Chapter 13. The Pool of Tears

The arrival of her son acted as a bracing tonic for Mrs. Hale, and for the next several days she had color in her cheeks and a renewed interest in life. Fred spent most days in her room by her bed, holding her hand and telling her stories about his life in Cadiz and the people who had been so kind to him. Mrs. Hale would watch his every expression, and when she fell asleep, would hold tight to his hand so that Fred must stay by the bed lest she wake. After a half an hour or so, when she was deep in the throes of sleep, Mrs. Hale would loosen her grip, and Fred would be free to come downstairs and spend time with his father and Dixon, or Meg when she returned from her work in the clinic.

When he first heard of Meg spending time tending to the needs of the poor in Milton, he frowned and exclaimed, "Why must you spend your time in those horrible parts of town, Meg? Is there not enough for you to do here?"

"For shame, Master Fred," Dixon exclaimed one day, a scowl on her face, as her brother took Meg to task once again. Meg and Fred sat in the kitchen with Dixon while she fixed a tray for Mrs. Hale. "Your sister uses her time and talents to help those in need. Leave her be."

Fred started in surprise; never before had Dixon taken Margaret's part over his own. "I'm sorry," he stammered, "I just thought that her time might be better spent here in her own home, tending her mother."

"And so she does," retorted Dixon, filling the tea pot with hot water. "Many a night has she spent checking on how the mistress fares, and concocting all sorts of brews and tisanes to help her breathe easier and sleep through the night."

Fred looked so taken aback that Meg laughed and ruffled his hair. "I know that you mean well, dear brother, but do not attempt to read me a lecture. You should know by now that I do as I please, and it pleases me to work with Dr. Donaldson."

He grimaced, but laughed in turn and, leaping up from his chair, snatched his sister into a rib-crushing embrace and kissed her loudly on the cheek. "You have always been strong willed, Meg. I have just never known you to care for the poor and disadvantaged as you do now, or to spend the amount of time among them that you do."

She told him he was a great fool, and pinched his cheek hard so that he chased her around the kitchen table to reciprocate, much to Dixon's consternation. She was about to read both of them a thundering lecture when a knock was heard on the front door, and all three of them froze.

"Who could that be?" Meg asked blankly, looking with consternation from Fred to Dixon's blank expression. Placing a finger on her lips to warn Fred to remain where he was and be quiet, Meg ascended the steps and opened the front door a crack.

Mr. Thornton stood on the front step, a basket of fruit held in the crook of his arm.

"Good afternoon, Miss Hale," he said politely. "I met Dr. Donaldson in the street yesterday, and he told me that your mother's appetite had waned. I took the liberty of buying her some fruit in the hopes that it might tempt her to eat."

Meg's eyes kindled with admiration. "Oh, Mr. Thornton, how kind you are." She reached forward to take the basket from him, but he hesitated in giving it to her.

"I thought I might come in and pay my respects to your parents," he said stubbornly.

Meg looked at him gravely. "My mother is in bed, Mr. Thornton, and my father is not home. I am afraid that now is not a good time to visit."

His face took on a look of cold offense. "I thought I would be welcome in your house, Miss Hale, despite our...differences."

"And so you are," she returned evenly, "but as I have explained, my mother is not up to company, and we are overwhelmed with her care."

He thrust the basket of fruit into her arms, turned on his heel, and stalked down the front steps. Meg saw that she had deeply offended him. She ran lightly down the stairs toward him and impulsively grasped his arm. He turned and looked at her in surprise.

"Please believe me when I say my family values your friendship, Mr. Thornton," she explained breathlessly. "I would not want to do anything to offend you or abuse that friendship. It is only that Dr. Donaldson believes my mother is dying, and we are doing whatever we can to keep her comfortable and quiet." She choked as she said the last few words, and her voice dwindled away so that she ended on a mere whisper that he had to strain to catch.

Mr. Thornton's face softened at her candor and genuine grief. "Please excuse me, Miss Hale. I did not realize your mother was so ill. Please give your parents my regard, and let me know if there is anything I can do for your mother-or any of you." Nodding at her, he placed his hat on his head, and turned once more to go.

