IN THE GRIP OF A STRONG HAND.
Five years had come and gone since that sad October when Evan Evans rode
away from Brookside Farm buoyant with hope and expectation, yet from
that hour no word or sign of his existence, no token of his death, had
come to set feverish doubt at rest.
They had been five worrying and wearying years. For although William
brought home his larger earnings to the common store, and his brothers
did their best upon the farm, and there had been none but ordinary
losses, the abstracted money had never been replaced. Mr. Pryse had
prevented that with his extortionate raising of the rent. Then he had
taken to visiting the farm at intervals, making free comments with
sarcastic flings at Rhys, and cutting allusions to the still-missing
Evans, and to the missing lease, which he insisted the man must have
carried off, if it ever existed.
Ales had much to bear through it all. Every doubtful or stinging
allusion to Evan cut her like a knife. But deep in her heart, as in a
well of truth and faith, she cherished a belief that in God's good time
he would come back to comfort her, and confound his traducers. And so
year after year she kept her place in spite of the black looks of Rhys
and Cate.
Robert Jones would gladly have made another home for her. But Ales only
shook her head, and said with a heavy sigh: 'What would I do if Evan
came back? No, better remain for ever unmarried than for ever marred.'
And finding her constancy unshaken, the man brought an orphan niece into
his cottage to care for himself and his mother, a tacit confession that
his suit was hopeless.
Some such proverbial answer Mrs. Edwards gave to Rhys about this time
when he urged how much better it would be to have Cate always at hand as
his wife, than to be paying for her frequent services, when William was
away wall-building, as was often the case. 'Besides, mother, you cannot
be expecting to keep Jonet always at home,' said he. 'Thomas Williams is
beginning to talk to her, and it is clear he do be thinking of taking a
wife, and he five years younger than myself, look you.'
'It will take a long while thinking, if he do be thinking of Jonet for a
wife, and him not even got his workshop built,' replied the mother with
decision. 'Your patience will hardly hold out till Jonet makes way for
Cate. But, indeed, there do be no room here for a wife. And Cate must
know it.'
'We might make room, if you were willing,' he persisted. 'We need only
be clearing out the fleeces, pots, pans, and other lumber, and shut in
the place at the back with a bit of wall and a door, and there will be a
room as big as the dairy.'
'Indeed, and where would you be for putting what you call "lumber"?'
Rhys hesitated, pushed his fingers through his loose brown hair two or
three times, as if to rake up an idea. What he called lumber were
household goods and utensils in common request, fire-balls and turf
included.
'Oh, sure, I can be talking to Willem about that;' and he strode away,
with bent brows, leaving his mother to finish her whitewashing of the
cottage front, and to digest his suggestion at leisure.
The Thomas Williams to whom Rhys had referred was the second son of the
carpenter who had laughed in his sleeve at Mrs. Edwards' new notion of
housing and scrubbing her swine, but who had ceased to laugh at
improvements that had brought him in work all round. In fact, he had
enclosed his workshop and glazed his small windows, not to be behind his
precocious son.
That son, Thomas Williams, was fully five years older than William
Edwards, but the two had been drawn together from the fact that both
indulged in original ideas, and smarted under a want of appreciation at
home.
Thus it happened that when Rhys gave his mother a hint that Thomas
Williams was making up to Jonet, his own brother was engaged in rearing
a workshop for the young carpenter in close proximity to the premises of
Robert Jones in the Aber Valley. At home he had been told he was too
young to set up for himself, but he had served his seven years'
apprenticeship to his father, had saved a little money, and was not so
young as the self-taught mason, who was making _his_ first experiment
in house-building for him.
On his father's hearth he was scoffed at for trusting so much as the
raising of a workshop to the untried hands of a mere boy. So of his
plans or his ulterior intentions he said little there, desirous to
escape inevitable sneers and discouragement.
It was at Brookside Farm by the fireside after dark, the two young
fellows had laid their heads together, and matured their plans, long
before they were put into operation, and it was there the original idea
of a workshop and living-room behind developed into something more.
It was there, night after night, whilst Rhys was down the hill at the
weaver's, that Thomas Williams had unsuspected opportunities for seeing
Jonet's fitness for wifehood. True, he had noticed her bright black eyes
and hair, her clear complexion and pleasing smile, her neat attire and
dapper figure, times out of mind on Sundays, and had thought how lithe
and supple were her movements, how modest her demeanour. But it was on
her mother's hearth, whether knitting, or spinning from her distaff,
chatting all the while with one or other, and making much of her
brothers, or when helping Ales to prepare supper, that he saw how ready
she was to make herself useful and agreeable as well.
So it was that, out of the first design for a mere workshop, gradually a
plan for the construction of a whole house shaped itself.
William Edwards was short and sturdy; his round face had become square,
his forehead broad, his jaw inclined to be massive; his keen grey eyes
were deep set and thoughtful, his nose was large with broad nostrils,
his dark brown hair crisp as a crown--at seventeen a premature man of
thought and action, with strong, capable hands.
