by Nancy Klein
When they arrived at the entrance to Francis Street, Meg was surprised to see Dr. Donaldson approaching them. Before she could ask, Dr. Donaldson said, “I am glad you are here. I have just had word that Mrs. Boucher died, and her neighbors cannot find Mr. Boucher. He knocked upon their doors early this morning, crying out that his wife was dead. When the women came to help with the children, he had gone. He did not come to work today at the clinic, and I am fearful of what he might do.” He lowered his voice and added, “He told Mrs. Jenkins that there was no point going on without his wife, and that his children would be better off without him.”
“Dear God,” exclaimed Mr. Hale.
Meg asked swiftly, “What would you have me do?”
Dr. Donaldson sighed. “I know you have only recently lost your friend. I would not ask if it were not necessary, but could you prepare Mrs. Boucher’s body for burial? Mrs. Jenkins has agreed to help, but she cannot do it alone. I must look for Boucher.”
Meg nodded. “I will go directly to the Boucher’s home. Who is watching their children?”
“The neighbors have taken them into their home for the time being. I believe Tommy is with Mary Higgins.” Thanking Meg for her assistance, he strode off in search of the grieving widower. Meg and her father continued to the Higgins’ home, and found Nicholas spinning a coin on the table for Tommy’s enjoyment. Mary welcomed them in, and Nicholas rose to shake Mr. Hale’s hand.
“A sad day,” he remarked in a low tone. “Young Tommy has been asking for his father, and I don’t know what to tell him.”
Meg passed a light hand over Tommy’s hair, and he smiled at her. “Where has my Daddy gone?” he lisped.
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Meg replied in a soft voice. “Dr. Donaldson is looking for him, and if anyone can find him, it will be the good doctor.”
Tommy regarded her. “Has Mommy gone to heaven?”
“Yes, she has. Would you like to say good-bye?”
“Oh, Meg, surely not!” her father protested.
“I think it would be good for Tommy to see his mother’s body one last time, so he can see she is at peace and that nothing can harm her. I will go attend to her first, and then send for Tommy so that he may say good-bye.” She caressed Tommy’s cheek before departing for the Boucher home.
Meg worked with Mrs. Jenkins to swiftly wash Mrs. Boucher’s face and hands, comb her tangled hair, and clothe her in a soft calico dress donated by a kind-hearted neighbor. She thought of the young children who would grow up without their mother, and prayed that they would not lose their father as well. She prayed that Dr. Donaldson would find Boucher soon.
When Mrs. Boucher was presentable, Meg asked one of the neighbor women loitering in the doorway to fetch Tommy; she thought that the younger children would not grasp what had happened. She lit several candles close to the coffin, so Tommy could see his mother in the soft light.
Tommy came hesitantly into the house, and stepped cautiously toward the coffin. Meg lifted him in her arms. “Look, Tommy, isn’t she beautiful? She is at peace.”
Tommy nodded. “Mommy looks happy.”
Meg rested her chin on Tommy’s head. “She is safe with God in heaven.”
“Good-bye, Mommy,” the small boy said, and turned his face into Meg’s shoulder. She hugged him, wishing she could keep him safe in her embrace. After a time, they returned to Higgins’ house, Mrs. Fletcher and several women agreeing to sit with the body until Boucher returned.
Meg found Mr. Hale and Nicholas deep in conversation, and Mary tending to the younger Boucher children whom the neighbors had brought so that they might all be together for the night. Tommy joined his brothers and sisters and told them that their Mommy had gone to heaven.
Meg was restless, and within moments of her arrival informed her father and Nicholas that she would join the doctor in searching for Boucher. She had just wrapped her shawl about her shoulders when she heard a commotion in the courtyard. Running outside, she spotted several officers carrying a body on a plank. The body was covered with a rough, dirty canvas, but ragged pants legs and thick work boots protruded from the covering. Meg’s heart sank, and took several fearful steps toward the group.
An officer hailed her. “Miss, we found this body in the canal. Can someone identify it?” With a jerk, he pulled the cloth down and Boucher’s lifeless eyes stared up from a bloated and stained face. Meg covered her mouth with her hand. Her father and Nicholas joined her, and she called over her shoulder to Mary to keep the children in the house.
