Margaret of the North

by EJourney

  XVI. Reenchantment

  John stood by his daughter's crib looking down at her as she slept, her eyes tightly closed, her long dark lashes resting prettily on plump ivory cheeks—a tiny helpless creature, only three weeks old, who he had helped bring into the world and was now completely dependent on him and Margaret. The thought was both awe-inspiring and humbling, the responsibility and challenge it implied exceeding anything he had ever been faced with. He watched her for some time, amused at how she occasionally pursed her pink tiny lips and twitched her limbs.

  "How peacefully she sleeps. Do you think she's dreaming?" He asked Mary. John had come home early from work and found Mary in their bedroom seated by the crib, rocking Elise to sleep.

  Mary merely smiled and nodded.

  "Where is my wife, Mary?"

  "She's at her bath, master. Would you like me to tell her you're home?" She began to get up.

  John smiled at her as he raised a hand to stop her from getting up. "No need to, Mary. I'll go. Little Elise needs you more."

  John closed the door noiselessly after him as he entered the bathroom. Margaret, with her back to the door, was lying in the tub. Her eyes were closed and her wet hair, piled up in a bun, cushioned the back of her head. She heard him come in but she neither budged nor opened her eyes and assumed it was Mary. "I am not ready to get out yet Mary. This warm water is just too wonderful to leave."

  John walked towards the chair next to the tub, picked up the robe draped on it along with the towel folded on the seat and sat down quietly.

  Margaret raised her eyelids reluctantly and lazily as she sensed a presence next to her, "Oh, it is you! You are early today." She extended a wet shining arm to him.

  "Yes. We completed a huge order early today, ahead of schedule, and I decided to dismiss the workers right after. They have been working very hard the past few weeks, some of them staying beyond closing time." He grasped her hand and bent over to kiss her lips, warmer than usual and soft and wet from the vapor rising out of the tub.

  She closed her eyes as his kiss lingered. Her lips tasted like ripe peach and he wanted to savor their lusciousness again but as tempted as he was, he merely gazed at her until she opened her eyes slowly.

  She smiled placidly at him, leaned back, and commented casually. "The mill appears to be doing quite well." She closed her eyes and allowed herself to go slack once more in the enveloping warmth of the rose-scented water. Still, she was conscious that he was feasting his eyes on her.

  "I expected it to. There is growing demand for cotton and we will be getting new contracts soon."

  "Hmm," the sound barely escaped her throat as she nodded, hardly moving her head.

  John sat watching Margaret luxuriate in sensuous content in her bath, fascinated at the sight of her figure undulating ever so gently under the water with every breath she took. How different it was in that room from the noise and chaos he just left not even a quarter of an hour ago! He sat for many minutes, amused at himself that he could sit there, unperturbed, relaxing and nearly hypnotized by the stillness that surrounded them—a stillness that nothing intruded into it but their breathing and the occasional tinkling of water when Margaret adjusted her position.

  At length, Margaret slithered up the tub and broke into his reverie, "The water is getting cold. Time to get out, in any case. Help me up, please, John."

  "I will do better than that," he replied in a playful tone.

  He got up, reached for her hands and pulled her up. She turned her back to him as he wrapped her robe around her. Then he lifted her up from the tub and unto the rug. He turned her around to face him so he could dab her face and her arms with the towel. He proceeded to dry her hair and her scalp vigorously until her head tingled. Throwing the towel back on the chair, he rubbed his palms together to warm them up and then lightly patted her cheeks and her arms until her skin took on a rosier tint.

  "Does our service meet with your approval, madam?" He asked in a servile tone.

  "Excellent, monsieur!" She answered in French, going along with his playful mood, flashing him a bewitching smile. "Indeed, I am extremely pleased you have not forgotten that I like to get my blood going with vigorous drying."

  "Yes although it has been awhile," he said as he clasped her close and started kissing her. "Ah, how good you smell," he whispered between kisses, "How warm and soft."

  She murmured against his mouth, "Come back to our bed tonight. It cannot be too pleasant sleeping in your study."

  "No! It's lonely sleeping by myself in that cold narrow bed. But what about Elise? Don't you need to nurse her in bed at night?"

  "That was only for a little while so I could go on sleeping when she cried out to be nourished in the middle of the night. Now, she sleeps almost all the way through and I have caught up on my sleep. We will place her crib closer by the fireplace and I'll put her back in it." She laid her head on his shoulder, snuggling in his embrace, "I miss the warmth of you at night. Don't you miss me?"

  "How could you even ask me that?" He answered as he untied her robe and placed his arms inside and around her waist.

  **************

  A couple of weeks later, as he was about to go to bed, John noticed that the crib had been moved out of the room, "Where is Elise?"

  "She's back in the room we prepared for her. Mary will be staying with her at night from now on."

  He nodded, threw his robe on a chair and climbed into bed. Margaret lay with the sheet up to her neck. He thought it odd on a warm late spring night; he himself was without his night shirt. "Are you ill?"

  "No," she answered hesitantly, throwing him a quick glance, biting her lower lip as she looked away as if she had just been caught at some transgression and was hiding her face, fearful of what he might see in it.

