Margaret of the North

by EJourney

  While Margaret lavished time on her daughter, she discharged her household duties with dispatch, discussing meals, purchases, and other household matters with Dixon who thrived in her role as trusted head housekeeper to a wealthy family. She also reduced to two or three mornings a week the practice Mrs. Thornton passed on to her of meeting daily with all the servants. Usually, it was her only time with many of them and she spent it listening to individual problems and occasional complaints they had about their work.

  By the time Elise was at her early afternoon nap, Margaret was eager for solitude in her studio, painting or sketching or, every once in a while, just thumbing through some books she brought back from Paris. She continued to work on the portrait of John and Elise, still unfinished since Christmas, when the frenzied pace leading to it claimed her attention for many weeks. The portrait was her first work on a relatively large mounted canvas. Although she had made countless sketches, including some in oils, it was taking her longer than she had thought. She had erased sections of it and corrected others a few times.

  One day, in frustration, she decided to put the unfinished picture aside and start all over again. With a fresh canvas on her easel, she laid a wash of pthalo blue but she could not begin to make any mark on it. She regarded the canvas a long time, her arms leaden, unable to make the first stroke with the charcoal in her hand. In exasperation at herself, she put the charcoal back in its box, wiped her hands of stains, and walked out of her studio.

  Momentarily aimless from frustration, she went into the drawing room. She walked around the room, opened a couple of books that had been left on a table, and closed them without reading either. She walked around again, occasionally glancing at the gleaming mahogany expanse of the piano. Although pushed to a relatively dark corner of the room, it could not escape her attention and after passing near it a few times, she stopped and stared at it for some minutes. She had neither touched it nor even come close to it since Christmas day and she approached it slowly, hesitantly. She sat down on the bench, lifted the cover carefully, ran her fingers slowly over all the keys twice and hit a few at random.

  Margaret started playing the rondo she had performed with Edith the night before her wedding. Her fingers felt stiff and she made many mistakes so she repeated the first bars several times until, frustrated again, she stopped—this time because she could not remember the rest of the piece. But she was surprised to discover that, alone, with no one around to judge her, she found pleasure playing. The silky smoothness of the keys appealed to her and she derived some gratification from the sounds they produced despite her certainty that, because she was playing from memory, her notes were frequently off. So, she blundered through a few more pieces she could recollect. By the time she exhausted her very limited repertoire, she resolved to devote at least an hour practicing at around the same time on days when John was at work. That evening, she wrote to Edith to select and send her some music sheets. Perhaps, she might surprise John one leisurely afternoon with an air or two.

  **************

  In February, the incessant snow that came with January began to ease up but still occasionally descended upon the city. It did so, one day, in the middle of the month—agitated into renewed fury by bitterly cold wind—forcing the closing of the doors to the conservatory and the shuttering of windows all over the house. The storm also forced the mill to close. In the afternoon, John and Margaret retired to read by gas lamps in their sitting room where the fire crackled—radiating heat, casting a golden glow, and suffusing the whole room in comforting warmth. It might have been a cozy calm evening but for the wind that howled, the snow that pounded on the roof, and the dense grayness of the light that peeked through gaps in the curtains.

  It was that part of the day—when the bustle of the house was at its ebb and she was alone—that Margaret regarded as her quiet hours, to spend on herself and as she pleased. Often, she painted in her studio after practicing on the piano. Sometimes, she read or even did some needlework. Since the end of the holidays, she had not devoted much time to those pursuits. Instead, she had been preoccupied with ideas that brewed in her head, some of which she had already begun to work on. But she was at an impasse and, on this stormy afternoon, she paced the room restlessly, unread book in hand, keeping company with her thoughts. John sat nearby, pleasantly absorbed in his journal.

  At the Christmas festivities at the mill, Margaret realized, as she talked and read to the children, that if she were to do something for mill workers, she could start with the children. At home, while watching her daughter play, she thought about how differently her child would be brought up. Elise would have all the privileges that came with money and informed solicitous parents, particularly a mother determined to give her daughter the best education available to girls. She knew of at least one new school for women that had been recently established to give them an education nearly comparable to that of men. She knew as well that, while still rare, a few women had become doctors, scientists, painters, and writers. If her daughter desired a profession, Margaret would make sure that Elise got the education she needed.

  Opportunities Elise would have were sadly unimaginable to the children at the mill. While Margaret knew she could not offer these children the same, she could find some means of helping improve their chances at a better life. But she was unsure of how much she was capable of committing herself to, with responsibilities to her husband and her daughter. She thought of young Thomas. Perhaps, she could start there. The expense of sending Thomas to a boarding school for boys would hardly put a dent on their investment earnings but would be one of its most worthwhile uses. Nicholas could be convinced to spare Thomas from having to work at the mill if a much brighter future awaited him. It was a small step and would not require much to do.

  Margaret was not satisfied; what she could do for little Thomas was still not enough. She had to do more for the children who worked at the mill. In the jumble of ideas in her mind, she remembered Bessy Higgins who had suffered from a malady she had contracted as a child while working at a mill. She died from it probably from want of care. In lamenting Bessy's plight, Margaret began to believe it to be the master's moral obligation to make care available for free to workers ill with maladies stemming from mill work. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that the greatest need children at the mill had was for some type of medical care.

