Margaret of the North (57 page)

Margaret went back to the garden
with John or Frederick for long leisurely walks, usually in the evening, the
summer light still lingering on the horizon.  She brought along a sketchbook
and pastels, bought at a Paris art store, and stopped many times to sketch
views of the garden.  Except for memories, she had no record—not even entries
in a diary—of her first glorious, wonderful visit to Paris on her honeymoon. 
This time, she wanted more vivid images than she could summon from flawed
slowly-fading memories so, whenever she had time, she made sketches of Paris
scenes, of landscapes, of everyone in her party and of Parisians going about
their day-to-day business.

As in Cadiz, the Thorntons and
the Hales effortlessly fell into talking and sharing their experiences.  In
conversations they had in cafes or after dinner at the apartment, they
recounted in much detail both small and big events of their lives, often
talking into the night.  When they had exhausted what they needed to say about
their separate lives, they found many other topics of interest—things they had
seen and done that day, their hopes for the future, their views on what was
happening around them.  The ease and genuine affection that began to develop in
Cadiz between the two couples deepened in those long, intimate conversations,
anxiously nurtured by Frederick and Margaret who were constantly reminded of
how little time and how infrequently they had a chance to be together.

Margaret was particularly
gratified to see John and Frederick often engaged in endless conversations that
began when they started talking about their work.  John, who had been in
business much longer than Frederick and had struggled through more complex
problems, talked freely about them and Frederick listened intently, convinced
that he could learn from someone as wizened by experience as John obviously
was.

Their conversations inevitably evolved
into more intimate topics.  When John mentioned his close friendship with Mr.
Hale and how they spent hours talking about the classics and philosophy,
Frederick's interest was particularly piqued.  He had listened to his father
talk of those things when he was a very young man but, while they interested
him, he had been more eager for adventure.  He had chosen to go into the
military instead of Oxford.  Older and settled in his own home, he had thought
about devoting some time to reading a few of the books his father had talked
about, partly for his own enlightenment and partly to pay homage to a father he
had admired.  He quietly listened to John, his usually glinting eyes gradually
shrouding with sadness.  Noticing the change in Frederick's countenance, John
lapsed into silence, somewhat uneasy, but waiting patiently for Frederick—who
had turned introspective in the way John saw Margaret do—to make the next move.

After some time, Frederick spoke,
"I have made it a point not to regret what I have done across the years,
not even what the British naval authorities called a 'mutiny'.  But not having
been there for my parents and my little sister when father was forced out of
his living has never ceased to bother me."

John did not answer, merely
nodded in sympathy.  Frederick continued, "I particularly regret not being
there during my father's darkest hours.  I admired my father very much and,
yet, as a young man hungry for adventure, I tried to be different from
him."  He looked at John squarely, "Now, I listen to you, I envy you
those hours of study you had with him, the trust he had that allowed him to
confide in you."

John did not know what to say,
dumbfounded by the remorse and sincerity, tinged with bitterness, evident in
Frederick's voice.  He was struck by how much like his father Frederick was in
those moments of sadness and regret.  There was about him the same poignancy in
baring his soul to someone who was a relative stranger.  John had believed that
the father, in the midst of grief and despair, could not help himself.  Talking
to Frederick then, John saw that Mr. Hale—assuming an implicit unspoken compact
that John would be compassionate, not apathetic nor judgmental—had given him
his trust in a moment of great vulnerability and pain.  With the son trusting
him in the same way, John recognized the courage it took to do so and he felt
some humility in the face of it.  If he had been in Frederick's shoes, he would
have withdrawn into a shell instead of laying himself open—to what, he could
not exactly define—to pain, hurt, ridicule, perhaps?  They were strangely
intimate moments for John, more so now than they had been with Mr. Hale with
whom age and the relationship of teacher to pupil induced some distance.  That
night drew John and Frederick closer.

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

The month was over sooner than it
suited everyone except John.  He was thoroughly engaged in all that the two
couples busied themselves with and he believed, as Margaret did, that this trip
to Paris and reunion with Frederick and Dolores was as happy, as fresh, and as
heartwarming as they had hoped for.  But after only a week of being away from
the mill, he could not help thinking and worrying about it when he retired to
bed.  He now had a trusted assistant who looked after the accounting books,
ordered supplies, tracked the progress of orders, and when called to do so,
competently carried out all the responsibilities of running the mill.  Still,
John could not shake off the uneasiness of not tending to the mill himself for
a whole month.  For a few nights, he lay awake in bed wondering how it was
doing and whether he was shirking his responsibilities in being away so long. 
His mother certainly thought so.

John had visited his mother in
her apartment the week before they left for Paris to tell her they were going
to be away the following month.  He knew her concerns about the mill running
unsupervised for such a long time but they had avoided talking and even
referring to anything pertaining to the mill.  As he had expected, she listened
and refrained from voicing displeasure but she compressed her lips, averted her
eyes, and turned her full attention on her work after acknowledging what he
said with a noncommittal nod.  Since her return from London, she had been
careful about articulating opinions and remarks that could offend, hurt, or be
construed as disapproval.  Even so, John was constantly aware of what she
actually felt and thought.

Alone in their room in the Paris
apartment, Margaret eventually noticed his unease and suspected the reason for
it.  She was sitting on the bed and had just put aside the book she was reading
when John came to bed, gave her a perfunctory kiss and turned on his side to go
to sleep.  This was unusual for him who almost always tenderly cajoled her into
joining him under the sheets.  He lay awake, restless and unable to find a
position he could settle into, turning one way, then the other, then on his
back.  Margaret slid down and lay silently watching him toss and turn for a few
minutes.  When he turned to face her again, she came closer and placed a hand
on his arms to stop him from turning over.  She gazed into his eyes, as if she
was probing into his thoughts but he merely stared at her with glazed eyes. 
With a touch soft and soothing, she stroked his cheeks and his hair, slowly,
until she began to engage his attention; then she clasped his face with both
hands and kissed it all over with the same deliberate tenderness.  His eyes
slowly regained their depth, his concerns arrested for the moment, swept away
by her caresses.  He gave her his full attention then, made passionate love to
her and, soon after, descended into peaceful sleep, the mill forgotten for a
while.

