“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 wit
h 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
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.
A Mother in the Making Page 2
