Margaret of the North (28 page)

Mrs. Thornton was exhilarated by
the scene on the ground and she felt as if the desolation that gripped the
mill—when it had to close for want of funds—never happened.  She stole a glance
at Margaret whom she fancied equally absorbed by all that was going on.  Mrs.
Thornton turned towards the window once again.  Although it seemed her eyes
neither blinked nor strayed away from the activity in the courtyard, her senses
were focused on listening intently and impatiently for the sounds that would
announce, for certain, that the mill was indeed running.  She did not have to
wait long. 

As the workers disappeared into
the mill, one machine began to hum and, like a fugue, another followed right on
top of it—then another and still another—until  all the machines seemed to
drown everything else out with their deep resonant humming, metallic clapping
and clanging, and low steady whirring.  This was all music to Mrs. Thornton's
ears, surrounding her completely, penetrating her flesh the way music took hold
of a musician completely absorbed in his instrument.  She listened, exulting in
the familiar sounds that used to announce the beginning of a good day for her
son and that now assured her everything was back to the way it should be.  She
was thus absorbed for nearly half an hour until the whirring and clanging
became regular and repetitive and only then did she remember that Margaret
stood next to her.

Margaret had, in fact, left for a
while and had just rejoined her to see whether anything new had happened.  For
the first time since their acquaintance, Mrs. Thornton was overcome with
heartfelt gratitude towards the woman her son had married.  She was acutely aware
that the bustle in the mill would not have taken place so soon without
Margaret.  Mrs. Thornton was confident John would have eventually recovered
from the loss of Marlborough Mills and regained his standing in the business
world.  But it would have taken much longer—perhaps, many years—and certainly,
much more effort.  He would also have needed the humility and patience to work
for someone else until he had sufficient capital.  To Mrs. Thornton, it was not
entirely inconceivable that struggling all over again could have subdued his
spirit or, at least, seen him too old to fully triumph in succeeding once
again.  Margaret spared him all that and now, Mrs. Thornton rejoiced that John
had finally gotten what he deserved, what he worked for single-mindedly and
tenaciously in his youth.  She murmured a prayer of thankfulness.

Margaret was no less exhilarated
than Mrs. Thornton was when she heard the machines start up.  She was happy for
John, happy for all the people who found work when the mill reopened and, yes,
she was happy for Mrs. Thornton whose life had revolved around one mill or
another but particularly this one.  This mill meant the most to Mrs. Thornton
and she could claim, rightly, that John's success was her success as well. 
After all, she had invested much sweat, energy, even heartache as she endured
humiliating economies to bring success and prosperity to her son.  Margaret
stood by the window and glanced at Mrs. Thornton who seemed lost to everything
but the activity and the sounds that, once more, had taken over the mill.

Margaret left without a word a
second time to talk to Dixon about that day's tasks.  She returned to join Mrs.
Thornton.  This time, the older woman turned towards her and Margaret was
struck by how her eyes glistened the way her husband's did, her lips in a
tremulous smile.  Was it gratitude that suffused her countenance?  Margaret had
never seen Mrs. Thornton regard her with such warmth and while it bewildered
her at first, her naturally affectionate heart could not remain immune.  She
smiled back at Mrs. Thornton warmly, sincerely, gratefully.  The two women were
conscious, as they smiled at each other that, for the first time, they shared
the same sentiments and views of the events playing out in the huge stone
building in front of them.  Finally, it seemed they found something to agree on
and they both wanted to relish those moments.  Back of their minds, they both
feared that, between the two of them, such moments could be rare and fleeting.

They went back to the window at various
times during the day, alone or together, to look down at the bustle.  Nothing
much was said between them and nothing new or extraordinary actually happened
in the courtyard.  Most of the work was being done inside the mill.  But the
lively activity, in all its boring repetitiveness, was utter happiness in Mrs.
Thornton's reckoning: It signified life, in contrast to the deathly nothingness
and silence of the nonfunctioning mill.  She inevitably took more pleasure in
all the sights and sounds of the bustling mill than Margaret.

