Chapter 21. Looking Glass Insects

Meg hit the floor with a thump that jarred her from head to toe. Oh, I remember this, she thought weakly, struggling against the darkness that threatened to engulf her. She sat up gingerly and rubbed her head-it felt as if she had struck it upon something coming through the mirror. Looking down, she saw that she was wearing the clothes she had worn in 1920-the expertly tailored navy suit, the pert hat with a veil, and the fashionable kidskin gloves. Mr. Thornton's gloves were nowhere to be seen. She looked frantically about for them, but she was unable to find them.

Gazing about the room, she was surprised to find she was in the same office, but it was greatly changed. Granted, it was the same office with the windows looking out onto the mill yard. But the desk was clean and free of the clutter of papers she remembered, and where books and ledgers had lined the bookshelves, boxes and parcels now stood on the shelves, and the floors were lined with more boxes and piles of goods marked with various addresses. She stood up carefully, pleased to find she felt neither nauseous nor dizzy.

A sudden thought occurred to her and she stepped eagerly to the mirror, thinking that perhaps she might see Mr. Thornton on the other side. To her disappointment, she found only her own reflection looking back. Saddened, she turned and walked over to the desk. She spotted a ledger, and pulled it toward her. It was dated November 15, 1920. Meg pushed the ledger away from her, as if it had burned her. How could it be? She had been in Milton for two years. How could she have returned the same day as she had originally departed?

"What are you doing in here, Miss?" a rough voice said from behind her, and she spun about in fright. A plump older man stood in the doorway, dressed in the clothes from her time. She heaved a sigh of relief-it had worked! She was back to her time. Yet, things were not the same.

"I'm sorry," she said in a soft voice, "I was looking for the owner and wandered in here by mistake."

The man laughed. "The owner lives in London, miss. He never comes here."

Meg looked confused. "Does he not have to manage his mill and keep an eye on what goes on here?"

"Mill? This is not a mill," the man said in amusement. "This hasn't been a mill for twenty year now."

"What happened," she asked anxiously, dreading the answer.

The man shrugged. "Cotton industry dried up. Most of the owners closed up shop, or went into other industries. No, this hasn't been a mill since Mr. Thornton died."

Meg choked with grief. She had known that he would, in all probability, not live another sixty years, but she still felt awash in heartache to hear of his passing. She gathered her scattered thoughts together and asked, "How about his sons or daughters? Do they not own this place?"

"Are you speaking of John Thornton? He had no sons or daughters, miss," the man said, looking at her curiously. "He never married."

She staggered and caught herself. "Never married?" she asked in a high, strange voice.

The stranger shook his head. "No, ma'am-he remained a bachelor his entire life. I remember Mr. Thornton from when I was a lad-he was a nice old chap."

Meg felt a wave of surprise flood over her, swiftly followed by irrational anger. What had happened? He was destined for Ann Latimer-why did he not marry her? She had told him she was leaving him so that he might find a wife worthy of his position in society, and he had remained a bachelor his entire life? Her eyes flashed to the mirror, as if she could upbraid him for his pigheadedness; moments later, she remembered the words he has passionately spoken to her-I have found the only woman I will ever love-and felt stunned that he had remained true to their love.

The stranger leaned against the desk, arms crossed on his ample belly as he warmed to his subject. "He always had a coin or a kind word for the children. He had a kind of sadness about him, like he was lonely in spite of all the people he knew and all of the things he did. The local school is named for him-Thornton Academy. He founded it with some of his profits from the mill. And I remember my father telling me that he gave quite a bit of money to the Hale Medical Clinic for the poor and indigent."

Meg lifted a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing wildly. The Hale Medical Clinic, she thought, oh, Doctor Donaldson! Seeing the man expected some response, she gathered her thoughts and asked, "So Mr. Thornton became a philanthropist?"

"Aye, he did, and used his money to improve the town and assist his workers. He ran one of the best mills in this country, tricked out with the most modern equipment. He was a stickler for the health and safety of his hands, and had a head for business." He looked at her inquisitively. "I take it you have heard of Mr. Thornton?"

She nodded, "Yes, I have. My grandmother used to work for him."

