by EJourney
Margaret was in the midst of sketching in some details and did not look up when the door opened. "I will be with you in a minute." But she stopped and turned her head when she heard the rustle of stiff crinoline. "Mrs. Thornton, what a pleasant surprise."
Margaret was indeed surprised to see the person she least expected but she convinced neither herself nor Mrs. Thornton that she actually found the interruption pleasant. After their last acrimonious private encounter, they tried to be civil to each other. But conversations of any real substance were nearly nonexistent and they studiously kept out of each other's way until dinner when John's presence eased tensions somewhat. Margaret surmised that she owed this unusual visit to Mrs. Thornton's acute sense of propriety which dictated that, since she was going away—although only temporarily—she must part with her daughter-in-law as amicably as she could.
Mrs. Thornton, with an almost imperceptible smile, nodded her head but said nothing; her direct and frank manner made her incapable of casual pleasantries. She surveyed the room quickly until her attention was arrested by the sketches on the table. She examined what she could see without picking up any of them for a closer scrutiny.
With unalloyed but restrained admiration, she remarked, "You have gotten a good likeness. You have captured the expression in John's eyes in most of these."
Margaret smiled, amused by the observation but gratified by the implied compliment. "I do see those eyes every day."
The older woman did not answer but looked around once more, her manner unhurried, reverting to its cold formality. She pointed at a divan by the window. "May I sit down?"
"Of course. Please come around this way," Margaret replied, getting up.
She led Mrs. Thornton around the long table of sketches that stood between her and the divan. With her request to take a seat, Margaret suspected that Mrs. Thornton had come for a weightier reason than just to say goodbye. But Margaret was wary of encouraging anything beyond a superficial exchange and was not about to inquire into the reason for the visit. She stood awkwardly by, picked up a towel off the table, busied herself with wiping the charcoal off her hands, and waited for her mother-in-law to say something.
Mrs. Thornton sat quietly and frowned, watching Margaret with some annoyance. She wanted to tell her to sit down but she held her tongue.
After some minutes, Mrs. Thornton said in as steady a voice as she could muster, "I will be away for a few months and I did not want to leave with"—she paused, groping for the right word—"misunderstandings between us."
Margaret stopped wiping her hands and turned her head to stare at Mrs. Thornton who, for an instant, averted her eyes downward, her composure unsettled by the directness in Margaret's gaze. Margaret could not believe that this proud, aloof woman was actually going to apologize to her. And yet, Mrs. Thornton's grave manner and the anxiety in her eyes showed that she intended to do so and that she was about to say something which caused her a great deal of discomfort, if not outright pain. Margaret pulled the chair from in front of her easel and sat down, a few paces away from the divan. She gripped the soiled towel in her hand, rested her hands on her lap and waited—but a very short moment—for Mrs. Thornton to speak. Margaret listened, the calm, casual expression she had put on to mask her uneasiness gradually giving way to astonishment.
Mrs. Thornton spoke deliberately and clearly, anxious to be understood. "All the things I said to you when we last talked in the drawing room were uncalled for. They were hurtful and unfair. I am well aware that my son has been happy with you. I am grateful for that and for the fact that he was spared from the struggle and humiliation of starting all over again. It is as if his financial collapse never happened."
Margaret frowned and could not help retorting, "I did not marry John to rescue him from his financial troubles."
Mrs. Thornton shook her head, annoyed at being interrupted. "I did not mean it that way. I saw his despair when the mill closed. It seemed no man could be anymore despondent than he was then. It broke my heart and I was angry at a world that was so unjust to one so good and generous, one who had toiled earnestly and honestly."
She paused and gritted her teeth, oppressed by a turmoil of emotions. She flashed narrowed eyes at Margaret that were averted just as swiftly when she resumed. "Then he brought you home with him, you who once rejected him and hurt him so deeply." She turned her face away before continuing. "He was different, I saw that right away. He seemed happy, changed from the last time he confided in me, his despair gone."
She paused again and looked away for a long moment. Then, in a quieter voice, she said, "I should have been thankful."
