After a long night spent in contemplation, Margaret was eager to escape the confines of her home. She was weary and sorrowful, and she had no desire to invent an explanation for her haggard appearance and distant mood to her family.
She walked for some time before her feet took her on a familiar path by the cemetery. She was used to being quite alone there, but as she approached she froze in her steps as she saw Mr. Thornton enter. Curiosity and a little shame mingled within her as she wondered if his thoughts mirrored hers at all, regretful and sorry. She knew she wanted his forgiveness for her behavior, but she was afraid to ask for it. Still, she followed him silently, hoping to work up the courage to speak to him before she lost her nerve.
He came to a halt by a gravestone and stood there for some time, his hand resting on the stone, his head bowed. One would almost think he had come to pay his respects, but Margaret suspected and half-hoped his thoughts were elsewhere.
After admitting to herself Mr. Thornton's feeling for her the previous day, she had spent several minutes considering whether she felt anything for him. Immediately she told herself she did not, but once again the memory of his eyes penetrated her, causing doubt and uncertainty. She would once and for all have to examine the feelings she experienced at his hands, no longer able to simply sweep the unknown away without giving it a name. She would need to decide what it meant when he looked at her, eliciting the itch in her skin and the pressure that made her breathe more quickly.
There was no doubt that he ignited some sort of passion within her, one that had exhorted her more to argument than attraction, but there must be something even in that. No man had ever affected her in such a way and no man had distracted her so much. But in what way did he do so? Was he an irritant or a friend? An enemy or . . . she hesitated a moment before she used the word . . . lover? As she studied this out, she came to a realization she could no longer deny. She was affected by him in much the same way she imagined he was affected by her, more than she had realized, or at least admitted. She felt foolish for having denied the feeling for so long, especially as she recalled her condemning words about a man not knowing his feelings for a woman. Mr. Thornton himself had spoken of not recognizing such a feeling and what it would be like, and she now felt she could understand to some degree what was meant.
But being affected by him did not mean that she was in love or anywhere near it. It was impossible to think he could be in love with her, despite his attentions. She knew he had feelings for her, and perhaps she had feelings for him, but she knew she did not love him. She had only just begun to know what it was to like him! To make the leap from liking to loving in the matter of a day was simply not feasible. And considering how vehemently she opposed him on so vital a subject as the welfare of others, she was not sure if she could ever make such a leap.
Had his feelings for her been part of what made him so angry? If he were indifferent to her, her opinion of his treatment of his workers would matter little, and no doubt they could have spoken in a more rational manner. Instead she took up against him, and surely that caused him pain, because he must want her to think well of him. He wanted her to understand him, and knowing he had a human heart, she should have given him more of chance to explain before accusing him of callousness. Because even though she had not said the words of accusation, she had implied them in every expression. Was this fair? Was there more to the pitiful situation of the strike that she was ignorant of? If she truly wished to regain Mr. Thornton's friendship, she would have to give him a chance and not be prejudiced against everything he said. Could she do it?
As she watched him by the grave, she came to a decision. She was unsure still if she could ever accept him as a lover, but she did want to retain him as a friend. He had proved a valuable and sincere one, after all, and she had enjoyed herself with him in that all-too-brief time. But she must not admit to him that she had realized his feelings. It would be too much given their circumstances to allude to it. If she acknowledged them, she was afraid he would either pull away completely or hope too much. She wanted to fix what had broken between them yesterday, but she did not want to give him misleading encouragement.
But her decision still required courage as she stepped closer to him and spoke his name. He turned to her, his expression surprised, but he made no effort to speak beyond saying her name and nodding in greeting. She only hoped his stiffness was due to lingering awkwardness and not anger from the memory of yesterday.
She stepped ever closer as she spoke, her words slow and stilted, unused as she was to asking forgiveness or repairing a not-quite friendship. "Mr. Thornton, I wish to . . . I must beg your pardon for my . . . for the way I spoke to you." If it was possible, his body stiffened more and his eyes widened as she stammered through her apology. "I admit that I find it difficult to understand you, but I am not sure I have given enough effort to do so. I have been unfair to you and I apologize."