"Who is your grandmother," the man asked curiously.

"Mary Armstrong,' Meg replied.

She was about to tell him that she lived in London now, when the man exclaimed in surprise, "Mrs. Armstrong is your grandmother? But I've never seen you around these parts before-and I've met most of her grandchildren." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Joseph Windsor-I manage this warehouse."

Meg warmly clasped his hand. "I'm Meg Armstrong. How do you know Gran?"

"Everyone in Milton knows your grandmother-she lives in that huge house on Mulberry Street," Mr. Windsor remarked.

Meg started-Gran lived in Milton? She attempted to focus on that astonishing fact when Mr. Windsor continued, "You must be the granddaughter who lives in London, the daughter of Mary's son. Was his name Maxwell?"

Meg nodded, hoping to be led further along by Mr. Windsor's reminiscences. "Yes, I've just arrived in Milton," she said nonchalantly, "but I thought I would come by the mill first and have a look around. My-great-grandfather used to work here as well."

Mr. Windsor chuckled. "Nicholas Higgins-aye, I remember him from when I was young, too. He was a character-very good friend and confident of Mr. Thornton's. I remember my parents being surprised when he was made overseer, and when Mr. Thornton allowed him to buy into the mill. Higgins did well for himself, as did your grandmother-she married one of the other mill owners. Her house is the envy of Milton, and your Aunt Lily is quite the socialite with her parties and teas." Mr. Windsor smiled pleasantly as he moved toward the door. "Well, miss, I best get back to work. It was a pleasure to see you-please come again if you'd like a tour of the warehouse."

He politely walked Meg out to the courtyard, and waved her on her way. I wonder where I can find Mulberry Street, she thought with a sense of apprehension. I wonder what else has changed? I think I have made a terrible mistake.

********

As Meg wended her way along the streets of Milton, she was amazed to note the difference. The Milton she had left had been little more than a ghost town; the Milton she returned to was a thriving metropolis. Granted, it appeared the mills were closed from the cleaner skies and lack of smoke; but she noted numerous manufacturers and warehouses, and the stores were fine with windows full of enticing wares. She searched up and down the streets, but could not find Clothilde's shop, and felt a deep disappointment. She had hoped the fortune teller would be here, to answer questions. Meg sensed that Clothilde was the only one who knew the truth, but could find no trace of her. She felt dreadfully alone, isolated from the people rushing about her on their daily business. She had no pressing business, and was unsure how to proceed.

She felt her heart leap when she discovered the Hale Medical Clinic, a large, well-situated building near the center of town. She stepped through the doorway into a bustling hive of activity-men, women, and children seated about a well-apportioned waiting room; a cluster of desks against a wall, nurses escorting patients in and out of what appeared to be examining rooms. On the wall at the far end of the room, she spied a portrait of Doctor Donaldson. Beneath it was a brass plate proclaiming The Founder of the Hale Medical Clinic. Meg studied the portrait, fondly noting that the doctor looked impatient and irritated, as if posing for a picture was a colossal waste of his time. Well done, Doctor, very well done, Meg thought affectionately, and felt a wave of sadness that she would never see her friend and mentor again.

"May I help you, miss?" a young, fresh-faced woman asked her.

"No-yes, perhaps you can," Meg exclaimed, changing her mind abruptly. "Can you direct me to Mulberry Street?"

"Why, certainly," the young woman said, and gave Meg directions. "You had best take a carriage because it is quite a ways from this part of town." Meg noticed that the woman was looking at her closely, studying her features with a frown on her pretty face.

"What is it?" Meg asked uneasily.

"Nothing, miss-except, you look so much like the benefactress of our clinic! It is uncanny." Seeing Meg's blank look, the girl gestured down a hallway toward an atrium at the back of the building. Meg walked slowly down the hallway and found an open area leading to a number of examination rooms. At one end of the room, there hung a large portrait of herself. Meg gasped-the painting had obviously been worked from a description of her, since she had not sat for the portrait. The rendition was not exact, but it was close enough that the resemblance to Meg was remarkable. Under the portrait was a brass plaque that proclaimed, Margaret Hale, Founder and Endower.

