Margaret of the North

by EJourney

  It suited Mrs. Thornton to dismiss all mention of Margaret until she found that she had been too quick to write her off. Aware that John continued to care for her, Mrs. Thornton was happy to see Margaret leave Milton, believing naively that London was far enough away that she could no longer disrupt their lives. But Margaret did return one day and Mrs. Thornton, who had seen her enter the mill from the window of the drawing room, followed her there and angrily confronted her. That was in the morning. In the evening, what she dreaded most happened: John came home with Margaret; Mrs. Thornton was aghast, forced to accept a reality she revolted against. And yet, she knew there was nothing she could have done.

  Mrs. Thornton had seen in Margaret a part of herself—strong in beliefs, self-assured and independent-minded—but knowing this did not predispose her to like Margaret. Instead, it disturbed her. Margaret, who did not shy away from letting others know what she thought and felt, was a formidable rival not only for her son's heart but also for his mind. Contemptuous as she was of southern pretensions, Mrs. Thornton had to admit that, born with a good mind and guided in the improvement of it by a scholarly father and his friends, Margaret developed a mind keener and more receptive than she ever had, or even cared about. Margaret had ideas and sentiments she could never grasp, and it worried her that Margaret's sympathy for workers would undermine John's single-minded pursuit of his rightful place as a widely-respected manufacturer. Margaret had already influenced him. It was evident in his friendship with that man Higgins.

  Still, Mrs. Thornton could not simply regard Margaret as someone she could never like. It was, after all the wealth that Margaret brought into her marriage that now spared John the difficulties and anguish of having to start all over again. Mrs. Thornton had a keen sense of fairness that required her to be grateful to Margaret. Then, there was the fact that Margaret did love John, had chosen him over others who might have courted her. But most of all, Mrs. Thornton could not deny that John was clearly happier since Margaret returned.

  She had seen how depressed he had been after Margaret left for London and how despondent when the mill closed. He declared then as he had many years ago: "It's just you and I again, mother." Those words, uttered for the first time so long ago, had carried a challenge, energizing and full of promise, propelling them both into a mission that—through hard work, sacrifice, and determination—brought success they had both been proud of. But something in him had changed and those same words—uttered again when his business failed and in the midst of his certainty that he would never see Margaret again—conveyed a dispirited weariness, a quiet despair she had never seen in him. If seeing him happy now did not sufficiently calm Mrs. Thornton's unease about Margaret, it did mute any expression of disapproval she might have. By the time she returned to Milton, she resolved to be more agreeable to Margaret. And yet, in her heart, she doubted if she was capable of doing so.

  XI. Posterity

  The full force of summer hit Milton in the middle of August, bringing with it heat and still air, trapping the smoky, heavy emissions from the cotton mills, and forcing most of the city's inhabitants to take refuge indoors unless they had business to do outside. Margaret was not one to be fazed by heat and sun. There had been more of those in the south although summer days were hardly ever as unbearable as they were in Milton. Cooling breezes and an abundance of sprawling shady trees always tempered the heat.

  Margaret, determined not to let the weather disrupt her usual routines, went out for her daily walk. Walking was a habit she naturally grew into long ago in Helstone where everything outdoors beckoned her to explore and enjoy its delights. When she moved to Milton, with her parents, walking in the parks provided her respite from the oppressive atmosphere of the city and the cramped quarters they moved into. Later, when one sorrowful event after another struck, walking provided relief, however temporary, from those unfortunate events. It rejuvenated her exhausted spirits and gave her time for reflection. Walking had become a necessity and she was kept away from it only when snow, wind, and rain made going out unwise or even dangerous.

  Margaret did think it wise to change her schedule this scorching summer. She usually went out relatively early in the morning right after breakfast, before the atmosphere and the temperature were at their worst. One morning, after a particularly warm and muggy night during which she tossed and turned and slept fitfully, she and John got up earlier than usual and prepared to go to breakfast. She was not her usual bright self in the morning. Her head throbbed, her stomach was a little unsettled, and her back muscles ached. She thought, at first, that she should forego her walk that morning but she hoped that some strong tea at breakfast would cure those little ills brought on by her lack of sleep. In any case, she was free to change her mind if tea and scones did not soothe her enough for walking.

  She could start on one of the many daily chores to keep the condition of the house as impeccable as it had been under Mrs. Thornton's supervision. Margaret found these chores more drudgery than pleasure but she was anxious not to give her mother-in-law something to criticize her for. As was her wont, she followed her chores with more agreeable occupation, reading, tending to pots of plants she started with Dixon, or if she had not yet done so, going for her daily walk. While Mrs. Thornton was away, she kept her schedule flexible and, on days such as this, could take her walk in late afternoon if she was feeling better.

