How Far the World Will Bend

by Nancy Klein

  “I came to Mary Armstrong in a dream one night and told her to visit her friend at the orphanage where she would meet and adopt you. She took you into her family and told you stories of her home town that intrigued you. Your nursing enabled you to help others, and under Mary’s care you continued to grow into a lovely woman with a giving heart. The dreams I gave you tied you firmly to Milton and Mr. Thornton, so that when you finally took your trip there with Mary, you were prepared for the fortune I gave you, although you did not understand it.”

  Clotho smiled warmly at Meg. “You have succeeded in your quest far beyond my expectations—you not only saved John Thornton and the union representatives, but many of the poor and sickly to whom you ministered. You are not aware of it, but you saved your brother’s life.”

  At Meg’s uncomprehending gaze, the Fate explained. “Because you disappeared, you were not in Milton when your mother died. Dixon wrote to your brother of your mother’s poor health, hinting that she would not live much longer and telling him Mrs. Hale desired to see him once more. Your brother traveled to Milton to see your mother, but did not have your careful eye watching out for him. He was not as discrete as you forced him to be. He refused to leave Milton before your mother’s funeral, even though Dixon warned him of Leonards’ presence in town. He attempted to attend her funeral in disguise, was taken up by the authorities, and handed over to the admiralty for court martial. As you had feared, he was found guilty and hung. Your father died from the strain.”

  Meg shuddered, unable to contemplate the pain her father might have endured—and she had changed all of that? A thought occurred to her. “But the Bouchers, and Bessy—and Mother and Father—I was not able to save them.”

  “You were not fated to save everyone who died—each man or woman is given a span of years. Unless my sisters and I decree otherwise, all mortals must abide by our allotment. You gave the Bouchers and Bessy a few more weeks, but that is all we allowed you to give them. You eased your mother’s suffering, and gave your father great happiness before he died.”

  Meg shook her head. “It was not enough.”

  “It is more than you understand,” Clotho countered firmly. “You have seen today how your legacy lives on in Milton—the clinic, the school, the wealth and well-being of the town. Had you stayed to dinner with Mary, you would have found a loving family who uses their inheritance, as you did, to help others. All of this is a direct result of your time in Milton. Yes, all went exactly as planned—you have fulfilled your destiny.”

  “How can you say that?” Meg cried out in frustration, anguish stirring within her. “I have spared Milton, but have not spared myself or Mr. Thornton.”

  Clotho studied her countenance. “Why do you say that?”

  Meg stood and began to pace the office. "You say that I fulfilled my fate... I saved him... but for what purpose? Was his life fated to just be about what he accomplished in business? Was that all his life was for? It could not have been!” Her words rang with pain and self-derision. “I left him, stupid fool that I was, thinking I did the right thing. And what have I found? He pined for me his entire life—of the two of us, he knew we belonged together, that our lives would be empty unless we spent them together.”

  She broke off, breathless and sick with longing. “How could I have ever thought my life would be worth anything without him? He is part of me, here in my heart! He mourned my departure the rest of his life, just as I will mourn him all the endless, empty days ahead of me! My fate—oh, I see it now!—my fate was to stay with him and love him, but I left. Dear God, what have I done!” She sank to the floor and covered her face with her hands.

  She felt Clotho’s hand on her shoulder, but she was beyond comfort. The Fate watched her, waiting impassively until she cried herself out. When Meg’s sobs subsided and she sat hunched upon the floor in silent misery, Clotho said in a soft, persuasive voice, “I will weave you whatever fate you desire from this day forward, Meg. If you would like to remain in this time, I will make it possible for you to become a doctor. You may return to London to the hospital where you worked and pick up that thread of your life. I will make it possible for you.”

  Meg stared at her in astonishment. She could be a doctor—Clotho would help her to achieve her dream. It wavered in front of her, a shimmering mirage of what she had always desired. But it melted away as she realized it meant nothing to her now—not without Mr. Thornton.