Margaret eventually felt the need
to get away from the noise.  John had told her not to expect him back until the
evening and after a light lunch with Mrs. Thornton, she went out for a walk
with Mary.  When they returned more than an hour later, Margaret looked up from
the yard below and sure enough, Mrs. Thornton stood by the window, as she had
done all those past years—an austere dark figure, still and hawk-like, ready to
defend all that belonged to her.  What a formidable woman, Margaret thought
with a mixture of admiration and uneasiness, fiercer even than her son in her
fervor for the mill.

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

Mrs. Thornton soon resumed her
former routine of visiting the mill to see that the work proceeded
efficiently.  One morning as she prepared to leave right after breakfast,
Margaret walked in, dressed to go out.  "You are going to the mill, aren't
you?  Would you mind if I came with you today?"

Uncertain at first what to make
of this request Mrs. Thornton eyed her briefly and then agreed, "Of
course, you can come.  You have married into this family so you should know
something about the business John spends a significant part of his day
on."

They walked together without a
word towards the mill.  The door banged shut as they both stepped inside.  What
little chatter could be heard over the din of the machines slowly diminished as
the workers began to be aware that it was the mother and the wife of the master
who just came in.

Margaret was incredulous to
realize this was only her second time inside the mill while it was running, her
first time being that fateful day in Milton years ago when she first saw John
in an unfortunate incident with a worker.  That time, she was a newly-arrived
stranger—a foreigner as Higgins once spat out at her—and she had opened a door
to a world she never knew existed, one that filled her with a sense of both
wonder and bewilderment.  This time as John's wife and co-owner, the wonder and
bewilderment were no less intense. 

She scanned the atmosphere swirling
around her, rendered virtually white by countless specks of floating cotton. 
This must be what it was like to drift among the clouds, she thought.  Strange
and ethereal and yet, she reminded herself, they were still only bits of cotton
spewing out of machines.  She strove to comprehend what it meant to her.  She
knew what it meant to John, to Mrs. Thornton, and to all these people stepping
back and forth in rhythmic unison and appearing, in the process, as if they
were extensions of the spinning and weaving machines.  This world was now a
part of hers as well, not only because it was John's work.  It inundated her
daily life with noise, smoke, cotton fuzz, and the never-ending frenzy of
people busy with creating this world.

When she first entered the mill
years ago, her sense of wonder had abruptly ended as she bore witness to a
brutal scene in which John chased a worker and beat him up for smoking.  The
violence outraged her and the white world she was introduced to just minutes
before oppressed her so unbearably that, if she could, she would have run back
to Helstone.  Later, she understood that John was enraged by the violation of a
rule meant to prevent fire, a very real threat that already killed hundreds in
mills.  This time, she did not expect anything eventful and she looked up at
the perch where she had first seen John.  He was not there and in his place,
stood Williams.  John had not known they were coming.  Margaret could not
suppress her disappointment at not seeing him up there as she imagined him
casually sweeping his eyes across the mill floor, calmer than that first time,
even smiling with pleasure at their visit.

The workers were used to having
Mrs. Thornton come but they could not often predict the day and time she would
be there.  They were never really happy to see her:  With her sharp perception,
she easily spotted and called to task anyone who she thought was slacking off. 
Her mere presence reminded them of their tenuous hold on their work and they
assumed an earnest concentration in their work whenever she was around.  With a
wary eye on Mrs. Thornton, they nevertheless stole frequent glances at the
young Mrs. Thornton, walking behind the older woman. 