  **************

  Margaret put the last pin on her hair as John, properly attired but without his jacket, turned her way and gestured at her to indicate that he was ready to take her down to breakfast. She began to get up but before she could straighten, she was gripped by a strange sensation of the room swaying and receding from her vision, of being seized by a wave of nausea in her stomach that quickly spread to her chest, and of her legs melting from under her as her body crumpled slowly to the floor. On her way down, her hand instinctively grabbed the back of her chair and she held on to it with all the strength she had left. She was fading fast when steady arms enclosed her in a familiar embrace so safe and strong that she allowed herself to let go. John, a few paces away, had run to catch her and the alarm he had experienced only a week or so ago came rushing back, intensifying at the sight of her ashen face, the color drained from her mouth and cheeks. She looked at him with dazed eyes before she closed them and collapsed like a rag doll in his arms.

  "Margaret, my love," John cried, his voice fraught with anxiety. He picked her up, carried her to the bed and gently laid her down. He could barely control the shaking in his limbs and, fearful of leaving his wife alone, he rang vigorously for Dixon to send someone straightaway for the doctor. Dixon came quickly at the frantic ringing. She saw Margaret looking almost lifeless on the bed and, for an instant, terror overcame her. She hurried out to do as she was bid, swiftly but calmly.

  Dixon had handled situations like this before, had learned critical signs to watch out for and she doubted, upon recalling what she saw, that there was anything seriously wrong with her young mistress whose constitution she knew to be much sturdier than her mother. Despite the master's reaction, she had her own suspicions of the cause of Margaret's current affliction and the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that her suspicions were true. In any case, the master would know soon enough.

  John sat on the bed, caressing his wife's face gently. He fixed his eyes on her face, watchful for any signs of increasing distress. Her breathing was shallow and slow but regular. John called out, "My love, can you hear me?" She opened her eyes halfway, smiled faintly at him and opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. "Hush," he said in as soothing a tone as he could summon, "I am here and Dr. Donaldson should be here very soon."

  Dixon returned with a basin of cold water and compresses, "I will take care of her now, master. You might feel better waiting in your study. The doctor will be here any minute now. Williams went for him in a cab."

  "No," John answered almost angrily but he got up to give her room. "Do what you can b
ut I will stay here with her," he continued a little more subdued as he pulled a chair by the bed and sat down on it.

  Dixon smiled, actually relieved to have him stay. Mr. Hale was never able to endure his wife's illnesses and fainting spells and it gratified her to see Mr. Thornton so solicitous of his wife. She sat by the side of the bed and began applying cold compresses to Margaret's face. John held Margaret's hand, stroking it and, once in a while, pressing it to his lips. Soon, the color began to come back to her face and her faint breathing became stronger. She opened her eyes once or twice but closed them again as if the diffused light in the room blinded her.

  Dr. Donaldson came shortly thereafter and glanced briefly at Margaret. "Williams told me she fainted. What was she doing when it happened?"

  "We were about to go to breakfast and she was getting up from her chair," John answered.

  Dr. Donaldson nodded and said, "So, she has not had anything to eat." He turned to John. "How long have you been married?"

  "About three months."

  The doctor nodded again. "I would like to examine Mrs. Thornton in private. But please stay just outside the door, Dixon, in case I need your help."

  John, worry plainly written on his face, hardly took his eyes off his wife and did not move from his chair, seemingly determined to stay. Dr. Donaldson stood next to him and took Margaret's pulse. He smiled calmly at John. "Her color is back and I have not seen anything so far to alarm me so I am sure she will be all right. I will come directly to you after I have examined her." He motioned with a hand towards the door to the study and waited until John got up, reluctantly. John lingered for a moment, gazing at his wife and then he wordlessly walked toward his study. At the door, he paused to look back at Margaret.

  John sat in front of his desk, staring pensively into space. In the three short months that they had been married, Margaret had become the most important part of his life. He knew almost from the beginning that she had somehow changed his life. Never had anyone caused him such consternation at her indifference, such agony at the thought that her affections belonged elsewhere—and yet—such pleasure when he imagined her expressive face and the gestures of her head, such tingling when he thought of holding her in his arms.

  For her, he had acted in ways he never thought he would or could. Now that she was his wife, her hold over him was stronger than ever. Margaret brought pleasure to the commonplace and through her zest for so much that her world could offer, she helped expand his interests, his perspective and his thinking. Her enthusiasm for art and music, her curiosity about new places and different cultures, her openness to new experiences had enticed him to venture into a world beyond the making and merchandising of cotton that had dominated most of his life.

  Having experienced what life was with Margaret, John was even more fearful now of losing her. He was intensely anxious about why she fainted but he could not, would not, even for a moment, confront the possibility that there was any actual threat of losing her. The notion of a future without her was totally inconceivable to him now. And yet, unlike Fanny's near-fainting spells, his wife's symptoms had been quite real and those that he just witnessed could no longer be attributed to seasickness. Her mother had died of some illness, the nature of which he was ignorant about.

  John got up abruptly, trying to vanish those disturbing thoughts, and he paced about the room in quick anxious strides. But physical exertion could not calm the turmoil in his mind and he picked up the volume of Plato that Margaret gave him when her father died, to seek some distraction there. He opened it at random and read as he walked back and forth but he could not make sense of the words even after reading them a second and third time. He put the book back on the desk and stared at the door that closed the bedroom off to his study. It seemed to him the doctor was taking an inordinately long time and he fought the urge to go storming back into the bedroom. In fact, it took less than half an hour before Dr. Donaldson knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for his response. The doctor walked briskly towards him and, grinning broadly, extended both of his hands to grasp one of John's. John let out one long breath of relief. His wife was going to be all right.

