Chapter 40

John woke from sleep in the same way a bullet leaves a gun: he shot out of bed so quickly that he lost his balance and tumbled to the floor. It was certainly a testament to how hard Margaret was working that she did not wake with the sudden racket he made.

Margaret

He let a strangled gasp pass his lips as he peered through the darkness at her sleeping form. His leg was on fire as he used the bed to pull himself and stumble quite gracelessly around it to see her. A shaking hand reached out, gently moving across hair and skin.

"Dear God..." he breathed. John withdrew his hand, before limping heavily to the door of their bedroom. He shut the door as quietly as possible, before sinking down the wall opposite as he succumbed to his grief alone.

"John?"

He jerked wildly and forced his eyes to focus in the blinding light that shone through the window of the hallway.

"Are you alright? Why are you out here on the floor?" It was Margaret. Rational though fled his mind faster than he even thought possible as he scrambled to give her an answer.

"I.." He trailed off and cleared his throat unnecessarily. "I couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to disturb you." Only half of a lie. Margaret's expression showed that she did not fully believe him either, but thankfully she let it go.

"Well up you get, I'm off to the Mill." she replied crisply, holding her hand out to him. He took it gratefully, using the wall to help him balance without his cane. Margaret left him there momentarily before returning with his larger than average cane. He took it and offered what he hoped would be a thankful smile, though he wasn't sure if he actually managed it properly. She looked at him quizzically for a moment before she sighed nearly imperceptibly. "I shall try to be home earlier this evening." she stated by way of farewell.

"Good luck." He replied, and he meant it. He knew how much work needed to be done. John watched as she walked briskly down the hall, watched as she went down the stairs, and continued to watch until he heard the telltale sounds of the door opening and shutting once again. He suddenly felt like he was two men at once: the man made by a life of hardship, and the man born from the fire. Which one should he choose to follow? Even now he could feel his thoughts splitting in two different directions. The way he would have acted before the fire, and the way he would have after. The fire and memory loss had turned him into a new John with traits of the old. The old John was someone he didn't particularly care for, but even logically he knew he became that way for a reason. He was quite certain people did not face this sort of crisis within themselves. In a way he felt as though he did not even know himself anymore. One thought rose above the rest in a swell, temporarily blocking everything else out:

Why didn't he tell her?

John was plagued so severely by the thought that he had told her nothing of the miraculous return of his memory that he managed to get absolutely no work done. He sat in his chair, contemplating his actions and decisions for hours, trying to figure himself out and returning empty handed. She deserved to know, he owed it to her. But no, he could not tell her. Not yet.

He had treated her so abominably over their entire relationship. He had tried, God alone knew how hard he tried to get control over himself once more, and nothing. Why was it not the same as before? He could feel that anxiety, that fear creeping over him as it did before, but now he was able to talk himself out of it. He now knew that Margaret had loved him in return all long, possibly still loved him. He knew that if she stood by his side during everything that had happened in their time together so far, she would stand by him now and forever. Why should he not tell her he remembered? Would that not bring her joy? No, perhaps not. He did not know. An idea struck him unexpectedly, coaxing out a small but hopeful smile.

He would keep this to himself for now. He would wait for the proper moment to reveal the return of memories. While he waited however, he would repair the damage he had done to his marriage, to his wife. He would fix his Mill, he would fix himself, and work every day to make absolute certain that he did not relapse into fear once again. He would court Margaret the way he had never been able to before. He would learn what sort of man he wanted to be, and he would learn to know himself again. He would make his wife fall in love with him twice over, and he would finally see her happiness returned. Perhaps by the time he was finished, he stood a chance at happiness as well.

As more days passed, John was able to walk and stand for longer periods of time without needing to sit and rest. The doctor had given a list of various exercises that he had to complete each day, which changed at his weekly examination. He still could not walk without the cane for more than a few steps before the limping caused enough pain to force him to rest, but he could feel himself gain strength every day that passed. When the day came that he made it four whole hours before needing rest, Doctor Donaldson announced that it would be perfectly safe for him to venture outside. John was not at all prepared for it.

Margaret escorted him with her, somewhat late in the afternoon. The first breath of true and fresh air hit him like a smack to the face. The weather was mild, perhaps even chilly if the wind hit you, and you could tell that the sun was just beginning to decline behind the buildings of the city. An elation beyond anything he had thus experienced filled him, and he felt his face stretch into the first full smile in weeks. He glanced at Margaret and saw her eyes dancing with amusement, and her face bore a smile so radiant he felt as though his very soul had fled his body as he beheld her. This was all drowned out by an enormous swell of noise from directly in front of them.

