Author's Notes: I participated in a group anthology with friendsofanfiction some time ago, and this story was based on my submission for the anthology, "Hands." My contribution was a one-shot, and if you have read it, you will recognize it in the second chapter of this multi-chapter story, although it is heavily revised.
Two people I must thank are TRavine for his encouragement for me to polish off this rough draft and finish writing it, and Mimosa, who is an editor extraordinaire. I am incredibly grateful to them both.
"The wait is long, my dream of you does not end."
― Nuala O'Faolain, My Dream of You
Chapter One: Grief is Love with No Place to Go
John, his mother, and the Watsons sat in their normal pew at the front of the church. Every time a draft of chilly air announced that someone had entered the church, John looked back, hoping to catch a glimpse of his beloved. It had only been four weeks since her mother's funeral had been held in this very church, so John reasoned it was likely the Hales were not yet ready to attend services yet. Still… he hoped to see her.
Hannah scolded John for looking back repeatedly, but she knew the minute the person he had been waiting for entered the church. John's whole countenance did not change, but his eyes softened. Yes, her son was clearly still besotted by that girl. She scoffed and quickly lifted her son up in fervent prayer to be delivered from his love for that haughty and wayward girl.
The sermon this Sunday was about unconditional love. The minister read from Corinthians, "1 Corinthians 13:4–8a: Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth."
The minister continued, "Sometimes, we mistakenly believe that if someone dear to us makes a choice that we are not in agreement with, then that person is making the wrong choice. It is simply not true. The Lord created us all as individuals, and we must trust the person we love to know their own heart better than we do. If we genuinely love someone, we allow them to make choices they believe are best for their happiness."
"I am speaking of all relationships: a friend, a parent, a son, a daughter. Unconditional love means accepting another without putting our own needs and wants as a burden on them. It is a selfish thing to do."
"Finally, as a community of believers, I implore you to follow what God has commanded us in Matthew 22:37-40, You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And the second thing God requires of us is to love your neighbor as yourself."
The minister closed his bible and looked at the congregation. "Lives are destroyed by a singular mistake and society is cruel in their judgments, deeming a person unworthy of living freely among others when a perceived lack of morality has been committed. I ask you to be more forgiving and compassionate to others.
The minister's words were profound, and he spoke with conviction. John thought of his love for Margaret. Every day since her cruel rejection and the incident at Outwood Station, his heart was in a constant battle between seething resentment and his abiding love for her. The offense he felt was raw and tormenting, and it scorched his soul. The pain of it all was almost unbearable, but bear it, he did. What choice did he have? She had given her affections to another, a man so cowardly that he left Margaret to face the consequences of their actions on her own.
It was only at night, in his dreams, that he had respite from his wounded heart. Under the cover of darkness, shielding him from the light of reality, she was his Margaret, and she welcomed his love for her. She slept in his arms, and she showered him with affection. It was the closest thing to Heaven that John could imagine. But alas, when dawn broke each day, he woke up alone, and the heavy cloak of melancholy settled on his shoulders.
Just as he did every day, he worked himself to the point of exhaustion, so he did not have time to think of the woman who completely shattered his heart.
They had often disagreed, and while he did listen to her, he could not always accept her point of view. He brushed off most of what she said as naïve and idealistic. Wasn't that arrogance on his part? Why could he not listen to learn, to understand her better, instead of listening so he could press his own point of view? Who was John Thornton to think he was superior to anyone?
Her behavior the night she was seen with another man at Outwood Station had lowered his esteem in her. He had not trusted her character. Before that incident, he had thought her incomparable as a woman. She was not only beautiful, but she was compassionate and lived the tenets of her faith. She was intelligent, and their discussions were often contentious, but exhilarating as well.
