A Mother in the Making (16 page)

“We were just about to go for a walk,” Mr. McCumsey said. “Please feel free to have a conversation here in the parlor.”

As the older couple left the room, Marjorie offered them a grateful smile.

Mrs. Worthington studied Marjorie as she waved her hand toward one of the chairs her parents had left. “Please have a seat.” Mrs. Worthington sat in the chair she had been occupying earlier and began to pour Marjorie a cup of tea. “I must confess I'm intrigued by your visit. Have we met before? Your name sounds familiar.”

“We have not, but I've heard a great deal about you. I'm sorry to hear about your late husband.”

Mrs. Worthington paused in serving the tea and looked down at the large diamond ring on her left hand. “Thank you. It was all so terribly sudden. I'm still a bit surprised to find myself back here in my hometown after being in Chicago for the last decade. I've only just arrived yesterday.”

“Yes, I know.” Marjorie nodded. “I've been told you know my employer, Dr. Orton.”

Mrs. Worthington's lovely blue eyes brightened and she leaned forward. “How is John?”

Marjorie swallowed a stab of jealousy at the familiar way she referred to him. “He's—” She took a deep breath. “He's fine, though he's mourning his own loss.”

“It's awful, isn't it?” Mrs. Worthington shook her head and handed Marjorie the cup of tea. “Anna and I were best friends as children. I was the one who introduced the two of them—had you heard that?”

Marjorie nodded. Dora had told her the whole story.

“I went to Northwestern University in Chicago,” Mrs. Worthington said, settling back into her chair. “My mother had so hoped I'd choose Smith, but I wanted to stay in the Midwest. New England can be so stuffy.” She took a sip of her tea and then lowered the cup, her cheeks filling with color. “That's where I met John.” She looked down and toyed with the teacup in her hand. “I suppose I fancied myself in love with him. And for a time, I thought he might love me, too. But Anna came to visit me, and once they met, I gave up all hope.” She lifted the teacup to her lips and took another sip.

Just as Marjorie had suspected. Mrs. Worthington had been in love with John. “Will you stay in Little Falls?”

Mrs. Worthington set down her cup and lifted a shoulder. “I don't know what I'll do. My husband and I had no children, so I have little to worry about in that regard. Of course, my parents have offered to let me stay here, but I don't know if I could settle back into small-town life. Thankfully my husband thought of the future, and I'll be comfortable for the rest of my life, so my options are endless.”

If Dora's information was correct, Mrs. Worthington's late husband had left her more than comfortable. He had left her a millionaire.

“Do you—” Marjorie licked her lips. “Do you suppose you'll marry again?”

Mrs. Worthington squinted at Marjorie. “I'm sorry, but who exactly are you?”

Marjorie smiled and tried to look innocent. “I'm Dr. Orton's governess.”

“Governess...” Mrs. Worthington's gaze drifted over Marjorie's attire, as if she didn't think Marjorie looked like a governess. “Your name sounded familiar. Do I know you from somewhere else?”

“I am from Chicago. Maybe you've heard of my father, Joseph Ma—”

“Of course! My husband spoke of Mr. Maren all the time. I can't recall your mother's name, though.”

“Her name is Esther.”

“Yes, that's it—and—” Her eyes grew round and she put her hand in front of her mouth. “No.” She shook her head. “You're not
the
Marjorie Maren, are you? Weren't you engaged to Preston Chamberlain?”

Marjorie adjusted her position and set her teacup down. “Yes.”

Mrs. Worthington leaned forward, as if to receive a bit of gossip. “Why ever did you leave him? Wasn't he the beau to catch last year?”

This conversation was not going how Marjorie had intended.

“What else do I recall?” Mrs. Worthington asked, touching her long fingernail to her chin. “Wasn't there a scandal about a married man? I seem to remember something about it in the newspaper.”

“All rumors.” Marjorie smiled, waving her hand aside in nonchalance.

“Maybe,” Mrs. Worthington said, lifting an interested eyebrow. “And maybe not.”

Marjorie cleared her throat. “I was wondering if I could ask you a question—about Dr. Orton.”

Mrs. Worthington didn't appear to want to change the subject. “However did you come to be John's governess? I had assumed you'd run away to be with the gentleman they mentioned in the papers.”

“One should never believe everything one reads in the newspapers.” Marjorie tried to laugh but didn't feel the humor. “About Dr. Orton...”

“Of course.” Mrs. Worthington smiled. “What did you have to ask?”

Marjorie took a sip of her tea to wet her dry mouth and then straightened her back. “Dr. Orton has four children.”

“Yes, I'd heard.”

“And—well, this is very awkward for me to say—but he's in need of a wife.”

“A wife?”

