x.

Margaret awoke alone the next morning, the rumpled sheets of the bed – and the unfamiliar ache of her muscles – the only evidence that she had not spent the entirety of the previous night unaccompanied. Fear that John had returned to Milton without her momentarily clutched at her belly, but then she remembered his passionate embrace and the whispered declarations of love which had passed between them and the fear fled as quickly as it had come over her.

Sitting up, she searched for her robe amidst the crumpled bedcovers and thrust her arms through the sleeves, belting it about her slim waist before making her way to the dressing table. A brilliant smile lit her face at the sound of a soft tapping on the door.

"Come in," she called eagerly expecting her husband's reappearance.

The smile fell away from her face as Dixon bustled into the room bearing a tea tray set for one. Lowering her eyes, Margaret snatched up her hair brush, agitatedly rubbing her thumb over the soft bristles.

"Good morning, Miss," Dixon murmured, setting the tray down and pouring her mistress a cup of tea.

"Good morning, Dixon." Margaret lifted her eyes to the mirror and met the older woman's gaze in the silvered glass. "I seem to have overslept." She blushed and again lowered her gaze to her lap. "Have… have you seen my husband?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes, Miss." Dixon took the brush from Margaret's unresisting fingers and began to work at smoothing the tangles from the young woman's hair. "The Master said he had a meeting to attend this morning, but he would return straightaway after."

The maid laid a hand on Margaret's shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze as the girl slumped in ill-disguised relief.

"I am returning to Milton with Mr. Thornton." Margaret sipped her tea, relaxing into the rhythmic stroke of the brush through her hair. "I would, of course, have you join me, Dixon, for I can scarcely remember a day in my life when you were not there." She reached over her shoulder to clasp her fingers over the other woman's. "But I would understand if you would prefer to remain in London. I am sure Aunt Shaw can find a permanent place for you in her household if that is your wish."

Dixon straightened her shoulders and blinked away the tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "I'll come back to Milton, if you and the Master'll have me," she said. "After all, Miss Margaret, I helped to raise you. I'll not have someone other than me helping you to raise your own babes when the time comes."

Margaret rolled her head to press her cheek against their joined hands resting on her shoulder. Closing her eyes, she flushed as memories of the prior evening washed over her and laying a free hand atop her stomach, wondered if a new life grew there even now.

0o0o0

Margaret was carefully folding a blouse in a thin sheet of tissue when a rapping at the door drew her attention.

"Come."

A pleased smile broke over her face as her husband poked his head past the door and stepped inside.

John's gaze roved about the room, noting Margaret's precise movements as she tucked the tissue wrapped garment into an open bag; saw her coat draped over the foot of the bed.

"You're coming home with me?"

By way of answer, Margaret snapped closed the clasp of the bag and picked up her coat. Draping the coat over her arm, she handed the satchel to him. His fingers stroked over the back of her hand before taking the small bag from her. Wondering joy lit his eyes and curved his lips and she stretched up on her toes as if to taste the quiet happiness radiating from him.

"I thought perhaps last night was a dream," he whispered against her lips.

Margaret stroked a thumb over his cheek and narrowed her eyes. "Then let's not ever awaken," she suggested playfully. They lingered thusly, her hand on his cheek, his resting lightly on her hip. Breathing each other in, they enjoyed the simple pleasure of being together.

"Is the carriage here?" She threaded her arm through her husband's as they descended the steps.

"It is being brought from the stables now."

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she laid a hand on his forearm. "Will you take our bags out while I say my goodbyes?"

"Of course, my dear." He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before leading her to the parlor near the door where her family awaited. Margaret stood back as John made his own farewells, bowing over Mrs. Shaw's hand and clasping Captain Lennox's firmly. He and Henry exchanged stiff nods and then he was bending at the waist to accept the brush of Edith's lips over his cheek.

"Did I not promise to take good care of her?" The blonde cast a fond smile toward her dark-haired cousin before looking back at the man who towered above her.

"You did indeed, madam." John's gaze followed hers to where his wife stood speaking quietly with her aunt. "I thank you."

"You took your time coming to visit," Edith noted, bouncing Sholto on her hip. "Though your timing seems to be exquisite, Mr. Thornton." She arched her brow and graced him with a tiny smile. "Now I shall have to ask the same favor of you, sir."

"Nothing matters more to me than her care and happiness," he promised.

