How Far the World Will Bend

by Nancy Klein

  She shivered, and he pulled her close to him, both caught up in their memories and gratitude that his mother’s nursing skills had enabled her to save his wife in infancy.

  Christian released Margaret, and they gazed at each other in deep affection, caught up in thoughts of their shared history. Both remembered the character that her grandfather, Nicholas Higgins, had been; and how Mary Higgins Armstrong, her mother, had remained a close and loving friend to his mother, Meg Thornton, for their entire lives. As a result, Margaret had always felt close to Christian’s mother, who was the young girl’s godmother and sponsor.

  It was no surprise when Margaret Armstrong went to London to study nursing. What was surprising was that she chose to return to Milton. She had had her choice of offers from hospitals in London and the surrounding environs, but her heart belonged to Milton, as she explained, and so she returned there to accept a position at the Donaldson Medical Clinic.

  Christian was deeply grateful that she had done so. Although they had been acquaintances as children, meeting whenever the two families mingled at holiday dinners and parties, he had grown to admire Margaret Armstrong as a friend. When she had gone to London, he had missed her quick wit and intelligent conversation, and had felt oddly bereft.

  When she returned several years later, it had been his lot to meet her at the train station, urged by his mother to do so. The moment she stepped out of the compartment, he was speechless at the sight of her. She was not a beautiful woman, but her face had so much character and her dark eyes were so large and brilliant that she gave the impression of beauty. He stood as dumb as a post while she stepped up to him and kissed him affectionately on the cheek. He vowed then that she would be his wife.

  She had been slower to fall in love; she remembered how the girls of Milton pursued him, and how nonchalant he was about their attentions. Margaret had some serious doubts about the depth and validity of his affection for her, but his sincerity and determined pursuit soon won her over. To the delight of their mothers, they announced their engagement and married soon afterward.

  After all of these years of marriage, they were as deeply in love as they had been on their wedding day. After all, as Margaret had pointed out to her husband, one had only to look at the example set by his own parents for steadfast love.

  Wrapped in their memories, Margaret broke the spell first. “I wish that our Nicholas could be with us today.”

  “I do as well,” Christian replied, caressing his wife’s face with a tender stroke of his knuckles. “But he is where he must be.”

  They thought of their youngest son, far away in Italy where he was happily pursuing his studies in art. Their oldest son, John, had followed his father’s path and worked at the mill. Nick, however, was a dreamy, creative child who loved to sketch and had begged for art lessons as soon as he could hold a piece of charcoal in his hand. Christian had been concerned, but Margaret had pointed out that Nicholas was very like his Uncle Noel, and probably a throwback to his great-grandfather Richard, who had been a scholar with an interest in art.

  Margaret responded after a moment’s silence. “I just wish he could be here.” Shaking off her brief melancholy, she exclaimed, “In any event, our guests will arrive at any moment, so I must go down to the kitchen and make sure everything is in order for our dinner.”

  She turned to walk away, but swung back and kissed him resoundingly before hurrying down the stairs. His laughter followed her into the kitchen.

  Christian gazed about the parlor as nostalgia engulfed him. Today was his and Margaret’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and his sister and brother were on their way to Marlborough Mills to celebrate. Funny, he had never thought he would be Master of Marlborough Mills—he had imagined his father living forever. Yet, he had been master of the mill for fifteen years, although the mill no longer made cotton but manufactured metalwork.

  He thought of the celebratory dinner planned for that day. His eldest son, John, and his wife would join them. His sister Maria, a doctor at a London clinic, and his brother Noel, a don at Oxford, were travelling north to join the festivities. Later that afternoon, Margaret’s brother Jonas would join them with his wife and daughter. Nicholas was the only one from their extended family who could not be with them; he was in Italy painting and sculpting. Christian and Margaret had received a long, apologetic letter and a package which his mother hoped contained one of his paintings. They would miss him, but were happy that he had the chance to apprentice with an artist in Ravenna.

  How blessed he was! Christian’s only regret was that his parents could not be here to participate in the celebration. His eyes lifted over the mantelpiece to the portrait of his father. How distinguished he looked! The painting had been commissioned by his mother as a surprise for his Grandmother Hannah’s birthday. John Thornton had been but forty years of age when Meg had forced him to sit for this portrait—“forced” because he hated the hours of confinement, where he must sit perfectly still for the artist. Meg had had to coax and charm him to do so, but Christian still remembered how thrilled his grandmother had been with the painting. It had hung in her bedroom until her death, whereupon his mother had moved it to the parlor.

  His father had died over fifteen years earlier from a heart condition. He had died in his wife’s arms, where he would have wanted to be as everyone remarked at the funeral. Meg Thornton had survived little more than a year after his death. Although she was younger than her husband, everyone had known that it would be impossible for her to remain behind once her husband was gone. She used to joke that when she died, she hoped that the Fates would place her in the heavens with John as a new constellation, so bright and eternal had their love been. Her children had laughed at this, but her expression as she spoke was placid, as if she possessed some secret store of knowledge that they did not.

