenna felt honour-bound to contribute to the household. More so, if Tom did her paperwork as well.
“Don’t expect miracles, Gwenna,” said Tom in his usual calm manner. “Give it time. The spring weather has been awful. I’m sure the sunshine will help bring people in, but ...” Tom paused and Gwenna felt her stomach flip. “... may I offer you some advice?”
Gwenna sat up straighter in her chair and nodded. What was wrong?
“I’ve noticed you are not advertising any more, or at least only on Saturday mornings, which is why I think trade is better. You need to spend money to make money, Gwenna. You need to advertise during the week. It’s cheaper then, so try placing an advertisement on Mondays and Thursdays and see if it helps. And...” he continued, “Charlie wants to say something.”
Until this moment, Gwenna had forgotten Charlie was in the room. He was patiently entertaining Georgie and Olwen, who gurgled and murmured in the background. At nine months old, Olwen was starting to crawl and needed constant watching.
“Yes, Charlie, what is it?”
Charlie had changed so much in the last twelve months there was little left to recognise of the old version. “I didn’t want to say anything, but Tom says I should.” Charlie hesitated as if unsure, which was not like him, which in turn made Gwenna more nervous.
“Go on,” she encouraged.
“None of the kids from school will come to the shop. They say it’s too grand and they aren’t allowed. They buy their lollies from the likes of Smeeton’s and the other grocers. But yours are better.”
Having always been wholesalers, Gwenna had never thought about children buying lollies from her before. She had targeted the tearooms to the ladies, but now Charlie made her think about it – children only came with a parent.
“You could be right, Charlie. Children don’t come to the shop by themselves. And you think that matters?”
Charlie sat Olwen on the floor between his legs so he could keep hold of her and gave her toys to play with. The serious expression on his face almost made Gwenna laugh, but she didn’t.
“Of course. Who likes lollies the best? Kids, of course. If they can buy your lollies, they’ll ask their mums and dads for the money. They’ll ask why and where from and then everyone will know about Gwenna’s,” said Charlie, having given his idea a lot of thought. “So the trick is to get the kids to the shop.”
“And how do you suggest I do that?” chuckled Gwenna, feeling more relaxed.
Charlie turned to Bethan to gauge her reaction. “Mam, can you look after Georgie and Olwen after school without me?”
“I’m always grateful for your help, Charlie, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” said Bethan.
“It’s not I don’t want to help, it’s I think I can help Gwenna better.”
Intrigued by his idea, everyone was all ears to how he thought his plan would work. “Set me up with a tray thing or a box on a table and I can stand in the street. I’ll sell them all in no time, I reckon, once the kids get to hear about it. I’ll tell them all at school when and where they can get the best lollies. Then there’s the workers walking home, and the mums and dads coming along to see what’s going on. And I reckon some of those broken and funny-shaped sweets and stuff that goes wrong sometimes could be sold off cheap in little bags once a week, right on closing time.”
Throughout his explanation, he’d continued to shake a rattle with Olwen and pick up things she’d thrown, paying little attention to what the adults were doing or saying, but he’d made his point.
Tom sat at the table, head propped on an elbow, with one ankle resting on his other knee, drawing on his pipe and smiling as if it had been his idea. Bethan made a moue of uncertainty. Tillie’s clap of her hands and enthusiastic face showed she thought it a superb idea, and Gwenna ... Gwenna didn’t know what to say, silenced by the simplicity of the boy’s idea.
“It’s an original idea, Charlie, but I’m not so convinced. What happens when the weather’s bad? And I can’t have you giving up your afternoons to work for me. You’re too young.”
Charlie shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t go anywhere else after school; I come home and help Mam. I’m not too young for that. Why am I too young to help make money?”
Damn. The boy had a point. Other boys his age were expected to work, and much harder than anything she’d ask of Charlie. Some of them didn’t always get to go to school because they had to work for their parents. Gwenna wasn’t having that, but maybe it was time to stop coddling him.
