She didn’t move away from his touch. Instead, she studied him, her face filled with uncertainty. She looked so soft and vulnerable in her nightgown and robe, with her hair trailing down her back. It curled around her face, making her look even more unguarded at the moment.
She slowly lifted her hand and placed it on top of his.
“I can’t marry a man who doesn’t love me.” Her voice was filled with sorrow. “It’s the reason I left Preston.”
John removed his hand from her cheek and put a little space between them on the landing. “My children’s love is not enough?” He felt foolish even asking. Of course it wasn’t enough. And the look in her eyes confirmed his foolishness.
“A child’s love is not enough to sustain a marriage. My birth didn’t help my parents’ marriage—if anything, it complicated everything.”
“I’m sorry, Marjorie.” He leaned against the opposite wall. “I wish I could offer my heart—but I’m afraid I buried it with Anna. I can never allow myself to love again or betray her in that way.”
She shook her head and a lock of her blond hair fell over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask you to. But someday, you will remarry, and I’m worried—” Her voice caught and she began to cry again. He felt helpless to stop her.
He took a step toward her again and moved a curl away from her cheek, reveling in the silkiness. “What’s wrong now?”
She bit her trembling lip. “It’s silly.” She tried to laugh. “I’m just being silly.”
“What?”
“I’m suddenly...afraid of the woman who will someday replace me.”
“Afraid?”
“I’m afraid to leave the children in the hands of someone else.” Emotions warred within her gaze. “Maybe j-jealous is a better word, though I despise it.” She stood straight, as if she was ready to face the truth. “I do love your children and I don’t like the thought of someone else stepping in and taking my place.”
A bit of hope took root in his heart. He was desperate to convince her, and hoped it wouldn’t take much. “Then don’t go. Stay...for the children.”
She looked at him through her watery eyes, probing him. “Only for the children?”
For one brief, irrational moment, he let down his guard and put his hand back on her cheek.
She looked up at him, her eyes inviting.
Before he could think about the repercussions, he dropped his lips to hers and captured her mouth in a kiss.
Her lips parted in surprise and he deepened the kiss, pleased when she melted under his touch. It felt strange to kiss someone other than Anna—but it also felt wonderful.
All too soon, he realized what he was doing, and he pulled away, ashamed of his rash behavior. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have done that.”
She put her fingers to her lips, her eyes bright with uncertainty.
He wanted to tell her to stay for him, too—but he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair, to either of them. Shame assailed him, and panic raced up his legs. He needed to get away from her. She posed too much of a threat to his heart. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t be married to Marjorie in name only. Eventually he wouldn’t be able to keep his distance. Wasn’t this stolen moment proof? “I was wrong to ask you to marry me. Please forgive me—for everything tonight.”
He couldn’t stay there with her. Embarrassment and shame coursed through him. He took the stairs two at a time and crossed the hall. He entered his bedroom and quickly closed the door, locking it on instinct, his breath coming hard.
He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated by how he had handled the whole situation. He wouldn’t blame her if she left tomorrow. He had asked her to stay—and for what? For a broken man who offered her nothing in return. And what of that kiss? What had he been thinking? What must she be thinking? He had been a heartless cad. Asking her to marry him, kissing her the way he did and then telling her he would never love her.
Anger at himself burst inside his chest and he wanted to growl at his stupidity. He paced the room, reliving all the moments that had just passed—but he paused when he heard her bedroom door click down the hall.
John sank to the floor and dropped his face into his hands.
Anna’s lavender sachet filled the bedroom with her scent, bringing back a lifetime of memories. Guilt washed over him just thinking about his wife, and how he had dishonored her by kissing another woman in their home.
He had wept the night Anna died, and he wept the night of her funeral. Tonight, he wept again, because for the first time he realized he had lost more than his beloved wife the day she died.
He had lost a lifetime of love, affection and companionship. Never to be had again. He had to let Marjorie go. She was a woman any man would be proud to have as a wife—and she would make a wonderful mother. Yet he was not free to pursue her, to open his heart to loving her like she needed to be loved.
He wiped at his face, resolve hardening his heart. He had been wrong to ask Marjorie to marry him. It had been a foolish decision that both of them would regret.
He would turn his efforts back to his list to find a mother for his children before the end of the year—one he wouldn’t be tempted to kiss...or love.
* * *
Marjorie stood in her bedroom, leaning against the door, tears streaming down her face. Her poor heart had been pummeled and left tender and bruised.
John had asked her to marry him but told her he could never love her.
Then he had kissed her like she had never been kissed before. Oh, why had he gone and done something so terribly wonderful? A kiss changed everything. Made her feel things she never dreamed of feeling.
How would she face him in the morning?
Her corner lamp was still on, and the book she had been reading before Lilly came in was sitting on the chair. The fire had died down to embers and the snow continued to fall, though now it wasn’t soft but had turned into hard pellets of ice.
