Margaret of the North (37 page)

John bent over to kiss her
cheek.  "How are you today, mother?"  He was about to render her a
terrible, unexpected, undeserved blow and he felt sorry, guilty that it had to
be done.  He clenched his jaw until it hurt and moved with heavy steps towards
the chair opposite his mother.

Mrs. Thornton smiled at her son
in her usual subdued way when she was pleased.  "You're home early." 
Then, anticipating the question he always asked since Margaret came, she pursed
her lips and added, "Margaret is out in the garden with your daughter and
two or three other idle servants."

"It's a nice day to be out. 
When winter comes, it will be too cold for Elise."  He sat down as he
replied and Mrs. Thornton regarded him curiously, wondering why he did not
hurry out of the room to seek out his wife as he had always done after greeting
her with a perfunctory buzz on the cheek.  She was finally used to him seeking
out Margaret right away when he came home instead of taking some time to talk
to her.

He sat still for a while, looking
through the conservatory and out into the garden as if he wanted to escape to
it.  He stood up, poured himself a drink and sat down again.  Mrs. Thornton
became more puzzled and, unable to restrain her curiosity anymore, she asked,
"Is anything wrong?  Did you have a fight with your wife?"

He shook his head, "No. 
No.  Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the mill but I don't know quite
how to."

"Just say what's on your
mind."

"I wish it was that
simple."

"Is there trouble at the
mill?"  She prompted.  "Another strike?  Orders you can't
handle?"

"No, none of that.  We're
doing quite well."  He paused, hesitant, anxiety written on his face as he
looked at his mother.  "But there are some concerns that workers
have."

"I am not surprised.  All
these things you have been doing for their benefit—they are taking advantage of
your goodwill.  Are they asking for more?  That would not surprise me."

"They are asking for
something but not higher wages or anything else that will cost money."

"Whatever it is, you should
not give them anymore.  You have done more than any other master in Milton. 
You do not know if what you have done will stop strikes or increase your
production."

"No, we do not yet know
about strikes.  It will take time to see such results but I do know that
workers at Marlborough Mills are more likely to stay working for me, to work
harder to fulfill orders or even stay after work hours to finish a job."

"They have always preferred
working for you because you have more modern machines.  What could they possibly
want now that worries you?"

John glanced at his mother,
quickly averted his eyes but forced himself to direct them back to her face. 
Then, in a quivering voice he tried, without much success, to steady, he
plunged into what must be said.  "They have requested that I ask you to
stop going to the mill."  It seemed to him that the words tumbling out of
his mouth were like darts he was flinging at his mother.

Mrs. Thornton was dumbfounded,
mystified by the request, unable to comprehend how her presence could matter to
the workers, unless they slacked off on their work.  "Take care, John. 
They have their ways of bringing you down if you let them and this may be one
of them.  They do not want anyone watching to see if they are doing their
work."

"That is not it exactly
because they suggested more supervisors for that if I saw the need.  Besides
the level of production is at its peak considering how many hours they have
worked so efficiency is high."

"They have no right to ask
me to stop coming," she protested vehemently but she fixed her eyes
anxiously on her son and felt somewhat shaken by what she saw in his demeanor. 
He avoided her eyes and it was obvious to her that he did not share the outrage
she felt at what the workers asked of him.

"Mother," he began
hesitantly as he reached out to press her hand.  "This is an extremely
difficult decision for me.  I know only too well that I would not be where I am
without you.  This mill has been your life as well as mine and, to some extent,
you grasp its worth more than I have."

She snorted and retorted,
"You used to but Margaret has brought you farther away from it with her
fancy southern notions about workers and their rights.  What does she really
know about them?  Then, there are those distractions with classics and Parisian
trips."

John clenched his jaw to suppress
an instantaneous irritation at her remark.  It did not surprise him but it did
vex him and he replied only when he felt in better control.  "This has
nothing to do with Margaret."

"Well, you changed after you
met her," she answered bitterly.

