The Best Medicine #4
“Mr. Thornton, take care!” she cried. Before Thornton could react she flung herself in front of him, throwing her arms around his neck, using her body to shield him from the onslaught.
Just as she did so, a third stone approaching its target struck her on the temple.
With a little gasp, she loosened her grip and began to sink down to the ground.
Thornton realized, horrified, that the blow had rendered her insensible.
A trickle of blood made its way down the side of her face.
Thornton gathered the unconscious Margaret up in his arms, cradling her against his chest, and turned to face his attackers.
“Are you satisfied now?” he cried. “Will you let me take this woman to get help, or will her death be on your conscience? Kill me if you want, but for God’s sake let me get her to a doctor first! ”
Even in his agitated state, Thornton could see the pale faces and looks of dismay on the men who had attacked him. They had not intended this turn of events and could only stare in horror now.
Thornton did not wait for them to recover their faculties. He charged towards them with Margaret in his arms – passed through their very ranks – and left them behind as he carried Margaret back to Princeton, Higgins’ home, and Lawson.
Thornton laid Margaret down on the makeshift bed at Higgins’ house and stood gazing down at her lovely face, so pale and still in the dim light of the small room.
Lawson had wiped the blood from her temple and face and was examining her closely while Thornton stood next to her, oblivious to the rest of the world.
She had been so light in his arms, so delicate.
How could such a frail body absorb the blow she had suffered?
And she had done it for him. She had thrown her arms around his neck to protect him from the onslaught.
For one delicious moment, she had clung close to him, her head nestled against him, his arms around her – and then she had been struck down.
“Margaret, oh Margaret!” he murmured, leaning next to the sweet, pale face. “No one can know what you mean to me! I may be rough and unpolished, but no one will ever love you with a truer heart than mine. I would give up my very life blood to heal you from this hurt!”
In his fevered state, he forgot the presence of the others in the small room.
They did not hear his passionate declarations.
But words were unnecessary at such a moment.
His feelings were evident in the anguish on his face, the clenching of his fists, and the silent watchfulness he maintained over her.
Lost in his thoughts, Thornton did not hear the sudden banging at the door nor see how Higgins lunged at it in fury for the disturbance to a sickroom.
He did not hear the quick discussion on the threshold nor notice when Higgins left the house without explanation and returned minutes later, coming straight to Thornton’s side.
“Master,” he said urgently, “Master Thornton, ‘ere’s some men outside as want t’ speak t’ yo.”
“Men?” Thornton echoed. He shook his head as if to wake himself from some deep dream. “What do they want with me?”
“It’s the union men, master. They want t’ end the strike, and they want t’ do it now.”
“Now?” Thornton scoffed. “Now that they have nearly killed a woman? Now that they have seen what their intransigent attitude has brought about, they want to make amends by negotiating an end to this madness? Let them speak to one of the other masters. I have nothing to say to them.”
“They won’t talk t’ nobody else. This is the time, Thornton!” Higgins said, his voice low and compelling. “Now, while they’re ashamed a’ what they did, when they realize what’ll happen if the law goes after ‘em. Yo’ must speak wi’ ‘em!”
“I cannot leave her,” said Thornton despairingly, because Margaret’s eyes had not opened, and she had remained motionless from the time he took her up in his arms.
“But if yo’ turn them away now, hoo knows what’ll ‘appen next? Go t’ them and help put an end t’ this!”
Lawson looked up quickly. “Miss Hale will live,” he assured Thornton. “She has a concussion and she should not be moved tonight. Let a message be taken to her family advising them of this. But she had only a little blood loss and no permanent damage that I can see. She will live!”
“See, Master Thornton?” Higgins urged the man. “Yo’ are needed elsewhere. Come with me. Let’s speak t’ the other union masters and put an end t’ this. Have good news for Miss Margaret when hoo wakes up!”
Thornton stood, irresolutely looking down at Margaret. It was his fault that she lay on this bed now, seriously injured, instead of safely at home. If he had reacted more quickly, he could have taken the blow meant for him rather than Margaret absorbing the hurt.
But wouldn’t Margaret want him to go speak to the union leaders if he could?
Wasn’t ending the strike one of her dearest wishes?
He could do nothing to relieve her pain or help restore her to health, yet he could do this one thing for her: he could make her glad and proud of him once she regained consciousness.
