A Mother in the Making (9 page)

“Promise?”

She laughed and rested her head on his shoulder, just as she had done the day he met her when she was an eight-year-old girl.

“Ah.” Mother Scott exited the Scott home and stood on the front porch, a grin on her face. “I knew, given time, you two would come to your senses. When is the wedding?”

Dora groaned beside John.

They were still far enough away that Mother Scott couldn't hear them, but he lowered his voice and spoke for Dora's ears alone. “When are you going to tell her about Jeremiah?”

“Don't breathe a word,” Dora threatened under her breath. “I was going to tell her before Anna became sick, but since then, I haven't had the courage. She's been through so much, and now she has such high hopes for you and me.”

“Jeremiah won't be patient forever.”

Dora smiled up at John. “You may be surprised. He's the most patient man I know.”

“Why the wait?”

“I don't have the heart to leave Mother alone in this big house—and it would be cruel to you to have her across the street with nothing to occupy her time. She would spend her days interfering in your life.”

“And how would that be different than now?”

Dora laughed and pushed him playfully.

They drew closer to the Scott home and John fairly whispered, “Don't wait on our account. I want you to be happy. Life is too short to be without the one you love.”

She squeezed his arm and then pulled away and joined her mother on the front porch. “Thank you for walking me home, John. I had a wonderful day.”

Mother Scott displayed a triumphant smile. “I knew it. I just knew it.”

Dora kissed her mother on the cheek. “Sorry, Mother. John and I are not getting married.”

“Goodbye,” John called, leaving Dora to her mother.

Mother Scott harrumphed and John only smiled.

He turned back toward his house and took it all in. Anna had loved this house since she was a child, growing up across the street. When it came up for sale, they had quickly purchased the home, thinking they would take care of Mother Scott in her old age.

Mature oak, elm and maple trees covered the corner lot and small bushes hugged the foundation. Nooks, crannies and eves gave the house character, while the large front porch and stained-glass windows gave it class. Smoke curled out of the chimney—and Marjorie stood at the parlor window.

Marjorie.

The woman had become a strange and wonderful addition to his home. A spark of life had been lit and the flame was fanning brighter and brighter. He saw it in Charlie's grin, and Lilly's joy. They still had moments of sadness, but now they had someone new to talk to about their mama, someone who wasn't part of the pain, but part of a brighter future, if only for a little while.

Marjorie slipped away from the window, and the lace curtain fell back into place.

John put his hands in his pockets and kicked at a pile of leaves in the street. He still didn't know much about her past and hadn't had a chance to ask her. He had written to his mother again, asking for more details, but hadn't received a reply.

Though Marjorie drove him crazy at times, the children loved her. And that was worth far more to him than a few mishaps and unanswered questions.

Chapter Nine

“H
ave you been giving the children their cinnamon oil every day?” Dr. Orton asked Marjorie.

She nodded as she followed him to the back hall, not minding that he asked her this question every time he left the house. She knew how important it was to him. “Yes. They take it every morning with breakfast, just as you asked. Charlie and Lilly had it before they left for school this morning.”

“And what about you? Are you taking it?”

“Yes.” A yawn threatened to escape Marjorie's mouth and she quickly put her hand up to hide it.

Dr. Orton took his coat off the hook and looked her over with a critical eye. “Aren't you getting adequate rest, Miss Maren?”

Another yawn claimed victory and her eyes watered. “I think you're right, Laura must be teething. She hasn't slept more than two hours in a row since I arrived.”

“I've heard her.” Dr. Orton buttoned his black overcoat. “Put her teething ring outside to freeze—that might soothe her gums. You can also try some of the Steedman's numbing powder, but I've found it to be only slightly helpful. Other than that, there's little you can do but wait it out.”

“That's what I was afraid of.” Marjorie took his hat off the hook and handed it to him.

He paused and took the fedora. “Thank you. I know it isn't always easy to care for the children, but you're doing a fine job.”

His compliment brought warmth to her chest, but she couldn't find the words to thank him.

He studied her for a moment, as if trying to piece together a puzzle. “I would like to have a chat with you this evening. I have a few questions.”

“When will you be home?” she asked.

“By suppertime, I hope.”

So did Marjorie. Rachel Baker would be arriving at six o'clock and it was imperative that he was home. With the knowledge of Dr. Orton's marriage plans to Dora, Marjorie was racing against time.

Dr. Orton picked up his black medical bag and opened the back door. Cold air rushed into the hall as he took a step outside. He stopped and nodded at Marjorie. “See that you get a bit of rest this morning now that Petey and Laura are taking their naps.”

The suggestion sounded too good to be true. “I will.”

“I have a whole library of books at your disposal in my office,” he said. “Feel free to browse among them and choose something you'd like.”

She couldn't hide the surprise from her voice. “You wouldn't mind?”