  She gazed steadily at the Fate and replied, “I belong beside him. That is where my life is now. That is where I belong.”

  “So, you have learned to listen to your heart,” Clotho said in a tone of deep satisfaction. “As I told you, you were not fated to stay with John Thornton when I spun your thread—that choice was yours. However, a strange thing happened, one that I hoped for but did not know with certainty would occur. You and he became indispensable to each other. You became the means to not only save his life, but to spare him from loneliness and melancholy. Watching the two of you together, I realized that you are connected to each other—you belong together, and have done so since your rebirth. I did not weave your threads into one, but there is a bond between your souls as strong as any I have ever woven. When you left him, you left a part of yourself behind. And he felt the same—surely you could tell that from his journal. If your life is to be complete, you must return to Mr. Thornton.”

  A sudden thought occurred to Meg. “Did you give me a love potion, to make me fall in love?” she asked suspiciously.

  Clotho laughed softly. “No, my dear child, you fell in love of your own free will, the first day you saw John Thornton. You were caught from that moment on, but my powers had nothing to do with it. Occasionally, a love so powerful and sacred will spark between two people, drawing them together and making them one. From that day forward, these lucky souls belong to each other. Their lives may not be perfect, but their love will be. You share such a love with your Mr. Thornton. But you had to come to this realization on your own—you had to choose him for yourself.”

  Meg recalled the broken mirror and gestured at the pieces of glass scattered about the floor. “I have broken the mirror. I cannot return—it is impossible.” Her cheeks were wet with tears once more.

  Clotho once more wiped her tears away. “All things are possible.”

  Meg spread her hands helplessly in front of her. “I choose him, but we are condemned to spend our lives apart! I broke the mirror,” she said in a voice of despair. “I’ve ruined everything.”

  “Hush, do not cry,” Clotho said in a soothing voice. “I will send you back to John Thornton, if that is your wish.”

  “How—how is that possible?” Meg asked, frozen between hope and despair.

  “Am I not immortal?” Clotho asked, spreading her hands before her in stern supplication. “All things are possible for me—come, let us go to Crampton.” She stood and held out her hand to help Meg to her feet, leading her from office and mill yard to the street.

  Meg struggled to keep up with the fast pace set by the immortal. They sped through the streets of Milton, the evening crowds parting magically in their wake. When they turned toward her old home, Meg felt a moment of trepidation, but Clotho walked up the steps and, turning the knob, opened the door. She glanced over her shoulder at Meg, and said quietly, “Come in, all is well.” Meg obediently followed her into the dark hallway.

  The house appeared deserted; the furniture in the rooms was covered. As they ascended the stairs, Meg noticed a chandelier in the hallway was swathed in protective cloths, and the furniture in the parlor was draped in Holland cloth.

  The Fate smiled mischievously at Meg, and pointed to the wall. “That mirror should do nicely,” she proclaimed, and Meg recognized her family’s mirror hanging on the parlor wall, where it had always hung.

  “I-I can go through that mirror?” Meg asked breathlessly.

  “Yes, you can—it will take you back to Milton, to this same house. I must caution you, you will not arrive the same day that y
ou left. Time travel is not precise. However, it will be but a few weeks later, not years; I will see to that. One thing more, Meg—you must not reveal what you have discovered here to anyone else, for fear you might affect the outcome. Let the future unwind from the skein, as it is meant to do.”

  Meg nodded solemnly before approaching the mirror. Turning toward the Fate, she said, “I do not have his gloves.”

  “But you have your gloves, do you not? The same ones he saved and cherished for the remainder of his life?” Meg searched her pockets and was relieved to find that, indeed, she did have her gloves. Clotho saw her look of concern, and said with a touch of impatience, “It does not matter that you do not have his gloves—those gloves were dearer to him than any others. His love for you has given those gloves a power stronger than that of the mirror. That love will draw you to him. Are you ready?”

  Meg donned the gloves and looked into the mirror. “There is no crack,” she observed in worry.