Throwing back his shoulders, he turned away and went with Nicholas out the door.
“Oh, Margaret, it’s that much of a scare ye’ve given us!” Bessy’s voice broke into Margaret’s mind as she began to open her eyes. She felt as though she were emerging from under great depths of water, her head twisting and turning in the currents. A great light pierced her brain.
“There now, sit up slowly, Miss Hale.” This time it was Lawson’s voice, and his face hovering above hers came into focus. She pushed her arms underneath her and found herself reclining on the bed normally used by Bessy.
“Where is Mr. Thornton? Is he all right?” she asked, trying to reconstruct events in her head. She had vague, dream-like memories of arms around her, of a tender voice speaking words of affection, and of a long, deep sleep.
“You have been unconscious most of the night,” Lawson told her. “Thornton brought you here after you were struck on the head.”
Margaret’s hand instinctively went to the lump on her temple. “Was Mr. Thornton hurt too?”
“Nay, lass,” came Higgins’ reassuring voice. He was seated at the humble kitchen table just a few feet from her. Bessy sat at the foot of the bed. “Thornton wasn’t hurt at all. Hoo brought ye here and made sure ye were safe, then went out t’ deal wi’ the union men. The strike is over.”
“He didn’t call the soldiers, surely!” Margaret gasped. “Tell me he did not! The men were driven mad by all that has happened with the strike! They didn’t deserve to have the soldiers set on them!”
“Ye’re nowt understandin’. Thornton went out t’ speak wi’ them, not t’ have them punished.
They were ashamed o’ themselves after ye were struck down, and they were ready t’ see where they’d been wrong afore.
They all sat down at t’ union hall fo’ the better part o’ the night – them and Thornton together – and they managed t’ make a bargain.
The strike is over. Everyone’ll be back t’ work tomorrow! ”
“The strike is over!” Margaret nearly fell back against the pillows in relief.
“Aye, and Thornton and the other masters’ll be back in their mills. Don’t suppose he’ll come around ‘ere much anymore.”
“I wonder if I shall ever see him again,” Margaret murmured, more to herself than to anyone else, but Bessy heard her. She laughed harder than Margaret had ever heard her do before.
“Hoots! God bless ye for an innocent, Margaret Hale! Yo’ don’t think Thornton’s been coming to Princeton every day just t’ see me, do ye?” Margaret flushed self-consciously at her friend’s open laughter, which did not stop until it was cut off with a fit of coughing.
Two days later, Margaret was back at Crampton, fully recovered from her ordeal.
She had not yet been back to see Bessy, nor had anyone been to see her.
She was in her bedroom writing a letter to her brother when the housekeeper, Dixon, announced that Mr. Thornton was asking to see her.
Tremulously, she rose and made her way to the drawing room, wondering if he had come to say what she hoped he might.
She knew there was a conversation that had to take place.
“Miss Hale,” he began, “I was very ungrateful three days ago when you—” But he could not finish even one sentence before Margaret nervously interrupted him.
“You had nothing to be grateful for,” she said, looking down, afraid to meet his eyes. “You mean, I suppose, that you believe you ought to thank me for what I did.”
“For what you did, for what you are, for what you mean to me!” Thornton exclaimed, moving closer and taking one of her hands in his.
“I am a better man because of knowing you. All gladness in life, all honest pride in doing my work in the world, I owe to you! To the one whom I love as no man ever loved woman before!”
Margaret trembled. She shook, she quaked, and she nearly fell insensible again with the force of his emotion and her own feelings in return. “Mr. Thornton, I am not good enough—”
“Not good enough!” Without hesitation, he pulled her close, seeking again the delight of feeling her nestled close to him, and she followed his lead.
She laid her head against his heart and rested it there, more content then she had ever been.
For long cherished, tender moments they kept silent as they clung together.
Then he murmured, “Put your arms around my neck, love, as you did three days ago.”
She shyly complied; and when she dared to look up at him, her eyes at last meeting his in confirmation of his greatest hope, he dared to bring his lips to hers in a gentle kiss.
He let go of her long enough to withdraw a small yellow rose from the pocket of his waistcoat. “Do you recognize this, dearest?”
“It is a rose from Helstone, is it not?” she asked. “I recognize the deep indentation around the leaves. You brought these for Bessy!”