"In Glorious Sunlight"

Her soul would walk in glorious sunlight if any man was worthy, by his power of loving, to win back her love." – John Thornton, North and South

i.

Richard Hale closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath before lifting his hand and rapping his knuckles lightly against the frosted glass pane of the door before him.

"Come," a deep voice called from within and pushing the door open, he took two steps into the office beyond.

"Mr. Hale!"

Surprise colored John Thornton's voice as he looked up to find his friend and mentor hovering in the doorway.

"Come in." Thornton rose from his seat and gestured toward a chair on the opposite side of his desk. "Please, sit."

Mr. Hale stood behind the proffered chair and swept the hat from his head, nervously running his fingers over the brim.

"Is ought wrong, Mr. Hale?" Concern darkened the icy blue of his eyes. "Has Mrs. Hale taken a turn?"

"No, no. It is nothing to do with my wife… well, that is to say that she is quite upset. That is…"

Mr. Hale squared his shoulders and drew himself erect.

"John… Mr. Thornton. My wife and I have heard… well, I mean to say that our maid, Dixon, has come to us with a most alarming tale."

A shuttered look stole over Thornton's face, for he could well imagine what Mr. Hale was about to say.

"A story about Miss Hale and… me?"

Mr. Hale pressed his lips together and nodded.

"What have you heard?" Thornton listened quietly as the older man haltingly related the events which had unfolded after the strikers had stormed the mill two days prior.

"Is it true?" the former clergyman asked.

"What does Miss Hale say?" Thornton hedged, wondering if father had spoken to daughter on the subject.

"I have not yet spoken with her," Mr. Hale confessed. "I do not wish to alarm or upset her if it is merely idle gossip and lies."

"I see." Stalling, Thornton neatly stacked the papers he had been working on and carefully placed his pen directly in the center of the topmost sheet as though his life depended on the proper organization of his desk. At last he raised his gaze to meet the other man's.

"It is true."

Mr. Hale reached out, groping with one hand for the back of the chair, his slight frame drooping under the weight and implication of the younger man's words.

"Please." Thornton rose and walked around the desk. "Won't you sit, Mr. Hale? You look quite ill."

He guided his teacher into the chair and poured a measure of water from a carafe into a waiting glass, pressing it into the other man's hand before returning to his own seat.

Mr. Hale raised the glass to his lips with a trembling hand, dazedly wiping his fingers over the damp spot on his coat as water sloshed over the rim of the glass.

"My God," he finally whispered.

"Miss Hale acted honorably, though misguidedly, in attempting to protect me from an unruly mob."

"I see." Mr. Hale nodded and ran an agitated finger around and around the rim of the glass held in his hand.

"Mr. Thornton… John. I am not the type of man to make demands of another. But surely…" He looked up, met the other man's gaze squarely with his own. "Surely you understand. My wife and I are concerned about the damage this will wreak on Margaret's reputation."

"Of course, Mr. Hale. I do understand, but –"

Mr. Hale closed his eyes and into his head popped the memory of Mr. Bell's suggestion that there was something more between Margaret and John Thornton than met the eye.

"I do beg your pardon for asking, John, but… am I mistaken in my belief that you hold tender feelings for my daughter?"

Thornton shoved his chair away from his desk and leapt to his feet. Prowling about the room with the suppressed violence of a caged animal, he paced toward the window.

"Mr. Hale, I can only suggest that you speak with your daughter." He stared sightlessly through the soot covered glass at the activity in the mill yard below.

"Margaret is a lovely young woman. Accomplished and well-educated. She would make any man a fine wife."

Thornton sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool glass in an attempt to alleviate the fever which seemed to burn beneath his skin.

"You do not need to convince me of your daughter's qualities, Mr. Hale," he growled thickly. "But if you must continue on in this vein, I urge you to speak with her first."

