Somewhere in the World

Chapter 26

July 1863

Lovell, Massachusetts

The house was finally silent, the only noise the creaking and settling of old boards in the receding heat of a New England summer evening. The cloudless, blistering sky of day had passed to purplish twilight the color of a bruise. The moon peeped forth periodically from a solid scattering of clouds, filling the bedroom with fretful light.

Margaret was exhausted. Three nights with little sleep had taken their toll, and she could barely form a coherent thought as she stood at an open window, searching in vain for a breeze. The draperies hung limply at the window, but every now and then she imagined that they stirred slightly. How cruel that her husband must suffer in this heat, leaving her little to do to abate his fever.

From the time she had made her way home from the train station with her injured husband, she had not had a moment of respite. She had witnessed the sad reunion between Nicholas and Mary, had supported Mrs. Thornton in her lamentations and fears over her son's injury and— worse yet—had dealt with Fanny's hysterics.

Upon their arrival at Chilton Mills, they had been met at the door by Fanny and George Watson. Fanny, having learned from a manservant loitering at the train station of her brother's homecoming, had rushed to the mill to await his arrival. At the sight of her brother's prostrate form being removed from the wagon, she had screamed in terror and tried to launch herself upon his body. Only the quick actions of Isaac and Dixon had prevented Fanny from reaching him and exacerbating his wound. Mr. Watson had finally led her to the parlor where she sobbed out her grief, a shrill keening that penetrated every corner of the house. Margaret had raised her eyes to the heavens—was nothing to be spared her this day?

Blessedly, that was the worst that occurred. Dr. Donaldson arrived soon after this drama and swept everyone from the bedroom so that he might examine the patient. Margaret waited in the parlor, accompanied by Dixon. Mrs. Thornton had been inconsolable at the sight of her son, shattered by her daughter's hysterics, and exhausted to the point that she allowed Dixon to help her to her bedroom. Despite her exhaustion, she had protested but Margaret promised to awaken her if her son's condition changed.

Margaret had arisen that day expecting to greet her father's body and attend to the subsequent funeral arrangements, but all of her careful plans were scattered upon the arrival of her husband. It was Isaac who visited the undertaker in her stead, offering to make the funeral arrangements for Mr. Hale. Margaret was grateful to be spared that sorrow, and had expressed her gratitude. He reminded her once more of her father's many kindnesses to him and his girls, and shrugged off her thanks before departing.

Normally, Mr. Hale's body would have been laid out in the parlor and the family would have sat with the body, but war had altered these niceties. He would be buried as soon as arrangements could be made.

As she sat in the parlor to await the doctor, Jess and Tansy entered the parlor, Tansy clutching her apron which bulged with green plants. "Miss Margaret, we've been gathering herbs in the garden from our old house. We'd like to make a poultice for Mr. John's leg, if you let us. We picked enough herbs to make several so you can change it as often as need be. Remember, Father made that poultice for Mr. Fred that time he hurt his leg?"

Margaret smiled at the memory—Fred trying to leap over an iron gate and slicing his leg from knee to mid-shin. How he had howled! Tears quickened behind her lids. Where was her brother now? How could she get word to him of their Father's death? She shook off the melancholy thought—that must wait for more pressing matters to be resolved.