“And if it’s raining I can move under the verandah up the road, but it’s summer soon and holiday time coming up, so it shouldn’t matter,” finished Charlie.
The image of a small handcart painted up with her name on it flashed into her mind. She’d have to be careful not to upset any of the other shopkeepers.
“And, Gwenna?”
“Hmm, yes, Charlie,” Gwenna murmured, her thoughts having already drifted towards the possibilities.
“Can I get a cut of everything I sell?”
The adults all burst out laughing.
“Yes, Charlie, my little go-getter. You can.”
* * *
“Leave it to me,” declared Bethan, insisting she would do all the preparation for the Christmas celebrations. “You girls will be in too much of a tizzy to do it properly anyway.”
Gwenna breathed a sigh of relief. The closer it got to Christmas, the more frazzled she became. So much had happened in the last twelve months or so, her head spun. She’d gone from underdog, to bride, to widow, to mother, to businesswoman, in such a short time, and fluctuated between jubilation and despair so often, she doubted she had any control over her life.
As usual, when beset by doubts and worry, Gwenna made sweets. Unable to sleep, she headed for the kitchen. The routine soothed her mind as she bent to her task with a naturalness the others didn’t possess. While she heated the sugar, prepared the flavourings and calculated the quantities, her heart rate slowed, and a calmness came over her, allowing her to think without getting agitated.
The trauma of the months leading up to her Christmas Eve wedding a year ago filled her mind. Even though Johnno’s death had been Gwenna’s saddest and most difficult time, and the day Elias was arrested scared her more than she thought possible, in amongst it all were many things she could be grateful for. Her beautiful boy Georgie, a new home and fulfilling a dream she’d held for many years, along with the ever-changing dynamics within the family. Gwenna had nothing to complain about, and yet something was keeping her awake at night.
Charlie was her greatest surprise – next to Elias. Nearly every day, she could see changes in him as he grew more confident, more cheerful and more carefree, as if he’d forgotten all his previous misfortunes. For that, she could only thank Tom. How any man could be so willing, so caring and so agreeable was completely beyond Gwenna’s experience of men – even her father. Except Tom was all of those things.
He once said, “Happiness breeds happiness. I’m a happy man. Happy in my work, happy in my home. It’s easy to spread such happiness around.”
Tom was also the most loving of men towards Tillie and Olwen, and Charlie, whom he treated more like his own son than a younger brother-in-law.
&
nbsp; At least she didn’t have to worry about them. And Mam was in good spirits. Although, on occasions, Gwenna suspected they were false. As for the others, well ... some days, she didn’t know where to start.
Gwenna hadn’t seen Elias for many months, but Alice popped in from time to time. The girl was so transparent, Gwenna could tell by the way she walked how happy she felt, and she hadn’t been happy in some time. Many a time, she was sure Alice was on the tip of saying something but held her tongue. Gwenna suspected Elias and Alice were having troubles, and had been since the day of Elias’s arrest. His continued transformation still amazed her, but for now, Gwenna was happy to leave him at a distance. Her life was confused enough, thanks in part to her stepsisters.
Gwenna sensed a change in Janetta, who had called twice since, without Louisa, and who hinted of something afoot. This morning, she called in again.
“Gwenna, I have to say I was surprised, nay, shocked, to find Elias at the workshop you sent me to. Did you know Elias had made your sideboard?”
“Not until after, if I’m honest. When Alice Woodman found out I was looking for furniture for the shop, she told me her father had a unit in his display room I might like. It wasn’t until after Mr Woodman delivered it did he tell me Elias had made it.”
“So you knew when you sent me there.” Janetta bit her bottom lip and frowned, visibly bothered by the whole issue.
“Does it matter who made it? It’s a piece of furniture and it serves its purpose. It’s well made and often admired. I’m the one getting the credit; I can afford to send a little his way, can’t I?”