The air was thick was tension as she waited for and feared his response. She sneaked a glance at his face and saw he was struggling with what to say, but she could not tell if her words were well received. She began to twist her hands together in anxiety as she awaited him.
Finally he broke the silence. "Miss Hale, I do not know what has led you to believe that you are in the wrong for the shameful way I treated you, but I can assure you, your apology is not necessary. It is I who am at fault, I who should ask forgiveness."
The knot in her stomach loosened at his words and she chanced a small smile. Was it possible that his thoughts really had mirrored hers in a way, that they both blamed themselves for their conduct while absolving the other of fault? It was appearing to be the case, so perhaps a reconciliation would not be so improbable.
"Really, Miss Hale, I am to blame. I should never have lost my temper and been so unforgivably rude to leave without trying to speak to you kindly. I am sorry for being angry. I have been unfair, as well."
She took yet another step closer. "I should be more willing to ask for your side."
He followed suit and walked slowly to her. "And I should be more understanding of your experience."
"So we may begin again, Mr. Thornton, to be friends?" She trusted the word "friend" would not disappoint him.
"If that is what you wish." He gave no indication of disappointment, but of hope.
"It is."
"Then friends we are, Miss Hale."
They were near enough to take hands, yet they did not. She felt constrained by her unspoken knowledge of his feelings and he was afraid of taking a liberty she was not ready for. With so fragile a thing as their friendship seemed to be, neither wanted to be guilty of a misstep. The only assurance and seal they had on their tongue-tied resolution was softened voices and kind faces. But it was enough.
"Do you often come here?" she asked, casting about for a new topic.
"Occasionally. My father is buried here." He gestured to the stone he had taken his first post by.
"Oh, I see." Naturally she should blunder into another uneasy topic. She had already seen evidence that he did not like to speak of his past, but it did not stop her curiosity. She would not continue in that vein as she hoped to think of something else to say.
To her surprise, he took up the topic himself. "We went to quite a lot of trouble for his burial. At least I felt it was trouble at the time. We had little left, but Mother was insistent he not be laid to rest in a pauper's grave. I resented the expense. There was already so much to pay for . . . and to be repaid."
Remembering what her father shared about how Mr. Thornton had repaid his father's creditors, she replied, "Surely you did not need to take upon yourself the burden of those debts. They were not yours; they could have been forgiven, couldn't they?"
He looked at her with wonder and pity. "Miss Hale, I am afraid that business cannot be run on such great principles as kindness and forgiveness. Those men needed to be paid to maintain their livelihood. It was not cruelty that kept the debts alive, but simple need. A business needs money to run efficiently, and exercising such values is unwise and imprudent. No, it was the honorable thing to do, making certain that as few people as possible were adversely affected by my father's actions. Perhaps some of them would have forgiven the debt, but I would not have been easy knowing that they had to suffer a loss that I could make reparation for."
Margaret took a moment to marvel once more at the integrity Mr. Thornton felt so important to live by, but she did not miss his use of the word "kindness" that had thrown such a wrench into their conversation the day before. He spoke gently, however, and she felt the first hint that although Mr. Thornton was not overly kind to his workers in the way she thought he should, that did not naturally signify that he was cruel. She had taken it for granted that a master could only be one or the other. Perhaps such was not the case.
"So you must adopt such practices yourself, Mr. Thornton? Only seeing to the efficient running of your business?" She tried to keep any note of accusation from her words, but he sighed in response, so she knew she had not succeeded. However, Mr. Thornton seemed more weary and saddened than angry at her.
"Miss Hale, I know we disagree, but I want this not to be such a source of misunderstanding between us. I do not know if you will ever interpret my words in a way that does not prove me to be the harsh and greedy master. We have spoken about this before, so I am hesitant because my words may still fall on deaf ears."
Touched that he would admit his uncertainty and be honest with her about his insecurities, she felt the more determined to assure him of her open mind, saying that she also wished to heal the breach and overcome this barrier. He directed her to a bench and they sat down.
"As I said, Miss Hale, a business cannot operate if it relies on the values you champion. I do not mean to say they are worthless, but they have little place in such an institution where goods, work, and money all come into play. In the end, I must see to my duty of running the mill, and that is the greatest kindness I can give to the workers. If I neglect my duty, if I do not operate on sound business practices, the mill will fail and I will have injured all who work for me, not only myself. I know on whom I rely for the mill to run, and I do my best to see that they are compensated."
