Northern Rain

by Nicole Clarkston

  As his feelings battled for supremacy, his steps took him unerringly back to the mill. There, at least, he would be assured of doing some good while his thoughts churned within him. It would avail him nothing to pummel Hamper or Slickson- they would only laugh all the more loudly behind his back. There was little good he could do at the bank. He was certain that he had left no stone unturned there, and good Mr Smith would have done all he could.

  He absolutely must call upon Margaret! All of his delay, allowing her the time and space he felt she needed, had to come to an end now. There was no other choice but to present himself to her and to beg for her hand once more. She and her father wholeheartedly deserved his assurances, his honour, and he was no less eager to give them.

  He strode into the yard, his eyes on the ground as he walked. The blessed moment had come to obtain from his mother the betrothal ring that he had destined for the one who held his heart. An hour’s time would see him at her door- and breathless and flustered would he be. His brow furrowed in thought.

  Everything depended on this encounter. His entire future, the whole of his happiness- all hung precariously on her lovely lips as she uttered the words which would seal his fate. How often did a man twice dare to propose to the same woman? This time, it must be different. He must be different!

  He glanced up at his surroundings at last. Here, amid the flurry and bustle of the shipping yard, his nerves calmed. He was always at his best when he was being useful and productive, and there was much to be done here. Perhaps, if he spent the last couple of hours of his work day in some worthy pursuit, he might feel justified in presenting himself at her door in the evening as a man who had not yet given up on his future.

  With that resolve, he flung himself into his work. He first found Williams to apprise himself on all of the day’s events, then ventured forth on his own. No detail of the factory escaped his sharp eyes that afternoon, and many a wary worker carefully dodged from the master’s path. In spite of all of the superficial decisions and ideas which passed through his mind as he worked, there was only one matter weighing upon his heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I

  t was no great surprise to Margaret that evening to discover that Mr Thornton had at last come to look for her. She had meant to avoid him this one final evening, hoping perhaps that Mrs Thornton had kept her word, and not revealed the things of which they had spoken. One day longer to collect her thoughts and put her feelings under regulation, that was all she had desired!

  It was not to be. Though she had purposely been away from her own house the greater part of the day, there were few enough places for her to seek refuge. This evening as she sat in the Higgins’ home with little Jenny upon her lap, her heart seized at the sound of his well-known tread outside as he knocked upon the door.

  Higgins, too, appeared to know whom to expect. He rose to answer the door, glancing slyly toward Margaret as he went. “Master!” he cried cheerfully.

  Thornton’s eyes were only for her as he stepped into the little house. Higgins, fortunately, was of a quirky and humorous nature, and chose to find amusement rather than offense at either his besotted guest’s unannounced arrival or his brusque greeting.

  Margaret could not help the sheer happiness she found in his smile, nor the answering light in her eyes when she met his gaze. It was now her joy to be near him, as one finds delight in the company of one’s very dearest and truest companion. Time spent apart, for those so blessed, only serves to sweeten the reunion. Such were Margaret’s feelings as he reverently murmured her name in greeting.

  She answered him warmly, but quickly chastened herself. Was she not trying to teach herself to live without this pleasure- at least for the present? She closed her eyes, firming her resolve. She must not give him any hope which she could not yet satisfy!

  “I am sent by your father, Miss Hale,” he was teasing lightly. “He feared you might have been carried off by vagabonds, or some other such calamity.”

  In spite of herself, she chuckled. Where was the grave, severe Master she had first known? Gone, he was, and with him the haughty, prideful Southern girl she had once been.

  She wished to banter playfully, as he seemed to invite her to do, but she dared not. She merely smiled demurely and reclaimed her seat with Jenny. Disappointed, he gazed at her for a moment, as if unsure what to say next. Margaret stole a glance at his perplexed face as Jenny stumbled over the last page of their appointed reading for the evening.

  “Master,” clever Mr Higgins interjected, “ha’ yo’ heered aught o’ Sacks?”

