Shadow in the North

Chapter Fifty-Two - Turning, Turning

'He is called John George Thornton, but we shall call him Johnny,' explained Isabel, with little emotion.

'John!' repeated Mrs Thornton, with a heavy-hearted smile, and she looked to her son; her eyes shining with pride. 'A son, John - to carry on your name.'

'It is well then,' quipped Isabel, with a tight-lipped smile, 'that it was only a mere daughter who died, and not the son, instead. You did wish for John to have a son, did you not? You did think a daughter worth far less.'

'Isabel!' glowered Mr Thornton, rising quickly in a pique of disgusted anger. 'How can you say such a thing! When mother has been so good to us; when she has lost her own grandchild!' And Mrs Thornton did look startled, but she knew - for she had been in Isabel's place - the agony of a grieving mother's heart, and so she willed herself to calm her temper and keep her voice steady; for the sake of both son and wife.

'Losing a daughter does not hurt any less than losing a son, Isabel. I know it well; I lost my Sophie,' replied Mrs Thornton, cajolingly.

'Yes! Yes! I am sorry, Mother. I am very sorry. I did not mean to say that,' fretted Isabel, with a distracted shake of her head. For if Mrs Thornton's pain at losing little Sophie, was one ounce of what Isabel now felt, she did sorely regret her snide castigation.

'It is alright, love,' soothed Mr Thornton, now softening his tone, at the sight of his wife's distress. 'Mother and I know you did not mean it; it is only your grief - it makes you say those things.'

'Yes, perhaps, John,' said Isabel, with a listless sigh, but she did not truly look at him.

Morning passed to afternoon, and mother and son looked on, as Isabel mechanically settled her son at her bosom, before turning her face away, and staring about the room, or gazing from the window. She was withdrawn, and showed no interest in little Johnny, and barely listened to one word of what was spoke between anxious mother and son. And when Johnny started crying, and Isabel only frowned at the window, and said, "I think that it might snow", Mr Thornton finally lost his temper, and stood quickly from his chair, drawing in one great ragged breath.

'Mother,' said he, his nostrils flaring in evidence of his great vexation, 'might you take Johnny and perhaps walk him about the house?'

'It is warmer in here, John. We ought to keep him warm.'

'Ay, then keep him to the kitchen, until a fire can be lit in your room, but I wish to speak to Isabel, alone.' Mrs Thornton's eyes swivelled anxiously between Mr Thornton and his wife, but seeing his determined look, and the great stifled passion he fought; seeing Isabel's utter lack of emotion, she relented, and swept that precious babe into her arms, and quietly closed the door.

'Isabel,' said he, now coming close to his wife. 'This must stop. You cannot ignore your son. You must speak to me. You must let Mother and I help you; we are all grieving and you do not seem to care for how I might feel,' said Mr Thornton, sadly.

'Do not care how you feel?' asked Isabel, incredulously. 'You are very wrong. I shan't burden you with my thoughts, for I see you are already burdened by my grief.'

'Burden! You speak of burden, but I am your husband and we share this loss. Let me understand, Isabel. Do not shut me out, and do not turn away from your son,' said Mr Thornton; a little more loudly than he had intended.

'Then I shall tell you,' said Isabel, plainly; her eyes quite wide and clear. 'I have been sat here thinking, that if I had never arrived in Milton, and had birthed our babes in my time, Grace would not have died. Your medicine - your doctors - they are inferior. She died a needless death, John. A modern doctor could have saved her.'