~Chapter 11~
John rose in the still darkness of the pre-dawn hours. He dressed slower than usual, coming often to stand beside the sleeping form of his wife. She lay curled in the center of the bed where John had left her, one arm beneath her head in such a way as to turn her face towards him. Margaret. He bit his tongue to keep from calling her name aloud. If he did, she might stir and wake, blinking open the large, expression-filled eyes that he always wanted to find filled with the ready affection of the night before. John had never seen his wife as she woke. His imagination colored the many possibilities. Would she wake eagerly, rising to greet the new day, a smile upon her lips? Perhaps, like Fanny, she did not rise easily and would fight to remain abed, burying herself amid the coverlets. Either reality excited John, ready as he was to absorb every detail of his Margaret. Knowing he would not disturb her sleep on a whim, John headed for the door. Crack! His shoulder caught the edge of the bed frame.
Margaret sat immediately upright at the unexpected sound. Although never a light sleeper, Margaret would have had to be deaf or dead to remain at rest with that noise. "John?" she cried, her heart pounding in surprise.
"Good morning, Margaret," John answered her, his voice tight with the sharp pain in his shoulder, "I am sorry to have woken you."
"Are you all right?" she asked, only able to see his shadowy form in the lightless room.
John grinned. "I fear I have sprained my pride, but I am sure it will make a full recovery."
Margaret stepped down off the bed, her bare toes curling appreciatively when they met warm carpet. She worked her way carefully to him, surprised when her bare foot came in contact with his shoe. "You are leaving," she exclaimed.
"To go to the mill," he responded.
She let out a little sigh. "How can you even tell that it is morning? The darkness in this room is so complete."
A chuckle escaped John. "I have risen at this time for so long that I do not require the sun to calculate the hour." A moment later the disappointment in her voice registered and he went on. "Does the darkness bother you?"
Margaret shifted from one foot to the other. "Yes," she finally answered, honestly. "I find it much easier to start my day waking with the light. The few nights I have spent in this room have all ended with me rising hurriedly for fear of having slept beyond an acceptable hour."
"Why did you not tell me?" John questioned, surprised at the revelation.
She smiled at that. "It hardly seemed prudent."
John, unable to stand even the short distance between them, removed it in a single step. He brushed his hand down the sleeve of her cotton nightdress. "You must change the room to please you," he commanded.
"I would not wish to impose."
"It would be an imposition if you woke every day unhappy as a result of the décor of this bedroom," he insisted.
"Then I shall change it," Margaret decided with a yawn. Unused to the early hour, she let her head drop sleepily until it rested against his chest.
John wrapped his arms around her, knowing that he would be late to the mill even if he forewent breakfast. "Go back to bed, Margaret," he stated, planting a kiss on her forehead. Her face was warm against his lips and John's heart leapt into his throat. Could it be fever? He pressed a palm against her forehead and cheek, breathing easier as he registered each as possessing only the normal warmth of sleep.
"Shall I bring your dinner basket?" Margaret queried, thinking how it would improve her day.
"No, dearest," John responded, fear fresh in his mind. Margaret pulled away from him then, so he continued, "I will not have you further exposed to the illness that is currently sweeping through the mill."
"I am taking a basket to the Higgins' today," Margaret declared. "How much more dangerous can the mill be?"
John's face blanched at that. "You will not. Send Julia or Samantha."
Margaret stomped her bare foot rather ineffectually on the carpeted floor. "You may be my husband, John Thornton, but I do not take orders. I will visit poor Mary myself to see if I can be of any help to her or the children." Even in the dark room, John saw her cheeks flush and her mahogany eyes flash with anger.
"Will you not see reason?"
"I see no reason to react with such force to a fever!" Margaret argued, her voice rising in frustration. "Why, Johnny Boucher seemed well enough the other day to have gone out and played in the street with all the other children."
"You judge from the illness of one child," John returned. "I, on the other hand, have not had any of my laborers return to work although dozens are now ill. I do not have any measure yet of the severity of this, only its quick rate of spreading." He turned up his palms in a peace-making gesture. "I cannot bear the thought of you ill because I was not careful enough, Margaret."
"And I will become ill if you confine me to this house," Margaret insisted, placing her hands atop his own.
John forced a smile. "I do not think I could ever command anything of you against your will, Margaret. I admit defeat for the moment, although I beg you to consider carefully the risks to your own health which you are taking." He brushed a hand over her tousled hair and pulled her closer. "Now I must be going."
Surprised by the easy end of the argument, Margaret barely managed to offer a "goodbye" before her husband had quit the room. When Samantha came in to check on the mistress, Margaret had selected and laid out a practical but colorful turquoise gown. Once dressed, Margaret almost danced down the stairs and into the dining room.
"Good morning, madam," Edward greeted her, thinking that the smile on the mistress' face more than made up for the cloudy, humid day.
