Draper's Boy
It had been two months. Short enough for the sting of his Father's suicide to still be raw, but long enough for his world to have been turned on its head. Silently John slid on his thin thread bare jacket - the family's fine clothes having been sold to provide extra money for food. Shabby and worn items were then bought - a great exchange from what he was used to. Though, to think on it, everything was different now…
He creaked down the stairs, trying not to wake Fanny who would still be asleep on the trundle in his Mother's room. The house his Mother had rented was on the poor side of a small country town. The rural slums - where babies wailed all day long from lack of food, people begged in the streets, and you might hesitate walking alone at night for there were no semi lit areas as in Milton.
The house was cold every day and all night and the skeletal blankets didn't do anything to alleviate the chill. The floors made ungodly moans - causing John to fear that his sister or Mother would fall through them while he was gone. He could hear the neighbors across the way through the walls, whenever they fought or the children screamed. The one neighbor disgusted young John, for he was a drunkard - throwing away what meager money he earned on spirits and bellowing at the top of his lungs at his family because of the way they lived. That man had a choice - John had none.
He hadn't cared when his Mother had packed up and moved to the country just outside of Milton - John had been too numb from his Father's death to really pay much heed. Aside from Fanny, who was only four and too little to understand what was going on, the family only went through the motions of living in those first bitter weeks. Now though, John could see the true predicament they were in. And him, being the head of the house, had to provide for his family and save to pay off a debt that never would end.
John reached the landing and walked quietly into the cramped kitchen where his Mother was. Hannah Thornton heard her boy come in and, looking up, gave him a forced smile. Quickly she ladled some porridge into a bowl for him. It had been watered down even more from last night's and the oats swam in a clear liquid.
Mutely, fourteen year old John looked at his Mother and shook his head then said - mustering his voice after seeing the unappetizing meal, "Save it for Fanny."
"Come John, you must eat," Hannah pleaded, holding out the bowl for him to take.
The black haired lad put a hand in front of him, fingers spread wide, and gently pushed the outstretched vessel away. "No Mother, give it to Fanny. I'll be alright."
Hannah clattered the porridge down on the table, "Well, at least drink some tea. It's cold out and it'll warm you."
John grimaced at the thoughts of the tea, but took it nonetheless to appease his worried Mother. He downed it in two gulps, trying to ignore the fact that it was just heated water with a brown tint. "I'll be home later," John said, giving Mrs. Thornton a quick kiss on the cheek. He left the house and walked down the street, he had to go to work at the Drapers. For John Thornton - fatherless, penniless - was a shop-boy…
The four and ten year old meekly entered the Drapers shop where Mr. Wright, the owner, hollered at him to get busy. John sighed and set about his work. Making certain that items were in order and put back in their proper places. Mr. Wright sold quite a variety of items, from bolts of cloth, buttons, thread to pre-made articles such as gloves and undergarments. The only unfortunate thing about John's employment was that Mr. Wright didn't seem to care for him much.
On John's first day working, his employer had told him that three boys had worked for him in the past fortnight: one quit, the other was fired and the last stole money and ran off. In other words, Mr. Wright was not concerned for how long John lasted as he could easily find another to take his place. The lad tried to quell the man's fears and distrust to no avail. John felt like a scapegoat, he was forever being yelled at when something went awry. He bore it with equanimity, silently and without fuss.
"Boy!" Mr. Wright called while John was re-pricing several items.
Young Thornton hurried over, "Yes Sir?"
"You," the shop-keep said while scribbling on a piece of paper. "Will take this note to Hamper's Mill and ask what the devil is taking so long to fill my order."
John looked taken aback, "But Sir, that's all the way in Milton."
Mr. Wright looked up from his desk, a drawl look on his face, "Well then - you better run."
Young Thornton ceased what he was doing and slid his jacket back on his thinning shoulders. Opening the door he saw the snow flakes fall, telling any rational person that they should stay indoors and sit by the fire. The black haired lad took one longing look back at the warmth of the shop and closed the door.