"The resemblance is amazing," said the woman, looking from Meg to the portrait and back. Meg began to laugh. "Yes, yes it is," she agreed. The girl asked once again if she wanted a carriage, and Meg replied that she preferred to walk. They parted amiably at the entrance.

Meg left the clinic, and headed up hill, toward the large houses situated above Milton. As she strolled along, she thought about Mr. Thornton never marrying and a sense of dread and foreboding grew within her. What had happened? She had been so certain he was fated for Miss Latimer, with her charming manners and influential connections. Perhaps Mr. Windsor had been wrong-perhaps Mr. Thornton had married and had no children. It was unusual, but not unheard of.

She climbed a long and winding hill, noting that the homes were becoming statelier and the grounds surrounding them larger, with old trees and beautiful landscaping. At last, she reached Mulberry Street, and found the home that belonged to Gran. It was a huge house of golden stone which shone in the afternoon sunlight. Its front was covered in ivy, and large boxwoods lined the path leading to the house. Meg walked along cautiously, dreading what she might find within. If Gran lived in Milton, when had she been in London? Had they moved back to Milton recently? She reached the front steps and knocked upon the massive door, listening to the knocks echo down the hallway.

Meg nervously shifted from foot to foot, unsure what to say or ask. Moments later, the front door was opened by a maid, who smiled in a friendly way and asked who was calling.

"Is Mrs. Mary Armstrong at home?" Meg asked anxiously.

"Why, yes, may I ask who is calling?" the maid asked, eyeing her curiously.

"Please tell her that Meg-Hale would like to see her," she replied politely. I wonder if she will recognize the name?

The maid ushered her into the stately hallway. A large curved staircase led to the second floor, while doors off of the hall hinted at spacious rooms. The floor was marble tiles, and a large oriental carpet thick with plush covered a good portion of the entryway. Meg had a sense of money and taste, and was glad to think that Mary had prospered during the years. My inheritance might have helped to bring this about, she thought in wonder.

Moments later, the maid reappeared, and asked Meg to follow her. Meg followed the maid up a flight of stairs and into a bright parlor. On a low settee in front of a bay window looking out over a wide expanse of lawn sat Gran. She was familiar yet different, Meg thought in the short moment she had to examine her friend. Her face and figure were the same, but she was dressed elegantly, and her hands were not as careworn from years of work, as Meg remembered. She sat with a small piece of needlework in her hands, and had glanced up curiously when the door opened.

Gran studied Meg with an intent expression as the maid curtsied and left the room, softly shutting the door behind her.

"Hello, Gran," Meg said softly. Mary looked at her inquisitively, a polite smile upon her face. As Meg drew closer to her, she saw Mary go white and the polite smile fade from her face to be replaced with a look of sheer fright. The needlework slid from her lax hands onto the floor, where it remained unnoticed.

With an expression of mingled confusion and fear on her face, Mary reached out with trembling, uncertain hands and touched Meg's hand, as if to determine she truly was flesh and blood and not some phantasm. "It can't be," she murmured, her voice shaking, "It's not possible!" Mary clutched at Meg's hand and pulled her down beside her on the settee. Putting her hand beneath Meg's face, she lifted it to the light, turning it left then right so she could study her features, as she had done so many years ago to a young girl in a London orphanage.

"Dear Lord," she breathed softly, "Is this some trick?" Meg knelt down to retrieve the needlework and placed it gently in Mary's lap. "It is no trick," she replied quietly, "and you are not going crazy. It is me."

"Meg? Is it truly you? How can it be?" she asked in a wondering voice.

Meg clasped both her friend's hands in her own and replied gently. "It is me, Mary-the same Meg who visited you and your sister Bessy in Princeton, who baked bread for you, who helped you to lay out Bessy's body when she died."

Mary continued to study her. "I thought you were a ghost when you first came through that door. I gave up hope of ever seeing you again, and yet here you are! You have not aged a day! How can this be? Where have you been all this time?" Meg thought she still looked bit unsure, as she had every right to be.

"I'm not sure you would believe me if I told you," she said truthfully. "When did you move to Milton from London?"

Mary looked confused. "London? I have never lived in London."

