How Far the World Will Bend

by Nancy Klein

  Mr. Bell replied politely, “I am certain Miss Laurence will be the perfect helpmate—she is a stellar hostess. With your influence and backing, how can Thornton fail?”

  A chill settled over Meg. Mr. Thornton could not be destined for Amy Laurence—could he? She thought of how the wealth Miss Laurence could bring to the marriage would enable Mr. Thornton to maintain his standing in Milton society. More importantly, she remembered how highly Mrs. Thornton regarded Miss Laurence, and how that boded well for her son’s future happiness, as both women would share a home with him. She knew his mother thought little of her. I have been right all along, she thought, and have just been fooling myself these past few weeks. I do not belong with him; Miss Laurence belongs with him.

  She sat in a daze, the events in the play unnoticed; they were a noisy and chaotic backdrop to the drama in her own heart. We are too different, she thought. While we are attracted to each other, what is there to keep us together? His mill and standing in industry are everything to him. She remembered his mother’s proud words about his position in society as Master and magistrate. How could he ever succeed with Meg as his wife? She had no standing in society, which she cared little about. She was independent and did as she pleased; she would be an embarrassment to him. She knew of the talk about her work at the clinic and the way in which she came and went in the Princeton district. She did not care for her own reputation, but she would not damage his.

  Meg cried during the final act, when the star-crossed lovers died. She felt like Juliet, in love with someone whom she could not have. Feuding families did not keep her from Mr. Thornton; rather, the fact that Miss Laurence was destined for him served as an insurmountable barrier. She also recalled once again that this was not her life to do with as she pleased—how easy that was to forget! Her eyes sought his across the theater, only to find his party departing the box. She watched as Miss Laurence leaned heavily on his arm and smiled coquettishly up at him. Meg turned away, no longer willing to watch.

  Later that evening, Mr. Bell provided his guests with dinner at his home, a fine finish to a first-rate evening. Mr. Hale declared he had never had a more enjoyable time. “That play was magnificent. I declare, Meg, it rivaled productions I have seen in London.” Neither paid much attention to Meg’s morose mood or how stilted her conversation was. Her father believed she must be tired from their gay whirl of activities, and Mr. Bell supposed she was thinking of how much she would miss Oxford. When they finally left Mr. Bell’s house, Mr. Hale and his daughter strolled along the streets arm in arm, enjoying each other’s company. There was no need for speech; all was comfort and ease between them.

  As they parted for the night, Mr. Hale enfolded his daughter in a tender embrace. “You have been such a comfort to me, my dear,” he exclaimed. “You have made a difference in the lives of the poor people in Milton, you have been a boon for Doctor Donaldson and his practice, and you held our family together.” When she would have shushed him, he continued, “No, let me finish. I am proud to have you as my daughter. It was a heavy blow when Frederick was torn from us, but you have been a blessing to your mother and to me.”

  Quick tears sprung to Meg’s eyes. “Father, you cannot know what it has meant to have you as my father, when I—” She broke off before she could say she had longed for a father all her young life, orphan that she was. “I am the one who is lucky to have someone who loves me as you do, and who has spent his life teaching me the right way to live. If I am to be commended, it is in having a father such as you.”

  He smiled and kissed her forehead. “You are too generous, my dear. And now, I will say good-bye.” He kissed her once more, and entered his room, leaving Meg to stare thoughtfully at the closed door.

  As she slipped into bed, her thoughts were in turmoil. The evening had been one of delight and misery: delight to see Mr. Thornton once more, and misery when she realized that she was not meant to be with him. Her emotions were on edge, and she found she could not sleep. She resolutely pushed thoughts of Mr. Thornton away from her in order to concentrate on Mr. Hale, and what she might do to make his life more comfortable. Perhaps he might work with her in Princeton to help those in need, or she might organize his papers so that he could write a book on ancient literature. She spent the wee hours of the morning turning over various plans, not happy with any of them, until exhaustion claimed her. Toward daybreak, the door to Meg’s bedroom opened a crack and a hand touched her shoulder. Meg woke to find Dixon beside her bed in the dark.