She flipped off the lamp, removed her robe and slippers and crawled between the cold sheets, shivering for a long time.
It was true, she loved the children, but how could he think that would be enough? She wanted to be angry at him, but she couldn’t. He was grieving and only wanted what was best for his family.
Marjorie rolled onto her back and stared up at the dark ceiling. She admired John more than any other man she had ever known. She enjoyed the times she spent with him and looked forward to him coming home from work. She adored his laughter and the way he cared for his children with discipline and love. She respected his work and marveled at the way he was revered in the community.
But what did any of it matter, if she did not have his love?
Marjorie looked over at the window and watched the snow. It gathered in the corners and sounded like sand hitting the glass.
She thought back to the conversation with John in the kitchen, and the myriad emotions that had flooded her being. But one emotion stuck out above the overs.
Jealousy.
Marjorie groaned. “Jealousy?”
Saying the word out loud the second time made it sound even more horrible. She had told him she was jealous of someone coming in to replace her with his family, but that was only half the truth. She was even more jealous of someone becoming his wife, which could only mean one thing. She cared for John much more than she had realized, or was willing to admit.
But when he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her on the stair, the jealousy had melted away, and other emotions had taken her by surprise—the most powerful was fear.
Fear that she would fall in love with him if she didn’t guard her heart—and fear that he would never return that love—which was the greatest fear of all.
If she was smart, she would leave immediately and not risk falling in love. But she couldn’t leave, not yet. S
he didn’t have enough money to get to California. If she continued to work for John for three weeks, she’d have just enough saved up to buy a train ticket.
She hadn’t completed her other goal, either. John needed a wife. The children needed a mother.
Her list no longer mattered like it had in the beginning. She was less concerned about finding a woman who would stand up to John, and more concerned that she find someone who would love him and the children like Marjorie would love them.
She knew right where to go.
* * *
The afternoon sun was hidden behind gray clouds as Marjorie knocked on the Scott’s front door. The cold wind continued to blow, swirling the snow into large drifts around the side of the house. Automobiles had been put away, and the town had come alive with horse and sleigh. That very morning, John had brought his horse from the livery and had attached it to the sleigh to bring them all to church.
It had been a cold ride—and not just because of the weather. She and John had barely spoken all morning. The tension between them was as awkward as she had expected.
The uncomfortable morning had turned into an uncomfortable afternoon and Marjorie had left as soon as lunch finished. She would take advantage of her afternoon off and see to her plans.
The door opened and Mrs. Scott stood in her black mourning gown. Her lips were pursed and her nose was red as she stared at Marjorie. “What do you want?”
“I’d like to talk to Dora, please.”
Mrs. Scott harrumphed. “You’re not welcome in this house.”
“Oh, Mother.” Dora appeared behind her mother. “Marjorie is freezing. Let her in.” She opened the door wider. “Come in, Marjorie.”
Mrs. Scott narrowed her eyes but didn’t try to stop Marjorie as she stepped over the threshold.
The house was warm and smelled of pumpkin pie. A large stand-up radiator emanated heat from the corner of the foyer.
“Let me take your hat and coat.” Dora held up her hand and took the items from Marjorie after they were removed.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Marjorie said, touching up her curls.
“Of course.” Dora motioned toward the back of the foyer. “Come into the parlor.”
The Scott home was less extravagant than the Ortons’, but still elegant. The foyer held an open staircase and a tall coat tree with an oval mirror. Oak floors extended from the front door, into a parlor and all the way to the dining room beyond.
Mrs. Scott followed Marjorie, her arms crossed.
“I was afraid something was wrong when neither of you came to church today,” Marjorie said.
“Mother has a cold and we haven’t had a chance to bring out the sleigh,” Dora explained.
“We don’t have a man about the place to see to such things.” Mrs. Scott sent a pointed look toward Dora. “We have to hire a man to do it for us, or wait until John has a spare moment.”
Dora lifted her eyes toward the ceiling and then smiled at Marjorie. “Please have a seat.”
Marjorie sat in a wingback chair, near the crackling fireplace. She had hoped to speak to Dora alone, but there was no way to ask Mrs. Scott to leave her own parlor.
“Would you like tea?” Dora asked, sitting on the sofa across from Marjorie.
“No, thank you. I won’t keep you long.” She glanced at Mrs. Scott, who still stood watching her.
“Be about your business and then skedaddle,” Mrs. Scott said.
“Mother.” Dora lifted her brow. “Be kind, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Mrs. Scott harrumphed again and then turned. “I’m going to go lie down. I don’t feel well.”
“I’m sorry,” Dora said the moment Mrs. Scott was out of sight. “She’s always been a bit outspoken, but she has become worse since Anna’s death.”
“Everyone grieves differently.”
Dora placed her hands in her lap, a smile on her face. “I’m so happy you’ve come to visit. To what do I owe this surprise?”
