by EJourney
While at least one of her parents lived, Margaret felt someone was there who she could rely on for wisdom or reassurance, someone older, wiser, and who accepted whoever she was without questions or reservations. Had she hoped that, with them gone, she could turn to Mrs. Thornton in the face of adversity? Margaret found a flaw in this manner of comprehending her inquietude. As admiring and respectful as she was of her mother-in-law's strong convictions and her devotion and loyalty to those dear to her, Margaret could not trust Mrs. Thornton's judgment about many things of importance to her; their beliefs and attitudes clashed too much for that.
Feeling oppressed by thoughts that could not be reconciled and emotions that remained in some turmoil, Margaret got up, wrapped herself in her robe and tiptoed into the sitting room, closing the door to the bedroom quietly. She sat on an armchair by the fireplace where only glowing embers were left of the fire that had burned there. They were barely enough to keep her warm and she folded her feet up onto the chair and under her robe.
She stared into the darkness for some time until, without a warning, tears flowed freely but soundlessly down her cheeks. Her shoulders and chest heaved upwards but the only audible sounds she emitted were occasional inward gasps of air induced by the incessant flood of tears. This was so unlike her, she thought detachedly, she who prided herself on her self-control. Even when she succumbed to the sorrow of her parents' death, she had not allowed her tears to get the better of her.
The few instances she let her tears flow freely had been for happy reasons when John held her in his arms and comforted her. But those occasions were so different and with John, the certainty of kisses and embraces rewarded her tears. In the present instance, she was crying for nebulous and confusing reasons.
In the midst of her tears, Margaret began to form a growing sense that in crying, she was cleansing herself, purging herself. Of what, however, she was not too certain. Of the sorrow of loss or the shame of defeat? Of the passing of a period, sometimes innocent and even sweet? She did not restrain her tears and they drenched not only her face but also the top of her robe. They were soon exhausted and after a short period of calm, she dried her face with the sleeves of her robe.
She sat in the dark for some minutes, her mind blank and drawn into the rhythm of her breathing. Her body gradually grew slack, her limbs so limp that, had she wanted to lift them just then, she would not have been able to. She submitted her whole being to this stillness for some time until she began to feel the cold seep through her robe. The embers had nearly dissolved into dirty white ash.
She shivered and got up, her feet searching her slippers but they were met with only the cold floor. Hopping to escape the chill from the floor, she ran towards the bedroom, and opened the door as noiselessly as she had closed it. She climbed into bed and only when she had covered herself up to her waist with the sheets did she take off her robe and draped it on the headboard. She shivered again and slid closer to John where the bed was warm. John, halfway between sleep and wakefulness, murmured something unintelligible, placed an arm around her waist and nudging his face against her cheek, fell back to sleep right away.
Deep dreamless sleep claimed Margaret's consciousness shortly thereafter. She greeted the following morning, refreshed, feeling lighthearted and impatient to begin preparations for the holidays.
XXIII. Celebration
The day before Christmas was very busy at the Marlborough Mills dining hall. Deliveries of meats and produce started earlier that week and in the morning, several women workers joined the cooks in preparing a Christmas Eve meal to be served mid-afternoon. The hall had been made ready for the celebration, under Margaret's supervision and with the help of both men and women including Annie, Marian, and Mary, the three who had originally painted and decorated the dining hall with Margaret's help.
The men secured a tall Christmas tree at one corner of the room and it easily became the centerpiece of the simple room decoration. Gifts for the children were either hung on its branches or arranged underneath its trunk. The women tied the green curtains in red ribbons and, on the middle of the tables, placed wreaths of candles encircled with pine branches and holly berries, gathered earlier by children of the mill. A huge wreath that the women strung together of laurel leaves, rosemary, thyme, pine boughs, pine cones, and more holly berries were hung on top of the fireplace imparting aromas released by the heat and blending with both savory and sweet smells from the pots on the hearth.
Festivities were to start around noon with a distribution of gifts for the children, a practice Margaret started the year before on her first Christmas as the young Mrs. Thornton.
Workers and their families started trickling into the mill courtyard before noon and were milling by the dining hall entrance, their younger children playing nearby. Shortly thereafter, Williams opened the mill gates to a carriage bearing the Thorntons who came to start the festivities and join the workers for the Christmas Eve meal.
The carriage stopped in front of a crowd who, though curious, tried to look elsewhere when the door opened. Mr. Thornton descended and turned around to help the rest of his party alight, offering his hand to Mary, the first to come out. The driver got off his perch as well, walked to the back of the carriage and, assisted by Williams, unloaded a perambulator. The perambulator was what clued the crowd into anticipating that the proceedings in front of them were going to be more interesting than staring at their feet or watching their children play.
Nobody had yet seen the new daughter and nothing had been said about her being brought to the mill that day. So when Margaret poked her head out with Elise in her arms, all eyes were on them. She handed over her daughter to Mary, took her husband's hand and descended from the carriage. Some workers had never seen Margaret but they had heard stories, mostly from Annie and Nicholas Higgins, that Mr. Thornton had an uncommonly handsome young wife with a generous heart. The workers all knew that it was through her kindness and enthusiastic exertions that they were all there to enjoy a dinner together and they were consequently predisposed to like her.
