Page 28 of Through Darkened Clouds

Silence for a moment.

“Bell came from London. He believes Miss Hale is not happy there,” Mr. Thornton relayed, uncertain yet whether to believe this report.

“Mayhap she don’t belong there.”

“What do you mean?” was the instant, incredulous reply. Mr. Thornton studied Higgins intently for an answer.

“If I know Miss Margaret, she aren’t the sort to sit in fancy parlors gossiping about the latest fashions or what all such ladies fuss o’er. She’s a girl with a heart to help others and not just sit and be served. I reckon she’s too good for any of them London types, with their heads in the sky while the rest of us live down ‘ere in the world of machines and smoke. She’s a bonny lass, smart as a whip, and with a great deal o’ courage. She’d make a fine match for any man who’s not afraid of a strong woman.”

Higgins saw the clenched hands gripping the arms of the chair.

“Have yo’ considered taking her for a wife?” Higgins dared to ask. His eyes danced with mischief, although he kept his smile repressed.

Mr. Thornton’s head swung around to meet his gaze, then looked away, his cheeks darkening. “She won’t have me,” he answered, his voice hollow with the doubt that plagued him.

Having already stepped into dangerous waters, Higgins ventured a little farther. “Aye, but have yo’ tried her?”

The younger man’s eyes flared hot at being probed, his jaw tightening. “She would not have me,” he repeated.

Higgins nodded, a smile creeping over his face at this private confession.

“I’ll say my piece and leave yo’ to figure about it on yo’r own,” Higgins said gently as he studied the bowed head of the master with sympathy.

“Mayhap she’s changed her mind. She’s a fiery lass and may have spoke too soon. I were none too fond of yo’ myself a time or two ago, but have come to know the better side of yo’ since the strike.”

“I won’t be made a fool again,” came a tight-lipped response from the master.

“More’s the fool who lets pride throw away a chance at happiness,” Higgins replied as he took a step to leave but stopped.

“I’ve been turning it o’er in my noggin’ these past weeks,” the mill worker said. “I saw the way her face turned pink when yo’ stepped in behind her once—to see the children. And she as much as told me in her parting words that she believed Mary and I would be the only ones to remember her fondly.”

Remember her! She had no idea how constantly he thought of her! He opened his mouth, but no words would come.

Higgins took pity on his confusion. “If Bell has seen summut of the same signs in Miss Margaret, y’ought to make plans to go to London and bring her home.”

With that pronouncement, Higgins walked out, closing the door behind him.

Mr. Thornton sprang from his seat and began pacing. Could it be possible that she cared for him? He dared not believe…and yet his body quaked with the hope of it. A swell of elation rose to overtake him, but then came the sharp remembrance of her revulsion at his words of love.

He ran his fingers through his hair, stepping to the window and then back again in a frenzy of despairing doubt and burgeoning promise.

How was he to think or act or go on with his days as before—now that the possibility of attaining all he had dreamed of was dangled before him with such words of confidence by others?

They could not know…could they? They had not heard how vehemently she had rejected him.

But she had been kind to him at the end, placing her father’s book into his hands. Was there reason to hope she had changed her opinion of him?

The memory of her pressed against him, arms around his neck in that frantic, fearful moment in front of the angry mob stirred him to a delirium of desire to hold her in his arms once more.

My God, how much he wanted it all to be true! He halted, standing still by his desk in a daze, oblivious to the distant drone of the clacking machinery. “What shall I do?” he said aloud in the empty room.

Chapter eleven

Mr. Thornton woke from a fitful sleep just as the night yielded its blackness to a pink dawn. Drowsy, he remained in bed to chase the figments of a dream that enveloped him in a warm glow.

There was an open field. Helstone? And he was walking through it—a sunlit, endless expanse of green. He walked to a house on a rise. Was it the inn? He stepped into the kitchen, and there was a woman there, her back to him. He thought it was Mrs. Purkis, but when she turned around—it was Margaret! She smiled and swayed toward him with loving eyes and slid her arms about his neck in a close embrace.

A tremor of desire coursed through him. The feeling had been all too real, for he had felt her arms around him once—her body pressed against his. The memory of it would never leave him. He sat up and threw off his covers.