Книга - A Mother In The Making
A Mother In The Making
Gabrielle Meyer
Matchmaking with a MissionPractical, steady, level-headed…all qualities single father Dr. John Orton expects in both a governess and a wife. But his children’s temporary governess Miss Marjorie Maren seems set on finding him an impractical woman to love…despite his plans of marrying solely for convenience. Nothing could be more exasperating to the handsome widower—except his increasing interest in Marjorie.Vivacious and fun-loving…that’s the kind of bride the reserved doctor needs. Before Marjorie leaves to pursue her acting dreams, she intends to match him with a suitable wife candidate. Yet growing affection for her four charges and their dashing father has awakened a new hope—that she might be his perfect bride. But can she convince her employer to take a chance on love and claim real happiness before it slips away?
Matchmaking with a Mission
Practical, steady, levelheaded: all qualities single father Dr. John Orton expects in both a governess and a wife. But his children’s temporary governess Miss Marjorie Maren seems set on finding him an impractical woman to love...despite his plans of marrying solely for convenience. Nothing could be more exasperating to the handsome widower—except his increasing interest in Marjorie.
Vivacious and fun-loving: that’s the kind of bride the reserved doctor needs. Before Marjorie leaves to pursue her acting dreams, she intends to match him with a suitable wife candidate. Yet growing affection for her four charges and their dashing father has awakened a new hope—that she might be his perfect bride. But can she convince her employer to take a chance on love and claim real happiness before it slips away?
“Miss Baker came to supper tonight.”
Marjorie wrapped her arms around her waist. “That’s nice.”
“That’s nice?” John wished he could concentrate on reprimanding her. Instead, he could only think about her curls and her beautiful voice as she sang to Laura. “You had no right to invite a guest to my home to dine with me.”
She was quiet for a moment and then she spoke softly. “I have a confession to make. She’s not the only woman coming to supper this week. Miss Addams and Miss Fletcher will also be coming.”
“But—why?”
She took a step toward him, and he pulled back. He could smell the lilac scent she wore and it made his mind a jumbled mess. Why was he responding to her this way? She was the governess. He must keep that in mind.
“You said you’re looking for a wife,” she said. “I thought each of them would be a good candidate.”
“What gives you the right to do that?”
“I care about your children—and you.”
She cared about him? He swallowed the rush of surprise that surfaced at her statement.
He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on Marjorie Maren, or his growing attraction to her.
The sooner he found a wife, the better.
GABRIELLE MEYER lives in central Minnesota on the banks of the Mississippi River with her husband and four young children. As an employee of the Minnesota Historical Society, she fell in love with the rich history of her state and enjoys writing fictional stories inspired by real people and events. Gabrielle can be found at www.gabriellemeyer.com (http://www.gabriellemeyer.com), where she writes about her passion for history, Minnesota and her faith.
A Mother in the Making
Gabrielle Meyer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A man’s heart deviseth his way:
but the Lord directeth his steps.
—Proverbs 16:9
To my children, Ellis, Maryn, Judah and Asher.
Thank you for being my biggest fans.
I love you with all my heart.
Contents
Cover (#ucb140b77-920c-505d-aa00-b3d18b1912e5)
Back Cover Text (#u9f213a84-bdbb-5c04-b47c-6caf9ac7a1e4)
Introduction (#ucaea352a-c995-5f10-a1f6-0eef2f3b8ac3)
About the Author (#ue1dc3d55-d1e1-5d35-b0d1-8550299840c7)
Title Page (#ude3a15bf-8564-5d0b-9961-db049deb9257)
Bible Verse (#u1a66e264-2be7-539c-a980-628d8cf562b8)
Dedication (#u70206901-e0e1-5f79-bfb3-4ee5d7751a06)
Chapter One (#uecc205d2-4e61-547c-9b8b-417e9c347c60)
Chapter Two (#ufcb16cf6-bf99-5aa0-b913-df11b3286688)
Chapter Three (#u979e7caf-c56a-5238-8d36-3e3c1d26c94c)
Chapter Four (#u9da777b7-5439-5715-bc42-c021d9e949ac)
Chapter Five (#u3db587ec-b143-5bb5-8643-d12346bc0f88)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_2092eb6d-a45c-598a-ba31-099ef396edbb)
Little Falls, Minnesota, November 1918
John Orton stared at Anna’s portrait, his grief nothing compared to his pulsing guilt. How could a physician let his own wife die?
“Papa?” Charlie entered the office, his heavy gaze lifting to John’s face.
John put the photo in his desk drawer, wanting to spare his son the reminder of his pain. “Yes?”
“The new governess has arrived—”
A young woman stepped over the threshold without an invitation, her blond hair in a mass of curls under a wide-brimmed hat. She glanced around the neat interior before she dropped her bag on the floor and proceeded to take off her gloves in quick succession. Her bright green eyes found John and a smile lit her pretty face. “Where shall I begin?”
John stood, grappling for a foothold of familiarity. This was not the sensible woman he had expected his mother to send from Chicago. Standing before him, in layers of lace, and a cloud of flowery perfume, was a woman far too attractive and impractical to raise his children.
“Are you—?”
“Marjorie Maren.” She grasped his limp fingers in her right hand and lifted her left hand above her head in a great flourish, her gloves flapping in the air. “A governess by day—and an actress by night.”
John glanced at Charlie, whose eyes grew wide with interest.
It would be impossible to replace Anna, but surely there was a more suitable governess to take care of his children—one with the same gentleness and competence Anna had demonstrated.
This lady would not do—would not do, at all.
“You must be Charles.” Miss Maren dropped John’s hand and turned to the ten-year-old boy. “My, but you look like your mother.”
“You knew my mama?” Charlie asked.
Miss Maren offered a kind smile, and dimples graced her cheeks. “Your grandmother showed me her picture.”
“You know my grandmother?” Charlie looked even more impressed with Miss Maren.
“I know your grandmother and your uncle Paul. They are my neighbors in Chicago.” Miss Maren removed the long hat pin from her hair, and slipped off her hat. Her curls looked like golden silk and for a fleeting second, John wondered how they could look so disheveled yet perfectly arranged. “Were my neighbors,” the young lady amended. “I don’t expect to return to Chicago—I’m going to California to become a film actress.”
“You’re going to be in the movies?” Charlie’s face filled with awe.
It was time for John to take control. He rounded the desk, finally finding his voice. “Miss Maren, I think there’s been a mistake.”
She turned her gaze on John, and he was startled again by her pretty face. If she wanted to be an actress, she would be a charming one—but what reasonable woman wanted to be an actress?
“A mistake?”
“I expected—” How could he tell her he had expected an older woman, who wasn’t quite so...fetching?
“You expected what?”
When she looked at him with those big green eyes, he couldn’t recall what it was he had expected—but certainly not her.
“Your room is connected to the night nursery, on the second floor, with Lilly and the baby,” Charlie said. “Petey and I sleep on the third floor, next to the day nursery.” He picked up Miss Maren’s bag. “You can follow me.”
“Charlie, would you please leave for a moment so I can speak with Miss Maren alone?” John usually appreciated his son’s hospitality—but at the moment he needed Charlie to put down the bag until he knew what he would do with the young woman.
Charlie was a perceptive boy and he studied John’s face now. His grip tightened around the handle of Miss Maren’s bag. “I’ll just bring this up to the day nursery.”
Miss Maren ran her hand over her blond curls and smiled at the boy. “Thank you, Charles.”
The boy’s cheeks filled with color and he dipped his head. “You can call me Charlie.”
John lifted his eyebrows. The boy rarely gave people permission to use his pet name—and never so soon.
Charlie left the room—with the bag in hand—and Miss Maren turned her charming smile on John. “He’s a lovely boy.”
“Would you please have a seat?”
She lowered herself into the leather chair facing John’s desk. Though she had just spent a few days on a train, she looked as fresh as a bed of flowers after a summer rainstorm. “I’m eager to meet the other children,” she said. “Your mother and brother spoke of them so often, I feel as if I already know each one. How old is Laura now? Six months old?”
“Yes—six months.” He dropped to his chair and tried to pull himself together. He was a physician and he prided himself on staying calm in every situation. Surely he could manage something like this. He would have to be direct and honest—two attributes he appreciated in business dealings. “Miss Maren, do you have any experience with children?”
She tucked a curl into her bun with a great deal of nonchalance. “I’m afraid not—but your mother said the children are so well behaved I won’t have any troubles.”
“My children are well behaved, but they are still children—and my mother is a bit biased.”
Miss Maren laughed.
If he had been in a different frame of mind, he would have enjoyed the sound. It had been absent from his home for far too long. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I had expected someone with experience—and maturity.”
She shrugged. “How do you gain experience if you aren’t given your first job?”
That was fair enough. “What types of skills do you have?”
She waved the question away with her hand. “Oh, this and that... Who has been caring for the children since your wife’s passing?”
“My wife’s mother and sister.”
“Do they live close?”
“Too close...” He paused, embarrassed at the hasty words. “They live across the street.”
Miss Maren frowned. “Why do you need a governess if you have their help?”
“I...” He paused again. He was the one interviewing her, wasn’t he? “What led you here to be our governess?”
She blinked several times. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“This is a stopping point for me on my way to California. I need the money, and you need a governess, so your mother thought it the perfect solution.”
John steepled his hands on his desk. What had his mother been thinking? Normally she used better judgment, and he had no reason to question her advice—but now he could see he should have asked her more questions. Had she sent Miss Maren in the hopes of matchmaking? If she had, Mother would be sorely disappointed. “I’m afraid I’m in need of someone with experience raising children. My work is very demanding and I must have complete confidence in—”
“You can be completely confident in me.” Miss Maren’s face and voice became very serious.
She would make a convincing actress. He almost believed her.
“I have some questions for you, too,” she said.
He leaned back in his chair. “Oh?”
“How long will you need my services? I won’t be able to stay permanently—but I don’t want to leave until the job is done.”
He wasn’t sure he would need her past this conversation. “I had intended to employ a governess until—” He hated to admit his plans, but what did it matter what this young woman thought of him? “Until I find a wife.”
She leaned forward, her voice lowered as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “You’d marry again so soon?”
Irritation flashed warm under his collar. Who was she to question his decision to remarry? It had been a month since Anna died. Not nearly enough time to think of a second marriage in the traditional sense—but more than enough time to realize his children needed a mother. “My concern is for my children.”
“But surely it will take some time for you to grieve—and then fall in love again.”
