Mr. Thornton set out to find the finest fruit as soon as they parted company.
Dr. Donaldson went on a few steps, reflecting upon Mr. Thornton’s reaction to the news and how he was certainly a dear friend to Mrs. Hale’s husband. A new thought struck him, which halted his gait. Perhaps Thornton was interested in the daughter. He turned around to study the mill master once more, but he had vanished.
“Well!” thought he, “I suppose that Mr. Thornton would be an excellent match for a girl of her robust character! Yes, I quite like the thought,” he decided as he continued down the street.
Margaret stood in the hallway the doctor had vacated, tears staining her cheeks, when she heard a door open upstairs and Dixon’s heavy footsteps. She wiped her tears away and met her mother’s servant as she descended the stairs.
“I have spoken with Dr. Donaldson, Dixon,” she began, asserting her authority at once. “He has told me the truth.”
“It was not his truth to tell! Your mother wished to keep it secret, to protect you,” Dixon exclaimed in a loud whisper.
“Do not blame the doctor; I forced him to tell me. And as you can see, I am not a child who needs protection. You ought to know me better than that.”
Dixon studied the girl with admiration for her hardiness at such a time. “I may have mistaken you for a weaker girl, and you have my apology. But your father is sure to take it very badly,” she argued.
Margaret’s head drooped, and she sighed aloud. “Oh Dixon! Is it really true?” she blurted out in despair, searching Dixon’s expression for the truth. “How is my mother doing?” she pleaded to know all.
Dixon’s face softened with tender sympathy. “She has her days of pain and weakness, and sometimes days of only mildsensation. Don’t you go see her right now,” she said as Margaret made a move to ascend the stairs. “She is taking a rest. Let me tell her what has happened, and you can come to her in the afternoon as you usually do.”
“Alright,” Margaret agreed quietly.
Dixon gave her a sympathetic look and then continued on her way to the kitchen.
When the doorbell rang many moments later, Margaret was still standing near the stairs in a daze. Wakening enough to realize Dixon was not there to answer it, she went herself.
Opening the door, she was surprised to find Mr. Thornton standing there with his arms around a great basket full of fresh fruit. She could not muster even a polite smile as she stared at the offering in confusion.
“I happened to meet Dr. Donaldson at the market place. He told me your mother might benefit from eating fruit, so I took the liberty of selecting some for her,” he explained, studying the somber face and wishing he could drop the basket and enfold her in his arms.
“Oh…thank you,” she said, almost smiling, with some effort.
“If you will allow me, I can carry it to where you’d like,” he offered, straining to withhold himself from speaking any string of sympathetic words that would reveal what he knew.
Putting his gift down on the table in the front parlor as she indicated, he turned to leave. “I’m sorry your mother is unwell,” he said softly.
Margaret nodded, fighting back the tears the tenderness in his voice evoked.
He saw her struggle and hesitated a moment, but then moved to take his leave.
She followed him. “Thank you again,” she called out after him as he stepped out the door. “It was kind of you,” she said as he turned around. This time, a faint smile appeared on her lips.
“If I can be of any service,” he returned, tipping his hat politely before continuing his way down the stairs to the street.
He took reluctant strides away, taming the impulse to go back and comfort her somehow. But it was not his role to do so. And perhaps it might never be, he told himself. But underneath such reasoning, his heart still beat strong with hope.
Margaret’s heart was full as she tended to her mother that afternoon. She withheld her tears for her mother’s sake, as Mrs. Hale was yet displeased that her plans for a longer period of secrecy had been denied her.
“I don’t want to see you become somber and sad on my account, darling,” Mrs. Hale explained. “You are young and ought to be enjoying your youth,” she smiled, patting her daughter’s hand.
“And father?” Margaret asked.
Her mother’s expression grew wistful and tender. “Your father has such a gentle heart. He could never bear to see people suffer. I don’t know how to tell him. He will blame himself terribly,” she said, her voice trembling.
Margaret lifted her mother’s hand up to kiss it. “He will see…slowly. We must let him discover the truth little by little. I will help, mama.”
Mrs. Hale breathed a little easier. “I know he has his faults, but I also have mine. He has been good to me, and I…I fear I have been ungrateful,” she confided.
“Shhh now,” Margaret comforted, giving her hand a squeeze.
