Margaret of the North (21 page)

She got up and put her arms
around him.  He lay his face against her bosom and clasped her close. 
"But at that train station, I did not really make a choice.  I merely went
along with the inevitable, happy consequence of clearly realizing that what I
wanted was a life with you, whatever its ups and downs."

She paused, laying her cheek on
top of his head before she continued, "What I have is yours.  I trust you
completely to decide what to do with all that I have inherited including the
money gained from Watson's speculative venture.  I have learned a little about
managing this wealth and know that it is wise to shelter some of it.  But use
part of it for some of the projects you wanted to do for the mill or to improve
working conditions, whatever you see fit.  I have all I want in my life with
you."

She stroked his hair softly and
he glanced up at her with smiling eyes, his countenance tranquil once more.  He
nestled his head more snugly against her chest, listening calmly to the regular
beating of her heart.  After some minutes, she spoke again.  "There is
only one matter I would like some say on.  Your plans to do more for workers
seem, to me, too worthwhile to delay.  Workers are not much different from you
or me, with the same basic rights, so we should give them what they are due as
human beings when we can.  There is still a considerable disposable amount in
the inheritance even after the bank loan is paid so I see no reason to put off
measures to improve their plight."

He did not disagree with her
remark but its boldness startled him nonetheless.  Having only begun, in the
months since he had known Nicholas Higgins, to value an open honest
relationship with his workers, he was dismayed to hear his wife stating, with
certainty, notions that were still being formed in his mind.  He raised his
face up at her, the faint suggestion of a scowl coming back to cloud his eyes. 

Margaret returned his look, a
momentary flash of defiance dilating her pupils.  Were the differences in their
views about workers going to become a matter of contention between them?  She
knew that in the beginning of their acquaintance, he had been of a similar mind
as his mother.  They assumed that people merely got what they deserved and if
they got the shorter end of the stick, it had been by their action or choice. 
Yet, he had reached out to Nicholas Higgins and she had heard him talk about
discovering much good in his character, much that he learned from their
interactions so that he wanted to pursue a similar approach with more workers.

Margaret had no desire for
confrontation so early in their married life and she said in a conciliatory
tone, "I know you have done more than anyone else about improving working
conditions at the mill."

He acknowledged her remark with a
nod but dropped his arms from around her waist and made a motion to stand up. 
She stepped back to give him space but she could not help feeling letdown.  He
stood up and ran his hand tenderly down her back before he walked towards the
fireplace.  The caressing touch down her back mollified her somewhat and she
sat down on the chair he vacated, her eyes following his movement, waiting,
wanting to be wooed back to those tender moments before she made her bold
declaration.

John was as loath as Margaret to
start any conflict between them but he was also cautious not to acquiesce too
readily until he was certain where he stood in his changing views about
workers.  He was aware that, in his plans, he was treading on unknown territory
that could prove to be more complicated and, therefore, difficult to manage. 
After the recent problems with the mill, he was more anxious about maintaining
control of his business.  He was determined to be as frank as he could,
however.  "I admit that you and I disagreed in the past in our views
pertaining to workers.  I do have plans more in line with your thinking but I
need to work them out further."

"I realize this is your
province and I do not have any intention of directly intruding in it.  I was
merely stating a principle that I myself would live by."

"I am not concerned about
your intrusion.  My mother went to the mill regularly and dealt with workers. 
I believe her visits allowed her to see things I could not and she made
suggestions for running the mill that were quite helpful."

"Yes but she knows the mill
more than I ever could."

"You could learn."  He
approached her with a gentle conciliatory smile, grasped her hands and pulled
her up from the chair and into his arms.

"Perhaps," she replied,
gazing up at him and brushing the back of her hand against his cheek.

He enclosed the hand she had on
his cheeks with his and pressed it to his lips.  "Anyway, I do know your
sentiments about workers and your generous heart that must do something to help
those in need.  You have a mind of your own which I respect and have no desire
to suppress."