He stood abruptly. Fall in love again? He could never love another woman the way he had loved Anna. “I would never dishonor my wife’s memory by marrying for love. This is purely a practical decision on my part.”
She rose, as well. “Practical?” Her voice was filled with passion. “Marriage should be everything but practical! It would be dreadful to be married for practicality’s sake.”
Her response was unnerving. He leaned forward, his hands on his desk, and couldn’t help asking, “What is marriage, if it isn’t practical?”
She put her hand over her heart. “It should be whimsical and utterly romantic. It should be entered into for love, and no other reason.”
“You are young and naive, so I will forgive you.”
“Forgive me?” Ire rose in her countenance for the first time since entering the room, and he had a glimpse of the spark beneath all the fluff. “I know something about practicality, and it is overrated.” She put her hands on her hips and stared at him—and he suddenly felt like a schoolboy being reprimanded. “You need a bit of whimsy in your life. I could tell the moment I entered this room that you’re much too serious for your own good.”
He crossed his arms and offered her the stern look he gave the children when they were being impertinent. “You may have time for whimsy, Miss Maren, but I do not.” He was a widower, as well as a doctor with a pandemic on his hands. He had no time for anything resembling whimsy—and Miss Maren was at the top of his list.
He dropped into his chair and pulled a piece of paper out of his top drawer. The picture he had studied earlier peeked out at him. Anna had been as pragmatic as they had come—and he had admired her. Never once had she demanded anything else but practicality from him.
He began to scribble a note to his mother, informing her that sending Miss Maren was a mistake, no matter what her intentions. “I’m sorry, Miss Maren, but I will have to send you back to Chicago.”
The lady lowered herself into the chair, wilting like a plucked rose. “I can’t go back.”
He didn’t bother to look at her. “I need a steady, levelheaded woman to care for my children until I find a wife.” He would put her on the next train back to Chicago—and tell his mother exactly what he thought of Miss Maren.
* * *
Marjorie stared at the doctor, never imagining her day would end like this. “I’ve cut all ties to my life in Chicago—I can’t possibly return.”
Dr. Orton didn’t look up as he continued to scribble on the paper. A lock of brown hair fell out of place and brushed his forehead. “That’s not my concern.”
“But it is.”
He lifted his head, his brown eyes filled with frustration. “How is it my concern?”
“You asked me to come.”
“My mother sent you.”
“At your request.”
“At her suggestion.”
“Your mother told me I would be welcome.” Mrs. Orton had said that Dr. Orton’s family needed someone like Marjorie to bring joy back into their lives.
Dr. Orton paused and he looked as if he had to concede. “Everyone is welcome in my home.”
Marjorie toyed with a silk flower on her hat. “I don’t feel welcome at the moment.”
He sighed, put down his pen and then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I suppose I can’t make you return home tonight. You’ll need to rest.”
Home. What a strange and lonely word at the moment. After Marjorie had left Preston Chamberlain at the altar, her parents had turned her out of their house and withheld her allowance, unless she marry him. But Preston did not love her. To him, she was an advantageous match—a business deal. Out of fear, she had almost caved to her parents’ demands, but then she was reminded of their own loveless union. They had married to strengthen social and financial ties, and they had been miserable.
Marjorie could never marry a man who didn’t love her.
If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Orton’s suggestion, and Dr. Orton’s need, Marjorie would have nowhere else to go. “I have no home to return to.”
He looked at her as if he didn’t believe her. “My mother told me you are a neighbor, from a good family.”
“Yes, they are good people.”
“Then surely you have a home.”
She needed to change the subject. She stood and ran her hand over the walnut mantel on the large fireplace. “You have a beautiful home. Your mother told me all about it. Actually she told me a great deal about you and the children.”
“That’s interesting,” Dr. Orton said as he crossed his arms. “She told me very little about you.”
Marjorie lifted her shoulder, trying to sound blasé. “What’s there to tell?”
She wished to say she had led a boring life, but the past few weeks had proven otherwise. Hopefully he hadn’t read the Chicago newspapers recently. They had covered the jilting and Marjorie’s subsequent departure from her parents’ home. But why wouldn’t they? Who would deign to reject Preston Chamberlain?
Marjorie, that was who.
Dr. Orton stood and motioned for her to follow him out of his office. He was a tall man, exuding confidence and authority as he strode to the door. “I will see that our cook sets a plate for you to join us for supper, and then you’re welcome to sleep in the governess’s room, but I will put you on a train to Chicago in the morning.”
“I beg you to reconsider your decision.” Marjorie wanted to put her hand on his arm and stop him from making plans to send her back—but she refrained. “I’ll show you I’m the right person for this job.”
“I doubt you could convince me to change my mind.”
Marjorie clutched her hat in her hands. “Give me until the end of the year—and if you’re unhappy with my work, I’ll leave.” In those two months, she might raise enough money to go to California.
“The end of the year?”
She nodded and offered him an innocent look. “What harm could I do in two months?”
He lifted an eyebrow, his face filling with skepticism. He stepped out of his office and Marjorie followed him into the front hall.
The home was stunning, inside and out. Three stories tall, with deep gables and large windows, it stood like a stately queen on the tree-lined street. Redbrick covered most of the house, with white bric-a-brac and trim gracing the windows and eaves. Inside the dark wooden trim and wainscoting gave it a warm feeling, while oak flooring and expensive—yet practical—furnishings reflected the status of the owner. It wasn’t quite as elaborate as Marjorie’s childhood home—but it was comfortable.
“Mrs. Gohl, the cook, and Miss Ernst, the maid, live in the servant’s quarters at the back of the second floor,” Dr. Orton said as he passed through the front hall and up the stairs. “Charlie is the only child home at the moment. The other three are across the street at my mother-in-law’s home...”
Marjorie followed close behind, her gaze feasting on a beautiful stained-glass window above the landing of the curved stairs. Rays of brilliant colors depicted a glorious sunset. She had tried her hand at working with stained glass, but the unfinished project was tucked away in her room in Chicago along with dozens of other half-completed ventures.
Dr. Orton stopped at the top of the stairs and Marjorie bumped into his back.
He turned, barely concealing his frustration. He pointed down a long, carpeted hallway. “The night nursery is at the end of this hall, to the right. You’ll find your room attached to it.”
She didn’t want to beg, but she needed reassurance that she would be given a chance. “I hope you’ll consider my offer. Please give me two months to prove I’m the person for this job.”
He studied her with an analytical gaze just as the downstairs door opened and voices drifted up the stairwell.
“Papa, we’re home!” A little girl’s voice filled the hall.
“John? John, where are you?” An older female voice pierced the air. “Peter wet his pants once again. I’ve told you to put your foot down with him, John. The child needs more discipline.”
Dr. Orton closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.
Marjorie raised an eyebrow and whispered, “Your mother-in-law?”
He opened his eyes and she could see exhaustion behind his weary gaze. “You might as well meet her and get it over with.”
“Get it over with?”
“John!” the lady yelled up the stairwell, her head peeking around the banister. Her gaze narrowed when she spotted Marjorie. “Who are you?”
Marjorie pasted on her biggest smile. “I’m the new governess.”
The lady’s blue eyes grew enormous in her wrinkled face. “The what?”
Dr. Orton gave Marjorie a warning glance as he stepped past her on the stairwell.
Marjorie tried to hide a giggle as she followed him down the stairs and faced the lady standing in the foyer. She wore a black mourning gown, with a black hat pinned tight against her gray hair. She held a baby in her arms, while a little boy peeked around her skirts. A girl of eight or nine stared at Marjorie with open curiosity, a spark of animation glistening from her eyes.
“This is Miss Marjorie Maren,” Dr. Orton said. “She is my mother’s neighbor from Chicago.”
“Was her neighbor,” Marjorie couldn’t help adding as she nodded a greeting at the older woman.
John gave her another warning look and Marjorie snapped her mouth shut. If she was going to keep this job, she must be vigilant about guarding her tongue.
“Governess?” the woman asked. “You don’t need a governess, John—you have Dora and me.”
John took the baby, a smile lifting his lips when he looked at his child—but it disappeared when he glanced back at Marjorie. “Miss Maren, this is Mrs. Scott, my mother-in-law.”
Marjorie extended her hand, but Mrs. Scott only stared at her. “Maren? Why does that name sound familiar?” She openly examined Marjorie with a critical eye. “I don’t like it, John. These things should stay in the family.”
Marjorie lowered her hand.
The little boy raced away from his grandmother’s skirts and clung to Dr. Orton’s leg, eyeing Marjorie with big blue eyes.
“I can’t impose on you forever,” Dr. Orton said. “You and Dora have been helpful—but it’s best if I hire a governess to take care of the child—”
“If you would do as I say and marry Dora, you wouldn’t be an imposition. It would become her duty.”
“Please,” Dr. Orton said, pointedly looking at the children. “I don’t want to discuss this right now.” He looked at Marjorie, relief suddenly lighting his face. “And since I have a governess, this conversation is pointless.”
Mrs. Scott crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “You trust this lady? We don’t know anything about her.”
Dr. Orton looked as if he was trying to control his irritation. “Thank you for your concern, but Miss Maren is from a good family and is highly recommended by my mother.”
Mrs. Scott raised her eyebrows in disdain. “Your mother?”
John moved to the front door and opened it. “Thank you for all your help. Please extend my appreciation to Dora, as well.”
Mrs. Scott ran her gaze over Marjorie one more time, her displeasure evident, before looking back at John. “I’m right across the street if you need me.”
He nodded and opened the door wider. The woman stepped through it with her nose high in the air.
Dr. Orton closed the door behind her with a decided thud.
“Are you our new governess?” the girl asked.
“Miss Maren, this is my oldest daughter, Lillian. And this—” Dr. Orton put his free hand on the head of the little boy who still clung to his leg “—is Peter.” He lifted the smiling baby in his arms, his voice softening. “This is Laura.”
“You can call me Lilly,” the girl said with a shy smile. “Will you sleep next to our room?”
Marjorie looked to Dr. Orton and posed a question with her eyes.
The doctor lifted the baby to his shoulder, lines edging his mouth. “For now.” He hugged Laura and then handed her to Marjorie, saying under his breath, “Until the end of the year, Miss Maren—and don’t let me regret my decision.”
Relief washed over Marjorie as she took Laura—trying to look as if she had held a baby before—and smiled. “You won’t—I promise.”
