A Heart for Milton

A Heart for Milton - Chapter 20

A Heart for Milton - Chapter 20

An acrid smell filled Higgins' nostrils; he could taste it in his mouth. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his elbow, he scrambled to pin the attacker down with violent thrusts, his teeth clenched in vicious anger.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growled. As he finally met the culprit's eye, he glimpsed the blackened bruise on the scoundrel's cheek.

Higgins did not listen to the man's crazed rants about Thornton or his demands to be released, but instantly turned to shout at the workers who arrived to gape at the scene. "Wilson! McConnell! Hold this bastard. Parker, fetch the police! Quick!" he bellowed, his ears still ringing from the deafening gunshot.

As soon as his coworkers were able to restrain the raving madman, Higgins bolted into the Master's office where a blue-gray cloud of smoke roiled sinisterly at the entryway. He felt his heart thumping, and terrifying images sprang to his mind as he stepped through the blinding smoke.

 "Thornton!" he called out hopefully, his eyes wide in desperation.

The Master was at his desk. He brought his head up slowly at Higgins' exclamation, his eyes glazed over with shock. "I'm all right," he uttered tonelessly, his brow knit slightly in dazed confusion.

"My God, you've been hit!" Higgins blurted, rushing to the Master's side at the sight of a crimson stain spreading onto the white cotton. After furtively inspecting the wound on Thornton's arm, he turned his head to bark out orders to the gawking workers gathered at the doorway with bulging eyes. "Get me some cotton! Fetch a doctor! Quickly!"

Higgins carefully guided the Master to the floor and against the wall, where he began to tend to his friend.  He ripped the torn cotton sleeve to expose the injury.  "Damned if it's not a bleeder," he cursed as he snatched the cotton cloth handed him and pressed it to stem the flow of blood.

"Jonas, get the mistress. She's at the schoolroom," he ordered a young carder, who blinked in alarm at the thought of his unenviable task. "Hurry!" Higgins scolded as he diligently wrapped the Master's arm with the material from the looms.

"Margaret must not be alarmed," Thornton spoke out from his trance, a look of concern crossing his face. He did not want to cause her distress in her condition.

"I don't think we'd be able to restrain her," Nicholas answered this nonsensical request. "Who was that bastard?" he bluntly asked.

"Slickson's nephew," Mr. Thornton said between shallow breaths. "He had eyes for Margret," he offered as a brief explanation, his voice tensing now as a burning pain began to rage in his arm. He scowled at the sensation and leaned back, closing his eyes.

"Then he's a fool and an idiot," Higgins sputtered vehemently. "I've never seen anyone more in love than you and Miss Margaret. Anyone with eyes could see it. He's either a blind fool or raving lunatic," he declared as he finished winding the piece of fabric around the wound. "Looks like the bleeding's stopped," he announced with relief as he looked over his work.

The Master only nodded vaguely in response, as his senses began to spin and the sounds around him began to fade.

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Margaret heard the racing footsteps of the messenger before he appeared in the doorway.

"Ma'am, it's the Master. He's been hurt," the young man relayed breathlessly before taking a gulp of air.

Margaret's heart stilled. She paled at what his coming must imply - John had somehow been injured.

She glanced dazedly at her students. "School is dismissed," she managed to say before hastily stepping out the door to follow the anxious messenger.

Horrifying images flashed through her mind as she lifted her skirts to rush across the dusty yard. Her legs trembled unsteadily as she entered the weaving shed, uncertain of what she should discover therein.

As she blindly followed the figure ahead of her, the clanking of the machines was muted by the clamor of her heart.  What had happened? Where was he? She endeavored to steel herself for whatever she would find, vaguely aware that all eyes were trained on her.

Her pulse raced and her tension grew as they neared the Master's office. A lingering smell of putrid smoke met her nose and she wrinkled her brow in bewilderment.  She startled at the sudden outburst of her name, and her frightened eyes flew to a huddle of men further down the hallway.

"Margaret! I did it to save you!" a familiar voice shouted.

She gasped and shuddered as she recognized Albert Slickson as he hollered and writhed to escape the grip of the men who held him. "Unhand me! Margaret, I must speak with you!" He wildly beckoned to her.

Overcome with horror at the notion of what he might have done, Margaret felt a surge of panic as she was finally ushered into John's office.

Her eyes desperately swept the room before falling upon the figure of her husband as he lay next to a ministering Nicholas on the floor.

"John!" she cried out, shaking with terror as she glimpsed his blood-stained clothes. Casting aside all propriety, she fell on her knees and took his face between her hands. He was alive! "John...oh John!" she moaned as she drank in the sight of him. Her relief was visceral as she watched him gaze upon her before he closed his eyes and his head fell limp into her hands.