  Clotho sighed in exasperation and touched the mirror with her finger. As if by magic, a disturbance wavered through the glass and a crack appeared, spreading across the width of the frame. She stood by the mirror, hesitant, until Clotho exclaimed, “Make haste! I cannot wait for you forever. I have other work to do.”

  Meg turned a glowing face toward the Fate. “Thank you for saving my life, for teaching me the lessons I needed to learn—and now, for letting me return to him. I do not deserve such happiness, but I will always be grateful for what you and your sisters have given to me.”

  Clotho looked at her in tender affection. “It is I who should thank you, Meg. You have done all that we sent you to do, and more. Now, go fulfill your destiny. We shall not meet again. I know you will be happy—your life is destined to be one of great joy from this day forward. After all, I have woven it myself.” She laughed and was gone, leaving Meg alone in the darkened parlor.

  Meg gazed at the spot where Clotho had stood before turning and placing her hand upon the looking glass. She saw the dazzling light, heard the rush of a great wind, and felt the familiar tug. As darkness claimed her, she rejoiced. I am coming, John. Please, wait for me!

  Chapter 23. Which Dreamed It?

  As Meg tumbled into the parlor at Crampton, she heard a dreadful crash. For one moment, she feared she had broken another mirror, and struggled to sit up. She felt a cold wetness spread up her back and realized that she sat in a puddle of water. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that she had knocked a large vase of flowers from a table beneath the mirror. The vase had shattered, water soaked the floor, and flowers were strewn about her. She stood and began gathering the flowers in her arms when she heard a heavy tread in the hallway. The door to the parlor was thrust open and Dixon entered, holding a poker from the kitchen fireplace, her nightcap askew.

  “Who is it?” the servant asked sharply.

  “Dixon,” Meg called out softly, “it’s me.”

  Dixon lowered the poker and stepped forward, her mouth agape. “Miss Meg?” The poker slipped from her fingers and clanged to the floor. “Goodness, what are you doing here this time of night? I thought you were on your way to Spain!” She bustled forward to take the crushed flowers from her young mistress.

  “Dear Dixon, I could not remain in Spain—I missed my life here, and so made arrangements to come home as quickly as I could.”

  “I thought you might not like that nasty foreign country—full of Papists!” Dixon exclaimed with satisfaction. “But why have you arrived in the middle of the night? You frightened me out of my wits!” She stepped back to survey the damage. Groping about, she lit a lamp on the sideboard. Looking Meg over from head to toe, she frowned. “Goodness, wherever did you get those clothes?”

  Meg glanced down and saw with surprise that she still wore the navy suit she had worn in 1920s Milton. She had not resumed her clothes from this time. “It-it is from Cadiz, Dixon,” Meg explained. “Frederick says it is the latest fashion.”

  “What would a man know of that? It looks indecent to me! Come, let me get you off to bed. You can tell me all about your travels in the morning.” She looked expectantly about the room. “Where is your valise?”

  “I-I left it behind at the train station. I will fetch it in the morning.” She paused before she asked, “Dixon, what is today?” At Dixon’s blank look, she asked how long she had been gone.

  “You’ve been away nearly two months, as you well know,” Dixon exclaimed with asperity. “Stop this foolishness and come to bed.”

  I will never understand how time works. Meg shook her head in exasperation, but was too grateful to be home and too overwhelmed by all that had happened to quibble. She followed Dixon up the stairs and into the room that had been her mother’s. “It’s a good thing I took the liberty of moving your things into your dear mother’s room—I thought I should have it ready for your return, thinking you might not like Spain as much as you thought you would. It did not seem right for you to continue to sleep in that tiny room in the attic! You are mistress of the house now, and deserve the best bedroom.”