She did not reply but kissed the
hand that held hers.

With soft smiling eyes, he
murmured, "I must go.  Williams is at the mill, waiting for instructions
from me to run some errands.  I will see you this evening, my love."  He
kissed her once more and left.

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

Mrs. Thornton was expected back
in two weeks from her long visit with Fanny.  Margaret was thankful for this
time alone with John and, with a touch of mortification, she admitted to
herself that she was relieved to have the house to themselves a little while
longer.  Although she was now the mistress of this household, she could not
quite reconcile herself to the role of being in charge of a home that did not
bear much relationship to who she was, that had been set up and adorned in a
manner quite opposite to her notion of a warm cozy home.  Yet, she must adjust
to it.  Still, she thought wryly, reaching some level of ease and familiarity
with the house and its household would probably be easier than courting Mrs.
Thornton's good opinion.

Becoming companionable with Mrs.
Thornton was proving more difficult than Margaret had anticipated and she
conjectured that Mrs. Thornton herself probably doubted just as much that they
were capable of reaching some level of comfort with each other.  Their time
together had so far been brief and they had not had much chance yet to get to
know each other intimately but Margaret suspected that their differences might
be too fundamental to overcome.  Sometimes, she thought the situation
impossible because neither of them was ever likely to change what they believed
in.  But her anxieties went beyond concerns about differences in how she and
her mother-in-law saw the world and human nature.  She could deal with those,
despite the uneasiness they inevitably occasioned.  It was the intricacies of
emotions that perplexed her and she felt hopeless about influencing them, much
less changing them in Mrs. Thornton whose dislike of her was all too obvious. 
Still, Margaret told herself that she did have the advantage over her
mother-in-law in being the primary object of John's affections and she had no
cause to resent or dislike her, that doing so would make life in the Thornton
household unbearable.  Anyway, Margaret believed it was her obligation to
nurture good relations with the mother of her husband.

But how could she court the good
graces of the strong-minded Mrs. Thornton who was not only resolute in her
beliefs but also zealous in her concerns?  Those concerns gave direction to her
life, consuming her energy, dictating her interests and inclinations, and
structuring her time.  Their principal object had been her son probably all
those past thirty-some years—a rather long time in anybody's life—and in turn,
she had been certain of having been first in his regard.  John's marriage to
Margaret had upset Mrs. Thornton's ordered complacent world, the focus of her
life taken away by a woman she did not think worthy and who, after causing her
son so much unhappiness, returned to claim him.  Margaret sadly acknowledged
that, for all those, Mrs. Thornton probably had cause enough to resent her.

Once in a while, Margaret found
herself shuddering at what life with Mrs. Thornton held for her, fearful of her
mother-in-law's unbending nature.  Much more at ease with directness and pure
sentiments, Mrs. Thornton either hated or loved, admired or felt contempt and
she did all those intensely.  She formed her opinions very quickly and found no
reason to complicate her life by analyzing them.  Such an approach to life had
served her well within the realm of an extensive experience full of hard-fought
triumphs she was justly proud of.  Mrs. Thornton had no cause to regret
anything she had done.

Margaret's sheltered life in both
London and Helstone, with loved ones and friends of generous, easygoing
temperaments, had not prepared her for someone like her mother-in-law.  Her
limited experience allowed her only to try to be on some tolerable, if not
pleasant, footing with Mrs. Thornton but she knew she must also accept the
certainty of discord.  Could she be blamed if, from time to time and for a few
moments, she longed for the mellow, relatively carefree life she had at Harley
Street?  Those moments did not last, in any case, since she always reminded
herself that it was with John that she was happiest and life seemed most
fulfilling.  Had she not already convinced herself that she was prepared to
endure the discomfort and irritations she and Mrs. Thornton were likely to suffer
in company with each other and the contempt they might each occasionally feel
about the other's views?

