A Mother in the Making

by Gabrielle Meyer

  He lifted his hand to his whiskers, and then lowered it again, not ashamed of his appearance. Instead, he straightened his spine. “I lost my wife almost three months ago and my son is lying upstairs fighting the same disease that took Anna. How should I look?”

  She lifted an eyebrow and looked away.

  He sighed. “Why are you really here, Camilla? I never expected to see you again—not after—”

  “The way we parted?” She finally looked back at him, the lines of her face hard. “Not after the way you rejected and humiliated me?”

  John rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he had not answered the door. He had treated her unfairly twelve years ago when he met Anna. He had been young and stupid. But he didn’t want to deal with his past mistakes now.

  His head began to pound and his vision blurred. He should check on Charlie—and there was still the matter of Marjorie and Paul. He needed to have a talk with his brother and get to the bottom of their relationship. Why had Paul come to Little Falls in the first place? Was it to reconnect with Marjorie?

  Camilla cleared her throat and he focused on her once again.

  “Are you here for an apology?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. I’m here for you to honor your promise to me.”

  “What promise?”

  “The promise you made a week before you met Anna.”

  “I don’t remember making you a promise.”

  She took a step closer to him and he could smell the scent of gardenias. “I’ll help you remember. We were standing on the shores of Lake Michigan. We were there with friends and there was a bonfire burning. It was nighttime and a full moon reflected on the lake. You held my hand and you said that as soon as you graduated from medical school you would ask me to be your wife. I remember every single detail of that night—and yet you can’t remember one.”

  John searched his memory for the event and it started to come back to him in vivid detail—starting with the smell of her perfume. She had worn the same scent the night of the bonfire. He even recalled each of the friends who had been there that night.

  She watched him closely. “Ah, I see it’s starting to come back.”

  “That’s why you’re here? Is that why you came back to Little Falls?”

  She lifted her shoulder again. “You finished medical school, and neither of us is married any longer, so I’m ready for you to propose.”

  John took another step back and bumped into a table. A lamp crashed to the floor, breaking into dozens of pieces.

  “I see my suggestion is a bit of a surprise,” she said.

  “Everything about your visit is a surprise.” There was no way he would honor his promise to Camilla Worthington. He’d had enough life experiences to realize he’d avoided the biggest mistake of his life when he left her to pursue Anna. Camilla was a shrewd woman, and she would be miserable to live with. She epitomized selfishness in all its many facets.

  “Don’t you want to marry me? I heard from a reliable source that you’re looking for a wife.”

  John leaned forward. “What?”

  Camilla’s dark eyebrows rose. “You didn’t send her?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Your governess visited me just the other day and told me you’re looking for a wife and a mother for your children. She came to my house to suggest we get reacquainted.”

  Marjorie had done this? The pressure in his head increased. How had she learned about Camilla?

  “I have to admit, I was surprised to learn that the most scandalous socialite in Chicago was living under your roof, as a governess, no less. I had thought she’d run off with the man she’d rendezvoused with the night before her wedding to Mr. Chamberlain.”

  Paul.

  Could it be true? He’d suspected it earlier, but they had both adamantly opposed the accusation. How could Marjorie have come to John’s home after doing such a thing with his brother?

  Camilla crossed her arms loosely. “I wondered what she would gain from telling me about you, and to be honest, I’m still wondering. You truly didn’t send her?”

  “I had no idea you were back in town, and even if I did, I would not send her to you.”

  “I see.”

  John had to take control of this situation. “I regret my actions twelve years ago, Camilla. I wish I would have handled things with more sensitivity. I apologize for hurting you, but I’m in no position to honor a promise I made as a young man. My life is much different now, and I have four children to take into consideration.”

  “Three, if fate has anything to say about it.”

  She spoke with such disregard that John’s hair rose on the back of his neck. He didn’t say another word but strode out of the parlor and opened the front door.

  Camilla stood in the parlor for a moment and then slowly lowered the veil over her face. She walked toward John and stopped directly in front of him.

  After a moment, she stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek, close to his mouth.

  John stood stiff and did not respond.

  She pulled away. “Goodbye, John.”

  She walked out the door and down the steps, disappearing into the swirl of snow.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marjorie slowly closed the kitchen door and set her forehead against the hard trim, exhausted and heartbroken.

  John and Mrs. Worthington had reconnected, and if the kiss she’d just witnessed was any indication, it had been a pleasant reunion. With their past, it would be no surprise if they had already come to an agreement.

  Which meant Marjorie’s work with the Ortons had come to an end, once and for all.

  It was for the best. After what happened with Charlie, John would probably never forgive her, and she didn’t blame him.

  Marjorie took the oatmeal off the stove and set three bowls on the counter.

  The kitchen door opened and John entered.

  Marjorie didn’t acknowledge his presence. She couldn’t. If she looked at him, she would weep.

  He took a coffee cup down from the cupboard and poured the steaming brew. “I want you to be honest with me, Marjorie.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’ve never been anything but honest.”

