Chapter 5
John stood in the doorway gazing out upon a sun-dappled lawn. The scent of wild roses and honeysuckle still hung in the cool morning air,heightening his senses as he stepped out into the pleasant sunlight. The warmth caressed his skin, calling to his mind an enchanting vision of Margaret.
A small smile played upon John's face as he slowly walked over to a near by hedgerow that appeared to have no roses; something had caught his eye. Upon examining the hedge, he spied the glint of yellow that had captivated his attention. John's smile widened as he gently reached out, caressing the velvety yellow petals. His quiet reverie was suddenly broken when he heard the sound of laughter floating on the morning breeze carrying along with it his name: "John". Turning towards the sound, his breath caught as he spotted Margaret in her soft white muslin gown carrying a basket of fresh picked flowers. She waved at him, full of laughter and smiles. He waved back, grinning with open delight as she quickly set her basket down and ran towards him with the pure,abandoned glee of a child.
His heart soared as he took several steps to close the gap between them; He longed for the warmth and delight of her loving embrace. Faintly,off in the distance a clock chimed the hour. Her sweet laughter mingled with his as he gathered her into his welcoming warm hold, enraptured by the feel of her soft arms around his neck as she clung tightly to him; he never wanted to let her go.
The knell of the clock bell grew steadily louder and John felt an empty darkness slowly creep over him. Gradually he felt Margaret slipping from his embrace with each strike of the clock, it was as if she no longer held form or substance. The darkness now quickly enclosed him like a thick sepulchral fog; Margaret was gone. The eleventh hour rang out loudly and John awoke with a start crying out with a single anguished "No!"
His breathing was uneven and rapid as he found himself alone and in the dark. Slowly, by degrees he tried to regain his mental focus, and his rapid breathing began to slow. As he reoriented himself to the familiar surroundings of his darkened office, he realized that he had fallen asleep at his desk and that once again Margaret had come to him and then slipped away.
John sat for some time in the dark shadows of his office thinking of Margaret: the way she had looked in her soft gown waving and smiling at him, her sweet voice calling out his christian name, her laughter as she ran, full of life, into his welcoming arms. It was all so real. He didn't push these thoughts of her away as his rational mind said he ought,but welcomed them. He stored these precious dreams away for they invigorated him; they were his very life, essence and soul. With each new dream, he felt at times that he lived half of his life in pure fantasy, where he longed to be and where his heart soared; and the other half in the stark bleak reality of what his world truly was: a life devoid of joy, empty and dismal.... a world without Margaret.
Raking his hands through his thick dark hair a small sigh escaped his lips. Margaret was a vision he clung to; for those few precious moments, she was his and his alone and his world was filled with a joy that had no comparison like it in all the world. With this last lingering thought, he glanced over at the clock surprised that it was drawing close to midnight. Removing his mother's shawl from his shoulders he rose up from his desk while stretching his stiff, tired limbs. With the shawl in hand, he picked up his coat and walked out of his office, locking the door behind him and headed home.
Stepping outside into the mill yard, the chill, damp night air cut to his bone, evoking an involuntary shiver that ran through his very being. Cold rarely bothered Mr. Thornton, but he found himself quickly throwing his coat on, drawing it close about him, but the added layer did nothing to stave off this utter cold that now engulfed him. Quickening his strides he longed for the elusive warmth of the Helstone sun, and Margaret's sunny laughter with her luminous blue eyes gazing lovingly into his own, and at that moment he desperately ached for the feel of her soft touch, that to him seemed like a soft gentle kiss against his skin. He tried fervently to remember every detail of his dream as if somehow by gathering these fragments about him it would ward off this cold that was gnawing at his very soul.
Soon he entered his house, grateful that all within were fast asleep, for he didn't think he could endure his mother's worried questionings or looks of concern. So slipping quietly into his room he shrugged out of his coat,tossing it carelessly across a near by chair and collapsed with pure exhaustion into bed hoping with every fiber of his being that the warm rose scented air and Margaret's soft laughter would return to him once again.