"Thank you, Mr. Thornton, for your understanding," Meg said softly.

He hesitated, and gazed at her as if he would say more. His eyes searched hers intently, and his lips parted. Both he and Meg stood in the street and stared at each other, in mutual attraction and confused dismay. After a few moments, someone jostled him from behind, and he recalled himself and walked briskly away.

As she stepped into the hallway, Fred waylaid her. "Who was that great frowning fellow?" he asked. "Is that the tradesman that Father is compelled to tutor? Imagine a workman interested in Latin and Greek!" he hooted contemptuously.

"It is more than you were ever interested in," Meg retorted tartly, remembering Mr. Hale's stories of Fred's lackluster academic performance.

At her brother's surprised gaze, she sighed and continued, "Mr. Thornton is a gentleman, Fred, and has been very good to us. He has had much to deal with, given the strike and the depressed cotton industry."

Fred looked at her intently and, shoving his hands into his pockets, gave a low whistle. "So, the wind blows in that quarter, does it?"

Meg gave him an impatient look. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You are sweet on him, aren't you?" Fred laughed affectionately. "Who would have thought Miss Margaret Hale, a lady of refinement and fashion, would fall in love with a tradesman?"

"You are beyond silly, Fred," Meg said astringently, a tinge of heightened color staining her cheeks. "I regard Mr. Thornton as a friend, nothing more. He has been very good to us since we have moved here, and I would ask you not to insult him, or mock me."

Fred could see he had grieved her, and he took both of her hands in his own and gave them a squeeze.

"I am sorry, dear sister," he said gently. "Let us say no more on the subject. You are a good-hearted creature, and I am truly pleased how you have grown up. I am proud of you, Meg." He kissed her cheek gently. "I will see if Dixon is ready with her tray so I may carry it up to mother."

As she watched him go lightly down the stairs to the kitchen, Meg reflected that Frederick Hale had a warm heart and an open temperament. He could be hot of temper and often acted precipitously, as evidenced by his now being a fugitive from the law, but he meant well. She felt a great surge of affection for him, and said a prayer of thanks once again that he had come home in time to see his mother and that he was safe-at least, he was safe for the time being.

Unlike Mr. Hale and Fred, Meg knew that her mother's rallying health and spirits were momentary; the illness had her in its relentless grip and it would not be long until she would leave this earthly plain. Meg prayed for the strength to help her father and brother handle the loss, and the cunning to be able to spirit Fred out of town when the time came to do so.

Already, she felt great trepidation concerning his safety. Dixon had told her in private just that morning that she had met a man from Helstone the day before, as she was about Milton on her errands. This man, known as Leonards, was a scoundrel and troublemaker who knew of Fred's misfortune and had accosted Dixon on whether she knew where the fugitive was. Meg had felt a chill of foreboding at this news, and questioned Dixon sharply on whether she thought Leonards knew that Fred was in Milton.

Dixon was adamant that Leonards did not know; she believed he was merely trying to annoy her by casting aspersions on the family that she served. "Mark my words, Miss Meg, he is up to no good, but he does not know that Master Fred is here-if he even suspected he was in this house, the authorities would be pounding at our door."

Meg felt her heart sink. "We must be doubly careful, Dixon. We cannot let our guard down until Fred is on a ship headed back to Cadiz. His life is at stake."

**********

Frederick had been home nearly a week when Mrs. Hale rallied. In a burst of energy one afternoon, she insisted on washing and dressing, and came down to the parlor for dinner and tea. Her husband and son hovered about her, refilling her cup, plumping up cushions for her back, and standing at the ready to fetch or carry any little thing she might desire. It wounded Meg to see the hopeful looks father and son exchanged over the patient's head; she knew this was merely one last rally of spirits before the end. She had seen this happen numerous times with war patients, where they appeared miraculously cured one day and were gone the next. However, she could not bring herself to say anything to depress their mood.

