The chill in the air had turned into a biting cold the last few weeks, and John Thornton was loathe to leave his office. But it must be done, for he never felt easy calling his overseer to him when he could just as easily seek him out. Besides, stretching his legs would be beneficial, and the warmth of the mill, so oppressive during the hot summer months, would be welcome in the December freeze.

With a sigh, he heaved himself to his feet and, with a short word to the clerk of his planned whereabouts, braved the cold walk from his office to the mill door. This close to midday he was fairly certain of where to find Williams, and the years spent traversing the place allowed him time to think on other matters without needing to focus on his surroundings.

Any day now he expected Watson to formally solicit him for Fanny's hand. He did not know whether to scowl or rejoice at the eventual relinquishing of responsibility for his flighty sister. Watson wasn't a bad fellow, but John almost wished she had better sense and higher ideals than to marry for a good settlement. But there was no changing her now, and with that firmly established, he found himself occasionally wishing the blessed event had already taken place. He did not look forward to being in close proximity to Fanny's tumultuous planning, especially with his foreknowledge of how she behaved at other times of celebration. At this time of year, Fanny became more and more determined each year that she would not be outdone by anyone, even the Queen.

In their past desperate time of need, there was no hint at a Christmas celebration in their meager home. No grand feast, no decorations of evergreen boughs and holly scattered throughout the house. Business did not close for the tradespeople, so there was no reason for marking the day. As time passed and he was able to work his way into a more prosperous position, that had changed. Work never ceased, but there had come a return of a good meal of roast beef, decorations of ivy, and even an increased appreciation of the few carolers that visited their door during the season.

And then it was widely exclaimed a few years prior that the Queen's family had a Christmas tree in Windsor Castle! Well, John thought, it was fine enough for the German husband of Queen Victoria, but he saw no necessity for such extravagance in his house. Fanny, on the other hand, had latched on to the idea and been voracious in her desire to be as elegant as the royal family. The previous year she had been successful in her pleadings with her mother, appealing to Mrs. Thornton's pride in their standing in the community. It should never be said that Mr. Thornton was unable to provide every luxury possible. At the time, all he could do in response was sigh. This year, however, his increased interactions with the hands at Marlborough Mills only made Fanny's pretensions seem more ridiculous.

He allowed himself a slight chuckle. Higgins would be too pleased to know of the influence he was having. As would . . .

He stopped that thought abruptly. There was no sense in allowing his mind to wander to her; it would remain with only her if he was not careful. Luckily, his musings had already taken him far enough to find Williams, where he distracted himself with the business matter that had led him to seek his overseer out in the first place.

The bell for the midday break sounded as they spoke, and the crowd of workers had all but cleared by the time he walked back toward his office. He was not ungrateful to have missed the crush of people, but some of the warmth generated by so many was already disappearing, and he locked his arms around the front of his body in preparation for the bitterness of the wind outside. He was so occupied with the cold that he almost crashed into his flustered clerk once he entered the office.

He was just starting to warm up again at his desk when he heard the door open and a familiar set of footsteps approach. He grinned to himself cheerfully, wondering what matter the blasted man had to bring to him today.

"What is the problem today, Higgins?" he called out before the owner of the footsteps had turned the corner to John's private office.

"No problem, master," the rough man spoke as he appeared. "Unless it's the wretched cold we must endure in order to speak our grievances to you."

"I'm afraid I can do nothing to alter the weather to suit you or anybody, Higgins. That must be left to a higher authority than a mere mill master."

Higgins harrumphed in response. "Then that authority, if it exists at all, must be having a good joke at our expense."

John hid a smile. He'd had enough exposure to Higgins' heretical views to know there was no good involving himself in a theological discussion. He would leave that to more learned men who knew better how to express their knowledge and faith. Besides that, it was clear that discussing the existence of a Higher Power was not the purpose of Higgins being in his office. Most likely he was looking for a good jaw and an excuse to stay out of the cold himself. With that in mind, John motioned to the chair on the other side of his desk, silently inviting Higgins to sit.