Sleep finally overtook him, and when he awoke it was with the memory of warm sunshine caressing his skin and the sweet feel of Margaret's soft arms around him once more.
At 5:00 A.M., Mr. Thornton was back in his office, the glow of the single oil lamp illuminating the pages of his mill ledger as he sat looking over the recent figures that he had posted the previous night.
His office was already sweltering, the massive boilers had already begun running 2 hours before the shift started in order to bring the mills to the humid temperature of 100 degrees Fahrenheit. The nearly suffocating temperatures were needed to keep the thread from breaking off, for they were very sensitive to both heat and humidity. Sitting at his desk with his sleeves rolled up he found himself tugging at his cravat in a vain effort to loosen it more and get some relief from the stifling heat. Every day he was more convinced that cravats were the most irksome piece of men's attire ever created. Giving up the attempt,he threw his quill pen down in a bit of frustration, and stood up and walked to the entrance of his office, looking out over the vast equipment as the workers filed in ready to start a new days shift. He never tired of hearing all the powerful, magnificent machinery come to life with the rhythmic din that caused the floor to throb like the pulse of a living breathing thing under his feet. That power always filled him with a scene of awe, no other weaving shed or spinning mill could match the size and scope of Marlborough Mills, his weaving shed alone was one of the largest, currently holding a thousand self acting weaving looms; it held no rival in all Milton.
But it wasn't always that way. When Mr. Richardson hired him on as a foreman some 10 years ago, Marlborough Mills was a much smaller operation that ran using older, almost outdated equipment that produced only a fair cotton count but not of the fine quality other mills produced using newer spinning mules and weaving looms.
Mr. Richardson was in truth quite a old fellow, very set in his ways, and while not opposed to change he just never saw the need until it was pointed out, which John Thornton did. Mr. Richardson took quite a liking to this honest, noble young man who had worked hard to pay off a debt not of his own making, clearing his fathers name of any shame. He quickly saw within John the makings of a fine cotton manufacture and within two years he moved him into the position of manager for he had a sharp keen eye for fabric quality, a extraordinary knowledge of cotton machinery, and some of the most innovative ideas he had ever heard of.
It was Mr Thornton who first quickly discovered that instead of using the more popular long staple cotton imported from Egypt and India he could get better results using Sea Island Cotton from the Southeast coast of America, while more expensive, possessed a extra long staple and silken quality that produced a cotton cloth with a high cotton count giving it a silk like sheen and feel that had no rival in all Milton; as a result business soared.
Mr. Richardson soon found himself turning more and more control of the mill over to Mr. Thornton and within 5 years of his starting at Marlborough Mills Mr. Richardson retired, confidently leaving the mill in Mr. Thornton's capable hands. Orders poured in, and Mr. Thornton worked on increasing the size of his weaving shed while quickly updating the old 250 spindle mules with the more current mules that held 500 spindles each, and now he currently owned the newest machines that held 1,200 spindles. Within the spans of 10 years Marlborough Mills went from a average cotton mill to a mill renowned throughout all the empire and the name: "John Thornton" drapers assistant turned cotton manufacture was held in the highest regard and esteem.
And now, as he stood looking out over his workers and his vast empire, he wondered how things had come to this point.
In truth, deep within him he knew. Not only had the unskilled Irish workers he hired during the strike over a year ago set him back by producing poor quality cloth, it caused one of his largest orders to go unfilled. And now since the failed speculation, cotton stock was dropping drastically as the American's quickly flooded the market causing orders that once went to Marlborough Mills to go over seas. Then, much to his chagrin the winter weather still held even though it was nearing late spring. It was a sure sign of a cool summer and little need of cotton cloth.