  "Your wife, young Mrs. Thornton, is quite healthy and nothing is wrong with her that about eight months could not cure." Dr. Donaldson shook John's hand heartily and, seeing the puzzle still knitting his brow, he explained. "Nausea, lightheadedness, and fainting occasionally are not unusual in the first three, even four months of pregnancy. If they tend to occur in the morning, the best preventive is a light breakfast in bed—tea, dry toast, and if she can tolerate it, some butter or jam."

  John finally grasped what the doctor said and managed to grin back at him. "Thank you, doctor. That is good news." A fleeting frown crossed his brow, however, as he added, "although I had not anticipated having children right way."

  "Well, man, what do you expect? Most young men like you rejoice at news like this. It reassures them that their legacy would continue. Anyway, you must pamper her in the coming months." Dr. Donaldson laughed, "I suppose it is unnecessary for me to tell you to do that. I will visit her next month to make sure that everything is proceeding normally."

  Once again, he shook John's hand and when it appeared the latter still seemed slightly dazed, the doctor hesitated to leave him; instead, he reminisced. "I met your wife for the first time years ago under sadder circumstances, as I recall, and she made such an impression on me that I still remember her, busy as I have been with so many patients and their ailments. She and her father just came in from a party so she was all dressed up and I couldn't help thinking then, "What a lovely young woman!" They were both surprised to see me there but she had been more alarmed than he was. Later, when I returned to check on Mrs. Hale, her husband was out on one of his lectures and Miss Hale insisted on being completely informed about her mother who was then in the last stages of her illness. I could see the deep anxiety on her face but she did not flinch when I gave her the bad news. I could sense her struggle to remain in control of her emotions. I wondered then who the lucky man would be who could win the heart of such an extraordinary young woman—self-possessed and perceptive for her age, for any age, but yet sensitive and so vulnerable that it made one want to protect her."

  Dr. Donaldson paused, then said, "But I doubted then that Miss Hale was the sort who would accept a man merely for the protection he could give her. No, she would cope on her own rather than give her heart away lightly." He paused again and with an impish smile, added, "That alone would attract any man who enjoys a challenge."

  He peered closely at John who was staring at him with the faintest scowl over his now alert eyes. Amused and curious at his expression, Dr. Donaldson remarked, "I should have guessed it would have been you she fell for, Thornton, if she were to take fancy to any of us Milton men." Grinning broadly, he declared, "I have been in this profession long enough and I can pretty much tell how a couple feel about each other."

  "Thank you again, Dr. Donaldson," John shook his hand again, more vigorously this time, a heartfelt smile brightening his eyes.

  Dr. Donaldson nodded and took his leave with a parting advice, "She can do anything she wants to do and feels capable doing. I would not put any restrictions on her activities except that she should be careful about those lightheaded spells in the next two, maybe three, months. They usually occur in the morning but they should pass."

  **************

  Margaret was sitting up in bed when he came in. A faint blush had returned to her cheeks although dark shadows still circled her eyes from lack of sleep. She reached her arms out as he sat down on the side of the bed and rested them on his shoulders, clasping her hands behind his neck. He gathered her in his arms, peered at her face, looked deep into her eyes that were very slowly regaining their brightness and clarity and said, "You gave me such a scare."

  "But it is good news, is it not?" She replied, her eyes fixed on his.

  He nodded and smiled but he did not answer.

  "Yo
u're smiling but you don't seem too happy."

  "I am glad and greatly relieved that this affliction is of harmless consequence; indeed it is a happy one although"—he hesitated, gazing lovingly at her face—"truth be told, I wanted to have you all to myself a while longer, a year at least, anyway."

  "Well, silly, what did you expect, making love to me as much as you have?" She laughed, kissed him lightly, and stroked his hair, pushing a stray lock off his forehead.

  "Yes, silly me," he answered as he buried his face on her neck and, feeling the pulse beneath her soft warm flesh, he was gratified and reassured. The fear and apprehension that had taken hold of him had drained him and he rested his head briefly on her shoulder.

  "Dixon is coming with breakfast, as the doctor ordered. How would you like to be found in such a compromising position?"

  "I am making love to my wife in my own bedroom. She could have nothing to say about that."

  She smiled, "No, nothing. I know her to be discreet and she has grown quite protective of me. I was teasing." She pressed her cheek on the back of his bowed head and they were silent for some minutes. Then, gently clasping his face, she raised it slowly to force him to look at her, "Don't you want to have children?"

  "I do, of course, a couple of little Margarets and two sons perhaps."

  She laughed again, "that many?"

  "Why not? It's just that—you and I alone together—I never imagined I could be this happy. I wanted it to last longer this way. I would have preferred to start a family, perhaps, two years from now."