A raucous applause had broken out from massive throng of people in what appeared to be a courtyard between the structures of what would be two buildings. There had to be over one hundred people there! John did not understand. They were looking to him, clapping, whistling, smiling, and waving. Shouts of "Master!" could be heard from every direction, and it took John longer than it should have to remember that they were speaking to him.

"These are your employees." Margaret said, with such pride in her voice that she very nearly bordered on haughty. "And that," she gestured to the crowd. "That is their loyalty and respect for you." John shook his head, his eyes prickling. He had not given much thought to his workers at all since he had woken. But now, looking at their faces, seeing their excitement for his return, he felt an overwhelming inadequacy wash over him. These people had lost friends, family, children...all while under his employ. These people should hate him. Why didn't they hate him?

"I do not deserve this." he said quietly, but not so quiet that Margaret did not hear.

"Yes you do." she replied firmly. She then placed her hand in the crook of his free arm, and pulled him towards the stairs so that he might greet them. He hesitated so abruptly, that he very nearly lost his balance, the cane saving him from what promised to be a very painful fall.

Margaret could not help the pride that filled her as John was introduced once more to the workers. Pride for her husband at forming such a lasting connection, and pride for herself for keeping from turning to ash with Mill. He looked astounded, if not slightly embarrassed with the praise for his miraculous return from the dead. He never did enjoy being the center of attention. It seemed truly incomprehensible to him that he should receive such an enthusiastic response from his workers, that she very nearly laughed. John would remember with time why his workers were so invariably loyal to him.

Soon enough, the general excitement won him over, and she watched as her husband laughed and smiled as he made merry with the collective crowd. At some point (she was thoroughly surprised at the turn of events), a few workers produced some very well loved instruments, and the introduction turned into full blown celebration. Couples danced, and sang, and laughed. A few vendors entered the fray and began passing treats and wine, while Hannah looked on from the balcony with a mischievous smile on her face. John caught her wrist as she danced with a group of the young teenage girls, and practically spun her into an embrace. His arm around her back, and his hand large enough that he easily caught the back of her neck, tangling his fingers into her hair and pulled her flush against his chest.

Her breath hitched, and her heart exploded at the intimacy of the moment. Her body betrayed her, and she felt herself fighting the desire to throw herself at him right there, in front of God and all witnesses. She had not been held this way in...close to a year? John had held her this way when the illness had really presented itself to her. Of course, he had also kissed all sense from her that night as well, and her body remembered. Wanted her to do it again. She felt as though her judgment was fogging over. She should not have had so much wine. Her hand traveled up his chest, and came to rest just under his jaw; she could hear his heart beating faster, probably failing as valiantly at catching the hurricane of emotions as her own heart was.

"I wish such words existed to tell you how wonderful you are to me." Margaret murmured into his chest. There was no going back for her. Not anymore. She was done with patience, done with fear. John pulled back, pulled her face upwards so as to see her more clearly. The look on his face was more than sufficient to weaken her knees, but he also seemed to hesitate. He was searching her eyes, as though looking for clues, something, anything to help him be absolutely sure. He opened his mouth, perhaps to speak.

"Now now!" the booming voice of Nicholas proclaimed from her right. She jumped violently, slightly overbalancing John who quickly steadied himself with his cane. Margaret took a shuddering breath. She'd somehow completely forgotten that they were not alone, and quite surrounded by people in the courtyard. "Don't you be embarrassing the rest of us with your antics." He spoke sternly, but his face completely betrayed him. He smiled widely, and his eyes danced with joy.

"Well—I…" John stuttered. Margaret very nearly giggled at the flustered tone. Nicholas apparently had no such objections and laughed loudly.

"Relax, Master" he said, his voice still filled to the brim with mirth. "I've only come to ask Mistress if she'll give me the honor of a dance."

"Of course" John replied, and Margaret smiled warmly at him before accepting Nicholas, who led her back into the fray of a jolly dance. They must have danced for full on ten minutes before Margaret laughingly begged Nicholas for a rest. Another cup of wine seemed to materialize into her hand without her knowing how she had come by it.

"Margaret." Nicholas said, suddenly looking quite serious.

"Yes?" she asked. He seemed to be very interested in his fingernails for several moments.

