by EJourney
Margaret wanted to excuse the older woman's behavior but her heart rebelled. It cried out as one would at the injustice of being found guilty without a trial. She clenched her jaw to control her mounting anger. At that moment, Mary, with Elise in her arms, walked out into the garden, humming a nursery song. Mary sat on a bench and, cradling Elise on her lap, took the child's hands and guided them to clap and sway as she sang to her. Margaret watched them for some time, walked back towards the bedroom and checked herself on the mirror. She headed for the garden, resolved to make the day go as it always had and to say nothing to John about what passed.
**************
Mrs. Thornton came down for dinner that evening. She had taken extra care about her appearance, adorning her hair with a pearl comb and her front bodice with lace she wore only on friendly social visits. She walked into the room with her head held high and her manner more formal than usual. She greeted them with a faint thrust of her chin and sat down at her usual place.
John made a motion to assist her but she had sat down before he could reach her. "Good evening mother. You look very nice this evening." He was quite relieved to have her finally rejoin them for dinner and to see her looking well.
"Good evening, Mrs. Thornton," Margaret said simply, suppressing an impulse to flee.
Conversation at dinner was hushed and strained. Margaret hardly said anything except to nod and occasionally make a very brief response to John who was keenly aware that the conversation had practically turned into his performing a monologue. He persisted, however, rambling about the weather, the delicious dishes, Elise's antics and everything else that did not pertain to the mill.
For a while, a modicum of the old routines and habits returned to the household although when John was at the mill, Mrs. Thornton kept to her room more than she had before. She got up for breakfast earlier than she used to and always seemed to just be finishing as John entered the room. She was ready to leave by the time he started his. They had barely enough time together to interact beyond the usual morning greetings. Still, she made it a point to remain until John came down to breakfast so they saw each other every morning. Margaret, who fed and cared for Elise before breakfast, only saw her at dinner, an arrangement that suited both women.
John assumed that his mother was probably still hurt and angry with him but that, when she was ready, she would resume her old habits. Breakfast had been their time alone together and Margaret, sensitive to what it meant for mother and son, used to join them just when Mrs. Thornton was finishing her last cup of tea. John intended to wait patiently for his mother to start talking to him the way she used to. But weeks passed and John could wait no longer.
One morning, as he was entering the breakfast room, he said, "Mother, please stay and talk to me while I am having breakfast, like you used to do You seem to be always leaving just as I start."
"But I have finished and have things to attend to every morning."
"I am sure those things can wait a few minutes. Mother, I beg you."
"What do you want from me?" She asked with some vehemence.
"Nothing in particular, merely to talk to you. It was always a nice start to my day."
"Well, things cannot be as they had been. You have a wife now. Talk to her. I am at last free to spend my day as I choose to and I like it that way. I prefer to go back to my room right now." With this declaration, she stood up and hurried out of the room. John was dumbfounded and could only watch her receding back unhappily.
When Margaret came in for breakfast, he related to her what transpired, adding, "The situation with my mother is getting unbearable. I can understand her anger at me but how long can she ignore us and go about her day as if we did not exist."
"A long time," Margaret replied, affecting nonchalance. "She has treated me as if I was just a visitor here since I came back to Milton with you. It did not change even after we got married. I was upset at first and sometimes I still am but I am learning to ignore it. But, she is not my mother and we have never developed a close relationship. I am sure it must be much more upsetting for you."
"Have I failed her?"
"I do not think she believes that and she probably blames you much less than you think. She loves you and that will finally prevail, I am sure of it." Margaret bit her upper lip and looked away. She had found it more of a struggle than she had thought to forget, much less excuse or justify Mrs. Thornton's angry and bitter reproach at their last acrimonious encounter. It pained her to be in the older woman's presence and dinner had become, for her, a punishment to be endured. She longed to unburden herself to someone. Although it was often John she shared her deepest thoughts with, this time she knew she needed someone else to talk to. But who? Not Edith who disliked conflict and, anyway, she was too far away. This was confidence better shared face-to-face. Not Aunt Shaw, for the same reasons as Edith. She had to admit, finally, that she had no one in Milton she could turn to on matters about which she could not talk to John.
"Margaret, my love, is anything the matter?" John's anxious voice jolted her out of her thoughts. Only then did she realize that she had lapsed into a silence so long that he expressed some concern.
She looked at him, absentmindedly at first and then thoughtfully. She came very close to yielding to the temptation of telling him about the bitter accusations his mother leveled at her but eventually, she blurted out, instead, "Perhaps, I should go for a visit to London for a while. That may give you a better chance to mend your relationship with your mother."
As soon as she said this, Margaret regretted it. She did not know what came over her except that she had the urge to run away from wherever Mrs. Thornton was.
He shook his head vigorously. The idea was inconceivable to him and this was one of those instances, heretofore rare, when he did not hesitate asserting his authority as her husband. "I doubt that that will help. Besides I need you here so I prefer that you stay."
"I am sorry. I do not know why I even suggested it."
