How Far the World Will Bend

by Nancy Klein

Meg blushed and backed away, trying to ignore Mary’s curious gaze and Nicholas’ knowing smirk. “You—you are welcome. Now, I must go. Doctor Donaldson has been expecting me this last half hour. I shall see you later, Mary—I hope all goes well.” Glancing fleetingly at Mr. Thornton, she strode out into the courtyard.

  Nicholas and Mr. Thornton watched her depart. “That girl has a heart of gold,” Nicholas said softly. “I don’t know what I would have done without her, since my Bess died.” He joined Mary in the lunchroom, leaving Mr. Thornton to ponder his words as he cradled his bandaged hand.

  ********&********

  Fanny Thornton’s wedding was the grandest affair of the season in Milton. No expense was spared in the ceremony or wedding breakfast that followed. Fanny, swathed in silks and satins, her skirts fitted over multiple stiff petticoats, made her way down the aisle under the tolerant gaze of her bridegroom. The church was filled with hothouse flowers, the finest that could be purchased. The ceremony was stately, and the bride was given away by her brother with little emotion on the part of either participant.

  Meg and her father were seated in a pew toward the back of the church. She had been surprised when her family had received an invitation to the ceremony. Her father had come into the parlor several weeks ago, brandishing the announcement in his hand. “Margaret, we have received an invitation to Fanny Thornton’s wedding,” he stated with evident satisfaction.

  “Do we have to go, Father?” she had asked. Fanny Thornton was not her friend, and she guessed that Mrs. Thornton and Fanny had sent the announcement as a courtesy to Mr. Thornton, not out of any desire for their presence.

  Mr. Hale was shocked at his daughter’s question. “Of course, we must go. I would not do anything to give Mr. Thornton offense; he has been a true friend to us.”

  “Very well, Father.” She had no desire to argue with Mr. Hale. He had been morose since his wife’s death, and Meg had strained to find activities that would place his thoughts on pleasanter paths. She had hoped this wedding would prove a diversion, and indeed he seemed attentive as he listened to Fanny and Mr. Watson exchange vows. It was worth the effort to attend to witness her Father’s anticipation of the ceremony and breakfast to follow, and quite an effort it had been.

  Of all of the troublesome things about this century, Meg thought that nothing surpassed the time that had to be spent dressing for an occasion. She despised corsets, and hated fussing with her hair, which had grown back since she had cut it. She could deal with the hard work; and could tolerate the daily reminders of suffering and hunger all around her, since she did what she could to alleviate both. She could even accept the strictures placed on women in this time—not to be out after dark, not to walk alone with a man—since she largely ignored them and did as she pleased. However, she could barely tolerate the strictures placed upon her by the fashion of the time—corsets that pinched and tormented like iron maidens, so many layers of petticoats that one felt as if one were struggling against a strong current, ridiculous shoes that were soiled daily in horse manure on the streets or whose heels stuck between cobbles, and silly accessories like hats and gloves that were misplaced and had to be retrieved or replaced. Lord deliver me from fashion, she thought as she sat in the pew, watching Fanny struggle down the aisle in a ridiculously huge hoop skirt that threatened to catch on the pews.

  The ceremony was mercifully short, and soon she stood in the churchyard, in the weak spring sunshine, watching the wedding guests erupt from the church. Fanny smiled and pulled at the front of her gown, trying to surreptitiously retrieve the grains of rice that had gone down her bodice. Meg watched Mr. Thornton; he stood at the entrance of the church, chatting with several wedding guests. She thought he looked pale and tired, but his smile was genuine and he looked particularly handsome in his dark suit and white waistcoat and cravat. As she observed him, she saw Amy Laurence slip from the church and stand beside him. Meg raised her eyebrows when she saw Miss Laurence slip her hand through his arm, a radiant smile upon her face. It appeared that this action did not please Mr. Thornton; he grimaced briefly, and as he looked away from her, his gaze met that of Meg.

  She could not help herself. She smiled mischievously, and saw his eyes widen in surprise and then warm as he acknowledged her point. She is so lovely, he thought, with her laughing eyes and dimples. She wore a gown of dusky rose, a color that complemented her complexion. Somehow, she knew that he was less than pleased to have Miss Laurence cling to his arm. A little too sure of yourself, Miss Hale, he thought, but he was not displeased with her humor—far from it. She was a refreshing break from the tedium of people with whom he had to deal.