"I know." Edith squeezed his hand and then made a little shooing motion with her fingers. "Now, go. I believe the carriage has arrived."

John impulsively tapped a forefinger to Sholto's nose, earning a hearty giggle from the boy. Hefting his bag and Margaret's, John inclined his head to her family one last time before taking his leave.

"Margaret." Henry stepped forward and hastily caught both her hands in his own, drawing her a few steps away from the others.

"I cannot let you leave without knowing…" He gripped her hands tightly in his and ducked his head to look directly in her eyes. "You must know what you are returning to. Your husband's business –"

"–I already know everything, Henry." Margaret cut off his words with a firm shake of her head. "John and I have been corresponding since I left Milton and I have known all along what is happening at the mill. I know you are only looking out for me, but I must return with him."

"Margaret, I know you feel a sense of obligation –"

"You are wrong, Henry. For I love him."

His shoulders sagged in defeat. The quiet resolve of her tone held more weight than would have an impassioned declaration.

"I am sorry if I gave you cause to…" Her words trailed off, a befuddled frown marring the smooth skin of her forehead. "Henry, I… I am grateful to you for all you are doing to help Fred, but I never… that is I…"

Henry held her gaze for a long moment and in his eyes, she saw a spark of sadness and then, spine erect and face carefully blank, he took a step back. Holding out his hand, he gave hers a perfunctory shake.

"Goodbye, Margaret."

She stared into his face for a heartbeat or two and then resolutely turned away to rejoin the rest of her family. Captain Lennox was the first to reach for her, pulling her into a boisterous hug before setting her back at arms-length.

"Have a good journey, Margaret. And do be sure to write to Edith often for I know she shall be lost without you," he added with an ever-jovial twinkle in his eyes.

Returning his smile with one of her own, she murmured her promise to stay in touch before turning to her aunt. Mrs. Shaw's mouth was set in a grim line; her eyes damp with concern and Margaret knew that Henry had taken it upon himself to inform her family of the mill's financial troubles.

"Dixon will finish packing the rest of my things and follow in a few days." Margaret sent a smile to the maid standing nearby. "I thank you, Aunt, for all your many kindnesses." She affectionately bussed her lips over the older woman's cheek. "I would have been lost these past months without you."

"You are a good girl, Margaret." The older woman bit her lip to keep it from trembling. "I know your parents would be very proud of you," she said, before drawing her niece into a long embrace. "Take care, my dear."

"I will, Aunt. And thank you again."

She turned toward Edith, little Sholto bouncing excitedly in his mother's grip at Margaret's approach. Holding out her hands, she caught the little boy as he launched himself from his mother's arms into hers. Babbling nonsensically, he patted his hands against her cheeks and Margaret rounded her eyes and made gasping noises as if she understood every excited word. She peppered kisses all over the baby's face and playfully nibbled the soft skin of his neck, eliciting a squealing laugh in response.

Perching the little boy on her hip, she laid her cheek against her cousin's.

"I shall miss you most of all, Edith," she whispered.

"Oh! And I shall miss you, Margaret." Edith glanced over her cousin's shoulder to where the others stood gathered. "I know they are worried for you, Margaret," she said, meeting the other girl's eyes. "But I am not. I am instead delighted." She drew her cousin into her embrace and the two young women rocked back and forth. "He loves you very much, I think," she said softly, stepping back and laying a hand on Margaret's face.

"And I him," Margaret vowed.

"I know." Edith arched a knowing brow and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I cannot help but notice that you seem… quite refreshed this morning, Margaret." She smiled delightedly at the flush which bloomed over her cousin's face.

"Edith!" Margaret hissed. Narrowing her eyes in mock disapproval, she hefted Sholto from her hip and handed him back to his mother.

"Now go. Your husband is waiting for you." Edith laughed and gave her cousin a good-natured push toward the door. "Write to me as soon as you can, Margaret," she called, standing on the top step and waving as John Thornton handed his wife up into the waiting carriage.

Grasping Sholto's tiny hand in hers, she waved goodbye until the carriage disappeared around the corner.

0o0o0

The train to Milton was not crowded and John and Margaret lucked into having a car to themselves for the entirety of the trip.

"I know we have many things to attend to once we reach home." Margaret twisted in her seat to face him, earnestly clutching his hands in hers. "But for now, may we not just enjoy these few short hours of time to be alone, together?"

John dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and stretched an arm along the high velvet back of the seat. Her head pillowed on his shoulder, she smiled to herself as he toyed with a tendril of her hair or set the tiny gold hoop in her ear to dancing with a flick of his forefinger and they whiled away the hours whispering softly to one another and stealing kisses. As the morning lengthened, Margaret's head lolled toward the window and she contentedly watched the passing scenery from the safety and comfort of her husband's arms.

Disembarking the train in Milton later that day, they boarded a waiting hansom cab for the short ride home and in short time pulled to a halt in the mill yard. Some of the yard workers paused, surprised to see the Master's wife alight from the cab, and as her eyes wandered over the property, she saw Higgins standing at the top of the mill steps, a pallet of raw cotton tossed over one shoulder and a welcoming smile on his lips. She raised a hand in greeting before allowing John to swing her down to the ground.

Looking up, she saw the lace curtains twitch and her mother-in-law's face appear in the window. Surprise at seeing her son return with his wife was etched over the other woman's stern features and Margaret drew in a deep breath, unconsciously girding herself for battle as John took her hand and led her up the steps.

"We are home, Mother." Margaret heard the conflicting tones of both warning and pleading in her husband's voice as he addressed his mother and she unconsciously leaned into the supportive hand he had settled at the small of her back.

"So you are," Hannah Thornton noted coolly. "Welcome back, Margaret."

"Thank you." Margaret met the other woman's quietly appraising look without flinching. "I am glad to be home." She knew John was aware of the tense undercurrents flowing between herself and his mother when he gently drew her closer to his side, quietly presenting them as a united front.

Mrs. Thornton's gaze flickered over them once, though her impassive expression did not betray her thoughts.

"Mr. Miller stopped earlier this morning, hoping to speak with you." She directed her attention toward her son. "I was not sure when you would return, but told him I would let you know as soon as I heard from you."

"I –" He glanced down at his wife and then back up to meet his mother's gaze.

Margaret tilted her head back. "Go," she encouraged.

"Are you sure?" His concern at the thought of leaving her alone with his mother was evident.

"Quite sure," she said. "You must not neglect the mill another moment on my account."

"I will see to it that Margaret is settled." His mother's voice interrupted their quiet conversation. He bent a questioning look upon his wife and she smiled reassuringly in response.

"Go," she repeated. "I shall see you at dinner."

He turned then, stopping at his mother's side on his way to the door. His back to her, Margaret could not see his face, but saw Mrs. Thornton's expression soften slightly in response to whatever it was he had silently conveyed to her.

The two women faced one another warily as the door closed behind him and Margaret met her mother-in-law's assessing gaze passively. Some unnamed emotion flickered behind the other woman's dark eyes and she let out her breath on a quiet sigh.

"Come along then."

Margaret followed John's mother up the wide staircase to the upper floor and to the familiar room which was hers.

"I shall have the room aired out and your things brought up."

"Oh…"

Margaret's thoughts betrayed her. Her gaze shot wistfully to the door separating her room from John's. A flush stained her cheeks as she became aware of her mother-in-law's penetrating look and she hastily ducked her head, staring at the carpet beneath her feet for a long moment.

"I wanted to hate you."

Margaret's head shot up at the other woman's words.

"If I am being honest, I must confess there have been times when I have hated you." Hannah moved toward a window, her fingers toying with the scalloped edge of the lace curtain. "You broke his heart when you left."

"I know."

Ashamed by her own behavior, Margaret straightened her shoulders, prepared to withstand a tongue-lashing from the older woman and was surprised instead to find her mother-in-law looking back at her without judgment.

"However, it is evident that something has changed between the two of you," Hannah said. "I have despaired for him." Pained emotion swam in Mrs. Thornton's eyes. "But today I saw a spark of life in his eyes for the first time in months and I am sure it has everything to do with you. I am grateful to you for that."

Her throat tight with unshed tears, Margaret simply nodded, surprised by the unexpected note of praise in the other woman's voice.

"You know of all that is happening with the mill? The trouble he faces?"

"Yes. We have discussed it often in our letters these past months."

"He went to London to tell you of the speculation? Of Mr. Watson's success? And that he believes the bank will call the loan due any time now?"

"And to set me free."

Margaret saw the expression of shock which passed over the older woman's face.