“Not at all. What good are books if they aren't being read?” He touched the brim of his hat and then turned down the path leading to the carriage house and his waiting Model T.

Marjorie watched him for a few moments, admiring the cut of his wide shoulders under his black coat and the way he carried himself with determination and strength. Though he grieved Anna, he still found purpose in his work and in his family. He was not a man crippled under hardship, but had used his pain to reach outside himself and help others.

Was Marjorie doing the same with the hardships she had endured? Was she soaring toward new heights, accomplishing a job few women in her social circles had ever attempted? Or was she using the Orton family as a way to hide from the embarrassment of being turned out of her parents' home, and the fear of failing at her pursuit to be a film actress in California?

The jarring questions left her feeling unsettled.

It had been days since she thought of being in the movies. There had simply been no time to dwell on something that seemed so frivolous now that she had found purpose in caring for the lives of the Orton children. Did she still want to go to California?

Dr. Orton cranked his Ford and then jumped into the driver's seat. He glanced in her direction and she quickly closed the door, standing safely inside the warm hall, away from his serious gaze.

It didn't matter if she still wanted to go to California or not. Soon Dr. Orton would be married, and she would no longer be needed. If she didn't pursue a career in the movies, she would have nothing else. No other purpose. No other dreams. No home to go to. She would fail at yet another pursuit, just as her father said she would.

A shudder raced through her as she walked into the front hall.

The house was quiet with Petey and Laura in their beds. Miss Ernst was enjoying her morning off, and Mrs. Gohl had gone to the grocer's.

Marjorie walked toward Dr. Orton's office, her feet sluggish. Another yawn overtook her as she pushed the door open.

Without Dr. Orton's presence, the room felt like an uninhabited cave. Dark trim covered the room, with a wood-tiled ceiling and tall bookshelves along two walls.

Marjorie wandered over to the first shelf and lifted an eyebrow.
Little Women
. She hadn't expected to see that book in Dr. Orton's office, next to his large medical tomes. It had been one of Marjorie's favorites as a young girl.

She lifted it off the shelf and meandered to the leather sofa near the fireplace. The grate was empty, so she laid a fire and then curled up on the sofa, pulling an afghan over her legs.

A sigh escaped her lips as she nestled in for a good read.

Her eyes felt heavy, but she opened the book and read the first line: “‘Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents,' grumbled Jo, lying on the rug...”

Marjorie sat up with a start. The fire had dwindled down to embers and
Little Women
lay on the floor in a haphazard tilt. She sat up straighter, blinking several times.

How long had she been asleep? And what had awakened her?

Laura's cry filtered into the office.

Marjorie pushed aside the afghan and stood from the sofa. The room was surprisingly cold.

She reached down and picked up the book—and stopped short. Little scraps of paper littered the office floor.

Marjorie quickly scanned the room, her pulse ticking hard against her throat. At least a dozen books were strewn about, some lying open, others closed, and some bent in strange positions—but every single one was cut to shreds.

“No.” She shook her head as she raced to the first one. She picked up the thick book and turned it over to look at the cover.
Diseases of the Skin
. She dropped it on Dr. Orton's massive oak desk and picked up the next one, even thicker.
Gray's Anatomy, Descriptive and Surgical Guide
. “No, no, no.”

A pair of large kitchen shears caught Marjorie's eye next. She grabbed them from near a book entitled
Prescriptive Medicine
. Dozens and dozens of book pages had been cut out of each of them, scattered all over the room.

There could only be one explanation: Petey. But where was he?

A new fear overtook Marjorie as she glanced out the office door. Petey could be anywhere.

She raced out of the office and into the front hall. The entry was even colder than the office, and the front door was propped open.

Marjorie gasped. “No!”

She ran onto the front porch, the cold air biting at her skin. She had to find Petey. But where would she look?

She rushed around the side of the house. “Petey!” She yelled his name over and over until her voice became hoarse. “Petey!” He was nowhere in the yard. She looked in the carriage house, under all the bushes and inside the toolshed.

“What's the matter?” A shrill voice filled Marjorie's ears. Mrs. Scott. She stood on her front porch, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “Is Petey missing?”

Marjorie's heart pounded so hard she felt it pushing against her breastbone, making her chest ache. She hated to admit to the lady that the boy was gone, but she swallowed her pride. She needed help. “Yes. I can't find him anywhere.”

Mrs. Scott hurried off her porch, down the steps and crossed the street. “Did you look inside the house?”

“The front door was open.” Marjorie wrung her hands, frantically searching the neighboring lawns. “He could be anywhere!”

“Just because the door is open doesn't mean he's outside.” Mrs. Scott's voice was surprisingly calm. “Go look inside and I'll keep looking out here.”

Marjorie raced back up the porch steps and into the front hall. “Petey!”

