A/N: I'd like to extend a warm welcome to my Betas. Kelly and Renee, please take a bow. I cannot tell you how incredibly helpful they have been in putting the finishing touches on this chapter. Thank you both for making this story the best that it can be.

As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!

The Sum of All Wisdom

"The sum of all human wisdom will be contained in these two words: Wait and Hope."

Alexander Dumas – The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 3 - Strength

Unable to account for the reason, Margaret remained fixed by the door for some time after Mr. Thornton left. His presence evoked feelings within that she did not easily understand. Everything that she had thought of him mere weeks ago was challenged by the man who had recently stood so frighteningly near her. Deciding that it was high time for a dose of reality, Margaret walked back up the stairs and returned to her father's study.

"Papa, the hour is late, perhaps you should be off to bed," she said from the doorway.

A pair of eyes peered over the spectacles atop Mr. Hale's nose with a strained smile not far behind. "You worry far too much after this old man, dearest. I simply have a touch of reading that I wish to polish off. I assure you that I will retire within the hour."

Margaret offered her good-nights and made her way to her own bedroom. Once within, she unpacked her small traveling bag and took a seat at her dressing table. Staring at herself, Margaret quickly, effortlessly, freed her hair from its pins. She ran her fingers along her scalp to relieve the soreness that hours of constraint had caused, savoring the pleasure that this small act allowed. Standing, she made quick work of undressing and was soon walking through the upstairs hallway in her dressing gown. Dixon had spent the entirety of Margaret's London trip caring for her mother and Margaret thought that it was high time for their family servant to get a good night of sleep.

On her way to her parents' bedroom, Margaret decided to look in on her father once more. This time, as she stood at the doorway, she saw a very different picture. After retrieving a blanket from the hall closet, Margaret gently covered his sleeping form. She thought to take her leave, but hesitated. Something persuaded her to bend down and smooth the thinning white hair atop his head before bestowing the whisper of a kiss. As she walked away, his earlier words sounded through her ears; she did worry for him. Whether it was too much she could not say, but worry she did. The vulnerability that she saw in her father's face along with his unprecedented actions these past months frightened her. Margaret could not help but hope that somehow, some way, they would escape this black cloud that seemed to have settled above their little Crampton home.

Margaret was exhausted after spending the past three evenings at her mother's bedside. Sleep did come, though neither for long nor in regular intervals. On more than one occasion her mother's fevered cries were more than she felt that she could handle, though she managed to find the strength to persevere. While she lay at her mother's side in a state that was neither dreaming nor fully conscious, Margaret vividly recalled standing in the Thorntons' home the day that she first learned of the probability of a strike. How clearly she remembered Mrs. Thornton telling her that if she lived in Milton, she must learn to have a brave heart! At the time, Margaret did not know what her heart held, though through the many trials that her time in this town had brought, Margaret could proudly say that she had found the courage to face them head on. There was no doubt that she would do the same here with her mother, not because she was brave, but because she could see no alternative. No, Margaret did not feel as though she had a brave heart, though she was also certain that she was no coward.

A handful of minutes past daybreak, Dixon made her presence known. Margaret placed a kiss on her mother's wet brow and made her way below stairs to see what humble offerings the Crampton kitchen may have in store for her. It was not half an hour later when she was back in her parents' bedroom with a small tea tray and the last of the fruit to be found. Knowing that this breakfast, meager as it was, would be more than enough to satisfy her mother for quite some time, Margaret decided to find some rest herself.

The sunlight streaming through the curtains was near blinding and it took a some time before a disoriented Margaret found her bearings and realized that it must be late afternoon. She quickly dressed and went down the hall to find her mother peacefully sleeping with Dixon close at hand with some needlepoint.

"You should not have let me sleep so long, Dixon. How is she?" Margaret asked, still shaking the last of the sleep from her tired body.

"She has had several spells, but most of the day has been spent like this." Dixon said. "Your father asked me not to wake you. He said that you needed your sleep as well." Margaret smiled at her father's consideration, despite feeling somewhat troubled at his continued absence from the sick room.

"Have you or father been to the Market?" Margaret asked, hoping for a positive response, though knowing there was little likelihood of receiving one. For such a task to have been undertaken, either Dixon would have had to have left her mistress' bedside during one of her predetermined shifts or Mr. Hale would have had to venture into the market, a task that was hardly a man's task, gentle or otherwise.

"No, Miss Margaret, we have not." Dixon quickly lowered her head and continued working on her sampler. "She will certainly be needing something to eat soon, but I could not bear leaving her." After what grew to be a very fruitless discussion, not lacking in frustration, Margaret decided that it would be prudent to go to the market herself. After Dixon provided thorough instruction on what seemed to be a simple enough task, Margaret collected the grocery allowance and her bonnet and was soon on her way into Milton proper.

