A Mother in the Making (6 page)

For the first time, she genuinely liked him.

Another yawn overtook her, and her eyes watered from its force. She dragged her feet across the room and switched off the floor lamp. She would think about the good doctor in the morning when she had control over her thoughts and emotions.

She slipped
Peter Pan
onto her nightstand and took off her wrapper. She kicked her slippers off and pulled back the covers. With a sigh, she climbed between the sheets and allowed every muscle in her body to relax as she sank deep into the mattress.

Her eyelids fluttered closed as a soft smile tilted her lips. Bed had never felt better in her life.

Laura's whimper drifted into Marjorie's bedroom.

Marjorie's eyes opened. “Please, no,” she whispered into the dark room.

She held her breath as the baby quieted. The ticking of the hall clock was the only sound.

Marjorie let out the breath and closed her eyes again—but this time Laura's unmistakable cries filled the night.

Marjorie flipped onto her stomach and pulled the pillow over her head. “No,” she fairly cried. Why couldn't the baby sleep for longer than two hours at a time?

Laura's cries grew in intensity and Marjorie finally pushed the covers back and practically fell out of the warm bed. Her slippers were somewhere in the abyss of darkness, and her wrapper had fallen off the end of the bed and was probably pooled on the floor.

She flipped on the light, frustration making her movements quick and awkward. If she didn't quiet Laura, Lilly would soon be awake, followed by Petey, and then she'd be up much longer reading to the little boy to put him back to sleep.

Marjorie quickly located her slippers and tossed her wrapper on as she exited her room and tiptoed into the nursery. Lilly's bed was against the far wall, where a swatch of moonlight filtered into the room in an elongated rectangle from the window. The girl was still asleep.

Laura's cries grew louder and Marjorie's own eyes filled with tears. She just wanted to sleep.

Marjorie arrived at the cradle and peeked over the edge. Laura's face was scrunched up and she was wailing at the top of her lungs.

“Shh,” Marjorie whispered, jostling the cradle.

Laura immediately quieted and her eyes opened. She looked at Marjorie and a sweet smile lifted her chubby cheeks, a coo bubbling from her mouth.

Marjorie's shoulders relaxed and her tension melted away. She put her hand over Laura's chest and felt her heart beating a steady rhythm.

So this was what unconditional love felt like.

“You silly baby. You're just lonely.”

Laura gurgled and grinned.

Marjorie's eyelids felt heavy and her mind was foggy, but she smiled back at the little creature inside the cradle. Affection replaced the irritation, and Marjorie reached in and lifted the baby into her arms. She put Laura up to her shoulder and began to sway, patting her on the back as she hummed a lullaby her governess had sung to her as a child.

Pain filled Marjorie's chest as she thought of her childhood, and her parents, and all the disappointment Marjorie had caused them before she left Chicago.

Would her parents ever forgive her for rejecting Preston? If their initial response was any indication, the answer was no.

Laura's downy head fit perfectly into the crook between Marjorie's neck and shoulder, and she nuzzled in. Marjorie laid her cheek against Laura's hair. She wouldn't think about her parents or Preston right now. Instead, she would enjoy the sweet innocence and acceptance from the little girl in her arms.

In just three days, Marjorie had somehow fallen in love with these children. Though it was the hardest work she had ever done in her life, and she was exhausted beyond all reason, she had never felt so accomplished.

Her father's words visited her again.
You're a quitter, Marjorie, and you'll never change.

Would she quit on the Orton family? It seemed everything in her life had eventually become too difficult to deal with, and it was easier to just walk away.

But this time it felt different. This time, the idea of leaving these precious children and their grieving father didn't hold any appeal...at least not until she helped Dr. Orton find a wife.

