Chapter 7. The Mock Turtle's Story

"Meg," Dr. Donaldson called sharply, "Where is that bandage?"

"Are you certain it is in the top cabinet?" Meg asked, rummaging in the storage room. "I have found rolls of the regular-sized wraps, but nothing wide enough to cover that burn." She reappeared in the doorway, a smaller role her in hand. "I believe if we wrap it carefully, this thinner bandage might work. I'll look for the others later."

She hurried over to the table where Dr. Donaldson was applying salve to a woman's burnt arm. She wrapped the bandage about the woman's lower arm, and carefully wound it around the limb several times to ensure the wound was covered completely. When she finished, she tucked the end of the bandage under the wrapping and pulled it through a strip, knotting it with a loose end.

"There, I believe that will do," Meg said, examining her work with satisfaction. "But Sarah, you must rest your arm for the rest of the day. If you use it too much, the bandage will come off. Let it heal today, and it will be ready to put to use tomorrow."

Sarah smiled. "Thank you, Miss Meg," she said shyly and slipped from the room.

"Yes, thank you doctor," Dr. Donaldson said dryly, and Meg had the grace to blush.

"I am sorry, Doctor Donaldson," she apologized ruefully. "I forget myself."

He sighed. "Don't apologize. Your advice is correct, and your instincts serve you well. Furthermore, the women trust you more than they do me." He smiled at her. "I am very lucky to have your help, Miss Hale. I do wonder how you have come to know so much about medicine," he said musingly. "You gave her arnica for the pain-where did you say you learned the use of homeopathic remedies? Their usage is fairly new in England."

Meg smiled evasively. She had been working with Dr. Donaldson for nearly a month and found that she savored every minute of her time with him. He was a skilled and intelligent doctor who read the latest medical journals to keep his knowledge and practice up to date. Unlike many of the doctors with whom Meg had worked at the hospital, he asked her opinion on cases, and would carefully weigh her input when making a diagnosis. She gave thanks daily that she had had the presence of mind to travel through the mirror with her purse upon her wrist; the essential oils and homeopathic remedies she had brought with her through time had proven invaluable at the clinic as well as at home in the care of her mother.

Mr. and Mrs. Hale did not quite know what to make of their daughter working with the doctor, but after he explained to them how valuable her knowledge and acumen were in a town such as Milton, Mr. Hale acquiesced, while Mrs. Hale vastly preferred that her daughter be involved in what she viewed as a charitable activity rather than housework. Now that Mary Higgins served as housemaid and assistant to Dixon, Meg had the time to assist the good doctor. Meg knew that the town was agog with tittle-tattle concerning her work with Dr. Donaldson, but she did not care one snap of her fingers for the wagging of idle tongues. She saw the good that the doctor did for poor families as well as wealthier ones, and appreciated being part of that work. She also appreciated the care that Dr. Donaldson provided to Mrs. Hale.

It had taken one examination for Dr. Donaldson to realize that Maria Hale was, indeed, gravely ill, and that little could be done to cure her. Meg had grieved to hear her diagnosis confirmed, and her heart ached that this woman whom she had come to consider a mother was condemned to such a fate. She also felt anxiety for Mr. Hale who still did not comprehend the extent of his wife's ailment.

Dixon cautioned Meg not to let on to Mr. Hale about the advanced degree of Mrs. Hale's illness. She feared that he would blame himself and fall into despair. "And I can't take care of both of them at one time, Miss Meg," Dixon said bracingly. "Best to let him think she will recover, and find out differently in time."

Meg reluctantly agreed, but was amazed to think that they could shield an intelligent man like Mr. Hale from the truth. However, as the days passed, Meg realized that he saw what he wanted to see, and interpreted what was before him in the manner in which he could best deal with it.

"Meg, where are you?" Dr. Donaldson said in a teasing tone, and she started guiltily. He laughed. "Are you wool gathering?"

"No, I was thinking about my mother," Meg replied with a modicum of truth.

Dr. Donaldson grew grave. "I am sorry that there is little that I can do to help her, Meg. As she gets worse, I will dose her with stronger narcotics to alleviate the pain and enable her to rest. However, as you are well aware, there is no remedy."