Marjorie took a deep breath and leaned forward—but nothing came out of her mouth.
Dora looked at her expectantly, but Marjorie couldn’t bring herself to say what she had come to say. Pain and disappointment waged within her chest, threatening to dislodge the tears she had held at bay since deciding to do this last night.
It was the right thing to do. It made sense. It was necessary.
“I’ve come to ask you to marry John.”
Dora’s hand fluttered over her chest. “Pardon me?”
“He’s looking for a wife, a mother for his children. Who would be better suited to love him and the children? You’re the closest relation to Anna they’ll ever have.”
Dora blinked several times. “Marjorie—I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll marry John. It would be a great relief for me, knowing you were caring for them after I left.”
“I can’t marry John.”
“Don’t you love him?”
“Of course I do. He’s my brother. I was eight years old when he married Anna. I’ve looked up to John practically all my life.”
“What prevents you from marrying him?”
Dora made a funny face. “Marjorie. He’s my brother.”
“Not really.”
“In every way that matters—besides...” She paused, her face taking on a shine. “I’m in love with someone else.”
Marjorie had not anticipated that response. “I had no idea.”
Dora glanced toward the foyer to where Mrs. Scott had just disappeared. “I don’t speak of him often, because I don’t want to upset Mother.”
“Why would it upset your mother if you spoke of him?”
“She has such hopes that John and I will marry.” Dora fiddled with a fold in her skirt. “But, more than that, Jeremiah lives in Minneapolis and if we married, I would have to leave her.”
“I see.” Marjorie couldn’t help feeling deflated. If Dora would not marry John, then who would? She was running out of options.
“May I speak candidly?” Dora asked.
“Of course.”
“I think you should marry John.”
Marjorie’s back stiffened. “I cannot.”
“Why?”
“It’s complicated.” Marjorie glanced at the clock. She really should be going.
“For what it’s worth,” Dora smiled, “marriage is always complicated, and life is too short to let the complications stop you from true happiness.”
Marjorie stood. “I should go.”
“I hope I didn’t offend you.”
“Of course not.” Marjorie went to the foyer and picked up her wet hat and coat. If she was going to find a wife for John, she would need to use the rest of her day to keep looking. She put on her outerwear and turned to Dora. “Goodbye.”
Dora opened the door. “Goodbye, Marjorie.”
Marjorie stopped and put her hand over Dora’s. “Take your own advice and tell your mother about your beau soon rather than later.”
Marjorie stepped out into the cold and braced herself against the blowing snow. It would be a long walk to the music hall where there was a performance for the Little Falls Musical Club.
Surely there would be a woman there who would marry John.
Chapter Fifteen
She had finally done it. Marjorie Maren had gone too far.
John could hardly see straight as he pulled the horse and sleigh into the carriage house three weeks after the ill-fated night he had kissed Marjorie.
He wished he could simply park the horse and storm the house to tell Marjorie exactly what he thought of her latest shenanigans. Instead, he unhitched the mare, rubbed her down and fed her oats. Then he wiped the sleigh and closed up the carriage house.
The time and energy it took to accomplish his tasks did not lessen his anger—it only fueled the irritation more.
By the time he trudged up the path in the snow from the recent storm, his body was slick with perspiration and his heart pounded with exertion.
What in the world had Marjorie been thinking? Was she truly that desperate to marry him off?
He slammed the back door and tore his hat and coat off his body. He detested yelling in his home, but right now he didn’t care if the house fell down around him. “Marjorie!” His voice boomed in the back hall. He threw open the door leading to the front hall. “Marjorie!” he yelled again.
Petey sat on the bottom step, his airplane in hand, and looked at John with the widest blue eyes John had ever seen.
“Where is Miss Maren?” John asked.
If Petey’s face was any indication, John must look like a monster right about now.
Instead of answering John, Petey stood and ran up the stairs as if a bear were on his tail.
“Marjorie!” John yelled again.
“Where’s the fire?” Mrs. Gohl rushed into the front hall with a dish towel in her hand.
“Where is Miss Maren?”
“Last I heard she had taken the children up to the day nursery—but I don’t think she’d want you up there—”
John was already taking the stairs three at a time.
“They’re planning a surprise for you, sir,” Mrs. Gohl called after him. “They’ll be so disappointed if you see.”
John rounded the corner landing and continued up the stairs. He passed Petey in the upper hall and threw open the third-floor stairway door. “Marjorie!”
There was a flurry of scraping and foot rustling just above his head on the third floor. John raced up the steps, and just as he opened the door, Marjorie was there.
She pushed the door back with all her weight. “You can’t come up here.”
Their faces were mere inches apart, and she smelled wonderful.
It only made him angrier. “What were you thinking?”
Lilly appeared under Marjorie’s elbow. “Papa, don’t look. We’re planning a Christmas surprise for you.”
A Mother in the Making Page 16
