Her Father’s Last Wish
Her Father’s Last Wish
Rose Fairbanks
“‘Hale! did it ever strike you that Thornton and your daughter have what the French call a tendresse for each other?’” - Chapter XL, North and South
“He’ll be coming tonight,” Nicholas Higgins said as Margaret and her father sat huddled around the crowded room in the small home.
His words brought Margaret’s eyes to his as her mind had wandered during the visit. “Who is coming?”
“Mr. Thornton, we be speaking of Miss.”
Mr. Hale inquired after the schooling of the Boucher children, but Margaret’s mind raced.
Should she encourage them to leave to avoid seeing Mr. Thornton?
Their last meeting had been awkward and unbearable for her.
Oh, but she did miss speaking with him. She had a far higher respect for him and understanding of his ways than she ever had before.
Only, surely it was not quite proper for her to knowingly be in his path.
He took enough care to not come to the house very often.
She could not suppose that he wished to see her.
Finally, Margaret suggested they leave, and they bid Higgins farewell. They had rounded the street when Mr. Hale doubled over, gasping for breath. He clutched Margaret’s arm, bringing her down to the ground.
“Papa!” She sat on the dirty ground, soiling her gown and eased her father down. Elevating his head in her lap, her eyes searched his face before looking out for help.
“Mr. Hale!”
Margaret turned her head at Mr. Thornton’s voice, and he raced to them.
“What has happened?”
“I do not know!” Margaret cried. Her father clutched at his chest. “He had complained of shortness of breath, but never like this.”
“You!” Thornton called to a woman who had emerged from her house at the ruckus. “Send for Dr. Donaldson immediately.”
Margaret had never been more thankful for his commanding presence and demanding orders.
“No,” Hale panted out. “No time.”
His breath came as wheezes, his face turning blue from lack of air. “John.” He took Thornton’s hand and placed it over Margaret’s. “Take care of her.”
Sobs ripped from Margaret’s body as her father breathed his last in her arms.
Thornton’s hand tightened over Margaret’s and with his free arm, he drew her to his chest. She cared nothing for her reputation or politeness at such a time, even as she knew her tears stained his suit, and he knelt with her on a dirty street.
She clung to the comfort he offered, the closest shred she had of her dear father.
She may not have always respected Mr. Thornton, but he was a friend to her father and mother both.
In time, she registered that men had gathered to take her father away. “No!” she cried and threw herself on his still form.
“Miss Hale, we must see to the body.” Margaret heard from the familiar voice of Dr. Donaldson. “Will you have help with the arrangements?”
“I will be assisting Miss Hale,” Thornton spoke from her side. He leaned closer to her and dropped his voice. “Allow them to take your father. I vow no harm will come to him, and everything will be taken care of properly with no anxiety on your side.”
Margaret turned her head a little to see Thornton’s face.
If she could have thought clearly during her father’s announcement, she would have expected him to look at her with hatred.
She who had previously refused his hand and whom he had avoided as best he could was now forced into his care by a dying man.
She had known Mr. Thornton would honour it, but she had expected it to be met with offense and disdain.
Instead of seeing any such malice in his eyes, she saw concern, tenderness, and grief. For a moment, Margaret thought it might be for her sake, but Mr. Hale had been a friend to Thornton. He might even be recalling the demise of his own father.
“Thank you,” she murmured to him.
She leaned back and allowed the men Dr. Donaldson had gathered to carry her father to a nearby house. She did not immediately move from her position. When she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine this was all but a terrible dream. She was not alone in the world.
“Margaret,” Thornton whispered in her ear as his arm was still wrapped around her shoulder. “I do not mean to trouble you or cause you to exert yourself before you are ready, but a crowd is gathering. I suspect you would wish for privacy. Shall I escort you back to Higgins’?”
She only nodded. Mr. Thornton stood first, the absence of his arm leaving her feeling cold and bereft.
She shivered against the chill which now enveloped her.
He extended his hand to assist her, and she gripped it tightly, not letting go, even when standing.
Again, Thornton’s discerning eyes took in her countenance and form.
She lowered her eyes from his gaze which saw too much.
Margaret wondered if she would have the strength to walk even the few steps to her friend’s house.
