The Journey Home

Chapter 56 - A Walk by the Shore

They walked arm in arm along the newly constructed North Pier, the smell of freshly cut wood mixing with the salt air.  There were few tourists along the way, as compared to the summer crowds, and the couple enjoyed the relative quiet that was occasionally interrupted by the noise of harbor activity.   John, whose dark and brooding glances said what needed to be said and silenced most, was unusually talkative that autumn day. 

His deep clear voice pierced the cool air while the sun warmed he and Margaret as they strolled at a leisurely pace.  John felt charged with a purpose of knowing Margaret completely and was learning all that he could about  his wife.  He listened intently as she described her idyllic childhood at the Helstone parsonage, playing pirates and soldiers with her older brother, Fred, her uncommon education, being taught the classics along side of Fred at the hand of  their father,  along with tea parties in the garden with her distant mother.  She mentioned learning to play the piano - John was excited to tell her that his sister played and that he had kept Fanny's old piano and continued to have it tuned. She lifted her face to the sun  and laughed and he laughed along with her. Who didn't know that Fanny played the piano?  He felt as though he were a boy, impatient to learn all and tell everything at once. 

Margaret remembered  day like this from her youth. A raw damp morning would turn to a day that was crisp and bright, the sun's brilliant rays warming her as it traversed the sky. She thought of  wintry days when she would accompany her father on foot for a full day of parishioners' visits. She remembered the babies most fondly, as Reverend Hale made it a point to visit the newest members of his congregation and bless their arrival. 

How was it, John wanted to know, that a girl so fond of her home, so adored by her father could be sent away to London to be raised at the hand of Aunt Shaw? Margaret stopped their progression and took a thoughtful moment.  "At the time, I was very sad to leave.  So sad that I cried every night in the little nursery on the top floor of my Aunt's house."  He took her gloved hand in his and gently kissed the tops of her fingers.  "My dearest."

"I was frequently reminded by my mother that I wasn't sent away, as much as I was afforded an opportunity.  Edith was my closest friend as well as my cousin.  I had days and months of sharing in all that her privileged life could afford.  I was really quite fortunate."

"You were only 10 years old when your parents sent you away."  He said with compassion, looking gently into her eyes. "My only regret is that I saw very little of Fred once I went to London.  I would spend summer and holidays at the parsonage, but by the time I was 12 years old, Frederick was off to sea, and then, well, things changed for my family."

"Your mother must have taken comfort having you home when your brother was so far away. "

"I suppose she did. But she changed, as we all changed once Fred went into hiding.  My mother withdrew further when he left. He was her pride and joy.  Dixon, well, she  thought of  Fred as her own son.  Fred was one of the many things shared exclusively between my mother and Dixon."  Margaret's eyes narrowed as she thought of it.  "Not much room for a daughter, I suppose, when you love a son as she did."

"Ah."  John placed her hand on his arm and resumed their walk.  "A mother's love.  I know something of it."

Margaret blanched.  "Oh, John.  I wasn't criticizing..."

"Think nothing of it, Margaret.  It is a fact that we both understand. " he thought to change the subject. "Although your father's  life was not long enough, I am grateful to have been his friend and to witness the enormous capacity for love he was able to show for you and your brother, " He paused for a moment, "and in his time, for myself."   Margaret stopped again and reached to cup his cheek. "He had a wonderful sense of people.  He embraced you from the start." She smiled warmly at her husband, her eyes glistening with happy tears.   John held her hand to his face for a moment before he wove her arm through his.  "A trait his daughter would eventually grow to appreciate. "Come, love. Let's turn back and have our tea at that shop near the Inn. "

As they walked back towards town, John noticed the progress made in what was once a quiet fishing village. Great brick buildings were being built to house a grand theater and modern hotels. Not unlike London, many of the streets were open trenches for the new plumbing system that was being routed through out the town, with wide wooden planks laid precariously across for pedestrian traffic. John was all for progress, but not at the price of bodily harm and he anxiously watched Margaret effortlessly navigate the makeshift bridges. Despite the fullness of her skirts, she appeared to dance across ahead of him, while she continued her conversation without interruption.  He remained on the opposite side of the rickety bridge, taking in her lovely form, erect in her bearing, her head held high.  He loved her, his body in tune with her every movement, yearning to touch her, to feel her breathing against him.  "Margaret! Oh, my one love!"  He ached to be alone with her, to have her all to himself. 
When she reached the other side, Margaret stopped abruptly, the  interrupted momentum causing her skirts to swirl around her. She looked over her shoulder expecting to see John and when she did not, she turned quickly, her quizzical expression releasing into a smile, in recognition of the man she loved.  "What are you doing, all the way back there?" She laughed. Her cheeks and nose were a pinkish color from the cold air.   He traversed the distance between them in a few long strides and reaching her side, took her by the arm in a commanding, but gentle manner.  "I've changed my mind, Margaret. I think we should skip tea and return to our rooms immediately."