A Mother in the Making (19 page)

Dora appeared in the foyer, her face filled with worry. “Charlie?”

“Still unchanged.” John stepped over the threshold.

The maid closed the door and then disappeared into the house.

Dora approached. “How are you doing?”

“I'm fine—I'm here to find Marjorie. Is she here?”

Dora shook her head, her face filling with more concern. “She came over during breakfast to give Petey his airplane, but then she left.”

“Did she say where she might have gone?”

“No, but I'll ask Angie.” Dora disappeared and came back a few moments later with the maid.

“Do you know where Miss Maren went?” John asked.

Angie looked between Dora and John. “No, but she had a satchel with her.”

“A satchel?” Dora turned her startled eyes on John. “Why would she have a bag? Did she say she was going somewhere?”

John rubbed the back of his neck. “She didn't say a word to me.” But then he recalled the conversation in the kitchen when he had said it was time for her to leave. He hadn't meant right away—hadn't really meant what he said at all.

“Do you think she's out in this storm?” Dora asked. “Would she do something so foolish?”

“She was upset and exhausted. She wasn't thinking straight,” John said. “I need to look for her.”

“You can't go out in this storm.”

“What if she's lost in the snow? She'll freeze to death.”

“She's a grown adult, and there are enough places for her to get warm. Anyone would take her in during this storm. Besides, you need to stay with Charlie.”

Yes. Charlie. But maybe he could leave Charlie in Paul and Mother's hands for a little while.

“This is my fault. I was angry with her—”

The door burst open and Paul stood on the porch, his coat thrown over his body in haste. “It's Charlie. Something's wrong.”

John pushed past Paul and raced across the street. The ground was slippery and the snow was deep. He almost lost his footing more than once.

Finally he ran up the front steps and burst through the door. His feet fairly flew across the hall and up the stairs to Charlie's room.

Mother stood over Charlie's bed, her hands over her face.

Charlie convulsed on the bed, his body seizing.

His temperature was too high. The sweating wasn't helping, only hurting.

John pulled all the covers off his son, speaking quickly to his mother. “Get cool water and cloths.”

“Where's your mask?” Mother asked.

“Forget the mask and get me the water!”

Mother disappeared just as Paul entered.

“We need to cool him down,” John said frantically. “His temperature is too high.”

“Tell me what to do.”

“Draw a bath with lukewarm water.”

“Right away.”

Paul left the room and John began to remove Charlie's pajamas, praying with every breath he took.

Thankfully Charlie stopped seizing, but it took two hours of hard work to get his body temperature down. Every time the bathwater became too warm, Paul brought in another bucket full of snow. When John felt his temperature was in a safer zone, they brought him to his bed and Mother bathed his forehead with the cloths. When her arms became tired, John took over, and then Paul.

Finally Charlie's temperature lowered, and he was sleeping peacefully once again.

Paul had gone to the kitchen to rustle up something for them to eat, but Mother continued to sit next to John, fatigue lining her face, even as a sense of peace hovered around her countenance. He sensed she was praying, even if he couldn't hear the words.

John leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and clutched his hands together. “Why is God doing this? Wasn't Anna enough? Now He wants Charlie, too?”

“God wants all of us, John. He desires our heart and soul.”

“That's not what I mean.”

Mother placed her wrinkled hand over John's, her gentle touch softening his tight grasp. “One of the hardest things in the world is to be a parent,” she said. “It's even harder to watch your own child struggle through times like this. I had to learn the hard way how to trust God and His perfect plan—now it's your turn. There's really nothing I can say to help you trust Him. It's a choice you have to make on your own.”

John dropped his chin to his chest. Who was he to question God's authority and will?

“I can tell you Charlie's life is a gift,” Mother said softly. “And even if God chose to take him now, one day you'll see him again, just as you'll see Anna. Death is not the end, my son. It is simply the beginning for those who pass away, and a pause for those who remain behind.”

Mother squeezed John's hands. “Unclench your grasp and let Charlie go into God's loving hands. He's much safer there.”

Tears gathered in John's eyes and he did as his mother suggested. He dropped his hands and wept. He'd reached the end of his abilities and control. He would trust God, no matter what He decided to do with Charlie's life.

They sat in silence until John composed himself. Finally he rose and checked Charlie's temperature once again. A hundred and one. Much better than before.

He sighed as he touched his son's warm cheek.

“Why don't you see if Paul needs some help in the kitchen?” Mother asked. “I'll be here with Charlie.”

John nodded and left the room.

Paul stood near the counter, slicing a loaf of bread. He glanced up when John entered the kitchen. “There's some jam on the table.”