Mrs. Thornton directed her eyes back at Margaret. "But somehow, it did not seem fair. I could not do anything about his despair, I who had stood by him all his life, made him who he is. And you—you change your mind about him, come back, profess your love for him—suddenly, everything is right once again for him."
Her voice broke when she finished and, though she kept her chin thrust upward, her eyelids dropped and she took a long deep breath, relieved, exhausted, angry, defeated. Mrs. Thornton had already gone through an intense struggle in her room just before this meeting. Her proud unyielding nature revolted against having to admit her mistakes to someone she still hated. But she thought she needed to be fair and admit the unjustness and hurtfulness of her accusations; in fact, she also feared alienating her son completely if she persisted in openly antagonizing his wife. She knew it was not right to hate her but she could not help it. At first, she merely felt that Margaret, unwelcome and a foreigner could not be trusted. But what Mrs. Thornton feared most happened: Margaret not only claimed John for herself. She also changed him materially and, in doing so, turned Mrs. Thornton's own well-ordered existence upside down: The mill was now lost to her, as well. Margaret had taken away the last thing that was precious to Mrs. Thornton.
Margaret’s reaction to this confrontation with Mrs. Thornton was no less complex, stirring painful emotions that she would rather have kept dormant. She felt some remorse on being reminded of having hurt John with her rejection; sad and sorry about Mrs. Thornton's profound suffering at losing her self-imposed role in the mill; and hurt by insinuations—implied in what she thought Mrs. Thornton left unsaid—that she was, a part of a world that had been unjust to her son and to Mrs. Thornton herself. Inevitably, however, what astounded Margaret was Mrs. Thornton's confession. She could not fully comprehend it.
Mrs. Thornton admitted having wrongly uttered hurtful words and, more amazing to Margaret, she acknowledged her resentment. And yet, she did not actually apologize, never said she was sorry. Margaret was not surprised; she doubted that proud, unbending Mrs. Thornton ever repented anything she did. Did she ever let go of her resentment and if she did, how long could she sustain it? Still, Mrs. Thornton did admit she had been wrong, a gesture extremely difficult for her. Margaret could only imagine the agony it took for her to go through with it.
Margaret glanced surreptitiously at Mrs. Thornton who sat very still and had turned her head towards the window. Margaret fidgeted in her seat, wondering what to do next but could not think of how to reply; indeed, Mrs. Thornton did not seem to need nor expect a reply. She glanced furtively once again at the older woman who sat as if she had hardly moved a muscle. In fact, she was now scowling at something outside the window. They stayed rooted in their seats, for a long while.
A sudden urge seized Margaret to get up and run out into the garden for some fresh air. It would have been very easy to do—only a few paces separated her from the garden through the door she always left open to air out her studio. But she kept to her seat, reluctant to disturb Mrs. Thornton's restless repose. And yet, she must say something; perhaps, Mrs. Thornton was waiting for her to do so before she felt she could leave. Margaret gripped the towel tighter in her hand, still at a loss about what to say but conscious that every minute that passed while she sat saying nothing became increasingly oppressive.
She forced herself to open h
er mouth, to form some words. What came out was polite but impersonal. "Thank you, Mrs. Thornton, for being very frank with me."
Mrs. Thornton turned towards her, forced a smile, and nodded. Indeed, in her mind, nothing more needed to be said and she could get up, leave the room, and go back to the sanctuary of her own bedroom. But she could not shake off a heaviness in her bosom that she could not define and she remained in her seat. Margaret waited. It seemed to her that Mrs. Thornton had clammed up so she got up and started to walk towards the door to the garden. She cast a swift glance at her mother-in-law and something in her expression made Margaret stop. She had initially intended to bid Mrs. Thornton a polite "good afternoon" as she walked by but, passing that close, Margaret saw melancholy and weariness in the older woman's eyes that softened the usually stern expression of her compressed lips and resolute jaw. Margaret had seen Mrs. Thornton worried and angry before, inevitably out of concern for John, but a deep and weary sadness had seemed alien to her.
