Chapter Six: The Journals
Henry went to collect Dixon from the train station himself. Her train was not due to arrive until midnight but knew she might be apprehensive about arriving at night and being escorted to the estate by a stranger. Henry was glad to collect her.
The next morning, Dixon knocked on Margaret's door and the two of them had a tearful reunion. Even though they had only been apart a week, they had become family in a deeper sense of the word due to their shared grief.
Margaret rang for tea, and Dixon helped Margaret get dressed. Dixon told her about the trip and how Mr. Thornton had put her on the train with a basket of food. He had been so kind to her, and she thought well of him now. Margaret was touched that Mr. Thornton had thought of Dixon's comfort and had seen her to the train station himself.
Dixon told Margaret that Mr. Henry was a sight for sore eyes at the end of her journey. She was happy for the trip to be over.
While they waited for the tea, Dixon handed her a bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string.
"Miss Margaret, there are gifts in the package, and a few letters. The Boucher children colored you some pictures, and the Higgins' sent you a letter. There is also a smaller package inside from Mr. Thornton."
Margaret was delighted at the drawings from the children. She would read the letter from the Higgins' and open Mr. Thornton's package later in privacy.
Margaret turned to Dixon and asked, "Tell me the news of Milton."
"Miss Margaret, you have barely been gone from that dreadful town for more than a week. What would there be to tell? Dixon asked.
Margaret would not be deterred, "You could begin with the auction. How did it go?"
I have the proceeds from the auction on my person, and I can give it to you later. Dixon leaned in closer to Margaret, "I had it strapped to my stockings, Miss. You never know what kind of ruffians you might encounter while traveling. It is tucked safely away in my room at the moment."
Margaret stifled a giggle but thanked Dixon for her due diligence in protecting her money.
Dixon continued, "The auction did not bring as much as I hoped. If it had not been for Mr. Thornton buying all your father's books, and some odds and ends, we would have made far less."
Margaret was grateful her father's books had found a home in the Thornton's library. She knew Mr. Thornton would appreciate them and read them.
Moriah knocked on the door with the tea tray, and Dixon let her in.
"Thank you, Miss. I will be taking care of Miss Margaret from now on."
Margaret made each of them a cup of tea, and they both enjoyed some of the delicious shortbread that Scotland was so famous for.
Dixon told about visiting with the Higgins on her last night in Milton, and how she believed them to be the best people in all of Milton, save Mr. Thornton.
"Dixon! I am shocked to hear you say such a thing!" Margaret was truly surprised.
Dixon said, "Miss Margaret, that man loves you. He was very helpful to me in sorting through the household contents, and he saw to it that I had everything I needed. He is not at all who I thought he was. Yes, I think much better of him than I did."
The next thing Dixon said took Margaret's breath away. Thursday, he took me to the cemetery to pay my respects to your mother. He had tended the grave, and he gave me a bouquet of flowers to replace the ones you had placed on her grave just before you left. He just stood there, about ten feet away, and allowed me to say goodbye to your mother for the last time."
By this time, both women had tears running down their faces and both were lost in their memories of Maria Hale. Margaret took Dixon in her arms. "It was a fine thing Mr. Thornton did, Dixon. I am glad of it."
After Dixon finished her tea, she asked Margaret if she would mind if she went downstairs to lie down for a bit.
"Not at all, dear Dixon. I will see you later this morning."
After she closed the door, Margaret walked back to her bed, and picked up the package from Mr. Thornton and the letter from the Higgins's. She decided to read the letter from Nicholas and Mary first. It was full of news about the mill, people in the neighborhood where they lived that Margaret also knew, and they ended their letter by telling her how much they missed her. Nicholas had added one last sentence, "The Master misses you, too, Miss Margret."
Margaret folded the letter and sat it on her desk. She would send a reply to Higgins later this afternoon.
Next, she opened the package from John. There was a letter, but there were also two journals. One was engraved, JT,and the other had her name engraved in gold lettering on it, Margaret Ann Hale.
Margaret opened the one with her name on it and saw it was brand new. She picked up the other one and it was filled with Mr. Thornton's handwriting. Margaret thumbed through the journal and saw every entry was about her.
She looked at the dates on the first and last pages and the time span was a year or so. She read the first entry, and it was written the first night he had come for lessons with her father. He wrote that he found her beautiful, but haughty. She turned to the last entry, and found it was made the night before Dixon left for Scotland. It spoke of his anxiety that he might never see her again and of how his heart ached for her.
