by EJourney
Still, Mrs. Thornton could not help wondering if, underneath Watson's affection for his wife, lay some underlying contempt that even he might not admit to himself. She had, on occasion, seen an expression in his eyes very near that sentiment, often accompanied by a fleeting scowl and a clenching of his jaw when Fanny could not grasp what he was saying or asking her to do.
By contrast, Mrs. Thornton remembered the great mutual attachment evident between Margaret and John, the sort one had for someone outside of oneself and which she doubted her daughter was capable of. Mrs. Thornton also saw an ease and openness in Margaret's manner which told her that Margaret would rarely hesitate—any more than John would with his wife—to let him know what she felt and thought. Above all, however, what her son and his wife uniquely had was passion. She could see it in how they looked at each other, how they touched, how they talked, and she was certain, how they quarreled and made love. She never saw anything akin to it between Watson and Fanny and, in fact, she very seldom saw it among the couples, young and old, she was acquainted with. She herself had it for the first few months of her marriage but it quickly wore out. Why, she could no longer recall but she did have memories—vague now—of those months being the closest to heaven she had been on earth.
Mrs. Thornton knew that, for John, going through life with anything less than passion in everything that mattered to him, meant not living to the fullest. Eventually, she understood that marriage did not interest him before Margaret because he had not met anyone who saw and responded to that passion. In admitting that no one but Margaret, among those young women she knew in Milton, could match her son's capacity for loving and living, Mrs. Thornton thought that she finally saw in Margaret what John had seen in her. She was now more determined to try to like Margaret, however uncertain she was that she would ever understand how this young woman's mind worked. The new living arrangements should ease the day-to-day tensions of living in the same house and strengthen her will to keep her resolve. Such was Mrs. Thornton's frame of mind on the day Margaret welcomed her back.
**************
April started with a happy celebration of Elise's first birthday to which the Thorntons had invited a few children from the neighborhood and from among the families of John's colleagues. The large conservatory was decorated for a tea party and a table prominently graced with a birthday cake was set in one corner. In the adjacent dining room, refreshments for adults were laid out.
Mrs. Thornton who had come in the morning, borne by a cab John had sent to her apartment, sat in one corner of the room watching the celebration. She had luncheon with John and Margaret as well as Edith and Captain Lennox who arrived by train a few days earlier with their four-year old son Sholto, and his nanny. Edith, Elise's godmother, came to help Margaret prepare and celebrate. Fanny's husband, Watson, felt that as godfather, he had to be at Elise's first birthday, so he scheduled a meeting in Milton around the day of the party. Fanny, wary of traveling a couple of months after delivery and anxious to make the most of her residence in London, sent her excuses, adding that they were soon to return to Milton, in any case. John had also expressly asked Nicholas Higgins to bring the Boucher children to the party but Higgins very gratefully, yet firmly and politely, declined the invitation.
Dr. Hartley came when the party was nearly over. After greeting his young patient and handing her a gift, he was whisked by his host to the dining room to partake of the spread there. After coaxing the doctor to try some hors d'ouevres especially prepared by Dixon, John started some small talk that lasted while the doctor ate. When Dr. Hartley finished, John poured more drinks for the two of them and led Dr. Hartley to the relative quiet of the drawing room.
"I wanted to talk to you about the medical clinic. I think it is wonderful and noble of you to agree to serve in this clinic at half your usual fee. I hear from everyone that you are quite busy, much sought after."
Dr. Hartley replied with a slight frown at the meaning implied in John's remark. "Not that busy. I do have the time and it is the right thing to do to offer medical care where work poses health hazards."
A fleeting scowl now crossed John's brow at the doctor's riposte but he ignored it. "My wife, as you know, is extremely grateful to you and, on her request, I have put some men to work on preparing clinic space for you next to my office. It will be used for nothing else."
"That is very generous considering that I will only be opening the clinic twice a week."
