by EJourney
III. Rekindling
The room was still quite dark when Margaret awakened. She could tell it was morning only from a sliver of light peeking through a gap between the curtains on the one window across some distance from her bed. When she returned to the bedroom the past night, she had not noticed that the curtains had been drawn. Now, she recalled that the room had been made rather cozy, with a crackling fire and lamps lighting only the area around the bed, the darkness concealing much of the vast icy space. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for pale or bright colors that reflected light. But nearly everything was dark—furniture, walls, curtains, even the comforter that covered the white sheets on the bed. At night, the darkness did not bother her and it probably helped her sleep but, in the morning, she craved light for the clarity it brought—revealing the world in all its beauty and its blight—and for the inspiration that renewed hopes and fresh beginnings. In both London and Helstone, she had always left her drapes open.
She got up slowly and, in her bare feet, skipped on the cold floor towards the window to open the curtains to their full width. The gray spring fog diffused the light that came into the room and made it difficult to guess at the time. Spring in Helstone greeted her with luminous colors, bird song, and the heady perfume of roses growing around their house. During the first few weeks after she moved to Milton with her parents, her thoughts on waking up in the dreariness of a Milton morning were always of Helstone and how much she missed it. But in time, she forced herself to suppress those thoughts: They came too often with sadness at the passing of carefree halcyon days in the little village. This morning, her memories of Helstone did not come with sad regrets, only the detachment of objective observation. Somehow, it did not matter much anymore where she lived as long as it was with John.
She glanced at the clock on the writing table—past nine o'clock—and hurried to dress. She hated to be late for breakfast but she had stayed up late into the night to finish letters that needed to be posted right after breakfast. She wondered what Mrs. Thornton would say at her tardy appearance and she sighed. How long was she going to worry about what Mrs. Thornton thought of her or whether the older woman would ever warm up to her? Margaret shrugged her shoulders philosophically: She would have enough time to worry about such things in the weeks to come.
While she was dressing, Margaret was interrupted by a knock. She opened the door to Jane who carried a large bouquet of red and yellow roses in one hand and a vase half-filled with water cradled to her bosom. "The master asked me to bring these to you, miss. I think he wanted to give them to you himself but he did not want to bother you if you were still in bed."
Margaret beamed a smile at Jane and nearly snatched the flowers from the maid's hands, delighted at the surprise she brought her. Now, she had more light and cheeriness. With half-closed eyes, she kissed every flower and inhaled its fragrance deeply. Then, she stopped, suddenly, as she caught a glimpse of Jane staring at her with undue interest. It irritated her: Margaret knew that, after the riot during the last strike, she had been the object of much gossip among these servants who saw her stand between Mr. Thornton and the rioters. She did not doubt that her unexpected arrival at the Thornton house occasioned even more talk.
"What a bother," she thought. "Have they got nothing better to talk about among themselves? And, yet, what could I do?" She shrugged her shoulders once more: Perhaps, gossip came with being John Thornton's fiancée, one of those things she needed to get used to.
In the present instant, at least, she could deal with Jane. Margaret raised her head from the flowers, fixed her eyes on the maid, and with an engaging smile, said, "Thank you, Jane, please place the vase on that table over there." The flowers still in her hand, Margaret went to open the door and held it open, leaving Jane no choice but to hurry out of the room upon depositing the vase on the table. Margaret placed the flowers in the vase and arranged them to her liking. Then, she headed for the dining room with a wry smile on her face. Her new life in Milton was off to an interesting beginning.
John and Mrs. Thornton were at breakfast when Margaret came into the dining room. John had been a little restless waiting for her, surreptitiously eyeing the door while giving his mother the impression of his full attention. He had been impatient through the night to see her again and he sprung up from his chair as soon as he saw her. Mrs. Thornton, momentarily startled, became aware only then of Margaret's presence. John walked around the table to pull a chair out for her and as she sat down, he caressed her back briefly. As light as it was, his hand sent a wave of warmth all over Margaret and she looked up at him, smiling shyly. They exchanged a barely noticeable nod of unspoken intimacy, oblivious of his mother.
Mrs. Thornton watched the brief exchange, her lips compressed and her eyes clouded with a scowl. Her scrutiny and faintly masked disapproval was not lost on Margaret who felt suddenly ill at ease and hesitant. Forgetting that she had not greeted Mrs. Thornton, she turned her full attention to pouring tea in her cup and serving herself toast and butter.
John, still gripped by the unexpected wonder of Margaret's presence there having breakfast with him, hovered behind her chair and enticed her with other dishes. "How about some eggs or, perhaps, some fruit?"
With an uneasy glance at his mother, Margaret turned towards John to smile her refusal. He started to bend down to kiss her but Mrs. Thornton arrested his movement with an elaborate clearing of her throat. He straightened slowly, smiled with a little embarrassed scowl at his mother, and went back to his chair—but not before he had tenderly grazed his hand across the nape of Margaret's neck.
Mrs. Thornton's throat clearing reminded Margaret of her manners and she realized that she had neglected to give her a proper greeting. But it was too late to rectify her omission and all Margaret could manage then was a wan, reluctant, and apologetic smile.