  The wedding party and guests walked the short distance to hotel where the wedding breakfast awaited them. It was a lovely day, and the sunshine and fresh air helped give the day a festive air. As they entered the hotel, Meg was amused to see that Mrs. Thornton and Fanny were at great pains to ignore Meg and her father, as they had at the church. When Mr. Hale and Meg greeted Fanny and Mr. Watson after the ceremony, Fanny had smiled and bowed her head, like a queen accepting the homage of commoners. Mr. Watson had been far friendlier, well disposed to the lovely daughter of the former parson. Mrs. Thornton had exchanged pleasantries with Mr. Hale, but did not utter a word to Meg.

  The private room at the hotel was filled with flowers and elaborately decorated. The table for the family of the bride and groom stood at one end of the room, and smaller tables for guests were spaced throughout the remaining space; all were covered in pristine linen, and set with opulent china, silver, and crystal. Small potted palms filled the corners. Meg’s amusement grew when she found that she and her father were seated at a table by themselves, far removed from the Thornton family and the wealthy citizens of Milton. Mr. Hale, always believing the best of everyone, saw nothing amiss in their situation, and Meg did not care enough to feel insulted. She took a seat on a gilded chair and gestured to her father to sit beside her. “Come, father, let us be cozy. It has been too long since we have had a chance to enjoy each other’s company.” His face softened, and he gave his daughter’s hand an affectionate squeeze.

  Mr. Thornton, however, was far from amused. He was mortified to witness how his family treated his friend and that friend’s daughter. He strode up to his mother and sister, who stood in deep discussion with the maître d’hôtel.

  “Mother,” he interrupted. “Mr. Hale is my friend—why have you seated him at the back of the room, with only his daughter at his table?”

  Mrs. Thornton had the grace to look abashed and started to respond, but Fanny emitted a brittle laugh, “La, John, what would you have us do? Seat a poor parson and his daughter with the Hampers or Slicksons? I doubt there is anyone in this room who would care to sit with them.”

  Mr. Thornton’s eyes blazed. “Then it is up to me to demonstrate that not everyone in this family is without manners.”

  “John, you cannot leave Miss Laurence by herself,” Mrs. Thornton hissed, but he ignored her as he made his way to the farthest table. When he reached Mr. Hale and Meg, he bowed and inquired politely if he might join them. Mr. Hale was delighted. It had been several weeks since Mr. Thornton had come for his lessons, and he missed their talks. He stood to greet his friend.

  “Please, Mr. Thornton, sit down. Meg and I were just remarking on what a lovely ceremony it was.” He turned to Meg for her corroboration.

  “It was a lovely ceremony,” Meg responded warmly. “I hope that Fanny is happy.”

  Mr. Thornton replied, “As do I.” He turned to Mr. Hale and asked how he got along, and the two men were soon engrossed in a discussion of the latest tome her father had read, providing Meg with the opportunity to study Mr. Thornton. He looked tired, she thought, and careworn. She felt a swelling of affection toward him for the consideration he showed her father.

  “Here you are.” Miss Laurence moved between Mr. Thornton and Mr. Hale, looking in perplexity from one to the other as the men rose from their seats. “I was told that Mr. Thor
nton was to be my companion, yet here he is, neglecting his duties.” She spoke in a light tone that belied the anger in her eyes. She smiled at Mr. Hale. “Do you think you could see your way to return him to me, please?” Meg wondered how Mr. Thornton felt about being discussed as if he were a hair comb she had misplaced.

  “I shall return in a moment,” Mr. Thornton responded shortly.

  Some spirit of mischief overcame Meg, and she stood and pulled out another chair. “Please, Miss Laurence, won’t you join us? There is ample room at our table, as you can see.” She could have bitten her tongue a second later as she saw Mr. Thornton flush. Oh, dear, she thought, he thinks I mean to castigate his family. She continued hurriedly, “Although my father and I are happy to spend time together on our own, you are welcome to sit with us.” As she spoke, she cast an apologetic glance at Mr. Thornton. Seeing the contrition in her eyes, his gaze softened and he gave her a warm and intimate smile.