Chapter Six

M
arjorie stood outside the impressive home of Mayor and Mrs. Kingston, Laura on her right hip and Petey standing to her left. The little boy still refused to hold her hand, but at least he came with her willingly. He wore a wool cap on his sandy-blond hair and a thick wool peacoat hugged his body. In his hand was a toy airplane with a gray fuselage and red wings that Marjorie had just bought for him at the mercantile. Despite Dr. Orton's warning, she had taken the two children back to the store—but this was a necessary trip, and under his specific instructions, she was allowed to bring the children into public for necessary purposes.

The way Petey's face had lit up when she handed him the toy was crucial for the health and well-being of their relationship, even though it did eat into the modest allowance Dr. Orton had given her for the children's expenses. And in a way, it felt like a bribe.

“Now, you'll be on your best behavior?” Marjorie asked Petey.

He pulled the airplane to his chest and looked at Marjorie without smiling.

It was the only answer he would give—though she didn't know what it meant.

Marjorie took a deep breath and knocked on the Kingstons' front door. Their ornate Queen Anne Victorian boasted a large wraparound porch, deep bay windows and extravagant trimmings.

Oh, if only this chore was finished! Marjorie hated to grovel, and she detested women who wielded their power in such a shameless manner. Marjorie had been the victim of many society ladies when she jilted Preston, and she had wanted to be done with them forever. That was yet another reason she was going to California.

But she also hated the idea of Lilly, and ultimately Dr. Orton, suffering. How would Marjorie find a new wife for the doctor if no one came to her party?

The front door was opened by a maid in a black-and-white uniform. “May I help you?”

Marjorie took a deep breath. She wanted to be an actress, didn't she? Well this would be a perfect time to practice. She could pretend to be contrite, and even boost the woman's ego, if need be. Anything to get into her good graces.

Marjorie extended her calling card toward the maid. “I'm here to see Mrs. Kingston.”

The maid clasped her hands in front of her apron without touching the card. “I'm sorry, but Mrs. Kingston only receives visitors on Friday mornings from ten o'clock until noon.”

Friday morning? But the damage would be done by Friday morning.

Laura grabbed at Marjorie's nose and Marjorie had to push her hand aside. “But I must see her today. It's a matter of great urgency.”

The maid was small and pale, her eyes too large for her delicate face. “I'm sorry.”

“Is the good lady home?” Marjorie asked.

The maid hesitated. “Yes, she is, but—”

Marjorie let out a relieved breath and lifted the card toward the maid once again. “Good. Please tell her Miss Marjorie Maren is here to call.”

“But—”

“Tell her I am the Ortons' governess. I think she'll want to see me.” Marjorie swallowed hard before she uttered the next words. “Tell her I've come to apologize for my rude behavior.”

The maid looked over Marjorie and the children shivering in the cold. She finally took the card. “Won't you step into the foyer? I'll see if Mrs. Kingston will receive you.”

“Thank you.”

Marjorie led the children inside and was duly impressed with the interior. A wide oak stairway ascended to their left, and a little alcove sat just in front of it with a built-in bench. Two generous archways displayed a lavish front parlor and a richly appointed dining room.

“You may have a seat.” The maid indicated the bench and then looked at Marjorie's card before disappearing up the stairway.

Petey toyed with his airplane while Laura grabbed at Marjorie's bonnet. She managed to remove a silk flower and Marjorie allowed her to gum it. At least the baby was occupied.

It felt as if an hour passed, but the hall clock claimed it was only twenty minutes before Mrs. Kingston descended the stairs in a beautiful morning gown. She took her time, placing one slippered foot in front of the other, gliding her hand along the banister in what appeared to be a deliberate act of disdain.

Marjorie wanted to roll her eyes, but instead she stood and took a deep breath, pasting a smile on her face.

The woman finally stopped in the foyer. “I don't receive callers on Tuesdays, but I'm making an exception, because I believe you have something very important to say to me.”

“It's so good of you to see me now. I hope this isn't an inconvenient time.”

“Of course it is.” Mrs. Kingston looked down her thin nose at Marjorie. “It isn't Friday.”