"Margaret—my wife, that is—hopes to be able to find more people to help. I believe she is thinking you could train someone to provide other services that would not absolutely nor immediately require a doctor."
"Mrs. Thornton is a rather remarkable woman, Mr. Thornton."
"My mother? Do you think so? In what way?"
Dr. Hartley stared at John, surprised and unable to respond right away. He suspected that his host knew exactly who he was referring to but had chosen to appear to misunderstand his meaning. He answered self-consciously and with a blush, "I meant Margaret, your wife."
"Oh, Mrs. Margaret Thornton! Yes, I have been uncommonly fortunate." John smiled broadly and looked at the doctor for a long moment, his eyes steady, inscrutable. Then, he continued, "Still, there is a thing or two my remarkable wife can learn about Milton folk."
Dr. Hartley, somewhat disconcerted by John's response to his comment about Margaret, regarded him earnestly. John smiled, his eyes now twinkling with mirth. "Oh, nothing too serious. In fact, anyone not from around here, could learn from what I am about to suggest that you do."
"Should we not ask Mrs. Thornton, your wife, that is, to be here to hear this?"
"We should," John said as he turned in the direction of the conservatory where the chatter of children was drowning out the voices of Margaret and Edith. "But she is quite busy at the moment, I'm afraid. I can talk to her later. I see her all the time but I may not have another chance to talk to you again for a while."
Dr. Hartley could only nod and acquiesce. John explained that it was necessary to charge a fee, even a very nominal one, for the medical services the doctor would provide. Milton citizens would expect to do so. Otherwise, they would question and would neither appreciate nor even respect the doctor's skills and knowledge. It was a peculiarity of the local character that needed to be observed. The assistant he would train did not need to charge and those services would be paid for completely through mill profits. Dr. Hartley did not question John's suggestion—in any case, it sounded more like a command—and the two of them proceeded to discuss what constituted a nominal fee and when the clinic should start.
John ended their discussion with a parting comment. "Of course, all that we've talked about is tentative. The final decisions on this rest with my wife. After all, this is her project although it is essentially a service to Marlborough Mills. I expect she will talk to you about final plans."
Dr. Hartley left the party feeling discontented. He had expected the pleasure of talking to Margaret again. But he had neither been able to do so nor even to see much of Margaret after her initial welcome and expression of thanks for coming and bringing a gift. It was clear to him what John Thornton had communicated without actually saying a word about it. If he had any hope at all that Margaret might cast an interested eye at him, he knew Mr. Thornton would be there, vigilant, dashing any hopes he might have had. He could not help wondering if she had some inkling of how he felt about her. If John Thornton could see it, she probably could, too. More than anything, it was this thought that depressed him. Margaret, though gracious, had always been decorous and even formal in her manner with him and she clearly adored her husband and child. With a sigh, Dr. Hartley told himself to be resigned to admiring the young Mrs. Thornton only in silence.
That night, Margaret remarked as she and John were getting into bed. "I am exhausted from attending to all those children. Two or three I can manage but more than a dozen with half of them below five years old is quite a lot of work."
"Would you do
it again?"
She laughed, "Why, of course. It does not follow that if it is exhausting, it is not enjoyable. I cannot do what teachers do daily with a roomful of them but an occasional party for children has its rewards."
"My remarkable wife!" He chuckled, kissing her forehead, drawing her close as she snuggled in his arms.
"What is so remarkable about exhausting myself, trying to make 20 children happy?"
"Dr. Hartley thinks so although he did say it on account of the medical clinic."
"You took up all of the good doctor's time when he was here. I looked in on you briefly in the drawing room and you two looked quite absorbed in serious conversation."
"Why did you not come in and join us?"
"I could not leave Edith alone with so many children and, anyway I only had a moment to spare. Actually, a few of the young mothers complained to me that you had taken him away and you made a few of them unhappy. They wanted to talk with him as well. It seems Dr. Hartley is quite the ladies' man. What could you two have been talking about?"