The young Mrs. Thornton had a
half-smile on her lips and her large blue eyes, profoundly curious, looked
directly at whoever she caught staring at her before she nodded almost
imperceptibly and smiled, her lips barely curved up at the corners.  Most of
them, however, stole glances as discreetly as they could, acutely conscious
that the older woman would pounce on them if their attention strayed away from
their work.  Many of them knew Margaret by sight.  They had heard from some of
the women about the work she did decorating the dining hall.  But they dared
not make obvious their curiosity about the master's young wife, not with his
mother around.  Some who did briefly catch Margaret's eye were gratified to see
her respond and thought they saw encouragement in her expressive bright eyes.

After walking through the whole
mill without talking to anyone, Margaret wearied of the exertion.  It did not
tire her body so much as it did her mind and spirit which could not endure for
too long the noise and the stale air, thick with what she guessed must be the
smell of cotton.  Like that first time, she found the mill oppressive but for a
different reason.  This was now her life, one that she had willingly chosen—and
yet—walking around among these live, loud machines so closely that she could
almost feel the vibrations they made—she felt trapped.  She could never do what
Mrs. Thornton did at the mill and she knew clearly then that, if she ever got
involved in the mill, it was not what she wanted to do.  Disconcerted at this
realization, a sudden urge to run out of the mill overcame her.  She must go someplace
where she could be alone to reflect on her ambivalence towards the mill. 

She hurried to catch up with Mrs.
Thornton and said, "I think I will go back to the house.  You are staying
for a while, I suppose."

Mrs. Thornton nodded her head,
raised her hand briefly, and motioned her away.  She had forgotten Margaret was
there.  Margaret turned back, controlling her urge to run.  At the door, she
found Williams, ready to open the door for her.

"Would you like me to take
you back to the house, ma'am?"

"No, Williams, it is such a
short distance."  She answered and, despite the disquiet in her breast,
she was amused that he would offer to help her go across the yard.  "Do
you know where my husband is?"

"I believe he is at the
dining hall, ma'am, meeting with a union representative."

Margaret nodded, gratified in the
midst of her own confusing ambiguous feelings about the mill, that John was
making an effort to communicate with the workers' union.  "Thank you and
you should probably return to your post in case Mrs. Thornton needs your
help."

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

Back at the house, she sat
pensively in the armchair by the fireplace.  It had been six months since she
left London to live in this house.  Mostly, it had been a happy time and she
could think of nowhere else she would rather be than with John.  But at the
moment, she found herself confronting her ambivalence about the industry into
which he had chosen to devote his time and energy, his life. 

By most indications, his
manufacturing business was approaching its former levels of production and he
had hopes of actually making it grow.  She hardly saw him at lunch anymore and
he certainly had no time to occasionally accompany her on her walks, as he used
to do.  But he was always home at least an hour before dinner, eager for the
smiles and caresses she lavished on him.  For a few minutes, her apprehensions
did not seem to matter as she reaffirmed in her mind that she was back in
Milton, not for the mill, but for John.

On the first night the mill
opened, John had come home, tired but exhilarated.  She and Mrs. Thornton had
been waiting for him and talking in the drawing room about the events of the
day.  He smiled broadly at both of them, "It has been a good day. 
Everything went smoothly, as if we never closed."

"I was confident it
would," Mrs. Thornton declared with pride and self-assurance.

Margaret said nothing and merely
gave him her half-smile, her eyes bright and moist.  John walked towards her,
peered closely at her face, and said tenderly, "You are not about to cry,
are you?"

She shook her head but she could
not look at him and answer.  Her tears were indeed very close to the surface. 
He put an arm around her waist and turned to his mother, "I am taking my
wife away for a while, mother.  I know you two were talking but I need her
right now."

He did not wait for an answer and
led Margaret out of the room.  Neither of them was aware that Mrs. Thornton
glared after them, gripped by a quick succession of emotions.

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

In their room, John led Margaret
to the fireplace, sat in an armchair and pulled her onto his lap.  "Did
you miss me much today?"  He murmured, enclosing her in an embrace,
kissing her.

She laid her head on his shoulder
and wound her arms around his neck, "I did see you a few times as we
watched from the window."