by EJourney
"Is that the only reason you want to live away from the mill?"
"Is that not enough? But, truthfully, no. The noise and the continuous bustle do bother me most days."
He sat up next to her, "It took you longer than I predicted to bring this matter up."
"What do you mean? You're not angry with me, are you, for telling you frankly what I think?"
"Angry? No! I have been waiting for you to say something about this."
She stared at him, surprised. "You have? Well, I must admit I have thought and agonized about it a long time, uncertain how I should tell you. I did not want you to think I was unhappy here in a place and a way of life which you have spent so much time and effort building."
He placed a hand under her chin, lifting her face as he gazed into her eyes. "I have a couple of houses I want you to look at. You might like one of them." He wanted to relish the way her large blue eyes widened and brightened when he made this revelation.
"Do you mean to tell me that you have gone to find another house for us to live in?"
"I suspected that was what you wanted when we got married but you said nothing. Then, when you became pregnant, I was certain we needed to live somewhere else because I knew this is not exactly the sort of place you would want to raise children in. But still, you said nothing. So I took the initiative to inquire about houses in other neighborhoods."
"Oh, John!" She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face on his shoulders. It was harder for her now to cuddle up close to him but John pulled her up sideways from the bed onto his lap and held her close. He felt warm tears on his neck.
"I can take you anytime soon to see these houses." He murmured against her forehead.
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "In my condition?"
"Why, yes. I was getting ready to tell you about them because the owners can only hold the houses for us for so long and we must decide soon."
"I must confess that this was something I never expected. You are too good to me." Her voice was muffled against his neck.
"Self-interest, that is all. I thought that if I kept you happy, you would keep me happy, too." He replied, teasing, as more happy tears came.
Finally she lifted her face and dried her face on the sleeve of her nightgown. Then with her hand, she wiped off the moisture her tears had left on his neck. "The mill has been your life and I was afraid that it would seem inconceivable to you to live away from it."
"True. It had been my life but now I have you and another little creature in here." He bent down to kiss her belly. "My world has opened up to so many things beyond this mill."
"But you have given me at least as much, if not more!" She exclaimed, snuggling back into his embrace."
"You came back to Milton with me and I know it is not where you would have chosen to live."
"No, not on my own. But returning with you is the best decision I ever made." She raised her head to face him. "Can we go and see the houses today?"
"Yes, of course, although we need to make an appointment with the owners to go in."
"But what about your mother? We should talk to her about this."
"Well, her needs will certainly figure strongly in our choice of a house but this decision to move and where is mine and yours, not hers. Anyway, I believe I owe us a house of our own, one that you can arrange to your tastes."
"But it won't look like this house," she said.
"If you arrange it like your house in Crampton, it will be cozy and inviting. That is all I need."
That evening, Mrs. Thornton began the conversation at dinner with a remark directed at her son, "You should not be taking Margaret out in her condition. It's rather cold out and, besides, it's just not done during a woman's confinement."
Margaret was somewhat annoyed that Mrs. Thornton did not address her about a matter concerning herself. But she held her tongue and concentrated on slathering butter on a piece of bread.
"Mother, Dr. Donaldson said that that is a decision Margaret makes. She can do whatever she feels capable doing." Then looking at Margaret with an impish grin, he added, "And I am rather proud showing off my pot-bellied wife."
Margaret grinned back at him. Mrs. Thornton glanced at Margaret and scowled, "What was so important out there anyway that you would brave nearly freezing temperatures to go out?"
Margaret answered in as jaunty a tone as she could manage, "It was sunny all day so I was warm enough and actually enjoyed being out."
"But in your condition?"
Margaret chose to ignore her implication, "Dr. Donaldson advised exercise as long as I am capable."