  She scooped oatmeal into the bowls, her movements stiff. She felt as if she were watching herself from a distance. Everything felt odd, but she was so tired she didn’t care anymore.

  “What do I need to know about your relationship with Paul?”

  She put the bowls on a tray and walked into the pantry to get a pitcher of cream out of the icebox. “There is nothing inappropriate about our relationship.”

  “Then why were you embracing him now and in Chicago?”

  She put a small bowl of brown sugar on the tray and added three spoons. She finally looked at him, and wished she hadn’t. His face revealed the heavy burdens he carried, yet it was the look of mistrust in his eyes that gave her pain. “I cannot tell you. Only Paul can, and if he’s unwilling to share, then I will not.”

  Frustration and confusion warred within his gaze. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I will not tell you.”

  He swallowed and crossed his arms, watching her silently for a few moments before he spoke. “If you cannot tell me why, then I believe your work here is done.”

  Marjorie squared her shoulders with the last bit of energy she possessed. “I’ve already come to the same conclusion.”

  She lifted the tray in her trembling hands and moved around him.

  He put his hand on her arm and she looked at him.

  “Please, Marjorie.” There was desperation in his voice. “Just tell me.”

  She wished she could—but what would it matter? She
would need to leave regardless.

  She moved beyond him and went up the servants’ stairs, balancing the tray and trying to see past the mist in her eyes. She would deliver the food, say her goodbyes to Charlie, pack a few essential items and go to the train station. She could be in California within a few days and they could send the rest of her things out to her later.

  The hall was silent as she walked toward her old room.

  She set the tray down on a hall table, secured the white mask she wore around her neck and pushed open the bedroom door.

  No one was in the room with Charlie. He lay in the bed, wrapped in dozens of blankets, and slept quietly. He looked so peaceful. Maybe the worst had passed.

  Marjorie sat on the edge of the bed and laid her hand against his forehead. He still burned with fever but seemed to respond to her touch. His eyelids fluttered and he nudged her hand.

  She smiled. “Goodbye, Charlie.”

  He moaned but didn’t open his eyes.

  “Shh.” She touched his cheek with the back of her fingers. “Sleep and get well.” She knew she was risking a great deal, but she bent down, moved the mask below her lips and kissed his forehead. “I love you and I’ll be praying for you, every day, for as long as I live.”

  Marjorie rose and went to her bureau. The rosebud Charlie had given her the first day was sitting on top, where she had admired it dozens of times. She picked it up and put it in a little jewelry box she’d brought from home. She put the box, along with a few other important items, in her satchel and then slipped out of the room.

  The hall was still quiet, for which she was deeply grateful. She was about to go down the servants’ stairs when she noticed Petey’s airplane, stuck in the corner of the hall, where he often sat and played. In the rush to get the children out of the house, he must have forgotten to grab it.

  Marjorie lifted the airplane and held it close. She would stop at the Scotts’ to say goodbye to the children and give Petey back his airplane.

  She walked down the steps and into the back hall, where she put on her hat and coat. She pushed open the back door and was instantly hit with a blast of cold air and snow. It felt like pellets of ice against her bare face, so she tilted her chin down and trudged through the storm, around the house and across the street to the Scott’s.

  Marjorie knocked on the front door and was met by Angie, the Scotts’ maid.

  “Come in,” Angie cried, taking Marjorie’s arm and practically hauling her over the threshold. “You’ll catch your death out there.”

  “May I please see the children?”

  “Of course. They’re in the dining room eating their breakfast.”

  Marjorie didn’t bother to remove her coat and hat. She wouldn’t be staying long. She set her bag near the door and entered the dining room.

  “Miss Maren!” Lilly was the first to see Marjorie. She jumped up from the table and ran around the room until she was in Marjorie’s arms. “I missed you.”

  Marjorie hugged the girl tight. “I missed you, too. How are you getting along?”

  “Fine.”

  Dora rose from the table. “How is Charlie? Any change?”

  “His fever is still raging.”

  Dora pressed her hand to her lips and shook her head. “We haven’t stopped praying. Mother was awake all night praying. She’s sleeping now.”

  “I haven’t stopped praying, either.” Marjorie went to the basket near the fireplace and looked in to find Laura playing contentedly with her feet. Marjorie smiled at the sweet baby and reached in to pick her up. “How is Laura?”

  “She’s doing fine, but I think she’s been missing you,” Dora said.

  Marjorie nuzzled the little girl, and Laura cuddled up in her favorite spot against Marjorie’s shoulder. “That’s silly. How would you know if she’s missing me?”

  Dora smiled. “I can tell right now.”

  Marjorie turned away from Dora to hide the moisture that had gathered in her eyes. She kissed Laura’s cheek and placed the baby back in the basket. Laura smiled up at Marjorie, her blue eyes twinkling. What would she look like as she aged? Would she look like Lilly? Would she be a silly little girl, or serious, like Petey?