"To set you…? I do not understand. He offered…"

"An annulment." Tears sprang to Margaret's eyes and she coughed delicately to clear her throat.

And yet, here you are. Now when all is nearly lost," Mrs. Thornton said wonderingly. "That speaks well of you, Margaret, for I do not think it only duty which caused you to return."

"No," Margaret furtively knuckled a stray tear from the corner of her eye. "Duty had little to do with it. I love him."

Hannah folded her arms tightly across her middle as she moved toward her daughter-in-law.

"He will not give up the mill easily," she said. "I do not know how it will end – or when – but do not be worried. He'll see us right."

Margaret nodded vigorously in agreement, concern for herself the least of her worries.

"He will need you, Margaret." A faintly pleading note colored Mrs. Thornton's words. "Now, more than ever, he will need you."

Margaret took two steps forward, closing the distance between them.

"I shall not leave again." She laid a hand on the other woman's forearm. "I shall never leave him again."

0o0o0

She was startled awake when the book she had been reading fell from her loose grip with a dull thud against the floor. Stifling a yawn behind one hand, she peered toward the clock on the mantle and then at the empty bed.

Rising, she went to the window and gazed across the mill yard to see a light faintly glowing in his office. Almost midnight, she thought darkly, and he was still at his desk.

Yet again.

Sighing, she thrust her arms through the sleeves of her robe and stuffed her bare feet into a pair of shoes. It was past time to fetch her husband home.

Taking up a lamp in one hand, she crept through the house and eased the door open, not wishing to awaken anyone else. She clutched the lapels of her robe tightly in one hand as she stepped out into the cool night air. Crossing the mill yard, she entered the building, hurrying through the gloom toward John's office.

She stopped in the doorway, her heart melting with compassion at the sight of her husband. Sound asleep, his head was pillowed on the various papers strewn across the top of his desk and over his shoulders was a darkly knit shawl – evidence that his mother had already come and gone earlier in the evening.

"John." Reaching out, she laid a gentle hand on his back and called his name softly but despite her best efforts, he startled awake, lurching upright and looking wildly about the room.

"Shh." She rubbed her hand over his shoulder. "There is no cause for alarm. Everything is fine, John."

Calming as he became aware of his surroundings, he lifted a hand to the back of his neck, rolling his head from side-to-side, wincing at the aching stiffness settled at the base of his skull. Margaret brushed his hand aside and settled her own on his shoulders. Her fingers dug into the knotted muscles, soothing away the soreness until she felt the tension slowly ease its grip.

"It is late. We should go back to the house." Her murmured words broke the quiet stillness of the room. He tipped his head back, eyes blinking open and closed owlishly, and she tenderly touched her mouth to his in an upside down kiss. Rather than rising, he drew her to his side and leaned tiredly against her, snaking his arms around her waist and burying his face into the soft folds of her robe. Bending forward, she bowed her body over his, cradling him close and hummed a tuneless song. When she felt his grip begin to loosen and his weight sag against her, she knew he was once again sliding back to sleep.

"John," she called, threading her fingers through his hair to rouse him again. "Come to bed."

0o0o0

Twined in one another's arms, his head was pillowed on her breasts, his fingers toying with the finely milled cotton of her nightgown as she carded her fingers through his hair, stroking and soothing.

"Thank God Fanny is taken care of," he whispered hoarsely into the dark.

0o0o0

When the whistle blew signaling the end of the final shift at Marlborough Mills and the gears on the massive machines slowly ground to a shuddering halt, Margaret stood with Hannah Thornton, keeping vigil over the man they both loved. The two women clutched hands and watched at the mill workers listlessly filed out of the building, the men staring stoically ahead while some of the women softly wept.

Margaret wrapped a comforting arm around her mother-in-law's waist, turning her head when the other woman spoke.

"You should go," Hannah murmured with a meaningful tip of her head and Margaret's gaze traveled across the now silent and cavernous room to rest on her husband. His shoulders slumped in defeat, John stood on the metal catwalk near a window, staring at the rapidly emptying mill yard and her heart ached to see him brought so low.

Squeezing her mother-in-law's hand, she began to make way toward her husband, stopping only when Higgins and little Tom Boucher approached her.

"Miss Margaret." Nicholas doffed his cap and clutched it tightly in one hand. Glancing over his shoulder at the dark clad figure standing sentinel near the window, he turned back, his lips quirking into a sad half-smile.

