Margaret of the North

by EJourney

  The party was gathered for the month in a large furnished apartment next to the Jardin du Luxembourg on the Rive Gauche. Frederick, who traveled to Paris once or twice a year on business, had arranged to lease it on his last trip. It had four bedrooms: two large ones for the two couples, a third for the children and a fourth for Dixon and Juana, the maid Dolores brought to take care of little Frederick.

  Dixon was inevitably apprehensive of sharing a bedroom with someone who spoke no English but within a week of their arrival, the two women were communicating with a combination of gestures, the few words of English Juana learned from Dolores and the three or four words of Spanish Dixon could recall that Juana taught her. Thrown into each other's company all day, in a society new and strange to both, and similarly entrusted with the care of their masters' children, they formed a casual alliance that needed few words. Towards the end of their stay, each admitted that the other actually helped her enjoy the stay in Paris.

  The apartment had a drawing room, a dining room and a well-equipped kitchen that turned out to be more useful than anyone had expected. On their first morning and in need of breakfast, the whole party went out searching for a food market. A block from the apartment, they happened upon a store, through the glass doors of which they could see the interior already packed with people although it was still quite early. Delicious aromas wafted out every time customers entered or left it with their purchase.

  The sign on the store said boulangerie. "Why, of course—a bakery! What else could smell so good?" Margaret exclaimed, smiling broadly as she stepped inside, followed close behind by Dixon with Elise in her arms.

  After an instant of indecision, the rest of them squeezed themselves into the bakery's crowded interior. It was redolent with delicious, irresistible aromas of baking and warm from the blazing stone hearth visible from where they stood. They looked around, in marvel at the abundance before them. Loaves of crusty bread, long and short, fat and thin, filled two large baskets on two ends of a long counter and, in between, buns and rolls of all kinds almost crowded out sweet and savory pies and other pastries filled, according to the lady at the counter, with cheese, ham, or a combination of both, all freshly baked.

  Margaret, in the interest of efficient ordering at the busy bakery, made choices for the whole group. After asking a few questions, she chose a warm country bread, a selection of both sweet and savory pastries and small soft golden buns called brioche, relatively rich in egg yolks and which, according to the friendly baker's wife who was serving her, "les petits aiment beaucoup." With the makings for a hearty breakfast that she packaged beautifully in a box and directions that she gave Margaret to an épicerie where they could purchase milk, the party headed towards the store, bought tea and milk, and returned to the apartment for a morning feast. For about a week, Margaret and Dixon returned to the bakery on subsequent mornings until the baker's wife became familiar with les femmes anglaises and Dixon felt that, if Juana went with her, she could manage to order what was needed simply by pointing to them.

  On the second morning, when, Margaret and Dixon returned to the épicerie for more tea and some coffee, fruit preserves, milk and cream, they noticed a number of other food stores in the vicinity, some still closed. Margaret dragged Dixon back in late morning to see what the stores offered. They returned to the apartment laden with a selection of both familiar and new food items. At a nearby charcuterie, they found hams, sausages, and other cured meats; at a cheese shop, a wide selection of cheeses unknown in England; and at a small market with open stalls, fresh fruits and vegetables.

  Dixon, born with sensitive taste buds and a sharp sense of smell, enjoyed good food and, across the years, had learned to be creative with ingredients to make the most of the limited larder the Hales kept. Her natural gift for concocting delicious dishes was unleashed when she took over the Thornton kitchen, for which she could purchase the best ingredients that could be found in Milton. The bounty in Paris delighted her beyond words and on the first Sunday, she offered to make dinner, which everyone gratefully accepted.

  Recognizing the excellence of her ingredients, she prepared them simply and presented a dinner of very fresh raw oysters from the Brittany coast, roast lamb with small potatoes and creamed wild mushrooms, and fresh figs and berries served with orange-infused liqueur. It was a delectable unexpected feast, an indulgence after the typical fare in cafés and brasseries the two couples consumed during a day of sampling the city's cultural offerings. They requested it again and looked forward to a similar feast on subsequent Sundays.

  Frederick had selected the apartment for its proximity to the beautiful, large garden next to the Luxembourg palace and it turned out the wise and happy choice he thought it would be. The garden became Dixon and Juana's preferred place to take the children when their parents were out somewhere in the city. They went nearly everyday, joining the many families who promenaded or played in vast spaces shaded with trees and equipped with chairs, benches and grassy areas. By the second week, the couples needed a break from the continuous stimulation of art and shopping galleries, museums, theaters, and cafés in a city still in the middle of its massive reconstruction. The whole party went to the garden and whiled away that weekend and remaining ones pleasantly relaxing, chatting, exchanging stories, and watching others around them do the same. Just as Dixon and Juana had seen other families do, they packed a picnic basket of bread, cheese, fruit, cured meats, wine for the adults, and milk for the children.

