December, 8th:
Margaret:
I thought we would excuse ourselves from this social event but my mother, of all people, was very serious when she urged us to accept the invitation. She enjoyed helping me with my hair and make up and gave me her pearl earrings to wear. I think her happiness was enough to justify our coming.
By the look of it Marlborough Mills' annual party is the place to be tonight in Milton. Everybody who's anybody is here and I can't help comparing their demeanor to what I was used to, back in my days with Edith. Eddie's wedding was only a few months ago, yet it feels it's been years... until I think of Henry, whom I haven't missed one bit in all this time. My certainty that we weren't meant for each other hasn't wavered but sometimes I catch myself wishing I had been wrong.
But my choices have always been mine to make and being in Milton and attending this event attired in my best party apparel (Eddie's wedding's, of course) has been one of them, one I am determined not to regret. These people are not going to have the manners or tastes I grew up with and that's just as well since I always found those stifling.
My father is wearing his old formal suit and he is worried and tired, so I know our evening is going to be short. That makes the prospect even more enticing.
We are greeted by Mrs. Thornton and Fanny Thornton, mother and sister of my father's star student. I don't see any sympathy in the older lady's face and I suppose her son's character should be introduction enough. The sister, though, is another story.
She is good looking and young, about my age perhaps. She's slim (almost thin), all toned muscle and deep, even tan. She's wearing a dress with a plunging neckline like the one I'm wearing, but shorter, brighter, and her golden stiletto shoes bookend with gold hoop earrings. The look is completed with blond hair gathered up her head, bright make up, and an open, easy going persona that couldn't be farther from her closer relatives.
Unlike her brother (and probably unlike their mother too), she's completely capable of carrying out a polite conversation on trivial subjects with a stranger and it's a relief. We have been exchanging pleasantries for a few moments with my father standing by my side when our host approaches to greet us. He gives a quick peck on the cheek to all three ladies and I suspect he only meant it for his mother and sister but kept going, and shakes my father's hand with his rare smile making an appearance or two. A little more familiarity seems fitting tonight, making this social meeting smoother.
Fanny Thornton is more talkative but I can tell she's a little nervous. I wonder if this is the highlight of her social calendar but I have complete faith in her ability to shine. It crosses my mind that Fanny is like Edith under a different set of circumstances. Yes, she'd absolutely adore my cousin's lifestyle, warts and all. We talk a little more and she excuses herself to greet other people and I'm left alone to observe.
And alone among this multitude of people, maybe one hundred, is how I spend most of the evening. My father and Dr. Donaldson are sitting in a less noisy area talking to Mrs. Thornton, whose knitted brows, I'm sure, match my father's spirits. I walk around the floor, slowly, with a glass of champagne in my hand (perfecting the art of teetotaling), never losing sight of my father in case he needs me but not staying too close either.
I engage in short conversations with people of different ages. Two girls of about five years old tell me, starry eyed, that I look like a princess from a book of theirs. A woman in her thirties chasing her toddler around also compliments my dress and we chat a little before her child starts crying inconsolably. "He's sleepy and I must take him to bed," she regretfully informs me as she leaves. A man my father's age or older asks me where I'm from, and in this conversation I get a nice view of the northern hospitality. But he is required somewhere else and I'm alone again.
At the opposite corner of the room a conversation is going on about businesses, markets, trades, bonds and many other things I'm poorly informed about but I come near and listen attentively, fascinated by the vehemence these people express themselves with and so contrasting with the fashionable boredom I've witnessed so often. They argue and they defer to our host, who had been quietly following the rapport, and he replies calmly exposing his ideas so clearly that nobody seems able to keep an opposing view.
It dawns on me now that this is the first time I see Mr. Thornton to such advantage. Maybe because he is my father's student or because he always seems eager to antagonize me, I hadn't noticed how charming and compelling, almost magnetic personality he has. He doesn't need to struggle for his peers' respect; he has it, he knows it, and it gives him a self assurance I had completely missed before.
There's a lull in the conversation. I turn to take an hors-d'oeuvre from a side table and I'm startled when Mr. Thornton talks to me, close at my elbow. Standing side by side I notice how tall he really is, even in high heels my eyes are at his collar bone level - in these very shoes I am my father's height. We'd never stood so close before: a faint musky note reaches me like a whisper and I notice he has the hint of a five o'clock shadow. Though I'd never thought about him in these terms it now occurs to me that he must be really strong, strong as in able to lift very heavy things, adult people included. He is polite and a little formal but as usual he needs to disagree and neutralize my opinion. They were criticizing somebody's policies and when I refer to this absent person as a gentleman, he remarks that we probably understand different things as gentlemen. Acknowledging this disagreement is the closest we've ever been to agreeing on anything.
Our conversation is cut short by a blond man whose appraising eyes favor Fanny Thornton's legs; it seems I am not the most fascinating subject tonight. My father waves discreetly at me and I nod. Mr. Thornton is nowhere to be seen so we bid the mother and sister goodnight and leave for home early.
Lying in bed that night before I slid into slumber I think of Mr. Thornton, of the contradiction of him having succeeded in business but still wanting to finish school - an endeavor my father told me serves no short term practical purpose. Of the contradiction of his rather cold ideas about people in general but the valuable friend he's become to my father and the immense tactfulness he displays regarding my mother's illness. In the twilight of alertness and sleep my objections to his person seem to vanish, and I experience a strange and powerful wave of attraction that radiates from my stomach and its unexpected warmth gives me goosebumps. But then I fall into a dreamless sleep and the next morning it will look like a late night aberration of a tired mind.
