“Frederick was so incensed by this needless loss—you know, dear Margaret, how impassioned your brother was—that he rose against the captain and swiftly organized a mutiny.”
“Captain Reid was put out on a skiff, but was—rather unfortunately for Frederick’s sake—picked up by a passing freighter. Frederick was identified by Reid as the leader of the mutiny, and it was published in the newspapers that he was a blackened traitor. Your brother, who only wanted justice for those with no power! It makes me angry to this day!”
“Oh, Mother!” Margaret breathed. “I have never been so proud of my brother as I am now. Why, he was only trying to depose a ruthless man. Couldn’t he argue his case against this Captain Reid?”
“Never. It would never do. The Navy requires strict obedience, no matter what the directives. They would never listen to justice. Some of the other men caught in the mutiny tried to present such a case—but they were hanged, Margaret.” Mrs. Hale’s eyesbegan to fill with tears. “I couldn’t bear to see him end up as those men did. And so I’m glad he is far away—although I so long to see him!”
“Perhaps if we took a trip abroad. He is in Spain, is he not? It’s not so far—“
“No. No, it is too late. I’m not well enough for travel now,” Mrs. Hale moaned, but a glance at her daughter’s concerned face made her hurry on, “Forgive me, darling. I’m feeling very discouraged this week. Do not fret about me.”
But Margaret fretted about her mother from that time forward. She worried that her mother might suffer from some ailment that should not be dismissed lightly. Asking Dixon about it later gave her even more cause for concern, as the loyal maid insisted that Margaret take no thought about it or worry her father.
One afternoon shortly afterward, Margaret slipped out of the house to walk with her father to the Lyceum, where he sometimes gave lectures.
Happy to be out of doors, even in the sooty town of Milton, Margaret’s spirits lifted with the warmer weather. It appeared the people walking about also enjoyed the change of seasons. No longer were their heads bent down or arms crossed to keep their coverings close about them as they moved briskly to get out of the cold. The pace of the town slowed just a mite, and now faces could be discerned and arms were free to hang down.
Just before they reached the imposing granite building at the town center, Mr. Hale surprised Margaret with a gentle request.
“I should very much like for you to sit in on my discussions with Mr. Thornton occasionally on Thursdays—when you are not busy with your mother, of course. I believe you’ve quite misunderstood Mr. Thornton’s character. In any regard,” he continued, seeing her resistance in the straight line of hermouth, “I think you’d be very interested to hear our discussions of Plato’sRepublic.”
This he finished saying as they arrived. He gave her a smile, proud of his daughter’s interest in intellectual moral wrestling.
“I will try, papa,” she answered, swayed by his loving countenance.
Later that week, as Margaret padded quietly down the hallway, her father’s voice became clearer as she neared his study. She paused at the sound of the replying Darkshire voice, confused and a trifle annoyed that Mr. Thornton’s voice should cause an unbidden flutter within.
She raised her head, took a breath, and walked into the room with her sewing basket.
Her father smiled at her entrance. “I thought Margaret might like to listen to our discussions from time to time, if you don’t mind,” he announced to his pupil.
“Not at all,” Mr. Thornton replied with a warmth that surprised her.
Sitting by the back wall, Margaret met his eyes for a moment and saw the hopeful sincerity that so unnerved her. She had a right to her own views, and would rebuff any feeling that she ought to repent and sweetly submit to his perspective.
Truth be told, she wished she were not under his scrutiny tonight and would have gathered her things and departed were it not for her father.
“As I was saying,” Mr. Hale continued, “there are very strict rules and few pleasures for the guardians of society, as Plato has outlined. They must remain devoted to their purpose for the benefit of the community.”
“I believe that indicates the crux of the matter regarding the setup of human governments: the balance between individual freedom and the responsibility to society,” Mr. Thornton replied. “While, in theory, I should like for every man to be free to make his own choices, at our present stage of development, a large portion of society seems not ready for self-government and is better served to follow the dictates of those who have earned a place of authority through knowledge and experience.”
Margaret bristled at his talk of putting most men under authority. “And who will choose which men deserve to be these figures of authority?” Margaret interjected.
“We have many lines of authority in our own government, Margaret,” her father answered. “Do you suppose Captain Lennox doubts the authority of his commanders?”
Who is this Captain Lennox? Mr. Thornton wondered, the disquieting suggestion that Miss Hale might have other suitors sweeping away his concentration from the discussion at hand.
“I suppose there are places where lines of authority must be in order, but I still believe authority cannot be accepted wholesale if it is used to subjugate others unfairly. There must always be recourse for those who may be trodden down,” she posed, thinking of her brother.
“Which is why, I believe, Plato argues that the guardians of society must be those who have grown into higher moral standing through long experience and training of self-denial and self-discipline. They must prove their moral character first before becoming leaders. It is not a haphazard authority,” Mr. Thornton endeavored to explain.
Margaret made a movement of her head, which he took to be reluctant acquiescence, and took up her needlework again. She remained quiet for the rest of the lesson, still feeling a resistance to Mr. Thornton’s comfortable assurance that most men needed authority figures—as if they were children!
When the hour had passed, Mr. Thornton stood to leave, giving a smiling nod to Mr. Hale and turning to glance cautiously at Margaret.
As he passed by her, she remembered her intention to ask him about a doctor.
“Mr. Thornton,” she called out softly, trailing after him down the stairs. He turned around, the hope in his breast brimming to the full at her calling. The soft skin of her cheeks and neck glowed in the shadowed hallway.