Yes, he wanted to trust in the woman he had believed her to be, but the turbulent emotions of his reaction to seeing her in another man's arms had completely disarmed him of any defenses for the animosity and pain she inflicted on his very soul that October night. Each evening, when the mill was quiet, and he heard the whistle of the train arriving at Outwood Station, his mind would flash back to that terrible moment when any hope he held of ever winning her love was lost. The pain was acute, and he grieved for the lost future he had hoped for with her, in the same way as he grieved the loss of his father. What was grief, but love, with no place to go?
In his younger years, he had resented his father for not loving his family enough to fight for their future. The anguish had lessened with time, and John had forgiven him, but the dull ache of loss had never completely abated. He still loved his father, and John could now remember the happy times that once had been buried deep in his memory as the hard realities of poverty had become his truth. His mother's truth, and his sister's.
He loved Margaret, he knew he did, but not unconditionally. His perfect love for her was flawed and selfish. How unworthy he was of her! He knew she did not love him when he asked for her hand, but he pressed on. If he could go back and do things over, he would listen to her, and he would be patient for them to come to understand each other better. But then there was the other man.
He was lost in his thoughts, no longer listening to the minister, and his mother had to prod him to stand at the end of the service. He turned to look for Margaret at the back of the church, but she and her father had already left.
When John, Mrs. Thornton, and the Watsons made their way to their carriages, he caught sight of Margaret and her father walking slowly toward Crampton. Margaret was supporting her father, as he was clearly too frail to be out in this brutal weather. It was over a mile to their home in Crampton and the snow was falling heavily.
John turned to his sister and said, "Fanny, please see Mother to the mill house. I will be along shortly."
Without waiting for a response, John quickly got in the carriage and made his way toward the Hales.
Margaret and her father had not gone far when the Thornton carriage stopped beside them. John got out, "Miss Hale, Mr. Hale, please allow me to see you both home."
"John! It is good to see you, and yes, we would appreciate you seeing us home, wouldn't we, Margaret?" Richard was clearly pleased to see his favorite pupil and dear friend.
Margaret glanced at John briefly before lowering her eyes and replied, "Of course, Papa. Thank you, Mr. Thornton."
At Crampton, John handed them both out. He felt Margaret's small, gloved hand in his for the first time in months. He held onto her warmth for a moment longer than necessary, but she did not pull her hand away in offense.
God help him! He could not help but be affected by her touch.
After seeing them both inside and settling Richard in the drawing room, John noticed how cold it was in the house. There was a small fire, but a cursory glance at the coal bucket showed it to be empty.
Miss Hale invited him to have a cup of tea before going back out in the frigid air, but he declined. He explained the Watsons were joining them for lunch at the mill house, and he had to get home.
Margaret showed him to the door, but she could not meet his eyes. She was still ashamed of the lie she told to protect her brother. Margaret knew that she had forever lost Mr. Thornton's good opinion of her. She thanked him for seeing them home, and he took his leave.
Lunch was ready when John arrived home, and the family sat down to eat. There was an overabundance of delectable food, and a blazing fire warmed the room. John was not hungry; his heart was too full, and his thoughts were of the Hales. He ate because he did not want to offend his mother or explain his loss of appetite.
What were the Hales eating on this cold November Sunday? He hoped they had a warm meal. He had known the pangs of hunger and the bone-chilling cold that came from having limited resources to provide comfort. Somehow, it seemed so wrong to be enjoying excess when there were so many, including his love, who were in want instead of plenty.
John was reminded of Margaret's words after the lavish dinner party his mother had given the night before the riots. "Surely, you can see how it appears to the workers that the masters with all the luxuries in their homes are not compassionate to those they employ who have so little."
John had bristled at the implication that he was unfair, and he had brushed aside her words because Margaret did not understand the ways of Milton. But…maybe she did understand, only differently than he did. The Hales lived humbly, yet Margaret shared what little they had. Miss Hale was well known among his workers and a welcome visitor in Princeton with her baskets of bread and jars of soup. It was little enough to be considered as a small offering of friendship, not charity, but big enough to warm the hearts of many.
John remembered how he had chastised her for those baskets at his own heavily laden dinner table with multiple courses and wine that flowed endlessly. She was following the tenets of her faith, and he had not missed the hurt on her face when he failed to understand that.