"If 'e's ever in a position to take on workers again, there's a fair number of us willing to run a mill for him." He stretched out a hand and offered her a rolled up piece of paper.

"What is this?" Margaret asked.

"A gift for the Master. I got up a petition to collect the names of them that would come back to work for 'im. Whenever he says the word."

Tears glittered in her eyes as she unrolled the petition and she bit her lip at the long list of names.

"Thank you, Nicholas." She rested her free hand against his burly chest and rose onto her toes to press a kiss against his grizzled cheek. "What will you do now?" she asked worriedly.

"Look for work, I reckon." He shrugged matter-of-factly. "The Master said he'd put in a good word for me with the other masters so…" He glanced down into her concerned expression and rubbed a knuckle against her chin. "You're a good girl, Miss Margaret," he told her. "Don't be frettin' about us. The Master paid me a fair wage and I've managed to set a bit of coin aside to tide us over until I can find work."

She nodded blindly, tears scalding her eyes as she flung her arms around him.

"God bless you, Nicholas."

His breath hitched and he noisily cleared his throat before stepping back. Leaning down, he scooped young Tom up into his arms.

"You best go to him now, Miss Margaret." He glanced again toward the lonely figure near the window. "He needs you."

0o0o0

My Very Dear Margaret,

I had an idea after your father died, that should you ever have need of it, I would find a way to offer you my help.

I never thought to have a family, for I have been much content in my life as an Oxford academic. But I would like to think that if I had a daughter, she would be as kind and loving and gentle a girl as you.

I have often thought how depressing it would be if one were to leave one's fortune to people who were waiting around, hoping you would die off. So I made the decision to sign the bulk of my income and property – including title to the land and buildings which currently comprise Marlborough Mills – to you now. Do not think to argue with me over this, Margaret, for my mind is quite made up on the matter and I have already made the necessary arrangements with my solicitor. Your father was my oldest friend and you have always been dear to me, though I regret that I was often remiss in being a part of your life as you grew up. And, it seems that I shall likewise be unable to play the role of grandfather to any children you may someday have.

You see, my dear, I have been to my doctor and… well, suffice to say, I have made the decision to live out the rest of my life – what is left of it – in South America in perfect peace and prosperity knowing that you are putting my money to good use.

Margaret, do not weep for me. Rather, I would have you think of me living the life under the Argentine skies. Not many men can plan their exit from this world in such a leisurely way and I am blessed to be able to do so. Just as I have been blessed to be able to call you 'daughter'.

By the time you receive this letter, I will be on a ship bound for warmer climes and the place where I spent many a happy day in my youth. Do not berate me for taking the coward's way out and saying my goodbyes in such a manner as this, but I could not bear it otherwise.

Be well my dear. Be happy.

Your affectionate godfather,

R. Bell

0o0o0

"No. I will not take your money, Margaret and that is final!" He had worried when Margaret had withdrawn into herself for two days upon receiving Mr. Bell's letter and he wondered how much grief one person could be expected to take in such a short period of time.

But now, all such sympathies had been pushed aside as John folded his arms across his chest and glared at his wife, the stubborn expression on his face matched only by the mulish tilt of her chin.

"John, please be sensible."

He watched her pace back and forth before the darkened fireplace in their room, one part of his brain idly noting the manner in which the spring sun slanting through the windows teased out the red highlights in her hair.

"You know as well as I do that any monies I have are yours. By right of law, if nothing else, it is you who has control of my property."

"Do you think I give a damn what the law says?" He raked a hand through his hair. "The money is yours!"

"Oh John, do not be so stubborn." He looked up as she made an impassioned plea. "Only think of what we could do with this money. You could save Marlborough Mills. Re-employ all those who lost their jobs. Perhaps, even start a school for the children of the mill workers," she wheedled, unrepentantly playing on a subject she knew him to hold dear. "Children like young Tom Boucher."

John shook his head tiredly. Still feeling the stinging defeat of having his business fail, he had spent the last two weeks in meetings with his creditors and vendors hashing out plans to pay back that which he owed. And now this… his mind was awhirl with ways in which to protect Margaret's fortune from the vultures that would circle once her inheritance became known. Hunching forward, he let his hands dangle between his legs and stared at the carpet beneath his feet.

"Mr. Bell left his fortune to you, Margaret. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and raised his gaze to hers. "Keep it instead for our children."