  Meg looked about the room in delight, touched by Dixon’s thoughtful gesture. Her bed and furniture were dwarfed by the large proportions of the room, but it felt welcoming nonetheless. Dixon watched Meg’s pleased glance with a small, secretive smile. Her girl was home again, and all would be right once more. She had been uneasy when Doctor Donaldson could not answer her questions about how long Miss Meg intended to stay in Spain, and feared she might plan on making her home with her brother. Dixon had no desire to live in a foreign country, and was torn as to what she should do if Meg chose not to come home. Dixon was also somewhat miffed that Meg had not asked her to come along on her travels—she did not like Spain, but how she would have loved to see Master Fred! Her irritation was forgotten now that Meg had returned.

  She helped her young mistress undress, and Meg watched with amusement as Dixon eyed each garment with distaste and scorn. I will never get to wear my lovely suit again, Meg thought whimsically. No matter—it was a small price to pay to be back where she belonged. Dixon could fuss and fret for hours and Meg would not care. She longed to run down the streets of Milton to Marlborough Mills, but did not think it would be seemly to knock on the door of the manse in the dead of night. I shall wait until the morning to see him, she thought with a soaring heart, and dream of him!

  Once Dixon closed the door behind her, Meg lay on her back with her hands folded over her chest, thinking of Clotho’s last warning not to reveal the future to anyone else. But that does not preclude me from doing what I can to make all of our futures happy, she thought. She deeply regretted jeopardizing her future and that of Mr. Thornton by leaving Milton, and was grateful that the Fates had allowed her to return. All indecisiveness had vanished—she knew that her future was with Mr. Thornton. If I want to become a doctor, I will do so—all was possible given John’s love and Doctor Donaldson’s tutelage. What does it matter if we provide the gossips with fodder every day of our lives, as long as we are together? She predicted that she would have colossal fights with Mr. Thornton, and clash with him about many things, but their love would endure. Their lives would never be dull propriety, and for that she was grateful. Sleep eluded her, but her thoughts were pleasant. When she finally drifted off, a smile was upon her lips.

  She awoke when Dixon threw back the curtains in her room, allowing the brilliant sunshine to brighten all corners. “Miss Meg, it is time to rise,” Dixon announced. She was surprised beyond belief when Meg, who usually woke slowly and resisted rousting, arose on her first call.

  “Good morning, Dixon!” she exclaimed in a happy voice as she moved toward the window. “What a beautiful morning! No fog in sight! May I have hot water, to wash up?”

  When Dixon returned with a ewer of hot water, Meg washed and dressed carefully. She was still in mourning, so could not dress in the bright colors she so loved. However, Dixon thought that a dress of deep pewter gray would be perfectly appropriate; it nipped in at her
waist and belled out about her trim figure. She struggled into her petticoats and was pulling on the dress when Dixon entered again to buttoned the long row of buttons that ran from neck to waist. Dixon’s face softened with affection as she looked at her young mistress. “May I dress your hair, miss?”

  “Yes, please.” Meg wanted to look her best today for Mr. Thornton, as Dixon was well aware. The servant went to great pains to arrange her mistress’ hair into a knot on her head that displayed her white, flexile neck to great advantage. Small strands escaped and curled about her face and nape, making her look quite fetching. Meg’s face was flushed and her eyes were bright, and Dixon got misty-eyed looking at her. It was obvious she was in love, and Dixon knew she would strike out for Marlborough Mills once breakfast was over.

  Meg ate her porridge quickly, peppering Dixon with questions about Nicholas and Mary, the Boucher children, and Doctor Donaldson. Dixon told Meg about helping Mary at the lunchroom, which had become so popular with the hands that they had to increase the amount of food they cooked each day. Watching Meg carefully, she said in a concerned tone, “Mr. Thornton has been eating lunch with us the past few weeks—my goodness, I have seldom seen a man look so sad and peaked.”

  Meg looked up, her spoon suspended. “He does not look well?”

  “He looks tired,” Dixon replied complacently, measuring flour to do her baking.

  Meg glanced at her in concern. “Are there problems at the mill?”

  “Higgins tells me all is well now, but Mr. Thornton works late hours and does not leave his office, not even to eat. He seems to be grieving about something. Higgins tells me he has to force him to come to the lunchroom for the noonday meal, otherwise he might not eat.”