~Chapter 13~
The closer Margaret came to home, the more she reconsidered her words and actions of the morning and found herself wanting. John had not forbidden her from visiting the home of her friends, despite his wishes to the contrary; he had merely asked that she avoid Marlboro Mills and in that Margaret had failed. In truth, she had been so selfishly involved with her own project that she had ignored the small warning her mind registered as she walked across the mill yard. In turn, when confronted by John's disappointment, Margaret had accused him of betraying her trust and his spousal duties when it was she who had done so. Thus, Margaret found herself caught in a true conundrum upon reaching the house; for, she wished to go at once and make her apology but to do so would be to again disobey his desires and enter the mill. Coming to a halt just before the stone stairs into the house, Margaret stood in the dust of the mill yard, ignoring the action taking place before her and concentrating everything on the dark figure visible through the mill's upper windows. Look up at me, she begged, praying, hoping, wishing for the chance to make amends before their not-so-private supper.
Paperwork offered John the necessary excuse to escape from the public eye after his embarrassing display. He still felt a rush of anger at the memory of Margaret so thoughtlessly risking her health by entering the mill. A sting of hurt followed his recollection of her accusations: that he treated her like a child, that he acted as bully rather than husband. He glumly paged through the account book, filling in slots and adding sums, losing himself for a few minutes before again this morning's events resurfaced. Each time before when they had argued, he had acted the part of the penitent for Margaret, soothing over their silly disagreements and hurts. This time, though, he could not do it. If Margaret wanted this rift healed then, by God, she would have to initiate the conversation. This probably meant that there would be none. Tonight, then, would be nothing like the last. With a grunt of frustration, John set his pen aside and ran his hands over his face. Marriage, he thought, should be easier than this. Husband and wife cared for one another; why could neither long remain at peace? Rising, John resolved to overcome his growing depression by walking the floor below. He did not see his wife in the yard below, gazing up at him.
At the sight of John turning away, ignoring her, Margaret's heart sank. She pressed forward with her plan to enact a system of feeding the families, walking directly into the house and down the hall to the kitchen, instructing Molly to purchase two dozen baskets and to plan on filling them each day with the help of the maids. Yet, for all that Margaret still felt strongly about the feeding of the ill families of Marlboro Mills, she could not erase the repetition of the harsh words she had used against her husband; they played over and over in her mind. All too soon, she was called to supper.
Margaret entered the dining room and was momentarily relieved to find her husband absent and only Mrs. Thornton awaiting her arrival. Perhaps he would return from the mill later and she could immediately offer him the apology he so richly deserved. Yet, only moments after she had taken her seat, John entered.
He crossed the room and seated himself beside her, then waited watching Margaret's stillness for a moment before speaking. Margaret did not even lift her eyes from her plate. "Are you well?"
"Yes and no," Margaret replied, longing to throw herself in his arms and beg forgiveness and simultaneously reddening at having to profess her apology before her mother-in-law. "I am physically well but fear I have again fallen from your good graces with my imbecilic performance this morning."
John nodded.
Filled with rising fear by his lack of reaction, Margaret asked, "Do you have the time to speak with me privately?"
He nodded again.
But halfway through a terribly silent supper, Mr. and Mrs. Watson arrived for an unexpected visit. John and Mr. Watson retired into the parlor while the ladies retreated to the drawing room. Fanny Watson was all abuzz with the plans of all of the mill owners and their wives to retreat to the country until the sickness released its hold over Milton.
"Why, I told my Watson that I should think it right to leave ourselves should the sickness spread up from the lower classes!" Fanny fanned herself as though faint at the thought of sharing anything with those outside her social status. "We have determined to write the Hardings in preparation for such a necessity."
Margaret, distracted by her continual berating of herself over the fight with John, did not bother to speak up over the unchristian example set by leaving the poor and sick to fend for themselves. In truth, she barely acknowledged it.
"Should you not also consider to which of our friends you will go?" Fanny suggested.
Hannah noticed her daughter-in-law's uncharacteristic silence on the subject which had so recently caused fireworks in their home. She immediately connected Margaret's behavior to the dinner table conversation, which had been more of a monologue. What could Margaret have done now that would so quickly alienate her from John? Noticing Fanny's pout begin at the lack of reaction from her companions, Hannah stepped in, "We had not yet considered it, Fanny. Who would you suggest?" She continued steering her daughter away from the topic and covering for her distracted daughter-in-law.