"I want you to promise me something. Not just for your sake, but his as well." He jerked his head, indicating John who was currently surrounded by a small group of women who were excitedly showing him something. Margaret turned back to face Nicholas, interest piqued. "I want you to stop thinking, and just act. Whatever is going through your mind, damn the consequences and just do it."

It took Margaret less than three seconds to comprehend his meaning, and completely against her will, she flushed quite furiously.

Days turned into weeks. John's recovery was better each day, the Mill was progressing almost as quickly as he was thanks to the capitol from Mr. Bell. He still needed his cane, but he did not depend on it nearly as much as he had. Most astonishingly to Margaret were the actions of the Master himself. It was as though he lost all reservations on attitude towards his employees. He was friendly and respected by everyone. A smile was on his face more times than it was not. It was almost quite bizarre for Margaret to see him up and about in normal clothing, with the same Master's bearing, and none of the expression that made him look so intimidating as he used to be. Even more bizarre were the notes.

Little notes left on her bedside table with a flower if he rose before her.

A note served with her meal if they were separated.

Once, a note in her jacket to tell her how lovely he found her in that particular color.

She hardly knew how to respond to it. Each action solidified both that he was not the same man he was at the time of the accident, and also that she really quite enjoyed the attentions. Margaret had spent so long alone and rejected however, that responding to such attention was uncomfortable and awkward. She had no idea what she was supposed to do, but she desperately did not want it to stop.

And each time the nervous swooping feeling in her soul that she had only ever associated with John, the promise she made Nicholas resonated loudly inside her head.

She had no time for such thoughts at the moment however. Today marked a momentous occasion. Today John reopened the Mill.

"Are you ready, Margaret?" John asked from the doorway.

"Yes" Margaret replied, forcing herself out of her reverie and standing to face him. She inhaled softly. The boyish light in his eyes, the small smile that adorned his face...it stole her breath every single time. "Are you ready?"

"Beyond imagining, my darling" he replied. Something exploded in Margaret's chest and she suddenly felt deprived of oxygen. Forcing herself to maintain complete composure, she took the arm he offered and tried to focus on anything other than the searing heat from his touch.

As they walked, John desperately wondering what thoughts ran through her head. This happened often (every day in fact) since he had regained his memories. Of course, he had spent years wondering how her mind worked and wanting to understand the thoughts behind that mysterious expression she wore when she looked at him. He wondered idly if he would ever understand the meaning behind that look. Most likely not, but he was endlessly curious. He remembered Margaret calling him a 'terror' in her journal when he was curious, and John hoped she didn't see him as a terror now. It had taken more will power than he thought he even had not to simply tell her he could remember everything.

Nearly everything at least. There was a rather large chunk of memory missing somewhere shortly before her father's death if his calculations were correct.

John didn't know why he still had not told her. He wanted to, desperately in fact. But something kept holding him back from confessing all. A part of him believed that she would retreat into herself once she knew, and another part of him was terrified that if he did tell her they would simply default to the relationship they had before. Not the one they had during their marriage, but how it was following his disaster of a marriage proposal. He could not bring himself to do that to her. He wanted Margaret to see more than anything that he could be a man worthy of her, that he could love her and make her happy. And before he could make that happen, he needed to know if she even wanted him to make her happy. He had put her through literal hell over and again. As much as the thought tore his heart, he could not even find it in himself to be angry if she should decide to do that.

He left her notes every day, many times a day. Little things that he truly hoped show Margaret that he noticed her. Small things that he hoped brought a smile to her face as she thought of who wrote them. He made what felt like ridiculous romantic gestures, but were most likely not terribly noticeable to everyone else. From all this he merely hoped to gain an insight as to whether or not the gestures were welcome. He thought they might be, but he couldn't be certain. Not yet at least. Although he knew from her own hand that she loved him, he felt an unbearable desire to offer her the choice; to protect her from himself if need be.

Ultimately he was terrified. Terrified of another rejection, terrified that he would revert to the chaos that drove him mere months ago, and beyond terrified that she would accept. He had no idea how to be a husband, how to be Margaret's husband. For God's sake, they had already gone past their first anniversary together and there had never gone beyond a kiss!

An extremely passionate kiss that practically set him aflame, but he should not dwell on such things.

"Are you alright John?" Margaret asked, looking up at him as they walked down the stairs. It took him a moment to realize that only seconds had passed from the moment she took his arm until now. God she was breathtaking.

"Yes," he replied, his voice sounding oddly thick to even his own ears. "Why do you ask?" She looked down briefly.

"You are shaking." she said. Oh. Apparently he was shaking.