“I will be leaving after the first of the year, and Dr. Orton needs someone to help with the children.”

“A wife, you say?” Mrs. Worthington stood, her elegant black mourning gown flowing as she walked to the window. She crossed her arms and stared outside, but her gaze looked much farther away. “I never imagined John and I would be single at the same time.”

Marjorie also stood. “I heard from Anna's sister, Dora, that you were back in town, and I just thought—” She swallowed. “I thought maybe you and Dr. Orton could become reacquainted.”

“Reacquainted? Now, there's an interesting thought.” Mrs. Worthington turned, her gaze suddenly shrewd. “Why did you come here and tell me this, Miss Maren? What do you gain?”

“Gain?” Marjorie said the word as if it were tainted. “I gain nothing by coming here.”

“Surely you have some motive.”

“I simply care about Dr. Orton and his children, and hoped to reconnect old friends.”

Mrs. Worthington approached Marjorie. “All this is very interesting, but I hesitate to believe you. I've met very few people who don't have a selfish motive behind their acts of charity, which I suppose this is in some way. John is probably devastated at losing Anna, and his poor children are heartbroken. Someone needs to rescue all of them.”

“Marrying John would not be an act of charity.”

“John? Are you that familiar with the handsome doctor?”

Marjorie decided in that moment that she did not like Mrs. Worthington. “I believe I should take my leave.”

Mrs. Worthington studied her for a moment longer. “I still don't know what you gain from all this—but I really don't care. Now that I know John is in the market for a wife, I have a new direction in life.” She offered Marjorie a self-satisfied smile. “Thank you, Miss Maren.”

Marjorie's insides curled up, just like Petey did when he was upset. Something about the way Mrs. Worthington spoke told Marjorie that once she set her mind to something, she wasn't easily deterred. Nor did her prey often escape.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all.

Chapter Sixteen

M
arjorie stood near the parlor window, her eyes on the street.

“You're worse than the children, Miss Maren,” Miss Ernst said as she set a tray of hot apple cider on the table.

Marjorie looked at Lilly and Charlie, who also stood by the window, and the three of them giggled.

“Grandmother is coming,” Lilly said to Miss Ernst. “And it's almost Christmas.”

“Two reasons I'm also excited,” Marjorie added with a wink.

A beautiful evergreen tree stood proudly in the southwest corner of the room, waiting to be trimmed. Fresh pine boughs hung over the fireplace and doorways, red and gold ribbons dangling down. Clumps of mistletoe were placed in strategic spots all over the house, and elegant Christmas decorations adorned shelves and tables. The house looked perfect for a holiday celebration and everyone inside eagerly awaited their first guest.

“I wish Papa was here,” Charlie said, a bit forlorn.

“He'll be home in two days,” Marjorie promised. “Tomorrow he'll give his keynote address. Everyone must pray for him. It will be a difficult speech to give.”

“Because he's talking about Mama?” Lilly asked.

Marjorie placed her hand under Lilly's chin and nodded. “Yes, and also because he's speaking to a crowd of his peers. It's hard to—”

“She's here! She's here!” Charlie called, jumping up and down. “I see the taxicab.”

Marjorie and Lilly pushed aside the lace curtains and watched the cab stop in front of the house. The warm weather had continued, enabling the use of automobiles once again.

“Charlie, go out and help the cabdriver,” Marjorie said. “Lilly, take Petey's hand and bring him to the porch. I'll get Laura.”

The children did as they were told, and Marjorie ran up to the nursery and lifted the sleeping baby out of her crib.

Laura instantly awoke with a smile and Marjorie nuzzled her nose to the baby's. “Your grandmother is here to meet you.”

Laura cooed and gurgled in response.

Marjorie took the baby down the stairs and went to the front porch just as Mrs. Orton was coming up the sidewalk, a grin on her face.

“Grandmother!” Lilly raced down the steps and threw her arms around Mrs. Orton. “I've missed you.”

Mrs. Orton's kind brown eyes sparkled with mischief and joy as she hugged Lilly and Petey in her wide embrace. “I can't believe how much all of you have grown.” She put her hand on her chin as she surveyed Lilly and shook her head. “You look more and more like your mother every day.”

Charlie came from the cab, lugging a large suitcase and holding a hatbox in his other hand. A young man followed him up the walk. Marjorie didn't pay him any attention, thinking him the cabdriver—but then she took a double look. John?

But it couldn't be John, he was in Minneapolis.

“Paul?” Marjorie said the name out loud and drew both his and Mrs. Orton's attention.

“Surprise,” Paul said, grinning at Marjorie.

“Is that my newest granddaughter?” Mrs. Orton asked.

