It would be a quiet, peaceful afternoon.
He whistled as he hung up his hat and coat and set his medical bag on the table. He pushed open the door leading into the front hall and crossed the space to his office.
Marjorie was on her hands and knees, her backside toward him, and pieces of paper were lying about his office.
He pushed the door open wider and she turned at the sound, her blond head appearing over her shoulder. “Dr. Orton!”
He frowned as he took in the scene. What was the woman doing now?
She stood quickly, wiping the knees of her purple gown, her hand full of paper. “I didn’t know—” Her face crumpled and tears appeared on her cheeks. “I fell asleep—Petey woke up—I woke up—there was paper everywhere—Petey was gone—the door was open—” She sputtered and cried, pointing at different places in the room with each cryptic statement. “Mrs. Scott yelled at me—Petey was with Laura—I found Mrs. Gohl’s shears—and this.” She held up the paper, a sob leaving her body. “I’m so sorry.”
John set the borrowed medical book on his desk. “Miss Maren—I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She wiped at her face, gulping large amounts of air. “Your books—Petey cut up your books.”
“My books?” He glanced around the room and that was when he recognized all the paper. They were pages from his books, or what was left of them. He picked up Diseases of the Skin and flipped through the massacred pages. “My books,” he said again, this time in disbelief. He put Diseases of the Skin down and picked up Prescriptive Medicine. It, too, was destroyed. Nine other books lay in a pile on John’s desk, all of them victims of Petey’s shears.
He looked at Marjorie. “These books meant a great deal to me—”
“I know!” she wailed. “Mrs. Scott told me.”
“Mother Scott was here?”
Marjorie wiped at her nose in a very unladylike gesture. “She heard me yelling for Petey outside when he was missing and she came over to help—”
He dropped Prescriptive Medicine and grabbed her arms. “Petey is missing?”
She shook her head quickly, her tears all but forgotten for the moment. “No. He’s here. H-he was fine the whole time.”
John released her arms and put his hand over his heart, closing his eyes briefly. “Thank You, Lord.”
“I tried to reprimand him, but it wasn’t only his fault.”
John lifted another book. “What were you doing when all this happened?”
Marjorie indicated the sofa, the tears starting all over again. “I fell asleep.”
John sighed and set the book on the desk. “What’s done is done.”
She blinked at him, her green eyes glimmering with tears. “You’re not going to fire me?”
He reached into his back pocket and removed a clean handkerchief. “I’m not going to fire you for falling asleep, especially when I was the one who told you to rest.”
“But—” She took the handkerchief and wiped at her nose and cheeks. “This is my fault.”
He lifted his brow. “You want me to fire you?”
“No.” She put her hand on his forearm and the touch sent a familiar feeling through him—the same feeling he used to get when Anna touched him.
He pulled away from her hand, his skin on fire, and couldn’t look her in the eye. No woman had ever had this effect on him, besides his wife. “You’re only human. You’re tired.” He swallowed and toyed with the edge of a lacerated book. “See that it doesn’t happen again.”
Marjorie was quiet for so long that John finally looked up at her.
Her face was wiped dry and her tears had stopped. She looked at him with the strangest mixture of disbelief and sympathy. “I am sorry.”
“I know. I’m just happy Petey is safe and that nothing worse happened.”
“I’ll replace your books.”
He shook his head. “It isn’t necessary—and many of these books are now out of date anyway.” He smiled ruefully. “They’re getting old, just like me.”
“You’re not old.”
She didn’t think he was old? She had to be at least twelve years younger than him.
If she didn’t think he was too old... He stopped his thoughts before they could go any further. Miss Faulkner was coming to supper tonight. She was practical, sensible and levelheaded. Exactly what John needed in a wife.
He didn’t need someone as unpredictable as Marjorie. Regardless of how much he enjoyed coming home to her—even when his home was torn apart.
Chapter Ten
It was tiresome, this search to find a wife. John straightened his tie as he looked at his weary reflection in the mirror. How many more times would he have to entertain a young lady before finding the right one? He would have much preferred to spend the evening with his children and Marjorie around the supper table, hearing about their day and enjoying their laughter. He had planned to finally talk to Marjorie about her past, but, instead, he would be talking to Miss Faulkner about the future.
The scent of chicken and dumplings wafted up the stairwell. It was Lilly’s favorite meal. If John had known Mrs. Gohl was preparing it for tonight, he would have invited Miss Faulkner for another evening.
Instead of eating in the dining room, the children would stay in the day nursery on the third floor. He just needed to make his wishes clear with Marjorie this time around. Nothing but an emergency would interrupt his meal with Miss Faulkner.
He stepped out of his bedroom and strode through the hall to the third-floor stairwell.
The children’s voices trailed down the stairs. It sounded like they were in the midst of a game.
He stepped through the door into the nursery and saw Marjorie standing in the middle of the room, a blindfold over her eyes, her arms outstretched, her fingers wiggling in the air.
“I know you’re over here somewhere, Lilly Belle.” Marjorie used Lilly’s middle name just as Anna used to.