“Boucher,” Nicholas said in a hoarse voice, “That is John Boucher.” He gazed up at Meg. “My God, all of those children! Who will care for them?”
********&********
Less than a month after Bessy was laid to rest, the Bouchers were interred in the same graveyard. The gathering at the grave was small, and many of the same mourners attended. Nicholas and Mary stood near the grave with the Boucher children. Nicholas felt extreme guilt and shame concerning the union’s shunning of Boucher, which he had instigated. Upon reflection, he believed it had fueled the unfortunate man’s despair and led him to take his own life. In order to offer reparation, Nicholas vowed to raise the Boucher children as his own.
While Meg admired him for this kindness, she worried because Nicholas had no work. The only money coming into his home was from Mary’s wages, and Meg was well aware that those were not enough to feed so many mouths. She considered offering to take one or two of the orphans into her home. However, she could not do so given her mother’s condition and the practical fact that the children should stay together. She contented herself with offerings of food and clothing, and by helping Mary care for and feed the children.
She approached Nicholas about his situation, treading carefully lest she injure his pride. However, he understood that her concern was for the children, and he managed to keep his temper under control. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed one afternoon as she visited on her way home from the clinic. “If it were warmer, I’d go south and work for paddy’s wages, but I can’t take them all with me, and I can’t leave them behind.” He balled his hands into fists in his frustration.
“Do you think,” Meg asked slowly, feeling her way, “that you might prevail upon Mr. Thornton to give you a job at Marlborough Mills?”
Nicholas shook his head. “Thornton is more bull-headed than the rest of the masters put together. No, he’ll not give me a job and I’ll not ask.”
“Would you consider helping at the clinic until you can find better wages?”
He looked at her sharply. “Yes, I would. And what’s more, I’ll thank you for it.”
She outlined his duties for him, and told him the hours he would be needed, having broached this plan with Doctor Donaldson. Nicholas nodded. “Thank you, Meg,” he said solemnly. “I don’t know what I would have done without you these past weeks, and here you are once more, offering me work.”
She waved him off, rising to go. “Thank Doctor Donaldson; he will be the one paying your wages.” She glanced over her shoulder, a saucy smile upon her face. “Mind you keep your times. We don’t tolerate laggards.”
He laughed. “I’ll keep my times.”
********&********
A week after the Bouchers had been laid to rest, Meg sat in the kitchen at Crampton making a list of staples to purchase for Francis Street. It was early evening, and she had just lit a candle. She was trying to decide on a small treat for the children, thinking perhaps she could cajole Dixon to bake a cake, when a tap sounded on the back door.
She glanced up in surprise. No one came to the back door, except Mary, and she would not come this time of night unless it was an emergency. Rising from the table, she approached the door with caution, slid open the bolt, and opened it a crack.
“Is Mr. Hale in?” A young man stood hidden in the shadows. He moved closer to the door, removing his cap, and a shaft of light illuminated the side of his face. The features were familiar, and Meg realized that
this must be her long-lost brother. “Frederick?” Meg gasped, and surged forward to clasp his arm and pull him into the house.
“Margaret!’ the young man cried, and they fell into each other’s arms.
“Oh, Frederick, you have come!”
The young man laughed. “Yes, Margaret, it is me. But why are you calling me Frederick? You have never done so unless you were angry. Am I that much of a stranger to you now?” He held her close, and she returned his embrace. Oh, Mother, she thought, your true child is home at last.
“Meg?” she heard her father call out from the hallway, and she sprang back from Frederick’s embrace as he entered the kitchen. He gazed at his son, speechless, and his face crumpled with emotion. “My boy,” he sobbed, and shambled forward into his son’s arms. “I never thought I would see my boy again.”
Fred glanced at Meg in inquiry. “Mother?” he asked, and the question hung in the air, pregnant with meaning.
“She still lives,” Meg replied. “You have come in time. Did you receive my letter?”
“I came as soon as I read it—it was misdirected, but finally made its way to me. May I go up to see her?”
