How Far the World Will Bend

by Nancy Klein

  She looked at him, clearly not comprehending his meaning, and her blatant misunderstanding goaded him to continue. “I have come to ask you to marry me.” The speech came out of him almost against his will; he stood with his fists balled against his side, as if each word caused him disquiet.

  Meg gaped at him, speechless. Once again, she had received a proposal of marriage where no declaration was made concerning love. Did these men not know how to propose to a woman? Did they think a woman would consider marriage where no word of love was spoken? The injured soldiers at the hospital who had proposed to her had been much more genuine and heartfelt in their approach.

  Mr. Thornton obviously was prepared to sacrifice himself in order to save her reputation. It was a noble gesture, but entirely unnecessary. Oddly enough, she experienced a surge of injured pride. For weeks now, she had fought off her attraction to this enigmatic man, only to have him offer her marriage as a means of recovering her reputation. Practically speaking, she could not marry him, knowing that she would eventually return to her own time. Impractically speaking, she vowed she could not marry him if he did not love her. She attempted to control her shaking voice. “No, thank you, Mr. Thornton; it is a most generous offer, and I do not doubt you mean well, but I will not marry you just to save my reputation.” She found that she could not meet his gaze.

  With swift steps, he moved to stand before her. “I don’t want to marry you to save your reputation; I want to marry you because I love you! I have never loved a woman before. My life has been too busy, my thoughts too much absorbed in other things.” He stopped abruptly, struggling with some strong emotion that threatened to overpower speech. “In spite of all of this, I find myself in love with you. Tell me—is there any hope that you might return my regard?”

  Her heart leapt at his words. It came to her suddenly, like another blow to the side of her head – she loved him! She caught her breath as she realized that she loved him. The next moment, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out this discovery. She was not Margaret Hale, but some imposter living her life. She could not make such a momentous decision given her circumstances and uncertain future.

  “I do care for you, in fact, I—” She broke off. She could not tell him that she loved him; he was just the man to double his pursuit if she said those fateful words. She could not explain to him that she was from the future and would have to return to that time eventually. He would think she had escaped from Bedlam. Better to break his heart and drive him away than marry him and disappear one day. She stole a glance at his hopeful, expectant face, shining with anticipation, and her heart ached at what she had to do.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Thornton, but I cannot marry you.” Her heart ached to see the hope die from his face and be replaced with cold reserve and repugnance.

  “May I ask why?” He struggled with his anger and disappointment, determined not to show her how deeply she had wounded him.

  “I do not love you.” The lie lodged in her throat, a painful constriction.

  He stood for a moment, attempting to master the sickening sense of disappointment that flooded through him. “Forgive me for importuning you with unwanted sentiments, Miss Hale. I have taken enough of your time, and will bother you no longer.” Striding to the entryway, he snatched his hat from the table and left the room. Seconds later, she heard the front door slam, the echoes reverberating throughout the quiet house.

  Meg slumped into a chair, ashamed of the lies she had told to that good and decent man. She had deliberately hurt him. She knew she had done the right thing—how could she marry when she did not know what the future held for her?—yet she was heartsick at what she had given up. She fought the tears that pressed against the backs of her eyes and stung her nose. She had done the right thing, she knew she had, but at what a price! Worse still, she must face Henry Lennox and respond to his offer; that unpleasant scene awaited her on the morrow. She wondered momentarily about Margaret’s reason for accepting Mr. Lennox’s suit—did she have a change of heart and realize she loved him, or did she encourage his suit in order to escape from Milton? If Margaret truly loved Henry Lennox, Meg must not give him a disgust of her, but find some way to fend him off indefinitely. In the meantime, Meg had turned down the offer of the first man she had ever loved, and chafed at the pain she had caused him.

