The Truth Against the World (14 page)

14

Goreu gwaith yw gobeithio.

The best work is hope.

Welsh proverb

Born to Wyn, July 11th, 8:48 a.m.

I slept great our first night here, but not anymore. Groggy in the daytime. Can't fall asleep at night. Waking up at random times, wide awake, only to discover it's the wee hours of the morning.

No dreams.

I'm actually writing this at 3 a.m., by the way. Can't post it until morning. Only the main farmhouse has wi-fi.

This place really IS no-place, lost in time.

I felt less lost the next morning, after going to the farmhouse to check email and publish my blog post. I let myself back into the cottage, closed the door against the wind and rain, and flopped down on the sofa, letting out a huge yawn. I slid sideways until I was in a lying-down position and closed my eyes.

“Don't go falling back asleep now,” Mom said from the kitchenette. “If you keep to a regular sleep schedule, you'll get used to the time change more quickly.”

“I'm fine,” I said, stifling another yawn. “I got up on time this morning, didn't I?”

“Yes, but we want you alert.” Mom leaned around the doorframe and smiled at me, then went back to clattering dishes around.

I pulled myself upright and got up to get some tea. Caffeine would help. In the kitchen, I filled a mug with water and put it in the microwave.

“Your dad and I are taking a quick trip to the Tesco in Carmarthen to pick up groceries. Will you be okay here by yourself for an hour or two?”

I nodded. “I'll spend some time with Gee Gee.”

The rain was sheeting against the kitchen window, a summer storm flinging huge splattering drops everywhere and sneaking cold drafts into the cottage. It had started yesterday afternoon, but today there were brilliant blue gaps in the clouds far off over the hills, above the ocean. I was glad to see some sky. In two days we'd be picking up Gareth, and it would be time to really start the detective work … and I did not relish the thought of hiking the hills in the rain.

Settling back onto the sofa with my mug of tea, I tried to picture Gareth here. I tried to imagine what it would be like to actually talk, in person, to someone who understood how I felt, who would believe the strange things that had been happening to me.

Gareth might be the only one who could help me figure this out. Especially if something happened to Gee Gee. I didn't want to think about that eventuality, but it was an eventuality whether I tried to ignore it or not.

The last few days, I hadn't even been able to pretend
anymore. The cold and wet weather, or maybe just the illness, had seemed to weigh on her. She spent all day in bed or on the couch, sleeping or watching news and Welsh soap operas on the small 13-inch television. Her frame seemed smaller than ever, cushioned by a nest of pillows, and her skin was slack and papery. When Lisa Morgan came in the afternoons to bathe her, she lifted Gee Gee with what seemed like no effort at all. But Gee Gee's eyes were still clear and alert, and she didn't seem to be in pain. And she seemed glad to be here, in Cwm Tawel. Sometimes I'd catch her gazing out onto the hills, a slight smile on her face.

Today, as the rain pounded away, she was still in her bedroom. When I went in to check on her, the hospital bed was levered so that her torso was mostly upright. Her eyes were sharp and there was a book in her lap, but she was staring off into the distance, at nothing. This was happening more and more now, like she was just … somewhere else.

“Gee Gee, do you want tea?” I hovered in the doorway.

“Oh! Hello, dearest. No, I'll just take some hot water, thank you.” Her voice was low and a little hoarse-sounding.

“Are you cold? I can't believe it's raining so much in July.” I squirted some lotion from the large bottle on a tray next to the bed and rubbed it into Gee Gee's dry, cracked hands, massaging them gently.

“That's lovely,
blodyn
. Just having my family nearby warms my heart.” She smiled, though it seemed to take some effort. I pulled an extra blanket out of the closet and lay it over her legs, then climbed onto the bed myself, snuggling up beside her. She didn't smell like lily-scented powder anymore; just soap and lotion and something indefinably hospital-like.

“I hope you're getting out a bit, seeing the village,” she said.

“Yeah. I saw Hugh yesterday. He said to say
cofion cynnes.
” Warm regards.

“Your accent is improving quite nicely. You'll be speaking Welsh in no time, I'm thinking.” She looked pleased, but a little sad.