John paused for a moment, surprised at how much he enjoyed hearing Marjorie say his daughter’s full name. It somehow made her feel like family.
Lilly crouched in the corner, under a slant in the ceiling, her hands over her mouth, a silent giggle shaking her body. Charlie was in the opposite corner but came up behind Marjorie and touched her shoulder, then ran away.
Marjorie spun. “Who was that? Charlie?”
Petey sat cross-legged near the dormer, his airplane in hand, watching the other three play blindman’s bluff, a gentle smile on his face.
“This isn’t fair,” Marjorie said as she walked over to the wall and felt around on the surface. “You should make some noise, or something.”
Lilly’s eyes shone with mirth as she glanced at John. She lifted her hand and silently pointed at Marjorie, indicating that he should also tease her.
John smiled at his daughter’s merriment, and recalled all the fun he’d had playing parlor games as a young man. Blindman’s bluff had been one of his favorites.
He tiptoed across the nursery floor, the boards creaking under his weight. He drew close to Marjorie and slowly lifted his hand to tap her shoulder.
She turned right at that moment and threw her arms around John’s middle.
“I got you, Charlie!” she said in triumph.
John stood motionless for a split second, enjoying the feel of being in her arms and smelling the lilac scent she wore. He slipped her mask off and her dimples shone. But then her laughing eyes grew round and she jumped back. “Oh, my.”
Lilly laughed so hard she lost her balance and tumbled to the floor.
Charlie bent over and slapped his knee. “She thought you were me, Papa.”
Even Petey joined in the laughter—and his was the sweetest of all, because it was the most absent from the home.
&nbs
p; Marjorie’s cheeks turned a delicious shade of pink.
John tried hard not to laugh. “I wish you could see your cheeks.” He reached up on instinct and touched her right cheek—and then became serious.
Marjorie stared at him, blinking her beautiful green eyes and took a step back.
He lowered his hand, unsure why he had done something so familiar. He cleared his throat while his children still reveled in the moment. “I came to tell you that you will dine with the children here in the nursery this evening.”
She lifted her hand to the cheek he had touched, and she kept it there for a moment, not looking at him.
Lilly’s laughter stopped. “Why, Papa?”
“I have a guest coming this evening.”
“What time is it?” Marjorie asked suddenly, her hand dropping from her cheek.
“It’s almost six o’clock now,” John answered. “I need to get downstairs and wait for my guest.”
Marjorie’s cheeks drained of their previous color.
“What?” John asked.
“You have a guest coming? Tonight?”
“Yes. Miss Faulkner. She’s the librarian at the Carnegie Library.”
“Dr. Orton.” Miss Ernst suddenly appeared at the top of the steps. “Miss Faulkner is here for supper.”
“Please tell her I’ll be right down.”
“But I thought...” Marjorie paused. “What about Dora?”
“Dora?” John repositioned his suit coat. “What does Dora have to do with anything?”
Marjorie shook her head. “I don’t know, apparently.”
“Miss Ernst will bring your food up here.” He began to cross the nursery but stopped and looked back at Marjorie. “Under no circumstances do I want to be bothered again.”
“What if one of us gets sick, or hurt?” Lilly asked.
He tilted his head and looked at her. “Lilly, don’t be silly. If you’re hurt or sick, you can bother me. But nothing else.”
“What if—”
John put up his hand. “Ask Miss Maren.” He continued to cross the nursery and stepped through the door.
“Dr. Orton,” Marjorie called out, and rushed across the room. “There’s something you need to know.”
He recalled how she had tried to persuade him regarding Mrs. Jensen and he shook his head. “It will have to wait. If you have something to tell me, please see me after my guest leaves.” He descended the stairs and crossed the upstairs hall.
He shouldn’t feel nervous, but he couldn’t keep the jitters at bay. What if he and Miss Faulkner had nothing in common? It would be a long meal. He really knew nothing about her.
Miss Ernst met him just before he began his descent down the main staircase to the first floor.
“Dr. Orton, there’s a woman here for supper.”
John frowned at his maid. “Yes, I know. You already told me.”
Miss Ernst clasped her hands, her eyes large. “There’s a second woman here.”
“A second woman? Who is she?”
“A Miss Baker.”
John search his mind for a Miss Baker. “Is she the lady who goes to our church?”
“I believe she’s the children’s Sunday school teacher.”
John scratched his head. “What is she doing here? You said she’s here for supper?”
“That’s what she told me.”
“Where are they now?”
“I told both of them to wait in the parlor.” Miss Ernst wrung her hands. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“That’s fine.” John walked around her. “Please see that the children and Miss Maren get their supper.”
“Yes, sir.”
John quickly descended the stairs and walked across the front hall and into the parlor.
Two women sat in the room, on opposite sofas, looking very prim and proper—and very uncomfortable. They both rose when he entered the room.
“Good evening.” He smiled at Miss Faulkner, and then Miss Baker—trying to discern why she was in his home.
“Good evening,” Miss Baker said, extending her hand. “Thank you for the invitation to supper.”
