by Nancy Klein
“How are you, Nicholas?” Meg asked solicitously, seating herself next to Tommy and affectionately ruffling his hair.
“Well enough,” he responded soberly, “given I can’t find permanent work at any mill in Milton. Not that I’m not grateful for the work at the clinic, but it is not enough hours to earn the wages I need.”
“None of the masters will offer you a job?”
Higgins shook his head. “Hamper told me to get off his property, and Slickson would not even give me the time of day. I must do something soon, Meg, otherwise these children will starve.”
“Your family will never starve while I’m alive, Nicholas,” Meg said firmly. “I could ask Doctor Donaldson to increase your hours at the clinic, but the wages would still not be enough to support these children.” They sat together in a companionable silence until she had a sudden thought. “Nicholas, have you asked Mr. Thornton for work?”
Higgins grimaced. “He is worse than the others. I doubt he’d offer me a job.”
She leaned forward earnestly. “Ask him. He has a kind heart, and might just give you work.”
Higgins shrugged. “I’ll think on it.”
Meg unpacked the basket Dixon had sent, and started dinner for the family while Mary continued to read to the children. When the meal was ready, Meg took her leave, thanking Nicholas for his offer to eat with them. She explained that she should return home to share the evening meal with her father. “He frets if I am gone for any length of time.”
As she left, she reminded Higgins to consider speaking with Mr. Thornton. “Don’t nag at me, Meg,” he said in an amused tone, and shut the door behind her.
In Crampton, Meg spent the morrow in the kitchen, helping with the baking. She had observed Dixon mixing and kneading dough, and expressed a desire to learn to make bread. Meg was up to her elbows in dough, kneading the mass with vigor, when a sharp rap sounded on the front door.
“Oh, bother, who could that be,” muttered Dixon irritably, and stomped up the steps to answer the door. Moments later, Meg started in surprise as she heard Dixon greet Mr. Thornton. She strained to hear his response, but could not make out his words. Her heart pounded—had he come to see her father or her? She felt keenly disappointed when she heard the front door close. Moments later, Dixon descended the stairs with a large bouquet of flowers in her arms and a wide smile on her face. “That was Mr. Thornton. Look at these lovely flowers that he brought you!”
“For me!” Meg’s heart beat a wild tattoo. She wiped her hands on her apron.
“Indeed, he said they were for Miss Hale, with his compliments.” Dixon placed them into Meg’s arms.
Meg’s face grew soft with pleasure. The bouquet contained yellow roses and purple larkspur, with ivy twined about the stems. “How lovely!” she murmured as she buried her face in the blooms. “Oh, the roses have no thorns!”
Dixon smiled slyly. “He obviously cares for you, Miss Meg.”
“He is being polite to the daughter of his friend.”
Dixon snorted in disbelief. “Not sending those particular flowers, he isn’t. Don’t you remember? Yellow roses mean true love, and thorn-less roses mean love at first sight. And purple larkspur is for first love.” She frowned for a moment before adding, “Of course, yellow roses can mean slighted love as well.”
Meg stared at her in amusement. “How do you know these things?”
Dixon sniffed. “There is a whole language of flowers, Miss Meg. Each flower has a secret message. As a young girl, I remember hearing your mother and aunt speak of it quite often. Surely, Miss Meg, you learned of this in London when Miss Edith received flowers from her admirers?” When Meg shook her head, Dixon continued. “Well, you never were one to take heed of such things. Anyhow, when your mother and Aunt Shaw received nosegays from their admirers, they would pour over their book of flowers to determine what was meant by each bloom.” She laughed heartily. “I particularly recall your mother telling me that hens and chickens meant ‘welcome home, husband, however drunk you are.’”
As Dixon turned her attention to the forgotten bread dough, Meg spied a small note nestled in the flowers. Pulling it carefully from the arrangement, she read:
Please forgive me for my impertinence yesterday. I misspoke. Please know I am eternally grateful that you came to Milton, and that I had the privilege of knowing you. If I may ever be of service, come to me.