"The medical clinic, of course. I told him about the rooms we were preparing for the clinic." John went on to recount nearly all that he and Dr. Hartley talked about except for their brief repartée about her.
"I think a nominal fee is a good idea. It shows responsibility over the care of their health." Margaret agreed when he finished. "But what if someone who needs a doctor's care cannot pay?"
"I thought about that." John answered thoughtfully. "Perhaps, we can set up a way for that person to pay gradually. I imagine we will pay the doctor's fees no matter what. The nominal fees can go into a reserve fund from which they can borrow. I should talk to Henry Lennox. He is getting quite a reputation in financial circles and now spends half his time here since his marriage. We could have him look through your plans for the medical clinic."
"A reserve fund seems a good idea and talking to Henry would probably help. When do you suppose we can start the clinic?"
"I imagine in about a couple of months. The workers are putting up a wall for the doctor's examining room. Then, there is clean-up and after that medical equipment can be brought in."
"I have a list of medical furniture and supplies but I have to ask Dr. Donaldson where to order them."
"Well, then, it seems you are about to have your medical clinic."
Margaret wound her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder, "You are a treasure and I should thank Hannah for raising you the way she did."
**************
Not too long after, Margaret found someone eager to train as a nurse under Dr. Hartley. Catherine, younger sister of the governess of a neighbor's children, was seeking employment. She had initially sought work as a governess like her sister but jumped at the opportunity of learning some new skills and helping the handsome young American doctor. In fact, Margaret discovered that many a young daughter of John's colleagues would have seized an opportunity to work side by side with the universally admired doctor if they did not think it beyond their dignity to work.
Catherine was sturdily built and plainly dressed but quite lady-like in bearing and manner, her pretty features not easily evident, masked by freckles on an otherwise clear skin and by the way she pulled her straight reddish hair back in a tight bun. It did not help her looks that her intelligent eyes focused, hawk-like, on the person she was talking to but Margaret thought it gave her an air of being purposeful and efficient. Margaret interviewed her one afternoon in John's office, liked her immediately, and, after a half-hour, knew she was right for the job. Although the final decision rested on Dr. Hartley, Margaret, by now acknowledging her influence on the doctor, did not doubt that Catherine was as good as hired.
Curious about Catherine's origins, Margaret engaged her in casual conversation when she finished with questions pertaining to the job. She learned that Catherine was Irish and her father, finding a better-paying job, moved his family to England when she was a child. Her father had an older brother who inherited the family farm that he tended with his own family and two energetic spinster sisters who Catherine talked about with both pride and indulgence. Catherine liked talking to Mr. Thornton's wife, barely two years older than she. She knew that Margaret Thornton had already gained some notoriety within the gossiping families of manufacturers for her southern ways and origins and her exertions on behalf of workers. The young Mrs. Thornton, she also knew, received the greater part of the blame for what they saw as the change in Mr. Thornton. The two women both parted from their meeting with a desire to further their acquaintance.
XXV. Comfort
Something quite significant happened in the third year of John and Margaret's married life, at least in Margaret's reckoning. It started out full of pleasant little surprises when they decided to celebrate the end of their two years together with a short trip to Helstone and the Southampton coast as spring was giving way to summer. They could not agree, at first, about whether to leave Elise at home in the care of Mary and Dixon or take Elise and Dixon with them.
"It will be all right to leave her here. It is only a week, after all. What harm could happen?" John asserted.
"I don't know but I cannot help feeling uneasy about it." Margaret looked hesitant.
"Did you not tell me that you rely on Dixon's general good judgment and that she helped your mother care for you and Frederick?"
"I have no doubt Dixon will be solicitous, as will Mary so I am not certain exactly why I am apprehensive. I just am." Margaret lapsed into thoughtful silence, recalling the misery of being taken away from everything she was attached to and was familiar with when, at age nine, she first went to London to live with Edith and Aunt Shaw. She was arguably older then and understood the reasons she was sent away. Still, those reasons were never enough to console her those first few weeks of crying herself to sleep. More upsetting in her experience, however, was watching the Boucher children, at least three of whom were below five years of age, after their mother just died.