I bit my lip. “Do you miss it?” I asked, quietly. “Speaking Welsh every day? Having a life here?”

“Well, dear, we can't always predict what life is going to give us, can we. Moving away was what John and I had to do at the time. It was good for William, too, and then for your father. They grew up with so many opportunities we didn't have for … for our families here.” She yawned.

“It's so beautiful here, though. I've never seen hills this green.” It was true. “And the history. I can't wait to explore some of the ancient sites. Like cromlechs.” I looked at her carefully, trying to gauge her response. Hoping for something. But her eyes were faraway now.

“Yes, it's lovely … it is that.” She paused and drew a shuddering breath. “Dearest, you must understand—there were things I had to leave behind. Difficult times during the war and after. I was just so afraid that something would happen to little William, or to one of us. It was simply … safer in America. Peaceful, I thought.”

I sighed with frustration, tired of being cautious. “But
why
was being here so terrible? I'm sorry, but I just look at all of this”—I gestured around me, outside the window—“and I can't understand why anybody would leave.”

She smiled a distant smile.

I didn't want to upset her, but at the same time, I didn't know if I'd have many more chances to ask her this. I had to figure out what in the world I was supposed to do, besides finding the cromlech and the gravesite. Something was still hidden; something important. I just didn't know exactly what, where, or how.

“
Why
did you leave, Gee Gee?” I tried one last time.

“Listen now,” she said, a bit of challenge in her voice. “We were all on edge after the war. Things were mostly all right out here in the countryside, but those poor folk in Swansea, their houses and lives destroyed … We could see the planes flying overhead, you know. And we had a few close calls ourselves. Those were frightening times. Many didn't survive. Life was just too hard for some of the little ones. Especially the ones that came in from the cities, leaving behind everything they knew. You can ask Petey about that.”

I would, if I could ever make it to the museum when it was actually open. Maybe Petey could show me some more old photos.

I stiffened. Maybe he knew who Olwen was.

Gee Gee's voice had been growing quieter and weaker throughout her brief speech, and now her eyes closed. I stroked her hair, gently, smoothing down the white wisps as if she were a child. At my touch, she stirred slightly.

“Oh, Olwen
fach
, my Olwen, always so curious,” she breathed. “Such a clever girl.
Fy merch am byth
… ”

My eyes brimmed with tears.

“I'll miss you too, Gee Gee,” I whispered. I kissed her on the cheek and silently left the room.

That night I dreamed about my great-grandmother.

Gee Gee was standing in front of me in a white dress, the one from my old nightmare. But instead of being overtaken by darkness, she floated in the space in front of me. We were outside. Her figure was translucent; through her and behind her, I could see the hills of Cwm Tawel rising gentle and green. We faced each other for what seemed like several minutes, neither of us saying anything, Gee Gee's face smiling and sad.

“I love you, Olwen
fach
,” she said.

“I love you, too, Gee Gee,” I answered, my voice breaking. She began to recede, moving imperceptibly farther and farther away.

“Wait!” I reached out. Gee Gee reached out, too, and in her hand was something silver, sparkling on a chain. I stretched and tried to grab her hand, but everything was fading now, and gradually it all became darkness and I slid into deep sleep.

My footsteps echoed along the quiet streets of Cwm Tawel. I'd finished the chores my parents insisted on and gone walking into the village. I hadn't had a set plan, but now I found my subconscious had led me back to the street where Gee Gee's house had once stood. The narrow lane, called Lôn Brynmelyn, was lined on both sides with gray-and-white two-story apartment blocks—nice in their way, with wood trim and colorful hanging flowerpots. No little house called Awel-y-Môr.

I stood back a bit, in the street, gazing at the flats. In a way, I was glad Gee Gee couldn't be here to see this.

Or maybe she'd be glad?

I heard a car rumbling along, growing louder, and then a distant toot-toot of someone tapping on the horn. I stepped back onto the sidewalk, but the car slowed anyway and then rolled to a stop with a faint smell of exhaust. It was a black taxicab, and inside it was Hugh, waving out of the open window.