Margaret felt a pang of remorse and with sincerity and warmth in her voice, said, "Please be assured that you have my good wishes and that you always have this home to come back to."
She smiled tremulously, gave Mrs. Thornton a slight bow and strode out to the garden where her pace quickened. When she reached the gate, she stopped and took several deep breaths. Encounters with Mrs. Thornton always threw Margaret into a conflict of emotions and while she thought she was learning to care less about the older woman's good opinion, every new meeting involving only the two of them disturbed her calm and sense of balance. Margaret sat on the nearest bench and, noticing that she still had the towel in one hand, busied herself once again with wiping the charcoal off her hands. After sitting for nearly half an hour, she got up and walked slowly back to the house. She could see through the window of the studio that Mrs. Thornton had gone. Margaret proceeded through the conservatory and up to her daughter's room.
**************
Elise was awake from her nap and playing on Mary's lap. The sight of her daughter had never yet failed to lighten Margaret's spirit and she picked her up off of Mary's lap. "Let's go down to the conservatory, shall we, ma puce?" She smiled at Mary, "Shall we go?"
Usually, that was all Margaret said to Mary but this day, she felt she needed to be alone with her thoughts as she played with her child. So, she added, "Come with us if you have nothing pressing to attend to, Mary. Dixon can use your help in the kitchen, I am sure, for that special dinner she is preparing for Mrs. Thornton."
Uncomplicated, unassuming Mary understood what was expected of her. She was loyal to Margaret and though not as protective as Dixon—she would not know how to do so—just as affectionate and acutely attuned to her mistress' moods and demeanor. "Yes, Mrs. Margaret. I will be back before dinnertime." She bowed and walked out of the room ahead of Margaret.
It had gotten dark enough that some gas lights in the hallways had already been lighted. In the conservatory, the waning sun still bathed the interior space with a faint orange cast and imparted a residual warmth that Margaret found soothing. She was glad to escape the coolness in the rest of the house. She sat on an armchair, her daughter on her lap, and picked up a couple of toys from a basket of objects accumulated to amuse Elise. She handed one to Elise. The child smiled, took the object in both hands, examined it for a few moments and then placed it in her mouth.
"No, no. Dirty." Margaret shook her head and carefully pulled the toy from Elise's mouth but the child only bit at it again as soon as her mother let go of it. They went through the same routine a few times until, finally, Margaret took the toy away and gave Elise a hard biscuit to chew on before she could start crying.
Margaret watched her daughter absentmindedly, her mind still preoccupied with the recent encounter with Mrs. Thornton. Acutely conscious that John held a very special place in his heart for his mother, Margaret believed she should continue to attempt a deeper reconciliation with Mrs. Thornton. She reminded herself often of the mother and son's shared history, both of failed and triumphant struggles that meant so much to him, a history that she could never fully appreciate, much less share. The truth, however, was Margaret had yet to find a way to woo her strong-minded mother-in-law. Certainly, not the way she did Aunt Shaw who was not immune to frivolities and was susceptible to appeals to both her affection and feminine vanity. Frank and sincere intercourse would go nowhere either. Mrs. Thornton was not in the habit of looking intimately into her feelings and analyzing her beliefs and, even if she were so inclined, she would not choose to speak to Margaret about anything revealing of herself.
Margaret had faith in the passage of time, however. She could easily recall those seemingly endless days of grieving, right after her return to London on her father's death, when she felt so numb and drained that she thought she would never recover. But time—precious reliable time—brought perspective, a lessening of pain, new challenges that must be faced, and, finally, a renewal of the spirit. So, Margaret convinced herself to trust once again that time could eventually bring with it some resolution.
"Perhaps, when Mrs. Thornton returned after a few months away with Fanny, things would be different. After all, she did admit that what she said to me was hurtful and unfair."
Elise turned her head towards her mother at the sound of her voice and only then did Margaret realize she had muttered audibly to herself. "No, I was not talking to you. In any case, it is a start, don't you think?"
