He put a finger to his lips and tipped his head towards the sleeper.
Margaret’s lips formed a silent ‘O’ and she whispered she would come back later.
“No, don’t go,” Bessy’s wobbly voice called out.
Margaret went to her bedside. “I can come back later, if you need to rest,” she offered gently.
“No, please,” the weakened girl answered, as she propped herself up. “Seeing your bonny face is a bit o’ cheering I could sorely use.”
Having seen his daughter taken care of, Nicholas took his leave of the place.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Bessy spoke. “Father can hardly stand the suffering. Everyone comes by to tell ’im to break the strike, or to give ’em something to feed their wee ones. The strike were supposed to last a week, but the masters have not made a move to meet the Union demands. I’m afraid he’ll go drink to ease his pain, as it were.”
Margaret glanced back at the door with a flood of sympathy both for the weight of responsibility Nicholas must be bearing, and for the daughter’s fear that her father would fall into sin.
“But let’s not talk of the strike. I’m sick of such things,” Bessy pleaded. “Tonight is the Thornton dinner, isn’t it? Have you got your dress ready?” she asked, her face brightening in her excitement.
“Yes, of course. I should be in great trouble if I declined to go now, for you would be vastly disappointed!” she teased, giving Bessy’s hand a squeeze.
“It’s the only hopeful thing I have to think on these days,” she answered. “I wished I could see yo’ there with all those masters and their wives. Yo’ll be a fresh wind in their sails.”
“If you can find your way to our house this evening, you could see me in my dress and let me know if it passes muster for Milton,” Margaret invited with a warm smile.
“If yo’ wore it in London, I ‘spect it will be fine enough for this smoky town. Oh! But I don’t know if I can walk as far as that. Perhaps father can find a way; he knows everyone,” she posed with a tinge of hope.
“I know what I’d wear if I could go,” Bessy continued, “a dress of pure blue silk, with ribbons at the shoulders and ruffled lace at the hem. Like the one I saw once in the window at the draper’s shop,” she mused dreamily, picturing it in her mind.
“Blue would suit you,” Margaret agreed with a pleasant tone that belied the tug of melancholy Bessy’s longing wrought in her.It seemed unfair that her friend would never wear such a dress or go to a fancy dinner such as she was attending that night.
“It’s said Thornton’s mother wears naught but black, no matter the occasion. But I wonder if ‘tis true even for such a night. Yo’ll tell me if she dons some color that no one has ever seen her wear in the streets,” Bessy begged to know.
Margaret had to grin at Mrs. Thornton’s solemn reputation. “We shall see. It is true. I’ve not seen her in anything but mourning dress. I fear she is not one to break solid patterns of decision.”
“I suppose that’s where the Master gets his stubborn nature. Father calls him the ol’ bulldog. He won’t be swayed to change his mind once he’s made his will clear,” Bessy said.
This comment sobered Margaret, for it was exactly Mr. Thornton’s headstrong will that often troubled her when she found herself thinking of him.
“But what father doesn’t see,” Bessy continued, “is that he can be just as stubborn, grabbing hold of his ideas of what’s to be done without letting anyone’s complaints get in the way. It’s this that gets everything so muddled. And all I want is some peace. This world is too full of fighting,” she said with a long sigh. “Which is why I’m not afraid to go to heaven. ‘Twill be a better place.”
Her father returned, looking just as downhearted as before. “There’s not anywhere I can go without getting an earful of suffering and weakness. I’ve told ’em a thousand times that it would be hard, but we must hold firm. The masters must give in soon. I know there are orders that lie undone.” He spoke to the room, gesturing with flailing hands. The girls watched him silently.
A rapping at the door made him hunch over with his hands on his thighs as he braced himself for what would surely be more ofthe same complaints. Then he straightened himself and went to the door.
Addy Boucher burst into the room as soon as he opened it. Her thin brown hair hung loosely down her dusty calico dress; her eyes glinted with a wild pain, and her jaw was firmly set with a deep frown.
“My John must return to his work. We cannot abide the strike one more day!” Her adamant request rose into a desperate outcry. She let out a great sob and collapsed to the floor weeping, the outburst of rage having drained her energy.
“Addy! Addelaide” her husband called out for her before he swept into the room through the open doorway. John Boucher clutched his infant son to his chest. The child made pitiful sounds, unable to make the full-throated cries of a well-fed babe.
“You see what you’ve done to my wife—to my children!” John Boucher shouted, holding out the writhing baby as proof of their misery. “You told us it would be two weeks. Two weeks! And it’s coming on three now. And what are we to do with your blasted Union rules? I told you I couldn’t abide your plan, but you forced it on all of us!”
He crouched down to help his wife up from the floor. “It were all we could do to feed our eight children when I had work. And now…this is what we’ve become! My wife is near about crazy with worry and crying. You’d be the same if you heard the wails and whimpering from our children night and day.” At this outburst, his wife began to sob, clinging to her husband’s arm.
Margaret’s stomach clenched tight as she watched this scene unfold.
Nicholas Higgins lowered his head and clutched the table as if gathering the strength to answer. “And I told you we must be in this all together or not at all. The Union pays to cover some of your needs for the duration. And if some need more to get by, by God, I’ll give my own over to make it right! Here!” he said,tipping a few coins from a tin cup on the shelf behind him into his hand and offering them to the struggling parents.
John Boucher grabbed the coins, but spat out his rebuke of this meager aid. “I’ve eight children at home! Eight! And they’re all layin’ abed for weakness. And for what? We were getting by afore this damned strike, which I ne’er wanted to join! And now my family is to die for it? I curse you and your Union for what yo’ve done!”