“Hey, there,
bore da
!” He grinned. “Fine day today, isn't it?
Mae hi'n braf heddiw
.”

“
Ydy, mae hi'n braf heddiw
.” I managed a smile. “What are you doing, out in the taxicab?”

“Oh, just back from taking old Mrs. Williams down to the bus, out to visit her sister in Tregaron for the weekend.” He looked closely at me. “Listen, now, got anything on your social calendar for lunch today?”

“Not really,” I said. Social calendar indeed. “We're going to pick up Gareth in Carmarthen this afternoon. Maybe visit a castle beforehand.”

“Carmarthen, eh? Well, if you have time, maybe you'd like to join me and Annie at HMS Tasty's—that's the fish and chips shop on the main road. Well, you'd be welcome. We're meeting there in about half an hour.”

“Maybe. Thanks,” I said.

“Keep it in mind. Sure you need a meal out of the house now and then.” His smile was kind. “And we can practice some Welsh conversation if you like.”

“That sounds great,” I admitted. “Maybe I'll see you.”

I waved as he started the car again and drove away toward the main street. I began to head back in the same direction on foot, feeling happier as I walked. I would get to speak Welsh. I would get fish and chips. I would be meeting not one but
two
friends today. Three, including Annie.

I would finally see Gareth in person.

I stifled a laugh. Mom's rental car was a blue Ford Fiesta, small and rotund, and of course everything was on the wrong side: the steering wheel, the dashboard, the pedals. When we got going, I couldn't help grabbing the door handle every time she swerved to the side of the narrow lane to allow opposing traffic to pass. Fortunately, it wasn't far to Cwm Road. From there, Mom made a right turn and headed north out of the village. Almost immediately, the now-familiar lanes of houses were replaced by rolling green hills dotted with sheep, cattle, and the occasional farmhouse. The weather was misty and damp; the sun high, remote, and cold.

I stared out the window, thinking about what Hugh and Annie had told me at lunch. I'd finally found out what it meant when Gee Gee said “
fy merch am byth
”—it meant either “my girl forever” or “my daughter forever.”

My girl forever—she could have been talking about me. She had been talking
to
me. But a daughter?

The face of the little girl, the other Olwen, surfaced in my mind's eye. But nobody had ever mentioned a daughter in connection with Gee Gee. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. These were the kinds of secret things that broke up families, and my family—it was happy, whole. None of it made sense.

The Ford entered a lush valley patchworked in shades of green—deep and emerald and spring green—and my breath caught. I'd never seen anything so beautiful, never seen any place that called to me like this. Occasional forested patches sprang from the turf, shrubby hedgerows meandered across one another, and the ubiquitous sheep were little white dots on the verdant slopes of the hills. This was the Tywi valley, and ahead were the peaceful river Tywi and the small town of Llandeilo along its banks. Only a few miles away was Carreg Cennen Castle, which I'd been dying to visit.

We paid for our admission at a little booth and hiked up the steep, rocky hill, the cool air seeming warmer as we panted along.

“Thanks, Mom, for squeezing this in.” I realized it was our first real sightseeing trip, which made sad for a moment.

“It was on the way,” she said vaguely, seeming lost in her own thoughts.

I didn't blame her. I couldn't think about anything except being in this gorgeous place. The early afternoon sun was breaking up the mist. The views were breathtaking from the ancient, carved stone windows with their arched lintels; the castle stood high on a limestone crag, and the whole Tywi valley stretched below us on all sides.

I walked down a stairway that led to a windowed stone passage. Mom stayed behind on the steps, looking out at the landscape. I stepped carefully inside and wandered along the vaulted hallway, mesmerized by the way it seemed to grow smaller and narrower as it sloped downward. It smelled of stone, and damp, and indefinable age. I leaned against the wall momentarily and shut my eyes, picturing myself living here hundreds of years ago.

Then, in my mind's eye, I saw different stone walls, a smaller space, and dimly, in a corner, her. Olwen.

My eyes flew open. For a moment, the afterimage of her spectral form hovered in my vision, then faded so that I was no longer sure I hadn't imagined it. I backed away from the dark hallway and then turned and fled up the stairs, my heart racing.