  Gazing numbly about the room, she spied Mr. Thornton’s gloves on the side table. He had forgotten them in his haste to remove himself from her presence. She started up and clasped them to her breast. Without thinking, she moved toward the door and threw it open to call to him. However, a sudden thought made her pause and close the door. She must be practical; his gloves might be her means back through the looking glass. She found cold comfort in that thought. She pressed the gloves to her cheek, fancying they were still warm from his hands. When she lowered them, she saw that they were stained with her tears.

  Meg spent the remainder of the day in a feeble attempt to push all thoughts of Mr. Thornton from her mind. She read to her mother, transcribed her father’s notes, and performed the many small chores that seemed to inexplicably multiply in this household of four people. Each time she recalled the stunned expression on Mr. Thornton’s face, a wave of sadness came over her and she struggled with an urge to run to Marlborough Mills, storm into Mr. Thornton’s office, and declare her love for him. Each time she felt aggrieved that she had lied to him, she fought to remind herself of her situation: she was not Margaret Hale, and had no right to make such a momentous decision.

  The day dragged along, and she was grateful when it came time for bed. When she retired for the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Hale each remarked on how silent and stupid their normally vibrant daughter had been, and hoped she had not contracted an illness. Unbeknownst to her parents, Meg had a sleepless night, torn between thinking of what to say to Henry Lennox, and remembering Mr. Thornton’s proposal and declaration of love. She slipped Mr. Thornton’s gloves under her pillow at bedtime, and many times during the restless hours before daylight, she slipped them from beneath her pillow and cradled them against her face. Before she dozed off, she placed them on her hands as she had before, and imagined she could feel the warmth of his hands.

  Early on the morrow, when Henry Lennox arrived as promised to continue their conversation, Meg was prepared. She explained as gently as she could that she had made a mistake. She could not contemplate leaving an dying mother and a father who depended upon her. Henry was disappointed and angry, but he understood that her circumstances had changed. In deep gloom, he bid her goodbye.

  Meg was grievously sorry because Mr. Lennox seemed like a good man. She reflected with regret that she had managed to dash the hopes of two good men in a period of less than twenty-four hours. She felt a high degree of ill will toward Margaret Hale, and wondered once more what had been the reasoning behind her renewed interest in Henry Lennox’s proposal. Had it been a means to escape Milton, or was there more to it?

  What Meg had told Henry, however, was the truth: she could not leave Milton with her mother so ill and her father in constant terror over his wife’s condition. Someone had to help them during the trying days ahead, as well as run the household. For better or worse, that burden fell upon Meg. She would not desert these people she had come to care about. She was well and truly trapped.

  As the days dragged along, Meg fell into a predictable routine of working at the clinic, visiting Bessy, and caring for her mother. She received no word from Fred, and her mother fretted dreadfully, torn between her desire to see her son and fear for his safety. Meg did her best to calm her, but secretly dreaded that something might have happened to prevent Fred’s arrival.

  Meg kept busy so that she had little time to think of Mr. Thornton. He had come to the house several times to study with her father and had brought some small gifts for her mother. She thanked him for his kindness, but he brushed her words of appreciation aside, addressing his comments to her father or mother while steadfastly ignoring her. She accepted his
treatment meekly, feeling that it was no more than she deserved. In any event, his visits to their home became fewer in number once his mill reopened.

  The riot effectually ended the strike, and the majority of mill workers returned to the mills. Because of his role in organizing the strike, Higgins had been branded a troublemaker by the masters and not been offered a job at Hamper’s or any other mill in Milton. He was chafed beyond measure at the failure of the strike, and took out his ire on Boucher, whom he deemed an instigator of the riot. After all, it had been Boucher who had been sneaking about the railroad tracks late at night, picking up coal that had fallen from the trains, when the train arrived with the Irish workers. It was he who had spread the word among the strikers that the Irish had been brought to Milton to fill their jobs, and helped inflame the mob that had trampled the gates at Marlborough Mills. Boucher had been ready to throw the stone and injure Thornton, and might have succeeded, had it not been for Meg’s intercession.

