Chapter Two: Those Who Matter
"Let no one who loves be called altogether unhappy. Even love unreturned has its rainbow." ― J.M. Barrie
Margaret Hale was restless. The gossip had made her life in Milton impossible. She could not defend herself against the allegations, and it hurt. She owned her lie to the police inspector and had prayed for forgiveness.
The lies being spread about her concerning the incident at Outwood Station had been particularly malicious. Dixon had related bits and pieces of the gossip to Margaret, not to cause her pain, but to keep her from being caught unaware if she ventured outside their home. It had been six weeks since the incident, yet the gossip had not abated from what Dixon said.
The inclement weather had made it impossible to even take a walk through the cemetery, so she had not visited her mother's grave in two weeks. Her walks had become a part of her daily routine, and she chafed at being confined to their small abode. She could not walk the streets of Milton proper without encountering the disdain of the shopkeepers and the people who delighted in her fall from society's grace.
She and her father had ventured out to church a few weeks ago, and not one person spoke to them other than Mr. Thornton when he had kindly seen them home in his carriage. He was polite, but Margaret felt he was surely glad that she had not accepted him all those months ago.
The scandal had also cost her father all of his students. Papa thought his students were respecting his grief since losing his wife. He had no idea the real reason his students stayed away. His days were long and empty without his work, and he was particularly missing his star pupil, Mr. Thornton. He had not returned to lessons in weeks. He always sent a kind note to her father with regrets that matters at the mill kept him occupied until all hours of the night.
Margaret did not doubt that was true, but she also felt Mr. Thornton despised her now and did not want to be associated with her. She was shattered. There were few people in Milton that Margaret held close in her heart, and Mr. Thornton was one of them. She would love him always, and when the gossip moved on to some other salacious tale, she would do her best to make a quiet life in this wretched city. Her love for John Thornton would remain her secret until her last days.
The only friends Margaret had in Milton were Nicholas and Mary Higgins since Bessie had died from a lung condition. Nicholas was a union man and had finally found work at Marlborough Mills after the strike. He had convinced Mr. Thornton to take him on when he could not find work elsewhere. Mary had recently become a cook in the canteen at Marlborough Mills. Nicholas had taken on a neighbor's six children when their parents had died, so there were many mouths to feed, and Mary's income was needed.
Margaret was in the kitchen helping Dixon make soup for lunch when she heard a knock on the door. When she opened the door, Margaret was delighted to see her friend Mary.
"Come in, Mary! I will make you a cup of tea in the kitchen. I am so glad you have come."
Mary regretfully declined the cup of tea.
"Miss Margaret, the woman who helps me in the canteen cannot work today. Would you be able to take her place?"
Margaret smiled in delight.
"Yes, of course! Let me get my things, and I will go with you now."
Margaret apologized to Dixon for leaving her with the housework that morning, but Dixon shooed her off.
"Please go and do not give a thought to me." Dixon was glad to see Margaret have a reason to leave the house.
Margaret went to let her father know where she was going, grabbed her apron, coat, and hat, then she and Mary left Crampton for the mill.
Margaret lifted her face up to the smokey sky and was grateful to have a purpose to be outside today.
She and Mary stopped by the bakery for the bread they would serve with the delicious stew Mary often made for the mill workers. The baker ignored Margaret and spoke only to Mary. It hurt, but Margaret knew she could say or do nothing to defend herself.
Margaret and Mary carried the heavy baskets of fragrant bread to the mill.
Nicholas saw them as they walked toward the canteen. He smiled to himself and thought the master was in for a surprise today.
Margaret was wearing a simple black mourning gown. She put her embroidered apron over her dress, washed her hands, and started peeling potatoes and carrots for the stew. Nicholas had left beef from the butcher for them, and Mary began cutting it into small pieces. Nicholas had already started the fire in the stove since he thought Mary might be working alone today.
The ladies chatted as they prepared the food. The two hours before the first shift came to the canteen passed swiftly. Margaret thought to herself that she had not spoken to anyone outside her own household at length since her mother had died, and she felt her spirits lift.
The first whistle for the lunch shift blew, and very quickly, a line outside the canteen formed with hungry workers.
Margaret and Mary served the men as they came in, first one shift, then another. Margaret washed dishes after Mary cleared the empty bowls and spoons from the table.