  In any event, the mother who had been laughing and lovely and so full of life grew quiet upon her husband’s death. She still moved with brisk energy and was a source of strength upon whom they all relied, but her sparkle and zest for life were gone. She smiled and listened to their cares, and dispensed the good advice they all depended upon, but the source of her joy was gone. Though they missed her dreadfully, they rejoiced that she was reunited with their father once more.

  A noise from the hallway broke his reverie, and he turned to see his son John coming toward him, a pleased smile on his face. The two men embraced, and John exclaimed, “Happy Anniversary, Father!”

  Christian thought once again that John’s resemblance to his namesake was remarkable. No wonder his mother had doted upon this first grandchild. He had the same blue eyes, the same large hands, and the same long nose and charming smile as his grandfather.

  “Thank you, John,” Christian replied. “Where is Amy?”

  “She stopped in the kitchen to see Mother. She wanted to speak with her about a case at the clinic.”

  Margaret Thornton adored her daughter-in-law; much as Meg had ‘chosen’ her for Christian, so had Margaret chosen Amy for John. The young woman had come to Milton when her maiden aunt had died and left her large, rambling home to her niece. Amy was a nurse, and had come to see Margaret at the Donaldson Clinic to find if they required her assistance. The two women had become fast friends, and Margaret had determinedly placed Amy under John’s nose every chance she had. Inevitably, John opened his eyes one day and determined that he preferred red hair to blonde, snub noses to patrician, and freckles to flawless skin. They were married a year later.

  “Father?” John’s voice broke into Christian’s thoughts. “While we wait for Aunt Maria and Uncle Noel to arrive, might I hunt in the attic for my old cradle? Amy would like to use it for our first child.” His face shone with pride at the thought of his impending fatherhood.

  “Of course, John,” Christian replied at once, touched by the notion. “But do not bother with the attic—we moved a number of pieces of furniture to the lumber room at the mill.” Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a large
key. “You can unlock the door with this. Yours and Nicholas’ old cradle should be up there along with various other pieces of furniture from the nursery and some of the other rooms. I believe some of your Great-Grandmother Hannah’s furnishings are stored there as well. You are welcome to whatever you can find that still may have some use in it.”

  John nodded in satisfaction. “Thank you, sir.” As his son hastened from the room, Christian pulled out the pocket watch which had been his father’s and consulted the time before moving purposefully toward the front door and out into the courtyard. Perhaps he might have a few moments to read his correspondence—it seemed to double on his desk overnight. Although John was now the Master of Marlborough Mills, Christian still handled the books and kept a hand in the workings of the mill. He and John rubbed along well—he was careful not to tell his son how to run the business, much as his father had with him, but made himself available if his son had questions or concerns.

  Before he could reach the mill door, a carriage turned the corner and entered the courtyard. He thrust his quick flash of impatience behind him—work could certainly wait until later. Today was a day of celebration. He walked toward the carriage, his pace quickening as he saw the occupants—his brother and sister.

  As he reached the carriage, the door was thrust open, and an attractive woman of indeterminate age emerged. She was dressed in the latest fashion, and her face was youthful, the only sign of her age being the smile lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her dark hair was streaked with silver, but otherwise she might have passed for twenty years younger, given her slim figure and erect bearing.

  Her brilliant blue eyes lit with joy when she spied her brother, and she flung herself into his arms. “Christian!”

  As he clasped her to him, Christian watched over her shoulder as another figure descended from the carriage and cast him a broad smile. His brother Noel was ten years his junior, but the two brothers were close in temperament, if not appearance. Whereas Christian and his sister took after their father, Noel favored his mother, having the same soft hair and misplaced dimple. Seeing his brother again, Christian felt a rush of love for the younger brother who reminded him so much of their mother.

  Noel waited with characteristic patience for Maria to conclude her effusive greetings before he stepped forward to clasp his brothers hand and offer his congratulations.

  “Noel,” Christian exclaimed, “how good it is to see you—what has it been, two years? Three? However did you manage to tear yourself away from Oxford?”

  Noel glanced wryly at his sister. “Maria swooped down on me, termagant that she is. She forced me to pack my bag, and well-nigh kidnapped me.”

  Maria sniffed. “Well, someone needed to pry you away from those fusty old books. If I had not hurried you along, you would still be searching for that edition of Euripides that you were nattering on about when I arrived.”

  Christian laughed. “Some things never change! Please, come inside.” He followed his siblings up the stairs of their childhood home and into the parlor, where Margaret and Amy awaited them with open arms. Everyone spoke at once in their excitement at being together once more, for his wife had been a childhood playmate to Maria and a kind friend to Noel.

  When Noel had been introduced to Amy and everyone had settled comfortably in the parlor, Maria asked, “Where are Nicholas and John?”

  “Nick is still in Italy, studying painting. John is here, but he has gone over to the mill in search of his childhood cradle,” Christian explained. “He and Amy are expecting their first child.”

  Maria and Noel offered heartfelt congratulations, as Amy blushed with pleasure.

  “Tell me, Maria, how is the new clinic progressing?” Margaret asked, causing her husband to smile with indulgence at her single-minded interest in all things medicinal. As Maria brought everyone up to date on her activities, Christian regarded his sister with affection. In becoming a doctor, Maria had lived out her mother’s long-cherished dream.