Mr. Wright pounded the desk with his hand splayed outwards, startling the few customers that he had. Uncaring he sat down at his desk, withdrawing a small pipe from his pants pocket. While he sat puffing, he wished all his thoughts would mimic those steady wisps of smoke.
Taking a long draw on the pipe the Draper began to think on his young employee. This boy he had working for him, the poor lad came from a well-to-do home and then suddenly found himself working in his shop. Rubbing his hands over his eyes, Mr. Wright recalled when he told John that he could be easily replaced should he not pass muster. The young man had valiantly said that he would never steal from the shop and, with a heavy conscience, Mr. Wright repeated the words he had said back to the fatherless boy petitioning approval, "If you breed a horse you'll get a horse."
It was the utter and complete hurt in the shop-boy's eyes that stuck with him all these weeks . It cut at his soul every day and yet he still abused John's willingness to please and do whatever he was instructed. Mr. Wright didn't need to know this very day where his order was - it was only two days behind schedule. Giving his pipe one last big breath, Mr. Albert Wright determined that he would make it up to the lad.
John was nervous and for a fourteen year old that was a disgruntling feeling. It had taken him the entire morning to walk to Milton to get to the Mill. On the way he had plenty of time to contemplate his situation in life. Anyway he looked at it he always seemed to come out as a turnspit dog - too lowly to be even mentioned.
It agitated John's empty stomach to think about the predicament he was in all thanks to an inconsiderate Father. The lad stopped himself abruptly. How could he think something so wretched? He loved his Father but his heart and mind couldn't seem to decide whether or not to be miserable at his passing or hateful. After all, it was his Father's fault for the position they were now in. But to remember the always smiling, jovial, proud, hardworking man in such ambiguous terms made John sick at his own feelings.
How could one love, miss and hate the same person at the same time? Though he always defended his Father's name, John nursed his own private doubts and if that doesn't confuse a boy - nothing ever could.
When he arrived at his destination, he had to wait a long time for the Mill owner to see him. Then the aged Mr. Hamper had been angered at being disturbed and being given a complaint from a small customer - especially brought by a shop-boy. Hamper scrawled a note for young Thornton to take back to the draper and shooed him off, "Be gone with you, you little git. And tell your Master that he had dam- well better find some patience in that head of his!"
John had his head down and the collar of his thin jacket pulled up and over his ears - half for the cold and the rest for stealth. His heart was pounding in his chest and his breath came in quick bursts. John cursed his easily recognizable features - black hair, strong face, tall and slender form. But then his hair stood on end when he heard his name called out. John tried to hurry as he walked down the street walking briskly to outpace his pursuers but they easily caught up with him. John was surrounded on all sides by four of his former school companions.
The boys halted John's progress and he stood, head down and hands in his pockets. One of the lads, who stood in front of him, posed a question, "Where have you been?"
John mumbled a response, "We moved."
The boy to the right of him, with blond hair and sharp green eyes said mockingly, "Well my Father told me why you left Milton." Akin to pups with the expectation of a morsel of meat, the other school boys leaned forwards to be in on the gossip. The blond continued, "He lost out in a speculation, owed a lot of people money and then, he couldn't bare the shame anymore, and he killed himself! He stole money from my Father too."
"My Father never stole," John ground out, boring a hole into the street with his pale blue eyes.
"Well my Father has no hope of getting money he lent back, so that's as good as stealing."
Steadily clenching and unclenching his fists, John looked at his tormenter, "Take it back, George."
"Fine, I will," said the lad derisively. "When all the money is paid back. Your Father blackened the Thornton name - it's worthless now. You'll never have a good reputation in Milton again, John."
Acting out of shear impetuousness and instinct, John's fist connected with something long before he knew what he was about. His former school mates having unfortunately forgotten that young Mr. Thornton was renowned for his temper, had dared to push him beyond all reasonableness. The black haired youth looked startled as he glanced between his balled up fist and George who was reeling backwards from the unexpected blow.
The blond youth hit the ground with a thud and a shocked expression on his face. Though John had made the first move, he did not make the last - his late companions were on top of him in an instant. Four against one in a battle of fisticuffs is incredibly poor odds. John gave as good as he got and, even though he had a busted lip, bloodied nose, and numerous other bruises to show, his opponents were also cut and battered.