Janetta still hesitated. “But ... I’m not so sure. After what he was like. Why should I give him my business?” Janetta sounded unusually critical and disparaging.
“Janie, this isn’t like you. What’s changed?”
“It’s just ... Oh dear, I don’t know. Percy said it was up to me, he didn’t care one way or the other. If I wanted a new cabinet, I should get the one I liked best. But Louisa ...”
Gwenna sighed. “What’s Louisa said now?”
“Nothing. That’s what worries me. I’d ask her advice, but she’s stopped going out, and hardly talks to me. When I call, she is polite but withdrawn. Last time I visited, she looked awfully tired. I wondered if she was with child again, but then she said something very strange – she said, ‘the family are unworthy of my attention’. What does she mean?”
Gwenna didn’t like the sound of it, whatever it meant.
“I don’t know, Janie, but Mam says there’s something wrong too. Does her husband treat her right? Or is it money, or his father – or mother? Is she ill? Could be lots of things.”
“She’s certainly not said anything,” answered Janetta, “but then ...” Janetta didn’t finish what she was saying.
She left soon after. “Goodbye, Gwenna. I’ll see you again soon.”
She had watched her stepsister leave, aware Janetta had not spoken to any of the others, least of all their Mam. Irritably, Gwenna pounded the sugar into shape – as if she didn’t have enough on her plate without having to worry about everyone else in the family.
* * *
The next few days passed in a whirl. Shop trade picked up in the middle of December, in particular for her bags of lollies, but in her weary state Gwenna functioned lethargically, without her usual vivacity. She had even forgotten about Charlie’s idea about a hawker’s tray and barrow. Tillie and Bethan worked around her and, she suspected, did more than their share. Lack of sleep dragged her down.
Every time she lay her head on the pillow confused dreams from the past of the fun-loving Johnno, the embittered Elias, the sickly Charlie and the unhappy Bethan filled her head. Sometimes the stern, uncompromising expression Hugh wore when he’d caught Elias out flashed into view. What woke her, however – sweating and with her heart pounding – were the fleeting images of Black Jack. None of it made sense.
At least, they had a lot of stock on hand, thanks to her nightly efforts.
Two days later, one worry fell from Gwenna’s shoulders.
Alice literally bounced into the shop. The heels of her tiny feet encased in her soft leather pumps barely touched the ground as she walked and she seemed to find joy in everything around her. “You’ll never guess,” she said, doing a little twirl, both hands held against her chest. “Eli and I are engaged.” Another couple of bounces on the balls of her feet and a clap of her hands before she announced, “We’re getting married. I couldn’t tell you before, because ... well, because ... I wanted to, but ...”
“Congratulations, Alice,” Gwenna cut the girl short. “And you don’t need to explain. I’m just happy for you both; that’s if you’re sure it’s what you want.”
“Oh, it is. Well, it is now. The ordeal Eli had to go through after Johnno ...” Alice clapped her hand to her mouth and her eyes widened. “Sorry, Gwenna. I didn’t mean to bring Johnno up, but the whole affair unsettled Eli terribly. It took him a long time to get over it.”
Gwenna forced a smile to her lips. Elias wasn’t the only one unsettled. “It’s all right, Alice. Johnno’s been on my mind a lot lately. But I agree, Elias shouldn’t have had to go through it, and I hope he can put it behind him. It’s over now. It took months, but the coroner’s inquest finally ruled accidental death.”
What she didn’t admit to Alice was the date the coroner had written on the certificate. 18th April 1900: her birthday. Gwenna had been horrified when the official notice arrived. Why had they chosen that one, of all dates, when he’d been missing since the first week of April?
Alice, relieved by Gwenna’s reassurances, scanned her up and down. “Are you well, Gwenna?” she asked. “You’ve lost weight ... If I may be so bold as to mention it,” she added, embarrassed by her outspokenness.