  He was perplexed, even somewhat concerned. "What is the matter my love?"

  She turned her face towards him but she did not answer, quickly averted her glistening eyes, and sucked her breath in through tremulous parted lips. She kicked the sheet with one swift movement, baring naked shoulders, arms and a breast. Pleasantly surprised, he cradled her face between his palms to force her to look at him; then he smiled at her, his eyes shining under his dark brow.

  As he bent over to kiss her, she placed her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, his face only inches from hers. She gazed deeply into his eyes. "You have been back with me for some time. You kiss me and caress me but you have not………" Her voice trailed and she lowered her eyes.

  He kissed her face all over, "Oh, Margaret, you don't know how much I have wanted to!"

  "Then why?"

  He hesitated for a moment, studying her face, "Because………well, I saw you suffer giving birth to Elise. I loathe for you to go through that again. At least, not so soon after."

  She regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment as if she did not grasp what he meant and was struggling to do so. Then in a low sultry voice, she urged, "Make love to me." She pulled his face closer to hers, paused, and whispered into his ears, her voice both tremulous and enticing. "I want you to."

  With a sweep of her arm, Margaret pushed the sheet off herself completely. John raised his head and gazed at her—eyes closed, lips slightly parted, and head thrown back a little so her ivory throat was arched, waiting for him to bury his face in it as he had done many times before. Her shoulders were pressed against the bed and the lamp on his night table cast its golden glow on her breasts, rounder and fuller from nursing. He groaned at the mixture of apprehension and guilt that still inhibited him.

  Every night that he had been back in bed with her, he had wanted to make love to her. But he always restrained himself, haunted by images of her panting continuously, her shadowed eyes frightened, and her sweaty face grimacing in pain. That image of her had invaded his dreams for a few nights after she gave birth to Elise. How could he do that to her again? Yet, he had not expected that she would ask him so directly and the directness of her plea—or was it more akin to a co
mmand?—amazed and thrilled him at the same time.

  Margaret, opening her eyes briefly, caught his hesitation right away and, clasping him close, she kissed him. She ran her warm trembling hands down his neck and shoulders, across his back and his buttocks, kneading them with the palms of her hands.

  "Margaret, my love," John groaned once more. This time, it was a groan of surrender, of yielding his defenses to the passion that swept them together into delicious moments, fusing their whole being, allowing their bodies and their senses, not their minds, to be in control.

  Later, they lay in silence with his arms around her. She ran delicate warm fingers very slowly up and down his arm, delighting in its comparative roughness. Occasionally, she lifted the back of his hand to her lips or against her cheek. He found those moments infinitely tender and yet sensuous and enthralling, the sort he could vividly relive when, in his office, his mind wandered from the stresses of his work at the mill.

  Since that night, it seemed to him that their lovemaking assumed a different character. He had believed that while Margaret had always responded eagerly to him, she did so out of her love for him. Now, he confronted the idea that a woman like Margaret—with a mind of her own and feelings she neither denied nor allowed society to dictate—could have desires in the same way as men. It scared him a little but it fascinated him as well and he was in awe once more at the woman he had married. Usually soft, warm, and yielding in his arms, Margaret could love with more abandon. She stroked and took little nibbles of his bare skin, initiated passionate kisses and caresses, and obviously relished every bit of their lovemaking.

  **************

  A week later, John came home with a big bouquet of roses in one arm and a gift-wrapped box in the other. He went directly to their bedroom where he knew Margaret would be nursing Elise before she was put to bed for the night. With the needs of a baby of primary concern for the present, he and Margaret had to modify their evening rituals. He still came home an hour before dinner and while Margaret often tried to finish nursing and dressing Elise for bed shortly before he came home, this was not always possible.

  Margaret sat where she could see the door as he came in from the mill. This evening, she was humming in a low voice, rocking Elise to sleep, when he opened the door, balancing a bouquet and a package in his arms.

  She smiled, extremely pleased and her eyes twinkled as she whispered, "For me?"

  "You know why, don't you?"

  "How could I forget the day you promised to cherish me all my life?" She answered playfully.

  "I was certain you would not let me forget either," he teased back. He placed the flowers in a vase and the package on the low table in front of her. "And it is for me to remind you that you made the same promise," he added as he bent over and kissed her tenderly, lingering a while on her lips.

  He looked deep into her eyes, "You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Love me always?"

  "Deeply, irrevocably. How could I resist you? I did try but look where I am." Her gaze went from him to the baby sleeping in her arms.

  After they had both put Elise to bed, they sat on the armchairs, silhouetted together by the glow from the fireplace, as John watched Margaret open the pretty package carefully. In it was a silky light green fabric wrapped in tissue, on top of which was an elegant little box. Margaret picked up the little box and placed it on the table. Then, she lifted the fabric delicately and saw there were two pieces.

  "A peignoir! How lovely and how sumptuous." Her eyes half-closed, she rubbed the silk against her cheek, delighting in its sensuous feel against her skin.

  "Do you remember our first night together?" He murmured with a small quiver in his voice.