Certain that Margaret was dissimulating, Mrs. Thornton merely nodded and compressed her lips. She was, by now, convinced that, ruled by her own convictions, Margaret was less attentive to convention than any other young woman she knew and resistant to advice about proper decorum. But apart from her disapproval of Margaret gallivanting while in confinement, Mrs. Thornton had an inkling that something else of consequence was afoot and it would explain why Margaret and John were out in the dead of winter. She had to find out somehow what it was.
John had, in fact, anticipated his mother's suspicions and decided it was the right time to bring up the subject of moving. "If you must know, Mother, we were out looking at homes. With a growing family and children, we decided that we must find a house in another neighborhood."
As he expected, his mother was taken aback, "And what is going to happen to this house? Isn't it big enough? With Fanny married, we now have three unused bedrooms and an extra sitting room."
"There is no room on the mill yard where children can safely play and we prefer a neighborhood where there are other children. We will try to sell this house or put it up for lease."
Mrs. Thornton wanted to protest further and insist that she would rather remain in the house but this news perturbed her into silence. As she ate her dinner, she wondered whether she could still persuade her son to reconsider. But she told herself sadly, her hold on him had diminished. She glanced surreptitiously, resentfully, at Margaret who had lapsed into silence, her attention shifting between her dinner and what John was saying. Mrs. Thornton was convinced it was Margaret who had wanted to move.
Underneath her attempts at civility, Mrs. Thornton occasionally felt more incensed than glad that Margaret came back. She had reasons enough to do so since the day the mill reopened when, because of Margaret, she was left unhappily alone on a very important evening. Barely home from the mill, on that reopening day, John left with Margaret for something pertaining to his wife. At first, Mrs. Thornton was confused and did not comprehend why they were leaving. Then, she was dismayed to find herself alone, hurt that she had been deprived of rejoicing with her son on a triumph that she felt was as much hers as his. Did such moments not belong to her as well for all that she had done—the sacrifices, the support, and the knowledge she had imparted to him that helped him build the mill? All she could think of then, as now, was Margaret was the reason for her unhappiness. Forgotten, that evening, was the gratitude she owed Margaret for having spared John long years of hard work in order to regain his fortune and the joy she and Margaret shared watching the reopening of the mill earlier that day.
All that mattered now to Mrs. Thornton was the mill. It had become the focus of her life since John acquired a wife who had taken over all the hundred little things she used to do for him. Everything about the mill had meaning for her, soothed her, reminded her every day of how much her son had achieved. It fed her maternal pride and rewarded her for all the work and sacrifice she had done for her son.
A home next to the mill had been her idea to which John had acquiesced and she had taken for granted that she would always live there. Since its reopening, her visits to the mill became more frequent and regular and she considered them as the most satisfying and productive part of her day. Living next door was certainly convenient. She did not waste time getting to it and she could also observe what was going on from her w
indow. Her observations, her suggestions had all been helpful to John—at least, until the mill closed for want of funds.
John had changed. He rarely asked his mother now for her advice and opinion. Mrs. Thornton clenched her jaw and scowled unhappily, no longer certain that the mill meant to John what it did to her. Her mind and heart revolted against the move but she was powerless to prevent it. A profound gloominess took hold of her and she felt like she had suddenly aged, a feeble old woman, cast aside and helpless.
John and Margaret finally settled on a house in a neighborhood where some of John's business associates with young families lived. While somewhat larger to accommodate a growing family, it was not as imposing as the one they were leaving. Its ceilings were lower and windows all around the enclosing walls made its rooms airier and sunnier. Two suites of rooms on the same side of the two upper floors overlooking the backyard each included a large bedroom, a bathroom and a sitting room—all flanking hallways that could be closed off for greater privacy. The suite on the lower floor was to be taken by Mrs. Thornton, the upper one by John and Margaret. A fairly large backyard with a garden would be redone to include a small playground for children. The purchase of the house was finalized the month Margaret was expected to deliver but the move was postponed until repairs and renovations were completed.