The last of the workers left the canteen, and the women began scrubbing the tables. Margaret looked up and saw Nicholas lingering in the doorway. It seemed as if he was waiting for someone.
"Come on in, Nicholas and I will get you something to eat. There is still some food left."
"I will be there in a minute, Miss Margret." Nicholas had a thick Darkshire accent, and Margaret thought his pronunciation of her name was endearing. He was a dear friend, and in some ways, much like a second father to her.
Finally, Nicholas came in to sit down, but he did not come in alone. Mr. Thornton joined him. He was surprised to see Miss Hale. It disconcerted him, but he recovered quickly and went to sit beside Higgins.
Mary served the two men and went back to cleaning the stove. After greeting Mr. Thornton and Nicholas with a smile, Margaret kept her back to them as she tackled an ever-growing stack of dishes. Even in her apron and her hands deep in soapy water, he thought her the most beautiful woman in the world.
John was well aware that the gossip had not yet died down concerning Margaret's behavior at Outwood Station. His own sister and mother had repeated much of it to him until he put an end to it. Every time Miss Hale was spoken of it reopened the festering wound in his heart. He was trying to be a better man, to trust in her goodness, but he had not yet mastered his jealousy.
Nicholas asked Margaret to come and sit for a few minutes with them. He felt a rush of affection for the young woman whom he considered much like a daughter.
"Miss Margret, how is your father doin' now that the missus is gone?"
Margaret's eyes welled up with tears, but she did not let them fall.
"He is not well. We have few callers these days, and I am afraid he is quite lonely."
John was sorry to hear it and felt pangs of guilt that he had not been more attentive to his dear friend.
"Miss Hale, if it would not be any trouble to you, I would like to call on your father this evening."
Margaret was pleasantly surprised, but grateful.
"You would be most welcome, Mr. Thornton. Papa will be quite pleased."
John nodded and lifted a spoon full of Mary's delicious stew to his mouth. Margaret looked in alarm at the abrasions on his hand and knuckles.
"Mr. Thornton, you are injured. You must allow me to attend to your hand."
John finished eating and dismissed Margaret's concern.
"It is nothing, Miss Hale."
Margaret got up and found the first-aid box she had noticed earlier. She filled a bowl with warm water from the kettle on the stove and grabbed a clean dishcloth. She took her supplies to the table and sat down next to Mr. Thornton.
"Your hand, Mr. Thornton." Margaret looked at him expectantly.
He had little choice but to acquiesce to her request or appear disagreeable.
Nicholas had to hide his smile behind his hand. He was going to enjoy this. He knew that Thornton cared deeply for Miss Margret, and he believed those feelings were returned, although neither of them seemed to be willing to admit it.
John turned slightly so Miss Hale would have better access to his injured hand. He inhaled her sweet scent and watched her take out ointment and bandages from the box.
John's heart was thundering in his chest; her touch sent blood rushing through his veins. Discreetly, he took in her appearance.
The black gown she wore in honor of her mother made the paleness of her complexion more obvious. Being this close to her, he could see evidence under her beautiful eyes that she was not sleeping well. His heart filled with pity for all she had suffered.
Margaret dipped a cloth into the warm water and began cleaning the abrasions. She did not speak because she could not. Her hands were touching his hand, and it took her breath away. He was not wearing his coat, and she could see his forearms. She had never been so close to him except the day of the riot, and even then, he had been covered more than he was now.
Nicholas and John had repaired a loom. To save his white shirt from grease stains, John had rolled up his sleeves, exposing the lower half of his arms. Margaret noticed the black hair on his arms and a few scars. She wondered how he had acquired them. He smelled like machine oil, smoke, and sandalwood soap. It was not unpleasant, and the scent was uniquely his. He was a hard-working man, and Margaret admired him for it.
Keeping her eyes on his hand lest he see how flustered she felt by his closeness, she asked, "Mr. Thornton, how did you injure yourself?"
John explained that a loom had jammed, and he had to get underneath it to repair it. He had scraped his hand on a gear as he tried to get the loom back in working order.
After carefully cleaning the wound, she applied ointment and rubbed it in with both of her small hands. She took her time and massaged his hand as she applied the healing salve. She noticed how long his fingers were and how large his hand was in hers. John's hands were calloused and rough, but Margaret thought they were beautiful hands.