"Edward, good morning," Margaret replied. "I will be visiting the Higgins family today and require a basket to be prepared for them."
"Do you plan to risk the health of this entire household merely in order to satisfy your own fancy?" Hannah Thornton snapped, entering the room behind her daughter-in-law and catching the end of her conversation. "It is bad enough that you enter those repulsive slums, where filth covers everything and everyone. Doing so during an epidemic is the height of ignorance or selfishness. I have not decided yet which applies to you. Perhaps both." She stood majestically over the now-seated Margaret, one lip curled in disgust.
Margaret attempted to answer civilly, unwilling to devote time and energy to this woman who so often found fault with her. "I have spoken with my husband about this matter and therefore do not require your approval." She rose and left the room, gathered a light straw bonnet, a white shawl and matching gloves, and retrieved the completed basket from Edward. The butler patted his mistress' gloved hand companionably, bringing a smile back to Margaret's face.
Stepping out onto the porch, Margaret breathed deeply as though to rid herself of the contagion of fury that Mrs. Thornton exuded. Heavy clouds blanketed the sky, trapping a layer of sticky, moist air over the town, making each breath uncomfortable. After a few moments, Margaret continued down the steps and towards the gate, her heart growing lighter as her thoughts transferred from Mrs. Thornton to the Higgins and Boucher family whom she would soon see. All around her, the summer world emerged. The weeds, which had seemed new only yesterday, had thickened into hardy growth that pushed apart the cobblestones or clung defiantly to the houses that Margaret passed. Yet, few of the residents of these homes seemed to recognize or revel in the changing of the season. Instead, those individuals who walked the streets hurried by without their customary greetings to her. Reaching the Higgins' door, Margaret knocked firmly.
It took several moments for Mary to reach the door, opening it only a crack to view the caller. "Miss Margaret," she declared, "It is good of you to come, but I fear we are more a sick house than at your last visit. Perhaps you should not stay."
"Nonsense," Margaret replied. "I have come with food and a ready hand for work."
Mary opened the door to allow Margaret entry, revealing that the house had been transformed with makeshift pallets upon which nearly all of the children lay. Johnny, who had been so active despite his illness on Margaret's last visit now lay sleeping, his face blotched with the color of fever. Anna, his constant companion, lay beside him, wearing the same patchwork of color with an added sheen of sweat upon her brow. The others lay in similar states with only Cora awake and clinging to Mary, who held the sick child to her shoulder as she attempted to care for the others.
"Here." Margaret held out her arms and Cora launched herself into them. There, Cora locked her arms about Margaret's neck and her legs about Margaret's waist. Finally, Cora hid her face in the curve below Margaret's cheek so that her hot skin burnt against Margaret's own. Dropping a kiss on the little girl's forehead, Margaret dampened a rag in the wash basin and ran it over each fever-rouged face.
"How are they?" Margaret asked, lowering her voice to avoid disturbing any rest that the poor souls might be taking.
Mary looked up from dribbling some evil smelling, home-made concoction into Keenan's mouth. "Father is fearsome worried," she admitted, not bothering to whisper. "Now that old man Richards been found dead and Garry Boxer nearly there, he is afeared it might take more than one o' ours."
A lump rose in Margaret's throat at the thought of any of these dear ones with the color all gone from their faces and tiny coffins replacing the bedspreads beneath them. "I am sure it will not be as bad as that," she managed, her statement a prayer.
Mary nodded, too worn to argue the point with the inexperienced woman from the South.
From that point on the two women remained silent, carrying out the routine tasks that needed no soundtrack. Margaret continued to bathe the children's faces, soothing them when they stirred restlessly. Mary cooked up a broth and patiently spooned it into each child's mouth, wiping away the liquid that spilled when the child did not swallow or lifting them into a sitting position if they choked on it. Margaret realized too late as she watched that the basket filled with breads and meats would be of little use.
"Nay," Mary declared, when Margaret voiced her regret, "The meat will make broth and the bread will feed me and Father. And speakin' o' the man, he will be home right soon. You had best be off afore it gets dark." Margaret assented, pressed a hand to each child's forehead, freed Cora's hands from around her neck and passed the now sleeping child to Mary.
"God bless and keep all of you," Margaret stated as she left.
"Amen," was Mary's reply.
Margaret hurried back to the house in the fading daylight, finding the world a changed place from the summer season she had greeted earlier. Instead, Margaret noticed the number of houses uncommonly dark for the early hour and wondered if the occupants were too ill to light a candle. Her fears multiplied as she considered the very real possibility that dozens of households had fallen ill down to the last member.
Entering the Thornton house, Margaret found the normal activities within unreal after her experience at the Higgins'. She washed and dressed for supper as if in a dream, not even able to laugh it away when she realized she had fastened the buttons on her dress incorrectly.