As soon as Margaret got off, she addressed Williams. "There are three huge boxes on the seat that need to be unloaded very carefully. Dixon insisted that they must remain upright. Please take them in and place them on a table."
Margaret took Elise back from Mary and walked into the dining hall, greeting everyone immediately around her with an engaging smile, sometimes a slight nod, and a "Good afternoon." Elise gawked at the crowd, bright eyed and curious. John walked alongside his wife, a protective arm on the back of her waist, occasionally nodding at someone in the crowd but he seemed content to let his wife do much of the greeting and smiling. Mary followed, pushing the perambulator.
To the crowd, it was a spectacle that most of them did not often see. They were accustomed to only catching glimpses of the mill owners' families peeking out of their carriages or seeing them from some distance. It was a distance rarely crossed and it was not so much physical as it was social.
The Christmas Eve festivity was generosity unheard of for mill owners and, for the master's family to join their workers in the celebration was quite inconceivable. To the workers, having the Thorntons at the festivity signified something more. How extraordinary, many of them thought, to stand so near to the master's wife that one could extend one's hand and not expect the young Mrs. Thornton to recoil from it. From what they had heard, she would probably grasp the offered hand and shake it. But no one tried.
For masters and hands to mix in social situations was entirely unimaginable but, in paying for a holiday dinner and gifts for all workers and their families, Marlborough Mills was breaking taboos. John's colleagues did not like it at all. Most objected because they thought, as the older Mrs. Thornton did, that it was a concession to workers that would surely be followed by more impossible demands and, consequently, by strikes if the demand was not met. The talk stirred by the dinner went beyond the mill owners to their families who looked down with disdain at any form of in
teraction with hands outside the mills and were, thus, contemptuous of the Thorntons for breaking class barriers.
Since marrying John Thornton, Margaret Hale provoked great curiosity. Gossip about her circulated among the mostly idle families of manufacturers, fed by juicy bits from servants who embellished what they heard from servants in the Thornton and Watson households. Acutely alert to how British society of landed gentry and noble classes looked down on manufacturers and tradesmen, most in this nouveau riche group found Margaret Thornton perplexing.
She was clearly a young woman who bore all the graces of a gentleman's daughter, apparent in the proud turn to her head when she moved, in how she spoke or chose her words and in the refined manners that could seem haughty on first acquaintance. They knew she had rich connections with whom she had lived for some time in London and it was rumored that her mother, a former Miss Beresford, had some noble ancestry. Unfortunately, the parents of Miss Beresford had lived beyond their means and died leaving their two very young daughters dependent on the kindness and charity of relatives. To his credit, the oldest brother of Miss Beresford's mother, an uncle who had inherited the family land and title, proved to be fair and generous and the two girls grew up as his wards.
Milton's rich manufacturing families had expected Margaret to thumb her nose on the working class but they were appalled when she, instead, demonstrated a vexing independence of mind and did quite the opposite. At the last dinner party given by the older Mrs. Thornton, those who were there heard her unabashedly confess to a friendship with the now-dead daughter of Nicholas Higgins, a committed and outspoken union representative. She admitted just as frankly that she helped workers' families with baskets of food during the strike, as if it was the most natural course of action for anyone to take. John Thornton, in a rebuke that started mildly and ended in subdued anger, asserted that helping workers prolonged the strike and consequently, the suffering of their families.
That was more than three years ago. Much had happened since then, including one that surprised nearly everyone and inevitably caused consternation in many young women. John Thornton married the very woman who had defied what he believed in and openly challenged the reasoning for his beliefs. Even so, this unexpected marriage was merely fodder for malicious gossip among the manufacturers' families and something Mr. Thornton's colleagues could ridicule him about behind his back.
What worried manufacturers the most were changes that had been instituted at Marlborough Mills since its reopening. It proved to many of his business colleagues that John Thornton had been influenced by his wife's revolutionary views. They did not think Margaret had any direct hand in mill operations—nobody needed convincing that Thornton always had full control of his mill and as a Southerner, his wife was ignorant of the processes involved in the manufacture and sale of cotton—but they did believe she was instrumental to the change in John Thornton's attitudes towards his workers. In this belief, they did not differ much from Mrs. Thornton and like her, many criticized Margaret, a foreigner from the south. So, it was on her that they placed much of the blame for the Christmas celebration, a blame they dared not voice to John Thornton.
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The arrival of the Thorntons enlivened a crowd eagerly awaiting the beginning of this first attempt at bringing together, for a holiday celebration, two classes often at odds with each other. Most came for the free dinner and gifts but among these, many were also prepared to enjoy the camaraderie they anticipated from sharing a holiday dinner with people they often met only at work. Festivities began as soon as the Thorntons had settled themselves on chairs by the laden Christmas tree. For about a half hour gifts were distributed to the children first by Margaret with John's help and, later, by young Thomas Boucher who Margaret spotted in the crowd, beckoned over, and asked to read out names while she and John handed out the brightly-wrapped packages. Most of the younger children tore open their gifts without prompting, impatient to see what surprise lay inside the packages.
