In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (63 page)

The young girl preened proudly at the surprised felicitations that came from Margaret and her father and chattered on to her sister-in-law about Watson taking her to the jeweler’s to select a ring. Mother and son also gave their blessing to the match, taking care to sound appropriately enthused, although John had warned his mother of the coming proposal after Watson had come to him a few days earlier to officially ask for his sister’s hand in marriage.

A spirit of festive excitement and promise pervaded the atmosphere when the small company gathered later at the gleaming crystal- and china- laden table for a Yuletide dinner of roast goose and all the trimmings. Mr. Hale requested the privilege of saying grace before the first course was served.

Normally reluctant to take on any role that approximated the authority of his former vocation, the ex-vicar on this occasion delivered a short homily on the blessings of family and the unifying love of Christ. His speech touched those that discerned the great gratitude which moved the widower to speak with such simple elegance.

When the gray light of day had long faded into the blue-black darkness of a winter’s night, the family assembled around the piano in the glowing lamplight of the small rose-colored parlor. Fanny’s fingers commanded the keyboard with middling skill as she played and sang with shrill exuberance all the familiar carols of the season. Margaret’s harmonizing alto voice joined in as she sat next to her sister-in-law, turning the pages when required.

The rich baritone sound of John’s voice carried over the toneless but merry squawking of the newly engaged bachelor. The aged widow added her pleasant voice, as did the elder parson from the South, who both looked upon the future with greater hope for new-born happiness. And so, for a time, the walls resonated with the joyful voices of Christmas singing.

*****

The weeks and months that followed were filled with the chatter and bustle of preparing for Fanny’s wedding. On more than one occasion, young Ralph Thompson awkwardly begged for pardon as he ushered himself through the drawing room to Mr.
Hale’s upstairs study while piles of fabric and lace had transformed the common living quarters into a private fashion salon.

Margaret marveled at her mother-in-law’s patience as Fanny vacillated and halted over every detail in her determination to oversee the creation of her wedding dress and the grand assortment of other garments constituting her trousseau. And beyond this, Fanny wavered upon all the other sundry but vastly important decisions, including the matter of the flowers, the proper guest list, the attendants, the menu for the wedding breakfast, and every possible contingency for the elaborate pageantry of this one gala day.

So much thought was put into the arrangements for the ceremonial matters of the occasion that Margaret often wondered if there was room in Fanny’s contemplations to consider the type of marriage she wished to create in the years that followed. Margaret knew by her mother-in-law’s despairing glances and quiet sighs that she was not alone in worrying how well Fanny understood the nature and seriousness of the lifelong commitment she was about to embark upon.

Margaret remained mystified by her husband’s actions in this one matter: Fanny’s ability to obtain all the frivolous
accoutrements she desired from so temperate and prudent a brother. Although he had iterated a few authoritative limitations to his sister’s concocted dreams in exasperation, he was generally content to let her have anything she desired.  Margaret did not remark about the cost such a lavish wedding must certainly entail, for she discerned by careful watching that the expenses did weigh upon John’s mind, although he shouldered them without complaint.

However, she did not feel the twinge of jealousy she supposed that any other new wife might as she silently sewed tiny, simple clothes for her babe while the parade of Fanny’s extravagance continued from day to day. Nor did she feel the impulse to caution her husband regarding the financial impact of his tacit acquiescence to Fanny’s ostentatious wishes.  

No, she loved him all the more for his weakness in spoiling his sister, for in such forbearance she saw his great desire to give all to those under his careful protection. He had been more a father than a brother to the girl who for years had taken her wealth and security for granted. His heart was larger and deeper than any casual observer could suspect. No, she loved him more for all his faithful loving.

At last the scheduled April day arrived, much to the relief of everyone abiding at Marlborough Mills. For indeed, Margaret was afraid her father would take to remaining in his rooms once again if the family were made to endure Fanny’s endless comments concerning wedding preparations for many more weeks.

Margaret sat in the front of the church, waiting for the ceremony to begin. A light spring rain had wet the streets, roofs, and dirt of Milton earlier in the morning. The smell of dampened earth and stone wafted into the church to blend naturally with the scents of the garlands and grand bouquets of roses adorning the solemn interior.

  Fanny had fussed and fretted that the heavens would be so unkind as to spoil her day, but Margaret had found great comfort in listening to the steady pattering sound of nature outside while Dixon had aided her in fastening her dress and coiffing her hair.

The sky had since brightened to its usual gray luster, and now the sanctuary was filled with well-dressed members of Milton’s more elite society, who awaited the arrival of the bride. 

A majestic strain from the organ turned the gathered company’s attention to the back of the church, where Fanny appeared on the arm of her brother. Although Margaret surmised that all other eyes must be fastened upon the bride, hers were drawn to the man who walked beside her. The young wife smiled at the manner in which Fanny’s fashionably voluminous hoopskirt seemed to keep her escort at an awkward distance. But her face shone as she watched her husband carry himself with the confident dignity and purpose that would always stir silent homage in her soul. Even after these long months of marriage, the sight of him, magnificently handsome in his formal attire, stilled her breath and roused clenching sensations that stupefied her with their power. That she was bonded to such a man — that she alone knew him as no other — caused her heart to twist and swell with the pain of desire to love him as no one else ever could.

As the bridal party neared, she saw the flickering nervousness of the bride. Her heart went out to Fanny, whom she hoped would find half the wedded felicity that she herself had found.

When John had played his part in giving his sister to the beaming groom, he turned to take his seat. Margaret saw the fond communication that passed in a flashing look between mother and son and rightly counted herself an outsider for a moment. For truly, no one but they two knew the cost of bringing Fanny to this moment.

