~Chapter 8~
"Fred," Margaret said again, as if repeating his name made his presence more real, "How did you get here so quickly? I sent my letter barely three weeks ago. How did you find me at all?" She had thrown her arms about him with complete abandon and released him only after some long minutes had passed. It reminded John of that night at the station, only this reality was a hundred times worse than what he had imagined then. Margaret did not have a lover but might leave him anyway – and to go to Spain! The thought of never seeing her again nearly brought John to his knees.
"Mr. Bell sent me a letter from Oxford upon the event of father's death," Frederick explained, "I set out at once to come for you." He looked about for a place on which to rest his hat and Margaret, seeing it, realized her lack of hospitality.
"Here, Fred," she stated, "Give your hat and coat to Edward. Have you eaten? Are you thirsty?"
Fred did as he was bid, handing his coat and hat over to the butler, whose mustache could not hide a frown so deep it seemed engraved upon his face. I probably woke him, Frederick thought and then realized that the late hour meant his sister probably tired as well. "I ate on the train and so am neither hungry nor thirsty. I also did not think on the lateness of the hour or I would have come in the morning. Let me not keep you up. I will return in the morrow."
"Nonsense!" Margaret declared, just as John begged internally, Go and do not return! Margaret steered her brother to the sofa in the sitting room and took her place beside him, glad that she had not extinguished the lights when Mr. Thornton came in from the mill. She did not even appear to notice when John did not follow.
Frederick smiled at his dear sister, noting her appearance and wondering absently at her decision to so quickly abandon her mourning. "Go on," Margaret urged him, "I understand about Mr. Bell's letter, but how did you come to find me here?"
"I had no lucky informant on that point," Frederick admitted. "I traveled first to London and our aunt's home, which is where I thought to find you. Imagine my surprise when I instead learned that you had married and were living still in Milton!" He glanced back at the doorway, but it appeared that the man of the house had seen fit to remove himself from their presence. All the better, for it meant Frederick could be frank with his sister. "Aunt Shaw and Edith told me of the circumstances, Margaret. I only wish I could have traveled faster so as to spare you from this humiliation. But it is no matter. We will soon away to Spain where no one shall know that you ever were married and you can again be Margaret Hale."
John sat on the stairs in the hall with his head in his hands, unable to stop himself from listening in on the conversation that threatened to end his marriage and plunge him into despair. Her brother would take her to Spain with him and Margaret would be happy there. Why, she had appeared more alive in the last ten minutes than she had in the last ten days! How could John even consider selfishly hoping for her to stay? Yet, despite his coaching, John had to stop himself from running forward and spilling out in a deluge all the words and feelings he had held back. If she left, his entire world would cease to hold any meaning. Unable to bear another word, he retreated to the master bedroom where he was certain he would pass a rather sleepless night.
"Fred," Margaret stated. "I am married. Father-" Here she let forth a small sob that alerted Frederick at once to the very real sorrow his sister still felt deeply. He wrapped his arm about her shoulder in a brotherly half hug and squeezed. With that support, Margaret managed to continue. "Father would be ashamed of me for so quickly abandoning the promise I gave before God to stay with Mr. Thornton until death do us part."
"Margaret," Fred complained, "Those same vows say that you will love and honor each other, and that is not so, is it?"
Margaret found that tears separate from those for her father had sprung into her eyes. It was true that Mr. Thornton no longer loved her as he had first professed to do, but surely some type of affection must be responsible for his kind attentions of late. She sniffed and looked down at her lap where she twisted a bit of her skirt in her fingers. This time, the happy fabric failed to elicit a response from her sorely tried emotions.
"Margaret," Fred tried again, softer this time at the sight of her again in tears. "It is very late and the last several weeks have battered your emotions. Let us retire for the evening and continue this conversation in the morning." She gladly complied and, after insisting that her brother would stay nowhere but this household, showed Frederick to the room beside her own.
Frederick breathed in relief as Margaret blushingly explained her sleeping arrangements. He respected this mysterious Mr. Thornton for preserving Margaret's innocence. Tired from his seemingly-eternal journey, Fred quickly dropped off to sleep thinking how in just a few more weeks he would have Margaret safely in Spain and his family united once again. Now that, Margaret, he thought, would make Father proud.
Margaret, on the other hand, found herself unable to sleep for the turmoil of her thoughts. She was sure that division from either Frederick or Milton – no, that was a falsehood and in her own mind Margaret needed to rely on the truth. It was the division between Frederick and Mr. Thornton – John, her husband – that Margaret thought would tear every fiber of her being. Indeed, she physically ached at the very consideration of either going to Spain or watching Frederick leave. Finally, racked with anxiety and so tense that her clenched teeth hurt, she sought out comfort. First, she knocked softly on Frederick's door, although the snores that emanated from within revealed him to be slumbering. As expected, he did not answer. Thus, Margaret found herself for the second night standing before the master bedroom door uncertainly. Her panic was only worsening; indeed, she could hear herself hyperventilating and the breaths echoing down the hall.