“The children are required to have at least one hour of exercise every day,” Dr. Orton said, “and the two oldest are to spend an hour reading. Petey needs to practice his numbers, letters, colors and shapes every day, as well. There is a schedule posted in the day nursery for you to follow. Laura’s feedings and nap times are listed beside the others. I don’t like the children to deviate from their schedule.” Dr. Orton paused and his face became grave. “If you fail at being a governess, you’ll prove my mother-in-law right—and I hate when she’s right.”
Marjorie jostled the baby in her hands, trying to remember everything he was saying. For a brief moment she thought she might drop the precious bundle—but she held her tight. “Come, Lilly and Peter, and show me your nursery.”
“First you’ll need to change Petey’s clothing.” Dr. Orton disengaged the child from his leg and put him near Marjorie. He turned toward the office but then pivoted back to face her. “One more thing, and this is the most important—the children are to take ten drops of cinnamon oil in a glass of water every morning with their breakfast.”
“Cinnamon oil?” Marjorie wrinkled her nose.
“It’s a preventative measure to ward off influenza. I’ve been studying the effects and they’re promising. I’ll require you to take the oil, as well.”
“Of course.”
Petey stood close to Marjorie, his eyes filled with apprehension.
Dr. Orton looked at his son, and then back at Marjorie. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Marjorie swallowed her anxiety. At the moment, she needed someone to tell her how to take care of four children—but the last person she would ask was Dr. Orton.
Chapter Two (#ulink_f38449a8-e6a4-5d2d-8a94-a4f83cbc02df)
Marjorie stood in the water closet facing Petey. Laura was in her arms, chewing on her fist, and Lilly stood behind Marjorie quietly observing the scene.
Petey stared up at Marjorie with defiant blue eyes and she didn’t blame him.
First, he had lost his mother, and then he was presented with a strange woman who didn’t know the first thing about child care. How could she make him trust her—and feel comfortable in her presence?
She smiled—it was the only thing she could think to do.
He didn’t blink.
“I’m Miss Maren,” she said with a happy tone to her voice. “I’m here to take care of you.”
Still, he scowled at her.
“I need to help you out of your soiled clothes, and then I’ll give you a bath and put you in something clean.”
“His clothes are upstairs in his bedroom,” Lilly said. “Shall I get him something to wear?”
Marjorie could have sighed in relief. “Yes, thank you, Lilly.”
Laura began to whimper in Marjorie’s arms and she awkwardly bounced the baby to quiet her.
“I need to help you get your clothing off,” Marjorie said to Petey.
The boy took a step back and shook his head.
Laura’s whimper turned into a cry, close to Marjorie’s ear. She bounced her faster, but the baby refused to be soothed.
How would she hold the baby and take off Petey’s clothing?
“I’m going to put Laura in her cradle, and then I’m coming back here to help you. All right?”
Petey didn’t respond.
Marjorie turned from the water closet and stepped across the hall to the night nursery, where she placed Laura in her cradle. The baby’s cries increased at being set down, and Marjorie’s heart rate picked up speed. What would Dr. Orton think if this baby continued to cry? And how could she stop her? What did she need? Was she hungry? Was her diaper soiled?
She offered the baby a rattle lying in her cradle, but Laura cried even harder.
A flash of movement caught Marjorie’s eye.
Petey ran out of the water closet and down the hall toward the stairs.
Marjorie left the crying baby and rushed out of the room. Petey turned the corner and Marjorie raced after him. She grasped the little boy as he reached the stairway landing where the beautiful stained-glass window had caught Marjorie’s eye earlier. She held his arm to stop his escape and tried to sound calm. “We haven’t bathed you, Petey. You must wait for me.”
Laura’s wails filled the upper hall and met Marjorie on the stairway.
Petey tried to pull free from Marjorie’s grasp, his own whimpers filling her ears.
Heat gathered under Marjorie’s traveling gown, warming her neck and back until perspiration gathered. How would she get Petey back to the water closet? His clothing smelled of urine. If she lifted him, her dress would need to be cleaned, as well.
“Miss Maren?” Dr. Orton appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Do you need help?”
Petey reached for his father, but Marjorie held tight.
The doctor gave Marjorie a disapproving look. “It appears you are off to a poor start.”
Marjorie had little choice but to lift the child into her arms. His wet clothing penetrated hers, and she had to breathe through her mouth. “I’m fine.”
“Why is Laura crying? Does she need to be fed?”
Marjorie had no idea why Laura was crying—or what a person fed a hungry baby—but she couldn’t tell Dr. Orton. She was on trial. She couldn’t ruin her chances within the first half hour. “I have everything under control.”
“Are you sure?”
She wanted to glower at the doctor, but instead, she forced a tight smile and walked up the stairs with her head held high as Petey tried to wiggle out of her arms.
Laura’s cries were so pitiful Marjorie felt tears gather in the back of her own eyes. Did children always make such a fuss? As an only child, Marjorie had never been exposed to anything like this. Had she been this way for her own governess? It didn’t seem likely.
Marjorie entered the water closet and set Petey on his feet. The little boy tried to push past her, but she held her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I must get you clean and put new clothes on you.”
He backed up against the stand-up radiator under the window.
The reprieve gave Marjorie a moment to study his romper, her brow furrowed. There were far too many buttons. If Petey didn’t cooperate, she had no idea how she would get the wet clothing off his wiggly body.
“Mama used to sing to him while she changed his clothes,” Lilly said, suddenly standing at the door.
Marjorie turned to the girl with a bit of desperation. “What did she sing?”
Lilly shrugged and set the clean romper and underclothes on a bureau near the door. “Church hymns, mostly.” The girl went to the bathtub and turned on the water faucet. “It takes a few minutes for the hot water to travel up the pipe from the basement. Mama always used the time to gather her bathing supplies.” Lilly went to the bureau and pulled out a clean towel and washcloth.
Petey stopped squirming and watched his sister work.
Lilly stepped onto the closed toilet seat and reached for a bar of pink soap, high on the top shelf. She paused for a moment, her hand hovering over the soap. “Petey always asked Mama if he could use her rose-scented soap, but she usually said no because it was a gift Papa gave her.” She looked at Petey, and a tender gaze passed between them before she grabbed the soap. “It makes us feel close to her.”
Petey stood still and dropped his little chin down to his chest.
Lilly set the soap on the towel and then began to hum “Onward, Christian Soldiers” as she unbuttoned Petey’s romper.
Marjorie’s heart broke for the children—but Laura’s wails continued to fill the house, sending gooseflesh racing up Marjorie’s arms.
“Laura needs a bottle and a diaper change.” Lilly looked up at Marjorie, blinking her blue, trusting eyes. “Do you know how to do those things?”
Marjorie wanted to sit on the rug and throw her hands up in defeat. Maybe being a governess was a bad idea—but she couldn’t give up now. She refused to leave another job unfinished. She wouldn’t let her father’s parting words define her. You’re a quitter, Marjorie, and you’ll never change.
“No, but I’m a good student.” Marjorie unbuttoned her sleeves and began to roll them up to her elbows. “Do you know how to make a bottle and change a diaper?”
Lilly nodded and slipped Petey’s romper off his body, her young arms working with an air of confidence Marjorie wished she possessed. “You can bathe Petey, and I’ll see to Laura’s diaper—you do know how to wash someone, don’t you?”
Here, at least, was something Marjorie did know how to do. “Yes, of course—I bathe myself all the time.” She looked toward the room across the hall. “But how will I learn to change her if I’m in here?”
Lilly giggled and the sound was a welcome change from the wailing baby. “She’ll need to be changed again in a few hours. You can learn then.” She reached into the tub and put the plug in the drain.
“Is Petey old enough to talk?” Marjorie asked as she set the boy into the water.
“Of course he is.” Lilly shook her head. “Don’t you know anything about children?”
Marjorie couldn’t tell her the truth—though she suspected the girl already knew. “I have a lot to learn, but you look like a good teacher.”
Lilly’s shoulders lifted at the compliment. “I’ll change Laura and then when you have Petey clean I’ll help you make her a bottle.”
Marjorie smiled at Lilly. “Thank you.”
The girl stepped out of the water closet and Marjorie turned to her next task, determined to do this job well.
She would not be sent back to Chicago.
* * *
An hour later, Marjorie opened her trunk lid and surveyed the gowns piled haphazardly inside.
“Your clothes are lovely,” Lilly breathed beside Marjorie as they stood in the governess’s bedroom. The little girl ran her hand over a purple silk gown.
The governess’s room was surprisingly large, with a fireplace, cheery floral wallpaper, soft white curtains and two generous windows overlooking the front yard. Two doors exited the room, one to the hallway and one to the night nursery, where Laura was finally napping in her cradle.
Marjorie glanced down at her soiled traveling gown, memories of cleaning Petey still fresh in her mind. Thankfully the exhausted little boy was now napping. Marjorie wished she could rest herself, but she needed to unpack, and for the first time in her life there was no maid to do the chore for her.
“I’ve only seen dresses like this in my aunt Dora’s Vogue Magazine,” Lilly said. “Where did you wear them?”
“I didn’t get a chance to wear many of them—although I did wear this one.” Marjorie lifted out the exquisite green dress she had worn to her debutante ball in June of 1917, the day she had met Preston. It had been one of the last debutante balls in Chicago after the United States had entered the war. In June, the young men began to ship out of the city, on their way to fight, and a somber mood had fallen on the country. Instead of dancing and partying, Marjorie had filled her time volunteering for the Red Cross—and entertaining Preston.
After he made his intentions known, her parents insisted that Marjorie allow him to court her. She was eager to finally please them, so she agreed.
Preston was everything her parents had hoped for. With his wealth, success and good connections, it was supposed to be the match of the year. But by the time she realized Preston did not love her, it was too late to call the wedding off, and she was forced to leave him at the altar.
Lilly sat on the bed and grasped the brass knob on the footboard. She studied Marjorie, her pretty blue eyes filled with a bit of uncertainty. “Do you have any work dresses?”
Marjorie examined her trunk and put her hand on her chin. She had led a charmed life in Chicago and had very few serviceable dresses to begin with. She hadn’t thought to put any of them in her luggage when she packed so hastily. “I’m afraid not. I suppose I’ll have to make do with what I have.”
Lilly shrugged. “I don’t mind if you wear these pretty dresses.”
Marjorie walked the dress across the room and hung it in the large wardrobe against the wall. She put it in the back, since she would have no use for it until she reached California.
Just thinking about the movies caused a trill of excitement to race up Marjorie’s spine, and she paused for a moment. Nothing else had brought her as much joy during the past few years as the movie theater, and she wanted to bring the same happiness into other people’s lives. If she could help them forget about their troubles, even for a little while, it would be worth all the hard work to get there.