The sudden sick feeling in his insides was a result of a clout to his eye. The pain pounded through his entire body and made him want to crumple on the ground. Feeling like he was about to wretch, John managed to feebly stay standing. Although John saw several openings in the thicket of bodies that he could escape from the dark haired lad stood resolute. He was not going to run like a coward.
His heart skipped a beat when two of the boys grabbed a hold of his arms. In a blink, John took in the situation: two had him, one stood off to the side, and George - well he was getting ready to pummel him in the stomach. John closed his eyes and waited. The first punch knocked the air out of him, the second brought a shallow gasp, the third caused John's eyes to water.
George's lips were curled backwards and his eyes were filled with the passion of the fight. "Do you yield?"
John drew his head up, lips parted and dripping blood, he was panting for breath. Forever stubborn, like a tenacious little dog, he spoke in a wheezing voice, "Never."
George continued on his rampage - the frenzy of the fight having completely taken over. The blows continued - four, five, six… Only after he was satisfied did the blond back away and the two holding John's arms back drop him. John slumped to the street, newly freed hands clutching at his stomach.
Breathing heavy with the exertion of violence, George spit out his next words, "Your no better than the dirt your lying on John Thornton!" The four school boys left, leaving John to regain his senses.
John lay silent and barely conscious of what was going on around him. He struggled trying to sit up, he didn't know how long he had been curled up on the ground. The boy finally managed to be seated and then toiled to stand.
The beaten shop-boy slowly walked back to the drapers shop, he was holding his abdomen and his head was hung low - for he looked like a ruffian if he ever saw one. He started to wipe the blood away from his lip with his sleeve, but thought better of the childish action. Oh, Lord, what was his Mother going to say - especially if he stained his already worn clothes?
Mr. Wright yelled at him as soon as the lad, who was considerably worse for wear, entered the shop, "What took you so long? I was about to close up shop for the day!" The shop-keeper instantly regretted his harsh words. Endeavoring to make amends to the young lad was going to be harder than he thought.
The demanding tone began to make John's blood boil yet again, but he endeavored to keep his calm as he spoke to his employer, "Here is your note from Hamper's. They are sorry about the delay." The fourteen year old turned to leave, when, in a abrupt movement, the shop keeper grabbed a hold of him under the chin, "What in God's name happened to you?"
"A fight," John said quietly, turning his head and averting his eyes.
"I can see that, boy," Mr. Wright said irritably. "What for? Smart off to Hamper?"
"Some boys," John said, keeping the fact that they were former friends private. He shrugged his shoulders to show he didn't care, "They insulted my Father - said he stole money." He looked up into the middle-aged man's brown softening eyes, and said, making himself clear should this man turn on him again, "My Father never stole."
Laying a large hand on a thin shoulder, Mr. Wright spoke softly, "I understand lad, I understand. Let's get you cleaned up now. Follow me John." And with that a very surprised John was led to a wash basin in the small back room and given a rag. After being instructed to wash the blood off his face before he frightened his Mum, the boy diligently scrubbed the dried crusted red from around his mouth and nose.
When John reentered the main shop he was surprised when the owner asked, "How much do I pay you a week?"
"T-ten shillings, Sir," John stammered out, completely taken aback.
"Well, you're a good worker my boy… I was considering raising it to fifteen - would that suit you?"
John's voice jumped as he answered, "Yes Sir, very much indeed." John knitted his brows in deep thought, "But, I can't accept it Sir."
The balding man looked startled. "Why not?" he demanded, once again growing harsh with his helper.
Setting his shoulders back and tilting his head up in a proud fashion, John locked eyes with the man, "I can not accept charity Sir. I am sorry."
The shop owner mouthed the word 'charity' back to himself, then, a look of comprehension filled his eyes, and he began to speak again, "This, boy, is anything but charity. You are going to have to work for it! I expect you to be on time every day and stay till I dismiss you, understand? You'll do any task I give you, rain or snow and your not to complain a lick! Do I make my self clear, boy?"
