JUST FOR ONE DAY

Chapter One

John Thornton tried his very best not to give way to the longing which ached in his lonely heart.

With every strand of his soul straining in excruciating torture, a suppressed torment that ripped him to shreds, he fought the compulsion to turn his head just a fraction to the right so that he might glimpse in the direction of…

No, he had to, he had to see, he had to know.

Lowering his chin, as if in a state of tranquil reflection, John swivelled round just a few inches to the side, so slightly that he felt safe in the knowledge that nobody would notice, and with his soulful eyes sharpened into unwavering focus, he let them train up and glance at…

John's heart, which had been beating like a drum beneath his calm and collected veneer, suddenly thudded against his ribs and came to a juddering stop, the sensation of which was nearly enough to make him collapse.

In a matter of seconds, fleeting nothings which surely were too short to gather any real information, John had assessed everything he needed to know about the object of his curiosity and the beneficiary of his most devoted attention, the one person in all the world whom he cared for more than life itself.

Margaret.

John felt his heart begin to weep at the mere sight of her. It was hard to explain why, but a hefty measure of his misery derived from seeing her so sorrowful, this gentle and generous creature who deserved to know only happiness, but yet, due to a cruel hand of fate, she had experienced nothing but heartache since coming to his town, something which left him feeling oddly and irrationally responsible. But what was worse, infinitely worse, was that there was nothing he could do about it.

Not one thing.

For all John yearned to go to her and offer Margaret all the steadfast comfort of a husband, his strong arms providing her with security and solace, he could not, and in truth, this agonizing denial, this bitter barrier and boundary between them, this was what cut him the most, blighting his wretched soul into the void of affliction and anguish.

But no, he had no right to feel such a thing, since this was her day, their day to grieve, not his. She had lost her mother, and by all accounts, a close friend too, not to mention her beloved home only months before, so no, his precious girl had a heavy enough burden weighing down on her sweet heart, and so John refused to let the mass of his own venal despair overshadow her own.

The service was short, pathetically so, most likely because the minister did not know the deceased well, and John could not help but peer around the empty church and feel a pang of guilt for the lack of kindness his townsfolk had shown to the Hale's, since surely, if they had been back in their esteemed Helstone, then the place would have been filled with friends and family, people who cared for this humble family. But not here, no, not in this apathetic place that was governed by mercenary greed, no, not in Milton. John had not really had the time to come today, he had other matters to attend to, but despite his mother suggesting that he forgo it, letting her make an appearance in his stead to represent the household, John had stubbornly refused and passionately stated in no uncertain terms that he would be attending. In fact, the master had insisted that all three of them would go, because as absurd as it was, deep down, John thought of Margaret as his closest family, regardless of whether she thought of him in that way or not, because in his heart of hearts, she was his wife, since he would take no other than she, so you see, there was nowhere else in the whole world he would rather be than by her side, even if they were separated by an aisle and the abyss of their disharmony.

Towards the end, the minister invited the pitiful few people there to bow down in prayer, and so, in dutiful accord, they did. Stooping on the cold slabs that offended his knees, John's eyes once again flitted to the side and came to rest upon the woman he adored.

With her head slanted towards the floor, her eyes scrunched closed, and her small hands clasped together before her, John could see that Margaret's lips were moving fervently in silent meditation. He wondered what she was saying, whether she was reciting a generic passage for such occasions from one of her father's books or sermons, but knowing her, knowing of her endearingly attentive ways, Margaret was no doubt praying the most saintly of prayers to honour her late mother and commit her soul to her Lord, bidding him to watch over the lady until such a time as her daughter could be reunited with her once more.

Tilting his head, John took this stealthy chance to study Margaret properly, what with there being no chance of her looking back at him and everybody else having their own eyes firmly shut during this hallowed time. It was wrong, he knew it was, but he did not care, since his every sense itched for her constantly, and he almost felt ill if he could not look at her, the image of her adorable face the most breathtakingly beautiful vision he had ever seen. And oh, how he had missed her! The truth was that John had hardly seen Margaret for weeks, not since…

Not since that day.

What with him being devastated by her denunciation of his attentions and affections, along with the difficulties at the mill, not to mention the most unfortunate and rapid deterioration then passing of Mrs Hale, he had hardly stepped foot in that house for what felt like years, and by God, John could hardly describe how much that forced estrangement had wounded his sensitive soul.

Ignoring the throbbing of burning craving which scorched his heart, John peeked at Margaret one last time, determined not to squander this rare opportunity to survey her, especially given how anxious he was for her health and happiness, something which mattered far more to him than his own, a treasured contentment that he would sell his soul to secure. With his penetrating eyes darting to track her static shadow, his breath hitched at the sight of her exquisite figure across the way, her form elongated as she knelt, the outline of her arms, back and legs flowing into a sweeping shape. Her dress was striking, the cut comely, the sheen subtle. John had felt his pulse quicken in every quarter when she had entered the church, because as was the custom, the Hales had arrived last, and when she had walked past him, an unknowing Margaret had brushed against the seated man, her arm scraping along his own, and in doing so, the red blood in John's veins had spluttered and tingled at this most innocent and brief contact from the woman he worshipped, and it had taken every ounce of his self-control not to cry out at the thrill of it.

She was wearing her mourning garbs, all black from tip to toe, which, of course, was only natural, and John could not help but notice how pale she looked as a result, her soft, porcelain skin a stark distinction to the sombre darkness of her attire, the contrast making her appear ethereal and oh-so melancholy.

John had to bite down on his lip to prevent himself from letting out a guttural groan, the tart taste of blood assaulting the inside of his mouth. God! How it killed him to see her so sad.

Then, all of a sudden, John jolted, because out of nowhere, Margaret ceased her ruminating, and without warning, she abruptly turned to look at him.

It all happened so unexpectedly, that he could hardly understand what happened or even when or why it had occurred, but as John was gazing at her in ardent fascination, Margaret's head had spun round, and with her eyes large and lovely, she had fixed them upon him, and in doing so, she had known that he had been watching her.

As quick as the snap of a finger and thumb, John's own head twisted back around to its proper place, and he ducked it down in shame, unable to look up again and face her valid disapproval and displeasure. Cursing himself inwardly, John scolded himself for letting his selfish longings rule the day and further ruin his already unstable relationship with Margaret, the fractured bond between them so fragile that just one erroneous act was enough to sever it forever in her eyes, since to him, no matter what she did, he would always be true to her.

Growling under his breath, John thought of that unspeakable night less than a week ago when he had seen Margaret at Outwood Station as she had lurked under the cloak of midnight obscurity. She had not been alone, she had been with another, and the image of the two of them entangled in an intimate embrace had plagued his dreams every night ever since. But no…no matter what, he would love her unconditionally and unquestioningly, because as far as John was concerned, he had no choice, since he was most assuredly hers, even if she would never be his in return.

As he thought on this, John felt a stirring in his spirit to do something he had not done in a disgracefully long time, not since his own father's funeral fifteen years before. After a decisive nod, John closed his eyes, propped up his elbows, linked his hands, and bent his head. Then, after taking a deep breath to fortify himself with both courage and conviction, his mind banishing all other cares, John Thornton prayed.