Mr. Thornton had brought more fruit for Mrs. Hale, and she enjoyed exclaiming over his extravagant kindness. "What trouble he must have gone to, to procure grapes!" she said wonderingly over and over. She fretted that Meg must write a thank-you note and dispatch it immediately to Marlborough Mills so that Mr. Thornton would not think she was unappreciative of his kind gesture. With the knowledge that her mother would not rest until this task was complete, Meg went to the desk in the corner of the room and scribbled a few lines to Mr. Thornton, trying to infuse the note with some of the gratitude (and, surreptitiously, the deep esteem) she felt as well:

Dear Mr. Thornton,

My mother bade me write to you and thank you for your kind gift. Indeed, the fruit that you brought to her has been the only thing that tempts her to eat. She is truly grateful, as is my father. Please let me add my thanks as well, for the sight of those lovely grapes brightened her countenance and gave her great pleasure.

Thank you for all of your kindnesses to my family. We are blessed to have you as a friend.

With deepest regard,

Meg Hale

The following morning, Mrs. Hale's waxen features and listless demeanor communicated to her daughter that the end was near. Fred and Meg sat on either side of their mother's bed, each holding a hand, and Dixon stationed herself at the foot of the bed. Mr. Hale hovered uncertainly in the hallway outside his wife's door, not quite knowing where he should be or what he should do.

Before the clock struck two that afternoon, Mrs. Hale cast her loving eyes over her children and Dixon, heaved a sigh, and died. Fred gave a great sob and, lowering his face to his mother's hand, covered it in kisses. Dixon stood and let the tears run down her face unchecked. Meg felt a grasping tightness in her chest; rising from her chair, she rushed toward her father and hugged him fiercely. She felt his slight frame shake with emotion, and realized that he was crying as well. She gently led him to the chair she had vacated, and urged him to sit and take his wife's hand. He did so, and there he remained for the rest of the day. No one was able to move him.

As Meg suspected, all funeral arrangements fell upon her. Her father was incapable of rational thought; his response to every question was, "Do as you see fit, my dear." Fred was of no help since he could not leave the house. Dixon assumed the task of preparing her beloved mistress' body for burial, and Meg uttered a prayer of thanks that she would be spared that task.

Meg quietly and efficiently took care of all arrangements, assisted by Dr. Donaldson, the sole outsider besides Mary Higgins who knew of Fred's existence and circumstances. Meg had informed Dr. Donaldson of the details of Fred's exile, and found the doctor a sympathetic and discrete listener. Since he had to attend to Mrs. Hale during the last days of her life, Meg had insisted to her father and brother that the doctor must be told of Fred's presence in the house; otherwise, he might unknowingly let slip that a stranger was staying with the Hales.

As soon as Mrs. Hale died, Meg became convinced that Fred must leave, and the sooner the better. Mr. Hale had written his friend Mr. Bell to tell him of his wife's passing, and Mr. Bell insisted on coming for the funeral to support his oldest friend. If this was not cause enough, Dixon had seen Leonards lurking about Crampton, obviously prying into their business. Fred argued and railed that he could not leave now, when his father was so downhearted. Meg agreed, but impressed upon him that if he were taken up by the authorities, the shock and grief would kill Mr. Hale. Fred reluctantly agreed.

Early the morning after her mother's death, Meg walked to the train station to purchase a ticket for her brother for that evening. As she stepped up to the window, the clerk glanced up at her and smiled. "Taking another trip, are we?" he asked in a jolly tone.

Meg looked at him blankly. "Another trip?" she asked guardedly. "What do you mean?"

The clerk, an older, portly gentleman, explained in a friendly manner, "I never forget a face, miss, especially a pretty one like yours. It has been about a year since you purchased a ticket to London. You told me you were going back to visit family."

Meg gaped at him. Had Margaret Hale gone to London? Could she be there now, living with her aunt and wondering why her parents never contacted the family about her disappearance? No, it was impossible-her mother had received numerous letters from her sister, and Meg herself had received one or two letters from Edith, and nothing was mentioned of Margaret having been in London. And Henry, after all, had travelled to Milton to propose. But, why then did Margaret Hale buy a ticket if she did not go to London?

Aware that the clerk was observing her with a curious glance, Meg mustered a smile and responded, "Yes, you are right. I had forgotten about that." As he passed the ticket over to her, she paid him in exact change and, placing the ticket in her bag, thanked him and left.

