Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Mr. Thornton arranged to bring a carriage to the Hales’ home one Sunday afternoon to take the family for a drive in the country.
Margaret stood in front of her wardrobe, a flutter of anxiety in her stomach, as she searched for what to wear for a summer outing. The sun was piercing through the patchy sky overhead, and the air was warm.
Eager to once again be surrounded by green hills and fields of wildflowers, her spirits were light.
She took out a favorite walking dress of spun yellow cambric with a blue satin sash and laid it across her bed.
The memory of the pathway in Helstone from their front garden to the southern hills immediately came to mind, and she smiled. She had not worn it since.
She hastened to dress and put up her hair in pins herself, for she resolved Dixon should not become overwrought and disturb her mother’s happiness.
As soon as she had readied herself, she crossed the narrow hallway to her mother’s room—just in time to calm the fretting Dixon, who had mislaid the Missus’ hairbrush at such a crucial time.
Mr. Hale soon called from the bottom of the stairs to announce the arrival of their ride, and Margaret stepped to the top of the stairway.
The sound of the bell jolted her, even though she knew to expect it.
She halted a moment to collect herself as her father opened the door and greeted their outing’s host.
Her father glanced in Margaret’s direction.
“I don’t know if mamma is quite ready yet,” Margaret offered.
“I will fetch her, shall I? Margaret, you can keep Mr. Thornton company for a few moments,” he said as he started up the stairs to ensure his wife was still feeling well enough for the day’s plans.
Margaret kept her focus on her steps, her bonnet in one hand and the other on the banister, as she came down the stairs. She felt Mr. Thornton’s gaze on her in these silent moments, which made a warmth spread over her face.
“My mother has been looking forward to this outing,” Margaret said brightly as she reached the floor and bravely lifted her eyes to see the man standing a few steps in front of her.
All her pretended indifference vanished as she took in the sight of him.
In place of his usual workday clothes of black cravat and waistcoat, he wore a gray worsted waistcoat and burgundy cravat which softened his appearance and gave him an air of casual elegance.
His lips curved into a smile, and the way his eyes appraised her made her heart skip a beat.
“I am glad the weather took care not to spoil our plans today,” she said, trying to hide the fluster of confusion his presence always aroused in her as she began fitting her bonnet on.
“It is a perfect day,” he answered, and she felt he spoke not solely about the weather.
“Do you not take your sister and mother out for a drive often?” Margaret asked, endeavoring to make conversation.
“Fanny more likely wants to shop in town and be seen, rather than to enjoy the lonely landscapes of nature. My mother is happy to stay home,” he replied. He did not share that his mother still thought it an unnecessary expense to rent horses for pleasure.
Margaret was saved from making any more comments as her parents appeared and made their way downstairs.
“It was very kind of you to offer us this day out, Mr. Thornton,” Mrs. Hale enthused. “I have only seen a hint of the hills beyond my sitting-room window.”
“Then I am happy to bring you to them,” he replied.
Margaret was surprised to see a gleaming open barouche waiting for them, which she knew Mr. Thornton must have hired solely for this occasion. Mr. Hale helped his wife to her seat and then joined her. Mr. Thornton assisted Margaret to her seat and took his place next to her.
Margaret averted her eyes from Mr. Thornton’s direction, keeping her attention focused on the sights surrounding her, although she remained keenly aware of his proximity. His shoulder was only inches from hers, and her skirts brushed against his legs.
She smiled to see her mother and father enjoying the leisurely drive even before they left the city. Mr. Hale held his wife’s hand as they absorbed the passing scenery.
The patches of blue sky expanded as they moved farther from the mill town. Margaret took a deep breath of the fresh air and rejoiced to smell the scent of warm grass and the sweet fragrance of flowers. Daisies, buttercups, and blue cornflowers covered the rolling hills they passed through.
“Oh look, foxgloves!” Mrs. Hale exclaimed. “Do let’s stop and pick a few.”
The carriage stopped along the roadside, and the men stepped out to assist the ladies. Mr. Hale helped his wife alight and accompanied her as she stepped a few paces to smell the wildflowers within her range.
Taking her husband’s hand, Mrs. Hale took a few steps onto the meadow and stopped.
She took a full breath of the clean air and felt the sun on her face.
The undulating grasses and flowers, and the green hills that disappeared into the horizon exuded such an expanse of heavenly beauty that her gaze blurred with tears.
It reminded her of Helstone. How she had taken all those years in quiet beauty for granted!
And now she would take this glimpse of God’s glory for what it was: a gift, and a reminder of all that she had been given in her life.
She began to feel weak and turned to find Mr. Thornton arriving behind them with an armful of things he had brought for the occasion. He set down an overturned crate and placed an embroidered pillow upon it for her to sit.
“Oh! Thank you. You have thought of everything!” she declared, as her husband helped her sit comfortably on her temporary throne.
Mr. Hale spread out a woolen blanket and sat next to his wife so they might enjoy the sunny view together.
Margaret stood apart, looking out over the distant scene when Mr. Thornton appeared by her side.
“Do you like the view? My father used to take us here occasionally. We would have a picnic on the grass,” he told her.
“That is very fine,” she answered. She looked over to see him staring out as she had just been. He was an altogether different man standing here in this open space with nothing but God’s green earth and the sky around and above him. A breeze moved the dark hair on his forehead.
He was no longer a hardened master of men, but merely a man who had once been a boy. A boy who had lost his father and who had struggled through darker days than she.
They began walking to a patch of wildflowers farther away. Margaret stooped here and there to pick a few flowers.
“I’m sorry you lost your father,” she heard herself say. “Do you still think about him?”