Mr. Thornton was now faced with a situation he could no longer avoid, while he was not in the position of closing down Marlborough Mills like some of the other mill owners had,he did realize that he would have to scale back the running of his mill and let some workers go. That was what hurt him the most. His workers were hard working men and in recent months he had gotten to know many of them and came to see them not just as workers but men, good men that were not really that different from himself. And thanks to Margaret one man in particular stood out, Nicolas Higgins. It was through various interchanges they both came to understand each other better. The words of William Wordsworth came to Thornton's mind at the moment " We have all of us one human heart". In truth he found that Higgins was a man full of character with strong human feeling and a keen, sharp sense of humor.
He especially valued this new friendship and it was due to these many interchanges that led to the scheme of the workers canteen. Mr. Thornton felt that if food was bought in bulk it could be cooked for many thus reducing the cost for meals and all the workers, especially the children could afford a fit a meal a day. Higgins' had noticed an old unused building out back that would work perfectly as a kitchen but also had room where the men could also dine, thus the idea was brought to reality, and while Mrs. Thornton strongly disapproved of the whole notion, the workers canteen was a huge success.
For these men, he had to find a way to keep his mill running even if it meant cutting back, letting some workers go. It was a price he was willing to pay in hopes that he could turn things back around.
As Mr. Thornton stood,still surveying the workings of the mill he clenched his jaw, lifting his chin with an air of proud defiance. He would not despair, not yet. He still had some plans, experiments really that were dear to his heart. Time, he just need time to bring them to realization and if he could just keep the mill running he just might be able to pull himself out of the financial dilemma he was now facing. With that though in mind he turned and walked with determined strides back to his desk and the task at hand.
The morning hours quickly passed by as Mr. Thornton pored over various documents and ledgers and he soon found that it was nearing upon noon. Furrowing his brow and pinching the bridge of his nose he leaned his elbow on the desk; it was done. He had finally come to a decision as to which operating lines he would shut down and which men he would have to let go. It was one of the hardest decision he ever had to make,for it was a decision that affected the lives of so many.
So deep in thought was he that he never heard Mr. Williams enter his office. With a feeling of awkwardness he made an attempt to rouse Mr. Thornton out his deep thoughts.
"Ummm, excuse me Mr. Thornton, I need a word with you."
Mr. Thornton's head snapped up to full attention his eyes quickly focusing on Mr. Williams. With more sharpness then he intended he replied " What is it?"
Mr. Williams, accustomed to Mr. Thornton's turns of temper was unfazed by the sharp tone, and calmly proceeded on with the unpleasant news he had to deliver. "It's Mr. Watson Sir. It has come to my attention that the children working on his line have been deprived of their lunch time meals..."
Thornton quickly interrupted, an intense fire shown in his eyes as he looked fully upon Mr. Williams. "How long? How long has this been going on?"
"I am not sure sir, but from what I found it has been going on for a couple weeks with out my knowing."
Mr. Thornton raised his hand to his mouth covering a silent curse, and in a moment of complete angered frustration he slammed his hand onto his desk, upsetting a ink well in the processes. Since taking Mr. Watson on as a foreman he discovered that he needlessly beat some of the workers, and extorted huge fines from the women and children. Mr. Watson had been warned on several occasions of this unacceptable conduct and upon hearing of this most recent atrocity it was, in Mr. Thornton's eyes, the proverbial last straw.
Mr. Williams had never seen Mr. Thornton look so enraged and quickly spoke " What would you like me to say to Mr. Watson sir?"
Mr. Thornton's eyes turned a frigid ice blue as his deep voice dropped lower taking on a glacial tone that chilled Mr. Williams blood.
" Nothing! It is time I spoke to Mr. Watson, to my brother in law myself! Make certain the children are fed, I will take care of Mr. Watson, this ends today!" Mr. Williams gave a quick nod, not saying a word and quietly slipped out of Mr. Thornton's office, glad he would not have to witness the confrontation soon to follow between the two men.
To be continued.....
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