Lilly lifted her finger to her mouth and nibbled on her nail. “Papa might not like you in those dresses, though. I don’t think I ever saw Mama wear anything like them.”
Marjorie’s attention returned to her task, and she took another gown out of the trunk, this one a soft muslin morning dress. She paused. “What was your mother like?”
Lilly’s face filled with sadness and she dropped her gaze. “She was wonderful.”
Marjorie lowered the gown and sat next to the girl. “You must miss her very much.”
Lilly nodded but didn’t speak.
“I’m sure she would be very proud of how you’re helping take care of Laura and Petey.”
“Mama was very gentle and kind. She was never angry.”
“And what of your father?”
Lilly lifted her shoulder and toyed with a loose thread on the quilt. “Papa wasn’t home much before Mama died. He was usually gone by the time we came down for breakfast, and he often came home after Mama put us to bed.”
“But he’s home more now?”
Lilly nodded.
“Do you like having him home?”
Again, the girl nodded. “I like it very much—but I’m afraid that since you’ve come, he might go back to working as much as before.”
“Did your mother ever ask him to stay home more?”
“Mama always said we must never complain about how much he worked. She said he was a doctor, and doctors needed to make people well. Her father was a doctor, too, and she said it was our job to sacrifice so they could do their work.”
Marjorie wanted to deny what the girl said. Yes, Dr. Orton had a demanding job, but his family should not have to suffer because of it.
More than anything, Marjorie had wanted her own father present in her life when she was a child. He had always used his work as his excuse—and Mother had never pushed him to be present.
Indignation rose in Marjorie’s gut. If Dr. Orton could make time to be home with his family now, surely he could have made time before his wife died.
Marjorie looked off toward the window where the November landscape looked bleak against a pale blue sky. What kind of woman would Dr. Orton choose for his second wife? Would she be as compliant as the first Mrs. Orton? Would she keep quiet as he sacrificed his family? In the few minutes Marjorie had spent with him, she could tell he was authoritative and probably ruled with a stubborn set of principles—just like Marjorie’s father. He needed a woman who wouldn’t be afraid to stand up to him and tell him when he was being too rigid.
Someone she wished her mother had been.
But was Dr. Orton capable of finding someone like that?
An excited bubble fluttered through Marjorie’s midsection—the same feeling she had every time she was about to undertake a new project. But this time, she wouldn’t leave the task half-completed. She would finally finish something she started. She would find a new wife for Dr. Orton—and she would make sure the woman he married was exactly who the doctor and his children needed.
Marjorie could almost picture the lady in her mind now. She would be bold, vivacious and charming. She would stand up to the doctor when she needed to, and be an excellent mother to the children. Hopefully she was pretty and would look nice standing next to the handsome Dr. Orton—but that was a secondary concern for Marjorie.
As soon as she had a moment, she would make a list of all the attributes Dr. Orton’s second wife should possess—and the first item on her list would be whimsical. He didn’t need a practical woman. Practical women forced their daughters into practical marriages and didn’t leave room for things like love and romance. He needed someone who would be his opposite, to balance his personality.
Clearly Dr. Orton needed help with this important endeavor, and Marjorie was in a position to help him.
“Don’t worry, Lilly.” Marjorie stood and lifted the muslin gown in her hands once again. She walked to the wardrobe and hung the dress inside. “I have a feeling your father will be around the house much more now that I’m here.” She would make sure of it...somehow.
“Really?”
“Why don’t you run along and play? I have some work to do this afternoon.”
Lilly stood obediently and crossed the room to the door. “I like you, Miss Maren.”
Marjorie paused and smiled. “I like you, too, Lilly.”
A bit of Lilly’s sadness seemed to disappear. She slipped out of the room and left the door open.
A new face peeked around the door and then disappeared just as quickly.
Marjorie walked across the room. “Charlie?”
After a moment, Charlie appeared in her doorway, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes lowered to the floor. “Hello, Miss Maren.”
She hadn’t seen him since he took her bag. “It’s nice to see you again.”
He dug his toe into the plush carpet and wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I brought you something.”
“A gift?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Something like that.”
“I love gifts—how did you know?”
Again, he shrugged. “Most girls like gifts—at least my mama and Lilly do. Or did—my mama, I mean.”
The corners of Marjorie’s mouth tipped down. She couldn’t imagine losing her mother as a child. What a horrible experience for these children to endure. Maybe, along with finding a new wife for Dr. Orton, God had brought Marjorie to this home to bring some life and enjoyment into these children’s lives. “Have you ever been to a movie theater?”
That got his attention. Charlie looked up. “No.”
“Would you like to go? Maybe to a matinee?” She didn’t have any money to bring them, but surely Dr. Orton would give her an allowance to spend on the children’s activities.
Charlie’s eyes lit with excitement. “Could we?”
Marjorie nodded. “I’ll even ask your father to come.”
The excitement disappeared from his gaze. “He won’t take the time to come. Especially now that you’re here to take care of us, and he’s so busy with all the influenza patients.”
Marjorie nibbled on her bottom lip. There had to be a way to get Dr. Orton to have some fun with his children. “You leave your father to me.” She offered him a smile. “Didn’t you have a gift to give me?”
The tops of Charlie’s ears turned red and he brought his right hand out from behind his back. Nestled inside his palm was a dried rosebud. “My mama has a rose garden behind the house. This was from the last bush that bloomed this past summer—before she was sick. Mama and I picked the roses, and she showed me how to hang them upside down to let them dry.”
Charlie extended his hand, and Marjorie gently took the rosebud.
“Charlie—” Her voice caught. “This is a beautiful gift. But are you sure you want me to have it?”
Charlie nodded. “I have others. I just thought—” He let out a breath and put his hands in his pockets. “I thought, since you didn’t know my mama, you might like to have something she loved here in the house with you.”
Marjorie swallowed another lump of emotion. “Thank you. I will keep this on my bureau so I can look at it often. But this isn’t the only thing in the house that she loved. You, Lilly, Petey, Laura and your papa are all examples of things she loved dearly.”
Charlie lifted his gaze and his expression softened. Without a word, he turned and left Marjorie alone.
She stood in her doorway for a moment and fingered the delicate rosebud. It might have been plucked from life too early, but its beauty would live on—just as Anna Orton would do in her family.
Chapter Three (#ulink_bd3123a5-d462-53ee-8e14-0b515499fb4f)
John sat in his home office and pulled a fresh sheet of paper out of his desk drawer. Now that he had secured a governess—even a temporary one—he could turn his attention to the next order of business on his to-do list: find a wife.
He numbered the page from one to ten. Before he started his search, he would have a clear idea of what he was looking for. He was a man who liked to plan every aspect of his life and this important list would be the backbone for his quest.
John put his pen to the page and wrote in bold letters the first thing that came to his mind: practical.
His second wife would be practical, just as Anna had been. He pulled her portrait out of his desk and studied it, recalling all the things he loved about her. Anna’s attributes would fill numerous pieces of paper.
But how many attributes could she have written about him? Wasn’t the picture in his hands proof of his many flaws?
She had asked him for a family portrait after Laura was born, but he had kept putting it off, telling her he was too busy. The last picture he had of his wife, besides their wedding photo, was this one, taken just before they were married eleven years ago.
John traced the photo with his fingertip. She had looked so young and vibrant before the cares of his medical practice and motherhood had wrinkled the edges of her eyes and created a few white hairs along her temples. Oh, how she had fussed about those hairs. But they had been a reminder to him of all her hard work and the life they were creating together. Though she had aged, she had only grown more beautiful to him.
He just wished he had taken the time for a family photo. The children did not have a picture with their mother, and he did not have a final image of how she looked just before she was called to heaven.
It was a harsh reminder of how he had failed his wife. He should have been home more—especially when she was sick—but he had been out of town attending a patient when Anna died.
A knock at the office door captured his attention and he gladly put the photo back in his desk drawer. “Yes?”
“Dinner is served,” Mrs. Gohl said. “The children and Miss Maren are seated.”
John put aside his list for now and pushed himself up from his desk chair with a heavy sigh.
Miss Maren was not what he had planned. But it appeared he was stuck with her—at least for the next two months.
John stepped out of his office and found Mrs. Gohl waiting for him.
“Dr. McCall phoned and said they had half a dozen new cases of influenza arrive at the hospital since last night.” Mrs. Gohl wrung her work-worn hands together. Though the wave of illnesses had subsided from the initial impact that had arrived at the beginning of October—and taken Anna’s life—there were still more cases reported every day. “He asked if you could go to the hospital after supper to consult with him.”
It would be another long night. He would have to put off his list making until he returned home. Maybe tomorrow at church he could start the search. He really had no idea what his prospects were, since he had not considered another woman since he had laid eyes on Anna for the first time.
John nodded his thanks to Mrs. Gohl and then walked through the front hall to the dining room.
Miss Maren sat at Anna’s regular spot.
John paused in the doorway, his stunned gaze riveted on her. “What are you wearing, Miss Maren?”
The governess held Laura on her lap and moved the baby aside to look down at her luxurious dress. She glanced back at John, innocence in her gaze. “It’s just a simple evening gown.”
The dress in question was definitely not simple. “Don’t you think it’s a bit too fancy for a quiet family meal?”
Lilly hid a giggle behind her hand, and Charlie opened his mouth to comment—but John silenced both of them with a look.
“It’s all I have,” said Miss Maren.
“You have nothing less...ostentatious?” Or attractive?
She shook her head. Laura reached for the silverware, and Miss Maren gently pulled her hand away. “This is what I wore for meals at home.”
He cleared his throat, trying to avert his eyes from the beautiful woman seated at his table. “Meals in this home are much less formal.” He took his seat and Petey jumped off his chair and ran around the table. John lifted the boy into his arms while he addressed Miss Maren. “I must ask you to put on something more...suitable.”
Miss Maren’s free hand slipped up to her neck and hovered over the exposed skin. “I only have one other evening gown—and it’s not much different.”
“She’s right,” Lilly said. “I saw her dresses.”
He ran his finger around his collar, suddenly feeling a bit awkward having this conversation. He tried not to stare as he lifted his hand and indicated her dress. “Surely you have something else you could wear.”
“I suppose I could put on one of my morning gowns—but it’s hardly the thing to wear for sup—”
“Does it show so much skin?” His voice sounded much gruffer than he intended.
She had the decency to blush.
