“How old are you now, Gwyneth?” Percy asked.
“Sixteen,” she replied.
“Sixteen—goodness, are you sure you didn’t grow more years than me while I was gone?”
Gwyneth giggled, suddenly a girl again. “I was thirteen when you were here before. Some people thought I was young because I was so tiny. My father is a small man, and I am small, too.”
“You are not so tiny now.”
“Lady Florilyn is many inches taller than me.”
“But her father and mother are both tall.”
“How old are you, Percy? I forgot how old you were before. I have tried to remember because I know you told me.”
“I was sixteen. I am nineteen now.”
“You are a man, Percy,” said Gwyneth softly. There was a world of meaning in the gentle expressiveness of her voice.
“Not quite, my dear Gwyneth! I am only on my way to becoming one, with a long way yet to go. I had the misfortune to have gotten a late start. How is Stevie?”
“You should ask him yourself.”
“I intend to—very soon.”
“His poor father is not well. Grannie says the Lord will take him before the summer is out. I hope she is right. It will be a relief to Auntie for her to know that he is healthy again.”
“Perhaps you and I might ride up there for a visit tomorrow.”
Gwyneth nodded. “Perhaps Lady Florilyn will want to ride with you somewhere else,” she said.
“You might be right,” said Percy. “We shall see. But I will definitely come to the village tomorrow. There are so many people I want to visit.”
“Grannie is anxious to see you, too.”
FIFTY-FIVE
Cottage in the Hills
In spite of his long train ride followed by the southbound coach of the day before, and the fact that he lay reading in his bed by candlelight until past eleven, Percy awoke early and was downstairs to the breakfast room not long after seven. He knew Florilyn would not make an appearance for hours. Still, he was guiltily relieved to find the room empty.
To all appearance, Mrs. Drynwydd had only just brought out the covered silver pots from the kitchen, for they were steaming and fragrant. He ate in haste and was just finishing a second cup of tea with a last piece of toast when his aunt came in.
“Good morning, Percy,” she said cheerily.
“Good morning, Aunt Katherine.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Very.”
“How did Robert get on with his kite?”
A confused look met her question. “Robert Falconer.”
“Oh, right … of course!” Percy laughed. “Right—the kite. I moved a good way past that before falling asleep.” He rose and began making his way toward the door.
“Where are you off to?” asked Katherine.
“I’ve been so anxious to ride in Wales again, I thought I would get an early start.”
“Florilyn will be sorry to miss you.”
“She and I will have many chances, I’m sure,” laughed Percy.
As he left the house for the stables, he felt pangs of the same guilt that had come over him the previous evening—that he was being less than honest. Yet somehow he felt a gnawing uncertainty about what Florilyn would say to his being off so soon without her.
That Florilyn was changed, there could be no doubt. But the incident the day of the race three years before remained lodged in his memory. She had a temper; there was no denying that. He wanted to do nothing to rouse it again. But neither was he going to avoid visiting Gwyneth and Grannie and Stevie Muir and his other village friends for fear of her reaction.
Percy arrived at the Barrie cottage a little after eight. Codnor was already off for the mine. Gwyneth had not accompanied him. Percy saw her at the back of the cottage feeding her animals.
“Hey, Gwyneth!” Percy called out from atop Grey Tide while he was still a good way off.
She turned, waved, and waited for his approach.
“I thought I would ride in to see Grannie then out to Stevie’s,” he said as he cantered up. “Why don’t you join me?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Of course! How could you even ask? Come on!” he said, reaching down and extending his hand. “Jump up behind me.”
Though Gwyneth was at least four inches taller and fifteen pounds heavier than before, Percy was stronger in equal proportion. He took hold of her hand and whisked her up behind him as easily as before. Again sounded the girlish giggle Percy loved. She came to light behind him and stretched her arms around him.
Ten minutes later they were walking into the darkened kitchen of Grannie’s cottage in Llanfryniog. A joyous reunion followed with hugs and exclamations of delight. Within moments the tea was on while Grannie continued to make over the giant of a man Percy had become in her eyes. In truth he did not quite yet measure a full six feet and was as slender as the trunk of a birch tree, though solid and strong.
“The last time I saw you here,” said Percy to Gwyneth as they walked into the inner room of the cottage, “we were all praying for you. We didn’t know if you would live.”
“God was taking care of me,” rejoined Gwyneth simply. “I was not afraid. And have you noticed, Percy—I do not stutter now.”
“That’s right! I hadn’t stopped to think about it.”
“I haven’t stuttered since the accident on the sand. So you see, Lady Florilyn and Red Rhud did me a favor.”
“I’ve often heard my father say that all things work for good. It must be true.”
“My, oh my,” said Grannie, turning toward Percy again, “you are tall for a Scot laddie! What your mama must be feeding you!”
Percy laughed again. “My dad still has an inch or two on me,” he said. “And I’ve been away from home for a year, Grannie—at university in the north. But my landlady feeds me as well as my mother.”