John Thornton found it immensely difficult to speak with Mr. Watson, not only because he was an arrogant man with little of consequence to add to any conversation, but also because he longed to end this standoff with Margaret. During dinner he had been unable to read her reaction, knowing her surprise at his minimal answers but unable to tell if she was more hurt or angry at his distance. He glanced up to find Watson watching him expectantly.
"I apologize," John stated. "Did you say something? My mind was elsewhere."
"I only mentioned that you might send your wife and mother with us, should you continue in your hair-brained scheme to stay out the illness in Milton."
John clenched his hand at the condescending tone of his brother-in-law, with whom he preferred no connection. "I will care for my family as I see fit and as the situation becomes more clear," he quipped, pouring and then offering a brandy to Watson to soften the harshness of his words. For all that John did not enjoy this relation, the man was family.
"Certainly," Watson returned, easily, sipping the proffered liquor. "I only meant to offer myself as an escort for the ladies should they require one in your absence."
John nodded, drinking his own brandy in one gulp.
The two parties remained separate for over an hour, during which time Margaret became so flustered by her own thoughts that she thrice failed to hear a question aimed at her and had to claim a headache and retire. Thus, when John and Watson entered the parlour, they found only Mrs. Hannah Thornton and Mrs. Fanny Watson awaiting them. Bored by the slow conversation, Fanny urged her husband in none too subtle whispers to end the visit.
"It was lovely of you to stop by so unexpectedly," Hannah offered, placing the most emphasis on the final word and waving Edward in to escort Mr. and Mrs. Watson to the door.
As soon as they had gone, John made his own excuses, "It has been a long evening, mother. I am going to retire."
"Are you all right, John?" Hannah could not help but ask.
He smiled, wanly, "I wish I knew."
Hannah pressed her hand to his arm. "I am here if you need to talk."
John entered the bedroom quietly, expecting to find Margaret abed as his mother had claimed. Instead, she sat on one of the windowsills with her feet tucked up beside her, staring out the window. He had to hold himself back from going to his wife immediately. She looked so small and forlorn. But she must bridge this gap herself.
"You wished to talk?" John said, more a statement than a question.
Startled, Margaret jerked her head around. She took in almost instantly the strange distance between them and the rigid way he stood, almost formal. Rising, Margaret came to stand before him like a penitent child. "I have no explanation for my words and actions," she admitted, wringing her hands. "My only defense is that I have not long worn the cloak of wife and therefore have not fully understood the role of obedience."
He offered nothing, folding his arms before him and thinking how neatly she avoided taking any real blame upon herself.
"John, please, I swear before God and on the graves of my parents that I will obey your wishes in this and every other matter if you will only let the slate of this morning be wiped clean." He will not even meet my eyes! Margaret cried internally, looking away to avoid acknowledging his apparent indifference.
"Do you have nothing more to say?" he asked.
"What more would you have me say?" she begged desperately. "Every mistake of this morning was mine. Every word I spoke a terrible falsehood. I am completely at fault and cannot do anything but beg your forgiveness." Margaret felt a terrible aching pain within her, a sorrow too great for tears. She made herself meet her husband's eyes and found, to her utter surprise, that the corner of his mouth had just begun to twitch into a smile.
"You have it," John said, simply. Relief washing over her, Margaret stepped forward into his arms, which closed around her. He pressed his lips to her hair and sighed. The sweet scent of her soap filled John's nose, reminding him of the scene that had taken place in this bedroom only the night before. How beautiful his Margaret had look then, letting her hair tumble free of its pins. Blood pounding at the thought, John shifted their embrace. He pressed her more insistently against him, turning her face up so that her lips met his.
Margaret felt afire. Her mouth parted at the pressure of John's insistent tongue. Her breath hitched as he broke the kiss only to lead her wordlessly to the bed. "I love you," she breathed as his teeth grazed her throat, sending delicious shivers down her spine.
John froze. After a moment, Margaret pushed his face back so she could read his expression. "What is it?" she asked.
"I -" John stumbled over his words. "You have never before said those words to me."
"Neither have you," Margaret replied.
"That is not so," John argued, sitting back. "I told you of my love the first time I asked for your hand."
"Aye," Margaret shot back, "and never again."
"I could not bear to have them shoved in my face a second time," he answered, looking away.
"They never will," Margaret swore, kissing his lips softly.
"Say it again," John insisted.
Margaret pressed her lips shut between two fingers. "My lips are sealed," she answered, playfully.
John growled in response, pinning her down to the bed and proceeding to test the seal with his lips.
Margaret broke. "I love you," she stated again.
"And I you," John returned, releasing her arms and cradling her face in his hands. "More than I ever thought possible the first time that I proposed."