  Margaret went back to the garden with John or Frederick for long leisurely walks, usually in the evening, the summer light still lingering on the horizon. She brought along a sketchbook and pastels, bought at a Paris art store, and stopped many times to sketch views of the garden. Except for memories, she had no record—not even entries in a diary—of her first glorious, wonderful visit to Paris on her honeymoon. This time, she wanted more vivid images than she could summon from flawed slowly-fading memories so, whenever she had time, she made sketches of Paris scenes, of landscapes, of everyone in her party and of Parisians going about their day-to-day business.

  As in Cadiz, the Thorntons and the Hales effortlessly fell into talking and sharing their experiences. In conversations they had in cafes or after dinner at the apartment, they recounted in much detail both small and big events of their lives, often talking into the night. When they had exhausted what they needed to say about their separate lives, they found many other topics of interest—things they had seen and done that day, their hopes for the future, their views on what was happening around them. The ease and genuine affection that began to develop in Cadiz between the two couples deepened in those long, intimate conversations, anxiously nurtured by Frederick and Margaret who were constantly reminded of how little time and how infrequently they had a chance to be together.

  Margaret was particularly gratified to see John and Frederick often engaged in endless conversations that began when they started talking about their work. John, who had been in business much longer than Frederick and had struggled through more complex problems, talked freely about them and Frederick listened intently, convinced that he could learn from someone as wizened by experience as John obviously was.

  Their conversations inevitably evolved into more intimate topics. When John mentioned his close friendship with Mr. Hale and how they spent hours talking about the classics and philosophy, Frederick's interest was particularly piqued. He had listened to his father talk of those things when he was a very young man but, while they interested him, he had been more eager for adventure. He had chosen to go into the military instead of Oxford. Older and settled in his own home, he had thought about devoting some time to reading a few of the books his father had talked about, partly for his own enlightenment and partly to pay homage to a father he had admired. He quietly listened to John, his usually glinting eyes gradually shrouding with sadness. Noticing the change in Frederick's countenance, John lapsed into silence, somewhat uneasy, but waiting patiently for Frederick—who had turn
ed introspective in the way John saw Margaret do—to make the next move.

  After some time, Frederick spoke, "I have made it a point not to regret what I have done across the years, not even what the British naval authorities called a 'mutiny'. But not having been there for my parents and my little sister when father was forced out of his living has never ceased to bother me."

  John did not answer, merely nodded in sympathy. Frederick continued, "I particularly regret not being there during my father's darkest hours. I admired my father very much and, yet, as a young man hungry for adventure, I tried to be different from him." He looked at John squarely, "Now, I listen to you, I envy you those hours of study you had with him, the trust he had that allowed him to confide in you."

  John did not know what to say, dumbfounded by the remorse and sincerity, tinged with bitterness, evident in Frederick's voice. He was struck by how much like his father Frederick was in those moments of sadness and regret. There was about him the same poignancy in baring his soul to someone who was a relative stranger. John had believed that the father, in the midst of grief and despair, could not help himself. Talking to Frederick then, John saw that Mr. Hale—assuming an implicit unspoken compact that John would be compassionate, not apathetic nor judgmental—had given him his trust in a moment of great vulnerability and pain. With the son trusting him in the same way, John recognized the courage it took to do so and he felt some humility in the face of it. If he had been in Frederick's shoes, he would have withdrawn into a shell instead of laying himself open—to what, he could not exactly define—to pain, hurt, ridicule, perhaps? They were strangely intimate moments for John, more so now than they had been with Mr. Hale with whom age and the relationship of teacher to pupil induced some distance. That night drew John and Frederick closer.

  **************

  The month was over sooner than it suited everyone except John. He was thoroughly engaged in all that the two couples busied themselves with and he believed, as Margaret did, that this trip to Paris and reunion with Frederick and Dolores was as happy, as fresh, and as heartwarming as they had hoped for. But after only a week of being away from the mill, he could not help thinking and worrying about it when he retired to bed. He now had a trusted assistant who looked after the accounting books, ordered supplies, tracked the progress of orders, and when called to do so, competently carried out all the responsibilities of running the mill. Still, John could not shake off the uneasiness of not tending to the mill himself for a whole month. For a few nights, he lay awake in bed wondering how it was doing and whether he was shirking his responsibilities in being away so long. His mother certainly thought so.

  John had visited his mother in her apartment the week before they left for Paris to tell her they were going to be away the following month. He knew her concerns about the mill running unsupervised for such a long time but they had avoided talking and even referring to anything pertaining to the mill. As he had expected, she listened and refrained from voicing displeasure but she compressed her lips, averted her eyes, and turned her full attention on her work after acknowledging what he said with a noncommittal nod. Since her return from London, she had been careful about articulating opinions and remarks that could offend, hurt, or be construed as disapproval. Even so, John was constantly aware of what she actually felt and thought.