John's stomach growled. He went to the icebox, removed a jar of milk and then took two glasses off a shelf. He brought them to the table and sat.

The snow continued to fall, though it was now coming down in large flakes. Where was Marjorie? Had she gone out in the storm?

Paul set the bread on the table and took a seat across from John. They said a prayer and then devoured their bread in silence.

“Thank you for all your help,” John said.

“I'm happy I arrived when I did.”

John glanced at his younger brother, unable to hold his tongue. “Why did you come? I thought you'd be spending the first Christmas with your new wife in Chicago.”

“It's a long story.”

John swallowed hard. “Does it have something to do with Marjorie?”

Paul's face was serious. “It has nothing to do with her.”

“Something happened and I need to know.”

Paul sighed and set down his glass of milk. “I wanted to wait until Charlie was better before I had to tell you.”

John sat up straighter in his chair. Was it as he had suspected?

“Josephine left me for another man.”

John stared across the table. “What?”

“That's why Marjorie was consoling me in Chicago and now here. She's the only person who knows the whole story, and frankly I'm sorry I had to share my burden with her. She's already had to deal with so much.”

“So you and Marjorie are not—?”

“No.”

Yet John had accused her. “Why wouldn't she tell me the truth?”

“I asked her not to.”

“So she was only protecting you?”

“She was also protecting you and Mother. I didn't want to bother you with all this right now.”

They sat in silence for a moment and then John pushed back his chair and stood. “I should check on Charlie.”

“I'm sorry, John. I wish things were different between me and Josephine.”

John put his hand on his brother's shoulder. “I know you do.”

John slowly walked up the stairs, Marjorie heavy on his heart. He had asked her to leave, simply because she could not betray Paul's trust. What kind of man was he?

He only hoped she was somewhere safe, because he couldn't leave Charlie's side to go looking for her.

But Paul could.

John checked on Charlie and then went back to the kitchen where Paul was cleaning up after their simple meal. “Will you go look for Marjorie?”

“Of course—but I don't know my way around Little Falls. I wouldn't know where to look.”

“Maybe Dora will go with you. Mrs. Scott can stay with the children.”

“I'll go immediately.”

“Use the horse and sleigh.”

A small measure of relief filled John's chest—until he realized Marjorie could have already boarded a train for the West.

What would he do if he never saw her again?

Chapter Nineteen

M
arjorie stood near the window, watching the large flakes fall from the dark sky. Her room on the second floor of the Antler's Hotel gave her a clear view of the industries dotting the western banks of the Mississippi. Just beyond the hotel, a group of hearty carolers had gathered near a lamppost, filling the air with the joyful songs of Christmas. The glow from the light circled around the singers, giving them an ethereal appearance.

Marjorie lifted her window just an inch to allow the sound to enter in, though with it came a chill.

She wrapped her arms around her waist, tasted the bittersweet flavor of the orange she'd had for supper and sighed. There was no Christmas tree in her little room, no presents to hide for the morning and no one to share the beauty of the evening.

Who did she have to blame but herself? She had made the choices that had led her to this point.

She yawned, wishing she had slept longer. The moment she checked into her room, she had fallen on the bed in complete exhaustion. Hunger pangs had pulled her from her sleep half an hour ago, but she was ready to go back to bed.

A knock sounded at the door.

Marjorie frowned and closed the window. Who would be knocking at her door at this hour of the night?

The room she was renting was a simple affair with a single bed, a desk and a chair. Though the walls were papered in a creamy floral covering, there were no other decorations in the room.

She slowly opened the door.

A bellhop stood on the other side in a red-and-gold uniform.

“Yes?”

“You have guests in the south parlor, Miss Maren.”

“Guests?”

“A Miss Scott and Mr. Orton.”

Dora and John? No. If it had been John, he would have said Dr. Orton. It must be Dora and Paul. But why had they come? Was it to tell her Charlie had died?

Fear clawed at her chest and she didn't hesitate a moment longer. She stepped out of her room and followed the bellhop down the long hall, toward the grand staircase into the lobby and down another hall to the south parlor.

The bellhop opened the door and Marjorie entered.

“Marjorie!” Dora stood and walked across the room. She threw her arms around Marjorie. “We've been looking for you for hours. We finally went to the depot to see if you had left town, and the ticket agent sent us here to the hotel. Why did you leave?”

“How is Charlie?” It was the only question Marjorie wanted answered at the moment. The rest could wait.

“His fever rose dangerously high this afternoon,” Paul said. “He had a seizure, but we were able to bring it back down. Other than that, nothing has changed.”