Fanny teased John for wool-gathering. He apologized and gave her one of his infamous scowls for good measure. Everyone laughed, and John realized he missed Fanny living at the mill house. She could annoy him, but the house was lively when she was present. The house was quiet so much of the time.
After his sister and husband left for their home in Hayleigh, John told his mother he had things to take care of, but he would be back in time for dinner. He kissed his mother's cheek and left the house.
Hannah dared not ask questions because John did not share his personal thoughts with her anymore, especially when it came to Margaret Hale. She could not understand her son's deep love for that southern girl, nor could she forgive Miss Hale for rejecting her son. All she could do was pray for his heart to heal and for him to consider a fine Milton girl for a wife. At the age of one and thirty, it was long past time for him to marry and start a family. She dreaded the day she would be replaced as first in her son's affections.
John walked through the streets of Milton proper with no destination in mind. It was a miserable afternoon for walking, but he did his best to ignore the biting cold and kept going. He soon found himself back in Crampton for the second time that day. When he spotted the coal vendor on the street corner close to the Hale's home, he paid for a load of coal to be delivered to their door after securing the man's promise to be discreet about it.
He would find ways of helping the Hales without them ever knowing it. He was worried about Richard. All the life seemed to have gone out of him since the death of his wife. He had aged in the month since his life was forever altered by the loss of his beloved wife of over thirty years. John knew the cruel separation death imposed on those who are left behind in their grief.
As he walked down New Street on his way back to the mill, John wondered how the Hales were surviving. The gossip surrounding Margaret being seen with a young man late at night had cost Richard his students. Society was unforgiving of any breaches of propriety, and Margaret was an outsider with no respected matron to advocate or inspire compassion to still the malicious tongues of gossip. His own mother and sister had not befriended Margaret or her family. He had protected Margaret from the inquest, and she had been spared public humiliation. and even punishment, but what kind of life was she to have now as a pariah in society?
How were the Hales living without an income? If he were truly a friend to Richard, he would resume his lessons. In truth, he missed spending time in the cozy study at the Crampton house discussing the classics with his friend.
He was not sure he could return to their home on a regular basis. The one time he had returned after the Outwood Station incident, he had lashed out at Margaret when she had tried to explain that things at the station were not as they appeared. His pride had been wounded so deeply and in his blind rage, he had hurled cruel words at her. He had not missed the pain on her face and how she lowered her eyes in shame. She owned that she had lied, but because she was unwilling to give a full explanation to him, he had refused to listen.
Was he so self-righteous that he felt owed an explanation? Did he really believe that she could behave so unmaidenly? He knew what he saw, and he could not puzzle out who the man might be. It had to be the man who was visiting the Hales in the days before Maria Hale's death. John had not met him since Margaret did not invite him in when he had called on her parents. The hurt was still too raw and raging for him to make sense of it.
What he had seen at Outwood Station had quelled all hope of ever making Miss Hale his wife. Without hope, all he had was animosity and unrequited love.
John thought back to the minister's words that morning and what it meant to love unconditionally. Was there another explanation for what he saw? He should have trusted her; if he loved her truly, that is what he would have done. When she had needed a friend the most, in her grief for Bessie Higgins and her mother, he had kept his distance, and she had nobody to turn to that he knew of. He should have put his feelings aside and did what he could for her and Richard.
He had no experience with this powerful and consuming emotion. In his pain, he had allowed resentment to take precedence over everything else. John continued to wander the streets and tried to put rational order to his turbulent emotions.
He had no answers for the conundrum he found himself in. He did not know how to stop loving her. The future stretched out before him as gray and bleak as the winter sky in Milton.
Sighing deeply, John let himself in the gate at the mill and unlocked his office. He sat down, leaned his elbows on his desk, and laid his head in his hands. He prayed to be lifted from this pit of despair and for his troubled heart to find peace. He would love her always, his beautiful and compassionate Margaret, but he had to let go of the acrimony if he were to move on in acceptance that she would never be his.
