A Mother in the Making

by Gabrielle Meyer

  “Marrying John would not be an act of charity.”

  “John? Are you that familiar with the handsome doctor?”

  Marjorie decided in that moment that she did not like Mrs. Worthington. “I believe I should take my leave.”

  Mrs. Worthington studied her for a moment longer. “I still don’t know what you gain from all this—but I really don’t care. Now that I know John is in the market for a wife, I have a new direction in life.” She offered Marjorie a self-satisfied smile. “Thank you, Miss Maren.”

  Marjorie’s insides curled up, just like Petey did when he was upset. Something about the way Mrs. Worthington spoke told Marjorie that once she set her mind to something, she wasn’t easily deterred. Nor did her prey often escape.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Marjorie stood near the parlor window, her eyes on the street.

  “You’re worse than the children, Miss Maren,” Miss Ernst said as she set a tray of hot apple cider on the table.

  Marjorie looked at Lilly and Charlie, who also stood by the window, and the three of them giggled.

  “Grandmother is coming,” Lilly said to Miss Ernst. “And it’s almost Christmas.”

  “Two reasons I’m also excited,” Marjorie added with a wink.

  A beautiful evergreen tree stood proudly in the southwest corner of the room, waiting to be trimmed. Fresh pine boughs hung over the fireplace and doorways, red and gold ribbons dangling down. Clumps of mistletoe were placed in strategic spots all over the house, and elegant Christmas decorations adorned shelves and tables. The house looked perfect for a holiday celebration and everyone inside eagerly awaited their first guest.

  “I wish Papa was here,” Charlie said, a bit forlorn.

  “He’ll be home in two days,” Marjorie promised. “Tomorrow he’ll give his keynote address. Everyone must pray for him. It will be a difficult speech to give.”

  “Because he’s talking about Mama?” Lilly asked.

  Marjorie placed her hand under Lilly’s chin and nodded. “Yes, and also because he’s speaking to a crowd of his peers. It’s hard to—”

  “She’s here! She’s here!” Charlie called, jumping up and down. “I see the taxicab.”

  Marjorie and Lilly pushed aside the lace curtains and watched the cab stop in front of the house. The warm weather had continued, enabling the use of automobiles once again.

  “Charlie, go out and help the cabdriver,” Marjorie said. “Lilly, take Petey’s hand and bring him to the porch. I’ll get Laura.”

  The children did as they were told, and Marjorie ran up to the nursery and lifted the sleeping baby out of her crib.

  Laura instantly awoke with a smile and Marjorie nuzzled her nose to the baby’s. “Your grandmother is here to meet you.”

  Laura cooed and gurgled in response.

  Marjorie took the baby down the stairs and went to the front porch just as Mrs. Orton was coming up the sidewalk, a grin on her face.

  “Grandmother!” Lilly raced down the steps and threw her arms around Mrs. Orton. “I’ve missed you.”

  Mrs. Orton’s kind brown eyes sparkled with mischief and joy as she hugged Lilly and Petey in her wide embrace. “I can’t believe how much all of you have grown.” She put her hand on her chin as she surveyed Lilly and shook her head. “You look more and more like your mother every day.”

  Charlie came from the cab, lugging a large suitcase and holding a hatbox in his other hand. A young man followed him up the walk. Marjorie didn’t pay him any attention, thinking him the cabdriver—but then she took a double look. John?

  But it couldn’t be John, he was in Minneapolis.

  “Paul?” Marjorie said the name out loud and drew both his and Mrs. Orton’s attention.

  “Surprise,” Paul said, grinning at Marjorie.

  “Is that my newest granddaughter?” Mrs. Orton asked.

  Marjorie held up the baby and Mrs. Orton was rewarded with a wet smile. “This is Laura.”

  Mrs. Orton took Laura in her hands, tears coming to her eyes. “Why, hello, little one. I’m your grandmother.”

  Not wanting to intrude on this tender scene, Marjorie turned her attention on their surprise guest. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  Paul stood just as tall as John and had the exact same eye and hair coloring, but their facial features were unmistakably different, though equally handsome.

  “Are you happy to see me?” Paul asked. “I’m thinking after what happened last time—”

  Marjorie put her finger up to her lips to quiet him.

  Mrs. Orton continued to fawn over the baby while the other children spoke all around her. Hopefully no one heard his statement.

  “I am happy to see you.” She glanced at the cab as it pulled away. “Your wife isn’t here?”

  Paul shook his head, his countenance troubled.

  Marjorie’s lips grew tight as she put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  “Now, Marjorie.” Mrs. Orton turned away from the children and Marjorie dropped her hand off Paul’s arm. “I want a hug from you, too, dear. And I want to hear all about your experiences as a governess.”

  Marjorie gave her longtime friend a hug, reveling in the familiar faces from back home.

  “Papa won’t be here for two more days,” Lilly said. “But we’ll have plenty of fun until he gets here. We’ve been waiting for you to help us trim the tree.”

  “My favorite thing to do,” Paul said. “Are there gingerbread men to hang on the boughs and popcorn to string?”

  “Yes!” Lilly said. “And we even have candy canes.”