  Miss Laurence saw that smile and stiffened; this situation was not to her liking at all. There was altogether too much familiarity between Mr. Thornton and Miss Hale. Although Fanny had reassured her that her brother did not care pence for Miss Hale, Miss Laurence’s ideas were undergoing a rapid reassessment. Miss Laurence had been upon the marriage mart for several years, and had settled in her mind that Mr. Thornton would do quite nicely as a husband. Besides being wealthy, he was uncommonly handsome and had the airs and graces of a gentleman more so than any of the other rough masters she had met in Milton. True, he lived in that dreary house with his mother, and he had some strange and progressive ideas about industry, but all of that could be dealt with fairly easily by a prudent wife who knew how to guide her husband into proper behavior.

  “Mr. Hale,” Miss Laurence said in her dulcet voice. “I was sorry to hear of your wife’s death.” Mr. Hale acknowledged her kindness, and began to describe how he kept busy with his daily walks and the lectures he had resumed at the Lyceum Hall on Sunday evenings. Although she did not care about ecclesiastical architecture, Miss Laurence’s manners were too pretty to allow her to show her boredom. She sat and listened as though she were entranced with the topic.

  As she watched Miss Laurence engage Mr. Hale in conversation, Meg thought that she was a lovely, well-bred woman who would make some man a perfectly admirable wife. However, she did not believe that man was Mr. Thornton. She would not love him as he deserves, Meg mused. I cannot picture her doing what she can to make his life comfortable and to ease his cares. His life has been so harsh; he deserves a woman who will lighten his burdens. He needs someone who will be his equal, who will challenge him and make him think. She could not imagine Miss Laurence raising her voice or offering an opposing opinion. She would be all that was proper and ladylike—and dreadfully boring.

  Meg felt a dull ache in her chest—she should be the woman to care for Mr. Thornton. If she were his wife, she would move heaven and earth to make his life joyful and filled with light. Unlike Miss Laurence, lovely hothouse flower that she was, Meg would roll up her sleeves and work beside Mr. Thornton as an equal partner. But that cannot be, she thought desolately, and felt tears well up in her eyes.

  Mr. Thornton glanced across at Miss Hale to see her reaction to Miss Laurence’s effusions about Fanny’s finery, and was disturbed to note that she had tears in her eyes. Her lashes were wet, and she blinked several times, as if she fought desperately against weeping. He wondered what had wounded her—had someone said or done something to insult her? He felt his protective instincts rise, and stared at her, as if willing her to meet his gaze. Feeling his eyes upon her, she met his glance; her eyes shimmered with tears and her mouth trembled. She did not blink, but looked unflinchingly at him, for once letting him see what was in her soul.

  What he saw in her expression stole his breath away. Her gaze was full of tender longing, and spoke of the depths of her feelings. Could she care for me, he wondered with amazement. His eyes darkened, and he saw her gaze widen as she realized he was reading her thoughts. He felt dizzy with the knowledge of what he saw, and wondered if he dare believe that she had come to love him, as he loved her. They look steadily at each other until Fanny interrupted. Her skirts swirling about her, she moved up behind her brother. “La, John, you are neglecting your duties as host. Mother says you and Miss Laurence are to join us for the toasts.”

  Silently cursing her interruption, Mr. Thornton begged their pardon and moved to the front of the room, followed by the flotilla of Fanny and Miss Laurence. Meg blinked her eyes several times, feeling utterly exposed by what Mr. Thornton had witnessed. He knows I love him. I have made a terrible mistake. She tugged at her father’s sleeve. “May we leave? I have the headache.” She glanced down at the table so that she would not have to meet her father’s concerned gaze.

  Mr. Hale was instantly solicitous, fearful of all illness since the death of his wife. He stood with alacrity and assisted Meg from the room. “I shall send a note round to Mrs. Thornton tomorrow, apologizing for our early departure,” he murmured, and she nodded in relief.

  As he prepared to make his toast to the happy couple, Mr. Thornton noticed that Miss Hale and her father had left. He felt as if the sunshine had left the room. He had longed to spend a few moments alone with Miss Hale to discover whether he imagined the look in her eyes or not. Saddened at her departure, he turned his attention to the matter at hand and gave his toast for Fanny and Watson’s future love and happiness. As he finished and ceded the floor to Mr. Watson, he recalled the look in Miss Hale’s eyes, and was certain he had not imagined what he saw in her expression.