It was not long before Margaret found that purchasing good, fresh food with a limited purse was not an easy charge. She began to think—no, she was in fact certain—that this would have been a much better exercise for Dixon, who made this trip several times a week. The most plentiful and least expensive option was Jargonelle pears. Her mother had had her fill of pears over the past week, however, they would have to do. She picked the brightest of those offered before her and decided that they would surely please her mother, as they would remind her of Helstone – of better times. Margaret also picked up two apples, a nearly adequate amount of cold meat and cheese, and a loaf of bread. With that, her funds had run dry. While making her purchases, Margaret could not help but notice that the owner of the shop seemed obviously distracted. Looking over her shoulder to see the object of the older man's interest, she was shocked to see Mr. Thornton, not ten yards from her looking over the fruit selection. She would have been surprised to see Mr. Thornton's mother or sister in a marketplace, but to see the man himself was nothing short of extraordinary.

Margaret's breath caught at the unexpected sighting. A part of her, a rather large part if truth be told, wished to simply slip out of the shop unnoticed. She laughed at herself and after paying the good man, who was obviously as taken aback by Mr. Thornton's presence as she was, Margaret collected her basket, threw her head back and closed the gap between them.

"Good evening, Mr. Thornton. I would never have thought that I would see you at the market," Margaret said with a genuine smile. He turned and greeted her with an expression that seemed to take five years from his face.

"No, I do not generally come here, that is true." He nodded at her basket, and with a look of understanding between both parties, took it from her. "How is your mother?" he asked. Margaret would have to admit that when these questions came from Mr. Thornton, they always seemed to stem from genuine concern rather than mere civility.

"Thank you," Margaret said. Mr. Thornton could not be certain if the thanks was due to his taking the basket or asking over her mother, but he was glad to have it either way. "She is not faring well, I hate to say. Dixon will not leave her side, and we needed a few items to get by." If Mr. Thornton was confused by Dixon staying at home with the mistress while Margaret made the long walk to handle business that should be managed by the household servant, he did not let on.

"I was just on my way to visit your family and thought that I would pick up some fruit for your mother." Mr. Thornton said, somewhat embarrassed to be caught at his task before it was completed.

"Oh Mr. Thornton, how very kind of you, that would be a welcome thing indeed. She loved your grapes ever so much. I have bought some pears; they are in season after all." And very affordable, she did not add. "All that mother will eat is fruit now, and she has quite the hunger for them." Margaret would normally not accept an act such as this—she certainly would not if it were for herself—but as it was for her ailing mother, she would not reject Mr. Thornton's hospitality.

"Then I am happy that I have found you. Please join me over here," said Mr. Thornton as he led her gently by the elbow. "Pick out whatever you think she may enjoy." They walked around discussing the various produce available. Margaret settled on plums, as it was late summer and they had just come in season. She knew with certainty that her mother had not enjoyed a plum in over a year. Not willing to allow her to leave him with only a few plums, Mr. Thornton added cherries and a few peaches to his purchase, and was sure to choose only those with the most vibrant colors and delicate blooms.

"Mr. Thornton, you are too generous," Margaret said, feeling, as she had of late, as though she had perhaps misjudged this man. She could never imagine any other man in her acquaintance personally overseeing a task as menial as buying fruit at a market.

"If I can help you," he paused for a moment, collecting himself before continuing, "your family, by such a small gesture, I will do so, and do so gladly." Mr. Thornton took Margaret's basket to the shop owner, who was not shy about imparting the great honor that it was to have such an influential man in his shop once more. Margaret noticed Mr. Thornton's jaw tighten when the owner spoke of his previous visit, but could not understand that that visit had been to purchase grapes for her mother—the day after Margaret's refusal. The older man carefully packed the fresh fruit into the basket alongside Margaret's pears at Mr. Thornton's instruction. Before she knew what was happening, Margaret was being escorted home. The tittle tattle that surrounded them was enough to make Margaret wish that she had not taken his arm, but after the great favor that he had just shown to her family, she could hardly snub him in so public a manner.

"I do not believe that we had expected to see you again so soon." Margaret said, for lack of another topic.

"If I must be honest, Dr. Donaldson visited me this morning after his usual visit to your home." Mr. Thornton admitted.

"What did he say?" There was more than a hint of eagerness in her voice. Margaret knew full well that Mr. Thornton was compensating the doctor for his visits, but it did not feel right to her that he may know more about her mother's condition than she did.