  Thornton bit back a reluctant sigh and joined his employee in the opposite corner of the room. “Nothing since last week. Is there more?”

  “Oh, aye,” Higgins scraped his weathered chin in his hands, warming to his speech. Truly, it was a domestic matter, and not of the master’s concern, but the wily old weaver sensed some tension between his two favourite guests and wished to divert them.

  “Th’ Union,” Higgins went on, “they’ve shunned ‘im.”

  “What, completely?” Thornton was surprised. The Union wielded considerable influence in Milton- not only in negotiating terms with the masters, but also over their own members. It was rare, however, that such harsh actions were invoked. “I was not aware that he had become so unpopular as all of that.”

  Higgins shrugged. “Folks’ weary o’ ‘is frettin’,” he postulated. “Tha’s a’. No one wan’s ‘im makin’ trouble jus’ now, wi’ winner an’ a’.”

  Thornton grunted softly. Such logic he understood. In all of his years as master, never had the Union dared rouse trouble in the colder months, when men cared most about earning a meagre wage to feed their children. None wished to jeopardize their livings at such a time, no matter how greatly they desired a better wage or gentler conditions.

  “Well,” he sighed, “I suppose I must pity the poor fool, though I am not quite certain why. I certainly cannot help it if the man’s habit of drink has cost him his place. I am sorry that he is such a burden to his family, though.”

  “Aye,” Higgins agreed. “Tho’, young Willy by ‘imself’s been bringin’ ‘ome ‘most ‘nough to keep them a’ fed. ‘E’s a good lad, Master.”

  “I am glad to hear it. You have done well with him, Higgins. Williams has been observing you rather closely, as I expect you know, and even he is pleased.”

  Higgins winked and chortled happily. “Thank yo’, Master.” He cast his eyes to the other corner, where Jenny’s laboured efforts had at last drawn to a close and she was sliding down from Margaret’s lap. By mutual accord, both men moved in her direction.

  Thornton offered his hand to help Margaret rise. She glanced up to him in surprise. Her better sense urged her to refuse his hand, for she feared that at his familiar touch, her resolve would crumble.

  She lowered her eyes for half a second, deliberating, then with a deep breath she accepted his hand. It was clear that he intended once more to walk her home, and rudeness would avail her nothing. She would simply have to appeal to his reason.

  Together they bade Higgins and his household a good evening and started for Margaret’s home. As they walked side by side in the growing dusk, he glanced hesitantly at her downturned face. “Miss Hale- Margaret,” he began uncertainly, “may I ask if something is troubling you?”

  Those grey-green eyes, silvery now in the low light, flashed up to him briefly. She looked away again, biting her lip in agonizing silence. Her gaze found the ground once more as she blinked the hazy frustration from her vision.

  He sighed and drew her to a halt, in the middle of the street though they were. “Margaret,” he pleaded softly, “I had hoped that by now you would trust me enough to speak your mind. I believe, however, that I might already know the cause of your distress. It is I myself, is it not?”

  She drew a shuddering breath before forcing herself to meet his eyes. Her reluctance shot a stab of fear and pain through his heart. “Marga
ret, I beg you,” he slipped his free hand over the small one in the crook of his arm. “Please forgive my presumption! I had no notion to cause you such discomfort when I sent the china. I ought never to have done so! I was selfish, I-”

  “John,” her soft tones halted him. “It is not that.”

  His protests died in his throat. He simply gazed down, tenderly and fearfully. He silently wondered what he had done to cause her to withdraw once more, and was too terrified to truly wish to know the answer.

  She set her mouth and turned back toward their path. He followed unhappily. “Margaret,” he whispered, just loudly enough for her ears, “Perhaps you have heard the same rumours as I. I accept full responsibility. Please know that I will never forsake you. Surely, you must at least know that!”

  She blinked, keeping her eyes forward. “I know, John. Oh, please,” she glanced up at last, “let us not speak of this here!”