Meg sighed. "I know, doctor, and please know that I am grateful for whatever assistance you can provide. I wish I could find fresh vegetables or fruit for her, but the selection is so limited."

"You do your best, my dear, and that is better than most patients in her condition receive," Dr. Donaldson replied promptly. He glanced at the clock. "I believe our time is up for today-shall I see you tomorrow?"

Meg made a face. "I am afraid not. My parents and I are invited to Marlborough Mills for dinner tomorrow night, and I must dress and prepare myself."

"Will your mother attend?" Dr. Donaldson inquired.

Meg frowned. "No, she will not. I believe it will be too great a drain on her energy, besides which she has no great desire to go out in to society in Milton. No, it will be up to my father and me to represent the Hales."

Dr. Donaldson chuckled. "That is quite an honor, to be invited to Mrs. Thornton's annual dinner. I take it you are not excited to go."

Meg grimaced. "No, I am not, especially when Mrs. Thornton believes I have designs upon her son."

He laughed, and retorted, "Mrs. Thornton has accused many a young woman of scheming to catch her son. You are in good company, my dear."

"That is company I prefer not to keep, doctor," Meg replied wryly. He laughed again, and as they parted she promised to return in two day's time.

Meg considered visiting Bessy on her way home, but decided against it, given the lateness of the hour. The Higgins household had been fairly grim of late, given that a strike had been called. The workers had walked out of the mill two weeks before, and the cotton industry had ground to a halt throughout Milton.

Meg had attempted to talk to Nicholas Higgins about the workers' plans for the strike, but he was reluctant to provide many details. He did inform her that the hands had met again at the Lyceum, and that the men who worked for Slickson had been told they would not receive a raise. The other Masters had said to expect an answer to their wage demands within a few days. Higgins threatened that if they did not get an adequate answer to their wage demands, they would stop their machines ten minutes before quitting time on the designated date and walk out, and so they had.

Bessy had told her that Higgins had warned all of the men against violence, claiming that they must not act like animals but like thinking men; Masters would expect them to act like animals, and they must not do so. Meg found this information comforting, but was concerned about how Boucher was handling the strike. Bessy believed he was not well; he constantly cried that his children were starving and his wife was dying. Higgins had given the man money from his own pocket, but was worried whether Boucher would hold up under the strain. Meg resolved to take food to Mrs. Boucher on the morrow, and to ask Dr. Donaldson to examine the woman to see what might be done for her health.

She reached home and entered the foyer, pausing to remove her bonnet and coat. Cocking her head, she heard a man's voice, and prayed that Mr. Thornton was not paying another visit. When she ascended the stairs and entered the parlor, she saw a dapper stranger seated with her mother and father.

He stood at once, and with a smiling countenance, declared, "This must be Margaret-no, I believe your father said you preferred to be called Meg? When I last saw you, you were eight years old, running about Helstone with your brother. Now, you're a goddess!"

Meg blushed, and felt a moment of panic, for she had no idea who this gentleman could be. She looked inquiringly at her father, who laughed and declared, "Now, Adam, Meg will not understand your humor. Meg, you remember my groom's man and good friend, Mr. Bell?"

Meg felt rush of relief. She vaguely recalled Mr. Hale speaking of a friend from his Oxford days, and remembered that this was the man who had recommended the family to Mr. Thornton's care when they moved to Milton. She studied her father's guest. Although he would have to be the same age as her father, Mr. Bell appeared much younger than and not as care-worn as Mr. Hale. He dressed with flair, and carried himself with a nonchalance that Meg found attractive. She liked him at once despite his nonsensical speech about her appearance, and she moved forward to shake his hand.

"Mr. Bell has come to Milton to visit his tenant, Mr. Thornton," Mr. Hale explained, and Meg looked inquiringly at Mr. Bell.

Mr. Bell smiled and explained, "Yes, although Thornton is the Master of Marlborough Mills, I am his landlord. Every so often, I visit Milton to see how the mill is faring and assess the health of my investment."

"I supposed Mr. Thornton to be wealthy," Meg said, as she seated herself next to her mother.

"Oh, he does well enough," Mr. Bell explained airily, "Mind you, the Thornton family has not always been as well off as they are now."

"So I understand," replied Mr. Hale, heavily.