**************
On a spring day a couple of weeks after they bought their new house, John saw Dr. Donaldson from the window of his office rushing through the mill yard, followed close behind by Mary. Somewhat alarmed and irritated that he had not been called earlier, he hurried out of the office and ran towards the house. He saw his mother calmly working on her needlework in the drawing room.
"I just saw Dr. Donaldson go into the house. Is it Margaret? Why was I not sent for right away?"
"It was your headstrong wife who insisted on not bothering you until it was certain that she was about to deliver. She has been having pains since you left this morning but agreed to have the doctor come only when I said I was quite anxious about her."
"You should have sent someone to fetch me when you called for Dr. Donaldson," he snarled at his mother as he ran up the stairs.
Mrs. Thornton was left with an angry retort that never found words as John disappeared up the stairs.
John heard Dr. Donaldson's muffled voice from outside the bedroom door as he opened it. Margaret was propped up on the bed, her mouth open as she breathed through it, her attention concentrated on Dr. Donaldson whose hypnotic voice directed her over and over, "In, out, in, out, in, out………"
Dixon was there, too, occasionally wiping Margaret's face with a folded towel. No one heard him come in and he stood rooted in place, somewhat bewildered, feeling like a spectator watching a tableau from which he had been deliberately excluded.
"It's over," Margaret panted as she slowly relaxed her shoulders, her breathing becoming more regular. Both Dr. Donaldson and Dixon seemed to relax as well. Margaret saw John standing just in front of the door and she reached her hands out to him. This gesture jolted John out of his trance-like state.
"Margaret, my love," he cried, hurrying to her. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. He sat down on the side of the bed, leaned over, and gathered her in his arms.
"The contractions are coming between 5 to 10 minutes so it should not be long now," he heard Dr. Donaldson say.
John turned to him and asked, "Can I stay here with her?"
"For now, yes, but I will have to ask you to leave when she is ready. But are you sure you can stand seeing her when she's in pain?"
John was uncertain, confused and he directed questioning, apologetic eyes at Margaret. She smiled wanly at him and he thought she looked as young and vulnerable as she did on their first night together but, now, she was pale, her large eyes a little frightened, her face glistening with sweat, "Oh, my love, I did not mean to put you through all this," he cried remorsefully.
She gripped his hand and pleaded, "Stay with me a little longer."
"For as long as you need me." He pressed her hand to his lips once again and addressed Dr. Donaldson, "Is there nothing you can do for her pain?"
"She will be all right. Believe it or not, it is best that I do not sedate her. Your wife is quite young and healthy, Thornton, and this is a process many women like her go through without any problem."
John wiped the perspiration off his wife's moist face with his hand. Then he took the towel Dixon handed him and, unmindful of everyone else, whispered words of love to her as he dabbed her face with the towel. For a while, this calmed Margaret who now seemed under the spell of his voice; but soon she began to grimace in pain.
"Tell her to breathe calmly in, out," Dr. Donaldson commanded John softly.
"In, out, in, out………"
**************
Margaret delivered a blonde blue-eyed girl not long after and when John went back into the room, she was sitting up, holding the baby. She was sweaty and exhausted, strands of hair matted on her forehead but she beamed brightly at him, "We have a daughter."
He smiled broadly and, in a few quick strides, was by her side. He sat next to her, kissed her salty lips, and put his arm around her as they both looked down at their daughter.
"How tiny she is!" John touched a curly golden lock with his finger, "And she is blonde!"
"Your sister Fanny is blonde. I was a blonde baby, wasn't I, Dixon?" She asked Dixon who just came back into the room.
"Yes, mistress and your baby looks like you when you were a baby."
"I am not so certain about that. I think she has John's chin and mouth." Margaret looked at her husband, "Don't you think so?"
He smiled at her indulgently, "Of course, she does."
"You must rest now, mistress. Dr. Donaldson said I must make sure you do soon. You need to have enough strength if you decide to nurse her."
"I will nurse her," Margaret asserted as she handed the baby to Dixon.