"But, John, surely you can understand. I cannot speak with her without first… She is my daughter. My beautiful, kind and sweet girl. I must insist on your assurance –"

" – I have already presented myself to Miss Hale and have been turned away!" The words burst from Thornton's throat as if ripped out of him by an unseen force. Ashamed by his lack of control, Thornton scrubbed his hands over his face.

"I can only repeat what I have said already, Mr. Hale," he continued on in a dull voice, "please, speak with Miss Hale."

"You proposed?" Mr. Hale asked in surprise. "When?"

"Yesterday." Exhausted, Thornton released the normal grip he held on propriety and sagged against the wooden frame of the window. "I came to see Miss Hale yesterday to offer my hand and was summarily rejected."

Mr. Hale studied his friend's dejected posture. "I'm sure Margaret did not wish to impose on what she saw as a proposal made from duty alone," he began. "If you made her aware of your feelings, then I feel certain –"

Thornton continued to stare through the window.

"And I am certain you are wrong, sir." He raised a finger and traced idle patterns over the glass. "Though not in all things." He turned and propped his back against the window, folding his arms defensively across his chest.

"You are correct in that I am in love with your daughter." A flush stained the skin stretched over his cheekbones. "And I had hoped that her actions of two days ago were evidence that she returned those feelings, even if only in some small manner. But Miss Hale quickly disabused me of any such notion when I pled my case to her. She is aware of my tender feelings and has left me with little doubt that she finds them to be offensive in the extreme."

"Surely not, John. You must have misunderstood," Mr. Hale protested.

"I can assure you, sir, there was no room for misinterpretation." Thornton raised his head and met the older man's gaze squarely with his own. "I will not repeat our conversation for that is a private matter between your daughter and me, but I can tell you with all confidence… Miss Hale will not have me."

"I see." Mr. Hale took a sip of water to ease his dry throat before setting the glass down on the top of Thornton's desk. He sat back, his spine straight against the wooden chair, his hat neatly resting on his knees. Propping his elbows on the arms of the chair, he steepled his fingers against his mouth.

"I will take your advice and will go home now to speak with Margaret. But, John, I must insist – I cannot leave here without your word that you will do right by her."

"Sir! I must protest. I did not suggest you speak with her in order to have you plead my case."

"That is not my intent, John. But you must see – you must both see – Margaret's reputation risks permanent damage; indeed, her reputation already suffers. As her father, it is my duty to protect her."

"And will you not protect her from a loveless marriage?" Thornton murmured.

"But it will not be lacking in love, John. You love her and if I had any doubts as to that before, I know now that you do. It is written on your face."

"Aye. But where I love, she does not."

"I think you may be wrong, John, but even if you are correct, I believe… I believe that with time and familiarity, her feelings for you will grow to match your own."

"I fear I do not share your optimism, sir. Do not be surprised to find that Miss Hale rejects your mandate as she did my proposal. For not only does your daughter not return my love, I think you will find that she holds little, if any, respect for me. I believe she finds me coarse and wholly lacking in the virtues she attributes to a gentleman, let alone with regard to a potential husband."

"And will you forgive me when I suggest that I know my daughter better than you, John?" The older man smiled kindly at his friend and pupil. "I would no more consign you to a life of misery than I would Margaret," he promised. "My daughter is stubborn but she has a kind nature."

"Indeed, I know this to be true, but –"

Mr. Hale shook his head and rose to his feet. "You must trust me now, John. Be patient and I am confident that in the end your love for her will win the day."

Clapping his hat atop his balding head, he summoned up a cheerful smile and departed.

Thornton turned back toward the window and watched the former preacher cross the mill yard below. Pressing his forehead to the glass, John heaved a weary sigh. He did not share the confidence displayed in the older man's determined stride for he knew Margaret would not take kindly to being forced into a marriage against her will. If the best that could be said before was that she didn't like him, he knew she would hate him now.

What marriage would not be doomed to failure with so dismal a beginning?