Meg stared at her. "When did you adopt me, then?" she asked slowly.

It was Mary's turn to stare. "Adopt you? Whatever are you talking about? I have not seen you for-oh, it must be over sixty years! You went to Spain, and we never heard from you again. And now you show up-and look exactly the same! What is going on?" Mary asked in a frightened voice.

Meg felt a cold chill pass up her spine. I was never adopted by Gran? What became of me, then? She pushed these thoughts aside, and gathered Mary's hands in her own. "I am not a ghost, Mary-it really is me, Meg. The same person whose house you tended, the same friend of your sister Bessy, the same one who baked you bread and helped you in the lunchroom, and visited you and Nicholas and the Boucher children."

Mary's eyes filled with tears. "I don't know how it is possible, but I know it is you, Meg. You look and sound exactly the same. Oh, how I have missed you!" Mary leaned forward and the women embraced each other, sitting quietly in each other's arms for several minutes.

After a few moments of silence, Meg spilled out her story, occasionally stopping in an attempt to reign in her emotions. Mary made her remove her hat and gloves, and called for tea so that they might be comfortable. Meg stopped once, when the tea tray was brought in, and waited until it was set up and tea poured before she resumed her story. When she was finished, she and Mary sat in a companionable silence, as she watched Mary struggle to take it all in.

"And you say that before you went back to the past, I adopted you, and we lived in London?" Mary shook her head in amazement. "I have never adopted anyone, Meg-I have always considered my two children and half-dozen grandchildren enough," she added wryly.

Meg stared at her in shock. What became of me, she wondered again. Do I even have a life in London?

"But, I must tell you, that now that I think of it, I remember you saying you might send someone to me someday-little did I think it would be you! I also remember that Doctor Donaldson told me once that I might see you again one day far into the future." At Meg's questioning expression, she added, "I missed you so much when you first left, and I told the doctor I couldn't bear to not see you again. That was when he told me to keep my eyes open, because I might see you someday. And he was right," she added in a quavering voice.

"I am so sorry I caused you pain, Mary-I thought I was doing the right thing..." Meg's voice trailed away, and she sat in silence for a moment before she asked, "Tell me about your father-how did he fare?"

"Father lived to be 90 years old," Mary said affectionately. "He was made overseer by Mr. Thornton not long after you disappeared, Meg. Mr. Williams became sick and had to leave off working at the mill, so Mr. Thornton put Father in charge of the mill." She hesitated before continuing, "When you disappeared, and Doctor Donaldson brought us the deed to that house, you could have knocked Father over with a feather. What a kind thing to do, Meg! We had a lovely house and a yard for the children, and bedrooms enough to fit all of the children!" Mary's eyes were warm with affection, and Meg blushed at her words of praise.

"I am so pleased that you liked the house," she replied shyly.

"Liked it!" Mary exclaimed, "We loved it. Then, when we found out you had left us all of that money-oh, Meg, Father was so reluctant to take it. He grieved when he thought you were dead, and hated to profit off of your death. But Mr. Thornton told him to take the money and use it to provide educations for the children, which we did. Tommy Boucher became a lawyer right here in Milton-he died last year, but his children live nearby. Sam went to work in the office at Marlborough Mills, as did Wesley when he was old enough. Sally went to work in the clinic with Doctor Donaldson because she wanted to be a healer like you, and the baby entered the ministry and had a parish outside of York."

Meg lowered her head, overcome with emotion. Mr. Thornton had told Nicholas to use the money to further the lives of the children, and he had helped them by providing them professions. Her heart was full to think that the Higgins and Boucher families did so well, and that her money was a means to help them lift themselves out of poverty.

"Mary, how did Dixon fare?" Meg asked with some trepidation.

Mary looked grave. "She missed you so much, Meg, I don't think she ever quite got over it. She was very pleased that you left her the house in Crampton, but she was sadly grieved that you were gone. However, she was a good friend to all of us, and we used to have meals with her on Sundays. She was proud to show her house off, and when I married, she took over duties at the lunchroom at Marlborough Mills. Mr. Thornton hired her, and she loved bossing the men about and getting compliments on her cooking."