Margaret smiled at her husband as he sat next to her and took her hand in his. Seated between him and her father at this sacred family event, she was supremely content. She had found her place and purpose — she was home, and felt a buoyant sense of joyful gratitude to know it.

John listened intently to the vows being uttered, the force of feeling he had known on the day he had repeated those same promises returning to him in amplified measure. Every word of them he had meant and would keep as sacred covenant until his last dying breath. He grasped tighter the small hand in his and saw in her loving glance the steadfast return of all his devotion. His heart beat strongly in silent allegiance to the depth of their bond.

She had arrived in his life as a crack of lightning. Her voice of disdain and reproach had thundered through him, shaking the very foundation of his ordered existence. Passion, struggle, and torment had crashed and poured in upon him until he had nearly drowned in the furor of his longing to have her as his own.

With her acceptance of him, the tumult of the storm clouds had passed. Now, the words from her mouth and the touch of her hands were raindrops of serenity, refreshing the tired and hardened landscape of his soul with renewed vigor of purpose and compassion for all.

He was certain that it had been heaven’s bestowal — yet a miracle to him — that placed the girl from Hampshire in his care. As she sat beside him in this church, her belly swollen with his child, he could not contain the humbling gratitude and soaring sense of immense joy that filled his chest to bursting. Years of ripening, unbounded promise lay before him. He could not ask for anything more.

Epilogue

John sat in his shirtsleeves at the walnut secretary in the corner of the master chamber. His hand smoothed over the map that lay before him. The broad light of early aft
ernoon illuminated the surveyor’s paper as his gaze measured vale and plain still largely untouched by man’s building. Soft, low humming sounded from the bedside behind him. Well he knew that the drifting melody was meant for the babe at his wife’s breast. The gentle sound filled the room, softening the master’s tightened features and soothing the strain of anxiety that arose at the thought of his sweeping plans.

“Oh dear, I don’t believe he will take his nap after all,” Margaret declared, punctuating her frustration with a sigh.

Mr. Thornton’s chair scraped the floor in swift reply. He shrugged on his coat before stepping to his wife’s side. A dark-haired babe of nearly five months peered up at his mother with bright eyes, his tiny hand clutching tight to the fabric gathered at her breast.

“No matter, give him to me.” He smiled at his son’s resistance to follow schedule as he scooped up the tiny lad.

With the babe secure in his grasp, John bent to kiss his wife. The touch of lips, lingering and tender, banished for a delicious moment any extraneous thoughts of a world beyond and kindled the embers of the burning love constantly within. Time had not diminished the stirring thrill of claiming her as his. The strong sense of what she was to him had only grown more profound as time had passed. Motherhood had not dulled her allure but burnished her beauty into something even more vibrant and holy to him.

Reluctantly, he rose from the bliss of the simmering contact, his gaze lingering upon the rosy blush on her porcelain cheeks as the curl of long lashes fluttered in reciprocation of feeling. She lifted eyes of absolute adoration to his a moment before glancing at the wriggling child in his grasp. 

“I’m certain Mother will not mind caring for him,” he assured her. The proud father was convinced of his pronouncement as he admired anew the perfect beauty of the child of their love’s creation.

Margaret admitted to herself that his judgment was very probably correct; however, she could not help feeling a pang of guilt to oblige her mother-in-law to care for the babe for several hours. If only Dixon were here! But she could not begrudge her long-time servant one afternoon of freedom from her weekly duties.  Although Dixon still sometimes grumbled about her mistress’ choice to nurse her own child and keep the baby’s crib in the master bedroom, Margaret knew the supercilious maid adored caring for her young offspring and went well beyond the tasks of a lady’s maid to also attend to the nursery. She knew, too, that the tr
adition-bound servant from the South had come to greatly respect her mistress’s husband, despite the clash of stubborn wills that occasionally reared between them in the form of dagger-fierce looks or muttered oaths.

Mr. Thornton paced around the room, gently pointing out to his son the objects in the room while his wife dressed for their outing. Jealous of the fleeting opportunity in which he could hold the growing infant in his arms, he knew that such moments were hallowed time that would quickly become mere memory as the months and years hastened on.

Once Margaret was ready, John followed his wife’s descent to the drawing room, still holding the cooing baby.

“Johnny would not sleep. I tried …” Margaret blurted in explanation as the threesome passed through the entryway into the open living space.

“Give him to me,” Hannah directed with satisfaction, laying her embroidery aside to take her grandchild from her son. Settling the moving bundle in her arms, she was at once oblivious to all other activity as she smiled at the babe. A glow of serene contentment swept the mark of care-worn years from the widow’s face.

On a sofa nearby, a small girl in a white smock dress sat with attentive eyes upon the whiskered face of her grandfather.
Louisa  was so engrossed in the story that she did not notice her parents had entered the room. John smiled as he took in the sight of his daughter’s rounded face and tousled chestnut curls. The vision of the bonded generations never ceased to warm his heart. It had been a blessing to receive such a gentle soul as his father-in-law’s into their home.

Margaret was relieved that her husband’s prophecy was correct. Hannah would see no toil in caring for the child while they were away.

“We’ll return as soon as we’re able,” Margaret could not help uttering as her husband ushered her out of the room toward the waiting carriage outside.

A short ride took them to the same station where they had begun their wedding journey nearly four years before. As they boarded a first-class compartment on the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway, a fresh feeling of new beginnings rose within them, filling the air with the tingling expectation of conjoined hope for the path they had chosen.

Their hands were clasped together in calm unity as the train carried them past monotonous rows of back-to-back houses that had been built in haste for the influx of factory workers during the recent decades of Milton’s great growth. Each passenger looked out their own window, lost in a pensive trail of thoughts. The private conversations, pointed questions, and daring hopes that they had shared in the intervening years of their marriage had led to this moment, when they were about to take the first step in turning their dreams to reality.