  Higgins was furious with Boucher, and he urged his fellow union members to shun him as punishment for his rash conduct. At Higgins’ urging, the hands spread the word at the mills that Boucher was a troublemaker so that he was unable to find employment. His former mates refused to acknowledge, let alone speak, to him, and Boucher fell into despair.

  Meg was horrified at the union’s cruelty to one of their own, and suggested that Doctor Donaldson offer Boucher work cleaning the clinic. The wages were small, but better than none, so he grasped at the offer when it was made. Meg continued to bring baskets of food to his family, as well as fuel and clothing. Doctor Donaldson visited Mrs. Boucher several times a week, but despite his best efforts, she grew weaker each day. He finally confided in Meg that he did not hold out much hope for her.

  One afternoon several weeks after the aborted riot, Meg donned her bonnet and shawl in preparation to visit Bessy. Her friend had been quite ill, and had little appetite or interest in food; however, Meg’s visits brightened her day and did her much good, so Meg attempted to visit Francis Street whenever she had a free moment. She had just tied the strings of her bonnet when an urgent knock sounded on the front door. Upon opening it, Meg found a young boy panting on her doorstep.

  “Please, miss, come at once. Doctor has sent for you. There’s been a fire at the mill.”

  Meg dropped her basket inside the foyer and rushed after the boy. Please let it not be Marlborough Mills, she prayed as she hurried through the streets, running through the keep pace with the spry young lad before her. When she reached Doctor Donaldson’s clinic, the waiting room was filled with injured men and anxious women awaiting news of their husbands, sons, and sweethearts. Meg wended her way about them, dropping words of calm assurance to those who recognized her that they would be helped soon or that she would bring them news of their loved ones. As she moved into the examination area, she saw that every inch of floor space was covered with patients on makeshift stretchers set up by Boucher, who rushed from room to room gathering supplies. He shouted at Meg and pointed toward the back room, where she found Doctor Donaldson pulling a sheet over a man’s face.

  He glanced at Meg, and grimaced. “Take off your bonnet and shawl, put on an apron, and wash your hands. We have much work to do."

  For the next six hours, Meg cleaned, salved, and bandaged burns and wounds, and administered various medications at the doctor’s request. She comforted the wives and children of the men who had died in the fire until the vicar of the local parish was found and brought to the clinic. Meg learned that the blaze had occurred at Hamper’s mill, and that although it had been contained within an hour due to its occurrence in an isolated area of a warehouse, the damage had been severe. Seven men had been trapped in the warehouse where the fire had started, and had perished from severe burns or smoke inhalation. More than two dozen more were injured. The clinic had been transformed into a makeshift hospital, and Doctor Donaldson and Meg were ably assisted not only by Boucher but Dixon and Mary who rushed to the clinic when Meg sent them word of the accident.

  Toward evening, all of the patients had been examined and treated, and most had gone home with their families. Only three men remained, and Doctor Donaldson thought they should stay overnight for observation. It was uncertain if they would make it to morning, and he intended to keep close watch over them to improve their odds of survival. Meg volunteered to take the first shift until midnight, so that the doctor could sleep for a few hours.

  After thanking Mary and Dixon, she urged them to go home as their assistance would be required in the morning when the released men were scheduled to have their injuries re-checked. Boucher left as well, having been of remarkable service during the day. She thanked him and he gave her a shy smile. “It’s good to be of use, Miss,” he said quietly as he departed.

  Meg changed her filthy apron for a clean one, and after checking on her patients, started to take stock of their sadly depleted supplies. In these moments of quiet reflection, the events of the past few hours returned to her in horrifying clarity. She remembered the charred odor of burnt wood and flesh in the air, the groans of the wounded, and her horror at not being able to save those who were gravely wounded. Most of all, she recalled the anguish in the eyes of the severely injured men who had clasped her hand and held on for human comfort during the last few minutes of their lives. She would never forget watching the life drain from those men’s eyes; she thought of their families and children, and reflected that they should have had many good years in front of them. Instead, they lay in one of the examination rooms, awaiting the undertaker.