Mrs. Thornton gave her a barely perceptible nod, got up and in a cold voice, announced, "I will leave you two to finish your breakfast. I have things to attend to." Then, addressing Margaret, she added, "Breakfast is always ready by seven in the morning but it will wait for you if you are a late riser." She smirked as she finished and turned to leave the room in a rustle of stiff fabric. Margaret bit her lip as she watched Mrs. Thornton walking briskly out of the room.
When they were alone, John reached across the table and grasped Margaret's hand in his. She turned towards him, her lips curved up at the corners to force a smile. John sensed her unease and stroked her hand as he spoke, "I hope it did not feel too strange sleeping in that room. Were you comfortable enough?"
This time, she smiled warmly at him. "I confess I found the room a little too grand but the low fire at the hearth made the room warmer and the bed covers were also nice and warm. Anyway, after writing many letters, I was quite tired and fell asleep right away."
"Did you finish all the letters you needed to write?"
"Yes," she blurted with a sigh of relief. "The letters to my aunt and Edith should arrive there tomorrow if I post them this morning. The one to Frederick will take about two weeks and I am not certain how long it takes for the mail to arrive in Argentina. I have heard only once from Mr. Bell and sadly, I don't know how he is but I must send him my good news anyway."
"I will walk with you to post your letters. We can go right after breakfast."
"You do not need to. I do remember the way to the post." She smiled, amusement in her eyes, and added, "Besides I would like to go to Greens afterwards for some clothing."
"I can take you there later but we'll have to visit the parson first after we post your letters. We have to set a date, my love."
"Yes, of course." She replied, somewhat startled. She knew she was about to get married but it had not completely sunk in that it would happen sooner rather than later. The day before had been so dense with momentous events that she never thought of what needed to happen immediately as a consequence of her decisions. It was clear enough to her that, from that day on, her life would be in Milton. Bu
t it never occurred to her to consider the propriety of her actions—the social constraint which dictated that her wedding should take place as soon as it could be arranged.
She sipped her tea slowly and sadness overcame her at the thought that her brother, the only immediate family she had now, could not come to her wedding. With her father gone, she only had one sincere wish on her wedding day—that Frederick could give her away. But, of course, that could never be. Perhaps, she could persuade John to visit him and his wife in Cadiz sometime in the future. She was anxious for the two most important people in her life to meet, a wish that became more compelling with John's admission of jealousy. Knowing both of them, she was certain that they would like each other, once they got acquainted. For her part, she was eager to meet Dolores.
She had been silent a while and John surmised her mind was faraway. With a gentle squeeze on her hand, he interrupted her thoughts, and said, pressing her hand to his lips, "I would marry you today, if I could. I have waited for you a long time but I will defer to your wishes." Then, he added mischievously, "Doesn't every young woman want to make the day she gives a solemn promise to love for always a day to remember?"
She smiled brightly and replied in the same vein. "That, I suppose is the conventional wisdom. But I used to think that, if that day ever came for me, all I would do was put on my best gown and walk through a lush arbor into my father's church, preferably on a beautiful morning in early summer with birds singing and roses of all colors perfuming the air."
"Did you doubt that day would come for you?"
"I had all those months of reflection after Papa died and I realized I was not prepared to marry just anyone. Edith was always inviting the captain's friends and his friends' friends." She stopped abruptly, lowered her eyes, and was silent for a moment before she added, "With Mr. Bell's legacy, adventurous spinsterhood became an attractive possibility."
He asked, with a wicked smile, "Did I rescue you in time from those friends or deprive you of an adventure?"
She replied archly, "Would not a life with you be an exciting adventure?"
"Nothing but," he said, smiling. Then, he asked, a little worried, "Is marrying in Milton so bad?"
"No. Oh no! I did not mean to say that at all. I know I described Helstone but, seriously, aren't the vows we make what really matter? Still, I cannot deny that I would have wanted everyone I care about to have been there. But that is not possible, is it?" A lump caught in her throat and with a tremulous smile, she added, "We will have a spring morning, anyway."
John, at a loss for words, stroked her hand in sympathy.
She turned pensive and said, in a sad voice. "I wish, at least, that Papa were here. How happy he would have been to see us together. He liked you very much and looked forward to your conversations. I am certain he was sorry that I did not accept your proposal. But my kind father rarely questioned my actions, never forced me into decisions I did not want to make."
"We were indeed very close friends and, perhaps, he does know wherever he may be that now, he is truly my father as well."
"It is futile to wish that I had known myself better when father was still alive or that I had been more mature because, in that case, he would have been more at peace knowing he was leaving me with you."
John, touched by her words, pressed her hand to his lips once again. "Your father was at peace when he passed away."
They sat quietly as she slowly sipped her tea and he waited for her to finish. He was getting impatient, eager to be alone with Margaret, away from where they could hear his mother and the servants darting about busily with their daily morning tasks.
"Go get your letters and let's get out of here. There is too much going on in here and I want you to myself for a while."