  “What is it, Dixon,” she asked, brushing the hair from her face.

  “It’s your father,” Dixon explained. “I went into his bedroom to see if he wanted hot water to shave and wash—he is usually awake by now.” She anxiously twisted her hands.

  “What is the matter? Is he not well?” Meg was wide awake now, throwing back the covers to swing her legs to the floor.

  “Oh, Miss Meg, I think he’s dead.”

  Meg thrust her arms into her robe and rushed past Dixon to her father’s room. Mr. Hale was on his back, hands clasped over his stomach. At first glance, Meg thought Dixon must be wrong. She lifted his wrist and felt for a pulse, then pushed her fingers against his neck. His skin felt cool to her touch, and she registered no pulse. Meg lowered her chin to her chest. He was gone.

  Meg recalled little of the day that followed. She remembered Dixon forcing her into a chair and bringing her coffee laced with brandy to calm her. Mr. Bell arrived not long after, and, kneeling by her, explained in soothing words that he would take care of all arrangements. She did not faint or succumb to fits of hysterics; she was numb, barely registering the activities going on about her. Mr. Hale was dead; the only father she had ever known was gone. He was her father, for all intents and purposes. He had cared for her and loved her; they had shared a special bond. Wherever you are, Margaret, she thought, we are both orphans now. And you were not here to tell your mother or father good-bye. He had died painlessly, the local doctor opined, stating that his heart had given out. Meg nodded as he explained, beyond caring for a medical opinion. He was dead, and little else mattered.

  Mr. Bell spirited Meg and Dixon to his home, where Meg was given his guest room and Dixon managed with a small room below stairs. Meg was gently guided in all she did by Dixon or Mr. Bell. She was not her usual forthright self, but was quiet and self-contained; she made no word of protest when Mr. Bell to determined Mr. Hale was to be buried in Oxford, in the noble and sleepy graveyard where many of his brethren lay.

  Dixon worried when her darling girl would not eat, and did not sleep through the night but paced the floor. Dixon confided her fears to Mr. Bell, who called in a local doctor to examine her. She was listless and non-responsive, and the doctor’s report was such that it alarmed Mr. Bell beyond his usual complacent state. Unbeknownst to Meg, he wrote to Milton, and, the day before the funeral, Doctor Donaldson appeared on the threshold of Mr. Bell’s parlor.

  When she saw her friend, she staggered into his arms. After listening to her sobs for several moments, he set her away from him, saying in a sympathetic yet stern tone, “What is all this? Have you not a proper greeting for me or for my travelling companion?”

  Looking over Doctor Donaldson’s shoulder, Meg saw that Mr. Thornton stood in the doorway, a look of mingled concern and sympathy on his face.

  “Oh!” she cried involuntarily, taking several steps toward him. “How kind you are, to take time away from your mill to pay your respects to my father!” She held out her hands and he immediately moved forward and clasped them in both of his. She longed to throw herself in his arms and felt light-headed at the thought. She was close enough to see the stubble on his chin and inhale his masculine scent.

  As highly as Mr. Thornton regarded Mr. Hale, his entire concern centered on the woman standing before him. He yearned to throw propriety to the winds and snatch her into his arms, to wipe her tears away and kiss her wet cheeks and soft, red mouth. Seeing the tears streaming unchecked down her face, he reached into his
breast pocket and brought out a handkerchief, which he handed to her with an apologetic smile. She took the proffered item, using it to dry her eyes. “I am so happy that you both have come. You are in time for the funeral, and will stand with Mr. Bell, who tells me I cannot attend.”

  “Of course you cannot attend,” the doctor said severely. “Besides the fact that it is not proper for women to attend funerals, you are worn to the bone and should be resting. I am going to give you a sedative to help you sleep. No arguments, Meg,” he added hastily as he saw a mulish expression cross her face.

  Tears gathered and fell from her eyes as she looked beseechingly at him. Without thinking, she pleaded, “But I am the only child here—I must attend! Fred cannot—” She broke off with a gasp, and her eyes flew to Mr. Thornton’s puzzled face.

  “Who is Fred?” Mr. Thornton asked, and Doctor Donaldson started, as if he had forgotten his presence as well.

