The Journey Home

Chapter 7 A Mother's Love

It was just passed eight in the evening when she heard the front door close. The muffled steps on the carpeted stairs slowly progressed up to the dining room. Her son had returned earlier than she expected from his business outside the mill and would soon join her for their nightly discussion of the day's events at the mill. She always preferred the dining room to the two sitting rooms in the house. It was a much more practical room, with the available table space and the rigid support of the high, straight-backed chairs. And it was far more economical to keep one fire lit in the one rom for the remainder of the evening, rather than lighting a second. It made cleaning all that more easy as well; one room as opposed to two. She also appreciated that using the dining room was easier for her son, who often worked until late in the evening, as she could sit with him while he had a light meal.

Looking up from her needle work, she called out in a scratchy, rough voice "John, is that you?"

The shadowy figure dressed all in black entered the room, his angled facial features made sharper by a close cropped mustache and beard. His bearing was nothing less than imposing, until his eyes captured his mothers. The two vertical creases between his brows soften, his jaw relaxed and a slight smile came across his face. "Aye, Mother," was the quiet response, deep and smooth. "You'll be wanting your tea," she responded with her typically abrupt tone. Placing the needlework hoop on the table before her, she placed a hand on the arm of her chair and attempted to rise in order to tend to her son's meal. In three long strides, John crossed the room to be at his mother's side and prevent her from moving from her chair. "No, Mother. Settle yourself. I've been to Fanny's and had my tea with her. Rest, Mother. You do too much, waiting up for me in the evenings. Doctor Donaldson and I have warned you, you need to rest."

A once imposing woman, tall, dark and large boned, Hannah Thornton had grown remarkably thin over the past year, and she no longer had the proud and defiant countenance that marked her from every other woman of Milton society. Her frame, more masculine than feminine, was now stooped, her head, which she once held high, seemed heavy on her shoulders. She was in the habit of always wearing a black lace cap to cover her gray thinning hair. "Old age," she would say to others when they inquired about her health. But her John knew the truth, as did the no nonsense Dr. Donaldson who had diagnosed her condition. It was a cancer deep within her abdomen that was responsible for episodes of excrutiating pain and caused her body to curl around itself in an attempt to absorb the pulsating waves of pain and nausea that often overcame her. She had grown weak from the physical internal fight she maintained, and ate little. Dr. Donaldson had prescribed an opiate for the pain, but Hannah Thornton would not take it, despite her son's urgings. "Not now," she insisted. "When my work is done, I will consider it. For now, I will deal with the pain as I need my facilities to finish what I started on this earth."

"How is your sister?" she inquired of John as he knelt beside her and gently settled her back in her chair, smoothing some dissobedient lace away from her face. "Fanny is Fanny, Mother. She sends her best. The children are as wild as ever. The've lost another nurse. Says she will come round tomorrow to discuss it with you." Mrs. Thornton hrrumphed. "I don't see her for a fortnight, no word a'tall and then she's on my doorstep with her troubles in hand..."

"Now, Mother," John began, knowing his younger sister's dependancy on their mother weighed heavily on Mrs. Thornton, particularly now that her time was growing short.

"John, I say it over and over. What's to become of Fanny once I'm gone? That great loaf of a husband of hers provides well enough, but he's only a few steps behind me in meeting his maker."

"Fanny has brains enough to figure these things out on her own. She's always been a bit over dependent on you." He paused and then, " Don't tell me you don't enjoy the opportunity to boss 'round her household along with your own." He gently chided her, with a knowing gleen in his eye that brightening his tired expression. Mrs. Thornton cupped his chin with her hand and smiled back at her most treasured possession. "Obstinent child, you know me too well. What business did you have at Fanny's, of all places?" John stood while he addressed Mrs. Thornton. "Mother, I need to go to London and I have asked Fanny to stay here with you while I am away."

John's trip was a surprise to Mrs. Thornton and caused her great concern. John shared everything with her - what business could he possibly have in London? "London? So far away? How long?" Her tone betrayed her worry. "Not long, a week, possibly a fortnight." He needed to address his next statement carefully. "You see, Mother, I've written to the lawyer in London about the lease on Marlborough Mills. I intend to purchase the property." His mother sat quiet for just a moment, thinking through the possible reasons for such a decision. "Of course, it's your decision, son, but to spend so much money when things are so uncertain..." he smiled and gently interrupted her, speaking softly. "Yes, mother, I understand. An investment that has little to no immediate return has given me second thoughts as well."

"So you aren't certain of your actions?"

He looked away from her as he spoke. "Actually, I am most certain. We need to move ahead." Ah, there it was! She recognized that his heart was driving this decision. "Well, if you think it is for the best, I support you. It's high time that you did move on."

"You think me quite the fool, don't you?" he asked sullenly. Her eyes darkened and flashed at his words. "Absolutely not. Your choices have always been thoughtful. I'm just glad to hear that you've stopped with this, this... hoping, and dreaming. It's taken the joy out of you these many years."

He walked to the darkened windows that faced out onto the mill yard. He recalled her frightened face in this exact spot, when he had looked back, that day of the riot. The day he hoped for love. "Aye, Mother. It is time to move on."