  “Petey.” She turned to the little boy and extended the airplane. “You forgot this at home.”

  Home. The word felt just as lonely as it had after she left Chicago. Would she ever find a real home again?

  Petey’s face lit with excitement and he jumped off his chair. “My airplane!” He took it from her and before she knew what he was about, he wrapped his arms around her legs.

  This time Marjorie couldn’t hide the tears. They sprang to her eyes and clogged her throat.

  “Thank you, Miss Maren.” His sweet little voice was muffled against her skirt.

  Marjorie wanted so desperately to pick him up and hold him in her arms, but she knew this connection was tenuous and if she asked for more, he’d pull back again. She would be content to accept whatever he was willing to give her.

  “I shouldn’t stay long,” Marjorie said.

  “Thank you for coming by to give us an update and to bring Petey’s plane,” Dora said. “Please let us know if anything else changes.”

  Marjorie couldn’t bring herself to tell Dora she was leaving.

  “Thank you for taking such good care of the children,” Marjorie said, wiping her cheek.

  Dora crossed the room and put her arms around Marjorie. “You need to get some rest. Things will look better once you’ve had some sleep.”

  Marjorie hugged her back. “I’ll try.” She would have plenty of time to sleep on the train.

  “Goodbye,” Petey said, holding his airplane close to his chest.

  “Goodbye, Petey. Goodbye, Lilly.”

  Lilly gave Marjorie another hug and pulled her shoulders down until Marjorie’s ear was near Lilly’s mouth. “I’m praying for Charlie, too.”

  “Don’t ever stop.” Marjorie took one last glance at Laura, and then at Petey, Lilly and Dora, and walked out of the dining room.

  She grabbed her bag and opened the door, ready for the cold this time.

  It would be a long walk to the train depot, but she couldn’t afford to hire a cab, and even if she could, they probably weren’t out driving in this weather.

  Marjorie trudged through the snowstorm for hours. She became so cold she was forced to stop in several businesses along the way to warm up, before heading back into the snow. Thankfully many stores were open on the last day before Christmas, even if business was slow.

  She faced the hardest leg of her journey when she was forced to cross the bridge spanning the Mississippi River. The wind whipped across the frozen water, swirling the snow until it blinded her and she had to hold on to the railing to guide her steps.

  The depot sat on the banks of the river, just beyond the bridge. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, breathing heavily. Half a dozen people sat about on the wooden benches, some sleeping and others playing cards or reading newspapers.

  Marjorie stepped up to the ticket counter, her hands and feet feeling clumsy and frozen.

  “Well, look-see what the storm blew in,” the ticket agent said, chewing a wad of tobacco. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like a one-way ticket to Los Angeles, California, please.”

  He lifted bushy eyebrows over spectacles. “That’s a mighty long journey.”

  Marjorie nodded, reaching for her reticule.

  “I’m afraid the trains have been stopped because of this storm. We have word that it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

  Marjorie’s hands stilled. “The trains have stopped?”

  “Until further notice.”

  “Do you have any idea when they’ll start again?”

  He t
ook a slow breath, as if he had all the time in the world. “It could be a day, or two, or even three. There’s no way of knowing. Once the storm passes, it’ll take some time to clear the tracks.”

  “Three days?”

  “You’re more than welcome to wait here, or there’s a hotel just two blocks from here. They still have a few rooms left.”

  A hotel? She asked the ticket agent how much her fare would be to California, and then how much he thought the hotel room would cost per night. She had just enough money for two nights, and a little to spare for food, but once she reached California, she’d have nothing.

  Fear niggled into her conscience and she had to purposefully push it away. This was what she had planned to do all along. Surely God knew of her plans and would provide for her...wouldn’t He?

  She could always go back to the Ortons’, but now that she had left, her pride hurt too much to return. Besides, John didn’t want her there.

  “Could you please get word to me at the hotel once the trains begin to move again?”

  The ticket agent nodded slowly. “Will do.”

  Marjorie took a deep breath and then opened the door, ready to face the storm once again. At least she only had two blocks to walk this time.

  She could make it two more blocks.

  * * *

  “Have you seen Marjorie?” John asked his mother.

  Mother sat in a chair near the fireplace, her knitting needles in hand. Now that he had done all he could for his son, he had allowed her into Charlie’s room. She looked up at John, her dark eyes looking tired above her mask. “Not since the three of you were fighting in the kitchen.”

  “But that was hours ago.” John paced across the floor, one eye on his son and one on the clock over the mantel. His face mask scratched his whiskers, making his skin itch. “It’s almost noon.”

  “Maybe she finally took my advice and went to bed,” Mother said.

  “Will you go check?”

  “Are you worried about her?”

  “Of course I’m worried about her,” John said. “I’m worried about all of us.”

  Mother studied him carefully behind her spectacles. “When all this is done, you two need to sit down and have a nice long talk about the future.”