"But you are unable to raise their wages," she said quietly, afraid of provoking him away from his gentle tone.
"As much as they don't believe it, but it is true. Some foolhardy leaders convince the others I am lining my own pockets and that the cotton trade is doing well. I can assure you I am not lining my pockets and the trade is not so straight-forward as they make it out. The Americans are flooding the market, I have creditors that do not pay their bills on time, investors come and go, and the state of trade is constantly in flux. There is nothing I can do to change that. I can only work to keep the mill going amidst the change."
"Can you not tell them your reasons? They are desperate and angry, but I'm sure they cannot be so unreasonable as to not listen."
"Do you think such attempts have not been tried? But they persist in thinking the worst of us and that we are making excuses to keep them poor and in the dark. I have never tried because I know it to be a fruitless endeavor."
"That is simply not fair. You cannot lump them all into one group as you think they do to you. Can you not try?"
He looked away at this question, and Margaret felt helpless against his staunch belief that nothing could be done. She decided to try a different tack.
"If you are not able to currently raise wages, is there not something else you can do, to take an interest in their lives, to see how they spend their money and advise them?"
He looked up at her once more, his expression now incredulous. "To what purpose, Miss Hale? To exercise authority and tyranny over how they live their private lives? Because I do not do enough of that at the mill?"
"Do you see it as tyranny to try helping others?"
"When it comes across as though I am setting myself up as a ruler, even a benevolent ruler, giving them orders on how to run their lives away from the mill, yes. We are independent here, and we value it greatly. That is something the hands and I actually have in common. I do not take kindly to anyone telling me how to run my mill or spend my days. Why would the workers be any different?"
"Perhaps they would appreciate knowing you had a concern in their affairs."
He shook his head. "Miss Hale, you have met many working men now. Can you honestly tell me that any one of them would not resent my 'taking an interest', as you call it? That they would not think of any service I offer them as extremely high-handed?" He set his familiar penetrating stare on her, but in a way that urged her to think, rather than making her warm.
She looked away as she thought of the workers she had met. Nicholas Higgins immediately came to mind and she nearly laughed at imagining what he might say if a master went poking his nose around his private business. She was sure that even if his words did not match exactly what she imagined, his indignation and sentiment would be the same. No, Mr. Thornton was right. How many of the workers would not see any efforts he made as unwelcome interference? Very few, if any, was her conclusion.
She looked back to see him considering her and seeing her answer written in her face. "So what would you have me do, Miss Hale? I can do no more than my duty to the mill."
"There must be something so that . . . so that it is not such a war. So you are not all so angry at each other." She did not want to give in to despair just yet, even if he had won a point, and no matter how futile it seemed.
He smirked at the hope in her eyes. "Well, Miss Hale, I put my faith in you to come up with any solution. If anyone can find a way to bleed such bitterness from this proceeding, I believe you can."
She thanked him quietly for his confidence and the subject came to a close. She was still dissatisfied with the strike and what Mr. Thornton viewed as a lost cause, but she had opened her mind to his way of thinking and was glad for the experience. Instead of cold indifference, she had seen a man dedicated to his duty. And she could understand now that to him, that was the greatest kindness he could offer his workers. Some may refuse to see it in that light, but she would no longer.
Of course, she thought to herself, there is still room for improvement.
Silence had fallen between them again, but thankfully it contained little tension, only a lingering discomfort as both were still very aware of their recent schism. Mr. Thornton soon looked at his watch and said, "I must return to the mill. The time this morning has gotten away from me."
They both stood, unsure of what to say on parting. Before the awkwardness could return in full force, however, he nodded his head saying, "Good day, Miss Hale."
"Good day, Mr. Thornton."
She lingered among the graves as he walked away, many emotions running through her. Gratitude was the most prominent, however; gratitude that they had been given a second chance. She resolved that she would yet find a way to bridge the gap between masters and men. Somehow she would do it. And something told her Mr. Thornton would be just the master to take part in whatever she devised. She would not give up hope.