She could not meet his eyes because if she did, he might see that she was affected by his nearness. Her thoughts caused her to blush, and she was mortified to think such thoughts in his presence. In her effort to control her thoughts, she spent longer than necessary massaging the ointment in his hand.
John could barely stay in his seat. He was so attracted to this beautiful woman, and in this one moment, he let his guard down. Margaret's hands on his as she rubbed in the salve was sensuous in its innocence, and John found it hard to swallow or speak. The warmth of his love for her encompassed his entire being. He was rendered speechless as he closed his eyes and committed to memory the feel of her hands so tenderly caring for his. This was the Miss Hale he knew and had fallen in love with. Kind, compassionate, and innocent. She could not begin to understand what her closeness was doing to him.
Nicholas was amused to see that Miss Margret seemed to be taking her time tending to the master, and he hid his smirk behind his hand.
Margaret became aware that Mary had moved to the sink to start washing pans in her stead, so she completed her ministrations by wrapping his hand in bandages to protect the wound.
John cleared his throat, "Thank you, Miss Hale."
Margaret nodded to both men, collected her supplies, and told Mary she would wash the rest of the dishes.
She could barely catch her breath. She needed to put a little distance between Mr. Thornton and herself. Touching his hand in such a way had been unsettling, and for just a moment, she clutched the edge of the counter to regain her composure. He was lost to her forever, and she had to learn to live with her regrets. With resolve, she turned her attention back to the dishes.
Margaret heard the scraping of the bench against the wood floor as Nicholas and John stood to leave. She turned to face them both.
Nicholas winked at Margaret and bid both ladies a good day. John thanked Mary for the delicious meal, and he nodded to Margaret. Their eyes met for a few seconds, and Nicholas could swear he saw sparks. Yes, these two were meant to be together if they could get past their misunderstandings.
Nicholas knew of Frederick Hale, and he wondered if Thornton believed the gossip that Margaret had a lover. Nicholas wished he had not been sworn to secrecy, or he would have set the ole bulldog straight about Margaret's character. He hoped the master noticed that the workers treated her with the same respect they always had. Miss Hale was well thought of in Princeton; because what was being said was so against the character of the woman they knew; most chose not to believe the lies being said against her. It was true she was seen with a man after dark, but that did not mean he was a lover.
Nicholas had a good mind to visit Margaret's father and speak to him of the damage to Margaret's reputation due to the incident at Outwood Station. Nicholas felt Richard Hale had been negligent in protecting his daughter. However, he could not go to the former vicar because by doing so, he would betray Miss Margret's trust in him as a friend.
John was out in the yard supervising a delivery when the ladies left the canteen. John nodded to both ladies as they passed him and reminded Miss Hale that he would call on her father later.
John smiled to himself as she passed through the gates. Today, in her presence, he had simply allowed her touch to bring him comfort and a moment of contentment. What he would not give to come home to her each night to her loving care.
…ooOoo…
When Margaret got home, she went to find her beloved father.
"Papa, Mr. Thornton told me to tell you he is coming to call this evening."
"That is splendid news. We have such few callers these days, and I have been surprised that John has been absent for so long. Oh well, he must be terribly busy at the mill."
Margaret felt guilty because she knew why Mr. Thornton had been absent from their home. He was avoiding her.
"Papa, I am sorry, but I have kept some things from you. Please understand that I did not want to burden you in your grief for Mama. However, I was wrong to do so, please forgive me."
"Of course, my dear." Richard encouraged her to go on.
"When Frederick was here during Mama's last days, Mr. Thornton had come to call, but I did not allow him in the house. He was offended, but how could I allow him in? Frederick was upstairs with Mama. I told Mr. Thornton that nobody was there, but he saw Frederick's things in the hallway, and he heard his voice. He knew I was lying."
Richard said, "Margaret, I do not know what else you could have done because we had to keep your brother's presence in our home a secret."
Margaret nodded and continued, "When I took Frederick to the train station, Leonards recognized Fred and accosted him. Fred shoved him away, and Leonards fell down a few steps at the train station. Fred barely got on the train before it pulled out of the station. Do you remember Dixon telling us she had seen this man, Leonards, at the market? He was from Helstone."