They finished breakfast in silence. Margaret stared thoughtfully at the milky dark brew in her cup, sipping it slowly. It reminded her of teatime in Helstone when, as a child, she used to sit silently with her cup of very milky tea, next to her mother as she entertained visitors or friends. She liked those social visits because the ladies would remark how proud her mother was to have a daughter who behaved so much like a little lady. How she longed to be back in Helstone! Back in that parish house parlor where she could look up from reading a book or drawing and see the large bush profuse with yellow roses in late May through June; back where she never had to wonder whether her parents and her brother cared for her because it was something she took for granted.
John watched her as he drank his tea. She had lapsed back into her pensive mood and seemed oblivious of him. As he drained his cup, he reached over and squeezed her hand gently, "I have to go." He stood and waited for her to get up to walk him to the door.
She got up wearily, avoiding his eyes, almost annoyed that he had broken her sweet reverie and brought her back to the gloomy present. He put his arm around her and lifted her face up to his. She looked up momentarily and laid her head on his shoulder to hide the anxiety in her eyes. He clasped her closer and whispered in her ears, "I love you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me and I don't know what I would do without you."
Margaret suppressed a sob as she wound her arms around his neck. John held her for some time before he left for the mill that morning.
John walked pensively to the mill, a vague sense of unease slowing his pace. Something had happened that Margaret was reluctant to tell him, something that prompted her to think about going to London so that he and his mother could concentrate on making peace. He was himself too wrapped up in remorse about his mother, too worried at her continuing unhappiness, too unsettled by his own concerns that he was unprepared to ask what might be troubling his wife. He needed Margaret and could not imagine not having her to come home to at the end of the day, partic
ularly now when he could forget about his agonizing guilt only when he held her in his arms. "I know her," he thought. "She would tell me when she is ready."
He walked more briskly, conscious that he was arriving at the mill an hour later than usual when so much was waiting to be done and orders coming due in two weeks. As he approached the mill gate, a purposeful alertness supplanted his unease and he hurried into the mill before going to his office.
*********
Margaret ascended slowly to her bedroom after John left. She felt tired although the day just began. It was uncharacteristic of her to want to lie down and rest so early in the morning but it was what she needed just then. She would leave Mary to take care and amuse Elise until her energy was back. She found Dixon in the bedroom, making the bed and putting the room in order. "You are rather late this morning. You have usually finished doing all this by the time I return from breakfast."
Dixon hesitated before answering, "I wanted to see how you are. You have not seemed your usual self since that day in the drawing room with Mrs. Thornton."
"No," Margaret answered, her voice soft and forlorn.
Dixon, clearly worried, studied her face for a minute. Then, she said, "How about if I brush your hair? You always envied your mother as a little girl when I did that for her. You are now the mistress."
Margaret did not answer, only nodded, a half-smile on her lips as she wordlessly sat in front of her dresser. Dixon picked up the brush and carefully released her hair from its clips and pins. She brushed Margaret's hair slowly, soothingly. She went about her task in silence but she watched Margaret's face closely and anxiously waited for the cloud in her eyes to lighten and the tension in her cheeks and her mouth to slacken. For nearly an hour, Dixon brushed Margaret's hair, gently massaged her scalp and, finally rearranged her hair back into a chignon. Margaret looked up and smiled, calmly, gratefully at her kind and familiar reflection on the mirror. She got up, put her arms around Dixon and kissed her cheek.
XX. Respite
In the evening, John came home just as Margaret finished nursing Elise who had fallen asleep at her breast. He stood waiting, watching her button her blouse. When she finished, he said, "I would like to tuck Elise in bed tonight."
Margaret looked at him for a moment, unsure if she heard him right but he held his arms out waiting for her to hand Elise to him. She answered, "Of course. What a marvelous thing to do!"
John held Elise upright in his arms, her warm little body draped peacefully on his chest and her head slack and drooling on his shoulder. He found it surprisingly comforting and gratifying to hold her, so small and fragile in his arms and so completely trusting. Margaret gazed with amazement at her husband cradling his child tenderly in his arms. Who would have imagined such a picture? She followed them into Elise's room and helped John lay Elise in her crib. This was the first time he had ever done this and he felt awkward and hesitant. He rocked her in her crib for a few minutes and then he stood with Margaret, for a long while, watching her sleep.
Later, back in their sitting room, she asked, "Shall I still ring for some tea? It is almost dinner time."
"Do," he answered as he walked into their bedroom.
Margaret was surprised. She had expected him to decline tea less than a quarter hour before dinner. She shrugged and rang for Dixon who was always ready with the tea-laden tray. She sat down on the sofa and picked up a book of poetry with which to while away the minutes, waiting for both Dixon and her husband. John rejoined her shortly in the sitting room, dressed down to his shirt opened at the collar, and with neither a cravat nor a vest. She gaped at him, momentarily surprised, then she asked, curious and amused at the same time, "Are you coming to dinner very casually tonight?"
