In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (64 page)

Mr. Thornton studied the collected soot and blackened facades of the brick buildings of the town he had called home for so long, trying to recall the first impulses of his ambition to create a better model between masters and men. Perhaps the visit to
Saltaire’s promising beginnings had moved him more than he had been aware at the time, although he could never have imagined initiating such a scheme at that date.

His plan was not on the grand scale of Sir Titus Salt’s venture, for he did not have endless resources from which to draw. His experiment would be no ostentatious philanthropic measure but a collaborative undertaking that integrated the interests of the men who worked under him with sound market principles upon which he had based his business. He had visited New Lanark and seen that profit could be made even when workers were granted a better life.

He could not trace the intricate weaving of fate and circumstances that had slowly worked its compelling design to change his larger aims. But he knew the elements that had played a part in forming this altogether more satisfying and inclusive endeavor and purpose: it was his wife’s unfailing compassion, the stroke of sudden and studied prosperity, and the surprising evolution of friendship with one who had once hated him.

The Master had come to rely upon Higgins for his sharp eye, quick mind, and ready diligence. The former union leader had been that first vital link to convey to the mass of workers the varied challenges with which masters continually contended to keep the mill in steady operation. The reserve of anger and distrust between the toiling hundreds and their employers had dissolved into a compatible reliance and respect at Marlborough Mills.

Many a time had he and the stalwart mill worker spent talking late into the evening, either in the factory office or in the simple home in the Princeton district. Mr. Thornton had learned the names and stories of many of the other men who worked under him, and met them on occasion as they came and went in Higgins’ home for counsel and aid. It had been the most natural and logical decision to hand Higgins the job of overseer at the mill when Williams left to settle in the South for his health. There was no other man to whom he could trust his entire enterprise, and no hint of shame in the Master’s mind at the truthful consideration that of all the men in Milton, this earnest and loyal soul could be counted as his friend.

Mr. Thornton knew he had gained the respect of all his workers. That they had contributed to and endorsed his venture to build anew and would follow wherever he would lead gave him reassurance whenever the fear of responsibility threatened to overwhelm him. 

As the train passed under a bridge that marked the edge of town, Margaret observed the change from buildings to industrial acreage. A coal pit revealed in stark sight the black source of power that fed man’s ceaseless industry, and, nearby, brick fields spread for acres. These simple units of construction waited their purpose in stacked rows as far as the eye could see.

What of those who had mined that vast pile of coal and made those innumerable bricks? Margaret considered the lives of drudgery of those who toiled unseen to provide the very foundation required to fuel the country’s relentless drive for progress. She prayed for the time when those whose luxuries depended upon the menial work of others would consider the welfare of their fellow beings. It was a consolation that the men and women under her husband’s command were treated with dignity and given a chance to expand their confining existence.

Her thoughts drifted to the crafty old man who had made this venture possible. Mr. Bell had passed away a few months after Louisa’s birth. She remembered fondly the pleasure written on his face at the sight of their newborn treasure. It was his last visit to Milton. A fortnight later, they had received word of his death. Mr. Hale had been much grieved to lose his oldest friend, and Margaret was still saddened to think of how much she missed his friendly humor and untiring candor.

John had been surprised at the extent of the Milton-born scholar’s holdings and had dealt carefully with the capital entrusted to him, investing portions in industrial enterprises thoroughly inspected by his own eyes. He was keenly aware of the benefit to be gained by manufacturing new precision tools and improved models of machinery in every trade.

With their rising fortune had bloomed their desire to do more to improve the lives of their workers, who had become much more than cogs on the wheel of Mr. Thornton’s success. She had watched with great satisfaction as her husband’s relationship with Nicholas slowly turned into a friendship, one that she was certain ran deeper than that of any other of his associations.

Open fields now lay outside her window, decorated at intervals with small ponds and old outlying estates. They passed green heathland before the train slowed to a stop at a quiet station where a crossroad led to a small print works factory.  A waiting coach carried them along the rutted, damp country lane.

The Milton master watched the landscape keenly as they approached the land he was certain he would purchase. A brick dye mill stood in the far distance with a half-dozen small houses dotting the countryside. He signaled the driver to bring the coach to a halt and climbed out, the smell of earth and pasture reaching his nostrils before his feet touched the leveled dirt and stones of the well-worn road.

He turned to aid his wife, and handed her down to the firm country ground. Together, they stepped up the small roadside embankment to stand level with the gently sloping grassland spread before them. A small brook curved its way in the near distance, the glimmer of water catching their eyes as they scanned the horizon.

Margaret saw in her mind’s eye a pretty house with a garden and expanses of green for her children to run and play. She imagined making helpful rounds to visit families in their homes, watching the workers’ children stream through the gates of an open schoolyard, and taking long walks with her husband on Sundays to enjoy the fruition of all they had accomplished.

Mr. Thornton envisioned the breadth and height of the new mill, the lodestar of the small village that would surround it. The faces of men and women, workers he knew by name, came rushing into his mind. He considered numerous others and the children and dependents whose livelihood and peace rested upon the wisdom and success of this enterprise.

A west wind tugged at his anchored hat and pummeled his resolute profile in invigorating bursts. Absorbed by the view before him, he reached out instinctively for his wife’s hand. Her skirts billowed and flapped in the strong breeze.  Tall grasses bent and swayed in undulating patterns of effortless precision until the distant dappled hills absorbed their motion. The docile rustling sound filled his senses, whispering the power and promise of collective harmony. He drew a deep breath of settled confidence as slender fingers nestled into the clasp of his own broad hand.