As he did so, John quickly marveled to himself. Three months before, it would have been unheard of for a hand to approach him for anything beyond a formal request related to the business of the mill. Even more unheard of would have been him allowing that hand to sit in his presence. He would not style himself an easy-going man, and he was hardly relaxing his standards of work practice, but his association with Higgins had quickly extended beyond master and man. Judgments and assumptions they had both made were being challenged, and views were being changed. What a transformation. Who knew what kind of man he would be in a year if this continued?

"How is Tom getting on?" he inquired. "He must be overwhelmed, going to school now."

Higgins nodded shortly. "He's getting on well enough. You know as well as me that he flies through those books faster than you can lend 'em. Now he's got a real reason to read, and he won't stop clapping on about 'em. I don't know if I should thank or curse you for helping him get set up in that school."

John smiled in response. "By all means, thank me, if you can't make your mind up about it. I enjoyed my education, however curtailed it was. I would not have that opportunity denied to any boy if it is within my power."

"You'd best be careful with that kind of talk around the other hands; they may overcome their pride and come clemmin' to you for their own little ones. If I can do such a thing, they could."

Knowing what credit Higgins had with the other hands, John had to admit that such a thing was more than possible. But it was too soon to suggest a general scheme for educating the children; he had yet to broach his idea with Higgins about a scheme for providing a meal at wholesale price to the workers. He needed to think on how to approach the suggestion without it smacking of charity. Another question for another time.

"Well, I am glad to hear he is thriving on his schooling."

"You're not the only one to be glad of it, master. Others take an interest in them children."

"Others?"

"The old parson and his daughter."

It took a great deal of self-control for John to keep his face under regulation. Although Margaret Hale had been instrumental to their working together, he and Higgins hardly ever discussed her or her father. Perhaps Higgins had taken his cue from John, for both knew perfectly well that Higgins occasionally called on the Crampton house. For his part, John had no desire to dwell overmuch on Miss Hale, and he could hardly think of Mr. Hale without a twinge of guilt. He barely visited his old friend and tutor any more.

"How is Mr. Hale?" He was afraid of his voice cracking and betraying his feelings as he spoke.

Higgins gave him a quick, strange glance, but replied, "Low, I'm afraid. Very low. He might remember he's got a daughter to love, and a rare one she is, too, but he'll not recover from his wife's death, if you ask me. He's suffering too much of loneliness. He's got his pupils, such as they are, but he thinks he's got no one to speak of them to."

If Higgins knew that each word he spoke smote John with a painful sting, he gave no indication. He simply spoke as he saw. "I've got no cause to speak so, I know, master, and in his way he loves that young miss and shows it, but it's a bad time of year to be lonesome. You only remember those who are gone and forget those who try to make a go of life with you." Higgins himself hung his head with this final statement. He had also endured a painful loss this past year, and was far from forgetting it.

John could easily imagine the state that Mr. Hale was in, suffering for the loss of his wife. But in his own thoughts he was most aligned with Higgins. Mr. Hale had Margaret, and that should be enough to be a balm to any pain. What John would have given for such a privilege, no matter the bitter grief he endured for her sake. It had been months, and yet if she spoke one word, he would have prostrated himself at her feet. He would not drag her down to falsehood and concealment if he had the gift of her love. His painful passion for her had not abated, and he was unsure if it ever would.

"I am sorry," he replied softly, hoping that Higgins would understand all he gave sympathy for. "It is difficult to forget those you love."

"We should not be asked to," Higgins responded gruffly.

"You are right. 'Forget' was the wrong word. I would not wish to forget . . ." he trailed off, his mind free to focus on Margaret now that she had been mentioned.

"I suppose your father had his good points, just as you do," Higgins said, looking straight at him with a keen eye.

John started at this. He had not considered his father, although he was grateful that Higgins interpreted his words that way. He did not wish for another confidant regarding Margaret Hale. Taking a moment to realize Higgins' words, he finally gave a rueful smile. "So I have my good points, do I?"

Leaning back in the chair, Higgins half-smiled himself. "I'll not be telling you of them, master; don't think it would do you good to get puffed up. But there are one or two points in you that are like a man, and that's more than I once thought."