  Paul rubbed his belly. “Keep them away from me.”

  Charlie lagged behind just a bit, his smile not reaching the magnitude Marjorie had expected. She reached out and took the hatbox out of his hand. “Are you happy to see your grandmother and uncle?”

  Charlie nodded. “I just wish Papa was here, too.”

  Marjorie put her arm around his shoulders. “He’ll be here soon.”

  Marjorie and Charlie followed the others into the house. Though there were only two more people inside, the noise level increased until Marjorie could no longer hear herself think.

  The luggage was brought upstairs where Mrs. Orton would sleep in the guest room and Paul would sleep in John’s room, for now. After they were settled, Lilly insisted they decorate the tree.

  Hours of fun and laughter passed, and eventually the children were all too sleepy to stay awake. Mrs. Orton insisted on helping Marjorie bathe them and put them to bed. It was a treat to have a bit of help. Charlie was the first to lie down, complaining of a headache, and the others soon followed.

  Paul also went to bed, promising to have a nice long talk with Marjorie in the morning, but Mrs. Orton did not appear tired in the least. When Laura was finally asleep, Mrs. Orton touched Marjorie’s sleeve. “Let’s have a bit of tea before bed, shall we?”

  The house was quiet as Marjorie brought the tea tray into the parlor where Mrs. Orton was sitting, watching the fireplace crackle. “John has made a wonderful home here.”

  Marjorie set down the tray. “I see so much of Anna in the little details.”

  Mrs. Orton nodded. “This is the first time I’ve been here without her. I had wanted to come to the funeral, but John had been so busy with the pandemic that they had been forced to bury her quickly and there wasn’t any time for me to travel.” She sighed as she looked about the room. “It feels real now, her being gone.”

  Marjorie sat on the wingback chair next to Mrs. Orton, the table between them, and began to pour the steaming tea.

  “I’m proud of you, Marjorie,” Mrs. Orton said. “Even though A
nna isn’t here, there is no oppression hanging over the house. The children are happy and content, and the place feels vibrant and alive.” She smiled at Marjorie. “There’s only one person to thank for all that. It’s the reason I recommended you to John.”

  Marjorie dipped her head at the compliment. “They are the most wonderful children in the world—truly. I’m amazed at their fortitude. But I cannot take all the credit. John has been a wonderful father through all this. I’m...” She paused, hoping to find just the right words. “I’m amazed at his strength and love. Though he’s been grieving, he’s truly looked beyond himself to see the needs of his children and the community.” She dropped a lump of sugar in Mrs. Orton’s tea, and had to swallow the emotion clogging her throat. “He’s a very special man.”

  Mrs. Orton placed her hand over Marjorie’s. “You’re in love with him.”

  Marjorie lifted her gaze and looked into Mrs. Orton’s gentle face, ready to admit the truth to her friend. “I think I am.”

  The older woman smiled. “I had hoped.”

  “I never intended for it to happen,” Marjorie said quickly. “But I couldn’t help myself. I’ve never known a man like him before in my life.”

  “It does a mother’s heart good to hear someone speak so highly of their child.”

  “It’s just—” Marjorie let out a sigh.

  “It’s just what?”

  “It’s so complicated. I only planned to stay until the first of the year.”

  “Yes, I remember.” She took the tea from Marjorie’s hand. “You’re going to California to pursue acting.”

  “You’re the only person I told before I left.”

  “Does John know?”

  Marjorie nodded as she poured her own cup of tea. The delicious peppermint aroma filled her nose.

  “Are you still going?” Mrs. Orton asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Even though you love him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? Doesn’t he care for you?”

  Marjorie put two lumps of sugar in her teacup. “He—” She had always shared everything with Mrs. Orton, but somehow it was different talking about her son. “He asked me to stay.”

  “Marjorie.” Mrs. Orton’s voice filled with hope.

  “But he doesn’t love me.”

  “Surely, with time...”

  “No.” Marjorie shook her head. “I couldn’t marry him, unless I knew he loved me with all his heart and was willing to have a marriage, in every sense. I couldn’t take the risk that I would end up like my parents.” She stirred her tea, trying to sound stoic. “Besides, I can’t give up now. My bedroom in Chicago is full of half-written manuscripts from when I wanted to be an author, and half-completed paintings from when I wanted to be an artist. I always quit when it gets hard—I’m not quitting this time. I want to bring joy to people who are hurting, or lonely, or afraid.”

  Mrs. Orton was quiet for a moment. “There are a great number of hurting people in the world—and five of them live in this very home. In your quest to help thousands, you may miss the opportunity to help the five who matter the most to you.”

  Marjorie looked down at her teacup, watching the steam spiral into the air. “I know what would happen if I stayed and married John. We would grow bitter and resentful toward each other. It would be horrible.”

  Mrs. Orton touched Marjorie’s chin, and Marjorie lifted her eyes.

  “Marjorie, please don’t give up on the love you have for John. It might be the very thing he needs to heal. There are many people who enter into a marriage for convenience, and grow to love each other later.”

  What she said was true, but Marjorie wasn’t willing to take the risk.