He smiled at her but did not answer as he sat next to her. Dixon, who arrived with the tea tray just a few seconds later, threw him a perplexed glance, "Good evening, master."
"Good evening, Dixon. Please ask Jane to inform my mother we won't be coming down for dinner tonight. I am exhausted and I need my wife here to take care of me. But do serve us dinner here. Bring everything at once. We won't need anyone to assist us through dinner."
Dixon turned to Margaret who seemed pleasantly diverted. She smiled and nodded to affirm her husband's instructions. Dixon retreated towards the door, puzzled and scowling.
Margaret arched an inquiring eyebrow at him. John smiled back mischievously, tugged at his shirt and said, "Cadiz." He gestured towards the table by the window, "Dinner in our Paris hotel room." He leaned over, gathered her in his arms and in between kisses, murmured, "I intend to make up for all these difficult weeks with my mother when I have taken you for granted—your patience and understanding, your caring."
Dinner that night was the most relaxed and intimate they had ever had since their honeymoon, sprinkled with playfulness, kisses and animated conversation that drifted from the changing weather, their growing daughter, and their new neighbors to the merits of leisurely pursuits. But they studiously avoided any subject related to the mill and the workers request regarding Mrs. Thornton.
Early in their meal, Margaret noticed John glancing warily at a deep green dish, unfamiliar to him, that he had absentmindedly served himself on his plate. She spooned a little of the same dish that was on her plate and offered it to him. "It is good, really, just spinach, egg and cream made into a custard."
He hesitated for a moment, then accepted the bite she offered. "Why, yes. Quite good actually."
"And healthy for you, as Dixon used to say. It's a dish from my childhood when Dixon asked cook to make it so we would eat our vegetables. It was a hit and became a staple at our house. Later, the same dish was prepared with other vegetables instead of spinach." She explained as she fed him more bites from her plate.
"What about you? Are you feeding me so you wouldn't have to eat your spinach?" He asked, teasing.
"You can feed me what's on your plate." She answered with a sassy smile, opening her mouth for a bite.
The rest of the meal proceeded in the same casual fashion and during dessert, he undid the buttons on his sleeves and rolled up the cuffs. "The wine warms you up. We don't have to be in Cadiz, do we, to live with careless ease?"
"No, nor do we have to spend the whole day lazing around."
"We should do this more often. I rather like it and am heartily sorry once again for all that I have said about life in the south."
"Small doses of it are all you need."
"Yes, but on a frequent enough basis." He asserted grinning broadly.
She laughed, leaned over and gave him a peck on the nose. "What do you think of driving to the countryside on some weekend and dining alfresco? In late spring or summer, of course."
"A picnic!" He exclaimed. "That would be a first for me. We could take a carriage somewhere far from Milton for the day. It sounds like real indulgence."
"Are you uncomfortable spending your day in that manner?"
He stared at her thoughtfully for a minute or two before answering. "I used to be. But some of my happiest moments have been with you and me doing what would typically be called leisurely pursuits."
"Did you never go to a fair or vacation in the country or by the sea?"
"When my father was alive. But that was so long ago. After he died, I could only remember work and sacrifice." He frowned. "That sounds pretty grim to me now. I never questioned it because of what we set ourselves out to do. The challenge was energizing and I was young and eager."
"A single-minded quest for a goal. You should not feel sorry for it. It is quite admirable, actually. Everyone should be engaged in some useful occupation. But I also believe that one needs time away to refresh body and mind in order to continue doing one's work well."
"Everyone? I thought only men have occupations," he asked, facetiously.
"Yes, everyone and yes, I am thinking particularly of women." She hesitated, and he waited. She settled for saying what she thought was obvious. "Women do have paid occupations when pover
ty forces them to work, as you very well know. If they are not in mills or factories, they are mostly in servile positions. Most of the rest of us run your households to enable you, men, to do your work as best you can. Is that not also an occupation? Imagine what it takes to run a household: managing, budgeting, organizing, instructing. Are those not the same tasks you do to run the mill?"
"Well, there is some special knowledge required to run a mill and, some specific skills, of course."
"Managing a house requires a certain type of knowledge, too, and certain skills. It is work, though unpaid and always taken for granted. Is raising a child to be productive less valuable than producing yards of cotton just because the mother is not paid for her effort?"
He smiled, "When you put it that way, it makes me wonder why I value what I do so much."
"I do not mean to imply that what you do, what men do is less worthwhile. Besides, in privileged upper classes women are, indeed, frequently idle because some hired assistants do all the work of running a household and even raising children. As for women of noble birth, all they need to do is keep the family line going and uphold the family tradition and standing."
"That is harsh judgment of that segment of your own sex."
"Maybe, but perhaps society is also to blame for how girls are often raised. Still, many women rise above that helpless attitude they learn to assume and, when there is adversity, you see them facing it bravely and squarely and succeeding—your mother, for instance."
"You speak as if you admire my mother."
"Yes, on account of her strong will and tenacity and her devotion to you that made you who you are now, I do admire her very much."
