by Nancy Klein
Maria stared at her brother. “I thought that was a fairy tale they told to amuse us.”
Christian shook his head. “No, that was no fairy tale. Mother came through the mirror from another time. She thought she had stepped into someone else’s life, but as it turned out, she merely returned to her rightful place—with Father,” he added quietly.
Stepping forward, he lifted the mirror from its wrapping. As he pulled it free, a small missive fell to the floor. Placing the mirror carefully against the wall, he retrieved the folded paper from the floor. Raising stunned eyes to the group, he said in a strained voice, “It is a letter—from Momma.”
“Open it,” urged Maria, her eyes dancing with excitement. Imagine, Momma had left them a message. She and Noel exchanged mystified glances—why had their mother enclosed a letter in the mirror?
Christian unfolded the paper and cleared his throat. Glancing up at those who watched him expectantly, he began to read:
My darling children,
I write this letter recognizing that, sooner or later, one of you will find this mirror once more and wonder about its significance—why have such a lovely piece if it is not to be hung and enjoyed, you may ask. I beg your indulgence—this mirror is precious to both your father and me. It was the means that brought us together, as we were destined to be (at least, that is what we both choose to believe!).
Please, do not dispose of it. It possessed powers that enabled me to move through time so that I could save his life. I believe its powers are now gone, as I have been the only one able to travel through time. Christian, you will remember the story we told you as a young child. Think back and share this story with your brother and sister—they were much too young at the time to understand, but they deserve to know.
The Fates brought your parents together, and helped us create a wonderful life and a transcendent love, once that resulted in three remarkable children. Each of you is a product of that love. I carry you in my heart always.
I love you,
Momma
Christian smiled. He remembered the closeness between his parents, how both acted as if the presence of the other were as essential as air or water. Neither was fully content unless the other was present. Such love was an amazing presence in his young life, and had taught him to wait until he found a love as powerful and unique.
He looked up from his reminiscences to see that the others sat immobilized, stunned into silence. Gazing from his siblings’ confused expressions to the puzzled faces of John and Amy, and finally to his wife’s knowing look, he said, “I understand how you might have believed it was a bedtime story, Maria. But it wasn’t, and I think it is time that all of you heard the tale.”
As Maria and Noel exchanged glances, Amy and John settled themselves upon the settee as Christian related the incredible tale of a young woman who was born in England in 1900, grew up in an orphanage, and made a trip to the desolate town of Milton only to meet a fortune teller and pass through a mirror to 1850’s Milton. Christian noted with satisfaction the confused and stupefied looks on the faces of his listeners, and hastened to continue. “Before she came through the mirror, the fortune teller told her that it was her destiny to save the mill owner. When she arrived in Milton in 1850, the first person she set eyes upon was the Master of Marlborough Mills—the very mill owner she was to save.”
“It was Grandfather she was meant to save?” asked John.
Christian smiled. “Indeed it was. When she first saw him, he was punishing a hand for smoking in the mill.” Everyone murmured in consternation—they had all known from childhood the danger of a flame in the mill.
“Momma did not think much of the mill owner’s brutality, and she ordered him to stop.” He smiled at the thought of his mother’s anger—he could envision his father’s astonishment at this young woman’s imperious commands. No wonder he had been so confounded by her, as he admitted later to his son.
“Momma made her way to Crampton and assumed the life of Margaret Hale, who had disappeared. She befriended Nicholas Higgins and his daughters Bessy and Mary. Momma became a frequent visitor to the Higgins’ home, and tried to help your Great Aunt Bessy, who was afflicted with brown lung. Through a stroke of luck, she also began to work with Doctor Donaldson. She settled into her life in Milton, but all the while worried about the real Margaret Hale returning—and waited for her chance to save Father’s life.”
“How did she do it?” Amy asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.
“When the mill workers walked out on strike, Father decided to bring in Irish workers to fill his orders. Word of it got around, and the striking workers descended on the mill, intent on mischief. Momma was at the mill to receive a water mattress for her mother, who was ill. As she waited for the servant, Father entered the room and announced that the workers had broken down the gate and were swarming the house. Momma knew that this was the moment the fortune teller had foretold—so she went rushing into the courtyard to speak to the workers. Somehow—I forget exactly how—she managed to save Father, but took a blow to the head.”
John and Amy exchanged glances. “Was she badly hurt?”