“In some ways, he is always there—in the back of my mind—a reminder that a kind and trusting heart must be tempered with an awareness of what others’ intentions are. My father was a good man, but was led to disaster by those who took advantage of his nature.”
Margaret was silent, absorbing what he had shared with her.
“You must miss your country home,” he said, turning to more pleasant conversation.
“I suppose I shall always miss Helstone,” she admitted, looking down at the wildflowers grasped in her hand.
“It was my childhood home. I never wanted to leave it. My mother sent me to London every year since I was nine—she thought it best for me, of course. There was little society in our hamlet, to be sure. But I was always happiest when summer came, and papa came to bring me home.”
The words spilled out of her, and she suddenly realized she had never confided this feeling to anyone before.
“I should like to see Helstone someday. What is it like?” he asked.
She looked up at him to see if he truly meant it or if he was just making conversation.
His return gaze was direct, inquisitive.
How had she not noticed how blue his eyes were?
Had she only seen him before in dim lighting?
The clear sky and brilliant sun made everything around them seem a dream, compared to the grayness of Milton.
“I’m afraid Helstone is everything Milton is not. I can hardly describe it, but it is the dearest spot on earth to me.”
As they ambled along, he observed the glow of sunlight on her cheeks, the way her supple lips moved as she talked, the sway of her skirts, and the shapely form of her figure.
The soft yellow fabric of her dress rippled in the breeze.
She was gentleness and beauty. She, like the flowers dappling the surrounding field, belonged here—a part of nature’s indescribable glory.
A pang of longing to possess her as his own ripped through every part of his being. To him, she was all things luminous, while he—he lived in the dark and enclosed world of machinery and brick. What right had he to entrap her in his world?
He imagined she must yearn to escape his town. “Will you visit your cousin…Edith, I believe you said…in London?”
Margaret smiled at the mention of her cousin, surprised he had remembered her name. “Edith is married now,” she said with a faint blush. “She’s been away with her husband in Corfu, and they’ve recently returned to London. She has invited me to come visit, but I cannot leave my mother at present.”
He watched the smile fade from her lips.
Far behind them, Mrs. Hale smiled as she closed her eyes again, lifting her face to the sun. Birds chirped, and a gentle breeze kissed her face. At this very moment, she was happy, all her worries faded into nothing at all.
She opened her eyes to gaze at the endless waving grasses and flowers. This feeling of transcendent contentedness brought to her mind another place and time. “Do you remember, Richard, the first time we met?” she asked her husband, who was reclining with his head upon his folded coat.
“You were a picture of such serene beauty. Just as you are now, my dear,” he said, sitting up to take her hand in his.
“I remember you gave me a drink from your canteen,” she continued.
“Did I? I don’t remember that. I only recall only that I was surprised that such a lovely woman should be abandoned by her party,” he returned.
“You were so very kind to me. You always have been,” she said, looking at him with more gratitude than she had in years past.
“Have I?” he asked, his voice wavering in uncertainty. He had struggled with unrelenting doubts about his past decisions, condemning himself mightily for bringing her to this northern town.
“It was wrong of me to bring you here, Maria,” he said, gently squeezing the pale hand still in his grasp. “I did not foresee how much it would hurt you—“
“Milton is not where I should have chosen to live, to be sure. But we lived in a lovely home for years, and I am sorry I was not more grateful for it,” she replied, her voice softening as she cast her eyes to the ground with somber regret.
She glanced up then, spotting Margaret and Mr. Thornton afar off, their silhouettes pasted on a blue horizon. As they drew closer, she observed their leisurely gait, pleased to see them apparently engaged in harmonious conversation.
An idea dawned on her that had not occurred to her before. “Perhaps it was just the right thing to move to Milton, dear,” she said, her eyes fixed on the approaching couple. “Look, Richard,” she continued, indicating the direction of their daughter and her companion.
“What is it, Maria?” he replied, bewildered as to what he was missing.
“I begin to think Mr. Thornton might be interested in our Margaret. And I believe it would be a good match, do you not agree?” she asked, still engaged in closely watching the couple as they drew nearer.
The cloud of confusion on Mr. Hale’s face did not disperse. “Mr. Thornton may be so inclined, but I believe Margaret is very much opposed to these manufacturing men. Do you not recall how they have argued?” he returned, squinting in the sun to see for himself what his wife saw.
“Well, I have a strong impression that there may be a connection blossoming between them. And I, for one, would be very happy to see her accept him. He has been very kind to us,” she remarked.
“Indeed, he has,” he agreed, although still doubtful of his wife’s premonition.
The more Mrs. Hale mused on the possibility, the more she liked it. And although she said not a word to her husband, she hoped she would live to see her daughter married and her future secured.
“I believe my mother looks happy,” Margaret noted as they drew nearer to her parents.
“Then I am glad we came today,” he said.
“My mother tells me you will come to our dinner party next month,” he began. “May I have the honor of escorting you in to dinner?” he asked, having wanted to claim this privilege since the plans were underway.
Surprised, she gazed up at him for a moment. “Yes. Yes, of course,” she answered, flustered by his request.
Mr. Thornton could not contain the smile that spread upon his face as the barouche jostled over cobblestones toward his home.
The day had been everything he could have wished for.
He re-lived every moment they had spent together, savoring the memory of her happiness, and recalling how innocent and beautiful she had looked standing in the sunshine, with the breeze kissing her face.
With a deep swell of yearning, he remembered how transfixed he had been as he had watched her descend the staircase in her home.
She seemed to radiate the freshness and loveliness of nature.
Indeed, she was the very picture of loveliness.
And he had felt a tug of pain to imagine her descending the stairs in his own home and coming eagerly into his arms, where she belonged.