"John!" she called out to him as fear rose up from her belly, causing her nerves to tingle and impelling her to act.

"He took a hit to the arm...lost a bit of blood. He'll come around," Nicholas hastily reassured her as she pulled the weight of her husband against her, cradling his head to her bosom.

"John, I am here," she said in a soothing voice, determined to bring him back to consciousness with her affection and care. "John, I am here," she repeated, gently caressing his face with her hands. She was aware of nothing else around her; her only focus was on the man lying so lifelessly in her arms. How could this possibly be, she thought in a frantic flash; only hours ago, he was so strong and full of life as he made love to her?

Mr. Thornton heard a voice calling to him. At first, it was faint and far away, but with time it grew stronger and more clear. Margaret!  A comforting balm washed over him. He felt bathed in love, recognizing her gentle touch and the softness of her form. As he yearned to see her, he felt his strength slowly return.

Margaret sensed his slight movement and watched as he opened his eyes. "John!" she exclaimed in tremendous relief, bending over to plant fevered kisses on whatever portions of his face she could reach.

He smiled weakly despite the burning pain; the rain of affection she bestowed on him lifted him momentarily to a higher plane.

"Doctor!" Higgins announced in glad greeting as Dr. Donaldson walked through the doorway.


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Hannah Thornton looked up from her needlework as a strange sense of foreboding swept over her. She put her sewing aside and walked to the window overlooking the mill yard, but there was no indication that anything was amiss.

She stared for a long moment, wondering what her uneasiness could portend. She was about to turn away when she glimpsed several figures emerging from the mill. She saw her son coming slowly toward the house, supported by Higgins and Williams on either side, Margaret and Dr. Donaldson trailing behind.

Fear coursed through her. Although her son was prudent, she had always feared that his daily contact with such heavy machinery might someday run afoul.

She stood still a moment to gather her courage before heading toward the door.

As he and his companions entered the house, she found little comfort in her son's assurances that he was fine, and listened with increasing horror as Higgins and Margaret alternately explained what had happened.

The men assisted Mr. Thornton upstairs to his room and then politely took their leave of the Master's house as Margaret and the doctor helped the injured Master into his bed.

Dr. Donaldson set about to examine the injury once more. Mr. Thornton sucked in air through his teeth as the doctor gently probed the bandage. "I can give you a bit of morphine to dull the pain," Dr. Donaldson offered his grimacing patient.

"I can manage," the weakened man replied stoically. He watched with dread as the doctor pulled out a flask of whiskey from his black bag. Mr. Thornton grasped his wife's offered hand and held his breath as the physician prepared to clean the wound. His stomach clenched and a guttural cry escaped his throat as the cold liquid made contact with his skin, searing his arm with stinging pain.

When he was through tending the injury, the seasoned doctor told his patient and the two women gathered in the room that the wound should heal well, leaving only a scar. "You are very fortunate in that the bullet only grazed you.  The wound is deep, but with a few days' rest, you should be able to return to your daily routine," the doctor pronounced. "But you will need to take extra precautions that you do not aggravate your arm for the first week or so," he expounded, giving the attending women a pointed look. The doctor knew that Mr. Thornton would not easily take to being confined in his activities.

"Thank you, doctor," Margaret gratefully exclaimed as she saw him to the bedroom door.

"I entrust you to his care, Mrs. Thornton," Dr. Donaldson spoke to the young wife in a lowered voice. "He must rest that arm. If the pain does not abate, call me back. Perhaps then he will take some morphine."

Margaret nodded and shut the door behind her mother-in-law and the departing physician, before returning to the bed to sit gently by her husband. Never had he seemed so precious to her. She could not resist running her hand along the side of his face, cherishing every subtle contour and the rough feel of his jaw. "What can I do for you?" she inquired tenderly, desiring to make him as comfortable as possible.

"Water?" he asked simply. His throat and mouth were parched.

When she dutifully returned with some water, she sat by him and watched him slake his thirst.

"I'll let you get some rest," Margaret declared and stood to leave.

He grasped her wrist with his good arm. "Stay with me," he pleaded, his eyes full of tender longing. "Perhaps you could read to me a little. The sound of your voice will help me to sleep," he suggested.

She warmed at his request, pleased to aid him in some way.

When at last he drifted off to sleep, she quietly shut the book in her lap and studied him as he lay propped in repose. The tears came unbidden, coursing silently down her cheeks as she tried to comprehend the fullness of the love that ached in her heart, and how close she had come to losing him. She thanked the Lord for keeping him safe and prayed she should never know life without him.


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