J. Thornton
She felt a lump form in her throat and for a moment she could not speak. He loves me despite everything, she thought with wonder, and closed her eyes as a sense of longing flooded through her. How would she ever find the strength to leave him behind when it came her time to go?
Chapter 16. Advice from a Caterpillar
Several days after Meg received flowers from Mr. Thornton, Mr. Hale stood in the hallway of his home, preparing to take his daily walk. He had just wound a scarf carefully about his neck when a knock sounded. Wondering who was calling at this early hour, he shuffled forward to open the door. To his surprise, Mrs. Thornton stood upon the stoop, dressed entirely in black like a great, grim crow.
“Mrs. Thornton,” Mr. Hale exclaimed. “Good morning! Please, come in.”
“Good morning, Mr. Hale. I am here to speak with your daughter,” she explained in her usual curt tones. “Is she in?”
“Yes, she is. We were just preparing to take our daily walk.” He motioned politely toward the stairs. “Please, come up to the parlor and I will fetch her for you.” Mrs. Thornton inclined her head politely, and followed him. Once she was settled, Mr. Hale hastened up the stairs to Meg’s room and around the half-open door at his daughter. “Mrs. Thornton has come to call. She wishes to speak with you.”
Meg exclaimed in surprise and alarm, removing her bonnet from her head. “Whatever could she want with me?”
Mr. Hale looked mystified. “I do not know, my dear, but you had best make haste. She is not a woman to keep waiting. I will take my walk without you today.” She heard his light step on the stairs and, moments later, the sound of the front door opening and closing.
Meg raised her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. What could Mrs. Thornton possibly have to say to her? Casting her mind back, she thought of her recent conversation with Fanny the night of the Thornton’s dinner. Fanny had asked if Meg knew of a certain musical piece, and Meg had offered to ask her cousin Edith to procure the sheet music. Edith had sent it with her last letter, so Meg retrieved it from her desk. Squaring her shoulders as if going into battle, she descended the stairs to the parlor.
Mrs. Thornton sat rigidly upright in one of the wing chairs, a decidedly determined look about her. When she first learned of her son’s intent to offer marriage to Miss Hale, she had been prepared to try to like this frank young woman. However, when John returned home and admitted that she had refused him, and she had witnessed his silent grief and sorrow, a strong dislike had grown within Mrs. Thornton. She was affronted that this strange chit, this nobody from the South, would rebuff a man who was ten times her worth. She nursed these feelings until they had solidified into a strong resentment. While she rejoiced that this young woman would never be kin to her, she despised her as well. She would rather shun Miss Hale, but a promise was a promise. She had vowed to Mrs. Hale to watch over Meg and help her if she saw her taking the wrong path. Heaven knows, standing about a train station late at night with a strange young man was not the correct thing to do, and Mrs. Thornton intended to let Meg know just that.
As Meg entered the room, she noted her visitor’s grim expression and thought it was unlikely that Mrs. Thornton had come to Crampton to discuss musical airs. “Good morning, Mrs. Thornton,” she said politely. “How kind of you to call—may I offer you any refreshment?”
Mrs. Thornton shook her head. “Miss Hale, I have come here today to do my duty to your mother.” At Meg’s puzzled look, she continued. “Before your mother died, she asked me to look out for you. I promised her that I would attempt to intervene if I ever saw or
heard of you doing wrong.” She looked away from Meg’s untroubled gaze. “When I learned that you had been seen out after dark with a young man, I thought to caution you against such behavior. Many a young woman has lost her character behaving in such a way, and after your indiscretion at the train station—well, it showed such poor judgment on your part that it made me relieved you had rejected my son’s offer of marriage.”
Meg felt a slow flush rise up her neck. She was furious, with Mrs. Thornton for her impertinent words, and with herself once again for her actions of that night. Would that Fred had gone to the station by himself! Before Mrs. Thornton could continue her homily, Meg interrupted her. “Mrs. Thornton, please stop. I will not listen to any more of your accusations. I do not have to answer to you for my actions.”
“Miss Hale, whatever were you thinking to be at a deserted location late at night with a strange man? Do you know what the town folk are saying—do you realize that they believe you have a lover?”