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

Mrs. Thornton's feelings about
Margaret were about as complicated as Margaret's were towards her
mother-in-law.  Mrs. Thornton continued to be wary about Margaret, suspicious
and mocking of all that she represented—her airs, graces, book knowledge, and
other southern sensibilities—and jealous of the obvious changes she had wrought
in John.  Her son had confided much in her before he married about problems at
the mill and, when he fell in love, about his uncertainties that Margaret would
accept him.  Mrs. Thornton could not imagine any woman rejecting her son and
had encouraged him to propose.  Although Mrs. Thornton disagreed, from the beginning,
with his opinion of Margaret and believed her unworthy of him, she knew it was
useless to dissuade him from offering his hand, particularly after the riot. 
He had too keen a sense of honor not to do right by the woman who saved him
from the rioters.  But Margaret rejected him and Mrs. Thornton breathed with
relief, secretly glad that she was still first in her son's affections. 
Ironically, what brought her relief caused her son much unhappiness.  She
blamed Margaret, her disdain for the young woman turning into hatred that she
blurted out to her son.  But she was taken aback; instead of hating Margaret as
he ought to have, John confessed loving her even more.  They never talked about
Margaret again after that.

It suited Mrs. Thornton to
dismiss all mention of Margaret until she found that she had been too quick to
write her off.  Aware that John continued to care for her, Mrs. Thornton was
happy to see Margaret leave Milton, believing naively that London was far
enough away that she could no longer disrupt their lives.  But Margaret did
return one day and Mrs. Thornton, who had seen her enter the mill from the
window of the drawing room, followed her there and angrily confronted her. 
That was in the morning.  In the evening, what she dreaded most happened: John
came home with Margaret; Mrs. Thornton was aghast, forced to accept a reality
she revolted against.  And yet, she knew there was nothing she could have done.

Mrs. Thornton had seen in
Margaret a part of herself—strong in beliefs, self-assured and
independent-minded—but knowing this did not predispose her to like Margaret. 
Instead, it disturbed her.  Margaret, who did not shy away from letting others
know what she thought and felt, was a formidable rival not only for her son's
heart but also for his mind.  Contemptuous as she was of southern pretensions,
Mrs. Thornton had to admit that, born with a good mind and guided in the
improvement of it by a scholarly father and his friends, Margaret developed a
mind keener and more receptive than she ever had, or even cared about. 
Margaret had ideas and sentiments she could never grasp, and it worried her
that Margaret's sympathy for workers would undermine John's single-minded
pursuit of his rightful place as a widely-respected manufacturer.  Margaret had
already influenced him.  It was evident in his friendship with that man
Higgins.

Still, Mrs. Thornton could not
simply regard Margaret as someone she could never like.  It was, after all the
wealth that Margaret brought into her marriage that now spared John the
difficulties and anguish of having to start all over again.  Mrs. Thornton had
a keen sense of fairness that required her to be grateful to Margaret.  Then,
there was the fact that Margaret did love John, had chosen him over others who
might have courted her.  But most of all, Mrs. Thornton could not deny that
John was clearly happier since Margaret returned. 

She had seen how depressed he had
been after Margaret left for London and how despondent when the mill closed. 
He declared then as he had many years ago: "It's just you and I again,
mother."  Those words, uttered for the first time so long ago, had carried
a challenge, energizing and full of promise, propelling them both into a
mission that—through hard work, sacrifice, and determination—brought success
they had both been proud of.  But something in him had changed and those same
words—uttered again when his business failed and in the midst of his certainty
that he would never see Margaret again—conveyed a dispirited weariness, a quiet
despair she had never seen in him.  If seeing him happy now did not
sufficiently calm Mrs. Thornton's unease about Margaret, it did mute any
expression of disapproval she might have.  By the time she returned to Milton,
she resolved to be more agreeable to Margaret.  And yet, in her heart, she
doubted if she was capable of doing so.