…ooOoo…
Margaret tried to get her father to eat the thin but nourishing vegetable soup and warm bread that Dixon had made from what little food was left in the house. Richard took a few bites but quickly lost all interest in taking sustenance. It seemed as if he might never recover from the loss of his beloved Maria.
Richard took his daughter's hand and smiled at his lovely girl. "I am missing your mother, and it has robbed me of my appetite."
"My Pearl, when your heart chooses the man you will marry, do not let a single day pass without telling him and showing him how very dear he is to you."
Margaret smiled sadly at him, "Oh Papa, I am never going to leave you. I will not have to concern myself with that. I am perfectly happy to stay here with you and Dixon."
Richard met his daughter's eyes. "I would not wish that for you, nor would your mother. We are all meant to share this life with the one who is our happiness. Your mother and I shared thirty-three years together, and while I have regrets in my life, marrying her was the best decision I have made. I miss her more each day."
Margaret had to turn away to hold back the tears. She collected herself and took the lunch tray down to the kitchen. She missed her mama every day as well.
She was helping Dixon wash dishes when someone knocked on the door. Dixon went to let their guest in, but nobody was there. She looked down and at her feet was a large load of coal. They had not ordered any that she knew of, so she went to speak to Margaret.
"Miss Margaret, someone has left enough coal to last a few weeks in this bitter winter. Wonder who would do that?
"I do not know, but it is a blessing, and we will be much warmer for it."
Dixon and Margaret filled all the coal buckets in the house but agreed to ration it because there was little money coming into the house since her mother's death. Margaret knew she was the reason, and the injustice of it caused her great distress.
With nothing left to do, she went to her frigid room. She took a book from the shelf, laid down on her bed and covered herself with a woolen blanket.
Margaret was filled with despair at losing her chance at happiness. She had cruelly rejected Mr. Thornton all those months ago, and the loss would be borne for the rest of her life. She had not been prepared to hear his words that day, and she did know him then as she did now. It was a great honor for a man to offer his heart, and she cringed at the memory of the words she had spoken to him. For as long as she drew breath, she would remember the pain that flitted across his face when she had rejected him. She was overwhelmed with regret, but nothing could change the past.
The minister's sermon on love along with her Papa's words had sent her spirits plummeting. Mr. Thornton had a low opinion of her, and she was once again the talk of the small-minded tittle-tattles in Milton.
What would become of them? She would not marry for any other reason than love, but the one her heart longed for was no longer interested in sharing a life with her. She recalled his words, "Any foolish passion I may have felt for you is over. I am looking to the future." Margaret had seen him with Anne Latimer on his arm more than once, and she could not blame Miss Latimer for her interest in Mr. Thornton, nor could she blame him for moving on.
Margaret's eyes filled with tears, and she let them flow. For so long, she had repressed her emotions, but if she were to move on with her life, she needed to grieve this loss, too. She missed Bessie and her mother, both taken far too soon from this earthly life. Three profound losses in as many months. How did one cope?
Margaret squeezed her eyes shut and tried to calm her tumultuous thoughts. He was good, too good for her. She was not worthy, and she accepted that. Margaret was certain who supplied the coal to their door. It had to have been Mr. Thornton. He had shown himself to be a kind and generous friend to her family when Mama was so ill. Had he not personally chosen fresh fruit for her mother? He had even written notes to her mother, wishing her improved health.
Yes, he was a gentleman, and there was a caring heart beneath that reserved e together, but so very alone. If only she had known who he was sooner…but Margaret found no solace in lamenting all that could not be changed. She simply had to make peace with it all, and she would. She must.
...ooOoo...
It was November in Milton-North. In two separate homes, only a few miles apart, two hearts were longing for the other. His heart and hers. Both believed that any hope of living their lives together was lost. The loneliness of the evening was sharpened by the bitter winter wind blowing as darkness fell. Two hearts together, yet very much alone.