Hannah Thornton woke to a strange sound outside her door. She rose immediately, lifting the glass cover from her bedside lamp and taking the base with her to use as a club if it were an intruder. Instead, she opened her door to view her daughter-in-law down the hall by the stairs appearing to have some sort of attack. Her first thought of Margaret playing John's emotions was tossed immediately aside as John was nowhere in sight. Thus, Hannah gave in to her mothering instinct and, setting the lamp base on the floor, hurried down the hall to Margaret. "Margaret," she called and was met by her daughter-in-law's panic filled eyes. "Sit down," she commanded, and Margaret obeyed, tucking her knees up before her. Hannah knelt before the frightened girl and stroked her hair while murmuring comfortingly, "Hush, hush, it cannot be so bad as all this."
It is. It is, Margaret wanted to confide, but could not even catch her breath, much less speak.
Hannah listened worriedly to the hectic pattern of Margaret's breathing. The girl needed to calm herself. Taking Margaret's chin firmly in her hand, Hannah forced her daughter-in-law to meet her eyes again. "Margaret," she urged, "take control over your emotions."
"Mother?" John's voice sounded from the doorway to his bedroom.
"Thank God," Hannah sighed. "It is Margaret. She is unwell, John." Her son was beside her in a moment, his blue eyes absorbing the scene at once. "Do you have any idea what could be the cause?" Hannah asked.
John could barely turn himself from Margaret's condition to answer his mother's question. "Yes," he managed, "I will tell you all in the morning."
Hannah nodded, trusting her son implicitly. She rose but was halted by John's hand at her arm. "Thank you, mother," John stated.
Once his mother headed down the hall, John knelt beside his wife. "Margaret," he whispered, drawing her name out in a croon. Her chest still heaved as she hyperventilated audibly. She seemed when he had first arrived at the scene unfocused, but now she watched him with anxious eyes and reached out a hesitant hand in his direction. It was all the invitation John required. He lifted Margaret and carried her into the bedroom, cradling her again as he had the night before, although this time far too worried over her panic to enjoy the sensation, despite the fact that for the second time Margaret clung to him, wanting the contact. "This is about your brother's arrival," John remarked, knowing it to be a fact. "Margaret, you do not have to make a decision about your actions this night." She breathed a little easier at these words, so John repeated them like a lullaby. Slowly, Margaret's panic subsided and she eventually lay calm in John's arms. John waited for the moment when she would withdraw, pulling back from this intimate connection, but it never came. Instead, Margaret relaxed into sleep still in her husband's embrace.
For the good part of an hour, John sat still, soaking in this moment, perhaps one of their last together. He absorbed the smooth softness of her cheek where it touched the open collar of his nightshirt. He breathed in the scent of her, all soap and sunshine. After a while, however, his own exhaustion began to tax him and his arms grew stiff and heavy. Unwilling to either risk waking Margaret or give up these few last moments with her by returning her to the bedroom that her belongings occupied – he refused to call it her bedroom –, John determined instead to lay her beside him on the bed; but, when he placed her down, Margaret still clung to John, her fists holding tight to the cloth of his nightshirt. Rather than free her hands, John lay beside her, closer than he had planned, with Margaret curled against his chest. Uncertain of everything except that moment, John held fast to consciousness until Margaret's soft sighs and radiant warmth lulled him to sleep.
John woke to find that they had shifted in the night. Margaret now lay on the edge of the bed as though trying to remain as far from him as possible. He could not help but wonder if she had arranged herself that way after waking in the night. Depressed at the thought, John decided not to remain in the bedroom until Margaret awoke as he had first planned. Instead, he rose, dressed, and grabbed a quick bite in the dining room.
"Shall I ask Molly to make up a basket for two?" Edward asked, trying to subtly pry into the standings between the master and mistress after the events of the night before.
"No, Edward," John replied, his voice carefully stripped of any emotion. "I will take my dinner with me as before."
"Ay, sir." Edward left to inform Molly of both the master's request and its relation to the master and mistress' current situation. He returned with the resulting basket and Mr. Thornton was on his way.
Margaret woke slowly, uncertain at first of her location after the turmoil of last night. She found herself, as had become her custom of late, alone in the dark of the master bedroom. Swallowing at the lump of self-pity that rose in her throat, Margaret slipped silently down the hall and into her own bedroom. There, she selected a dull grey dress with white collar and cuffs and prepared her hair herself very simply. Thus dressed before most of the household stirred, Margaret hurried downstairs and into the dining room. She scanned the room without acknowledging for what she searched, but upon finding no basket left by Mr. Thornton, Margaret gave a small sigh of disappointment.