  After a moment’s constrained silence, Meg replied, “Fred is my brother—he lives in Spain and cannot return for the funeral.”

  “Your brother,” Mr. Thornton exclaimed. “I did not know you had a brother. Why did Mr. Hale never mention him?”

  Meg turned pale, but continued resolutely, “He is in trouble with the Navy. If he ever enters this country again, he will be taken up for court martial. Father and Mother felt it was best that we not talk about him, in order to ensure his safety.” And because they were so deeply ashamed and grieved for their boy, she thought to herself.

  While Mr. Thornton puzzled over her words, Doctor Donaldson asked brusquely, “Where is your excellent Miss Dixon?” When Meg replied that Dixon was in the kitchen, he explained that he had brought a draught for Dixon to prepare that would help Meg sleep. He walked purposefully from the room in search of Dixon, leaving Meg alone with Mr. Thornton. The silence stretched between them until Mr. Thornton felt he must say something.

  He was grieved to find her so pale and listless, unlike her usual spirited self. He longed to ask about her brother; his curiosity was greatly aroused, but her explanation was so abrupt, he felt that the topic was best left for another time. “I am very sorry for the loss of your father, Miss Hale. He was a good friend to me, and I will miss him immensely.”

  To his consternation, her eyes filled with tears again. “He cared for you, Mr. Thornton, and considered you a good, kind friend.” She was unable to say more. Before he realized what he did, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

  She sobbed against his chest as she had done that night at the clinic, only now she knew she was in his arms and found immeasurable comfort from his embrace. For his part, Mr. Thornton wished this stolen moment of intimacy would never end. He closed his eyes to savor the feel of her small hands clutching his shirt front, the sweet scent of her hair and skin, the warmth of her body pressed against his. This felt so right—he loved her with his whole being. No other woman would ever do for him.

  For her part, Meg knew that she belonged to him, as if she had been destined at birth to spend her life with him. She felt torn apart—she longed to forget her past, proclaim her love for him, and beg him to ask her to marry him again. Why did I fall in love with him if I cannot have him? A fresh wave of grief tore through her. It was all too much, the strain of the past few days and the realization that, while John Thornton was as essential to her as the air that she breathed, they could not be together. The world turned black and she slumped to the floor.

  He caught her and lifted her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. When Doctor Donaldson returned moments later, he gave Mr. Thornton one sharp look before calling out. “Miss Dixon, I am afraid Meg has collapsed. We had best get her to bed. Can you show Mr. Thornton where her bedchamber is?”

  Dixon led the way up the stairs, clucking in consternation, as Mr. Thornton followed, jealously guarding his burden. He placed her with great reluctance on the bed and stood back while the doctor felt her pulse and examined her.

  “She is coming around,” he said with relief. “How do you feel, Meg?” As he noted her blank look, Doctor Donaldson explained, “You fainted. How do you feel?”

  “Tired,” Meg replied in a weak thread of a voice, as she gazed about the room in confusion. “How did I get here?”

  “Mr. Thornton carried you,” Doctor Donaldson said crisply, and her eyes looked past him to the doorway, where Mr. Thornton stood in the doorway, arms crossed on his chest.

  “It seems you are fated to rescue me,” Meg said jokingly, and he smiled tenderly.

  The doctor offered her the tisane, and ordered her to drink it. Meg did as she was told and reclined back against her pillows. Doctor Donaldson turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “You may stay for one minute,” he instructed Mr. Thornton, ‘but then you must let her rest.”

  As the doctor’s footsteps faded down the hallway, Mr. Thornton moved into the room and gazed down at her. “I won’t stay any longer, but please let me know if there is any service I may render you.” He fancied he could still feel the warmth of her, and longed to touch her once more.

  “Would you mind holding my hand until I fall asleep?” she asked in a small voice. She longed for his comforting presence, which she knew would do her more good than the strongest tisane.

  He pulled up a chair and took her hand in his, remaining by her side with her until she dozed off. Before he rose from his seat, he lifted her hand held it against his lips for a long moment before tenderly laying it on the bed.