Just after dusk that same evening, Meg and her brother stood in the shadows at the Outwood Station, awaiting the London-bound train. Looking about the dark station, Meg remembered the foreboding she had felt the night that she and Gran had arrived in Milton; had it been nearly a year now that she arrived in Milton? Gran and Lily must think that I have gone for good, much as Margaret Hale's family believed when she disappeared. But, that wasn't right. She frowned. She was here living Margaret's life. No time to ponder this situation now, Meg thought firmly. She must deal with Fred first.

Meg handed Fred his ticket as they waited in the shadows, apart from the other small clusters of passengers on the tracks. Meg wore a cloak, and had the hood pulled over her head to obscure her features as much as possible from the gaze of others.

"I wish I did not have to go," Fred lamented yet again. "It is not fair to you to have to shoulder the burden of my father's grief, and the entire planning for the funeral. I have half a mind to turn myself in and stand trial."

"Yes, and be hung in a fortnight's time," Meg said astringently. He flinched, and she said in a gentler tone, "There is neither justice nor forgiveness in a court marshal, Fred. The safest place for you is away from England."

"I do not know when we will meet again, Meg," her brother said sorrowfully, and pulled her into his embrace, pushing the hood back from her head to feel her cheek against his. "When I left home, you were a young girl. In my absence, you have grown to become an extraordinary woman. Promise me you will bring father to Cadiz to visit me in a year's time."

She placed her arms about him and hugged him tightly, then tenderly kissed his cheek. She did not respond to his request, for she knew not where she would be in a year's time.

A slight noise made her turn, and to her shocked dismay, she saw Mr. Thornton standing at the end of the platform, staring at her.

He had just exited the station office, on his way to Marlborough Mills, no doubt. His eyes met hers, and she saw his surprise transmute to dismay and something else which could be anger or disgust. He glared at her briefly and strode from the station grounds.

Meg felt grieved and fearful-he had seen her embrace Fred! What would he think of her being at the train station this time of night in the arms of a strange man?

"Lord, was that Mr. Thornton?" Fred asked. "What a scowl that man has!"

"Something has obviously happened to upset him," Meg replied in a dull voice.

The train blew its whistle, and the occupants of the platform surged forward to enter the compartments as it prepared to depart. Meg prepared to embrace her brother one last time when a rough arm thrust between them and shoved her aside. She fell to the ground, but scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could.

A man grabbed Fred by the collar. "By your leave, miss," he exclaimed, pushing Meg aside once more as she attempted to intercede. "Your name is Hale, I believe?" he demanded.

Fred struggled mightily against him, and managed to elude his grasp. When Leonards-for Leonards it must be- lunged forward to seize Fred once more, Meg pushed the man hard, and thrust her foot out in an attempt to trip the assailant. He fell hard against the wall, and tumbled violently down the stairs.

Meg was horrified; she had merely wanted to give Fred a chance to escape, not injure this man. He lay still at the bottom of the stairs, and Meg moved to go to him.

Fred stopped her, grasping her elbow tightly. "Meg, you must leave at once," he exclaimed sharply.

"But he must be injured," she protested.

"And you might find yourself at the center of an inquiry, and what would you say about why you were at the station?" he demanded. Fred hugged her once more before shoving her forcefully from him.

"Go home," he hissed as he mounted the steps of the moving train. "God bless you, Margaret!"

She watched as the train receded in the distance. Fred hung out of the window, his hand lifted in farewell. When she could see him no more, she moved quickly away from the platform toward town.

As she left the station, she heard a man's voice exclaim, "Here's that drunkard Leonards! It looks as if he fell down the stairs this time."

Another voice replied, "Heigh-ho, I thought I saw him accost a lady-where did she go?"

With a sense of impending doom, Meg hurried home.

********

Meg ran most of the way from the train station, ignoring the stitch in her side and the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Could any evening have been so disastrous? It was bad enough that Mr. Thornton had spotted her in an apparently compromising position, but to have been involved in the serious injury of a man, no matter that he threatened her brother's liberty and life, was outside of enough.