Nineteen
Howell’s laboured breathing was the only sound that penetrated the silence of the kitchen in the minutes after the doctor left. I stared at the broken dishes strewn across the tiles, processing all that we’d just been told, knowing everyone else’s thoughts were the same as my own.
When she could sit and think no more Betty sprang from her chair near the stove and began to slam Nellie’s books down on the counter. The thuds of the heavy tomes awoke the room from its daze and we watched as she began frantically flicking through the well-worn pages of maladies and cures in the vain hope of finding something that might prove the doctor’s prognosis incorrect.
When she could find nothing of use she slammed her fists into the pages and let out a scream that rose from the depths of her belly. Teddy attempted to comfort her but she batted his arm from her waist and stormed off into the pantry, her face red with anger, and slammed the door with a force that caused the windows to rattle.
When Nellie returned to the kitchen a few moments later she had recomposed herself and was ready to work. I caught her eye as she moved around the large wooden table in the centre of the room and though she remained stoic, she carried a fear for what the night may bring.
“Teddy,” she said, her voice somewhat shaky, “you’re to go to the schoolmaster’s cottage and inform him of what’s happened. He will need to issue a notice to all parents at first light.”
“But it’s after midnight,” he replied. “He’ll be asleep.”
“Then you must wake him. We have no time to delay.”
Teddy grabbed his cap from the hook on the wall and after a final glance at his brother on the table, he rushed through the door and into the night.
The breeze that rushed in through the opening added to my chill and I brought a shivering hand up to feel my forehead. Still burning. Nobody seemed to notice, or care, that I was sitting amongst company with no shirt on, and I wished I had a blanket I could wrap around me for more heat, but I knew neither Gwyn nor Nellie would allow me anything that might raise my temperature.
“Betty, prepare two beds in the boys' room,” Nellie commanded as she tied a fresh apron around her waist. “Teddy will need to sleep down here tonight so that they can rest. We don’t need him getting sick too.”
“What can I do?” Nan asked, wanting to be of use.
“Clean,” Nellie replied. “Get this floor swept and cleaned away. I need space.”
Sitting beside her son, Mrs Hopkin clutched his hand in hers and brought it to her face, then began to pray. Tears filled her eyes, running down her cheeks and over his fingers as she whispered words in Welsh asking God to save her son.
After giving her mother a moment, Nellie approached and crouched down beside her. “You can’t do that,” she said softly, trying to take Howell’s hand away from her mother’s grasp.
“HE’S MY SON!” Mrs Hopkin screamed, her face reddening, and she turned her shoulder to her daughter, blocking her from separating them.
Undeterred, Nellie moved closer and put her arms around her mother, leaning her head onto her shoulder. “We need to make him comfortable. You don’t want him lying on this table all night, do you?” she reasoned. This time Mrs Hopkin said nothing and Nellie looked up to her father. “Can you carry him to bed please?”
Mr Hopkin laid his half-empty glass of whiskey down onto the counter and then scooped him up and carried his motionless body out of the kitchen. Mrs Hopkin kept hold of his hand and followed them from the room, and Sophia chased after them a second later, not wanting to be away from her parents or brother.
“How are you feeling?” Nellie asked, turning her attention to me. She looked exhausted and I knew I couldn’t have looked much better.
“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I’ll be fine.” I tried to get up but Gwyn put a hand on my shoulder and held me firm in my seat.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m going to make tea,” I replied. “We could all do with it.”
“Not likely,” Nellie said, and she moved to the cupboard where her father stored his various bottles, extracting a large decanter filled with brandy. “Gwyn, some glasses, please.”
He released his grasp on me and began searching the cupboards for any cups that hadn’t been swept and shattered on the floor, eventually laying four out onto the counter into which Nellie poured some of the largest measures I’d ever seen.
“Now, for you, this is medicinal,” she said, handing me a drink, “but for me, it is just long overdue.” She raised her cup to nobody in particular and knocked it back in one. Her face screwed up and she let out a shiver from the alcohol, then placed her cup down on the table. “I should go and check on Howell.”
Gwyn held out a glass for Nan but she scrunched her nose up at it and shook her head, so he poured hers into his own, knocked it back and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth.
“Don’t like brandy?” he asked as he set his glass down on the counter beside the bottle.
“We snuck some out to the barn once,” she said, resting her chin on the top of the broom as she talked to us. “It was my idea, of course, but Nellie didn’t need much persuading. I don’t remember much of what happened after the first few sips except that I had the most awful case of vomiting. Nellie got so afraid that she’d be in trouble that she dragged me out into the field and left me there. My head hurt for days after that and now even the smell of it makes me queasy.”
Gwyn laughed as he poured himself another. I was nursing mine, taking small sips and trying to hold it down. It ran down my throat like lava but it warmed my chest and helped me to stop shivering so much.
“Do you need anything else?” Nan asked. She’d set the broom down in the corner of the room and moved towards me, though she seemed careful not to get too close. When I shook my head she pulled her apron off and tossed it into the basket near the door. “Then I’ll see if Betty needs any help.”