He was a thorough contrast to his friend, who was tall and slight, had a
fair clear skin, with a tinge of healthy colour in his cheeks, and a
crop of wavy auburn hair; in short, a handsome young fellow.
Handsome enough to attract Jonet, and more than Jonet; but not to lead
Mrs. Edwards to countenance too much intimacy until assured that neither
her son nor his friend had miscalculated his skill or its results.
Certainly William Edwards had not.
Passers-by, or people having business with the turf-cutter, lingered to
watch the young mason at his work, as the walls gradually rose above the
foundations, until firm, even, and compact as if laid by a master-hand,
with a couple of rooms in the rear and an undivided attic over all, the
whole stood fair to view. But even before Thomas Williams had laid the
last rafter, or the thatched roof was on, or the casements were glazed,
the owner might be seen at his bench plying plane or saw to make the
whole substantial and complete.
The situation had been well selected. Proximity to Robert Jones'
premises was as good as a modern advertisement to both young builders.
Then it was on the main road to church, and was certain to arrest
attention and inquiry.
Rhys stood before it the Sunday after completion, along with Cate and
her father, feeling something like pride in his self-taught brother for
the first time. He had taken a critical survey of all, back and front,
when he heard Robert Jones calling out to him from his own low doorway--
'Look you there now! What do you think of that? Didn't I be telling you
not to spoil a good builder to make a bad farmer?'
'Indeed you did, and I think you were right. But where he did be
learning it all does be puzzling me.'
'Ah, well, you wait and see. The little one will be the big one in the
end.'
The rest of the family had come up, Mrs. Edwards between William and
Davy, Jonet having dropped behind with handsome Thomas Williams.
Congratulations came thick and fast, even from strange voices.
Rhys grasped his brother by the hand, and pressed it warmly.
'I did never be thinking you could do this, Willem, whatever. I do be
pleased and proud to see it.'
''Deed, I did be knowing it long ago, and so did Robert Jones,' put in
Owen Griffith.
'I wish I had known it. But where did you be learning to build like
_this_?' asked Rhys, who held his dry walls of small account.
'Sure, and I did be studying at Caerphilly Castle, where you did be
thinking me idling. Grand masonry does be there!' replied William.
Mrs. Edwards' eyes were swimming with tears. She saw a future before her
son, and silently she thanked God.
'Will you like to be looking inside?' said the owner, who had unfastened
the door and held it open whilst Mrs. Edwards and Jonet walked in.
The floor of the front shop was already thickly carpeted with curly
shavings, and crowded with odd pieces of oak and pine shaped and trimmed
ready to put together, a rush basket of tools was set upon the workman's
bench under the window, pieces of timber were reared against the bare
walls, and there was already an air of business about the place.
'It is all rough and bare at present,' said Thomas Williams
apologetically. 'When the walls do be dry enough to whitewash, and
these'--pointing to the incongruous pile upon the floor--'are made into
stout seats and tables, and my tools do be set in order, as well as the
house, you must be coming to look again, and rest on your way from
church.'
'No one will be more welcome, whatever,' he added with emphasis, and a
covert glance at Jonet, who had her feet on a flight of narrow stone
steps leading up aloft. Presently she came down in surprise.
'Why, mother, look you; there is a big room overhead. What do that be
for?'
Thomas flushed.
''Deed, William said it was best make the house complete at first, and
show what we could do. Until it be wanted it will serve to keep my best
timber dry and safe.'
'But you do not be noticing how solid and substantial are the walls.'
This to Mrs. Edwards.
'Yes, yes, sure I do! And I pray God to prosper the work of both your
hands.'
'Amen!' came with fervour from both young fellows, and had a loud echo
from the peat-cutter in the rear.
There were not lacking turned-up noses or sneering comments on the
presumption of two untried beginners setting out so pretentiously; but
to them the substantial building with its two floors was as a modern
manufacturer's pattern-card, and brought commissions to one or both.
And it frequently happened that the two were engaged to work together,
certainly whenever Robert Jones had a chance to put in a word.
Long before Thomas Williams had his house set in order, or its wooden
fittings complete, the vicar paid him a visit of inspection, and with
him a gentleman he addressed as Mr. Morris. And a very close inspection
the latter made, sounding and measuring the walls and trying the cement.
'Good workmanship--extremely good workmanship,' said he; 'but I expected
no other from the boy. I shall recommend him.'
His opinion or his recommendation must have been worth something, for,
very shortly, William Edwards was called upon to erect another
two-floored house of even larger dimensions, nearer to Caerphilly and to
the farrier's shed where he had graduated in masonry.
Previously to that, as they walked home, arm in arm together, after that
Sunday view of the new workshop, Rhys had laid before him the latest
impediment their mother had thrown in the way of his marriage. It was
something new for him to take counsel with William.
'Ah, well, Rhys,' assented he, 'mother do be something unreasonable. She
do be worse than Laban, for you have been after Cate longer than Jacob's
whole service, and you have been a dutiful son to wait so long. I will
soon be making a room for you somewhere--sure I will.'