Miss Ernst entered the dining room with a steaming tureen of tomato soup and must have sensed the tension in the room. Her green eyes darted to Miss Maren and then back to John. Red hair stuck out in disarray behind her white maid’s cap, and a spot of soup stained her apron.
“It will take me a moment to change,” said Miss Maren.
“We’ll wait.”
Miss Ernst set the soup on the sideboard just as Miss Maren stood and handed the baby to her.
Miss Maren exited the room and John couldn’t help watching her leave.
No one said a word until she returned ten minutes later in a modest gown—though this one was made of a gauzy material, and just as impractical as the first. She took Laura from the maid’s hands and sat quietly in her seat.
John said grace and then Miss Ernst ladled the soup into everyone’s bowls. The savory scent spiraled into the air making John’s stomach growl.
They ate in silence for a few moments, and then Miss Maren spoke. “Lilly has been a great help today with Petey and Laura.”
John looked at his eight-year-old daughter, always the mother of the group, especially since Anna had died. “Thank you, Lilly. Did you show her how to make Laura’s bottles as I instructed with the infant formula?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Good.” John smiled approval at his daughter. “But I expect Miss Maren to do the work from here on out.”
Lilly nodded.
John handed Petey a dinner roll and then dipped his spoon into his soup.
Miss Maren spoke again. “I’d like to have a party.”
John’s spoon fell into his soup, splashing the white tablecloth with the red liquid. “A what?”
Miss Maren lifted her spoon to her lips and sipped on her soup. When she was done she offered him a dimpled smile. “A tea party.”
“Why?”
“I’d like to see the prospects.”
Charlie and Lilly looked between John and Miss Maren, their interested gazes never dropping.
John frowned at the strange woman. “What prospects?”
Miss Maren opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if she wasn’t sure what to say. Finally she pulled Laura’s hand away from the silverware again and spoke. “I’d like to make some friends. I thought I would host a tea party to do so.”
The older children swiveled their gazes to John.
“I don’t have much experience with governesses,” John said. “But I’ve never heard of one hosting a tea party.”
Miss Maren lifted her free hand with an air of nonchalance. “There’s always a first for everything.”
“I didn’t employ a socialite. I employed a governess. Your first priority is not to entertain—but to take care of my children.”
“I would never neglect my duties, if that’s what you mean. I will host the party on my day off—I do get a day off, don’t I?”
“Of course. Sundays.”
“Then I will plan the party for next Sunday. May I use the parlor?”
Petey squirmed in John’s lap, and John put his hand on his son’s knee to steady him. “I still haven’t decided if you should have the party.”
The children looked at Miss Maren.
“It would be an educational opportunity for Lilly,” the governess said. “What better way to teach her social graces? You do want her to learn how to be a hostess someday, don’t you?”
“Of course—”
“Then it’s settled.” Miss Maren sipped her soup once again.
He hadn’t given permission—but one look at Lilly’s face, and he knew his daughter loved the idea. How could he say no? “Fine.”
“Who will you invite?” Lilly asked.
Miss Maren dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Anyone I think who would make a good match for...” She paused.
Lilly waited for a moment and then asked, “A good match for what?”
Again, Miss Maren looked unsure if she should say something, and John was growing weary of this conversation. “You and Lilly may discuss your plans away from the dinner table.”
Miss Maren’s green eyes sparkled in triumph—until Laura grabbed her spoon and splattered red soup down the front of Miss Maren’s delicate gown.
Maybe now she would understand why practical clothing was needed in his home.
John waited until Miss Ernst helped clean up the mess, and then he spoke again. “After supper I’m going to the hospital. I probably won’t return until it’s time to bring the children to church in the morning. See that they are put to bed by seven thirty. If you have any trouble, ask Mrs. Gohl or Miss Ernst for assistance.”
Miss Maren took Laura’s hand off her buttered bread, a sigh on her lips. “I’ll do my very best.”
He hoped her very best was good enough.
* * *
Marjorie’s head dropped toward her chest—but she snapped it up and blinked her burning eyes several times to stay awake. She needed to use this time as she listened to the sermon to study the ladies in the congregation. Maybe one or two might be suitable for Dr. Orton.
Her eyes started to droop again, but she fought the exhaustion and lifted her head.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dr. Orton glance at her—but if it was with sympathy or disapproval, she couldn’t tell.
She sat between Lilly and Charlie on the family pew, with Laura asleep in her lap. Dr. Orton sat beside Lilly, with Petey on his lap.
Though Marjorie tried, she could not keep her eyes open. Laura had woken up at least half a dozen times through the long night, demanding Marjorie’s attention. Marjorie’s only consolation had been the knowledge that Dr. Orton was at the hospital and could not hear his daughter fussing. Surely he would have been angry that she didn’t know how to quiet the baby.
Now Laura slept peacefully—and Marjorie wished she could join her.
The pastor droned on and on...
Lilly poked Marjorie in the rib and whispered, “You fell asleep.”
Marjorie’s cheeks flamed with heat. What would Dr. Orton think of her, falling asleep in church when she should be listening to the reverend?
She readjusted her position, trying not to disturb Laura. Her neck and back ached, but she dared not try to rub out the knots.
The sermon finally ended and they rose for the closing song.
Marjorie stole a look around the crowded church. Colorful stained-glass windows allowed a muted light to fall on the congregation, and she was happy to see so many young women in attendance. Surely someone in this room would make a good wife for her employer.
Dr. Orton’s gaze lingered over the congregation, as well. Was he also surveying his prospects? He had an advantage over Marjorie, since he already knew which of these ladies were single.
The final song ended, and the family moved out of the pew. Marjorie turned just in time to see Mrs. Scott marching up the aisle, pushing aside anyone who stood in her way.
Marjorie couldn’t hide her groan.
Mrs. Scott pointed her finger at Marjorie. “What kind of example are you? Falling asleep in church.”
“Laura was awake all night—”
“Excuses, excuses—”
“Laura is teething,” Dr. Orton said in Marjorie’s defense as he stepped out of the pew with Petey in his arms. “And Miss Maren was put to work immediately after her long journey. I imagine she’s exhausted.”
Marjorie blinked up at him in surprise. He wasn’t angry at her lack of propriety during the service?
Mrs. Scott appeared to ignore Dr. Orton as she turned to the young woman walking up the aisle behind her in a black mourning gown. “Dora, what is taking you so long?”
The young lady looked exactly like the picture Marjorie had seen of Anna Orton, although Miss Dora Scott was probably ten years younger than Anna.
“Hello, John,” Dora said with a gentle smile. She put her gloved hand under Lilly’s chin, her cheeks filled with a healthy glow. “Hello, dear.”
Lilly wrapped her arms around her aunt’s waist, and Petey reached for her from Dr. Orton’s arms.
Dora took the little boy and snuggled him close.
“It’s nice to see you, Dora.” Dr. Orton smiled at his sister-in-law.
Dora turned her pretty blue eyes to Marjorie—eyes the exact shade of the children’s. “And you must be the new governess, Miss Maren.”
Marjorie extended her hand and Dora took it. “I’m pleased to meet you,” Marjorie said.
“We’re going to have a tea party.” Lilly clapped her hands. “And Miss Maren has said I will help her plan the whole event.”
“How nice,” Dora said. “You will have such fun. I love tea parties.”
“A tea party?” Mrs. Scott tsked. “How utterly ridiculous. Whoever heard of a governess hosting a tea party? What will people think, John? It would be one thing if you had a wife in the house to act as hostess—but the governess? People will think she’s taking on the role of mistress of your home.”
Marjorie’s chest filled with embarrassment. “I have no such intentions—”
“John, think of your reputation!” Mrs. Scott said. “Even now the ladies in the church are looking at this woman with disdain.” Mrs. Scott looked out the corner of her eye and lifted her nose. “I think it’s disgraceful.”
Marjorie’s eyes grew round and she opened her mouth to protest, but Dora laid her hand on Mrs. Scott’s arm.
“Mother, no one thinks such things.” Dora smiled at Marjorie. “I think it’s wonderful that you are teaching Lilly how to be a hostess. I, for one, would be honored to be a guest at such a fine party.”
Marjorie glanced at Dr. Orton to gauge his reaction to Dora. His demeanor had softened at her arrival. He watched her with a mixture of affection and appreciation.
“Of course Lilly will invite you to her tea party,” Dr. Orton said.
Lilly looked up at her aunt and grinned. “You’ll be my guest of honor.”
“What a wonderful privilege.” Dora squeezed Lilly’s shoulders. “I shall take great care with my appearance that day.”
Dr. Orton took Petey from his sister-in-law’s arms. “You always look beautiful.”
Dora looked up at Dr. Orton, her eyes shining. “Why, thank you, John.”
Marjorie glanced between them. Was he considering Dora for his next wife? It wouldn’t be uncommon for him to marry his wife’s sister—but Marjorie could already tell she was too much like Anna. Gentle, soft-spoken, compliant...
Mrs. Scott glared at Marjorie. Could she discern Marjorie’s thoughts?
“We must be off,” Dr. Orton said. “I was at the hospital all night and I need to sleep before my shift tonight.”
“You’re going back to work so soon?” Marjorie asked.
All eyes turned to her.
“Of course he is,” Mrs. Scott said. “My late husband was at the hospital more than he was at home.”
Marjorie wasn’t surprised.
“With the pandemic, we’re overburdened and understaffed,” Dr. Orton explained. “I will be working long hours. It’s one of the reasons I hired you to—”
“Don’t you dare explain yourself to her.” Mrs. Scott wagged her finger at Dr. Orton. “She’s your employee. Dora would never question you.”
The blush in Dora’s cheeks turned crimson, and Dr. Orton cleared his throat. He nudged his children toward their grandmother. “Say goodbye.”
Charlie, Lilly and Petey obediently kissed her wrinkled cheek, and then Dr. Orton and Dora began to walk down the aisle.
Mrs. Scott put her hand on Marjorie’s arm and stopped her. “I saw the way you eyed up John and Dora.” She narrowed her eyes, and her hand tightened on Marjorie’s arm. “I’m warning you not to intrude on their budding romance—do you hear me? John needs a woman like Dora, and the children need her, too.” She looked Marjorie up and down. “You, on the other hand, are completely unnecessary.”
Marjorie clenched her jaw. No one had ever talked to her in such a manner. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Scott.”
“It’s clear you’re only here to secure John for yourself. I’m sure that’s why his mother sent you.”
Marjorie opened her mouth to deny the claim, but Mrs. Scott interrupted her.
“I’m watching you—don’t think you’ll get anything past me.”
