Gabrielle Meyer - A Mother In The Making

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.