Marjorie held up the baby and Mrs. Orton was rewarded with a wet smile. “This is Laura.”

Mrs. Orton took Laura in her hands, tears coming to her eyes. “Why, hello, little one. I'm your grandmother.”

Not wanting to intrude on this tender scene, Marjorie turned her attention on their surprise guest. “I didn't know you were coming.”

Paul stood just as tall as John and had the exact same eye and hair coloring, but their facial features were unmistakably different, though equally handsome.

“Are you happy to see me?” Paul asked. “I'm thinking after what happened last time—”

Marjorie put her finger up to her lips to quiet him.

Mrs. Orton continued to fawn over the baby while the other children spoke all around her. Hopefully no one heard his statement.

“I am happy to see you.” She glanced at the cab as it pulled away. “Your wife isn't here?”

Paul shook his head, his countenance troubled.

Marjorie's lips grew tight as she put her hand on his arm. “I'm sorry.”

“I'll tell you all about it later.”

“Now, Marjorie.” Mrs. Orton turned away from the children and Marjorie dropped her hand off Paul's arm. “I want a hug from you, too, dear. And I want to hear all about your experiences as a governess.”

Marjorie gave her longtime friend a hug, reveling in the familiar faces from back home.

“Papa won't be here for two more days,” Lilly said. “But we'll have plenty of fun until he gets here. We've been waiting for you to help us trim the tree.”

“My favorite thing to do,” Paul said. “Are there gingerbread men to hang on the boughs and popcorn to string?”

“Yes!” Lilly said. “And we even have candy canes.”

Paul rubbed his belly. “Keep them away from me.”

Charlie lagged behind just a bit, his smile not reaching the magnitude Marjorie had expected. She reached out and took the hatbox out of his hand. “Are you happy to see your grandmother and uncle?”

Charlie nodded. “I just wish Papa was here, too.”

Marjorie put her arm around his shoulders. “He'll be here soon.”

Marjorie and Charlie followed the others into the house. Though there were only two more people inside, the noise level increased until Marjorie could no longer hear herself think.

The luggage was brought upstairs where Mrs. Orton would sleep in the guest room and Paul would sleep in John's room, for now. After they were settled, Lilly insisted they decorate the tree.

Hours of fun and laughter passed, and eventually the children were all too sleepy to stay awake. Mrs. Orton insisted on helping Marjorie bathe them and put them to bed. It was a treat to have a bit of help. Charlie was the first to lie down, complaining of a headache, and the others soon followed.

Paul also went to bed, promising to have a nice long talk with Marjorie in the morning, but Mrs. Orton did not appear tired in the least. When Laura was finally asleep, Mrs. Orton touched Marjorie's sleeve. “Let's have a bit of tea before bed, shall we?”

The house was quiet as Marjorie brought the tea tray into the parlor where Mrs. Orton was sitting, watching the fireplace crackle. “John has made a wonderful home here.”

Marjorie set down the tray. “I see so much of Anna in the little details.”

Mrs. Orton nodded. “This is the first time I've been here without her. I had wanted to come to the funeral, but John had been so busy with the pandemic that they had been forced to bury her quickly and there wasn't any time for me to travel.” She sighed as she looked about the room. “It feels real now, her being gone.”

Marjorie sat on the wingback chair next to Mrs. Orton, the table between them, and began to pour the steaming tea.

“I'm proud of you, Marjorie,” Mrs. Orton said. “Even though Anna isn't here, there is no oppression hanging over the house. The children are happy and content, and the place feels vibrant and alive.” She smiled at Marjorie. “There's only one person to thank for all that. It's the reason I recommended you to John.”

Marjorie dipped her head at the compliment. “They are the most wonderful children in the world—truly. I'm amazed at their fortitude. But I cannot take all the credit. John has been a wonderful father through all this. I'm...” She paused, hoping to find just the right words. “I'm amazed at his strength and love. Though he's been grieving, he's truly looked beyond himself to see the needs of his children and the community.” She dropped a lump of sugar in Mrs. Orton's tea, and had to swallow the emotion clogging her throat. “He's a very special man.”

Mrs. Orton placed her hand over Marjorie's. “You're in love with him.”

Marjorie lifted her gaze and looked into Mrs. Orton's gentle face, ready to admit the truth to her friend. “I think I am.”

The older woman smiled. “I had hoped.”

“I never intended for it to happen,” Marjorie said quickly. “But I couldn't help myself. I've never known a man like him before in my life.”

“It does a mother's heart good to hear someone speak so highly of their child.”

“It's just—” Marjorie let out a sigh.

“It's just what?”

“It's so complicated. I only planned to stay until the first of the year.”

“Yes, I remember.” She took the tea from Marjorie's hand. “You're going to California to pursue acting.”