Miss Faulkner turned her blue eyes on John. She fidgeted with her reticule. “I’m sorry—did I come on the wrong night?”
“No.” John clasped his hands behind his back. The awkward tension continued to rise with each breath he took. He looked at Miss Baker, unsure what to do with her. “I’m sorry, Miss Baker—have the children done something wrong at church?”
Miss Baker giggled. “Not at all. They’re practically perfect.”
John lifted an eyebrow. Practically perfect?
He cleared his throat, hating to embarrass her—but what else could he do? “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you this evening.”
“When were you expecting her?” Miss Faulkner asked John, her shoulders rising in indignation. “Do you have a woman planned for every night of the week?”
“Of course not.”
Miss Baker’s cheeks filled with color. “I’m terribly embarrassed. Miss Maren said you’d like for me to come to supper this evening.”
“Miss Maren?” He glanced at the door leading to the hall, expecting her to be standing there, adding chaos to yet another situation. “I’m sorry, but she’s dining with the children in the nursery this evening and she didn’t tell me she was expecting a guest. You’re free to join her there, if you’d like.”
“No.” Miss Baker laid her gloved hand on John’s arm, glancing slyly at Miss Faulkner. “She intended for me to dine with you, Dr. Orton.”
“Who is Miss Maren?” Miss Faulkner asked. “Do you have ladies dining on every level of your home this evening?”
“I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” John said.
“Apparently.” Miss Faulkner put her reticule under her arm. “I will take my leave now.”
Miss Baker fiddled with her gloves but didn’t say a word.
“I wish you wouldn’t leave,” John said. “I had looked forward to our meal together.”
Miss Faulkner stood straight, her back stiff. “Dr. Orton, I am not a young, inexperienced woman who will fawn at the feet of a man who shows interest in me.” She pointedly looked at Miss Baker. “I have a bit of self-respect.”
“I’m not suggesting—”
“I’ll see myself out.” Miss Faulkner strode from the room, never looking back.
The front door slammed shut and John cringed.
Miss Baker lifted her pretty brown eyes, her voice innocent. “I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”
“No, I’m sorry. You had no idea.” But Marjorie did! Why hadn’t she told him she had invited a woman over for supper? She had no right to meddle in his affairs, yet she did constantly, and with little conscience.
He would tell his governess exactly what he thought about her matchmaking, if that was what this was.
Miss Baker made no move to leave. She swung her reticule in her hands and glanced up at John, a smile lighting her face.
Was he obligated to feed the lady? He hadn’t extended the invitation—yet it would be rude to send her home hungry. “Would you care to join me for supper?”
“Yes. I would.” She linked her arm through his and practically pulled him from the room.
As soon as supper was over, and Miss Baker was gone, he’d have another talk with Marjorie. This time he would tell her if she meddled again, he’d send her back to Chicago.
* * *
The meal couldn’t end soon enough for John. Miss Baker had talked incessantly about herself, and though she said quite a lot, he really hadn’t learned anything of value.
He closed the front door and watched Miss Baker walk down his sidewalk as the grandfather clo
ck struck eight chimes.
It was time to confront Marjorie.
Frustration mounted as he climbed the stairs two at a time. The children should have been put to bed thirty minutes ago. He had hoped to say good-night to them, but it had been almost impossible to get Miss Baker to leave.
What had Marjorie been thinking? It wasn’t her place to invite women over to his home for supper. The idea was preposterous, at best.
She had a lot of explaining to do.
After a string of mishaps and poor judgment on her part, he was wondering if she was the best person for the job of governess. She didn’t dress appropriately for her position, she unnecessarily exposed the children to public places, she disrespected an important member of society, she fell asleep and almost lost his son and now she invited strangers to his home for supper—and she had only been in his house for ten days! What would happen next?
The upstairs hall was shrouded in shadows. He hated to bother her in her bedroom again, but this conversation could not wait.
No light seeped from the crack at the bottom of her bedroom door. Was she asleep?
Right now it didn’t matter.
He knocked on her door and waited several minutes.
She didn’t answer.
His gaze wandered down the hall to the next door. A faint light emanated from the night nursery. Maybe she was still putting the children to sleep.
He walked down the hall and slowly turned the handle, pushing the door open gently, and then paused on the threshold.
Marjorie stood in a nightgown with a robe cinched around her slender waist. A single lamp offered a soft glow from the corner of the room, illuminating her blond curls flowing freely. She held Laura against her shoulder, her back toward John, and swayed while she lovingly patted Laura’s back. Brahms’s “Lullaby” flowed beautifully from her lips.
“Lullaby, and good night,
With pink roses bedight,
With lilies o’erspread,
Is my baby’s sweet head...”
John leaned against the doorframe, all anger slipping away as he took in the tender scene. Laura’s downy head lay snuggled into the crook of Marjorie’s shoulder, her cheeks pink with sleep, and her lips puckered from a recent feeding. She looked so content and natural in Marjorie’s arms.
A Mother in the Making Page 11