  All of these details struck her in such vivid detail that she lifted her apron to her face and pressed it to her mouth to contain her sobs; she had the presence of mind to not disturb the patients sleeping in the adjacent room. She leaned against the examination table and cried as she had not done since arriving in Milton. A sense of insurmountable loss swept through her. Those men had died a senseless death, and once again there was nothing she could do about it.

  She felt a hand drop upon her shoulder, and blindly turned and buried her face in Doctor Donaldson’s chest. She clutched his coat lapels with both hands and soaked his waistcoat with her scalding tears. After a moment’s hesitation, his arms came about her, hard, and his hand came up to stroke the back of her head.

  When her tears subsided and a sense of calm settled upon her, she opened her eyes and noticed the wet blotches on the patterned waistcoat. She gazed unthinkingly at the chain of a pocket watch slung across the doctor’s chest, until she remembered that he did not wear a pocket watch on a chain, but carried it in his pants pocket. Lifting her head, she met the concerned and compassionate gaze of Mr. Thornton, who still held her in his arms. Gasping, she moved abruptly backwards, and he released her at once. “Mr. Thornton,” she stammered. “I did not— I thought— please, forgive me.”

  “No need to apologize, Miss Hale. I do not wonder at your reaction, given the day you have had. I met your servant as I was departing your house and she told me that you had been with the doctor most of the day, tending those who were wounded in the fire.” His eyes watched her carefully.

  She swiped at her damp eyes with the back of one hand. “Yes, it has been a horrid day. I keep seeing those poor women and children, waiting for word on their loved ones.” Her voice dwindled away and he had the impression she was holding herself under rigid control.

  Mr. Thornton reached into his breast pocket and extracted a handkerchief, which he wordlessly offered to her. Smiling her thanks, she took it from him and wiped her eyes. He stood awkwardly next to her, wanting to offer comfort but uncertain how to do so, in light of their strained relationship. “I came to see if there was anything I could do to help.”

  Her wet eyes flashed up to his, warm with gratitude. “Oh, how kind you are! We could use some fabric to make bandages—and we need food to feed the patients—custards or broth, things that are easily digestible and nourishing.”

  “I will send over our remnants from the mill
, and ask our cook to prepare whatever you need. If you give me a list, I will take it to Marlborough Mills at once.”

  She went to the desk to make the list, and handed it to him. As he turned to go, she laid a hand upon his forearm. “You are a good man, Mr. Thornton. It was not your workers or mill that suffered, but you came here to see what you could do to help. Mr. Hamper has not had the decency to show his face.”

  Mr. Thornton frowned. “Knowing Hamper, he is afraid to come here. It is no secret that conditions at his mill were unsafe. His warehouse has been considered a fire hazard for years. It is a miracle it has not burned to the ground before now.”

  Meg felt anger roil up within her. “He should be horsewhipped for letting his workers endure such conditions. If I were a man, he would answer to me.”

  “If you were a man, I believe he would.” His mouth twitched with suppressed humor. “I believe you are capable of anything to which you set your mind.”

  They stared at each other for several long moments before Meg recalled her duty. Blushing, she stepped back and stammered, “I must return to my patients. Thank you for being so understanding, and I’m sorry that I dampened your waistcoat.”

  His smile faded as his eyes darkened with emotion. “It was my pleasure, Miss Hale.”

  He turned to leave when Meg blurted out, “Mr. Thornton!” He swung back to face her again, and she continued in a stilted voice, “About the other day—”

  He cut her off. “Forget what I said, Miss Hale. I was caught up in the emotions of the riot. On further reflection, I realize I have no business considering marriage. You obviously do not care for me, and there is an end to my unwanted attentions.”

  She hung her head, fighting the sadness that surged through her. “I did not mean to be unkind. I am very sorry if what I said gave you offense.”