Becoming Mrs. Thornton: A Sequel to North and South

Chapter 15

Chapter 15 – Becoming Mrs. Thornton – copyright Jill Hughey 2014

Mrs. Thornton’s strength grew and her periods of lucidity lengthened over the next day. She did not remember Margaret at first, but once Fanny explained who she was, the memory returned and stuck.

Margaret had had no word from Le Havre, not even a congenial letter posted before Mrs. Thornton’s illness. Worry ate at her, but what could she do except sit in the sickroom, tending to all the patient’s personal needs that Fanny overlooked?

The sound of a horse thundering past the house the next evening lifted hope that climbed higher when pounding footsteps echoed on the stairs. Margaret backed slightly away from the bed, knowing he would want to go straight to the dragon — that he should go straight to her — who slept soundly after drinking a small cup of broth. Margaret tried to see her as John would, pale and frail after these few days without solid food and steady activity. Her countenance would alarm him.

The door swung back with a thud and he stood there, mud-stained, his expression wild. “Dear Mother, what have you done to yourself?” he asked in a low, tortured tone. She roused at the sound of his familiar voice, awakening fully when he sat on the bed to cradle the bony hand the rested on her stomach in his. “Mother, I am here.”

Fanny reached across the bed as she tried to hide her relief at her brother’s arrival. John shifted to envelope his mother’s and sister’s hands with his own. The three Thorntons sat for a moment of perfect unity. 

Then Fanny whined, “Oh, John, where have you been? She has been waking for me but then asks only for you, of course. No one else would suit her.”

Mrs. Thornton gazed up at him, proving Fanny’s jealous claim with the transparent adoration in her eyes. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. She emitted a happy hum at the unusual demonstration of her son’s affection. When he straightened he searched the room. “Where is — ah, there you are, love.” He freed one hand to beckon Margaret into a group where she was not sure she belonged. When she hesitantly reached the range of his arm, he slid his hand to her waist, drew her to him, and pressed his face into her breast. He breathed in deeply, as if collecting her scent, much as she did from him. Beneath the unfamiliar smells of travel were his soap and…him. He drew another hitching breath and she knew only she felt his trembling.

She did belong because John needed her.

She slipped her hand into his hair and pressed her face to the top of his head to murmur quiet reassurances. “All will be well, John. She is much better than she was. Truly.”

He nodded, then turned to look at his beloved dragon again, and the dragon stared devotedly at him. Margaret tried to pull away now that he had collected himself, but his arm tightened convulsively on her, keeping her with him as he spoke quiet, encouraging words to the woman who had stood by him, steadfast, for his whole life. 

“Was your trip successful?” Mrs. Thornton whispered.

“Do not worry about such things,” he chided.

“Tell me,” she said.

So, as Fanny yawned, he spoke of his journey, of buying enough raw cotton to keep the mill running into the spring and whom he bought it from and how much he’d paid, until his mother dozed and Fanny eagerly escaped.

He carefully withdrew his hand from his mother's.

“Did you get any of my messages?” Margaret asked. John shifted off the edge of the bed to lead her to a chair where he pulled her into his lap.