"I will put her in her crib in the room we prepared for her. Mary and I will take turns watching her while you rest." Dixon left the room cradling the baby in her arms.
"Are you sure about nursing, my love?" John asked as she lay back on the bed. "Dr. Donaldson says he knows a couple of good wet nurses."
"Do you have any objections to my doing so?"
"No, not at all. He did also say that nursing her yourself is probably healthier for her and good for you."
After two days of sleeping from which she awoke only to eat, nurse her child, and attend to her hygiene, Margaret regained her color, her appetite and the usual animation in her manner. When he came home that evening John found her sitting up in bed nursing the baby. Except for a few stray wisps, her hair was neatly gathered up in a simple chignon and the pale rosiness in her translucent skin was evident again on her face and her exposed breast. The crib had been brought into the room. He kissed his wife before he sat down next to her.
"You look quite well, my love." He gazed at her, silently and tenderly, as their baby suckled at her breast. It was, to him, a glorious sight that, a year ago, he never imagined he would see.
"Margaret glanced at him briefly, blushing at his fascination. "We have to give her a name."
"Yes. How about Maria, after your mother?"
"How about Hannah, after yours? She came in to see us this morning and she appeared pleased enough. I can't help thinking she would have preferred a boy."
"Doesn't everyone? But as far as a name is concerned, our daughter looks rather delicate and fair and so unlike my mother. More like yours, actually."
"True. But perhaps, if we called her Hannah, she will grow up as strong and resilient."
"Would you like that?"
"Yes. She will need to be, in a society that favors men and boys. A good mind will help greatly, too."
John stared at Margaret, somewhat startled and yet, he could not dispute the truth of what she said. Although it was not the first time she said something that gave him pause, this time he frowned, look
ed away and became pensive.
"Are you shocked about what I said? But you know it is true."
"It is startling nonetheless. It just never occurred to me to think of it in that way."
She had finished nursing and she held the baby out to him. "Here, take her while I button my shirt." She saw him hesitate and she reassured him. "It's easy. Fold your arms in front of you, palms up, and I'll put her on top. Don't worry. You will not drop her."
He complied awkwardly but when the baby was cuddled in his arms, he remarked in amazement, "How light she is and how nice she smells."
"Yes, she is our little angel. Maybe, things will be better for her when she is twenty." In a more lighthearted tone, she added, "Meanwhile, she needs a name."
He nodded. "Perhaps, Maria Hannah or Hannah Maria but……… "—gazing at his sleeping daughter and then smiling at his wife—"Margaret seems more appropriate for the young woman you described."
She shook her head at him, a half-smile on her lips, "You're teasing me."
"Not at all. She would be a formidable charmer if she grows up like my Margaret."
Eventually, when John could not be budged on the name Margaret, they compromised on Elise Margaret. They would call her Elise.
**************
The arrival of the first child delighted the servants particularly those who had been in the household since the Thorntons moved into the mill house. They had begun to dread serving a home that grew increasingly somber and gloomy after Miss Fanny married and left. When the master returned home with the beautiful young Southerner who protected him from the rioters, some of them felt as if she had brought sunshine with her. Now, she just gave the household the joy and normalcy that only children could bring.
They chatted about the baby endlessly for days, speculating on why she was blonde, who she looked like, why Mrs. Margaret would not employ a wet nurse, what she should be named. Dixon and Mary, who had both known that childbirth could threaten a mother's life, had been deeply concerned about Margaret. Mary's mother had died delivering a son who would have been her younger brother while Dixon had witnessed Frederick's difficult birth. Mrs. Hale lost so much blood that it had taken her several months to recover. Dixon and Mary were both greatly relieved that Margaret had a normal delivery. The following day, they greeted her with a large bouquet of flowers that Mary and the younger servants went into the countryside to pick. When Margaret felt well enough to come down to dinner one week later, Dixon celebrated by preparing Margaret's favorite dishes and baking a special cake for everyone to partake of.