She nudged her daughter's cheek playfully, raised her on her feet, and tickled her stomach with her chin until the child started giggling.
**************
John found his wife and daughter still at their little play when he came in. He had heard their laughter, punctuated by Elise squealing with delight, as soon as he entered the house.
Margaret placed her daughter back on her lap and looked up, still smiling broadly, "You're home very early today. It is probably not even five yet."
"About a quarter before. I am leaving for a few days tomorrow so I thought I'd come home early. Was I interrupting something?" He asked, teasing.
John had insisted on accompanying his mother to London, although Jane was going with her, partly to assuage her apprehensions about traveling anywhere outside Milton and partly to reestablish at least some of their former rapport.
Margaret got up to greet him with a kiss. Then she leaned against him and laid her head on his shoulder. John pulled her close with one arm and took his daughter with the other.
He kissed Elise on the cheek and his wife on her forehead, whispering, "Are you going to miss me when I leave for London?"
"Well, it will only be a couple of days," she replied. "But do you realize we have never been apart even for a day since I came back to Milton with you?"
"I was thinking precisely that as I was sitting at my desk, doing some accounting. In the middle of all that, I felt the urge to come home to you right away. I took a cab, can you imagine?"
She raised her head and kissed him again. "Let's go up to our room."
"Perhaps we can dine alone in our sitting room?"
"I would have liked that very much but Dixon got it into her head to do something festive tonight and prepare your mother's favorite dishes."
"Ahh!" He replied, amused. "I was not aware that Dixon liked my mother that much."
"You know Dixon and how much pleasure she gets from seeing everyone enjoy her meals."
"Yes. Lucky for me I have a much longer walk to work."
Some late afternoon light streamed into their sitting room, but a gas lamp on the wall had already been lighted. Margaret took Elise from John and placed her sitting up in her baby playpen, gave her a rattle, teething beads and rag dolls.
"She will play undisturbed until nursing time. Well, at least, I hope she does. She gets more restless when she is tired and wants attention."
"Leave her for now and come over here." John answered, taking her hand and pulling her gently towards him as he sat on the couch opposite the cr
ib. He reached out with his other arm and clasped her waist so she landed on his lap. "This time, I take care of you and you take care of me," he muttered, nibbling playfully at her throat, then slowly up her chin and her mouth.
Margaret placed her arms on his shoulders and laid her forehead against his. She caressed his cheeks tenderly and asked, her voice almost muffled, "How was your day?"
"Just the usual bustle but otherwise as uneventful as it could possibly be."
"That is good, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course. We will get a bit more hectic when some orders come due in a few weeks just as new ones arrive. I will have to hire a few more hands and I may also need a little help in the office."
She planted a kiss on his lips and got up off his lap but he held on to her hand. "Where are you going?" He asked.
"I was going to ring for tea."
"Not just yet. Sit with me awhile. I am leaving early tomorrow before you're even up and I will not see you for two days."
"It will only be one night away." Margaret sat down on the couch and nestled herself contentedly in John's embrace. They quietly watched their daughter at play for nearly half an hour, occasionally laughing or briefly noting some little thing Elise did.
That night passed without Margaret telling John about her encounter with Mrs. Thornton in the studio. She thought it did not serve a purpose, at least for the present. Besides, it would have required informing him first of the previous painful meeting in the drawing room.
**************
Mrs. Thornton left for London with John just as Margaret was getting up. He had gotten up earlier than usual and, after a light kiss that hardly woke his sleeping wife, left the room quietly.
Settled in their private compartment a few minutes before the train was scheduled to leave, John saw the anxiety in Mrs. Thornton's eyes and tried to reassure her. "It is not a long trip, mother. These trains are safe and fast. We will be in London before noon."
Mrs. Thornton nodded but did not answer. She kept her eyes focused on what was passing outside her window—at the people rushing everywhere on the platform as the train slowly chugged out of the station; at the densest part of the city that appeared to her to go by too quickly as the train picked up speed; at a landscape that increasingly evolved from gray to green. Mrs. Thornton grew more anxious.