"What do you mean, my dear?" asked Mrs. Hale.

Mr. Hale looked at Mr. Bell, who slowly explained, "Mr. Thornton's father speculated most of the family's money a number of years ago, when Mr. Thornton was but a boy. He lost everything, and could not pay his debts. I am sorry to say he killed himself."

Meg felt her heart lurch. How horrible to lose your parent in such a way, and be left with such sorrow and troubles at a young age.

Mr. Bell added, "Although he was still young, Mr. Thornton left school and began working in a draper's shop to support his mother and sister, and pay off the family's debts. He repaid all of the debt, and you can see for yourself what he has made of himself. He is an extraordinary fellow."

Mrs. Hale looked distressed, and asked that they speak no more of such a lowering topic. Mr. Bell apologized, and asked Mr. Hale how he enjoyed his tutoring sessions with Mr. Thornton.

Meg sat in stunned disbelief. How she had misjudged Mr. Thornton! She had supposed he had grown up in privilege and comfort. In actuality, he had been closer to Higgins and the other families in Princeton, one step from poverty and destitution. She did not find it repugnant that he had worked in a draper's shop or struggled to pay off his family's debts. She felt a warm tenderness for him, and honored him in her heart as a true gentleman, not of words or manners, but of accomplishments and intent.

"Meg, have you selected a gown for tomorrow night?" Her mother's voice penetrated her thoughts, and Meg turned toward her.

"No, mother, I have not. I will choose one tomorrow. I have plenty of gowns, so there is little fear of my not finding something that suits me," Meg replied serenely. She had found many ornately decorated gowns in the armoire, and had pushed them to the back of the closet in her search for plainer clothing, thinking she would have little use for them in Milton.

"Ah," exclaimed Mr. Bell. "I see you are invited to Mrs. Thornton's annual dinner. I understand there is a strike underway at the mills in town. However, neither time nor tide prevents Mrs. Thornton from holding her dinners."

"Yes," Mr. Hale remarked, "Margaret may appear uninterested in this affair, but I recall from her letters from London that she enjoyed the many parties and dinners she attended during her stay with her aunt. You were not as nonchalant about an evening's entertainment then, my dear."

Meg smiled. "Perhaps I am not as fond of these events as I was before. In any case, I have been much too busy and have had little time to think about Mrs. Thornton's dinner."

"Were you busy at the clinic today?" Mr. Hale asked solicitously, turning to Mr. Bell to explain, "Meg has been assisting Dr. Donaldson with his medical clinic. His clinic services the poorer people of the town."

Mr. Bell gazed at her and smiled. "What an extraordinary girl," he remarked softly, as he continued to study her. At that moment, Dixon announced that dinner was served, and Mr. Bell offered Meg his arm to escort her to the dining room.

********

The following morning, Meg rose early to pay a visit to Bessy. It had been several days since she had seen her friend, and she wanted to check on her and learn what she could of the strike. She brought with her a large basket of food to leave for the Boucher's, which included beef tea and fruit, thanks to Dr. Donaldson's contribution. He promised Meg he would pay a professional call on Mrs. Boucher later in the afternoon, to see what he could do to help her suffering.

Meg found a scene of chaos at the Higgins' home. Higgins and Boucher were arguing about how much longer the strike would go on, while Bessy and Mary huddled in a corner crying. Meg slipped around the men to join the two girls. Higgins, after one burning glance at Meg, turned his attention back to Boucher.

"I said I would support you, and support you I will," he said in a low, deadly tone. Reaching into his pocket, he threw several coins across the table. "There, that's more for you. Take that and go feed your family. And stop your sniveling."

Boucher snatched up the coins, and wiped his running nose on his coat sleeve. Meg could see he had tears in his eyes. "I hate Union-and I hate you," he declared, and rushed from the door.

Higgins turned toward Meg and ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "I am sorry you had to see that, Miss Margaret. Boucher is weak when he needs to be strong."

"How much longer do you expect the strike to run, Mr. Higgins?" Meg asked pointedly. "With so much suffering going on, do you really think all of the workers will hold up? What if they riot or perform acts of violence-what will the union leadership do?"

"There will be no violence," Higgins replied heatedly. "They have been warned of the consequences of such acts."