  When she had been a young woman, Momma had wanted to become a doctor, although she was always quick to explain that her nursing was enough of a challenge to keep her busy. Momma had never wanted Father to fear that he had stood in the way of her desires. She was adamant that it had been her choice to remain a nurse, and they believed her, given the way she felt about their Father.

  Maria was an excellent doctor, well able to hold her own among her male colleagues. She had married and been widowed at a relatively young age, left to raise a young daughter alone. She had chosen not to remarry but to devote herself to medicine. She was involved in several exciting developments in anesthesia and immunization, and had pursued medicine while raising Susan, who was now married and living in Switzerland. Maria was a modest woman who downplayed her accomplishments; her proudest accomplishment was playing violin in a local orchestra.

  Christian’s gaze moved from Maria to Noel, and his features clouded. Whereas Maria had married, Noel had remained single, though not by choice. When he had been a young man, he had fallen deeply in love with a woman whom he had met at a dance. To the consternation of his parents, he had intended to marry her as soon as possible, forgoing his education. His mother and father had spoken with him about perhaps waiting awhile, but he had been adamant—he and Caroline belonged together, just as John and Meg had. He would not be swayed, and his parents reluctantly agreed to the engagement.

  Several weeks before their marriage, however, Caroline was the victim of a tragic accident. While she stood on the platform at Outwood Station, awaiting a train to take her to London to purchase her trousseau, a fight had broken out on the platform among several young ruffians. In the pandemonium that had ensued, Caroline had been shoved forward onto the train tracks, dashing her head against a stone. She had died that same night, the victim of a cerebral hemorrhage.

  After the accident, Noel had closeted himself within his room. He had refused to speak to anyone about what had happened, not even his mother with whom he had a special bond. He had remained in his room for several days, refusing food or beverage, shunning companionship. When he finally emerged, he was calm and composed, ready to make decisions about his life. He informed his parents that he would attend Oxford after all, and would leave as soon as he could arrange to go. When the time came for him to depart, his mother had presented him with the keys to Mr. Bell’s rooms in Oxford. She had purchased the property for sentimental reasons when Noel had first announced his intention to go to Oxford. She told Noel that Grandfather Hale had died there, and had explained that it was in Oxford that she had realized how deeply she was in love with John Thornton.

  “When he came to pay his respects and comforted me on my loss, I knew then how much I loved him.” She had turned to gaze at her husband as she said this, and the look they exchanged bespoke the remarkable bond between them. Momma had gone on to say that she knew that her father and Mr. Bell would have been extremely proud of Noel’s academic accomplishments, and would have encouraged him to follow in their footsteps.

  “And perhaps you will find someone you can love again,” she had added gently, her voice breaking. With clear, dry eyes, Noel had kissed her on the forehead, but said nothing. He considered that chapter of his life over.

  “Now, tell the truth, Christian,” Maria declared in a wry voice, bringing her brother back to the present moment. “When you ventured outside your home just now, you were on your way to the factory to check on your orders, were you not?”

  The boyish grin she received in response to her impertinent question touched her heart; her older brother, no matter his age, would always be the handsome idol of her childhood.

  “Yes,” Christian admitted, “I was going over to the mill—and I am headed there now. Would you like to accompany me?”

  Neither Maria nor Noel had the affection for the mill that their brother had, but both loved him and so they accepted the offer.

  Before they could depart, however, John entered the parlor. His hair was coated with dust,
and a smudge of dirt stained the side of his face, but he looked quite pleased with himself. He carried a large, unwieldy bundle half wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. He put the bundle down to greet his aunt and uncle, and turned to his father.

  “I found the cradle—and I also found this old mirror. I was wondering if I might have it for our drawing room.”

  As he neared the package, Christian could see that a large corner of the wrapping was torn. He was able to discern the dark, ornately wrought wood and the flash of silvered glass. It was indeed a mirror, one whose history he knew well. “Oh, Christian,” Margaret exclaimed as she moved closer to the package, “he found the mirror!” She exchanged glances with her husband, and both of their faces became soft with remembrance.

  Christian moved forward to touch the glass with reverence.

  “Why would you have a mirror wrapped up and hidden away in the mill?” asked John, looking with bewilderment from his father to mother. “It was covered with cobwebs when I found it.”

  Christian smiled. “This isn’t just any mirror, John. This holds a special place in our history.” He glanced at his brother and sister. “Do you remember the first time I found it in the mill, and dragged it over to show Mother and Father?”

  Noel had a strange expression upon his face. “No, I truly don’t. How old was I at the time?”

  Christian frowned, trying to remember. “You were three years old, so I suppose you wouldn’t recall. Maria, surely you must remember?”

  Maria’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I remember that Father turned so white I thought he was going to faint. I thought that you were going to be punished, but I did not understand why.”

  Christian stared at her in amazement. “Surely you remember that Momma and Father told us the story of how they met—how Momma stepped through that mirror and travelled back in time to save Father’s life.”

  “Stepped through a mirror—what do you mean?” demanded Amy, looking baffled.