  His jaw shifted in displeasure as he submitted to her wishes. Naturally, her suggestion was sound. There was nothing to be gained by further compromising her along their dusky way. What troubled his heart, what made his pulse drum uncertainly, was the way she seemed to close him off tonight. Had she grown ashamed of her feelings for him? It seemed the only plausible explanation!

  It was with a tortured spirit that he held the door for her to her residence. He glanced about for Mr Hale- for he had, indeed, been sent to look for Margaret by her father after not finding her at her home.

  Never would he learn precisely why Mr Hale did not come to greet him at his return that evening, as he had expected. Nor was there any excuse offered for Dixon or Martha, who were both certainly only awaiting Margaret’s homecoming to serve the evening tea. Instead, the normally quiet house was shrouded in an unnatural stillness. His pulse quickened once more, his stomach balling nervously.

  He helped her out of her walking cloak and followed her eloquent eyes as they flicked in the direction of the drawing room. His mind now singly focused on his purpose, he led her firmly in that direction. Pausing for only the barest of seconds to close the door behind her, he drew her to the centre of the room and breathlessly fell to his knees before her.

  “John,” she protested sorrowfully, “please don’t!”

  Hungrily he pressed the back of her hand to his mouth. “Margaret, my Margaret, I beg you, do not refuse me. Not again!”

  “John,” she sobbed, “I do not wish to hurt you!”

  He fairly leapt to his feet, capturing her other hand. Tugging her willing form close- so deliciously close- he peered anxiously, longingly, into her beloved face. “Tell me, Margaret,” he begged softly. “Tell me that you care, that I have not deceived myself!”

  “I…” she gazed up at him, wishing she could find the courage to ask him to wait. It had seemed such a simple thing only an hour ago! How could she bring herself to wound him once more? For she could see now that anything less than her complete and immediate acceptance would crush his heart.

  “Oh, John, I…” she choked, her eyes closed. A stray tear leaked out. “I do,” she whispered. She felt his hands tighten round hers, as though he were not fully sure he had heard her properly. She drew a haggard breath, clenching her eyes still. “I love you, John,” she dared, in a hoarse breath.

  She tried to pull her hand free from his to hide her face with it, but he anticipated her. She opened her eyes to find his fingers gently sliding over her cheeks, following the lines of her jaw. His thumbs traced her cheekbones, caressing her face with loving strokes.

  Cupping her face in his work-hardened hands, he allowed his heart free rein for the first time in his life. Lowering his mouth near hers, he paused for only a breath, allowing her this one last chance to pull away. She did not.

  His heart swelling in ecstasy, he eagerly drew her to himself. He scarcely even noticed the exact second his lips touched hers for the first time- he focused only on the sweet communion that he had longed for all his lonely years. The only thing that mattered was that she was his at last. She had confessed her heart! He poured all of his concentration into the single, overpowering desire to be one with her.

  Margaret had no heart to deny him. Truly, she did not long preserve even the faintest shreds of her well-trained modest hesitancy. This first taste of the unfamiliar should have frightened her, but instead she thrilled in it. The strong, chiseled face she had long studied in annoyed fascination now bent down to her in glad surrender. She leaned into his arms and chest as first one hand, then the other slid over her shoulders and down to her waist to pull her ever closer.

  He was so real, so warm and tender in this moment, she could do nothing but nestle further into his embrace. Even when his breath quickened and his caresses intensified with longing, she answered him in joyful concert. She would do anything to comfort and cheer him- nothing would she see him deprived of for the rest of her days. Anything, if it were in her power to give… or to withhold.

  A chill washed through her. “John, please, we must not,” she drew back, resting her fingers upon his lips.

  Puzzled, he trapped her fingers and kissed them. “My love, what is troubling you tonight? Please tell me so that I may put it right.”

  “It is not you, John, nor anything you have done. Oh, I begged your mother not to speak to you!”