  She asked Dr. Donaldson to tea one afternoon to consult with him. The doctor, who was always happy to fit the young Mrs. Thornton's invitations into his busy schedule, freely shared his opinions and endorsed her enthusiasm. He gave her useful information about doctor's fees, medicines, equipment and other supplies that she needed to calculate the costs of holding a clinic within mill premises.

  Margaret had what she needed to lay some plans on paper. She wanted them ready before she talked to John about a clinic and other tasks that remained to be done—where and how to set up a clinic, what hours it should open, and how to find a doctor willing to provide care at the mill. Considering the scarcity of doctors, Margaret thought the last task the most daunting.

  The medical clinic became Margaret's priority but she could not give up her earlier ideas that children should be taught to read and write. Teaching was more along the lines of what she knew she could directly provide but she suspected that, if she offered free lessons to younger children forbidden by law to work, very few parents would bother to take their children to those. Free medical care, she knew, was going to be welcomed by workers. But illiterate parents, confronted with more immediate needs that compelled children to work, would be hard to convince that reading and writing were essential. After all, work in mills or other factories did not require such skills.

  That stormy afternoon, Margaret decided to talk to John only about her plans for the medical clinic. Before she could say anything, John looked up from his journal and asked, "Is this dreary day making you restless?"

  He had never seen her this way and it distracted him
from his reading. When he was home, she was often content to read, write letters, or plan and review household expenses while he read his journals or did some mill-related work.

  "Yes, this weather is getting to me I have been unable to go beyond the walls of this house for more than a month now."

  "We are having a spell of bad weather and if this keeps up, I may have to close the mill again tomorrow."

  "Are you behind in completing orders?" She asked as she walked by him.

  "A little but we can handle it. I am probably now seeing some results from all the changes we have made. More and more workers have been willing to stay and catch up."

  She stopped pacing and sat down on the sofa. "Wonderful!" Her tone was lively but distracted.

  "Yes. I told the workers that we might need to open on two or three Sundays to fully catch up and Higgins canvassed how many would come, with pay, of course. Practically everyone said they would. That says a lot because Sundays are sacred, the one day they have for rest and recreation. Most would not give those up, even with pay." His voice was animated, his eyes glowed from within.

  Margaret caught her breath, swept into the wave of pride and gratification that seized him as he talked. He paused and she waited but he merely stared thoughtfully at her for a few minutes.

  He still appeared deep in thought when he spoke again. "I realized when Higgins told me the results of his canvassing that the mill is not just a factory that produces cotton. The mill is really more the people who work there and that without them, we could not make cotton. The mill would just be a lot of machines sitting idle."

  "That was what I saw on the day I came back to Milton, a sad, desolate place with big silent machines." She smiled, pleased at his insight.

  "That desolate atmosphere was already there right after the workers left on the day we closed." He said sadly and was thoughtful again for a minute or two.

  "I told you early in our acquaintance that my responsibility was the efficient running of the mill and anything outside of that was not my concern. That is still true when it comes to the way workers spend their money or what they do outside the mill. But I am now persuaded that I must take some interest in their general well-being because it affects how well they work. You showed me that."

  She exclaimed, "Me? But how?"

  "Williams told me that since Christmas, more work is getting done. That has helped keep us from being too far behind on our schedule even with mill closings caused by severe weather. It must be what you did for the mill on Christmas."

  "Well, I would like to think that it helped but I believe the decision you made in their favor was not lost on them. They appreciate how you agonized about asking your mother to stop coming to the mill. I am sure Nicholas made them fully aware of that."

  He nodded with a satisfied smile. "Yes, he has been an ally. The terrific firebrand all the other masters are leery of has been a helpful bridge between me and the other workers."

  He put his journal on the side table, got up, and sat next to her on the sofa. "Listen and do not distract me from what I wanted to do—tell you how grateful I am for the many different ways you have helped." He took the book she was still holding on her lap, and placed it on the tea table. He clasped her hands and pressed each one to his lips.

  "Thank you," he murmured simply, gazing at her with soft smiling eyes.

  Calmer now, she leaned against him and laid her head on his shoulder. He held her close and they were both silent for a long moment.

  She looked up at him. "I must take advantage of your good mood and ask you something I have been mulling over for weeks now."

  "Go on." Then, teasing her a little, he added, "I am ready to acquiesce to anything you ask."

  She straightened and said, "I want to start a medical clinic, mainly for the sake of mill children but it will serve every worker who comes to it."

  He smiled broadly. "You have been mulling! That would be a big step, a very big one, in fact. But I think it the best possible way to help workers. Even Mr. Bell might agree it is a worthwhile use of profits from his investments."

  She smiled, pleased that he approved. "Well, you knew Dr. Donaldson was here twice for tea about a week ago. We talked about my plans. Dr. Hartley came, too, the second time."