“No, but when she awoke, she apparently spoke to your grandfather in such a way that he believed she loved him. The next day, he asked her to marry him.”
Margaret laughed. “That was her second proposal of the day.”
“Two proposals!” exclaimed Amy.
“Father never let her forget. When he walked into the parlor to speak with her, another suitor, Henry Lennox—you know, brother to Cousin Maxwell—was holding her hand. I am certain Father did not find it funny at the time, although he laughed about it later,” Christian added.
“No, he did not think it funny at all,” Margaret stated firmly. “And I’m certain he found it even less funny when she turned down his suit.”
John was astonished. “Grandmother turned him down?”
Christian hastened to explain. “Do not forget, she thought she was living a lie—that she was not Margaret Hale and did not belong in that time. She loved Father, but did not dare accept his offer of marriage.”
“What happened after she refused your father’s offer?” Amy demanded, leaning forward like a child listening to a fairy tale.
“My Uncle Fred returned in secret from Spain, to visit his dying mother.” The whole family knew the story of Frederick, who had lived the remainder of his life in Spain with his ever expanding family. Christian and his siblings had spent several summers in Cadiz with Uncle Frederick and Aunt Dolores, when their father was unable to break away from the factory. Once, during the height of the cotton famine, their mother had sent them to Spain in the company of Dixon, adamant that her place was with her husband during these troubles.
“I had forgotten that Uncle Fred came to Milton before Grandmother Hale died,” Maria remarked. “I can only imagine how afraid the family must have been that the Navy would discover his whereabouts and capture him.”
Christian nodded. “It might have happened, had it not been for Momma’s quick actions at the train station. When a man recognized Uncle Fred and tried to apprehend him, she shoved that man away. Unfortunately, he fell down a flight of stairs and died.”
“I remember there was an inquest,” Maria broke in. “Since Father was the magistrate, he was able to keep it all quiet.” She gave her brothers a sad look. “It was a shame that he thought that Momma was dallying with another man—you see,” she said, catching John and Amy’s eyes, “he saw Momma at the station with her brother, and thought that she was trysting with her lover. She bore the brunt of his anger, not wanting to confide in him that it was her brother.”
“Momma feared that since he was a magistrate, he would have to tell the authorities about Fred,” Christian explained.
“How did he find out about her brother?” John asked.
“Mr. Bell told him. When Momma convinced Mr. Bell to advance Father a loan, he was so grateful that he ran through the streets without his coat or
hat to thank her—at least that is what he told us. He did not know that Momma had decided it was time to return to her own time. Since her parents were dead and Father had survived the riot, she thought her role was complete, and made arrangements to disperse the money she had received from Mr. Bell.”
“What did she tell Father?” Maria demanded. “I remember nothing of this.”
“She told him the truth,” Christian responded. “She told him of her history, and why she thought she had to return to her own time. Father argued with her, but she had made up her mind that it was time to go.”
“Did she step through the mirror?” Amy asked, caught up in the improbable romance of the story.
“Yes, she did,” Christian affirmed.
“And what did she find there?” John inquired.
Christian smiled at the eagerness of all of the listeners in the room, who sat perched upon the edges of their seats. “She found a very changed Milton. It was a successful city, unlike the shell of town she had visited before. The clinic was a success, and there were many civic improvements that Father had made. But she also found out that he had never married. He left her his diary, and she had to read about how he loved her and longed for her his whole life.”
“Oh, Christian,” said Margaret softly, “I had forgotten about the diary.” She met her husband’s loving gaze and a look of deep understanding passed between them.
“What did she do?” Amy prompted.
“She ran back to the mill and tried to pass through the mirror again, but found she couldn’t. I guess she lost her temper, and struck the mirror. When she did, it fell to the ground and shattered.”
A murmur of distress rose up in the still room. “But she did come back,” John said after a moment’s silence. “What happened?”
“The fortune teller appeared—it turns out she wasn’t a fortune teller after all, but a Fate—you know, like the ones that your Uncle Noel told you about from the Greek myths,” Christian explained. “Only, she wasn’t a myth. She told Momma that she was the true Margaret Hale—she had been sent forward in time to so that she could be taught a lesson in humility before returning to her own time. It’s complicated, I know, but the gist of the story is that Momma belonged with Father, and the Fate was prepared to send her back through the mirror to 1850s Milton.”