"May I help you with something?" Edward asked, frightening her a little, for she had not noticed him.
"No, thank you," she replied and wandered down the hall and into the library, but could concentrate on no volume that entered her fingers.
"Good morning, Margaret," Frederick yawned, leaning in the doorway. "I do hope, this, your last in Milton, is a good one." Margaret felt the panic from the night before enveloping her.
"I could not possibly be ready until the end of the week!" Margaret insisted.
Fred sighed and crossed the room to her. "It is Tuesday. Whatever could keep you from readiness to leave until week's end?"
Margaret went to play with her cuff but halted herself, unwilling to reveal the strength of her emotion on this subject. "I must call on our family's acquaintances and pack my belongings."
Hannah Thornton stood in the hall, absorbing the whole of the conversation within. Hers was a true accidental eavesdropping, as she had merely come to check on Margaret after her attack of panic the night before. Instead, she found her daughter-in-law speaking of leaving with a man that Hannah had not known was present in the house at all. Was this the mysterious man from the train station? All the pieces fitted themselves together in Hannah's mind. She longed to enter and give that wicked girl the tongue lashing that she deserved for daring to marry John Thornton and then leave him in scandal with a heart not only broken but ground in the dirt. Did John know of this yet? Hannah experienced the division of a mother's heart at such a moment: to hide the truth and spare him the pain for the moment or to reveal all now and take from him these last moments free of pain? There was no easy answer, but Hannah decided after a minute that knowing now would not change Margaret's heart and thus John did not need to know. She stormed into the front room and attacked her needlework.
"But you are no longer fighting the thought of leaving?" Frederick pushed, thinking of the meeting between his dear wife and his sister and how Margaret would love the climate of the southern coast.
"I do not know, Fred," Margaret burst out. "I simply must speak with Mr. Thornton about this."
"Very well," Frederick replied, frustrated, "then do so at once that we might move forward with your preparations."
Margaret returned to the dining room, wiping her hands on her skirt before entering, as they had become moist with her rising anxiousness. "Edward," she addressed the butler.
"Yes, mistress?"
"Did Mr. Thornton take his dinner with him to the mill?" Margaret asked.
"Aye, mistress," Edward returned, his eyebrows lifting in surprise at this unusual turn of events.
"Ask Molly to make me another," Margaret commanded, "I will be joining him."
"Yes, mistress." Edward's mouth stretched into a grin once he entered the hall.
When he returned with her basket, Margaret gathered her gloves, bonnet, and courage, and headed out the door and down the steps into the mill yard.
John had expected the morning to drag but instead found himself caught up in an unusual situation. Williams informed John as soon as the workers arrived that more had come down with the fever that had started at the mill with only two. An inspection of the present workers revealed some who should have stayed home sick. John's stomach twisted. If this were an epidemic, it could not only damage him financially but threaten the entire community. Perhaps it is for the best that Margaret is leaving, the little voice in John's mind offered sarcastically. Tossing the thought aside, John began to dismiss those workers who appeared ill, unwilling for it to spread on his account. He had made it down two aisles when a child collapsed down the line; it was Johnny Boucher, the oldest of the Boucher children who had only this week begun work gathering the cotton fluff beneath the looms. Nicholas moved to run to the child.
"No!" John cried, unable to allow the father to go to his adopted son, as his two looms would be unattended. "I have him!"
His face twisting in grief, Nicholas nevertheless returned to his place. John carefully lifted the child, feeling at once the heat of fever. He walked to Higgins, who cupped the boy's face in a tender hand. "Take him to Mary," Higgins stated, more calmly than John expected. So John exited the mill and walked towards the dining hall.
"Johnny!" John turned to see Margaret racing down the steps of the house and cursed.
"Get back in the house!" he cried, terrified that she might catch the fever.
Margaret did not even hesitate at his words. He could not mean them. She had to see the poor boy. "Is he hurt? Is he ill?" she asked, still running towards them.
"Get back in the house, Margaret!" John's tone brooked no argument and finally brought a halt to her advance. Unsure how long her obedience would last, he hurried into the dining hall, shutting the door against her with a decisive bang.
Margaret stood for a minute, waiting for him to return, to explain his harsh words and actions. She wanted to go after him or to go to the mill and find Nicholas, but John Thornton had laid down his command. When he did not come, anger coursed her veins so that she felt hot despite the slight chill of the morning. Finally, Margaret returned to the house, throwing down her little basket by the door. Perhaps Spain was not far enough!