  A scowl flitted across John's forehead and he listened, warily. Margaret continued, choosing her words carefully. "Dr. Donaldson thought I had a good idea and knew, from our first meeting, that I was worried about finding a doctor for the clinic. Dr. Hartley came to offer his services for half his usual fees two afternoons a week. That may not be enough but it is a start. Now, I have to talk to you about where we can hold the clinic and finding someone who could assist him and, perhaps, provide nursing care even on days the doctor is not around."

  "The smitten Dr. Hartley could not say no to you. I heard that he is rather busy, much sought after and not only for his medical skills. Yet, he finds the time to help here." John sounded irritated.

  "You are not going to be jealous, are you? You know I would never do anything to encourage him."

  "No, you would not." He scowled again. "The problem is the good doctor does not need your encouragement. Your idea about the clinic was probably all he needed to cement his ardor. Blast these Americans with their pioneering spirit and enthusiasm for equal treatment for all."

  "John, you do not mean that."

  "No. In fact, I admire them; they embrace modernity more than many of our noble parliamentarians." He paused, then grinned mischievously. "You gave me just the right incentive to help you. I suspect the doctor hopes you would volunteer to assist him, if only temporarily. I will help you find him an assistant. As for space, what about my old office or the dining hall? They are usually free most afternoons."

  He paused again, then smiled wickedly, another idea hatching in his mind. "I have a better idea. We will clear and close off an area for him next to my new office. We have a large space there. That way, he does not have to worry about his instruments and medicines and he can choose any time and any day to work."

  "That is a better choice, I think. We can open all day with a doctor's assistant and we can even expand services later." She reached over and, pulling his face next to hers with both her hands, she kissed him. "Now it is my turn. Thank you, my love," she whispered, grateful for his open-mindedness and his good humor, flattered by his jealousy, and wonderfully surprised by the influence she had over him.

  **************

  Mrs. Thornton returned in the spring, accompanied by Watson who took her and Jane directly from the train station to a flat renovated out of several bedrooms on the top floor of the old mill house. The large bedroom that had been occupied by John and Margaret was divided into a bedroom and sitting room for Mrs. Thornton. Other bedrooms were turned into a drawing room, an extra bedroom, kitchen, dining room and a bedroom for Jane. The flat was repainted or re-papered and new curtains were hung in the same colors as before. All her furniture and decorations from the new house had been brought back and arranged in much the same way as she had them before.

  When they arrived at the flat, Margaret and John, Elise in his arms, were in the drawing room, waiting with tea and tiny cakes and sandwiches that Dixon had especially prepared. Margaret was the first to approach, giving her mother-in-law a brief hug as she welcomed her back. To Margaret's surprise, Mrs. Thornton hugged her back and whispered a sincere "Thank you."

  John and Elise followed right behind Margaret. He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek and said to his daughter, "Give grandmama a kiss, Elise." The child looked at her grandmother and turned away, hiding her face on her father's shoulder.

  Mrs. Thornton, surprised at being addressed "grandmama," remarked wryly, "She has probably forgotten me. I have been away six months, about half her life." Elise raised her head, looked towards her mother and reached out, saying "Mama."

  Mrs. Thornton said, "Oh, she is talking already, is she? But she cannot be one year old yet!"

  "Just a few words,
" John replied as he handed his daughter back to his wife. "The usual. Mama and Papa, of course. No, yes. Clap. She learned that because she likes to clap. Her first birthday is early next week so you're home in time for it."

  In her mother's arms, the child grew bolder, looked at her grandmother again, smiled and putting her hands together, said, "Clap!"

  Mrs. Thornton returned the smile and clapped. Margaret, pleasantly astonished once again, smiled warmly at her mother-in-law and then at her husband.

  Mrs. Thornton was, in fact, glad to be back to the familiar smells, sounds, and places in Milton. In London, she hardly ever went out. Fanny required her attention constantly and during much of winter, the weather kept everyone within. Mrs. Thornton devoted her effort to pampering her daughter but she did make time to reflect on the talk she last had with her son. She had to, after John impressed upon her how much Margaret meant to him. She knew then that if John had to make a choice, he would choose his wife over his mother. It was a crushing realization that she struggled to accept.

  Inevitably, she was influenced by seeing how different the Watson household was from the one she left behind. It ran fairly smoothly despite Fanny being a nervous mistress who fell apart at the smallest problems. She had learned enough from her mother's coaching; the servants were properly trained; and Watson, who indulged her and even seemed to encourage her feminine frailties, employed a middle-aged, competent personal maid. This maid was at Fanny's disposal all day, advising her on what to do when problems arose in the household.

  Mrs. Thornton thought Watson a good match for her daughter. He had been proud of snatching what he considered a price in the young, pretty, and vivacious Miss Thornton who was nearly half his age. She did not have as much settled on her as other women he might have chosen but that did not matter. He was himself very rich, a fact that he knew greatly favored his acceptance. Once married, he was good-humored and gentle with Fanny, beguiled by her feminine if sometimes infantile—Mrs. Thornton admitted this sadly—whims and attitude. He catered to all her expressed desires and was patient with her inept and clumsy way of running the house.