Page 34 of Through Darkened Clouds

“No,” Margaret answered, gathering her courage. “I am to marry Mr. Thornton.”

“Mr. Thornton!” Edith exclaimed, her face a picture of distress.

Aunt Shaw set down her spoon. “Margaret, my dear, you cannot be in earnest.”

“I assure you, I am in earnest,” Margaret gently insisted.

“But why would you go back to that smoky town? You never said a word to me about an attachment,” Edith cried out.

“I know I have been secretive. I am sorry. I did not mean to deceive you,” Margaret said, staring at her hands now in her lap. “But there was a great misunderstanding between us which has now been cleared away,” she explained, looking to her cousin for forgiveness.

“Then I must be the first to wish you happy,” Edith’s husband declared. “I believe Mr. Thornton is an honorable man, a very respected man in business.” He gave his wife a slight nod to follow his lead.

“Oh Margaret! You know I will be happy if you are truly happy,” Edith said, a crease of concern still lingering on her forehead.

“I am,” Margaret answered. And all could see how honest her reply was by the beautiful smile that hallowed her face.

“I see now. It is a love match,” Aunt Shaw declared, placing a hand over her heart. “I cannot resist such a thing. After all, her mother did the same, come what may,” she sighed.

Sorting through her own wedding linens at the long table that afternoon, Hannah Thornton examined the crimson initials her mother had sewn in the corner. She had spent the last day walking through the house, sizing up all that might need to be done to prepare the house if John were to have a bride. She set the linen down when she heard the door downstairs. The quick steps that followed made her heart leap with relief.

She read everything in his easy gait and vibrant countenance as he came to greet her.

“Mother, you must prepare to go to London in a few weeks’ time—I am to be married!” he announced, beaming, before leaning over to kiss her wrinkled cheek.

The tears came to her eyes then—the burden of worry she had so long carried was at long last lifted. She did not care a whit where the wedding should take place or what it would require of her. At this moment, she cared only that her son was full of life again—that he was happy.

That evening, Mr. Thornton wended through the alleys of the Princeton District with a fixed smile on his face. He nodded to those who acknowledged him as he passed, unaware that this unexpected transformation from his customary stern mien would spark gossip.

“Is your father home?” Mr. Thornton asked when Mary opened the door to her house, a single lantern on the table behind her fending off the darkness.

“He’s had a meeting at the Golden Dragon over yonder,” she answered, timidly twining her hands up in the apron she wore.

He moved to leave, but stepped back to address the girl.

“Mary, you are a friend of Miss Margaret,” he said gently. “She is coming back to Milton.”

“For good?” the girl asked eagerly.

The Master smiled. “I hope so. She’s agreed to marry me.”

“Oh!” Mary exclaimed, quickly covering her mouth with her hands and then covering her face to hide her emotion. “She was so good to my sister,” she blurted out before the Master nodded and left to find his friend.

The buzzing of a multitude of voices could be heard through the heavy wooden door of the pub as he approached. When the Master stepped in, the din quieted. Higgins rose at the sight of the uncommon visitor, making his way to him. The men resumed their conversations with curious glances toward the door.

“What word have yo’ from London?” Higgins asked cautiously, studying his friend who wore an unreadable expression.

Mr. Thornton smiled broadly, breaking his ruse. “She will be my wife!” he announced.

“Yo’ devil!” Higgins said, grabbing Thornton’s hand to shake it heartily with both of his. “Yo’ had me muddled.”

“The Master has found hisself a bride!” Higgins yelled, turning to the crowd of mill workers and others. Whoops and whistles filled the room. Bawdy shouts of marital advice brought color to the cheeks of the innocent bachelor.

Flower garlands decked the open carriage riding through the London streets to the church. Margaret, wearing the white satin and lace dress she had chosen for her wedding, looked about her in awe. The past few weeks had been a whirl of shopping and planning with Edith. She smiled at the remembrance of all the fervent letters sent back and forth between John and herself—full of all that had been unsaid before.

Mr. Bell had insisted she purchase whatever she wanted for the occasion. “Take no regard for expense in choosing your wedding gown and all else you desire to make yourself happy,” he had written. She gazed affectionately at her godfather, who sat across from her.

Alighting from the carriage, Mr. Bell escorted his goddaughter into the church. It was a melancholy honor to take her father’s place today in giving away the bride. “Your father would be very pleased to see you married to Mr. Thornton,” he said to her privately as they stood in the vestibule inside the great church doors.