He decided it best to ignore this
remark and he continued as if she had not said it.  "Mother, please.  It
pains me to tell you this because the mill means so much to you."

"You told them, of course,
that you won't do it?"  She asked, searching his face but when he could
not answer right away, she repeated, "They have no right!"

"Actually, mother, they do
because, by law, you are not the mill owner.  And you are not an overseer who
can tell workers what to do."  He answered regretfully, sadly.

"You—are you asking me to
stop going to the mill?"  She asked more weakly, helplessly, admitting her
inevitable defeat.  "I always do as you ask."

Distressed as John was to see his
mother so mournful and disconsolate, he had already gone too far and had no
other choice, at this point, but to speak as plainly as he could.  "I have
mulled agonizingly, painfully, over this and I am exceedingly sorry that, in
the end, I saw no other way but to ask you to stop coming to the mill.  There
is a good chance that, in deciding in their favor, the workers will trust me
always to be fair on questions having to do with mill operations and it is
reasonable to expect them, in return, to be more loyal to the mill.  Who knows
whether, perhaps, they will think twice about strikes?"  He could not tell
her then his concerns about the young children and their fear of her.  It
seemed to him too cruel, unnecessary.

Mrs. Thornton listened to these
words without much comprehension.  It was not that she failed to literally
grasp what he was saying.  Rather, it was that these ideas were alien to her. 
Why should a master care to be perceived as fair?  She thought workers were too
ignorant to understand what fairness meant and had too much self-interest to be
loyal.  They were interested only in getting all they could from those who had
succeeded, those of superior mind and work ethic. 

Mrs. Thornton despaired that she
no longer knew how to reach her son and talk to him in ways that proved them to
be of like mind.  She had never felt him as removed from her as he was then. 
It was, in fact, this conviction that depressed her even more than her anger at
being deprived of a role in the day-to-day operation of the mill.  She had
assured him that she would do as he asked but she could not resist one last
question, the answer to which would render finality to her belief that he was
no longer within reach of her influence.  She tried to sound unconcerned. 
"So, you believe it is in the mill's best interests that I keep away from
it?"

To John, her question was laden
with despair despite her attempts to mask it.  It filled him with remorse and
he could only nod, biting his lip as words failed him.  This was the most
difficult undertaking he had ever done and, in that instant, he wretchedly
regretted having acceded to the request.  And yet, in his heart, he felt he had
done the right thing.

Mrs. Thornton got up and
announced in a voice as steady as she could muster, "I am tired and would
like to rest.  If I am not down at the usual time for dinner, do not wait for
me."

John watched his mother walk
away, her head held high.

**************

John sat in the drawing room for
some time, sorrowful and helpless, convinced that he had betrayed his mother. 
He sat, heavy, immovable, a lump insensible to his surroundings, to the
activity going on far away from where he sat, and to the growing darkness into
which he wished his darker figure would disappear.  Eventually, he was roused
from the black void he had sunk into by the lively sound of Margaret's voice. 
She had just come in from the garden, invigorated by the pleasant exertion of
playing with her daughter, attended indulgently by Dixon and Mary.  Margaret
was talking to Elise, who seemed to be answering back in her own language.

John saw his wife and his
daughter pass by the drawing room.  He wanted to call her name as she walked by
but no sound came out of his mouth.  When they were no longer in view,
Margaret's footsteps suddenly stopped.  She had caught, by the side of her eyes,
the fleeting image of a dark figure in the unlighted drawing room.  She
retraced her steps and seeing him sitting there, desolate and wretched, she
knew what had happened.  She continued talking to Elise as she approached him,
"Look Elise, Papa's home."

Elise, mimicking her mother,
smiled at her father and extended one hand out to him.  John got up wearily and
absentmindedly greeted them both with kisses, his daughter, on her belly, which
made her squeal at being tickled, and his wife, on her lips.

Margaret peered at him with
concern, "You talked to Hannah."