Margaret shut the journal and tried to gather her thoughts. Why would Mr. Thornton expose himself to her in this way? She was reeling with the implications of it all. What was he trying to convey? She knew he loved her; he had expressed that before she left, but these entries were his most private thoughts. She was overwhelmed.
Margaret picked up the letter he had sent and broke the seal. She opened the pages and found the answers to her questions .
My dearest Margaret,
I know it is impertinent of me to use your Christian name, but in my thoughts, it is how I refer to you. I wonder what you think of my gifts, and I am sure you are confused by at least one of them, so I will explain.
When we were in Oxford, we spoke about weighing the merits and drawbacks of an option when we are faced with choices. I told you that I found it helps to write things down to process my thinking. The first gift, the new journal, is yours for that purpose, should you choose to use it as such.
The second gift is my own journal. It reveals my heart's journey to loving you. As I told you when I asked for your hand many months ago, I have never loved a woman before, and when I found myself forming an attachment to you, I did not have the experience to understand my emotions. So, in my effort to make sense of these new feelings, I wrote my thoughts down. As you know, I am a very private man, and speaking of such deep feelings is not easy for me, but I am laying my heart out to you with no reservations, my darling girl.
From the very beginning of our acquaintance, I knew you were extraordinary, not only because of your uncommon beauty, but also because of your unwavering faith and your commitment to the tenents of that faith. How could you do otherwise as a vicar's daughter? Your compassion for others and your generosity is beyond anything I have ever known.
I wondered that we constantly misunderstood each other, and I recorded my angst in my journal. I wanted to be the gentleman you deserved, but I am a tradesman. It hurt that you could not see the man beneath the master, and I hope you do not mind the entries I wrote about that.
It is your choice to read my thoughts, and if you do, you will see that I struggled with so many things as I came to love you. Even if your heart never finds its home with mine, it is important to me that you have a deeper understanding of the man I am and that you know unequivocally, the place you will always hold in my heart.
I miss your sweet spirit and your fiery one as well.
Yours always, John
Margaret could not read any more of the journal entries today. She just could not. Her heart was too full. She marveled at Mr. Thornton's courage to lay his heart before her thus so.
She was moved that Mr. Thornton had thought to take Dixon to the cemetery and buy flowers for Dixon to lay at her beloved mistress's grave. She thought of her father's books and how only one person would value them as her father did, and that person was Mr. Thornton. Then, there were the gifts of the journals. He loved her with a fierce devotion, and when she could understand her own feelings more clearly, she would answer the unspoken question between them, did she return his love?
Margaret did what she always did when she did not know what else to do, she prayed. She prayed for her parents, Dixon, her brother, and for John. There had been so much pain over the last year, and she yearned for her heart not to be so heavy and for the pain to lessen for those who were still living.
Margaret went outside to stand on the balcony. She took in all the beauty before her and vowed to be a daughter her parents could be proud of, and to forge a life of happiness. She would always miss her parents, and she would always remember her friend Bessy, but with time, her heart would heal.
She walked to her desk and opened Mr. Thornton's gift to her. She dated the top of the page and began writing. She didn't think, she just let the words flow from her heart. When she was finished, she did not read what she wrote, she closed the book, and took a deep breath.
Dixon had returned to see if Margaret needed to change or have her hair redone for lunch. Margaret allowed her to redo her hair, and somehow, things seemed a bit more normal again.
When Dixon had finished her hair, Margaret laid her hand on top of Dixon's and said, "I love you, Dixon. Thank you for being in my life, and for being my anchor as I navigate my way through the uncertainties that I am facing."
'Miss Margaret, there is no other place I could be. I am not your mother, but I can be here in her stead to look after you. I believe she would have wanted me to."
Margaret thanked her.
Dixon tried to give Margaret the money the auction had brought, but Margaret would not take a shilling of it.
"You earned that money, and it is yours. Let that be the end of it."
Dixon left her mistress to go downstairs, and Margaret walked over to her desk and took John's journal in her hands. She closed her eyes and remembered him singing to her. How could she ever have misjudged him as just a coarse tradesman? This gentle giant of a man had laid his heart before her with his most private thoughts, and Margaret felt her heart swell with emotion she was not ready to name.