“But the mirror was broken!” Maria exclaimed.
“She was a Fate,” Christian replied. “She took Momma to the house in Crampton and helped her through the mirror there.”
“Two mirrors!” John said in alarm. “Where is the one from the house in Crampton?”
“We do not know—it was never found,” Christian replied with a smile. “I suspect it might have been lost or misplaced when Momma came to live at Marlborough Mills.
“And so she was reunited with your father and married him!” Amy said softly, bringing the conversation back to its purpose.
“Yes, she did,” Christian laughed. “From that day forward, Father was reluctant to let her out of his sight for fear that she might be swept away again. So, he had the mirror in his office taken down and stored in the lumber room, along with the other pieces of furniture not in use. She had all but forgotten its existence until I dragged it over from the mill.”
“What an extraordinary story!” Amy declared, reaching for her husband’s hand.
“What was truly extraordinary was the love that they shared,” Maria said in a shaken voice. “She was the sun in the sky to Father—do you remember how he always carried some object of hers on his person? He was forever tucking her handkerchief or her gloves into his breast pocket, as if he needed to keep a piece of her close to him at all times, like a charm.”
“Momma used to put her hands on her hips and say, ‘John, do you have my gloves?’ and he would laugh sheepishly and pull them from his breast pocket,” Christian reminisced.
“They were a lovely couple,” Margaret declared. “I remember hoping that I would find a man that loved me as much—and I did,” she added as she caught her husband’s gaze.
“Well, they certainly were the benefactors of Milton,” John declared. “We would not have a clinic, or libraries, or the schools we have if it hadn’t been for Grandmother’s money and energy, and Grandfather’s influence.”
Christian gazed at his younger brother, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during this entire exchange. He raised his eyebrows quizzically, but Noel merely smiled.
“Well,” Amy said practically, “What should we do with the mirror, now that we know it is safe to hang it?”
The three children of John and Meg Thornton gazed at each other, and all three said at the same moment, “Let’s hang it in Father’s office, where it belongs!”
They carried the mirror over to the mill office and hung it in honor of the family matriarch and patriarch. When the mirror was hung, Margaret herded everyone back to the house to eat the celebratory meal. As she urged her chatting family from the office, she saw Noel lightly touch the mirror’s surface. She felt a thrill of fear as the glass shimmered and moved beneath his hand, but let out a sigh of relief when he pulled back.
The magic from the mirror was gone, she thought, but the magic that was their lives and memories would live on forever, as long as they had each other.
“Are you coming, Noel?” she asked.
“In a moment.” He appeared lost in thought, as if he were miles away. Margaret smiled and left, leaving the door ajar.
Noel walked slowly toward the mirror. This was not the first time he had seen this mirror, he thought with excitement. He had found it in the storage room when he was a young boy, playing there one rainy afternoon while his mother worked on the mill ledgers.
He remembered touching the glass and feeling a jolt race up his arm. The mirror had shivered and moved, like a living thing, and he could see light emanating from the other side. Before he could make his way through its surface, a hand had caught him and pulled him back.
His mother had gazed at him in terror. “Noel,” she had breathed out in her relief at having stopped him in time. “I have always feared that one of you would have the gift and the calling, and it appears that I was right.” Turning from him, she swiftly rewrapped the mirror and stowed it away in a far corner of the storage room. When finished, she had knelt before him and clasped him by the shoulders so that they were eye to eye. In a firm voice, she had explained, “The time is not right for you to go through that mirror, Noel. You must first be an adult. But you will know when the time is right—when you receive a sign, then you will know it is time. Until then, leave it be.”
She had ushered him out of the room; the next time he had come to investigate, the door to the office had been bolted and locked. As the years had gone by, this memory had grown dim and he had come to believe that perhaps he had imagined it. But today—today the mirror had come to light once more.
He looked out over the courtyard where his family wended their way back to the house. He would spend one last night with his family. Tomorrow, he thought with rising excitement, before anyone else had risen, he would return and see where the mirror would take him.
When he touched it, he had felt the glass ripple and move like water beneath his fingertips. Caroline, he thought with exuberance, I will save you. Just as the gypsy who visited me in my dreams last night told me, the time is right. Just as you foretold, Momma, I will follow in your footsteps. You aren’t the only time traveler in our family after all.