Laura began to stir in Marjorie’s arms and she put the baby to her shoulder and bounced. Would Mrs. Scott discover the reason she had fled Chicago? There had been so many rumors flying about. Would they believe the lies? And if they did, would Dr. Orton allow her to stay, or would he put her on the next train out of town?
She swallowed the lump of apprehension growing in her throat. “Good day, Mrs. Scott.”
Marjorie walked down the aisle to join the Orton family, refusing to glance over her shoulder to see if Mrs. Scott was still glaring at her.
She needed to focus on meeting the other ladies in the church. If she only had until the end of the year with the Ortons, she had a lot to accomplish.
Dora turned to Marjorie. “Since you’re new to town, would you allow me to introduce you to some of my friends?”
“Oh, would you?” Marjorie couldn’t hide the appreciation from her voice.
“I’d be happy to.” Dora took Laura from Marjorie’s arms and handed the baby to Dr. Orton. “You go ahead with the children, John. Mother and I will bring Miss Maren home later.”
Dr. Orton’s face was lined with fatigue, but he took the baby without complaint.
“Maybe I should go home with Dr. Orton and allow him to rest instead,” Marjorie said, torn between meeting potential brides and offering the doctor a bit of a respite after a long night of work.
“Sundays are your day off,” Dr. Orton reminded her. “The children and I will be fine.” A yawn overtook his last word and he shook his head in embarrassment. “Pardon me.”
Dora linked her arm through Marjorie’s and led her away from Dr. Orton and the children before Marjorie could protest further.
Marjorie glanced behind her and met the blue eyes of all four children. She experienced a strange mixture of relief at having a few moments to herself—and sadness at being away from them.
What an odd feeling.
Chapter Four (#ulink_8c1505d5-7ca2-56d6-8398-eb2770279872)
John switched on his desk lamp and glanced out the window. Soft snowflakes fell from the gray sky and landed on the cluster of tall Norway pines just outside the hospital. Usually he didn’t like the onslaught of winter, but this year was different. Hopefully the cold air would force people to stay inside, and they could keep the influenza from spreading. Just this morning they had lost another patient, this one a young man who had recently returned from France after surviving an injury on the battlefront. He had died at the hands of the flu—and on the very day the world was celebrating the signing of the armistice, which had formally ended the war.
It didn’t seem fair.
A knock at the door brought John’s musings to an end. “Come in.”
Nurse Hendricks opened the door. Bags hung beneath her light brown eyes, and her round face looked pale against her white cap. Though she had not contracted the flu, the constant demands on her time and energy had done damage to her health. “Your last patient has arrived. Shall I show her in?”
“Yes, please.”
Nurse Hendricks nodded and then slipped out of the room, quietly closing the door. She had been at the hospital almost around the clock serving in any capacity she was needed.
John scanned the list on his desk. He had quickly come up with ten characteristics he wanted in a wife—and he was chagrined to realize the first six were a direct result of his two days with Miss Maren.
He tapped his pencil against his oak desk and leaned over the page, squinting as he scrutinized each item.
Practical
Experienced with Children
Modest
Sensible
Cautious
Levelheaded
Caring
Wise
Patient
Reasonably Attractive
He flipped his pencil over and poised the eraser above the last item. Did it matter if his second wife was attractive? He did not intend to have a marriage in the traditional sense, but he was smart enough to know he would be married for a long time, and it might help if his wife was pleasing to look at.
He started to erase the last line but lowered the pencil. What would it hurt to keep it on the list? He was the only one who would see it.
The door squeaked open and John flipped the paper over. He stood from his desk just as Nurse Hendricks led Winifred Jensen and her four young children into his office.
The widow’s weary face matched the anguish in John’s heart. “Hello, Mrs. Jensen.”
“Hello, Dr. Orton.” Winnie offered John a nod, but no smile turned up her once jolly mouth. She had been a good friend to Anna, and John had been a good friend of her husband, Calvin. The two couples had spent many happy hours together picnicking along the banks of the Mississippi River and riding through the countryside in John’s Model T.
He would ask how she was doing, but he detested the platitude he so often received from well-meaning friends and neighbors. It was plain Winnie was not doing well since Calvin had died of the very same disease that had taken Anna.
Instead, he smiled at the twin boys he had helped deliver just four years ago. They wore identical gray coats and stared at him with identical hazel eyes. Even their freckles, which covered their nose and cheeks, were almost identical. How Winnie could tell them apart was a mystery.
But it was the two toddlers she held on her hips that drew John’s attention. Another set of identical twins had been born to Calvin and Winnie two years ago. Girls. Their cheeks were rosy and flushed with apparent fever. Was it influenza?
“Please have a seat.” John indicated the wooden chair across from his desk and took the chart Nurse Hendricks held out for him. He opened the file, expecting to see the girls’ names. Instead, it was Winnie’s name listed there.
He glanced up at her and quickly assessed her outward appearance. She didn’t look feverish, just worn down and filled with grief. Her jet-black hair had lost its shine and her brown eyes were lined with premature wrinkles. According to her chart, she was just twenty-five years old, but Calvin’s death had aged her.
Nurse Hendricks took a seat just behind John, her hands busy with rolling bandages. She always stayed in the room with John when he saw a female patient, even ones he considered a friend, like Winnie Jensen.
“How may I help you today?” John asked.
The two boys stood on either side of their mother, watching John closely. Winnie set one of the girls on her feet, but the child began to fuss. Winnie sighed and picked her back up. She looked at John and her chin began to quiver. “Something terrible has happened.”
John laid his forearms on top of his desk and leaned closer. “What?”
Winnie’s face crumpled and she dropped her head, great sobs shuddering through her body.
John rose, his instinct to heal coming to the forefront of his actions. “Nurse, could you please bring the children to a different room while I speak with Mrs. Jensen?”
“Of course.” Nurse Hendricks rose and lifted first one girl into her arms and then somehow managed to take the other. “Come, boys, I will show you where the cook keeps the cookie jar.”
One of the boys willingly went with Nurse Hendricks, but the other watched his mother cry, his own eyes filling with tears.
John took his clean handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Winnie, then ushered the second boy out of the room, closing the door softly.
He turned back to his friend. “Winnie, what’s the matter?”
He hated to see her in such distress.
She looked wretched as she bent over, her body shaking. “It’s awful! I don’t know what I will do.”
John took his chair from behind his desk and brought it out to sit in front of her. He took her hand in his. “Are you sick? Is there something I can do for you?”
She looked up, and her brown eyes were awash in tears. “I didn’t know where else to go. I have no family in town, and I have no money to travel back to Rhode Island to be with my father. I’ve been living on the kindness of neighbors and the church, but I don’t know how much longer I can rely on them.”
John rubbed the top of her hand. “Slow down and tell me what happened.”
The tears began again and she put her face into the handkerchief. “I’m pregnant.”
John sat up straight. “Pregnant?”
“I’ve been denying it for months. I suspected it when Calvin became sick—but I didn’t have time to think much about it after he died—” Her sobs choked off her words.
John moved his chair so he was sitting beside her and put his arm around her shoulder. He couldn’t imagine if Anna had been left to care for their four children. At least she would have had her mother and sister. Winnie was all alone.
She clutched his hand, her eyes wild with fear. “What if I have another set of twins?”
John patted her shoulder. “Don’t borrow trouble, Winnie. You must take everything a day at a time. If you don’t, you won’t be able to bear it.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head, a hiccup escaping her mouth. “I can’t do this. It’s too much.”
“What are your other options?” John pulled away from her and offered her a little space. “You must do what you’re called to do.”
She wiped at her cheeks and bit her trembling lip. “I’m considering something drastic.”
“It’s never a good idea to make a drastic decision when we’re upset.”
“I’m thinking about offering up—” She began to cry again.
“Shh.” John tried to soothe her. “Winnie, I promise, everything will work out.”
“I’m thinking about giving some of my children up for adoption.”
“Adoption? You’re not thinking straight.”
“But how will I provide for them? I have no means of income. My only option is to marry again, but who would want to marry a bereaved woman with five or six children, all under the age of four?” She stared at him, her face splotched and swollen.
John sat up straight. If Anna was still alive, she’d insist they help Winnie, and he liked to think that Calvin would have helped Anna in the same situation. But how?
“Will you help me, John?” Winnie reached out and took his hands. “I’m desperate. I can’t go through this alone.”
“Is there anyone?”
“Anyone to do what?”
He lifted a shoulder. This was an uncomfortable conversation to have with a friend. If she had been a stranger, perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard. He pulled his hands out of her grasp and stood. “Is there anyone who might...?”
“Marry me?” She also stood. “Who? The war, and now the influenza pandemic, has left no family untouched.” She wadded up the handkerchief. “I would not dream of being so presumptuous to ask...and it embarrasses me to even admit why I came here...”
She wanted John to marry her.
He took a step back and bumped into the desk. The list he had made earlier was still facedown, waiting for his attention. Winnie fit most of the criteria on the list, if not all—but she was Anna’s friend, his friend—and she had four children to care for, more on the way. She was clearly overwhelmed with her responsibilities and her grief. Could she be a stable mother for his children?
Charlie, Lilly, Petey and Laura were John’s first concern. He needed a woman who would love them like Anna had.
Was it Winnie?
“Winnie—”
“Don’t say no right away.” She had stopped crying and was now looking at him with an intense gaze. “Please think about it, for me—for Calvin and Anna.”
What was the harm in thinking about her as a prospect? Before Calvin had died, Winnie was a happy young woman who was quick to laugh and offer help where needed. Maybe, when her grief subsided, she could be the mother his children needed.
Maybe.
“Would you and the children like to come for supper this week?” It was the very least he could do for an old friend. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
Her shoulders loosened, and she let out a long breath. “Thank you. We would love to come.”
“Wednesday night?”
She dabbed at her cheeks again, her hands shaking, and suddenly looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry about all this—”
He put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “You don’t need to be sorry, Winnie. We’re friends. I’m happy you came to me.”
She put one hand on his and offered him the faintest smile. “Thank you, John. I knew if anyone could understand, it would be you. I look forward to Wednesday.”
He nodded and opened the door for her. “Me, too.”
She walked down the hall toward the waiting room and looked over her shoulder one last time before he stepped back into his office.
He closed the door and stood for a moment. It wasn’t enough that he was grieving his own loss, and treating dozens of patients who were dying every day, but he was also grieving the loss of friends.
He walked back to his desk and turned the sheet of paper over. Winnie might fit the criteria, but could he marry her? He would share a meal with her and get to know her better before making a final decision. If he didn’t marry her, he would have to find some other way to help.
