North & South (A Fanfiction)

Chapter: 7

Ms. Dixon comes running into my room, shouting my name.

"Come quick Ms!" she says. I quickly run out of bed, grabbing my robe that I pull on as we run down the hall, lead by a single candle light. John Thornton stands in the doorway of my fathers room and I slow down.

"No, please no." I say to myself. Tears begin to fall down my face. I run past Ms. Dixon and into my father's room. My father lays silent in his bed, eyes staring straight towards the ceiling, his hand over the edge holding a locket with my mother's picture and mine open. He doesn't move, not a breath escapes from him, nor does he blink. I do not know what to do. I stand there, my mouth open in a silent 'O', tears dripping down my cheeks. I collapse to my knees, covering my mouth as sobs erupt from inside me. Mr. Thornton kneels down beside me, pulling me to his chest, his arms wrapping around me. My head is on his shoulder, my hand holding onto his shirt.

No one speaks a word, not a word. I feel afraid to say anything, thinking that my sobs could take over my words once more. Mr. Thornton holds onto my, a steady but strong hold around me, that makes me feel secure and safe in his arms at this sad moment.

THREE WEEKS AFTER THE FUNERAL

My Aunt Clarissa wanted to take me in the moment after the funeral for my father was over. Though I spoke to her about being on my own she insisted. John Thornton gave me the option of returning to the mill with him for a while. But that place gives me terrible memories of those few years past. John Thornton understands at the most though.

My Aunt Clarissa packed my things and we left for the city where everything is busy with news and workers. I do not feel like this is a place for me to be, it feels to crowded and to full of a smokey air. But it is the only thing I can stand for at this time.

I walk alone in the small park, dressed all in black the way I should be dressed for at least a few more months. I don't say anything, not a nod to anyone who passes me by. In my hand is the last letter that John Thornton sent me. He has taken to writing me every Thursday.

This one is a flattering and warming letter;

Ms. Teller,

I hope that all of these letters that have been sent to you are not becoming an enormity. I wish that you would write back, as so we could have a little conversation that I know the both of us have been missing. I do miss you, Ms. Teller. My mother and Fanny wish you good health and fortune in London.

Every one of the workers here at the mill, misses your smile and glad words. Eloise the most. You have left us all in a terribly miserable state here, Ms. Teller and we do wish that you would return, if only for a moment.

With all of these letters that I have sent to you, I do regret one thing. Pressing you to return. I do not mean to cause offense, and I do not mean to sound urgent. I realise now that you are still in mourning and you need time to clear your head and spirit before returning to the place that almost started all of your grief. I apologize with deep sympathy.

I hope that you are getting on well and that I may have the joy of seeing you soon.

Sincerely,

John Thornton

The letter was kind, expressing such sorrow in writing me over. It is true that I have not written him back. I have not felt the energy of writing to him again. In fear almost.

I stop walking and sit down on a park bench, hiding the letter in a small fold of my dress. I sit there, fiddling with my fingers and holding my head low to gaze upon the small fountain where beautiful birds cleanse their feathers.

"Excuse me, Ms." I flinch, startled, looking up to find a handsome man standing in front of me.

"I apologize for startling you." he says kindly.

"No, no, do not apologize." I answer him. He responds with a glorious smile.

The man brings his hand around from his back, holding out a simple red rose.

"This was meant to be a gift to my mother, whom I was going to visit. But I saw your mourning dress and I think you deserve it more. My mother is not sick, nor dying. And you have lost someone dear to you, I suppose. Take this rose as something to brighten your spirits if only a little." he says. I reach up and take the rose gently, he drops his hand and bows, tipping his hat and walking on.

I smell the rose, it's blissful scent so charming. I look up to find him again, seeing he has not walked far yet. I stand and walk towards him, hurrying along.

"Sir." I say. He turns and stops walking.

"Yes?" he asks.

"I merely wanted to thank you for this rose. No one has shown me such kindness here since I have arrived."

"When did you come to London? If I may ask."

"I arrived only a few weeks past. I thought the people here were stone and cold, but I can see that I was wrong with you, sir."

"Please, my name is James McDair." he says.

"Madeline Teller, a pleasure to make your aquiantence." I answer him in return, curtsying slightly.

"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Teller." he says with a smile. "Would you care to walk with me?"

"Sir, you are almost a complete stranger." I answer him kindly.

"Eventually strangers become acquainted with each other." He says.

"Very true, Mr. McDair."

"Please. James."

"James then." I say his name softly, letting his name play out on my tongue.

James holds out his arm and I take it gently, a smile glowing on his face.

"You did not have to give me the rose." I tell him.

"If I didn't then I would not have had the pleasure of knowing your name. You may not have had such a happy spirit if I hadn't." He says reassuringly. "Besides, it's not every day that I see a beautiful woman in mourning alone. You do not deserve to be alone at such a time as this."