  Meg did not attend her father’s funeral; Doctor Donaldson feared the interment would be more than she should endure. She was, however, allowed to attend the church service, flanked by Mr. Bell and Doctor Donaldson. Mr. Thornton chafed that he was not allowed to sit beside her and comfort her, but he recognized that now was not the time to assert his right. If he had known how she longed to have him by her side, nothing would have prevented his being there.

  When the service was over, Dixon escorted Meg back to Mr. Bell’s home while the other mourners followed the coffin to the graveyard. Meg curled up on the bed in guest room, and recalled the loving kindness and innate goodness of the man she had been privileged to call her father these past months.

  ********&********

  When the graveside ceremony had concluded, Doctor Donaldson and Mr. Thornton caught the train to Milton, having business to attend. Mr. Thornton regretted not bidding Miss Hale farewell—he had not been able to spend a moment alone with her since those few precious moments in her room. However, he was heartened to know that Meg and Dixon were to return to Milton within a few days. Mr. Bell had imparted this information to Mr. Thornton, telling him that he, too, would be in Milton within the week.

  When the Meg and Dixon finally reached their home in Crampton after a tedious train ride, Mary greeted them in the hallway. Meg noted her troubled expression and asked her if anything was amiss. Mary twisted her hands as she replied, “A woman who says she is your aunt has been waiting an hour to see you. I told her I was not sure when you would arrive, but she insisted on waiting. I offered her tea, but she said she did not want any.” Meg soothed Mary and, steeling her resolve, entered the parlor to meet her Aunt Shaw. Mr. Bell had written to her aunt to inform her of Mr. Hale’s death. Meg had guessed she would come to Milton, but had not thought it would be this soon.

  A plump, attractive woman with an autocratic expression looked up at her entry. Meg thought she could see a resemblance to Maria Hale in the woman’s features, if Mrs. Hale had been older and in the best of health. The woman’s face softened in a look of sincere sympathy and she stood and extended her arms toward Meg. “My poor Margaret, what you have had to endure!” she exclaimed, stepping forward to sweep Meg into her scented embrace. “All this shall be behind you soon enough. We will leave for London as soon as we can contrive. It will be necessary for Dixon to remain behind and see to the disposal of your furniture, and the packing of the household goods worth retaining.”

  Meg felt as if her head were spinning. “
Aunt, thank you most kindly, but I cannot possibly be ready to leave by tomorrow. I have friends to visit, and I must speak to Doctor Donaldson about the clinic….”

  Aunt Shaw wrinkled her nose. “That horrid clinic—what can you have been thinking, to work in such a place? And as for friends, what friends can you possibly have in this town?”

  Meg was sick with apprehension. Things were spinning beyond her control, and she felt so tired and lifeless, as if the world were colored in shades of gray. Perhaps she was meant to go to London; maybe that was her fate. “I—I would like to say good-bye to Nicholas and Doctor Donaldson, and to pay my respects to Mrs. Thornton,” she said in a quiet voice. Seeing her aunt’s sour look, she added, “Please, Aunt, it is very important to me.”

  Aunt Shaw pursed her lips, but relented. “Oh, very well, we can visit on our way to the train station tomorrow. I have already purchased our tickets.”

  The remainder of the day was spent in determining which furniture was to put into storage, and which was to be sold at auction. Meg insisted that her father’s books be packed and shipped to London; on this point, she would not budge. She pulled aside a slim volume of Aristotle to keep for herself, and Plato as a gift for Mr. Thornton. Dixon grumbled about her aunt’s officiousness, but acquiesced to all her demands. The daughter of Sir John Beresford was not to be denied.

  The following afternoon found Meg packed and ready to go. Their luggage was sent ahead to the train station, and Aunt Shaw prepared to accompany her on her final visits. At the clinic, Doctor Donaldson shook his head and expressed deep regret that Meg must go. Kissing her tenderly on the forehead, he wished her well and bade her write to him of how she fared. When the carriage dropped Meg off at the entrance to Princeton, Aunt Shaw objected strenuously but Meg ignored her aunt and wended her way to the Higgins’ door. No one was home, however, and Meg left in deep disappointment.