Leaving Rhys at the foot of the hill, he turned back to help his mother
up the steep ascent, she having walked to church.
Finding her in the best of good humours, he advocated his brother's
cause so successfully that, by the time they were at the top, he had her
consent to build an additional room at the chimney-end of the house,
agreeing that, if the room were ready, the marriage might take place at
Hollantide, or earlier, if all the crops were harvested and housed.
'Ready, and May still blossoming?' William laughed as he collected his
materials, and cleared sufficient ground, it seemed such a small affair.
But before he had his wall two feet high came the unexpected commission
for a two-storeyed house, also required in a given time, and put a stop
to his brotherly arrangement.
It was a proud moment for the young builder, though Rhys looked blank,
and all was not clear before himself.
'Never mind, Rhys,' said he; 'your place shall be ready in time. I wish
I was as sure of the money to carry on the other work. I mean to manage
it, but I do not like to be asking mother for my money back again.
Jones has offered to find the stone, and wait for payment, and Williams
the woodwork; but there will be labourers' wages, and other things. I
must think it out.'
He had not occasion to waste much time on 'thinks.' Mother and brothers
agreed that the bulk of his contributions to the general purse should be
regarded as a reserve fund for his use, nothing doubting it would be
mutually advantageous.
So his new undertaking was planned out, begun, and carried to a
successful issue, to the joint profit of himself and friends, and the
satisfaction of his employer. Not, however, without one or two hitches,
and a considerable expenditure of thought, for he was at once architect
and builder; and surely never one so young and self-taught before. But I
am telling fact and not fable.
In those days, if people worked long hours, it was not at express speed.
There was no 'scamping,' for durability was a desideratum.
It was therefore late in September before William could spare time to
add another stone to the wall at Brookside, and even then he had to lend
a hand in the harvest-field.
He had, however, passed his word to Rhys, and there was no fear that he
would break it. His promise meant performance, by hook or by crook.
Besides, it was no great matter, and very soon Thomas Williams had the
joists and other woodwork ready on the ground, and was fitting in the
framework of the doorway, for the young mason, mounted on a plank raised
upon sods, was adjusting the crowning stones of the new gable with an
aspect of self-content.
It was close upon the dinner-hour, and Cate, as impatient as Rhys, had
hurried to the front of the house along with Jonet to note progress, and
clapped her hands in glee to find the masonry so near completion.
At that juncture William cast his eyes downhill. A sharp 'Ugh!'
indicative of annoyance burst from him. 'Here do be coming that wicked
old Pryse,' he cried. 'What do he be wanting here?'
The uphill road wound round to the farmyard in the rear. A stile
admitted to the enclosure in front and a narrow gap farther away. Here,
at the stile, he alighted from his horse, throwing the reins over the
side-post.
'Ah, sure,' said he, with the straight-lipped smile which he made so
offensive, 'things must be prospering with you. It is well to have a
builder in the family when the house is too small. Some one must be
going to venture on a wife; or perhaps Mrs. Edwards has grown weary of
her widowhood?'
How evil was the look in those half-closed eyes of his, as William
answered from his platform--
'Rhys is going to be married, sir. Have you anything to say against
that?'
'Oh, dear, no. Rhys, indeed! Let me congratulate him on the auspicious
prospect, and on the prosperity it indicates. His lordship will be
delighted, I am sure, to hear of these additions to the farm and the
family.' And as he spoke he rubbed one skinny hand over the other
slowly--
'Washing his hands with invisible soap,
In imperceptible water'--
with apparent satisfaction born of anything but goodwill.
Rhys and Mrs. Edwards coming upon the scene, the same mock salutations
were offered, the sneer being so palpable that Jonet involuntarily edged
nearer to Thomas Williams, and Cate caught at the arm of Rhys as if for
protection.
For once he declined their proffered hospitality, contenting himself
with a horn of cider. A mountain farmer's vegetarian meal was little to
his liking, and he knew that meat was reserved for Sundays and rare
festivals. Then mounting his horse he went trotting over the farm,
reckoning up the value of crops stacked or standing, and of the sheep
and cows pastured on the mountain-side, as if the produce had been his
own, not the farmer's.
His presence cast a temporary gloom over the family. He was regarded as
a bird of ill-omen.
But the cloud speedily dispersed, and the building went merrily on. By
the beginning of October the rafters were on, and William had begun to
thatch it in, and was considering the desirability of re-thatching the
whole house, when their plans had a sudden check before Martinmas.
William, mounted on a ladder, was taking a bundle of fresh straw from
his young labourer, when a red-faced man, whom he seemed to remember
unpleasantly, came boldly over the stile, took a folded paper from his
greasy pocket, and demanded insolently to see 'Jane Edwards, the tenant
at will.'
He was the truculent official messenger of Mr. Pryse, and the paper he
thrust into the widow's trembling hand was a formal 'notice of
ejectment' from the farm!
The skinny hand of Mr. Pryse had closed upon the family with a vice-like
grip.