Squeezing her hand, Thornton placed it on his arm and bore her weight as she leaned into him.
Their progress was slow, mirroring the beat of her heart.
She did not have to wonder if it were possible to die of grief; her father just had.
The thought struck her just before reaching the door, causing her to tremble and her knees buckled. Thornton caught her to him, and she rested her head against his chest.
“Breathe, now, Margaret. Higgins and Mary will look after you, and as soon as I can manage it, we will have you home.”
“You are not leaving me, are you?” Terror gripped Margaret before she could be ashamed of her dependence upon him.
“Only for a little while. I leave you with your friends. I would trust no one else.”
He lowered his arms, almost reluctantly it seemed to Margaret, and they trailed softly over her back before hanging at his side. “Can you walk again?”
She placed an unsteady foot forward, but again her legs shook.
Thornton scooped her up in his arms, and her arms went about his neck.
A shocking memory of a similar position months ago flitted through her mind.
Evidently, it affected Thornton as well, for he paused and took a deep breath before moving.
Reaching Higgins’ door in a moment, he knocked and carried her inside. He briefly explained all that had happened while she was still in his arms. Mary had gasped at their entrance and then busied herself around the room to make a comfortable place for Margaret.
The young woman brought Margaret something to drink and then petted and nurtured her just as she had done for her elder sister so recently passed. Margaret’s eyes swept the place and thought of the dismal town outside the desolate walls.
She had known so much sorrow since coming to Milton.
The loss of some things, innocence, and youth might be rejoiced in for it is better to learn the truth of the world.
She could never hold with ignorance. The loss of her parents, however, was a different thing entirely.
She wondered if now she would be a wanderer on earth for the remainder of her days.
Time passed unknown to her. She only recognized the late hour when the sun had slipped low, and Mary left her side to light a candle. It occurred to Margaret that the house was unnaturally quiet. The Boucher children had been shuttled to other neighbours, and even Higgins was gone.
Rousing herself, Margaret stood. “I must get home to Papa…” She trailed off, recalling the horrible truth.
“Come, Miss,” Mary said and took Margaret by the arm. “Might help if ye ate a bite.”
“Oh, but Dixon—”
“‘spect the Master sent word to her already. Ye shan’t worry ‘bout a thing when ye get home. Not a thing.”
Defeated, Margaret slumped in the chair and tried to smile appreciatively when Mary put a plate before her. Food held no interest and might not ever again. Her young companion spoke of home, but that house would cease to be a home without father or mother.
Managing to swallow a few bites, Margaret soon apologized for her appetite.
She had never traversed home alone from Frances Street so late in the day.
She had never wished to worry her father, but there was no concern for that now.
Mr. Thornton was taking too long in his return.
The truth was, he had little reason to hasten to her side.
It was a cruel, unfortunate twist of events which had him come upon her just as her father breathed his last.
Oh, she knew he would assist her in every way he could.
He would never shirk the duty of a promise to a dying man.
There was too much honour in him. However, she hoped to be of little trouble to him as possible.
Seeing him only brought her pain and remorse.
He showed enough disdain of her for Margaret to know his previous feelings were long in the past. And now, Mr. Thornton was forced to be of service to her when he must loathe her very sight.
Margaret did not doubt that he did. A man with so much to be proud of must abhor that the woman he had loved turned out to be the basest liar by all the facts that he had.
Longing for the comfort of her bed and all the familiar things, she determined to get on with the dreadful purpose of returning to her home without her father. She stood, and the crude chair scraped against the floor.
“Thank you, Mary. Your kindness to me today has meant more than you can know. However, I must leave. The hour grows late.”
“Miss, you mustn’t.”
“Tell your father I appreciate his assisting Mr. Thornton and the disruption I placed to his home and his evening. I know his time is precious.”
“You can’t leave!”
“Oh, I am not afraid of the streets. I daresay everyone around here knows me by now and is used to seeing me.”
“He made me promise you wouldn’t leave without him.”
“Who? Mr. Thornton?” Margaret’s nostrils flared. He had no right to command her comings and goings—and he never would. “I do not see him here. He can hardly enforce his wishes.”