“You're the only person I told before I left.”

“Does John know?”

Marjorie nodded as she poured her own cup of tea. The delicious peppermint aroma filled her nose.

“Are you still going?” Mrs. Orton asked.

“Yes.”

“Even though you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Doesn't he care for you?”

Marjorie put two lumps of sugar in her teacup. “He—” She had always shared everything with Mrs. Orton, but somehow it was different talking about her son. “He asked me to stay.”

“Marjorie.” Mrs. Orton's voice filled with hope.

“But he doesn't love me.”

“Surely, with time...”

“No.” Marjorie shook her head. “I couldn't marry him, unless I knew he loved me with all his heart and was willing to have a marriage, in every sense. I couldn't take the risk that I would end up like my parents.” She stirred her tea, trying to sound stoic. “Besides, I can't give up now. My bedroom in Chicago is full of half-written manuscripts from when I wanted to be an author, and half-completed paintings from when I wanted to be an artist. I always quit when it gets hard—I'm not quitting this time. I want to bring joy to people who are hurting, or lonely, or afraid.”

Mrs. Orton was quiet for a moment. “There are a great number of hurting people in the world—and five of them live in this very home. In your quest to help thousands, you may miss the opportunity to help the five who matter the most to you.”

Marjorie looked down at her teacup, watching the steam spiral into the air. “I know what would happen if I stayed and married John. We would grow bitter and resentful toward each other. It would be horrible.”

Mrs. Orton touched Marjorie's chin, and Marjorie lifted her eyes.

“Marjorie, please don't give up on the love you have for John. It might be the very thing he needs to heal. There are many people who enter into a marriage for convenience, and grow to love each other later.”

What she said was true, but Marjorie wasn't willing to take the risk.

“Miss Maren?” Charlie stood at the parlor door, his cheeks bright red and his eyes glossy. “I don't feel well.”

Marjorie set down her teacup and hurried over to Charlie. She put her hand on his forehead. “You're burning up.”

“My throat hurts and my head hurts.” He swayed and Marjorie put her arms around him. “I want my papa.”

“Let's get you to bed,” Marjorie said.

Mrs. Orton joined her as she walked Charlie into the hall and up the stairs.

“What do you think it is?” Mrs. Orton asked.

Marjorie shook her head. “I don't know.”

“Do you think it's influenza?”

“It couldn't be. They've been getting their cinnamon oil every morning...” Marjorie paused. When was the last time she had given the children their cinnamon oil? It had been three days since John left—could it be three days since they'd had it?

“Should we call John?” Mrs. Orton asked.

“He gives his keynote address at the conference tomorrow evening. We can't call him home now.”

“What if Charlie has influenza?”

“We'll treat him here and if it gets worse, we'll send for Dr. McCall. He's as capable as John to see to Charlie's needs.” They couldn't call John home. It wouldn't be fair to the conferees or to John. “Charlie will be fine. We've got it all under control.”

She helped him to his bed and immediately brought him his cinnamon oil, hoping it wasn't too late.

* * *

John handed the cabdriver a generous tip. “Merry Christmas.”

“The same to you, Doc.”

The cab pulled away and John turned toward his house. The unseasonably warm December day invigorated his already good mood. The keynote address had gone well—very well. It had done him good to talk about Anna's death. In some ways, it was the closure he needed to move on. After sharing their story, and after John saw how it impacted other doctors, a part of him felt her death was not in vain.

His research into cinnamon oil had also been well received, and he'd talked to other physicians who had been using the same method. So little was known about the Spanish flu, but scientists across the planet were working hard to discover a cure. Until they had one, it would be doctors like John, and the others, who faced the battlefront with whatever weapons they could find—and for John, cinnamon oil was his weapon of choice.

He eagerly looked toward the house, excited to walk through his front door. It was the day before Christmas Eve, his mother should have arrived, there would be games and good food to eat, his children would be eagerly anticipating Christmas morning...and Marjorie would be with them.

The house looked strangely quiet as he strode up the front walk. A large wreath hung on the front door, and garland was strung on the porch railings. He had expected his children to be waiting at the windows, ready to search for the gifts he had brought them.

John opened the front door, a smile on his face. “Hello.”

No one greeted him at the door.

He stepped into the hall and closed the door. He set his satchel on the floor and took off his overcoat and hat. “Merry Christmas.”

Feet appeared on the stairway, and by the look of the hem of the elaborate gown, John knew it was Marjorie.

His heart stirred with joy. “Marjorie.” He started toward her.

Her face finally appeared, and he stopped his approach. She looked as if she hadn't slept in days, and fear lined her eyes and mouth. A white mask hung around her neck.