In Percy’s eyes, Grannie, too, was much changed. A little shorter, he thought, stooped and more bowed in the back. Her eyes still sparkled with the vibrancy of what life remained. But it was clear that it would not be many years before Life itself would call her to the home of its origin. Now that Grannie was eighty-four, Percy could not but wonder how much longer she would be able to take care of herself, even with Gwyneth’s help. And with Gwyneth now at the manor, the old woman was more on her own than ever.
Percy found himself thinking of his own grandparents. They were still spry, though they were probably a dozen years younger. But they were aging rapidly as well.
After tea and an hour’s happy reminiscing, the bonds between the three were securely retightened as if no more than a day had passed, as is always the case when true friends meet again after an absence.
By ten o’clock, with the sun warming the earth beneath them, wooing from it the myriad fragrances the month of June is so uniquely capable of producing, Percy and Gwyneth were riding up into the hills on Grey Tide’s back.
To sit so close to Percy, her arms around his great strong waist, knowing that he had not changed in three years except for the better, sent Gwyneth’s spirits soaring. But her thoughts were for her alone. Like Mary of old, she kept them hidden where they would be safe and treasured them quietly in the depths of her heart.
Percy was in no hurry. For three years he had dreamed of being in Wales again. He did not rush Grey Tide along. Neither spoke much as they went. As much as their relationship was the same, both sensed, though differently, that much was new between them. They would never go back to how they were before.
There is a great difference between the motions within the heart of a thirteen-year-old girl and one who has reached sixteen and has arrived at the threshold of womanhood. Though she would always be childlike, Gwyneth would never be a child again.
They encountered Stevie and his flock of sheep well before reaching the house. Percy leaped from the saddle, leaving Gwyneth perched precariously on the back of Grey Tide’s rump. The two young men ran forward and gree
ted one another like old friends, with sheep scattering and bleating in every direction around them.
“You’ve grown, Percy!” exclaimed Stevie. “Suddenly you’re half a head taller than me!”
“But not half so strong!” rejoined Percy. “Look at you—you’ve added inches to your arms and shoulders. Goodness man, you look like the blacksmith!”
Stevie laughed. “I’m not quite so burly as that. Kyvwlch Gwarthegydd is the strongest man in two counties. His young Chandos shows signs of being the same one day.”
“Your sheep look fine, Stevie,” said Percy. “How’s your mum?”
“Middlin’,” replied Stevie. “Papa’s doing poorly. It’s nearly taken the life out of the poor woman.”
“We are on our way to see her.”
“She will be happy to see you. But I must get these lads and lassies up to their pasture, so I’ll not be joining you.”
“I shall see you again, then,” said Percy, returning to Gwyneth where she sat waiting patiently on Grey Tide.
They reached the Muir cottage ten or fifteen minutes later. One look at Adela Muir told the story. She was worn and haggard. It appeared she had hardly slept in weeks.
“My poor Glythvyr’s in a bad way, Mr. Drummond,” she replied to Percy’s inquiry about her husband. “He won’t know you. He won’t even know you’re here. He doesn’t know me or Stevie now either. That’s the heartbreak of it. We’re strangers to him, you see.”
Percy nodded. “I would still like to see him, Mrs. Muir.”
She led them inside.
Percy could smell the change even before his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the sick chamber. It was the stale stench of life slipping away.
He approached the makeshift bed. The thin form on it lay motionless and pale. The face staring up off the pillow was gaunt, almost as if its skin had been stretched over a skeleton’s skull. That life remained was clear from the faint mumbling of the lips and the fumbling of fingers with the edge of the blanket. Percy could make out nothing of what he was saying. He glanced at the man’s wife.
She shook her head. “It’s just nonsense, you see,” she said. “No one can make out a word of it.”
Percy stooped down and gently laid a hand on the bony white arm. “Hello, Mr. Muir,” he said. “It’s Percy Drummond again. I’m here from the manor. I’m Lord Snowdon’s nephew.”
He thought he detected a faint increase of the man’s muttering and a flicker of the eyes. But there was no other response.
After a moment, he pulled away, stood, and smiled sadly. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Muir,” he said. “I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for you.”
Gwyneth’s aunt nodded. “I won’t deny it,” she said. “But it’s the way of womanhood, isn’t it, you see? I am just praying the Lord will take him soon, for his sake not mine, though Stevie will sorely miss him. He loves his daddy, you see.”
They returned to the kitchen. After another hour, with tea and a few simple oatcakes, they said their good-byes.
They returned to Grey Tide, who had been waiting patiently and refreshing herself with grass and water and a few oats. Percy and Gwyneth began the ride back in silence.
Glythvyr Muir’s condition sobered Percy. He thought of his father and realized anew the important role he played in so many lives. His only regret was that he had not begun to see his father for who he truly was while he had been at home. It was now too late to be part of it with his mother and father. The memory of his youthful blindness stung him anew with regret.
Absorbed in his thoughts, suddenly at a distance of three or four hundred yards, Percy saw six or eight horses of varying color gallop into sight, crest a small ridge, then disappear over the other side. “What was that?” he exclaimed. “Did you see it, Gwyneth?” he cried, turning around where he sat. “It was a band of horses. There was nobody with them!”
“It’s the wild horses of Snowdonia,” said Gwyneth calmly.
“Wild horses! There are wild horses here?”