“I have no lover,” Meg retorted, “and I have done nothing wrong. If those who slander me only knew the truth—” She bit off the rest of her words.
“What truth? Why can’t you explain your actions?”
“I owed an explanation to my father alone, and he has accepted it. Since he has no qualms about my actions that night, neither should the rest of Milton.” Seeing that she had offended her visitor, she hastened to add, “I do not mean to disparage you, for I believe you have the best intentions at heart. But I cannot answer more than I have without betraying a confidence. Women, as well as men, have honor.”
Mrs. Thornton rose from her seat. “Very well, Miss Hale, I have done my duty to your mother. Your actions are on your own head.” Turning to leave, she espied the large vase of roses and larkspur in a place of honor on the sideboard. “Are those flowers from an admirer, Miss Hale?”
Meg smiled. “You might say that,” she replied as she escorted her visitor to the door.
********&********
Following this unpleasant interview, Meg felt restless and decided to visit the drapers to purchase material for a new pelisse and gown. Dixon expressed satisfaction; Meg’s garments were becoming worn, given the washings they must endure because of the dirt and smoke from this rough Northern town. After enduring much haranguing, Meg’s easy agreement to procure the material for Dixon to sew these garments pleased the servant no end. When Meg arrived and entered the shop, she heard her name called in shrill tones, and recognized Fanny standing before the counter, huge mounds of packages wrapped in brown paper and string before her.
“Miss Hale,” Fanny called out gaily, and brandished her hand to show an engagement ring.
Meg smiled warmly. “Congratulations, Miss Thornton!”
“Yes, I am engaged,” Fanny said in a fatuous tone. “My fiancé wishes to buy me anything I desire, but I tell him that my brother is well able to afford my trousseau.”
“I am very happy for you,” Meg said earnestly, and turned her attention to the bolts of fabric that lined the bins along one of the walls.
“Of course, Mr. Watson is well able to purchase anything for me that I desire.” Stepping closer to Meg, she lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “He has a plan to speculate on the Exchange that will make ever so much money, but John refuses to hear him out.”
Meg looked at her sharply. She thought of Fanny’s father’s speculations and the resulting tragedy; little wonder that Mr. Thornton wanted no parts of such a plan. “Surely Mr. Thornton would never invest in a speculation?”
Fanny waved her hand airily. “Oh, la, Miss Hale, everyone is doing so!”
Meg merely smiled and wished Fanny happy before she returned to her contemplation of fabric. Fanny sniffed and gathered up her packages. Miss Hale was really too much, she thought angrily, acting as if she understood John better than his own sister did. When she reached home, she confided in her mother and brother what had passed, and what Miss Hale had said. Mrs. Thornton did not respond beyond tightly pressing her lips together, but Mr. Thornton lowered his paper and glowered at his sister.
“I’ll thank you not to discuss my business in the street, Fanny,” he said in a low, deadly tone. “You know what I think of such a scheme, and I want to hear no more of it.”
Fanny gaped at him as two angry flags of color stained her cheeks. Hastily snatching up her parcels, she flounced from the room. Mr. Thornton stood and walked over to the window, aggrieved at his sister’s words and the entire situation. Why had she confided to Miss Hale, of all people?
“Would it be so bad to invest in this speculation?” his mother asked softly.
“You know that it would, Mother,” he replied tersely. “You remember what happened before. I have enough money to cover the payroll, and I hope to prevail upon Mr. Laurence for another loan.”
“If you would but reach an agreement with Miss Laurence…” his mother suggested in hesitant tones, but her son interrupted her speech.
“Let us not discuss that again, Mother—it is no longer an option.” With these terse words, he left the room.
********&********
When she next visited the Princeton district, Meg was anxious to learn if Nicholas had spoken to Mr. Thornton about work at the mill. Her suggestion that he do so weighed heavily upon her; she feared he would be rebuffed. When she had been greeted by the children and distributed the small amount of sweets and fruit she had brought with her to them, she presented a delighted Mary with several loaves of freshly baked bread, the fruits of her labor from that morning.