  She blushed a little and did not answer; instead, she reached over, put her arms around his neck and pressed her lips ardently to his. He clasped her in his arms, kissing her back.

  At length, he whispered, "Open the small box."

  She straightened, nodded with a smile and picked up the box. It contained a bracelet of white gold and diamonds. "What an exquisite piece!"

  "You were wearing such a bracelet when I first realized I was falling for you that night I was at your house." He smiled, teasing her as he added, "when you refused to shake my hand."

  "That was the night I fell asleep on my chair because I was so tired ironing curtains for you so you would feel at ease in our small home." She retorted, flashing him a saucy smile. A little more seriously, she continued, "I have nothing as spectacular as all these to give you." She reached into a small compartment under the tabletop. "I do have this for you."

  The box was carefully gift-wrapped and tied with a large ribbon. Under the ribbon was a small folded card on which she had painted a yellow rose. He opened the card which read, "For all that you have been to me and done for me this past year, my deepest love and gratitude. Loving you always will be the easiest thing I do."

  He held the card in his hand, fondling it with his fingers for a few moments. Then, he put the card to his lips and slipped it into his vest pocket. He picked up the box and opened it. It contained a pen with a metal nib attached, not to a quill, but to beautifully polished wood trimmed with bronze.

  "I saw one of these at the international exposition in London a few years ago."

  "Yes, I first learned about them there. People are inventing new things all the time."

  "But how did you get this? Nobody I know has one of these."

  "With Edith's help. At the exposition, they exhibited one that the French patented a couple of decades ago. It held ink but it never caught on because it leaked so much."

  "The handle on this is so much larger and should be easier for me to hold."

  "It has a receptacle for ink so it does not need an inkwell. You can carry it around and use it for a long time before it needs refilling."

  "Now, that is a great convenience!"

  "Yes, I thought it would be. I have seen you struggle with thin quills that are just too small for your hand. I hope this new type of pen helps to make doing all that paperwork for the mill less tiring and less staining on your fingers. It is not supposed to leak." She reached over, took his right hand, and pressed it closely to her lips.

  He grasped both her hands and pulled her over on his lap. She wound her arms around his neck as he nuzzled his face against her cheek, then against her neck, breathing in her subtle fragrance. She laid her head on his and they sat in their quiet intimacy until the darkness engulfed much of the space around them and reminded them that his mother might be waiting in the dining room for dinner.

  He sighed and said, "I would have preferred to have dinner alone with you tonight. Can we not have it served here in our room?"

  "You know the answer to that as well as I do."

  They descended to the dining room but Mrs. Thornton was not there. Instead, Dixon waited with a couple of servants ready to attend to them. The table was laid out with a full set of silver and dinner ware, a Hale heirloom tablecloth, candelabra used mostly on special occasions, and a centerpiece of red and yellow roses brimming out of a large low vase. Before John could inquire about his mother, Dixon explained that Mrs. Thornton had pleaded fatigue and asked only for soup and bread to be brought to her room.

  Dixon had not forgotten what that day meant for John and Margaret. She prepared a special full-course dinner, served formally by two servants she had coached to be especially attentive—offering dishes and filling wine glasses just at the right moment, taking dirty plates and silver away and replacing them promptly, even taking an elaborate bow as they retreated. The dinner was sumptuous and delicious, and John and Margaret were grateful to Dixon for the care and the effort she had taken. But they found the formality of the whole dinner somewhat diverting and they smiled at each other every time the servants, enthusiastic but awkward at their tasks, stepped back with a bow.

  Later, on Margaret's inquiry, Dixon confirmed that Mrs. Thornton had indeed come to the dining room at her usual time. She had forgotten t
he couple's wedding anniversary but, seeing the special table settings and the large vase of roses, she remembered. She left immediately after asking for her meal to be sent up to her. Margaret could not but be touched by the thought and generosity of this gesture. She was, once more, perplexed by how to reconcile such a considerate side of Mrs. Thornton to the sterner almost harsh face she often assumed with Margaret.

  **************

  Elise was baptized when she was three months old. Edith was godmother and Fanny's husband Watson volunteered to be godfather. Both John and Margaret were hesitant about Watson with whom they always felt some unease but they did not have much choice. Mrs. Thornton insisted that the baptismal sponsors come from both sides of the family and Margaret had already chosen and asked Edith soon after Elise was born. Mrs. Shaw came with her daughter for the affair, a small one that included only family from both sides. John and Margaret had hoped to have a larger joint celebration of the christening and the blessing of their new house. Unfortunately, renovations were taking longer than estimated and their move was postponed for another three months.

  Edith, escorted by Watson, carried the baby out of the church after the ceremony. John followed with Margaret and his sister. Mrs. Thornton and Mrs. Shaw trailed behind everyone else. Outside, Watson rejoined Fanny and John went to fetch the carriages that were to take them back to the house. Edith pulled Margaret to one side, some distance apart from the others as they waited for the first carriage. She handed Elise back to her mother and, leaning closer towards Margaret, she whispered conspiratorially in the way they had done as children. "I have news that will surprise you and, perhaps, delight you at the same time."