Page 23 of Through Darkened Clouds

It was a harsh lesson, this inability to reverse time and the mistakes made in the past. But she must learn to bear it.

Margaret turned from the window and undressed. She hesitated for a moment beside the wide oak bed. Although she chided herself about making a to-do about it, she could not help pondering the fact that Mr. Thornton had slept in this very bed. She threw back the coverlet and gingerly climbed in.

Why had he come here? She wondered what had gone through his mind as he had lain there. Heat rose to her face at the impropriety of imagining him in bed.

Was he sleeping even now—far away in Milton? Or was he reading, or perhaps bent over papers of factory figures and plans. She did not know. She would never know his evening routine. That opportunity for her to be a part of his life had closed. She had closed that door with her impertinence and pride.

And her lie.

Her countenance contorted with despair. A stab of deep regret tore at her heart.

Oh, how she wished she could take back that awful lie!

That same evening, far away, Mr. Thornton was not sleeping. Nor was he poring over his ledgers. He lay in his sturdy, wide bed, unable to sleep. He felt a fool for being caught up in a somber mood after the long day of Fanny’s wedding.

It had been exhausting business to smile and appear content as he had conversed with people today. As if everything in his life were going smoothly, when everything seemed to be falling apart.

The image of Margaret came to him—haunted him—all this day. He could not quell this miserable yearning he still carried to have her for his bride. It had been a form of torture to watch Fanny treat her wedding day with little solemnity, when he himself felt his soul torn asunder in the longing to be wed to another.

He was glad the day was over. Now he was free to concentrate all his money and attention on the mill. All the while he must present a face of contentment to his mother. And he would do so—never minding his own blighted hopes for his future.

Down the hall, in her own room, Hannah Thornton glided her fingers over the smooth silk of the dress she had worn to witness Fanny marry. Emboldened by her daughter’s pleas, she had let herself splurge on this acquisition for Fanny’s sake.

It was not every day your only daughter married; she reminded herself, quelling only a portion of that ever-present concern over matters of expense.

She stared at the dark purple dress with black ribbon trimming. It was the first time she had worn color since that unspeakable day when her husband had hanged himself.

Stepping to her dark walnut vanity, she sat to pull the pins out of her hair for the night. She glanced at herself in the oval mirror in the dim candlelight, noticing the crevices and lines that had crept onto her face over time.

Fifteen years had passed. Her hands stilled and her eyes moistened as she considered how much she had suffered those first few years, and how she and John had worked to ensure that little Fanny always had what she needed.

Fanny was taken care of now. They would not need to worry about her anymore.

She didn’t think of her husband often, but today he had not been far from her thoughts. How much George had missed in seeing his son become a great man—and his daughter married! Fanny had been but a tiny child when he left them.

As she prepared for bed, gazing around her spacious room, she felt that familiar swell of pride and gratitude for her son. He had never failed her. They had relied on each other through years of hardship—had grown ever stronger together. She praised God every day for the blessing of such a son.

But all the adoration and veneration she poured upon John could not save him from the wounds of rejection which still afflicted him. While Fanny, who laid not a finger towards earning her keep, had rejoiced in throwing a splendid wedding with her brother’s wealth, John had received nothing but fresh remembrances of his shattered dreams.

Chapter nine

Margaret awoke the next morning to the sweet sound of twittering birds. How much she had missed such a simple pleasure! She smiled at the less beguiling crow of a rooster and luxuriated a moment in her surroundings.

Mrs. Purvis served her guests breakfast at a small cloth-covered table at the far end of the kitchen. She set a card at Margaret’s place before pouring tea into her cup.

Margaret gave a forced smile upon turning it over to read. “It is from the Hepworths. They have invited us to tea,” she announced, glancing at Mr. Bell for his response.

“Mmm,” was all he put forth as he spread jam onto a fresh-baked scone.

They ate in silence until Mrs. Purvis stepped out to take some of her scones to a neighbor.

“What is your pleasure, my dear, for today? Mr. Bell asked. Do you wish to accept the hospitality of your father’s successor?”

“No,” was the swift reply. “I think I should like to take another walk in the woods. Let us decline the invitation, saying that we must leave for London this afternoon.”

“Good girl. I suspected you would not wish to visit them again. Heaven knows how long we should be kept captive to such a loquacious, overbearing pair!”

Margaret smiled behind her teacup.