Marjorie managed to look repentant, though she didn't feel apologetic. She might as well get this over with. “I'm here to apologize for my terrible behavior yesterday.”

Mrs. Kingston lifted one eyebrow. “Go on.”

Marjorie had practiced this little speech all the way over from the mercantile, but perhaps she should have practiced it even longer. Suddenly, looking at the conceited face of Mrs. Kingston made her forget everything she had planned to say.

She wished she could tell her that she had been engaged to Preston Chamberlain, the heir to one of the largest railroad fortunes in the country. Maybe that would impress the mayor's wife—but what would it matter now? Marjorie refused to use Preston's name—or draw attention to the past.

“I do hope you'll accept my apology. I'm sorry I spoke to you in such a manner, and I'm sorry the children's behavior displeased you.”

“Did Dr. Orton request this meeting?” Mrs. Kingston asked.

“Yes, he did.”

“It wasn't your idea to come on your own?”

Marjorie swallowed once again as Laura's drool dripped from her chin and landed on Marjorie's bare wrist. “It was also my idea. As soon as I realized my mistake, I knew I needed to make amends. I do hope you won't hold any ill will toward Dr. Orton's family.”

“Will you allow the children to be so disruptive in the future?”

The children hadn't been disruptive, not in the least. They were just being children. Marjorie wanted to tell Mrs. Kingston this, but she recalled Dr. Orton's words. Her tea party must be a success for Lilly and for Dr. Orton. She dipped her head, as any good actress would do in such a scene, and spoke in a remorseful voice. “Of course not.”

“Very well.” Mrs. Kingston lifted a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her upper lip, as if the ordeal of this conversation had caused perspiration. “I will forgive this blunder, but only because the doctor's children are grieving, and are not in their right mind.” She lifted the confounded eyebrow once again. “You, however, have no excuse.”

Marjorie was grieving, in her own way, being ostracized by her parents—but she would never reveal this to Mrs. Kingston. “You're right. There is no excuse for me.” Marjorie hated every single word she spoke, but she had no choice. She must pander to this society matriarch for the success of her plans. “Please forgive me.”

Mrs. Kingston dipped her head. “You're forgiven. But I will be watching you closely, Miss Maren. I'm aware that you have a tea party planned for Sunday afternoon, and you've invited a number of prominent women to Dr. Orton's home. Anyone who enters into the upper echelons of my society will be expected to behave properly. See that you do.”

Marjorie ground her teeth and nodded. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.” She put her hand on Petey's shoulder. “I need to get the children home for their morning nap.”

Mrs. Kingston took a step back and rang a bell on top of a hall table.

The maid appeared immediately and opened the front door for Marjorie and the children.

“I have high expectations from you, Miss Maren. See that you don't act so foolishly in the future.”

Marjorie turned and offered a drippy-sweet smile. “I'll endeavor to do my best. Goodbye.”

She walked out of the house, her head high, with Petey beside her. She disliked when other people brought out the worst in her.

“Now that this distasteful task is done, I will turn my full attention to the tea party once again,” Marjorie said to Petey, who didn't bother to acknowledge her. “There is so much to be done.”

They walked the five blocks back to the Orton home in silence. Laura fell asleep on Marjorie's shoulder and Petey plodded along, inspecting every inch of his tin airplane. The sun shone bright in a cloudless sky and though it was still chilly, the streets and walkways had melted, creating mud.

“It looks like your father is home,” Marjorie said to Petey when she spotted the doctor's Model T next to the carriage house. “I hope he's resting.”

“Papa!” Petey raced down the sidewalk and quickly climbed up the front steps.

Marjorie picked up her pace to catch him, not wanting the boy to barge in on his father and wake him up. “Petey,” she called, but he was already stepping through the door.

Marjorie placed her hand on Laura's back to keep her upright, and then ran the last few feet across the yard. The mud beneath her feet became slippery and before she could right herself, she slid to the ground, hitting her bottom hard against the cold mud.

Laura woke, startled, and let out a whimper.