A beatific look came over her face and she glided across the room to stand within arm's reach of him.

"Our children," she repeated. "Like this one?"

He felt his heart lurch against his breastbone and as he watched her hand settle over her midsection, he slipped from his chair and fell to his knees before her.

"Margaret." He stared at the delicate white fingers unconsciously caressing her stomach and raised a shaking hand to cover hers. "Are you… are we…?"

She nodded vigorously, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Yes, my love. We are going to have a baby."

"But how… when… How long have you known?" He stared at their joined hands covering her stomach as if he could somehow see through her to the child growing within.

"I have suspected for some time now," she admitted. "So I went to see the doctor a few days ago and he confirmed it. But then Mr. Bell's letter arrived and…" Her voice trailed off helplessly as she thought of the turmoil of the last few days.

"Oh, my darling." He framed her belly between his hands, smoothing the soft fabric taut against her body, imagining her round and ripe. "Oh, my beautiful, darling wife." He wound his arms around her hips and pressed a kiss over the place where their child was nestled and she bent at the waist to rest her cheek against the crown of his head. Locked together thusly, they swayed back and forth, lost in their hopes and dreams.

Recovering himself, John sat down and drew her onto his knee, his hand automatically moving to splay protectively over her still flat stomach.

"You have made me very happy, my love." Leaning back, he drew her head down onto his shoulder and closed his eyes contentedly.

"A loan then." Her words were a puff of warm air against his neck and he groaned. The love of his life was nothing if not obstinate.

Her head popped up. "A loan!" she repeated and smiled, thrilled by her own cleverness.

"A loan?"

"Yes!" She sat up straight and adopted a serious manner, the effectiveness of which was slightly diminished by her perch on his lap and his large hand splayed possessively over her belly. "If you will not take our money, then perhaps you would consider allowing me to loan it to you. I am sure that investing the funds into the mill would pay a much better rate of interest than simply allowing the money to lie in a bank."

A dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth and he knew she thought herself triumphant and though he was tempted and nearly swayed by her enthusiasm, reality once again came crashing down upon him.

"Margaret, my dear. You cannot think to turn such sums over to me when I have already proven to be a bad risk."

The smile fell away from her face and her brows beetled together in irritation.

"You are not a bad risk," she hissed, her temper rising. "You played by the rules honorably –"

"– and lost," he said pointedly.

"Your workers believe in you. Higgins believes in you," she said, reminding him of the list of names Nicholas had presented to her.

"Your mother believes in you."

He nodded silently, for there was never any doubt as to the fierceness of that woman's faith in him.

"And I believe in you, John."

He closed his eyes when she cupped his face between her hands, desperately wanting to allow her to convince him to her way of thinking.

"I believe in you." She pecked a kiss against his forehead. "I trust you." She dropped another onto the tip of his nose. "Please let me prove it," she begged and peppered fierce kisses over his face.

"A loan…?" He pondered the thought, letting it roll around in his head for a moment or two.

"Yes." She popped upright again, her cheeks flushed with eagerness.

"A business proposition."

"Yes, yes. Whatever you want to call it." A tendril of hair tumbled over her forehead as she nodded vigorously in agreement. "If you insist, we can even have a solicitor draw up loan papers to make it official."

"Not Henry Lennox," he growled playfully, his eyes narrowing on hers.

She laughed, the dimple again appearing in her cheek.

"Not Henry," she agreed, thrusting out a hand to shake on the deal.

John looked at the slim white hand she proffered and wrapped his own around it, yanking her down to cover her lips with his own.

Sealing their bargain with a kiss.

End.

Author's Notes: A thank you to each and every person who left a comment, sent feedback, or just took the time to read my story. I've said before that writing fic is enjoyable for me simply as a hobby but knowing that others are enjoying my efforts… that puts it over the top for me and I truly appreciate every kind thought and word.

I'm ending this now and marking it as complete. Though I will not say that I'll never revisit, if I do so, it will be in the form of drabbles or snippets perhaps to check in on John and Margaret and their family or maybe even to insert a scene to expand on a previous chapter or fill in a blank between chapters. I make no promises but I've enjoyed being in John's and Margaret's heads and in their world. I have a few loose and vague ideas rolling around in my head, but I thought this a good place to wrap up this particular story.

I thank you again.

emn