The Journey Home

Chapter 35 - A Mother's Intuition

It was late. Too late, by Mrs. Thornton's estimation. She had heard the train whistle over an hour ago and John was still not home. She stood at the window facing the Mill yard and office, noting that John's office remained dark. If he hadn't checked in at his office first, where could he be? The last of the days shifts would be leaving soon and she knew that John would want to see his foreman before the day's end.

As a gentle rain shower began to tap at the window panes, she turned from the window and went to her sewing at the dining table. Her daughter Fanny was there, redressing a gray wool bonnet from a prior year's wardrobe. She tested feathers and dark ribbons to her taste, with a discarded length of lace tossed carelessly to the side after being ripped from the bonnet's brim. In her frustration in having to rework and older hat into the current fashion, Fanny had torn the lace so that it was unusable.

"I'll say it between you and I, Mother, but Watson has grown quite miserly. He's shut down our account at the drapers. Says I can only pay in cash and that I need to check with him first! Imagine if the families in town found out."

Mrs. Thornton sighed. "Mr. White shows the utmost discretion. There's no need to worry that he will gossip."

"But the shop boy. Is he to be trusted? I'm sure he'd like nothing more than to tittle tattle with the other ladies that shop there. What about Mrs. White? if she should speak of Watson's hold on my account..."

"Fanny, you are being unreasonable. Every decent family in Milton is practicing some austerity these days. Where do you think the money is coming from with this terrible cotton market?"

"Watson says its the American's fault. Ungrateful foreigners that they are." Mrs. Thornton was in no mood to provide Fanny with a history lesson about the ancestry of the Americans. She needed it quiet so that she could think. Where could John be? He had wired that he would arrive in Milton at half past six, and it was now nearing eight o'clock.

As if it were willed by her command, Mrs. Thornton heard the sound of wheels on the cobblestone yard. Ah, at last, her son was home! As she drew a deep breath, she realized that she had not taken a full breath in some time, her body wrenched with worry. "Ring for tea, Fanny. John's home. He'll be soaked through from his journey." She heard the familiar foot fall on the stairs, noting that the steps were slower than usual. Mrs. Thornton was swiftly out of the chair, despite the pain of the illness that was ripping through her body, to greet her son at the door.

"John! You're so late, what's kept you?" Mrs. Thornton immediately noted that John was not well. "I knew it. That fool fetched you in an open wagon and now you've gone and taken ill."

"It started in London, Mother, I will bee fine. It shall pass."

"But your hands are freezing cold and i can hear the wheeze of your chest. Your clothes, they are damp!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, Mother. Nothing a good night's rest should not cure. "

"You will sit by the fire and warm yourself." Mrs. Thornton ordered.

"I think I should like to retire, and change out of these damp clothes. I've left my coat and hat by the door. Could someone please fetch and dry them? " He noted that his sister sat quietly at the table, unimpressed by his return. "Ah, Fanny. Thank you for being here and for staying with Mother."

"Where have you been, John? Mother's been worried sick over you." Fanny's speech was clipped and peevish.

"Fanny," Mrs. Thornton warned.

"I had to make a stop before returning home. " He explained but quickly changed the subject. "I should like to review the ledgers, Mother. Do you think they could be brought to my room?"