Richard began to understand the gravity of Leonards recognizing Fred. His son had narrowly escaped prison and possibly death. The navy routinely hanged sailors who were charged with mutiny.
Margaret continued, "Mr. Thornton had seen us just before the attack and at the worst possible moment. Fred and I thought we might never see each other again, and we embraced without thinking how it might have appeared."
"After Fred's train pulled away, I found myself alone and frightened. I honestly do not know how I got myself home from the train station that night."
Margaret took her father's hand, "Papa, your students are no longer coming because I am considered by the gossips in Milton to be a fallen woman. I fear my reputation is beyond repair."
Richard was visibly shaken by these revelations. His darling girl was now an outcast in society for protecting her brother, and his heart ached that he had not done a better job of protecting her. He should have insisted that he escort Fred to the station or at least asked Dixon to go with them. He shivered as he thought what dangers Margaret faced walking home alone from the train station so late at night.
Margaret began speaking again, "Papa, Leonards was found dead the next day, and a constable came to the house to question me. I lied to him, but I did not feel I had a choice. Mr. Thornton was the magistrate in the case, and he protected me from the inquest. Now, he sees me as a liar and as a woman far beneath his notice. He has avoided this house because of me, Papa."
Margaret began sobbing quietly, and her father patted her hand to comfort her. His precious Margaret had been through so much, and he felt he was a failure as a father. "Margaret, I am so sorry for all you have suffered through alone. I must decide how to handle all of this."
"And my dear girl, those who matter, who know you, would never think so little of you."
Her tears begin anew. How could her dear papa begin to understand that the one who mattered the most to her thought the worst of her? She could bear the scorn of people who had never tried to know her but losing Mr. Thornton's regard for her had been devastating.
Margaret was glad to have told her father the truth. She regretted trying to protect her father by keeping so much from him. It was true that he had not been strong enough to withstand any more pain, but she had been wrong to conceal the truth from him.
…ooOoo…
At the mill, John was trying his best to get some work accomplished, but his mind could not stay focused. His thoughts were of Margaret. He hoped she did not hear the furious beating of his heart when she was tending to his hand. It had been a bittersweet agony to be so near to her, knowing that no matter how deeply he loved her, she did not feel the same for him.
He had committed everything to memory: the feel of her skin touching his and the floral smell of her soap. John reveled in the opportunity to be close to her. He noticed small details as she meticulously tended to him. He noted the small scar, almost undetectable, on her right temple that resulted from the rock that had been meant for him on the day of the riot. He noticed the auburn streaks that made her dark hair appear more chestnut in its color. He noticed her white teeth as she bit her lower lip in concentration while she tended to him. Her lips, generous and full, were meant for his kisses.
He closed his eyes to remember the feel of her hands rubbing the ointment into his hand. He was still battling his feelings of hurt from her rejection, but the love he felt for her was more powerful. He was glad of it. He had spent too many years being angry at his father before he finally forgave him. That anger had eaten away at any small happiness he might have felt as a young man, and he had learned from it. Anger and resentment were cancers in a man's life, and he was determined to learn from his past.
Since he had heard their minister speak of what love meant, he had marked that passage in his own Bible, as well as the scripture the minister had referenced from the book of Matthew. John read them frequently. Whenever the dark tendrils of resentment coiled around his heart, he would redirect his thoughts. He loved Margaret and had chosen to make peace with it as best as he could. There were moments when jealousy reared its ugly head, but those moments were less frequent these days.
John's thoughts went to Margaret's father, Richard Hale. He had been a poor friend to him. Tonight, he would begin making amends to Richard by taking tea with him. He hoped Miss Hale would welcome him into their home; she certainly gave the impression that she would. He dared not hope she would ever welcome him into her heart, but he would allow himself the bittersweet pleasure of a few hours in her company.
The last whistle rang, signaling the end of the workday. John went to the house to wash and change his clothes.
He stopped in the drawing room. "Mother, I am going to call on the Hales this evening for tea, but I will be home for dinner."
Hannah noticed his hand, "John, what happened to your hand?"
"Just the usual scrapes and cuts that come with repairing a broken loom. It is nothing."
He bent and kissed her cheek, and he left before she could ask questions or voice her disdain for the woman he loved. He could not bear to hear it.