  “My mother? What has she to do with this?”

  Margaret cringed. If he had not spoken to his mother before, now he most certainly would demand her explanation. He would not rest until he knew all, and that revelation would only temper his resolve to marry her immediately.

  “John,” she sighed, shaking her head lowly and trying- unsuccessfully- to reclaim her hand. “I have nothing to offer you! You must not consider it, not just now. Please, I would not see you injured by-”

  “Not consider it!” he cried. “Margaret, I have desired nothing but your love almost since we first met. I care nothing for wealth or status! Did you truly not believe me when I spoke before? What, I ask you, has changed beside your own feelings?”

  “Nothing and everything,” she murmured ruefully. “John, the mill- the workers! They depend on you, and it would be reckless of us to marry just now.”

  “How?” he demanded. “What have they to do with our affairs?”

  “I know of your troubles,” she whispered, dipping her crimson cheeks in shame.

  He narrowed his eyes and gazed at her, his breast heaving in sharp outrage. “And you would not ally yourself with such a disgraceful circumstance, is that it?”

  “No!” Her head shot up and her free hand grasped for his in reassurance. “John, I thought nothing of the kind! I only fear for you. I could not bear to cost you the opportunity to… to ensure the mill’s future success.”

  He shook his head, baffled. “What can you mean? How could our marriage harm the mill?”

  She clenched her eyes shut. “Surely, you must have considered….”

  His jaw hardened, the firm muscles of his cheeks flickering in anger. “I had hoped you would have thought better of me than that, Margaret.”

  “It is because I think so highly of you that I would not deny you that opportunity, John,” she returned painfully. “Only think if we married and you were unable to raise the support you needed to save the mill? In ten, twenty years, how much of the blame for it would you, even unknowingly, assign to me? I could not bear your bitterness, John!”

  He listened silently, in aghast denial. At her final declaration, he was goaded into reply. “Margaret, how could you even begin to think such a thing? Do you think I would not choose you above the mill, a thousand times over? And has not the mill been under my own authority, during both plenty and hardship? How could any of that blame be yours to claim, even should it fail utterly?”

  She swallowed, catching her breath. Oh, how to explain! “John, others are watching,” she suggested softly. “Surely, if you were to appear to turn your back on other possible connections, if you married imprudently at such a ti
me, your credit would be damaged in the district, and you may find it all the more difficult to-”

  “Margaret,” he cut her off, “you must know how deeply I appreciate your concern, but truly, none of it matters to me. It is you I love, and you I want by my side in the midst of these momentary difficulties- for such they are, Love.”

  “Are they?” she asked quietly. “What happens to the workers, John, if you lose the mill?”

  He blinked, wordless for a moment. “I suppose,” he answered at length, “another would take it up in time- after the banks have had their way with what remains of the collateral.” He grimaced sourly, hating to be discussing such vulgar things with his elegant and gentle Margaret.

  “Exactly, John. Such a transition may take months, and all of that time there would be no work, no pay. Some of those families would starve!”

  “I cannot save the world, Margaret. What would you have of me?” he asked in exasperation.

  “Only that you remain true to your duty, John.” She tugged her hands from his at last and laid them across her skirts, gazing meekly up at him.

  His face clouded. “You have, indeed, been speaking to my mother.”

  “In truth,” Margaret’s mouth- that heavenly treasure!- tipped very slightly at the corner, “it was her advice that we should marry immediately. I believe, after a fashion, that she has now come to see what I see.”

  He turned away and began to pace the drawing room, both hands raking through his hair in desperation. Margaret remained in the centre of the room, forlorn and motionless like some abandoned statue. He prowled restlessly back and forth, grasping for some argument he could make to persuade her. Unreasonable, obstinate woman! Could she not see that he needed her, and she him? Could she not see that the compassion which fixed her so immovably was the very quality he- and the mill whose interests she claimed to serve- most sorely lacked?