She resumed, "Perhaps, I am still haunted by the Boucher children. They cried for days when their mother died. They were too young to know what death was, but seemed to realize that she was not coming back. But they asked for her, anyway. Nothing I could do, that anyone tried to do, could console them. It was heartrending."
"But, my love, those were different circumstances. One week will go by so fast that neither you nor Elise would even notice."
"Elise will know I am not there. She is too young yet, too dependent on me. We have never been separated and I can easily imagine her crying or fretting the whole time we are away."
John was growing exasperated and decided to say no more. Margaret sensed his irritation. She conceded, in her mind, that he was probably right and that, perhaps, she just did not trust the care of her infant daughter to servants. Dixon was solicitous enough and did help her mother considerably in caring for her and Frederick but she had an impatient streak not entirely suited to the continuous care of a helpless infant. Mary was conscientious but inexperienced and needed much direction.
Margaret ended their argument with a shrug of the shoulders, "Perhaps, Dixon might like returning to Helstone for a visit." Then, she got up and said, "I am going to my studio to paint."
Mrs. Thornton resolved their disagreement in a manner neither John nor Margaret ever anticipated. Shortly after Mrs. Thornton moved to the old mill house, John insisted on her having dinner at their house on Friday evenings. On the first such Friday, he and Margaret asked her to stay the night and through Saturday. Mrs. Thornton, making good on her resolve to be nicer to Margaret, allowed herself to be persuaded.
The suite of rooms that had been hers when she lived in the house had not been converted for any other use. The drapery and wall coverings had been left as they were and the bedroom and sitting room furniture had been replaced only with the barest minimum. The bedroom had a bed, a night table, a dressing table and its matching chair while the sitting room was furnished with only a divan, a coffee table and a
writing table and chair placed perpendicular to a window looking out onto the garden. The spare furnishings would appear to have mitigated against comfort. But the bed had been covered in rose-colored, sumptuous linens of silk and down that belonged to Mrs. Hale and when Mrs. Thornton lay down on them, they felt like a warm caress on her skin. When she awoke the following morning, she realized she slept more soundly than she had ever done while living in the house.
After breakfast, instead of ascending straight to her sitting room as she used to do, she joined the young family in the conservatory. She sat on a wicker chair by one of the tables, watching Margaret and John play with Elise. Not too long after, Mary took over the care of Elise and her parents proceeded to work on individual tasks at separate tables. John joined his mother at her table. Not inclined to read and devoid of her needlework, Mrs. Thornton continued to watch Elise at play. Elise soon tired of the toys that she had been offered and, curious about a relatively unfamiliar person in the room, she approached Mrs. Thornton in her slow childish waddle, stood next to her, and raised her arms to be picked up. Mary, just behind a few steps, was about to take Elise away but Mrs. Thornton raised her hand to stop Mary and told her to lift Elise up to her lap. Uncertain what to do next, Mrs. Thornton asked Mary for a book to read to the child. Later, all three of them went for a walk in the garden, leaving John and Margaret working in the conservatory.
By the third week, everyone assumed, that Mrs. Thornton was going to stay the weekend. From then on, spending such Saturdays with her son's family became a habit for Mrs. Thornton. She began to nurture a real affection for the child who was bright and alert and whose round blue eyes, very much like her mother's, were expressive and curious. They were beautiful eyes, Mrs. Thornton thought one day, this child's and Margaret's. The thought startled her and made her look in the direction of her daughter-in-law who was then reading a book aloud to John while he was going through some mill accounts. Once again, she saw the two wrapped up in each other, seemingly oblivious of their surroundings. Margaret had just read an apparently humorous book and they laughed and talked about passages in it.