AN: thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! I'm so glad so many like it! Right, so here's the new chapter, a little earlier than the last one! Oh also, sorry about the upload error, this is the right one, complete this time
And see her right John did.
Black horses, a black coach, and a glossy white and black panelled coffin saw the body of Mrs. Hannah Thornton to her grave, with all the pomp and situation of minor royalty. John wasted no expense, and as Margaret stood at his side at the cemetery, clad a thick black veil, black shoes and black dress, she saw her husband cry. His face had taken on that old, stony appearance it once wore, but under blue eyes and black lashes tears still refused to be quelled.
He spoke his part bravely in the church, shook the hands of mourners, and conducted himself with strength, even though, throughout those long, endless days he was told to sleep, to eat, to do something, but he would not.
Fanny was inconsolable, and her pain shook through Margaret as if it was yesterday that her own dear parents had said their final goodbyes, gone too soon. Between nursing her son and watching for John she was exhausted, but with Fanny there was a different kind of fatigue. It was the fatigue of a soul lost, an irreparable separation, and of the pure, white pain that can only be felt by a mourner for their life, their very being.
Her poor baby could not understand, and while she attempted to smile with him in her arms, she oft burst into tears and had to hand him to Nanny, who had been hired as a partial wet nurse and caregiver for little Owen. She had gone to the garden the day after the birth and cut down all her white lilies and roses, to be used for Hannah's flower arrangements, and even gone into her old house with John, attempted to navigate the proverbial bureaucratic nightmare that was settling her final affairs.
Even with a clear will and solid instruction on her part, Hannah Thornton's final wishes could hardly be conducted without one or more legal hitches that were wrapped within wrappings of legal nonsense. John, stretched already to the limit of minor insanity, could oft be found in her study, head bent and eyes cast the books, hardly able to comprehend what he had sprawled before him.
Of course Margaret had insisted on helping, and had, to the greatest extent, but for him Hannah's affairs were something that he, her only son, must handle. He hired a lawyer for the job, but even after a month of burying poor Mrs. Thornton, nothing had been done with her house.
John, of course insisted they rent it, for it would bring income and sustain the property, but the lawyers could not figure out to whom exactly the building was to be given to; him or Fanny. While both siblings claimed that they did not care, the law evidently did, a great deal in fact. They wished all to be done by the book, and have the papers dealt with and signed based on Hannah's wishes in the will.
It was this, therefore, that caused John to become increasingly agitated, and for Margaret to worry. While she was playing the piano one afternoon, John came home early, and sat down without a word, taking a pipe from his pocket and lighting up right there. He then took the new copy of the gazette and endeavoured to drown himself in it, his nose very nearly to the print.
After a moment Margaret looked up, stopped her ministrations, and surveyed her husband from across the room. The stress had put a strain on their marriage, and she could see that this bothered him as much as it did her. She missed the way he used to come in, taking the steps two at a time and kiss her, carefree and seemingly unendingly happy. There was a line between his eyes as he squinted at the pages, and she could see the black typeface reflected in his cool blue eyes.
"How are your plans for America going?" Margaret asked, coming to sit at his feet on the rug, head on his knee. She knew he loved it when she sat so, close and secure.
"Huh? Oh—," he seemed to take a moment to register her question. "Well... I think. I need to get mother's business done first, though."
"Of course," Margaret replied, looking up at him, eyes searching. "John, why don't we go for a walk, just you and I. You have been so harried lately, you will make yourself sick."
"Not now, Maggie," John folded the paper and ran an affectionate hand over her cheek, "I can hardly move. I am so tired."
"I know darling," Margaret replied, "but perhaps a walk would do you good. It always clears my head."
John shook his head, and took a puff of his pipe. "No, Margaret."
"Well then at least come and see Owen," Margaret insisted, wishing he would, if only to see what she had noticed over the past weeks. "He's getting so big now, and his hair's grown! We shall have to cut it soon if it continues." At the sign that John might refuse, Margaret sprang to her feet and said, "wait! I shall bring him to you!" she then dashed out of the room, and took her drowsy baby from his crib, cooing to him.
When she brought him into the parlor, John had put down his pipe, and Margaret handed him their little bundle, which he took and stared down at for a moment. Owen always made John smile, but for a brief moment she was worried that even the charms of a baby would not work on her depressed husband.
She was assuaged a moment later, however, when John gave the child a little grin, and gentle wiped a trail of spit away from Owen's mouth. Owen giggled, and John's smile grew, but he sobered up almost immediately.
"Oh, son," John said, seeming to forget his wife for a moment, "what will I do without you and your poor mama while I am away?"
"You will not have to worry," Margaret replied, coming to stand beside him.
"What?" John looked up, shocked. They had decided, after much debate, that she would stay in Milton with the baby, and for the sake of economy, would wait for him to return from America at home.
"I am not made of glass, John. I thought about what you said, and what we thought to do, but I cannot bear the thought of not being with you. Dixon said she would take Owen for us, and Fanny lent Nanny to us for when we come home."
"But Margaret!" John's frown returned, and he had to rock Owen, who had begun to cry, "our child will be home alone. What happens if something should happen to him?"
"Nothing will," Margaret bent down and gave her husband a reassuring kiss on the cheek. "Dixon raised me and my brother remember, even when my parents were away. We will only be gone a month, and at this age I hardly think he will remember."
John gave her a hard, wondering look for a moment, then his eyes softened and he almost look relieved.
"What would I do without you, my love?" he asked, almost inaudible.
"I shudder to think," Margaret chuckled. Owen had stopped crying now, and had fallen asleep in his father's arms. "Should I take him back?" Margaret whispered.
"No," John looked down at his son. "No, let me hold him a little longer. I want to remember him like this while we are away."
AN: so? R&R for more! PS: adventure awaits!