Roses and Lace
Chapter 15
John returned home the next evening at the end of another long day to find his mother furrowing her brow over what seemed to be a particularly long letter.
"...Any bad news, Mother?"
"Mm?" She glanced up at him with a strangely pointed look before returning her gaze to the pages in her hand. "No, John. It's simply a letter from Margaret Hale."
John felt his heart thump inside his chest. He slowly took a seat near his mother.
After a short time still reading the letter, Hannah sighed. "What a proud, stubborn young woman she is! She will not directly confess to any fault. And she does not deign to seek my approval for the match."
John took a breath to defend Margaret, but something in his mother's tone gave him pause. She didn't sound exactly angry. No, she had spoken with almost a grudging respect.
He settled for muttering, as if to himself, "Proud and stubborn are characteristics of another strong woman I know."
His mother glanced at him with a knowing look and then turned her attention back to the letter.
John continued to watch her eyes move back and forth as, with aching slowness, she gradually read down to the bottom of the page in her hand.
"...And what else does Miss Hale write?"
At this, she shot him a look full of remonstrance. "It is a private letter, John."
"Does she send any message for me?"
Hannah sighed and made a show of skimming through the entire letter again. John felt an increasing agitation within himself and began to suspect that his mother was teasing him.
"She conveys her warm regards."
John felt a small warmth glow inside of him. "Anything else?"
"She inquires about acquiring some cotton fabric."
"Mother!"
Hannah hmphed. "She has no other remarks directed at you, my son. ...She does speak of you, and she refers to you by your Christian name, which strikes me as rather forward."
So she wrote of him. John felt himself almost smiling, as much as his mother seemed to be intentionally vexing him. "Mother, we are intended to be married."
She tsked at that. "But in a letter to me, your mother? Presumptuous girl! ...She does mention that you are one of the dearest people in the world to her." She cast him another pointed look. "One of, mind you. Please recall that Miss Hale seems to care for everyone she comes across, not least of which the lowliest factory hands, so there may be a rather long line ahead of you."
John was beaming now, both at Margaret's mention of him and at his mother's underhanded compliment. For her part, Hannah couldn't help but half-match his smile.
"Mother, when you write back to her, would you please convey-"
Hannah scoffed. "I most certainly shall not! I shall write my own words and nothing else. And you, John, must write directly to her yourself. It is proper enough, given your arrangement, and I shall not be made a go-between for lovesick musings or any such fripperies!"
She was certainly teasing him now. "I shall write to her myself, mother. I had already intended on doing so."
"Very well." She finally put the letter down and looked at her son with a sad, wistful fondness. Finally, she spoke seriously. "I suppose you must. You must begin to put her first in your attentions. ...We've been at this point before, John. It is hardly easier this time, though now I at least have some hope that she might... perhaps... with time... show herself to be worthy of your affections."
He clasped her hand even while he shook his head at her hesitance. "Thank you, mother."
She turned away from him, blinking what might have been a tear from her eyes. "You'll have your work cut out for you, mind. This one will not be tamed."
"Then she'll fit right in with this family, mother."
Hannah patted his hand with a gentle, wry smile.
Her poor naive son had no idea what he was in for.