Miss Maren’s smiling face suddenly appeared in his mind, and for some reason he couldn’t identify, he was eager to get home and see her. Was it because he was worried she couldn’t handle his four children, or was it because he longed for her cheery disposition right about now?
He surmised it was the former. Of course.
* * *
“You’re sure she isn’t married?” Marjorie put Laura on her other hip and leaned down to ask Lilly, “That one, over there?”
Lilly looked across the mercantile and nodded vigorously. “That’s Miss Baker. She teaches Sunday school at church.”
After picking the two older children up from school, Marjorie had brought them downtown to see if she could spot anyone who might make a good bride for the doctor. She and Lilly had extended half a dozen invitations to their tea party in just an hour—and they were about to extend another.
Marjorie straightened and peered around the display of ladies’ handkerchiefs. The woman in question was perusing a rack of sheet music, flipping through the songs in quick order. She wore a trim black coat and a jaunty purple hat, tilted just so on her brown curls.
Miss Baker must have sensed Marjorie’s gaze, because she suddenly looked her way.
Marjorie smiled and took her cue to approach. “Come, Lilly, I’d like you to introduce me.”
Laura chewed on her bonnet strings, drool dripping down her chin and over the fist holding the strings, while Lilly walked beside Marjorie, her navy blue sailor coat and hat complementing her pretty blue eyes. Charlie had Petey in the corner of the store looking at a display of toy airplanes.
“Hello, Miss Baker,” Lilly said as they approached.
Miss Baker offered Lilly a smile, her whole face lighting with the gesture. She put her hand on Lilly’s shoulder. “Hello, Lilly. Have you heard the war is over?”
Lilly nodded, a grin on her face, and looked up at Marjorie. “This is Miss Maren, my new governess.”
Marjorie extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Marjorie Maren.”
Miss Baker shook Marjorie’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I saw you in church on Sunday.” She laughed, and the sound made Marjorie warm to the young lady. “I saw you nodding off and I was jealous! Once, I came home with a black-and-blue mark from where my mother pinched me when I fell asleep in church, and I’ve never done it again.”
“I think Papa would have pinched Miss Maren, too, if he was close enough.” Lilly joined in the laughter.
Marjorie wasn’t inclined to laugh with them, though she offered a complimentary smile. She still hadn’t slept well since coming to the Ortons’ and was barely standing upright at the moment. This was their last stop before going home and she wanted to be done with the chore. “We’re going to have a tea party this Sunday after church and would like for you to join us.”
Miss Baker clasped her hands. “Oh, that sounds lovely. I’ve always wanted to see inside Dr. Orton’s home.” She leaned closer to Marjorie and put up her hand to shield Lilly from her next words. “I feel so terrible about his wife. It must be awfully sad there. What I wouldn’t give to bring a little joy into their lives right about now.”
Marjorie glanced at Lilly and found the girl quietly watching them, though she didn’t ask Marjorie what was said.
“I do hope you can come to the party,” Marjorie said to Miss Baker. “Three o’clock.”
Miss Baker nodded and pinched Laura’s cheek. “I’ll be there.”
“Good. Now we must be off.” Marjorie shifted Laura into her other arm, surprised at how tired her arms felt from holding the little girl. “Come, Lilly.”
“It was nice meeting you, Miss Maren,” Miss Baker called out in a singsong voice.
“And you, too.” Marjorie walked over to the boys and tapped Charlie on the shoulder. “It’s time to leave.”
Charlie stood straight, but Petey didn’t look at Marjorie. He continued to fly the plane, making a motor sound with his lips.
“Petey, it’s time to leave,” Marjorie said. “Please put the airplane down.”
He lifted the plane high in the air and then dipped it low, acting as if he didn’t hear her.
Charlie and Lilly both watched Marjorie.
She would not be with this family long, but she owed it to Dr. Orton, and his future wife, to discipline the child. But how did you get a child to listen and obey?
Marjorie squatted down to be eye level with the little boy and tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned to look at Marjorie, his airplane coming in for a landing.
“Do you like airplanes?”
Petey nodded.
“Have you ever seen a real one? In the air?”
He shook his head.
“I have, when I lived in Chicago. It was flown by a pilot named Glenn Curtiss. I even went up in the airplane for a ride with him.”
Petey’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”
Marjorie nodded. “I’ll tell you all about it tonight when I put you to bed, all right? But now it’s time to go home, so you need to put the airplane back on the shelf for the next little boy who wants to look at it.”
Petey hesitated for a moment and Marjorie sent up a quick prayer, hoping he would obey, because she had no other ideas.
He placed the tin airplane on the shelf and then stood.
Marjorie sighed with relief and pulled herself up, not an easy task with Laura in her arms. She led the little group out of the mercantile, the bell over the door jingling as they walked through.
A festive air filled the streets. The signing of the armistice in France was a boost for the community’s morale.
“Didn’t you need to buy something in there?” Lilly asked.
Marjorie readjusted the bonnet on Laura’s head to protect her from the cold air. “Not today.”
“But you didn’t buy anything at the millinery, the cobbler’s, the dress shop or the mercantile.”
“I’m just looking over the selection before I make a final choice.” Marjorie smiled, tickled that she had told the truth, if somewhat evasively.
Large snowflakes fell gently from the sky, like little feathers from heaven. They landed on their hats and shoulders, and the three older children opened their mouths to try to catch them on their tongues.
The children must have sensed the lighter mood about town. They laughed as they ran around chasing the flakes, their feet leaving prints in the fresh snow gathered on the sidewalk. Tall storefronts stood on either side of Main Street, and green streetlamps dotted the idyllic downtown. More than one person stopped to watch the children, though not everyone smiled along with Marjorie. Some of the older women looked downright mortified by the children’s behavior.
Marjorie considered stopping them—but she remembered the joys and wonders of childhood, and didn’t think it would hurt to let them revel in a carefree moment.
“Are those Dr. Orton’s children?” One lady stopped by Marjorie’s side and squinted at the trio. “No...they couldn’t be.”
Marjorie didn’t know if she should bother to answer, but when the woman turned her beady glare on Marjorie, she didn’t have a choice. “Yes, they are.”
The older woman put her hand over her bosom. “Haven’t you heard the old adage children should be seen and not heard?”
It was one of Marjorie’s least favorite sayings—something her parents had said to her all the time while growing up. “I have.”
“Well?” The lady lifted her eyebrows. “Why can I hear them?”
Charlie and Lilly stopped, but Petey continued to dance in circles, his face tilted to the sky, laughing and blinking as snowflakes landed on his eyelashes and cheeks.
“You can hear them because they’re having fun.” Marjorie lifted her own face to the sky and opened her mouth. A frosty snowflake landed on her tongue and promptly melted. She looked back at the matron and grinned. “You should try it some time.”
The lady stared at Marjorie as if she had grown three heads, but she didn’t say a word.
“Come, children.” Marjorie extended her hand to Petey. “Supper will be ready soon and your father should be coming home.”
Petey stopped twirling and stared at Marjorie’s proffered hand, and then he looked up into her face. His soulful eyes studied Marjorie, and he must have found her lacking, because he slipped his hand inside Lilly’s and hid his face against his sister’s sleeve.
Marjorie stood up straighter and started walking home. She couldn’t force Petey to like her...but she wouldn’t give up trying.
“Papa’s not going to like that,” Charlie said as he glanced at Marjorie.
“What?”
The boy pointed over his shoulder. “That was Mrs. Kingston.”
“It’s not polite to point, Charlie—and who is Mrs. Kingston?”
“The mayor’s wife.”
Marjorie quickly glanced over her shoulder. The lady still stood next to the mercantile, her perturbed gaze following Marjorie’s retreat.
“He’ll probably hear about this before we get home.” Charlie sighed and offered Marjorie a shake of his head. “Papa doesn’t like to be talked about, especially by Mrs. Kingston, because she tells everyone everything.”
“I heard Mama say that if Mrs. Kingston didn’t like you, then no one would like you,” Lilly added.
Marjorie frowned. “Really?”
“Really.” Lilly’s mouth turned down at the corners. “No one will come to our tea party now.”
“Because of her?” Marjorie pointed over her shoulder—recalling what she had said to Charlie just a moment ago—and then promptly put her hand by her side. How was she to ever teach these children proper manners when she didn’t display them herself? “I don’t think we have anything to worry about. She’s only one person.”
Lilly and Charlie shared a glance. “But she knows everyone in town,” Charlie said.
Marjorie was beginning to realize she didn’t know the first thing about small-town life.
Chapter Five (#ulink_c1d95752-26a6-5c5f-99be-5ff5f8e8a675)
John stalled the engine of his Model T and opened his door, grabbing his medical bag as he exited the vehicle. He kept his gaze on his home as he strode up the fieldstone path, through Anna’s dormant rose garden and onto the back stoop.
No doubt Miss Maren would have the children seated at the dining table, awaiting his arrival. He had told her he would be home at six o’clock, and it was now ten minutes past the hour.
His discussion with her would have to wait until after supper ended. The dining room, with four children listening, would not be the best place.
He stomped the snow and mud off his shoes and pushed open the heavy oak door, shaking snowflakes from his hat and coat as he passed into the back hall.
The aroma of pot roast and simmering root vegetables greeted him upon arrival. He paused for a moment to inhale a whiff of the delicious scents. If his nose didn’t deceive him, there would also be spiced cake for dessert. His favorite.
John set his medical bag on the back hall table and then paused. A strange sound filled his ears. It was a combination of thumping and grinding, followed by...laughter. Children’s laughter—and Miss Maren’s.
He took off his overcoat and set it on the hook next to his fedora.
“I won,” called Lilly.
“You didn’t beat me,” Charlie said. “I won, just like last time.”
Lilly’s joyful laughter seeped through the door. “You’re a sore loser, Charlie. Don’t you like to be beat by a girl?”
“Let’s go again.”
How long had it been since he’d heard his children sound so carefree? He paused, reveling in the moment, and yet—it didn’t quite seem right to be so happy with Anna gone.
“All right, children,” Miss Maren said. “On your mark, get set...go!”
The same thumping resumed, this time coming closer to the back hall, and then moving farther away.
What in the world?
John opened the door and stopped short.
Miss Maren stood near the front door in a filmy pink gown, her blond curls piled high on her head. Her cheeks were rosy red and her green eyes shone.
She saw him standing in the doorway and grinned, the ever-present dimples gracing him with their appearance. “Hello, Dr. Orton.”