"I am a little nervous I suppose." Another half truth. He was becoming rather adept at them. True he was slightly nervous about the opening, he was vastly more nervous about after…

"If it helps, I will be with you the entire time." Margaret said, smiling softly at him. The genuine kindness in her eyes nearly made him do something rash. "This is a big step for you. On all fronts I imagine. I am a little nervous as well."

"No, Margaret." he replied. She looked at him quizzically. "This is a big step for us." She smiled beatifically, but ducked her head as though she were embarrassed.

The reopening of Marlborough Mills went spectacularly smoothly. He was nervous to be sure, but he found that his nerves slowly died away the moment he started speaking. It helped magnificently that Margaret seemed to sense when he started to become uncomfortable. She would slide past him, discreetly touching his hand, his arm, once his back. Each time she would smile at him, that smile, accompanied by that look, that he could never quite identify. But it balanced him out. The workers helped immensely as well. It almost felt as though they had become a family of sorts, laughing together, making jokes at each others expense, hugging and hand shaking… it made him overwhelmingly proud.

Despite the fact that the Mill had been reopened that day, production wouldn't officially begin until the following day. John had a number of interviews for various newspapers, and of course the workers and their families, and various people throughout Milton had come to celebrate the return of John Thornton. It seemed as though whatever direction you looked, someone was laughing or smiling. John couldn't remember a time where they had all been so united. Even after the last fire the workers remained grave and desolate just as he himself had for months afterwards. It could only be Margaret. She could be the only reason for such spirit. She alone was the only person capable of banding them together, breaking down the barrier between Master and worker. He wondered how she did it.

"Judging by the look on your face, I'm going to assume that you're wondering how on this good earth you got so lucky?" John turned and saw Nicholas smiling cheerfully, before clasping his hand.

"You're very close, I grant you." John said, chuckling. "I was wondering how Margaret was able to banish the walls between masters and workers." Nicholas laughed loudly.

"Aye, if anyone could do such a thing, it would be her." he replied. "To be honest I think it happened because of the fire. Mistress wouldn't let anyone leave to suffer on their own."

"What do you mean, Higgins?" John asked, genuinely curious. He didn't realize until that moment that he knew very little of the immediate events after the fire. Only what happened in relation to him. Nicholas eyed him critically for a moment before replying.

"Well after I had to carry her like a child out of your room, she set to work taking care of everyone else like she always does. She moved everything out of the house practically and helped carry in the wounded. Set up a little hospital inside your house, and tended to everyone inside. They all knew you were upstairs fighting for your life. I suppose they were all surprised that she would take to them in the midst of her own misery. Everything that has happened since the fire we all went through together. Margaret herself was injured trying to save someone, you were injured trying to save people. Margaret helped to dig the graves, something very far beneath her station in my opinion. She would not be swayed.

"The point is Master, Margaret made certain to integrate herself into things no lady would ever lower herself to bother with. You nearly lost your life saving those men, and your men have not forgotten it. Nor will they ever I imagine. You could have easily saved yourself and let them burn, but that's not your way. I knew it, but now they do too. Now they know where they stand with you, and its not under your boot." John didn't know how to reply to such a heartwarming statement, so he nodded, genuinely touched.

"Margaret actually helped dig the graves?" he asked, the warmth of pride rushing through him. Nicholas laughed again.

"Aye Master, and got herself right stuck seeing as she didn't take a ladder. Had to pull her out myself."

"That sounds like Margaret." John said, laughing.

"It was almost as amusing as the time she cut her finger open while peeling potatoes." Nicholas said, chuckling a little louder. They laughed together quietly for a few moments before Nicholas spoke again.

"So how long are you planning on hiding the fact that you have your memories back?"

A/N: IT'S BEEN SO LONG! Seriously, I am sorry for the space between updates. I'm working on it. I can't believe this story is almost done. It's so done I can smell the end. It kind of makes me sad to be honest. I think I have a few more chapters left before we end it though. I'm not quite where I want to be yet.

I feel like this was more of a filler chapter, but I also think it's a necessary one as much as I hate fillers. Let me know what you think! I'm sorry it isn't as long as my usual chapters, but this felt like a good place to end it.

Funny story for you before I go: I have written this chapter so many times, and so many various little scenes for upcoming things that it actually took me a good five minutes to find the real chapter on the computer. For some reason I decided to save all this crap as various parts to chapter 40. the actual chapter was contained in chapter40pt3. I'm losing my mind over here guys haha. Love all of you to death. For real.