"He said that things seem to be progressing as he expected." Margaret nodded in understanding. The good doctor had consulted with her on several occasions, there was no need to elaborate. With the basket firmly secured in the crook of his elbow, Mr. Thornton covered her hand with his. She tensed beneath his touch, though before he could decide whether to remove his hand, her countenance had nearly returned to normal.

"I—I am grateful that our paths crossed this evening," she stumbled somewhat before continuing. "I am certain that my arm would have tired out making this trip with such a bounty. I wonder at Dixon doing this every week."

"I am happy that you were there as well." He looked as though he were going to say something more, but had decided against it. After a prolonged silence, Mr. Thornton asked, "Why did you come rather than sending Dixon, if I may ask?"

Margaret shrank somewhat under Mr. Thornton's heavy gaze. "It was easier that way, I suppose."

"Easier?" Mr. Thornton attempted not to press, as he saw that it made her uncomfortable, but he could not help his curiosity.

"I was up with Mama all night. Upon waking this afternoon, there was no fruit for her to eat and Dixon was clinging to her post." Margaret could not be certain, but she thought that she read disapproval in his features. "I was tired, mother had a need and it was just not worth the argument." His stare felt heavy upon her. "You must think me so weak."

"Weak?" Mr. Thornton repeated as though he had never before heard the word. There was a pause in his step. Margaret allowed her eyes to slowly meet his. "Miss Hale, you are one of the strongest women that I know." He closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. "Your love for your family is admirable." He turned back to the path. "There is no weakness in that." There was a slight pressure on her hand before he removed his and returned it to the basket.

The two continued in a companionable silence, though neither noticed as they were both consumed by their own contemplations and insecurities. Mr. Thornton saw Margaret as so strong, so self assures; she seemed to need for nothing. How could such a woman not see it in herself? Even on the brink of losing her mother, her thoughts and concerns were with those around her, with no attention paid to how it may be affecting her.

"Miss Hale." Mr. Thornton stopped walking in the narrow pathway that ended in eyeshot of the Hale home. Margaret broke her reverie and gave her attention to her escort. "How are you doing?" He could see Margaret nearly flinch at the question.

"I am getting by," Margaret responded. In truth, this was a question Margaret was unprepared to even ask herself, let alone answer. The last person who asked her anything similar was, in fact, Mr. Thornton at the exhibition. She could not dwell on it, could not even allow herself to think on it, for if she was to make it through this crisis, it would be much easier to do so without the complication of feelings. Margaret turned back in the direction of her home but was quickly stayed by Mr. Thornton's hand.

"If you need to talk—" Mr. Thornton let the words escape his lips before he had thought them through. There was no question that he meant them, but Margaret seemed to become more uncomfortable by the moment.

"I am doing just fine, as you see." She pulled her arm from his and gestured to her body as though it was outward proof of her mental state. "Now, let us not waste any time, mother will surely be hungry." This time, Margaret walked ahead of him, certain that she would not be stopped on a second attempt to turn towards her home. She was not.

Once inside the small Crampton home, Mr. Thornton noticed that the house was not as well lit, as it tended to be on his regular visits, and there were no voices welcoming him up: it seemed to be an entirely different home. He watched as Margaret walked in and lit the small lamp on the entry table. He watched her, his heart racing as she removed her bonnet and hung it on a hook by the door before raising her voice and calling, "Papa, I am home. I have brought Mr. Thornton with me." He graciously accepted her smile as she spoke his name. "He has brought fruit for mother."

Richard Hale soon materialized from the depths of his study and greeted the two of them, and then invited John to come up and join him.

Grateful to be home, Margaret turned with a smile toward her guest. "Go on up," she suggested,

"I will take the basket." She was not prepared for Mr. Thornton's reply.

"I will be up in a moment, Mr. Hale. I am just going to help Miss Hale first." Mr. Thornton replied, holding out an arm in a gesture that seemed to say 'whither thou goest, I will go.' Margaret knew that arguing this point with Mr. Thornton would not be a worthwhile venture. She led him into the kitchen and suggested a place for the basket. Thinking that he would leave after doing her this service, Margaret thanked him and walked to the other side of the kitchen. She wasted no time putting her apron on over her dress. She turned to put the kettle on and was shaken to be met with an eager Mr. Thornton. He had considered stripping himself of his jacket and rolling up his long sleeves as well and would have if he was not certain that it would startle her more than his mere existence in that moment.

"What may I do to assist you?" Mr. Thornton asked.

"I really am quite alright. You have helped a great deal already. Go on up and take your lessons with my father, I will only be a short while." Margaret insisted walking past him. She was embarrassed enough with him holding the knowledge that she was doing scullery duties and had no intention of eliciting his assistance.