  “Miss Maren?” Charlie stood at the parlor door, his cheeks bright red and his eyes glossy. “I don’t feel well.”

  Marjorie set down her teacup and hurried over to Charlie. She put her hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

  “My throat hurts and my head hurts.” He swayed and Marjorie put her arms around him. “I want my papa.”

  “Let’s get you to bed,” Marjorie said.

  Mrs. Orton joined her as she walked Charlie into the hall and up the stairs.

  “What do you think it is?” Mrs. Orton asked.

  Marjorie shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think it’s influenza?”

  “It couldn’t be. They’ve been getting their cinnamon oil every morning...” Marjorie paused. When was the last time she had given the children their cinnamon oil? It had been three days since John left—could it be three days since they’d had it?

  “Should we call John?” Mrs. Orton asked.

  “He gives his keynote address at the conference tomorrow evening. We can’t call him home now.”

  “What if Charlie has influenza?”

  “We’ll treat him here and if it gets worse, we’ll send for Dr. McCall. He’s as capable as John to see to Charlie’s needs.” They couldn’t call John home. It wouldn’t be fair to the conferees or to John. “Charlie will be fine. We’ve got it all under control.”

  She helped him to his bed and immediately brought him his cinnamon oil, hoping it wasn’t too late.

  * * *

  John handed the cabdriver a generous tip. “Merry Christmas.”

  “The same to you, Doc.”

  The cab pulled away and John turned toward his house. The unseasonably warm December day invigorated his already good mood. The keynote address had gone well—very well. It had done him good to talk about Anna’s death. In some ways, it was the closure he needed to move on. After sharing their story, and after John saw how it impacted other doctors, a part of him felt her death was not in vain.

  His research into cinnamon oil had also been well received, and he’d talked to other physicians who had been using the same method. So little was known about the Spanish flu, but scientists across the planet were working hard to discover a cure. Until they had one, it would be doctors like John, and the others, who faced the battlefront with whatever weapons they could find—and for John, cinnamon oil was his weapon of choice.

  He eagerly looked toward the house, excited to walk through his front door. It was the day before Christmas Eve, his mother should have arrived, there would be games and good food to eat, his children would be eagerly anticipating Christmas morning...and Marjorie would be with them.

  The house looked strangely quiet as he strode up the front walk. A large wreath hung on the front door, and garland was strung on the porch railings. He had expected his children to be waiting at the windows, ready to search for the gifts he had brought them.

  John opened the front door, a smile on his face. “Hello.”

  No one greeted him at the door.

  He stepped into the hall and closed the door. He set his satchel on the floor and took off his overcoat and hat. “Merry Christmas.”

  Feet appeared on the stairway, and by the look of the hem of the elaborate gown, John knew it was Marjorie.

  His heart stirred with joy. “Marjorie.” He started toward her.

  Her face finally appeared, and he stopped his approach. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days, and fear lined her eyes and mouth. A white mask hung around her neck.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Marjorie stopped at the foot of the stairs and swallowed. “It’s Charlie.”

  John’s whole body responded as dread washed over him. He didn’t wait for her to say more. He took the stairs three at a time.

  Marjorie raced to keep up. “He became ill two nights ago with a sore throat, a headache and a fever.”

  “No.”

  “Dr. McCall was here to see him—”

  “Why didn’t you send for me?”

  �
�I didn’t want to bother you—”

  “Bother me?” John stopped in the middle of the upstairs hall. “He’s my son. I would move heaven and earth to be by his side.” Panic raced up John’s legs. This was exactly what had happened when Anna became ill. He hadn’t been home to save her. It had been his fault. He should have been with Anna—should have been with Charlie—but Marjorie had made the choice for him. “You had no right to keep this information from me.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I thought he’d be fine—”

  He grabbed her upper arms, unable to see straight. “Am I too late?”

  She shook her head violently. “No—he’s still alive, but he’s not doing well.”

  He abruptly let her go and turned—but he didn’t know where they had put his son. “Where is he?” he yelled.

  She pointed. “He’s in my room.”

  John raced down the hall to Marjorie’s bedroom and pushed open the door. His mother and brother sat in the room, white masks over their faces, their eyes filled with sadness and fear.

  John’s legs went weak as he saw the telltale dark spots on Charlie’s cheeks, indicating his son was running out of air. “God, no.” It was the only prayer he could mutter.

  He put his hand to Charlie’s forehead, and the moment he felt his fever, his medical training took over. He threw off his coat, unbuttoned the wrists on his shirt and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. He found a mask on the bureau and put it over his nose and mouth. There was no time to lose. He hadn’t been home for Anna, but he was home for Charlie—and he would do whatever it took to make sure his son lived.

  Just as quickly as resolve set in, doubt assailed him. What would it matter what he did? No one had determined exactly how to treat this disease. People either lived or died. Hadn’t he just been with a hundred other doctors and researchers, all of them at a loss for how to cure influenza? Everyone had a different opinion on what the disease was and how to treat it. Some used wet cupping as a way to cleanse the blood, some used medicines they could get at a pharmacy and others would sweat the patients, raising their temperature so high it would cleanse the body from all impurities.