John shook his head in amusement. "I welcome the compliment, Higgins."

"Call it a gift, if you like, considering the season."

His smile deepened at the crusty tone that accompanied the words. Higgins didn't seem to realize it, but he was a rare man, and John was more grateful than he'd care to admit for the privilege of knowing and wondering at him. Each man confounded the other oftentimes, but there was something bracing in sharing the company of another man who valued frankness and honesty in his speech, no matter the offense he may cause.

Higgins shifted in the chair, evidently wishing to change the subject. "But as to the old parson, he's got little to keep him from thinking on his wife. Me, I've got more little ones than I ever thought to care for, and that keeps me living. He needs something or someone to liven him up a bit."

John's smile disappeared rapidly. How to speak her name without giving himself away was a constant struggle, but he must do it if Higgins insisted on speaking of her father. "Miss Hale, I suppose, tries her best."

"Aye, she does, master. She does. But she's always in the house; he needs some variety." Again he fixed John with a shrewd eye. "And she shouldn't have to bear the weight so alone. She's been called on too much already since they've come here. Even she might break, strong as she is."

With no one to bear her up! The forlorn thought broke into John's mind and heart with a painful stab. Where were those who would bear Margaret's burdens? Where was the man from that night at the station? Higgins was right; even an Amazon such as Margaret could collapse under the sorrow she had borne in Milton. But what could he do? He had no right to do anything for her, much as he longed for the chance.

A slight movement by the window brought John back out of his thoughts, and he had to mentally shake himself. This had not been at all the kind of conversation he had expected when Higgins stepped inside, and he had to get back to his work. He could not dwell on such distressing images.

When he sat up a little straighter in his chair, Higgins seemed to respond in kind. Perhaps he had not meant for the turn in their conversation and was grateful for an escape, as well.

"Well, master, I'll be getting back on." He stood quickly, and with a nod was soon gone.

There was much to attend to in his duties, and John threw himself back into his work with as much energy as he could, both for the sake of his business and to forget the stinging guilt and sympathy aroused by his conversation. And it could not be said he didn't do well or neglected his work, but as to forgetting . . . that was a different story entirely. The Hales had been brought to the forefront of his mind today, and they would not leave.

John worked tirelessly until long after the bells had sounded to send the workers to their homes, and when he finally did allow himself to stop, he pushed his chair back from the desk, exhausted with his efforts on both counts. Any who would have seen him could not have guessed at the agony of his indecision, wishing he could offer assistance somehow to the Hales and yet being afraid to see her. She had scoffed at his love, and had turned away when he begged for an answer to her behavior. She could not wish him in her home, much as she despised him. But for her to be alone . . . for his friend, Mr. Hale . . .

With quick resolution, he leaned back over his desk and wrote a brief note. He knew what he must do, and he would do it, no matter how painful. He sealed the note, and left it on his clerk's desk to be attended to in the morning. And now to prepare himself, to steel himself for her presence, for he would need as much time as possible to bolster himself.

Two days later, he knocked at the old familiar door to the house in Crampton.

A/N: It's been a long while since I've written anything, although plot bunnies are always coming into my head. But this one I decided to actually kind of follow through with. It'll be pretty short, just two or three (at most four) chapters; I just wanted to write something nice for Christmas. It is thanks to the Victorians that we in the Western world have the Christmas traditions we do, but North and South, although published a good 10 years after Dickens' A Christmas Carol, still takes place pretty early in the Victorian era, and there wasn't nearly the kind of pomp we give it now. So it totally makes sense that when Gaskell wrote, there was absolutely no mention at all of the holiday, especially since it has nothing to do with her story. In terms of book chronology and when this is taking place, it's pretty much at the end of Chapter 40, titled, "Out of Tune", when Gaskell mentions briefly winter months passing. I think it's amazing that in a matter of just a couple paragraphs, months pass! So most of the action of the story has taken place, and a lot of what we would term the character development has happened. Which makes it nice and easy for me. :) So I'm inserting this in there to take place at Christmas, because I think Margaret and Mr. Thornton deserve a nice holiday.