Laura's cries filled the house, but the baby would have to wait. At least she was safe inside her cradle.

Suddenly Laura's cries stopped, and Marjorie paused as she looked under the dining room table. She stood and raced up the stairway. “Petey!”

She ran across the upper hall. The night nursery door was cracked open—but Marjorie had left it closed. She pushed open the door, clutching the knob, and found Petey standing beside Laura's cradle, zooming his airplane high over Laura's head.

“Petey.” Marjorie sank to her knees, breathing hard. “Thank You, God.”

Petey turned to Marjorie, his head tilted as he stared at her on the floor.

Marjorie pulled herself to her feet, her whole body shaking. “Petey, you scared me. I thought you were missing.”

He didn't say a word but turned back to Laura, flying his airplane for the baby's entertainment.

“Miss Maren?” Mrs. Scott called up the stairs.

“Petey's here,” Marjorie called back, her voice weak. “He's safe.”

Marjorie left the children in the nursery and descended to the hall where Mrs. Scott stood with her arms crossed. Gone was the levelheaded, concerned grandmother, and in her place was the mean old lady from across the street. She scowled at Marjorie. “Anything could have happened to that boy. What were you doing?”

Tears stung the back of Marjorie's eyes. “I fell asleep.”

Mrs. Scott shook her head, her gaze roving Marjorie in disdain. “I looked inside John's office. It appears you were sleeping for a while. John bought those books while he was in medical school and just after he came to Little Falls and started his practice. He and Anna scrimped and saved for months to buy one volume. Do you realize what Peter has done? What you've done?”

Marjorie put her hands to her temples, her stomach starting to roll.

She had failed at her job. That was what she had done.

* * *

John set the book on the circulation desk of the Carnegie Library and smiled at Miss Faulkner, the librarian. “I've been waiting for this one to be published.” When possible, he borrowed copies of new medical books from the library before investing in them for his home office.

The
People's Medical Adviser Book
had been published for laymen, but John liked to read books like this to know what his patients were reading, and whether or not it was sound advice. Inevitably he would get a patient that had followed some harebrained plan and needed more help in the end.

Miss Faulkner took the book from his hands and removed the index card from the front cover pocket. “How are the children? Will we be seeing them here for story time on Saturday morning? We miss them.”

Anna used to take the children to story time every Saturday, but since her death, and with the widespread disease, John had not even told Marjorie about their usual activities. “Things have been a bit difficult—”

Miss Faulkner lifted her slender hand. “Say no more. It was insensitive of me to ask.”

John studied her for a moment, struck with the realization that Miss Faulkner was considered an old maid by many people's standards, but she was probably only in her late twenties. She was tall and slim, with dark brown hair pulled back in a bun and a plain face. Her lips were pretty, if lips could be.

She lifted her eyebrows as she looked back at him. “Did I insult you? If I did, I'm so sorry.”

John shook his head. “No. I'm fine.”

She stamped the index card and put it in a long, narrow file drawer. “The book is due in three weeks.” She handed it back to him, a pleasant smile on her face.

John scratched his chin for a moment.

He had told Winnie that though he cared about her and the children, it would not be a good idea to combine their two families. She had seemed to agree, after the fiasco in the dining room. John had offered to help financially, but Winnie had turned him down, saying she would find a way to survive.

John had given Mrs. Gohl extra grocery money and had told the cook to purchase supplies for the Jensens and leave them on her back stoop anonymously. It was the least he could do for an old friend.

But here stood Miss Faulkner, with no children and nothing to hinder her from marriage to a man with four of his own. She had always been nice and thoughtful, taking the time to get to know the children over the years.

Would she consider marriage?

“Miss Faulkner...” He paused. How did a man go about asking someone such an important question? Maybe the library wasn't the best place. “Would you care to join my family for supper this evening? I know the children would enjoy seeing you—and I would enjoy your company, as well.”

Miss Faulkner's hand fumbled and she dropped the medical book on the counter. “Oh, I'm sorry.”

He put his hand over the book. “That's all right.”

She looked back at him, her blue eyes blinking rapidly. “You want me to come to supper at your house? With you?”

He offered her a smile. “Yes. Do you have other plans?”

Her eyebrows jumped and she pointed to her chest. “Me? No—I don't have any plans this evening.”

“So you'll come?”

She swallowed and nodded. “I—I suppose.”

“Good. Six o'clock?”

She nodded again—or maybe she hadn't stopped nodding.

“I'll see you then. Goodbye.” He picked up the book, tipped his hat at her, and then strode down the steps and out the front door to his waiting Ford. He cranked the starter and drove the three blocks to his home.

Dr. McCall had come in early and told John to take the rest of the day off to get some rest. It was a rare offer, and John was only too happy to agree. After he opened his home library to Marjorie, he had realized he hadn't read a book since before Anna's death. He would use his free afternoon to read.