**************
The way to the post from Marlborough Mills was familiar to Margaret although, in the past, she had often walked in the reverse direction from the post to the mill. Outside the mill gates, the city buzzed and clacked, bustled and jostled in all the ways she remembered. She smiled up at John who tenderly squeezed the hand she had hooked around his arm, "Do you remember any of these, my love? It is noisier and dirtier than London but it is more vibrant."
"That, it is." She agreed with a smile, occasionally craning her neck to peek into store windows. "It has not changed all that much and yet everything seems different somehow."
"It will become much more familiar and I hope you will like it better this time around despite its being so different from Helstone."
"I might have exaggerated the virtues of Helstone."
"Perhaps, you just have a different perspective now."
"Perhaps. I do miss the roses that grew wild around the Parsonage. Apropos of which, I wanted to thank you for the ones you sent me this morning."
"Did they please you?"
She smiled brightly at him. "They made such a difference in the bedroom, like a ray of blazing sunshine. They also gave out so much of the same fragrance that the roses at the Parsonage greeted me with every morning when I opened my window."
"I am happy that they give you such pleasure. I knew you would be up late today after everything that happened yesterday and all the letters that I am sure you stayed up throughout the night to write. I wanted this day, our first full day together, to start right for you."
"Well, it has. How could it not?" She gazed up at him, her eyes glowing. "But how did you get those roses and where from? You could not have had time to get them yourself."
"You are right that I had no time but I do have my means. I went to the mill last night and sent William for the flowers early this morning. You remember him. He still comes to check around every morning and evening."
"I do, indeed. He is quite loyal to you."
"Yes," he replied simply. They walked some distance before he resumed, "There is much you have yet to learn about Milton that I am eager to show you."
She nodded and flashed him her most bewitching smile as she clutched his arm with both hands, conscious and amused that she was mimicking the gesture of possessiveness that Anne Latimer had made in front of the church on Fanny's wedding day. The smile he gave her back was different, however; it reached his eyes, infusing them with an inner glow that brightened his whole face and he lifted her hand to his lips before tucking it back around his arm. They gazed at each other for a long moment, insensible of everything else around them, rapt up in a world of their own.
People on Milton's busy streets seldom failed to notice the tall lean figure of the well-respected manufacturer John Thornton as he hurried about his business. They impassively noted his presence and swiftly dismissed it as one of those usual occurrences that happened in the course of a day. But they were used to him passing briskly by, scowling and purposeful. It was certainly new and unusual to see him leisurely strolling along, gazing deeply into the eyes of a handsome young woman who most of them vaguely recognized but whose face they could not place. Thus, many of the storekeepers and other denizens of the city who saw them that morning were inevitably curious and, by noon, speculation about what it meant circulated in many parlors. By evening, these speculations were embellished with gossip from servants in the Thornton household. It was declared, to the dismay of many young women undeterred by his loss of fortune, that Mr. Thornton had finally chosen a woman to marry—a Miss Hale from the south who had indeed lived in Milton less than two years and then left to live with relatives in London when both her parents died. She was away for nearly a year and Mr. Thornton had then gone to London and brought Miss Hale back, after her year of mourning, so they could get married in Milton.
**************
As it turned out, the parson counseled John and Margaret to set their wedding date for two weeks hence at the earliest. This was welcome news to Mrs. Thornton who wanted to invite important local business people and friends. One never knew when such a gesture might be useful to John when it came time for him to reorganize his business. She requested Margaret to write her aunt
to tell her that she was willing to take care of inviting Milton guests and to organize a dinner after the ceremony if Mrs. Shaw and Edith attended to certain details such as flowers, decoration and whatever wine and meats they could bring from London. She knew exactly what to do while her aunt, being from London, would not have any idea how such things were done in Milton. Besides, only a year ago, she had managed the preparations for Fanny's wedding.
Margaret was about to protest that she would prefer a small intimate ceremony with only family. But she doubted that Mrs. Thornton could be talked out of inviting John's business associates and having a proper celebration. Margaret held her objections in check and, instead, thanked her for her kindness. With no time for written invitations, Mrs. Thornton kept John and Margaret busy visiting his business associates and extending invitations in person. She herself went to see quite a few people on the guest list.
Mrs. Thornton was, in fact, glad to have the preparations for the wedding to occupy her time and focus her day. She felt increasingly alone. Margaret, respecting the time that mother and son had together by themselves in the morning, naturally fell into the habit of coming down in the morning when John and Mrs. Thornton had been at breakfast for some time. Mrs. Thornton was grateful but was also keenly aware how Margaret, without any effort, commanded her son's attention the moment she came into the room. While anyone else might only see him smile tenderly at Margaret, Mrs. Thornton could feel his excitement and see the fire behind the sparkle in his eyes. She knew her son quite well, knew that John was impatient for the wedding to take place. It had been two years since he first proposed to Margaret—too long for him who acted without hesitation and delay once he made up his mind or knew what it was he desired.
**************
After dinner on Margaret's second evening in Milton, Mrs. Thornton pleaded fatigue and left the couple in the drawing room. She had had a tiring day of visits to friends and food purveyors and, in any case, she thought she ought to give the young couple the time to be alone together.