“Let me tell Dixon first, so that she may break the news. We do not want it to be a shock.” She left father and son in the kitchen, and met Dixon on the steps. Dixon agreed that the news must be broken gently to Mrs. Hale before Fred was brought to her, but was reluctant to do it. Meg must tell her mother.
Meg paused with her hand upon the newel. “Dixon, we must be vigilant to let no one into the house while Fred is here. No hint of his presence must pass out of these walls. I think we may trust Mary, but beyond that it must be just family until Fred leaves. His safety must be paramount.”
Dixon nodded sagely. “You are right. Master had better send word to his pupils that he will not be giving lessons for the next fortnight.”
Meg agreed. “We can say that Mother is dying, and father must stay close to her side. That is the truth, after all. I will remind Father to send word to Mr. Thornton.”
Meg woke her mother from her nap, and helped her to sit up in bed and freshen up. She washed her face with lavender water, and dressed her hair, putting a clean lace cap upon her head. “Goodness, Meg, is it time for tea already?” Mrs. Hale asked in a weak voice.
“No, Mother,” Meg replied. “You have a visitor.”
Mrs. Hale looked inquiringly at her daughter, and caught a hint of excitement in her bright expression. Her chin began to quiver and she caught at Meg’s hand. “My boy—has my boy come home?”
At that moment, Dixon, who had been listening at the keyhole, pushed the door open to reveal Fred. Mrs. Hale sobbed out her son’s name, and held out her arms as her son threw himself into his mother’s embrace.
Meg placed an arm about Dixon’s shoulders, and they left the room so that mother and son might have a private reunion. Some moments are too inviolable to be witnessed by others, no matter how loving the observers. The women descended to the kitchen to prepare tea.
Chapter 13. The Pool of Tears
The arrival of her son acted as a bracing tonic for Mrs. Hale, and for the next several days she had color in her cheeks and a renewed interest in life. Fred spent most days in her room by her side, holding her hand and telling stories about his life in Cadiz. Mrs. Hale watched his every expression, and when she fell asleep, would hold his hand so that he was forced to remain by her bed lest she wake. When at last she was deep in the throes of sleep, Mrs. Hale loosened her grip, and Fred would be free to spend time with his father and Dixon, or Meg when she returned from her work in the clinic.
When he first heard of Meg spending time tending to the needs of the poor in Milton, he frowned. “Why must you spend time in those sordid parts of town, Meg? Is there not enough for you to do here?”
“For shame, Master Fred!” Dixon glanced up at him from her work, a scowl on her face. Meg and Fred sat in the kitchen with Dixon while she fixed a tray for Mrs. Hale. “Your sister uses her time and talents to help those in need. Leave her be.”
Fred started in surprise; never before had Dixon taken Margaret’s part over his own. “I’m sorry. I just thought that her time might be better spent here in her own home, tending her mother.”
“And so she does,” retorted Dixon, filling the tea pot with hot water. “Many a night has she spent checking on how the mistress fares, and concocting all sorts of brews and tisanes to help her sleep.”
Fred looked so taken aback that Meg laughed and ruffled his hair. “I know that you mean well, dear brother, but do not attempt to read me a lecture. You should know by now that I do as I please, and it pleases me to work at the clinic.”
He grimaced, but laughed in turn and, leaping up from his chair, snatched his sister into a rib-crushing embrace and kissed her loudly on the cheek. “You have always been strong willed, Meg. I have just never known you to care for the poor and disadvantaged as you do now, or to spend the amount of time among them that you do.”
She told him he was a great fool, and pinched his cheek hard so that he chased her around the kitchen table, much to Dixon’s consternation. She was about to read both of them a thundering lecture when a knock sounded on the front door, and all three froze in place.
“Who could that be?” Meg gazed in consternation from Fred to Dixon’s blank expression. Placing a finger on her lips to warn Fred to remain where he was and to be quiet, Meg ascended the steps and opened the front door a crack. Mr. Thornton stood on the front step, a basket of fruit in the crook of his arm.
