Page 24 of Through Darkened Clouds

It was a perfect day. Hay fields were golden in the bright morning sun, and soft white clouds drifted unhurriedly across a clear blue sky. Margaret took deep breaths of the fresh air as they ambled past a few cottages and onto a path through fields to the trees. She exulted in everything her senses could absorb—the warmth of sunlight on her hands, the trill of a lark, and the glorious view of a carpeted hill of grass and wildflowers with ancient trees behind.

It was a far cry from the walks she had taken in Milton, where there was hardly any place she could go to get away from the structures of man and their inhabitants. She wished Bessy could have seen this tranquil scenery. And no sooner had that thought appeared than another rushed in to follow: Mr. Thornton had visited this place. What had he thought of it, she wondered. It saddened her to think she would never know.

Margaret led her companion into the forest she loved and brought him to the bank of a narrow brook, the contemplation of Mr. Thornton trailing her at every step.

Here was her favorite place in all the world, and yet she could not shake off the troubling conviction that Mr. Thornton did not hold her in any regard. She began to realize she would never attain peace of mind unless she could explain to him the circumstances that pressed her to lie to the police inspector. He deserved to know the truth, she told herself. She would then be content and hope that someday—perhaps far in the future—he might look back and remember her as a friend.

She and Mr. Bell took a seat together on a large rock in a sunny clearing and listened to the rustling of leaves in the breeze and the rippling of the water.

Margaret could no longer contain her musing.

“Mr. Bell, have you ever done something you very much regret—so much that it vexes you relentlessly?”

“I’ve many regrets, but I’ve learned to put them aside and go on,” he replied. He studied her downcast manner. “Come now, you’re young and have your whole life before you to set things right.”

She sighed.

“I can’t imagine you’ve done anything so terrible as to mope about it on a day like today. What is it that is upsetting you, my dear? Perhaps a confession will clear the air,” he suggested.

“I told a lie.”

Mr. Bell jerked his head to stare at her. “Is that all? I’ve told many lies. I believe we all do, from time to time.”

“No, no. I lied—to the police. I lied when questioned about an incident I was involved in.”

“Now then, that does seem more serious, but don’t test my curiosity. What incident could you have been involved in?”

“It was when Frederick came to Milton--”

Mr. Bell halted, twisting around to face her. “Frederick came to England?”

“Yes, to see mama…just before she died.”

“Ah yes, I see…wait now…someone asked me if Frederick had come. Who was it?” he thought aloud. “Oh, yes, I recall.”

A silver-blue butterfly fluttered, nearly resting on Margaret’s knee, and then flitted away again.

“Now, what was this business about the police? Were they after Frederick?” Mr. Bell asked, his voice rising in concern.

“Yes…and no. I didn’t want Frederick to be caught, of course. You see, I took him to the train station—at night, so he could remain hidden. But an old enemy of his from home, Leonards was his name, was working there and recognized him. They scuffled, and Leonards fell onto the tracks. The train arrived on a different track just then, and Frederick swiftly took it.”

“Heavens, what a nightmare!” Mr. Bell exclaimed. “What of the Leonards fellow?”

“I peeked to see, and he lay still. But I was too shaken to do anything about it and hurried home. I couldn’t tell papa…”

“Of course you couldn’t. My dear, is there anything you have not endured?” Mr. Bell asked, studying her with a sense of awe.

“That is not all,” Margaret continued, dismissing his comment. “A day or so later, the police came to the house to ask questions. Someone at the station that night must have recognized me. The policeman asked if I was there… and I insisted I was not.”

She bowed her head, fidgeting with her hands. Looking up again, her expression revealed the guilt she carried. “I wasn’t certain Frederick was out of the country yet. He was, but I didn’t know it. I was frightened he might be caught and brought to trial…and so I lied. I know there is no excuse for it. And I wish every day that I had been honest.”

“Stay! Are you prostrating yourself before God over this? Why, you were only trying to save your brother. Anyone in your position might have done the same thing.”

“But it was wrong. And now he knows me as a liar,” she mumbled, almost to herself.

“Who? Frederick?” Mr. Bell asked, still astonished at her abashed state.

“No, Mr. Thornton,” she clarified, lifting her sad eyes up to meet his.