  His duties as host of the breakfast kept him occupied the remainder of the morning, and it was several hours before he had a chance to ponder what had occurred that day. While Fanny and Watson thanked their friends and acquaintances, Mr. Thornton resumed his seat at the table where a few short hours before he had sat with Miss Hale. He recalled his proposal and how she had rebuffed him, yet he also remembered the afternoon in the clinic when she had cried in his arms and told him she honored him. He thought of the afternoon he had walked her home from the clinic, when she had been tipsy, and how she had offered him her hand and pleaded for friendship—and he had refused to shake hands with her. He remembered with longing the night in Princeton when he had held her face in his hands and longed to kiss away her tears, and the morning at the lunchroom when she had bandaged his hand with such tender concern. All of these scenes came back to him, incident piled upon incident that gave lie to her indifference. She must care for me, he thought. He would visit her as soon as he was able to press his suit once more.

  ********&********

  “Margaret, I have received a letter from Mr. Bell,” Mr. Hale exclaimed the following morning as they ate breakfast. Meg thought with gratitude that Mr. Bell’s frequent missives never failed to lift her father’s spirits.

  “What does he say?”

  “There is to be a reunion of our class at Oxford, and he has invited me to come and stay with him. You know, Margaret, I am of a mind to go!”

  “I think you should! You speak of your days at Oxford with such fondness. It will do you good to go.”

  “I believe you are right,” Mr. Hale agreed. “He would like me there tomorrow, and has invited you as well. Will you accompany me?”

  Meg did not hesitate. “Yes, Father, I should like that.” She thought of meeting Mr. Thornton’s gaze at the wedding—she feared that she had given away too much, given that it might soon be time for her to leave Milton. A trip to Oxford would act as a bracing tonic for her father and herself—and remove her from Mr. Thornton’s dangerous influence.

  “I will send a note around to Dr. Donaldson to tell him of my absence, and speak to Dixon—she must accompany us,” Meg said decidedly. “I will arrange for us to leave tomorrow.”

  Chapter 18. Wool and Water

  Dixon was amenable to accompanying the Hales to Oxford to act as lady’s companion to Meg. She and Meg determined that they would be gone for several
weeks, and Dixon asked Mary if she would check in occasionally to ensure that all was well in their absence. When Meg told Doctor Donaldson of her impending trip, he replied that he was glad she was going, and ordered her to enjoy her time in Oxford. “You deserve a holiday and a change of scenery after all that you have been through the past few months,” he exclaimed. Nicholas and Mary wished Meg good travels as well, informing her that, although they would miss her dreadfully, they would be eager to hear stories of her grand trip to Oxford upon her return. “After all,” Nicholas said roguishly, “We will be looking for a school for Tommy soon enough.”

  Mr. Hale had fretted that he should tell Mr. Thornton about their departure, so Meg urged him to leave a letter with Nicholas, who could deliver it to Mr. Thornton at the mill. She had no desire to meet Mr. Thornton before they left for Oxford. At the wedding breakfast, when their eyes had met, she felt as if she stood before him naked. She feared he had seen the love and longing in her gaze; she knew he had seen something by the way his eyes had kindled. She was grateful for Fanny’s interruption which had allowed her to slip away. Informing Mr. Thornton of their departure by letter seemed the most expeditious, if cowardly, means.

  Within twenty-four hours of receiving Mr. Bell’s letter, the three intrepid travelers found themselves settled on the train bound to Oxford. Meg had worked with remarkable speed to sort things out so that she and her father were bound for Oxford within a day of receiving Mr. Bell’s invitation. Each was lost in their thoughts as they rumbled along in their train compartment. Mr. Hale was anxious and excited; he had been away from Oxford for so long, he did not know if he would recognize it. Dixon was happy to be away from the fog and smoke and endless chores. For her part, Meg was relieved to be away from Mr. Thornton. She was drawn to him, and luck seemed to derive ways to place him in her path. He was dangerous to her resolve, and she could feel her determination to maintain her distance from him slip a bit each time she was in his presence. Time apart from him would help her regain perspective. If only I knew what was ahead, she thought. Perhaps Mr. Hale would decide that he wanted to live in Oxford. He had so many fond memories of this venerable city, and had told Meg numerous stories of his studies while he had been there. If he were surrounded by his friends and academic pursuits, he might not be as dependent on his daughter. Meg might be able to return to Milton—and slip back to her own time.