John stood quietly for a moment and then stuck out his hand for Mr. Wright to take. The man did and thus the bargain was sealed. John's lips twitched back as much as they could in the unceremonious state they were in, "Thank you Sir. I'll do whatever you ask."
"Ah, well, you have gumption - I like that in a lad. Now, be off with you. But mind, you'll need to be on time every day to earn that. Shoo, go home and try to wiggle out of the whooping your going to get when your Mum sees what you've done to that handsome face of yours."
John walked home, in the dim light, if it weren't for his busted lip he would have been smiling - but he was also wondering: How could such a bad day end with him in high spirits? It made his heart glow to think of how glad his Mother would be when he told her about the extra income. It would please her greatly and right now - pleasing his Mother was all John had to live for. He couldn't let her down as his Father had, he just couldn't.
John's mind turned to the problem of how to explain his marred features. Though he seemed to never do wrong in Mrs. Thornton's eyes he knew that she would be unnerved at his scuffle and John would have to listen to her din of scolding. Sadly his thoughts evoked what George had said earlier. John winced as he understood that, because of his compromised background, his Mother was the only person that could ever truly love him.
And thus, this happily distressed lad knew that he was in for a long eve when he poked his head in the door and his Mother, turning to look at her favored son, screamed his name at the top of her voice. The scream was not in anger but in pure panic - John sighed, she was so overprotective.
Hannah Thornton rushed to him and cradled him in her long arms in one of her rare displays of affection - this one controlled by fear. John squirmed and pushed away gently, not used to these actions, trying to see her face, "I'm alright Mother, listen."
"Oh, John, what happened? You're a mess! Are you alright?" After each question Hannah didn't leave anytime for her son to respond.
John finally had to cut in forcefully, "Mother!"
She stopped, having abruptly regained her composure, and looked down into his eyes, one of which was halfway swelled shut. His Mother gently touched the black around the eye, cringing as she did so, "My boy, my boy."
John broke in, "I'm fine Mother. I got into a fight but I'm alright-"
"I can see that!" she wailed. This was the second time that his explanation had gotten this particular response, he should be either getting used to it or considering a different way of stating his condition.
"I'm getting a pay raise! To fifteen shillings a week. Won't that help, Mother?" John tried to turn the conversation from doom and worry to something positive.
Hannah's mouth dropped open for an instant. It shut again and her face took on its customary steely expression, "Yes that will help John, but did you get hurt for that? Why are you hurt?" She was getting impatient with her eldest child, he seemed to be dancing around her questions.
Her son quickly opened his mouth but closed it as fast. John couldn't tell her what had transpired for him to get into the fight - that would break her heart and bring to the forefront of her mind the hurt of his Father's death. But, he felt as strongly about lying to his Mother - he could never live with himself.
Seeing John hesitate, Hannah looked directly at her boy, the only real thing that she had to live for. Mrs. Thornton could tell, just by looking into his unsure and pleading eyes, that she shouldn't ask anymore questions. What she should do was give him the praise and support he deserved as he tried with all his might to support their family.
Taking a long deep breath, Hannah began to speak in a much calmer fashion, "And how did you get this raise?"
"It was Mr. Wright's idea, Mother." Anticipating her response, John quickly added, "He's making me work for it though." He figured that using the shop-keeper's words would be appropriate and truthful.
Mrs. Thornton eyed her son skeptically, then only nodded her head. She turned and began to walk into the kitchen, John following her example. Hannah had no notion of mentioning her son's wounds again, but apparently his younger sister, Fanny, had not been informed of that. Fanny let out a wail, causing Mother and son to gawk at her crumpled form. Even though the little blond girl was only four, she was ever so theatrical.
"What's the matter!" Mrs. Thornton called over the racket that was her daughter.
Sniffling loudly and pointing at her brother, Fanny continued to sob wholeheartedly, "Johnny's wearing an ugly face!"
John groaned, if he knew he was going to have to listen to Fanny all night he may not have thrown that first punch.
A/N Hello! This is my first attempt at writing any 'North and South,' so I would really appreciate a review telling me how I did. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read the story. This little piece is based off the miniseries as well as the book. As you know I do not own 'North and South' - unfortunately. Thanks again!