The youngest Boucher had been sick with colic, so Meg had brought an herbal concoction which she mixed with his milk. After warming the bottle at the stove, she gave it to Higgins, who fed the baby while he talked to her about the various happenings in the neighborhood. After the baby had eaten, Meg advised that he hold the baby over his shoulder to ease his digestion and the pains in his stomach. Nicholas trusted Meg’s medical knowledge enough at this stage to follow her instructions without question. When at last she raised the issue of employment, her hopes plummeted when she saw Nicholas’ grim expression. “I asked and received the impertinent answer I expected.”
“Did you explain that you are raising children that are not your own, and need the wages that such work would provide?” Meg prodded.
“I told Thornton I needed work for the family of a man that was driven mad by his job being taken by one of those Irish he brought in, them who didn’t know one end of a loom from another.”
“Oh, Nicholas,” Meg said sorrowfully, “you lost your temper.”
“Aye, I did. He told me I was wasting my time, that he would not give me work.” Nicholas glanced with a grimace at Meg. “I was so angry that I told him I thought he wouldn’t, but I’d been urged to ask by a woman who thought he had a bit of kindness about him.”
Her heart sank. “And what did he say?”
“He told me to tell that woman to mind her own business and stop wasting his time and mine.”
“I am sorry he would not give you a job, Nicholas. Something must have occurred to put him in a foul humor. I know he is a fair man, and I am certain if he knew of your situation, he would offer you work.”
A small noise made them both turn. Mr. Thornton stood in the doorway, and it was obvious from his surprised expression that he had overheard their conversation. He is forever sneaking up on me, Meg thought, equal parts embarrassed and irritated.
“May I speak with you outside, Higgins?” Mr. Thornton asked with stiff reserve. Meg removed the baby from Nicholas’ arms, stepping away to afford both men a bit of privacy. Nicholas followed Mr. Thornton through the doorway, turning before he left to give Meg a brief shrug.
Mr. Thornton seemed at a loss for words. He was silent for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts together. “I spoke hastily to you the other day, when you came to ask me about a job. I have since asked around, and found that you told me the truth—that you have taken in a dead man’s children as your own. I a
m sorry….” His voice trailed off and he appeared to struggle, as if at war with himself. “I have come to ask you if you will take work with me.”
Nicholas gazed at him impassively. “You’ve called me a liar and a troublemaker and a scoundrel—but I need work. I’ll accept your offer and that’s a good deal for me.”
“And that’s a good deal for me.” Mr. Thornton thrust out his hand which Nicholas accepted and shook. “Now mind to your time, for what times we have we keep sharp.” He speared him with a gaze. “And the first time I find you using that mind of yours to make trouble, off you go.”
Nicholas thrust his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Reckon I’ll leave my brains at home,” he said dryly.
Mr. Thornton hesitated, seemingly unwilling to leave. “Did Miss Hale ask you to come to me?” Nicholas did not respond, but regarded the master with a cool, knowing smile that nettled. “You might have said,” Mr. Thornton retorted peevishly.
“And you’d have been a bit more civil?” Nicholas asked incredulously, and turned to re-enter his house. “Will you come in, Master?” he asked graciously, ignoring the dark expression on Thornton’s face.
Mr. Thornton wanted to refuse—he was sorely aggrieved that Higgins could read his mind well enough to know that Miss Hale had a strong influence over him. However, the presence of Meg was too great a gravitational pull for him to say no. He placed his hat on a table near the door as Higgins joined his daughter to settle the children for the night.
The object of Mr. Thornton’s desire sat in a rocking chair near the fire, with the Boucher baby tucked over her shoulder. Her hair was in soft disarray about her face. She appeared pale and tired, but her face was soft with affection for the child she held. She hummed a song as she rocked, and the baby yawned and nestled against her. He thought she had never looked lovelier, and felt a sharp pang. How would she look cradling his child at her breast, he wondered, and felt a yearning stronger than he had ever felt in his life. He wanted her, in his life, in his home, in his bed. Dear Lord, he thought, I would give up all else if I might have the right to love her and make her mine.