John's disquiet about leaving the
mill for a whole month did not cease but at night, at least, with Margaret in
his arms, sweetly soothing his worries away, he gradually began to let go.  By
the end of their stay in Paris, he could agree, with only a fleeting
apprehension, to the next reunion three years hence.  Still, he was relieved to
be returning to Milton.

The reunions became a regular
family affair John and Margaret planned for, every two or three years.  Twice,
they had to reschedule when the threat of a strike made John too troubled to
go.  Otherwise, nothing catastrophic ever happened when they were away and he
began to look forward to their month-long sojourns almost as much as Margaret
did.  Perhaps, because of the relative infrequency of their meetings as well as
the deep affections nurtured across the years, the two families were always sincerely
happy to see each other, usually tolerant of the minor irritations that were
often inevitable among relations, and forgiving of the rare transgression that
caused someone pain.

The character of their
get-togethers inevitably changed with time.  For one, the size of the apartment
the couples rented grew as more children arrived.  Margaret bore John a son in
their fourth year of marriage and a second two years later; a daughter arrived,
unexpected, after many years.  Frederick and Dolores, about every two years,
had two more sons.  At some point, it became necessary for the Thorntons to
rent one apartment and the Hales, another.  The gatherings often took place in
Paris and, later, elsewhere in France until Edith suggested Italy to Margaret. 
That year, Captain Lennox, Edith and their children joined the two families
before going to Greece.  After that, the Captain and Edith timed some of their
lengthy trips to the continent to coincide with the reunion of the Thorntons
and the Hales.

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

The Thorntons kept frequent
company with Edith and Captain Lennox and were regular visitors a week at a
time every summer at the big country house on the south coast of England that
the Lennoxes purchased.  Practically all the time they spent there, Edith and the
Captain hosted friends and relatives that occasionally included Henry and Ann
Lennox as well as Captain Bennett and Catherine.

John had never anticipated being
thrown into company with individuals who had nothing to do with cotton and
manufacturing.  He was inevitably drawn into the various circles that formed
around Margaret towards whom people gravitated because of the projects she took
on and the openness and sincere interest she took in certain people.  At the
Lennoxes dinner parties in London and the coast, he met friends of Edith and
the Captain, members of smart London society whose conversations ran the gamut
from theater to politics to the latest modern inventions.  Not that Edith was
remotely interested in these subjects; in fact, she hardly listened to the
conversations.  But she cultivated these friends—generally well-educated,
sometimes struggling financially and grateful for her sumptuous dinners—for the
lively intercourse they kept up at her frequent parties.

These friends of the Lennoxes fascinated
John and, indeed, they were insurance for a diverting evening.  However, he
found that most of them lacked real experience to back up their words—these
clever, garrulous, sophisticated men who always had ready opinions to offer. 
He could not help comparing them to Frederick, who could have been one of them
and with whom he had forged the closest of friendships.  None could boast of
having gone through similar adventures or having had their mettle tested the
way Frederick's had been.

The Thorntons and the Lennoxes
also began a tradition of spending alternate Christmases between Milton and the
coast.  By then, the Christmas Eve festivities at the mill had become a yearly
happening that ran smoothly without the Thorntons' presence.

The first year they spent
Christmas on the coast with the Lennoxes, Catherine volunteered to stand in for
them, dragging Captain Bennett with her.  She was married by then and kept her
job teaching at the mill school two days a week, more out of a sense of purpose
than of necessity.  She had stopped working at the busy clinic which had
expanded to two nurses and a full-time doctor.  Captain Bennett, who had been
reluctant to go to the Christmas dinner at the mill, told John later that he
found the social exchange with the workers interesting and, in some cases, even
stimulating.  He and Catherine continued to attend the festivities in
subsequent years, even after John's assistant and his wife took over managing
and presiding over the festivities.  The Thorntons continued to go to the
Christmas Eve dinner at the mill with their children whenever they were in
Milton for the holidays.

Margaret gave up teaching classes
at the mill when she became pregnant with her second child.  Through
Catherine's sister, she met and hired two women, former governesses who wanted
to augment their pensions and were willing to teach at the mill.  They not only
took over Margaret's classes, they also offered others that included arithmetic
and some rudimentary study of history and nature for those who had advanced in
reading.  School hours were stretched.

With school running from morning
until mid-afternoon, Margaret decided to offer pupils a free hot lunch,
prepared at the Dining Hall.  The decision had an unanticipated consequence. 
More parents began to bring their younger children to school and the school
grew.  Larger quarters were needed so an addition to the Dining Hall was built
to accommodate 25 to 30 children.  Margaret, who had continued, for a few more
years, to take care of buying books and other school supplies for the children
and paying the teachers, thought it was time to hire a full-time school master
to whom she gladly and thankfully passed on management of the school.

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

John knew that strikes could
never be eliminated and that the measures he put in place could change neither
the market for cotton with its ups and downs nor the solidarity among workers
forced to join those from other mills during a general strike.  But at
Marlborough Mills at least, he and worker representatives could often sit down
and talk to resolve problems before they became too big to pester and he was
often able to avert the threat of a local strike.  The relative infrequency of
strikes at his mill could not escape the notice of other manufacturers and
gradually, some of them tried a few of the procedures he had installed.