“Well enough, thank you.” Tillie and Bethan had been on at her about the same thing. At that moment more customers came into the shop, giving Gwenna the chance to avoid further questioning. “And congratulations again. Now, you’ll have to excuse me.”
Gwenna felt sure she would feel better once the new year began. Although why she should be so distressed, she couldn’t explain. By the end of the week, Gwenna struggled to move her feet. Charlie had been called in to stay with the babies so Bethan could help Tillie, and Tillie forced Gwenna to retreat to the sitting room.
“Mam and I can finish up, you need to rest. Put your feet up awhile and see if you can grab forty winks.”
Too tired to argue, Gwenna lay on the sofa and closed her eyelids to ease her stinging eyes and pounding headache. Some time later she stirred, surprised to see the clock on the mantel said seven thirty. Cross that Tillie had let her sleep so long, Gwenna got to her feet with a vague sense of unease.
Unable to hear any noise, she made her way along the dim corridor. She didn’t like being alone after dark when all the memories of the house in Onehunga came back. Entering the shop, goose pimples rose on her arms. The place was deserted and locked up for the night. All appeared as it should have, except for the silence. About to check the kitchen for any sign of life, Gwenna saw a shape in the window behind the lace curtains. Hazy and uncertain in the gathering dusk, like something from her dreams, the shape moved.
Black Jack, her subconscious shrieked. She held her breath and blinked, twice. When she looked again, the shape had gone. She stood, frozen to the spot, afraid to move, worried her mind was playing tricks. The silence echoed around her and she fled to the kitchen. It, too, was deserted. Without pause, she hurried down the steps, leaving the back door swinging open behind her in her haste to reach Tillie’s house.
She turned her head, certain someone was chasing her in the gloaming and ran headlong into something solid. Her head spun round as a scream erupted from deep inside her, followed by another, and another.
Sitting bolt upright, thanks to the smelling salts Bethan waved under her nose, Gwenna found herself on the sofa in Tillie’s living room surrounded by worried faces: Tom, Charlie, Tillie, Bethan
– and Hugh.
“What’s going on?” she asked, sounding brittle even to her ears. She blinked rapidly and tried to assemble her thoughts.
“We’re hoping you can tell us,” said Tillie. “Mr Powell saw you running out the back door like you were being chased. You ran straight into him. Your screams brought us all running, but you’d fainted. Mr Powell carried you in. What on earth scared you so much?”
Gwenna shook her head, gazing at each face until she stopped at Hugh’s. Worry etched his features and he looked ghastly: hollow-eyed and worn down, and nothing like the Hugh she’d known. A whole string of questions formed, but they could wait.
“Gwenna. What happened?” urged Tillie when she didn’t reply.
“I don’t know. I saw something. At least, I thought I did. A shadow in the window. It was getting dark and the house was empty ...”
She shuddered at the memory and burst into tears. She couldn’t begin to explain her certainty that she’d seen Black Jack. No one would believe her. Bethan sat beside her, put an arm around her stepdaughter and let the girl sob into her shoulder.
“There, there, Gwenna, bach. All will be well.” She handed the girl a handkerchief. “You’ve worked yourself to a standstill, you have, my dear. You’re exhausted.”
Tillie brought her a cup of tea, Charlie sat on the floor beside her and rested his head on her lap, and Hugh stood uncomfortably holding his hat until Gwenna’s tears subsided.
“Mr Powell,” said Tom, “won’t you take a seat? You are welcome in my home.”
“Yes. Please,” echoed Tillie. “Do sit down and have a cup of tea. You look all in.”
But Hugh declined. “I’m sorry to have given you a fright, Miss, Mrs ...” He hesitated, unsure how to address Gwenna. “It wasn’t me at the window, just so you know. I was in your garden, but it wasn’t my intention to scare you.”
“What were you doing in the garden?” asked Tom, surprise putting an edge to his voice.
Hugh shifted uneasily from foot to foot. “I’ve just got back ... sir.”