  Alone in their room in the Paris apartment, Margaret eventually noticed his unease and suspected the reason for it. She was sitting on the bed and had just put aside the book she was reading when John came to bed, gave her a perfunctory kiss and turned on his side to go to sleep. This was unusual for him who almost always tenderly cajoled her into joining him under the sheets. He lay awake, restless and unable to find a position he could settle into, turning one way, then the other, then on his back. Margaret slid down and lay silently watching him toss and turn for a few minutes. When he turned to face her again, she came closer and placed a hand on his arms to stop him from turning over. She gazed into his eyes, as if she was probing into his thoughts but he merely stared at her with glazed eyes. With a touch soft and soothing, she stroked his cheeks and his hair, slowly, until she began to engage his attention; then she clasped his face with both hands and kissed it all over with the same deliberate tenderness. His eyes slowly regained their depth, his concerns arrested for the moment, swept away by her caresses. He gave her his full attention then, made passionate love to her and, soon after, descended into peaceful sleep, the mill forgotten for a while.

  John's disquiet about leaving the mill for a whole month did not cease but at night, at least, with Margaret in his arms, sweetly soothing his worries away, he gradually began to let go. By the end of their stay in Paris, he could agree, with only a fleeting apprehension, to the next reunion three years hence. Still, he was relieved to be returning to Milton.

  The reunions became a regular family affair John and Margaret planned for, every two or three years. Twice, they had to reschedule when the threat of a strike made John too troubled to go. Otherwise, nothing catastrophic ever happened when they were away and he began to look forward to their month-long sojourns almost as much as Margaret did. Perhaps, because of the relative infrequency of their meetings as well as the deep affections nurtured across the years, the two families were always sincerely happy to see each other, usually tolerant of the minor irritations that were often inevitable among relations, and forgiving of the rare transgression that caused someone pain.

  The character of their get-togethers inevitably changed with time. For one, the size of the apartment the couples rented grew as more children arrived. Margaret bore John a son in their fourth year of marriage and a second two years later; a daughter arrived, unexpected, after many years. Frederick and Dolores, about every two years, had two more sons. At some point, it became necessary for the Thorntons to rent one apartment and the Hales, another. The gatherings often took place in Paris and, later, elsewhere in France until Edith suggested Italy to Margaret. That year, Captain Lennox, Edith and their children joined the two families before going to Greece. After that, the Captain and Edith timed some of their lengthy trips to the continent to coincide with the reunion of the Thorntons and the Hales.

  **************

  The Thorntons kept frequent company with Edith and Captain Lennox and were regular visitors a week at a time every summer at the big country house on the south coast of England that the Lennoxes purchased. Practically all the time they spent there, Edith and the Captain hosted friends and relatives that occasionally included Henry and Ann Lennox as well as Captain Bennett and Catherine.

  John had never anticipated being thrown into company with individuals who had nothing to do with cotton and manufacturing. He was inevitably drawn into the various circles that formed around Margaret towards whom people gravitated because of the projects she took on and the openness and sincere interest she took in certain people. At the Lennoxes dinner parties in London and the coast, he met friends of Edith and the Captain, members of smart London society whose conversations ran the gamut from theater to politics to the latest modern inventions. Not that Edith was remotely interested in these subjects; in fact, she hardly listened to the conversations. But she cultivated these friends—generally well-educated, sometimes struggling financially and grateful for her sumptuous dinners—for the lively intercourse they kept up at her frequent parties.

  These friends of the Lennoxes fascinated John and, indeed, they were insurance for a diverting evening. However, he found that most of them lacked real experience to back up their words—these clever, garrulous, sophisticated men who always had ready opinions to offer. He could not help comparing them to Frederick, who could have been one of them and with whom he had forged the closest of friendships. None could boast of having gone through similar adventures or having had their mettle tested the way Frederick's had been.

  The Thorntons and the Lennoxes also began a tradition of spending alternate Christmases between Milton and the coast. By then, the Christmas Eve festivitie
s at the mill had become a yearly happening that ran smoothly without the Thorntons' presence.

  The first year they spent Christmas on the coast with the Lennoxes, Catherine volunteered to stand in for them, dragging Captain Bennett with her. She was married by then and kept her job teaching at the mill school two days a week, more out of a sense of purpose than of necessity. She had stopped working at the busy clinic which had expanded to two nurses and a full-time doctor. Captain Bennett, who had been reluctant to go to the Christmas dinner at the mill, told John later that he found the social exchange with the workers interesting and, in some cases, even stimulating. He and Catherine continued to attend the festivities in subsequent years, even after John's assistant and his wife took over managing and presiding over the festivities. The Thorntons continued to go to the Christmas Eve dinner at the mill with their children whenever they were in Milton for the holidays.

  Margaret gave up teaching classes at the mill when she became pregnant with her second child. Through Catherine's sister, she met and hired two women, former governesses who wanted to augment their pensions and were willing to teach at the mill. They not only took over Margaret's classes, they also offered others that included arithmetic and some rudimentary study of history and nature for those who had advanced in reading. School hours were stretched.