"I do not have lessons today." Mr. Thornton replied.

Margaret looked at him for a moment and attempted to appease him. "I appreciate you bringing the basket all of this way, Mr. Thornton. You have done me a great service, but I am sure that my father is wanting for your company now."

"Please, Miss Hale, you must have quite a bit to do down here. Just allow me some task." Margaret looked at him. She felt as though he genuinely did wish to help. The large copper kettle had always been more than she could handle, and it would be required if she was going to make two pots of tea. Despite everything within her in turmoil, Margaret assigned Mr. Thornton, the Master of Marlborough Mills, the task of filling the copper water kettle and stoking the fire to encourage boiling. While he worked diligently on his undertaking, Margaret quickly prepared a small offering of fruit for her mother. She was certain to only include the fruit that Mr. Thornton had purchased.

When he had finished with the kettle, she sent him above stairs, plate in hand: "Please go on up, if you like." She spoke in a more resigned tone than she had previously used with him. "Thank you for your help."

"You are welcome." He was unable to suppress a smile at the thought of being dismissed once more by this woman. "How do you intend on taking the hot kettle off of the stove? I would imagine that to be more difficult than what I have done for you thus far."

"I will manage," Margaret said. There was simply no handling this man.

"I have no doubt that you could, but I can manage it much easier than you. I will stay until I see the job through, then you may rid yourself of me." Mr. Thornton furrowed his brow in anticipation of her response.

"There is no arguing with you then, I suppose?"

"Quite the contrary, if our past has anything to say for it." She laughed at his candor. "Now, what else may I do before this boils?"

Margaret looked around; no other chores needed her immediate attention, at least none that she was willing to perform before him. She thought for a moment to hand him the little broom and request that he sweep the modest hearth—if only to see such a great man bent over a broom that was small on comedic proportions even for a woman of Margaret's size. She scolded herself and began readying the tea trays.

"Do you ever find time to read for leisure, Mr. Thornton?" Margaret asked, leaning against the counter.

"I have little time for leisure reading, I am afraid, though I do have a rather extensive library." Margaret raised her eyebrows. "You see, Fanny orders any novel that receives any type of accolades in the London papers."

"She is an avid reader, then?" Margaret asked, surprised by the thought of Miss Thornton being well-read.

"I have never seen her with a book in hand unless she is taking it out of shipping paper." Mr. Thornton laughed at himself. "I should not tell you that, I am sure. You see, she and one of her friends will discuss them some evenings and every so often I am working from home. If their discussions are any indication, I would venture to say that neither of them has ever made it past the cover." Margaret bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"You eavesdrop on them, then?" she asked.

"I am fairly certain that they intend to be overheard. It would be a feat to take no notice." Mr. Thornton was about to continue, as he was enjoying this vein of discussion, when the kettle sounded. He poured the water into the two pots as instructed before carrying the tray of fruit up the stairs.

Once she had the kitchen to herself, Margaret could not help but laugh at the oddity that this day had become. She sliced the bread and arranged some of the cheese and meat on a tray for the men to enjoy. She first took up the smaller pot to her mother and Dixon and was surprised to hear masculine voices emerging from her parents' bedroom. Margaret was certain that her father had slept in his study for the past few weeks, and did not think that he had so much as stepped a foot within the room. Once she turned the corner into the room she was pleased to see all members of the household as well as Mr. Thornton congregated in the little bedroom. Mr. Thornton was kneeling at her mother's bedside receiving thanks for the fruit that he had bought for her. The men stood upon Margaret's entry.

Pleased to see her mother alert, Margaret quickly poured a cup of tea and joined her on the edge of the bed to assist her in drinking it.

"Mr. Thornton is so kind, Margaret," Maria Hale was able to say with some difficulty.

Margaret turned toward Mr. Thornton and her father and said in agreement, "He is very kind, mother, you are right." His presence in the room seemed overwhelming, causing Margaret to encourage her mother to take a bite of plum, though she would not be dissuaded, Mrs. Hale continued quietly.

"He is not at all like we thought when we first met him, is he?" Margaret felt waves of heat fill her face and was relieved to hear the door closing, which left the three ladies in the bedroom alone.

Mr. Thornton wished to hear Margaret's reply, but he knew that Mrs. Hale no longer had long wakeful periods and felt it prudent to leave mother and daughter alone together. Though every fiber of his being wished for just the opposite, he made the suggestion of leaving the ladies to their devices and sharing a glass of brandy in the study. As the door closed, separating the men from the women, Mr. Thornton thought that perhaps he could feel another beginning to open.