The front door opened wider and Dr. Orton appeared, Petey at his side. His concerned gaze swept over Marjorie and he strode across the front porch, down the stairs, and arrived at Marjorie in two seconds. “Are you all right?”

Her backside stung and one of her best dresses was probably ruined, but other than that, it was only her pride that hurt. Heat filled her cheeks and she couldn't meet his eyes. “I think so.”

“Here, let me take Laura.” He reached down and took the baby from Marjorie's arms, quickly examining the child. “She appears to be fine.”

Mrs. Gohl arrived at the front door and came down and took Laura from Dr. Orton. She ushered Laura and Petey into the house, leaving Dr. Orton with Marjorie.

He extended a hand toward her, and she finally glanced up into his worried face. She would much rather he leave her to walk the path of shame on her own, but it didn't look like he was going anywhere.

She put her gloved hand into his and allowed him to tug her to her feet. Cold fabric clung to her legs, and mud dripped from her skirt. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm positive.”

“Do you hurt?”

She couldn't lie. “A bit.”

He placed his hand on the small of her back and probed her muscles. “Did you jar anything out of place?”

His gentle hand ran up the length of her spine. Though his touch was purely platonic, it sent a warm sensation through Marjorie and she abruptly stepped away from him.

“Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine. Nothing a bath and a change of clothes won't fix.”

He studied her for another moment, though she couldn't discern his thoughts. “I'm happy you're here. I'm going to the hospital again and wanted to let you know I am having a dinner guest tomorrow night. She will be bringing along her four children—I hope you'll entertain them and see that they are fed.”

“She?” Marjorie temporarily forgot about her muddy clothing—or the fact that he was returning to the hospital again.

Dr. Orton stood a bit straighter. “Yes, Mrs. Winifred Jensen. She is an old family friend.”

Was the doctor considering her for a wife? And, if so, would she fit the criteria Marjorie had listed for him? “Yes, I can see to the children.”

She would see to Mrs. Jensen, as well.

* * *

John stood in his bedroom, staring at his reflection in his floor-length mirror. Why was he taking such pains to dress for dinner tonight? He had known Winnie Jensen for years and had never once thought about his appearance in her presence.

But tonight was different. Tonight he would interview her for the position of mother to his children. The thought still made his insides twist in grief and disbelief. No doubt Winnie was feeling the same way. Neither one of them would have chosen this course. It had been thrust upon them without consultation or permission.

John had accepted Anna's death as God's will—after all, he was a physician and was familiar with loss—but it still hurt and he had moments of anger when he wanted to demand an answer—yet he couldn't bring himself to speak to God. Not yet.

He unwound his necktie and tossed it onto his bed. It wasn't quite right for this evening. He opened his drawer and lifted another one out, inhaling the scent of Anna's lavender sachet from the drawer beneath his.

Anna's touch was still present in their bedroom. John could see her in the billowy curtains at the large windows, the hand-quilted spread on the bed and the woven rugs on the floor. Her clothes still hung in the wardrobe and her reading glasses—which she despised—were on the Bible next to her side of the bed. Would his second wife demand that he box all of Anna's things up and bring them to the attic?

If the children didn't need a mother, he would never conceive of such a plan. He had considered allowing a governess to raise them—not Miss Maren, but someone with more experience. In the end, he had concluded they needed a permanent woman in their lives. And what was more permanent than marriage?

“Dr. Orton?”

John's bedroom door was ajar and he turned to find Miss Maren standing in the hall. “Yes?”

“May I have a word with you please?”

He had hoped to speak with her about the letter he had received from his mother just that morning, but now wasn't a good time. It had been filled with gossip about life in Chicago, and news about John's brother, Paul, and his new wife, Josephine. But the letter had been strangely empty about Miss Maren until the very end. Mother had simply said: “I hope you're finding Marjorie to your liking. I knew her joyful disposition would be good for you and the children at this time. Please send her my best.”