“Good afternoon, Miss Hale,” he said politely. “I met Dr. Donaldson in the street yesterday, and he told me that your mother’s appetite had waned. I took the liberty of buying her some grapes in the hopes that they might tempt her to eat.”
Meg’s eyes kindled with admiration. “Oh, Mr. Thornton, how kind you are.” She reached forward to take the basket from him, but he hesitated.
“I thought I might come in and pay my respects to your parents.”
Meg looked at him gravely. “My mother is in bed, Mr. Thornton, and my father is not home. I am afraid that now is not a good time.”
His face assumed an expression of cold offense. “I thought I would be welcome in your home, Miss Hale, despite our…differences.”
“And so you are,” she returned evenly, “but as I have explained, my mother is not receiving company, and we are overwhelmed with her care.”
He thrust the basket of fruit into her arms, turned on his heel, and stalked down the front steps. Meg saw that she had offended him and ran after him, impulsively grasping his arm to delay his departure. He turned and looked at her in surprise.
“Please believe me when I say my family values your friendship, Mr. Thornton. I would not want to do anything to offend you or abuse that friendship. It is only that Dr. Donaldson believes my mother is dying, and we are doing whatever we can to keep her comfortable and quiet.” She choked on these last few words, and her voice dwindled to a mere whisper that he had to strain to hear.
Mr. Thornton’s face softened at her genuine grief. “Please excuse me, Miss Hale. I did not realize your mother was so ill. Please give your parents my regards, and let me know if there is anything I can do for you.” Nodding at her, he placed his hat upon his head, and turned once more to go.
“Thank you, Mr. Thornton, for your understanding.”
He hesitated, as if he would say more. His eyes searched hers, and his lips parted. Both stood in the street and stared at each other, in mutual attraction and confused dismay. After a few moments, someone jostled him from behind, and he recalled himself and walked briskly away.
As she stepped into the hallway, Fred waylaid her. “Who was that great frowning fellow? Is that the tradesman that Father tutors? Imagine a workman interested in Latin and Greek!”
“It is more than you were ever interested in,” Meg retorted, remembering Mr. Hale’s stories of Fred’s lackluster academic performance. “Mr. Thornton is a gentleman, Fred,
and has been very good to us. He has had much to deal with, given the strike and the state of the cotton industry.”
Fred looked at her intently and, shoving his hands into his pockets, gave a low whistle. “So, the wind blows in that quarter, does it?” Giving a great crow of laughter, he exclaimed, “You are sweet on him—I can tell! Who would have thought the belle of London, Miss Margaret Hale, a lady of such refinement, would fall in love with a tradesman?”
“You are beyond silly, Fred,” Meg said, a tinge of color staining her cheeks. “I regard Mr. Thornton as a friend. He has been very good to our family, and I would ask you not to insult him, or mock me.”
Fred could see he had grieved her, and he took both of her hands in his own and gave them a squeeze. “I am sorry, dear sister. Let us say no more on the subject. You are a good-hearted creature, and I am truly pleased how you have grown into a lovely woman. I am proud of you, Meg.” He kissed her cheek gently. “I will see if Dixon is ready with Mother’s tray.”
As she watched him descend to the kitchen, Meg reflected that Frederick Hale had a warm heart and an open temperament. He could be hot of temper and often acted precipitously, as evidenced by his now being a fugitive from the law, but his heart was true. She felt a great surge of affection for him, and said a prayer of thanks that he had come home in time to see his mother. He was safe—at least, for the time being.
Unlike Mr. Hale and Fred, Meg knew that her mother’s rallying health and spirits were momentary; the illness had her in its relentless grip and it would not be long until she would leave this earthly plain. Meg prayed for strength to help her father and brother handle the loss, and cunning to spirit Fred out of town when the time arrived for his departure. Already, she felt great trepidation concerning his safety. Dixon had told her in private just that morning that she had met a man from Helstone as she was about on her errands. This man, known as Leonards, was a scoundrel and troublemaker who knew of Fred’s misfortune. He had accosted Dixon in the street as to whether she knew where ‘the fugitive’ was. Meg felt a chill of foreboding at this news, and questioned Dixon sharply on whether she thought Leonards knew that Fred was in Milton.