"But if their children are starving, and they see no end to the strike-" Meg continued, but Higgins cut her off.

"You don't understand, you're not from around here and know nothing of our ways." He stopped and sighed, "I'll not argue with you, miss." Snatching up his cap, he stomped out the door.

Meg looked inquiringly at Bessy, who shrugged and said, "He's gone to Goulden Dragon, to have a pint and calm himself. He will be home soon enough. What do you have draped over your arm?"

Meg unfurled several warm shawls for Bessy and Mary; their home was chill and drafty, and Meg was adamant that Bessy keep her chest warm. Bessy was delighted, and Mary stroked the fringe of her shawl with shy delight.

"Oh, miss, you shouldn't have," said Bessy shyly. She looked at Meg critically and asked, "What are you going to wear to the Thornton's dinner this evening?"

Meg waved her hand. "I don't know. I have several gowns, and I'll decide when I get home.'

Bessy appeared shocked by this nonchalant attitude. "You had best dress up grand for such grand company."

Meg laughed. "I would hardly call the masters and their families grand, Bessy. If you could see the royalty and peers of London, you would understand the difference."

"I will never see the royalty or peers of London," said Bessy wistfully. "I would be happy to see you in your dress tonight, with your hair done up."

Meg made a face. "My hair takes entirely too long to dress. I wish I could cut it all off."

"Oh, you wouldn't!" exclaimed Bessy in a scandalized voice.

A plan was forming in Meg's head. "I just may," she said with a rebellious smile. "In any event, I will try to come before dinner tonight so that you may see my gown."

********

As Meg had confided to Bessy, she was indeed tired of dealing with her hair. When unbound, it fell below her waist and took hours to wash, dry, brush, braid, and coil upon her head. The thought of having to spend an hour this evening dressing for dinner at the Thornton's, followed by an hour of dressing her hair filled her with despair.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she made a rash decision. Snatching up a pair of sheers that Dixon had used earlier to cut a dress pattern, she grasped a long hank of hair and lopped it off, letting the severed locks fell from her head. The remaining hair fell just below shoulder level. Nodding with satisfaction at her work, Meg continued to carefully cut her hair as she had done so many times at the boarding house for herself and at hospital for other nurses and recovering patients. When she finished, she was surrounded by clouds of hair on the floor, and she felt stones lighter. She shook her head, and marveled at the lightness and ease. She had just placed the sheers back on the table when she heard a scandalized gasp behind her.

"Miss Meg," Dixon cried, aghast at Meg's short hair, "what have you done? Your beautiful hair! It was your glory." Dixon moved over to run her hands over the shorn head of her young mistress. "Why would you do such a thing?" she asked in a scandalized voice.

Meg was about to respond impatiently, and then she noticed the tears in Dixon's eyes. Taking one of Dixon's hands into her own, she responded gently, "I am no longer the grand Miss Hale of London, Dixon, but plain Meg Hale with chores to do and a mother and father to whom I must attend. I do not have time to fuss over hairstyles. My short hair will give me the time I so dearly need to do other things."

Dixon was somewhat mollified, and turned a critical eye to the girl. The shorter hair sprung in curling waves about her face and shoulders, and glimmered with gold and red threads. It made her look younger and more carefree than she had appeared since they arrived in Milton. Giving a quick nod, Dixon pronounced, "It is not what I would have wanted for you, but I must say it does suit you and it will be easier to care for."

A thought entered Meg's head. "Do you think we might sell my hair to a wigmaker, Dixon? I could use the monies to help the families brought so low by the strike."

Dixon looked at her with a thoughtful air. "I can try the wigmaker's shop this afternoon while I'm on my errands," she responded, and she and Meg carefully gathered up the long silken tresses and tied them together with a loop of dress trim. "Lord, what will your Mother say when she sees you with that short hair? I only hope it don't set her back," Dixon sighed.

Meg felt a pang at the thought, for she had not taken into account how her mother would react. "I did not think of that, Dixon. I would hate to worry her." Meg began to regret her impulsive action.

Dixon smiled reassuringly. "Don't you worry, Miss. I'll think up something to tell her. And I believe your hair is still long enough for me to pin it up this evening, should you want me to do so."

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