“Oh yes, many more than that.”
“Who do they belong to?”
“Nobody. They belong to themselves.”
“Where do they live?”
“In the hills.”
“Do you know where?”
“Yes.”
“You know exactly where?”
“Of course. I know all the animals.”
“Are the wild horses your friends, too?”
Gwyneth hesitated. “Not really my friends,” she said after a moment. “They know me. But they are a little wary of me. They don’t let me get close like the other animals do. Do you want to see where they live, Percy?”
“Yes!” exclaimed Percy.
“Then ride that way,” said Gwyneth, pointing to her right and away from the direction they had been going.”
“That’s not where I saw them running.”
“I thought you wanted to see where they lived.”
Percy nodded and led Grey Tide to the right. He should know better by now, he smiled to himself, than to doubt Gwyneth!
She directed him back toward the hills, bearing north from the Muir cottage. Gradually they moved eastward in the direction of Rhinog Fawr where it loomed ahead of them. Not once again did Percy see any sign of the horses. He had begun to doubt whether he would see them again. But his trust in Gwyneth was so great that he said nothing.
They kept on. Gradually the strange sensation came over Percy that he recognized some of the terrain and landmarks about them. They continued to climb steadily into yet higher hills.
All at once as they came around the shoulder of a hill, before him rose a great cliff face of granite. He knew beyond any doubt that he had been here before. Gwyneth was leading him near the blue lake where he had seen her singing to the animals.
Almost the same moment, as if she had been reading his mind, Gwyneth’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “We are close to the place now, Percy,” she said. “But we must go very quietly. Horses frighten easily, you know. This is a very quiet place. It is one of my special places. I think I should lead the way now.”
Percy stopped Grey Tide and climbed to the ground. Gwyneth scooted forward into the saddle. Percy placed his foot in the stirrup and, with a little more difficulty than getting Gwyneth behind him, managed to climb up behind her. Now it was his turn to stretch his hands around her waist. She was small enough that he could reach all the way around and take hold of the front of the saddle. Sitting tall, he could see straight over the top of her blond head.
Feeling his chest against her back and his arms around her midsection gave Gwyneth a feeling of happy power as she took the reins. She urged Grey Tide forward. Within minutes they were descending steeply. Percy still caught no glimpse of the lake.
Gwyneth led down through a rocky narrow wooded ravine. The cliff of granite loomed higher and higher above them as they descended into what was obviously a deep valley, though the trees and boulders surrounded them so closely on all sides that they could not see the bottom of it.
Finally Gwyneth stopped. “We must go no closer,” she whispered. “They will hear Grey Tide’s hooves and will know she is not one of them. We will walk the rest of the way.”
Carefully they dismounted. Percy tied the reins to a tree. Gwyneth crept forward, making not a sound. Percy followed. After eight or ten minutes, the trees began to thin in front of them. Finally Gwyneth stopped. Percy drew alongside.
In the distance, some fifty yards away in a clearing beyond the trees, spread over with a carpet of lush green grass, ten or fifteen horses grazed peacefully. A few deer were also about. Rabbits occasionally scurried by. In the distance, Percy could just make out a glistening surface of translucent blue.
Neither said a word. They watched in silence for ten minutes.
Percy knew that alone, and crooning the otherworldly melody he had heard before, Gwyneth would have been able to make a closer approach. But he would never see these magnificent beasts closer than he was beholdi
ng them now.
It was a holy moment of oneness with creation that comes for most but once or twice in a lifetime. Yet Gwyneth Barrie seemed to live within that oneness all the days of her life.
FIFTY-SIX
Invitation and Ride
Percy did not arrive back at the manor until midafternoon.
By the time lunch was concluded and still with no sign of him, Florilyn had retired to her room, a little perturbed, it is true, for she suspected that Percy had gone to the village. Every hour that went by demonstrated more clearly than ever that he was more eager to visit his peasant friends after three years than spend time with her. She had tried to read but was agitated. With the afternoon sun streaming through the west-facing window of her room, she had finally dozed.
When she went downstairs and outside again some time later, she found Percy atop her father’s new stables, bare-chested and perspiring freely, holding one end of a massive roof timber in place while two laborers secured it at the ends.
She approached and looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. “Percy, what are you doing up there?” she called out.
“What does it look like?” Percy yelled down. “We’re putting the roof on.”
“But why you? You’re not a laborer. You don’t get paid.”
“I’m not doing it to get paid but to help your father. Besides, this is great fun! I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years.”
“But … your hands—what if you get hurt or something?”
“A few blisters and a scrape or two—who wants lily-white hands that don’t know how to work? Not me!”
“Where were you all morning?”
“I went for a ride.”
“Where?”
“Up to see Stevie Muir,” said Percy. In the time since he had left that morning, he had decided to be completely straightforward. “Gwyneth told me that his father is seriously ill. I wanted to visit them without delay … just in case, you know.”
“When did you see Gwyneth?”
“Last night as she was leaving. I was amazed to find her working here! That was so kind of you to arrange for her to have a job, Florilyn. I am proud of you! She and I rode up to see the Muirs this morning.”
From Across the Ancient Waters Page 28