Before long, the concatenation of children's voices drowned out the hum of adult conversations as the children played or showed off gifts to their parents and friends. Two little girls, however, were more curious about Elise than about their gifts and they approached her shyly, keeping a safe distance. By then, wide-eyed and babbling incessantly, Elise sat on her mother's lap, watching all the activity around her. Margaret smiled at the two girls. That was all one of them needed to induce her to come nearer.
"What are you saying?" She asked Elise whose eyes darted after the children all around the room.
Margaret answered. "She is too young and cannot yet talk like you but she has her own way of saying what she wants to say."
"Will she learn to talk like me?"
"Yes, she will. She is listening to us all the time and soon she will learn to talk like we do."
The child's mother came and tugged at her child's hand, "Susan, do not bother the mistress. I am sorry Mrs. Thornton."
"It is all right. Susan was not bothering us. I like talking to her and Elise seems to enjoy having her around. How old are you Susan?"
Susan raised her five fingers far apart. Then she asked, "Your little girl's name is Elise?"
"Yes." Margaret beamed at her. "You are a smart little girl to pick up on that."
The second little girl, who had stood back, took a few steps towards them, glancing up at Margaret with every step, shy but alert to signs of disapproval. Margaret smiled at her encouragingly and the little girl continued to approach. Before long, a few more curious children joined them, gradually drawn into talking to the lady who brought them gifts and asking questions about her pretty blonde baby. The lively chatter of young children inevitably drew the older children and soon a minor commotion developed around Elise who babbled and squealed in delight at the flurry of activity around her.
The adults, at first concerned about bothering and offending their master's young family, attempted to restrain their children. But, they saw that Margaret not only did not seem to mind, she beckoned the children over with smiles and kind looks. She asked them questions, answered theirs simply and frankly, and encouraged them to talk to one another. So, the parents left their children alone. Later, after handing Elise over to Mary, she read to them from the picture books that some of the children received as gifts. She stopped after one page and, once again, motioned for Thomas to sit next to her and read the rest of the story to the other children.
Nicholas Higgins, who was engaged in lively conversation with John and a few other workers, watched Thomas with pride and said, "It was Mrs. Margaret who taught Thomas and the other children to read but Thomas is a bright one and caught on quickly. Now, he is teaching his brothers and sisters."
The lively informality of the gathering continued until Marian, who supervised the preparation of dinner, announced that it was ready to be served and everyone claimed a place at one of the tables. When all were seated, conversations were momentarily hushed as Marian opened the boxes Margaret had asked Williams to bring in. Propped up on trivets placed on the middle of each table, they served as the centerpiece. Each contained a large Christmas cake—covered with creamy white frosting and adorned with green and red candied cherries—that Dixon had baked for the Christmas dinner. As the cakes were lifted out of the well-secured boxes, they filled the room with the aromas of citrus, cloves, and brandy. Remarks about the beautiful cakes and their aromas restored the vibrant buzz of conversations and dinner proceeded, animated even more by the feast.
The first festive dinner at Marlborough Mills lasted nearly three hours. The Thorntons thought the expense and effort it took had all been worthwhile, judging from the camaraderie evident at every table, the smiles and the mumbled "thank yous" they received from workers who ordinarily shied away from talking to John, the short speeches Nicholas Higgins and the overseers gave when the cake was served, and the continuing conversation among workers who lingered around the Dining Hall long after the celebration was over. It would no
t be realistic to assume that everyone came away from the festivities with goodwill towards the Thorntons. A good number had come for the dinner and the gifts for the children but had remained skeptical of the Thorntons' intent. They feared that the celebration was a clever but underhanded ploy to blunt the motives for, or increase the workers' qualms about, going on strike in the future.
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Later that night, John and Margaret retired into the solace of their sitting room. They had put Elise to bed together, finished a light supper in the dining room and dismissed the household help early to enjoy their own Christmas Eve dinner. Dixon had protested that her master and mistress ate too little of the Christmas repast she had lovingly prepared. Margaret had to convince her that they had sampled a little from every dish and found each one excellent but that they were truly full from the dinner earlier at the mill where they had partaken of the Christmas cake that Dixon had baked for the occasion. Margaret firmly ended any further discussion with an order that the rest of the household should all sit down together and enjoy a Christmas dinner of very special dishes. Then, to assuage Dixon's hurt feelings further, she said more mildly, "This dinner is a wonderful gift you have given the whole household: Not only to us but also to all of you who serve us."
Dixon grumbled but ordered a servant to set the long wooden table in the kitchen, cover it with a fresh white tablecloth, dress it with candle lights and a big crystal bowl of apples and oranges and gather the household staff for a festive meal. If a Christmas dinner was indeed her gift, she was determined to offer it in the most elegant way she could.
John and Margaret ascended their chambers after asking for after-dinner drinks to be served in their sitting room just as the staff was gathering in the kitchen for dinner. Margaret was tired and burdened more than usual by the various layers of street dress that she had worn all day. She headed straight to her dressing room, changed into a nightgown and robe, released her luxuriant hair from restraining clips and pins, draped a shawl over her robe for extra warmth and returned to the sitting room.