John
I tried to understand the figures written on the papers in front of me lying on my desk. The proximity of the mill was creating the only noise in my office, breaking the silence. Again, I gathered all my willpower to concentrate, only to find my mind wondering off again the felt tenth time over again. Her image, not the beautiful and pure, but the furious and agitated image of her came back to my mind and was burned inside it, never to be removed.
I finally stood up, pacing around my office until I came to a stop at the window. My eyes walked unbidden to the entrance of my house, fixing on the staircase, where she lay yesterday at the edge of my feet. I recalled in horror her pale face, her auburn curls falling uncontrolled into her cold face, crimson liquid flowing out of the wound that was on her temple, drops of it falling and rolling down her jaw line. She looked like Snowwhite in that very moment. Well, she always seemed to me as if she had been kidnapped out of a fairytale book, but still, that sight terrified me, as in that moment I thought I had lost her without even having her.
I had to leave, to come away from those painful memories, to loosen the picture out of my mind. So I decidedly threw my coat over my shoulders and balanced my hat on top of my hair. Walking out of the gates of my ears relaxed from the noises. You would think that someone who lived and worked in a Mill for such a long time now would be used to the noise it created all the time, but still, I welcomed every silent moment. It was like I was released from some imaginary bonds, as the noise also reminded me of the fact that the Mill was after all in danger because of the damage that the strike has caused. Today was the first day after the long pause that the machines were running again. That was an additional point why I had to get used to it again, after almost a month of silence.
I went back the way towards the graveyard but turned just before it into the little green space that they called a park, although it was sure too small to be called like that. The sight of trees and grass made me think of little Margaret, running around in nature in a careless way in her childhood home.
Margaret
As soon as I was finished dressing I was desperate to go out into the fresh air. Although in the smoky cloud of Milton you could hardly talk about real "FRESH" air as I knew it back in Helstone, but it was still better than the old and musty air inside our barely ventilated home. I went down to find father alone in his study, reading a book. I quickly brought him out of his trance and reminded him of his earlier promise to take me outside our walls. I was still very fragile, so I needed my father to come with me, I didn't want to pass out in the middle of a street, alone. I linked my arm in his as we started our walk towards the little, more pathetic piece of green, or park as the Milton people liked to call it, which lay not far away from our house. It could not compete with the endless green fields and wonderfully smelling trees of the southern countryside she knew so well, but it had to do for now.
"How are you now my dear, any better?" I heard my father speak, breaking the perfect silence between us for the first time while we walked.
"I guess"; I said hesitantly, not wanting to worry him, but still unable to deny the fact that I wasn't quite sure how I felt.
"You guess? Don't you know?" He said to me in a slightly teasing tone and smiled at me lightheartedly, to make me feel better. It worked. I felt a little smile creep on my face as I saw him in such a good mood, despite what happened to me today. Or was it yesterday? I had no idea. But my smile vanished as quickly as it came as I saw a dark figure ahead of us walk into our direction. He stopped, turned and tried to leave again until he turned again as he was identified to quickly by my father.
"John!"
Picture: Margaret Hale/Richard Hale