He nodded and put an arm around
her to lead her out of the drawing room.  They walked up the stairs in
silence.  Sensing his distraction, Margaret placed an arm around his waist and
headed for their bedroom.  She deposited Elise on the middle of the bed, and
gave her the hand mirror from the dresser to play with.  She sat on John's side
of the bed, tagged at his arm, and motioned for him to sit down next to her.

"Do you want to tell me
about it?

"What is there to tell?  She
is extremely unhappy and disappointed and I let her down."

"I am so sorry."  She
answered sympathetically, "You said yourself she has been through worse. 
So in time, she will come around, I am sure.  She loves you and that fact will
prevail."

"Yes, but many things have
happened and we have both changed."  He was miserable.  "She would
never forgive me for this."

Margaret, soaking in his sorrow,
could not speak.  He sat mournfully for some time and then said regretfully,
"The fact is, much of what has been good for me this past year has been
devastating to my mother.  First you, and now, the matter about the workers and
the mill.  It is unfortunate but there it is."

Reminded of her part in depriving
Mrs. Thornton of what was most precious to her and already sad for John,
Margaret was struck with guilt once more.  She bowed her head to hide eyes
brimming with sadness and cheeks flushed from the strain of holding her tears
back.

John raised her face and said in
a clear but soft voice.  "Still, as much as I have disappointed my mother,
I want you to know that I would not change a thing and would always be most
grateful that I have you."

Margaret was bewildered.  Such
words calmed her own turmoil and gave her a warm glow all over.  She could
listen to them endlessly but why had he thought it necessary to say them when
he was the one in need of soothing words?  He had spoken to her lovingly but
his eyes were dark with pain and the muscles on his face were taut with the
burden of his mother's misery.  She regarded him earnestly and a pang of guilt
hit her again, but this time, it freed her from her own anxieties so that she
could set them aside to help him calm his.

But Margaret felt helpless, at a
loss for words in the face of his agony.  She had learned from her own
experience that words did not always help someone freshly and totally absorbed
by sorrow and remorse.  But he might find solace, she thought, in the presence
of someone who empathized and understood what he was going through.  Margaret
placed her arms around his neck and pulled his head gently down on her
shoulders.  She stroked the back of his head and down the nape of his neck. 
After some time, she whispered into his ear and he lay down on the bed, his
head on her lap.  She ran her fingers soothingly through his hair and, with the
lightest caress, on his face, tracing its outlines.  Soon, his already drooping
lids closed slowly.

That night, Margaret asked Mary
to put Elise to bed after Margaret had nursed her.  When she and John were
finally alone, she rang for a light supper to be brought to their bedroom. 
Mrs. Thornton had made a similar request and the household wondered and
speculated about what might have happened.

John and Margaret did not see
Mrs. Thornton for a few days.  She stayed in her room and only Jane, who
brought her meals and attended to her requests, was allowed to come to her. 
John tried on the third day to see her but Mrs. Thornton did not answer and
later sent a message through Jane that she was not to be disturbed.  She would
come out when she was ready.

**************

More than a week later, Mrs.
Thornton finally descended from her room after John had left for the mill and
Margaret was in the drawing room talking to Dixon.  Margaret and Dixon heard
the characteristic rustle of Mrs. Thornton's crinoline as she entered, her face
resolute and unsmiling, her eyes blazing in the way Margaret had seen John's
eyes do in profound anger.

"Leave us Dixon.  I want to
talk to Margaret.  Close the door behind you."

Dixon glanced first at Mrs.
Thornton and then, with concern, at Margaret.  She hesitated and stayed rooted
in place until Margaret, with a slight nod, gave her leave to go.

Margaret turned towards Mrs.
Thornton.  "I am glad you are feeling better.  Have you had breakfast?"

Mrs. Thornton ignored her
question, "We need to talk."

"What about?  Perhaps, we
should sit."  Margaret, determined to be as agreeable as she could, smiled
and ignored the hostility that was obvious in the older woman's tone.