Lilly and Charlie halted on their trek down the front hall in their roller skates and sheepishly turned to look his way.
“Hello, Papa,” Lilly said with a squeak.
Mrs. Gohl stood just inside the dining room, a smile on her face. The moment John looked at her, the smile dropped and she scurried off to the kitchen.
“Miss Maren—” He couldn’t find the right words to convey his astonishment. What had she been thinking? The children had a nursery filled with toys—why were they scuffing up the front hall with their roller skates?
“They should sleep well tonight,” Miss Maren said, a triumphant look on her face. She cocked a wry eyebrow. “I wish I could say the same for Laura.”
“What is the meaning of this?” John finally demanded. “Why are my children riding roller skates in the house?”
Miss Maren looked toward the window and waved her hand. “Because it’s snowing outside.”
“I know it’s snowing outside—but what does that have to do with my children roller-skating inside?”
“Surely you wouldn’t want them roller skating outside right now, would you?”
He crossed his arms. “I don’t see why they need to roller-skate at all.”
Her expression became perplexed. “Because they’re required to spend an hour in physical activity every day, and they chose roller-skating.”
Charlie and Lilly hadn’t moved a muscle as they stared at John, and he recalled his earlier decision about reprimanding Miss Maren in private. “Children, take off your roller skates and prepare for supper.”
“Are we in trouble?” Charlie asked.
They knew better, even if Miss Maren did not. “Yes—”
“No,” said Miss Maren.
Lilly and Charlie looked at one another, their own confusion evident in their tilted eyebrows. Anna had never contradicted John in front of the children.
Never.
John looked at the governess, his voice as even as he could manage. “Please join me in my office.”
Miss Maren still looked a bit bewildered, but she nodded her assent and followed him across the hall and into his domain.
When they were both inside, he closed the door. “Have a seat.”
She clasped her hands in front of her gown and sat in the chair he indicated. Her dress was covered in lace and looked as out of place in his home as the lady who wore it. Anna had only dressed in such a fashion on rare occasions when they went out in the evening. Why Miss Maren dressed this way was a riddle to John—but he wished she would stop. It was far too difficult not to notice how attractive she was when she looked like this.
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked, her eyes beseeching him.
He took a seat at his desk. “Maybe the question I should ask is if you’ve done something right today—” The moment the words left his mouth, he wished he could retrieve them. “I apologize. That was unnecessary.”
Miss Maren’s innocent expression fell and her face was filled with pain. “What have I done?”
He hated to see the pain he had caused her—but he needed to address his concerns. “I have three grievances I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Three?”
“I had an interesting phone call from Mrs. Kingston this afternoon.”
Miss Maren’s mouth opened in surprise. “Did she really call you? I didn’t believe Charlie and Lilly when they told me she would.” She put her hand up to cover a giggle. “Doesn’t the woman have anything better to do?”
John wasn’t laughing.
She sat up straighter and her giggle disappeared.
“She said my children were running about the streets, acting like hooligans.”
Miss Maren’s brow jumped. “Hooligans? They weren’t causing any problems. They were just catching snowflakes on their tongues.”
“Mrs. Kingston said when she approached you to deal with them, you mocked her.”
“Mocked—?” She looked stunned.
John had never met a woman with such vivid expressions.
“I didn’t mock her, I simply told her the children were having fun catching snowflakes and she should try it sometime.”
John wanted to groan. “Mrs. Kingston is a very important member of Little Falls society, and when she’s displeased with you, everyone is displeased with you. If she had a mind to, she could easily destroy my medical practice with a few flicks of her tongue.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
It was, but John wasn’t in a place to change the intricate societal web Mrs. Kingston had spun. “If you are still planning to have the tea party with Lilly on Sunday, I’d advise you to make a call on Mrs. Kingston in the morning and apologize for any misunderstanding.”
“Me?” She pointed at her chest. “Apologize?”
“I will not have Lilly’s heart broken when no one comes to your party.”
“Would people really snub me because of Mrs. Kingston’s opinion?”
John leaned forward, wanting to make himself clear. “Yes. Don’t you have women like her in Chicago?”
Miss Maren’s heavy expression filled with more pain. “Of course we do.” She sat for a moment, as if contemplating her options.
“There’s nothing to think about,” John said. “Either you apologize to Mrs. Kingston, or your plans for the party will be ruined—and Lilly will be devastated. I cannot allow that to happen.”
“I would never want to hurt Lilly.”
“Then you’ll go?”
She nodded, her face sincere. “Right after I drop Lilly and Charlie off at school.”
“Good—now for the other items we need to discuss.”
She sighed. “What other transgressions have I committed that I’m unaware of?”
“Mrs. Kingston—”
She unclasped her hands. “Mrs. Kingston, again—?”
“Mrs. Kingston,” he said slowly, “told me you had come out of the mercantile.”
“And?”
“What were you doing in the mercantile? Or downtown for that matter?”
She closed her mouth and didn’t answer, studying him as if to gauge his response to an unspoken confession.
“Miss Maren?”
“Where’s the harm in going downtown?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“But it’s a legitimate question. Isn’t it my job to exercise the children and expose them to things outside this home?”
John stood suddenly. “That’s the problem.” He walked over to the mantel and looked at the portrait he had set there the previous night. Anna’s picture reminded him of the dangers just outside their door. “I don’t want them exposed to anything. We still have a disease running rampant through the state. I had considered bringing a tutor into the home to teach the children, and keep them out of school, but they’ve already been through so much that I didn’t want to upend their entire lives.” He turned and looked at her. “I don’t want them unnecessarily exposed to the general public.”
“But they’re taking their cinnamon oil—and aren’t they exposed at church and—”
“Those places are necessary. The mercantile is not.” He walked closer to her and sat on the edge of his desk, his hands on either side of him. “Now tell me why you were there.”
She hesitated.
“Miss Maren, I am losing patience.”
“I was inviting ladies to the tea party.”
He frowned. What was her fascination with this tea party? Was she really that desperate for friends, even though she would be leaving soon? “For now, I do not want my children taken out in public, unless absolutely necessary.”
She nodded and folded her hands in her lap once again. “And the third grievance?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
She shrugged in her nonchalant sort of way. “Apparently not.”
“My children are not allowed to ride their roller skates inside the house.” She opened her mouth—but he put up his hand. “Never.”
She let out a long sigh. “Very well. Is that all?”
“For now.”
He had a sneaky suspicion this would not be the end of his grievances toward her.
* * *
A soft floor lamp glowed in the corner of Marjorie’s bedroom as she sat at the secretary and looked over the list of ladies she had invited to the tea party on Sunday. She yawned as she absentmindedly ran a brush through her blond curls and reviewed each name, studying the notes she had written beside them.
So far, Miss Baker and Miss Addams, the owner of the millinery, were the forerunners in Marjorie’s mind—but she’d had so little time to get to know either one that it was hard to tell. If everyone came to tea, there would be fifteen ladies to choose from. She intended to use the party as a place to weed out the undesirable prospects.
But, for now, her bed beckoned. She stopped brushing her hair and offered up a simple prayer. “Please, Lord. Let Laura sleep through the night.”
A gentle knock sounded at her door.
She tossed her curls over her shoulder and set the brush down on the desk. Her wrapper was draped over the footboard, so she picked it up and slipped it on. No doubt one of the children needed something, though all four of them had been in bed for an hour. Hopefully Petey hadn’t had another nightmare.
Marjorie opened her door and then abruptly closed it again.
“Miss Maren?” Dr. Orton stood in the hallway, probably bewildered by her abrupt greeting—or lack of one.
She touched her hair and closed her robe. Why had he come to her room? Since she had arrived, he had not even walked past her room. Marjorie opened the door once again—just a crack. “Yes?”
He stood in the dark hall, holding a children’s book in his hands, his tired face outlined in the shadows. He studied her for a moment and then looked down at the book, swallowing a few times before he spoke. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I just got called into the hospital and I will be leaving for the night.”
She opened the door a little wider, concern softening her voice. “But you’ve only been home for three hours. When will you get some rest?”
He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He lifted his brown eyes and shrugged. “Hopefully in the morning, though I might catch a few minutes of sleep on a cot in my office tonight, if I get a chance.”
“But aren’t you at a higher risk of getting sick if your body is exhausted?”
The weary lines of his face disappeared and he offered her a tender smile.
The gesture took Marjorie by surprise and made her close the door just a hair more.
“That’s usually what I tell my patients, but I’m not known for taking my own advice.” He lifted the book and extended it toward her. It was a copy of Peter Pan and Wendy. “I was just reading this to Petey. He came into my office crying after another bad dream. I read to him until he fell asleep and then I put him in my bed.” He lifted the book higher and nodded to her to take it. “In case he wakes up again.”
Marjorie took the book from Dr. Orton and hugged it to her chest. “Will you be home in the morning before the children go to school?”
He slipped his hands in his pockets and shook his head. His eyes followed the outline of her face and he cleared his throat. “I don’t think so. Dr. McCall lost two patients this evening and needs to go home and rest, so I’ll be there until he can relieve me. I told him to take all the time he needs.” He took a step back. “Good night, Miss Maren.” He paused and offered her another smile. “Thank you—and be sure to give the children their cinnamon oil in the morning.”
Marjorie closed her bedroom door and leaned against it for a moment, the book still warm from his touch. It was a few heartbeats before she heard him walk away from her door.
The man was a study in extremes. He could be hard and demanding—yet gentle and kind. He disciplined his children with a rigid set of ideals, yet they ran to him for comfort and acceptance.
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.
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- Жанр: Исторические любовные романы, Современная зарубежная литература
- Язык: Книги на английском языке
- Объём: 270 стр. 1 иллюстрация
- ISBN: 9781474057929
- Дата выхода книги: 14 мая 2019
- Версия: 📚 Электронная книга
Matchmaking with a MissionPractical, steady, level-headed…all qualities single father Dr. John Orton expects in both a governess and a wife. But his children’s temporary governess Miss Marjorie Maren seems set on finding him an impractical woman to love…despite his plans of marrying solely for convenience. Nothing could be more exasperating to the handsome widower—except his increasing interest in Marjorie.Vivacious and fun-loving…that’s the kind of bride the reserved doctor needs. Before Marjorie leaves to pursue her acting dreams, she intends to match him with a suitable wife candidate. Yet growing affection for her four charges and their dashing father has awakened a new hope—that she might be his perfect bride. But can she convince her employer to take a chance on love and claim real happiness before it slips away?
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