John's day flew by as he struggled to keep track of his ill laborers and their replacements. Many sought to continue at the mill even though they carried the disease, entreating him to allow them to stay on so as to have the money to buy food and pay the rent. Despite that, he still found time to worry over Margaret's visit to Mary Higgins and the Boucher children, especially after hearing that Boxer, one of the first to fall ill, had died. When John asked, Nicholas Higgins expressed grave concern over the condition of the children, revealing another neighbor as victim to the disease. Thus, John breathed a sigh of relief when the mill whistle sounded and he could return home to check on Margaret himself. He impatiently pulled on his jacket and hat as he walked down the steps and across the mill yard.
After dressing for supper, John entered the dining room only to find his mother seated alone in the room. "Good evening, mother," he greeted her, then hurried on, "Where is Margaret?"
Mrs. Thornton sniffed. "I have not seen her since she snapped at me this morning and –"
John did not even let her finish, turning to the corner where the butler stood as normal. "Edward, has the mistress returned?"
"Aye, sir," Edward replied, "I believe she is preparing herself for supper."
Margaret rushed down the stairs, knowing that she would be late to supper. Sure enough, when she turned the corner into the dining room, both John and Mrs. Thornton waited. "I am sorry for keeping you," she breathed.
"Untimely arrival suggests that one considers herself more important than those she has inconvenienced," Hannah Thornton quipped without thought. It was a statement she had used constantly to teach her children punctuality.
Margaret could not find the grace to look apologetic and might have responded if John had not spoken then.
"Margaret, I began to worry when I did not find you here. Come, sit." They prayed and then, as Edward served, John again took up the conversation. "How did you find the Higgins and Boucher family?"
"Unwell," she replied, selecting a slice of roasted beef, "It appears you were correct in your hesitation before determining the illness to be mild. All of the children are now ill and I would not be surprised if Mary is or shall be soon."
"And Nicholas with her," John added.
"Yes," Margaret continued, "It is alarming to consider the number of entire households that may already have the sickness."
"You seem to wish ours among them," Hannah snapped, her fears and frustrations pushing their way out despite her attempt to remain civil.
John stopped cutting his meat and turned to his mother, his lips tight, silently asking for her support. Hannah nodded, knowing. Margaret missed the entire exchange.
"You are right to worry over the families," John explained to Margaret, "In times of illness the parents often work themselves to death in order to continue feeding their children. If they cannot, some die that might have survived if they had not starved."
Margaret felt sick at the thought and pushed her plate away, sure she could not eat another bite while others went hungry just outside the mill gate. She just had to help those families! Ready to say as much, Margaret glanced up and met Mrs. Thornton's eyes, which still held condemnation for her earlier outing. Thus, Margaret remained mute, determined to speak to her husband about this matter.
"I am finished," John declared, rising, "Edward, tell Molly the meal was delicious as always." Edward nodded. Margaret, eager to avoid one-on-one time with her mother-in-law, followed her husband from the room.
John escorted his wife into the library, their self-ordained sanctuary. He pulled her close in his arms and then kissed her. Meant to be a gentle show of affection, the kiss deepened as John let all his worries and anxiety from the day pour forth.
With her lips crushed against those of her husband, Margaret could not recall the thought that just minutes ago had seemed so pressing. Instead, she knew every place that he touched her. One of his hands traveled from her shoulder to her hand while the other brushed over her hair. They continued on their separate journeys over her shoulders, back, face. It was as though John's hands needed to know every inch of her. Margaret knew the same need. Pulling her lips away from his, Margaret asked, "Shall we retire?"
Consumed with longing, John nevertheless responded with a question of his own. "Are you certain?"
Equal parts embarrassment, fear, and longing of her own, Margaret replied, "Yes."
The young couple therefore hurried quietly up the stairs and into the master bedroom, shutting and securing the door behind them. Then, they stood uncertainly in the room. Knowing John waited for her action, Margaret moved to unfasten her dress.
"Wait," John protested, "May I?" Margaret nodded and John gently freed each black button down the front of his wife's dress. He then pushed it back off her shoulders and trailed first his fingers and then his lips over the smooth, white skin his actions exposed. Margaret gasped at the whisper of his breath against her skin. When John moved to untie her stays, however, Margaret stopped him with a hand, unbuttoning his coat and vest and then reaching up to untie his cravat. John slipped off all the offending articles and dropped them to the floor and removed his shirt, shoes, and pants, adding them to the pile. Husband and wife stood in their undergarments.
Margaret lifted her hands to her hair, freeing one pin after another. She kept her eyes on her husband, who swallowed hard as one section of hair after another tumbled free. Finally finished, Margaret set the hair pins on her vanity.
John reached out a hand to cup her face. Margaret stepped into his arms, as their lips met again, more urgently. Afire with their desire for one another, the couple moved to the bed.