Marjorie clutched her hands, feeling worse than before.

“Let's sit.” Dora pointed to a sofa and two chairs on either side of a roaring fireplace.

Why had they come? It couldn't be to ask her back. John had made his feelings clear about wanting her to leave. If they hadn't come to tell her about Charlie, then what could it be?

Marjorie sat, her back rigid, as Dora sat beside her. Paul took one of the wingback chairs. For a moment, they all looked at one another.

Finally Dora spoke. “Why did you leave without telling anyone?”

“I thought it would be easier for everyone if I didn't make a big scene.”

“But we were worried sick,” Dora said. “We had no idea if you'd gone out in the storm and frozen to death.”

“Is that why you're here? To make sure I made it to safety?”

“Yes, of course,” Paul said. “John asked us to come. He would have come if he didn't need to stay with Charlie.”

“But why?” Marjorie looked between them. “John was the one who told me it was time to leave.”

Paul and Dora exchanged a confused glance. “John was just as surprised as us that you left.”

He was?

“Why did you leave?” Paul asked.

Why? There were so many reasons. “It was time. My job is done.”

“Your job is not done.” Dora put her hand over Marjorie's. “It's only just begun.”

“John will be married soon and I told him I was only staying until the first of the year.”

“John is getting married?” Dora's eyebrows rose. “To whom?”

“To Mrs. Worthington.”

“Mrs. Worthing—Camilla Worthington?” Paul's face revealed his feelings—clearly he did not care for the woman. “When did all this happen? I knew he and Camilla were serious at one time, but John realized his mistake in that regard. He would never marry her.”

“But—” Marjorie swallowed. She didn't want to tell them she saw Mrs. Worthington and John kissing. It was painful enough for her to recall the event, let alone talk about it. “I have it on good authority that they are.”

Paul stood. “John must be out of his mind. I can't stand by and allow him to make such a foolish decision.”

“That still doesn't explain why you left a week early,” Dora said. “Please come back with us and stay through the New Year. We all want you there.”

“John wants you there, too,” Paul said.

“He told you?”

“He didn't have to. I could see how upset he was that you were gone.”

“Charlie needs you, too.” Dora squeezed Marjorie's hand. “All the children are missing you. With Charlie sick, we won't be celebrating Christmas, but it still wouldn't be right for you to be here alone.”

Marjorie removed her hand and stood. “The trains could start running at any time, and I want to be on the first one heading west.”

“Why go now?” Dora asked.

“Why wait?” Marjorie countered. “I'm just prolonging a departure that will take place sooner rather than later. I've already said my goodbyes. It would be too painful to go back.”

“I wish John could be here,” Dora said. “He would talk some sense into you.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Marjorie said to her friends. “But I'm really quite content to stay here and wait for the train.”

“Even on Christmas?”

Marjorie lifted a shoulder. “How is one day different than another?”

Dora and Paul shared another glance and then Dora stood. “I wish we could change your mind.”

“Please tell the children I love them and I'll be praying for them.” Marjorie hugged Dora.

Dora hugged her back and then she stepped over to the door. “If you change your mind, come home. We'll welcome you back with open arms.”

The Orton home was not hers. It belonged to John and his children, and one day to Mrs. Worthington. Marjorie wasn't needed right now. Not with Mrs. Orton's arrival. She could see to the children's needs.

“Thank you, but I'll be fine here.”

Paul approached Marjorie. “Come back with us, Marjorie. It's not right for you to be alone right now. I explained everything to John. He knows the truth.”

Marjorie took Paul's hand in hers. “Thank you. But this is where I'm supposed to be.” Even if John knew the truth, she still needed to leave. There was no future for them.

He shook his head. “Goodbye, Marjorie.”

“Goodbye.”

Paul followed Dora out of the parlor and they both turned back to look at Marjorie. She waved them off, a smile on her face, when all she wished was to cry.

She didn't want to be at the hotel alone. She wanted to return with them, but everything she said was true. John would soon marry Mrs. Worthington and she would have to say goodbye. Why prolong the agony? John had said it was time for her to leave. With all that had happened, it was for the best. He couldn't trust her, and she didn't blame him.

Marjorie walked back to her room and closed the door. She flipped off the lights and curled up in a ball on her bed. The carolers were still singing. “Joy to the World” lifted to her room and Marjorie drifted off to sleep, feeling no joy at the moment.

* * *

John woke with a start. Sunshine poured in the window, revealing a glistening world covered in icicles and over a foot of fresh snow. A bright blue sky glowed overhead with not a cloud in sight.

It was Christmas morning.

John sat up straighter and stretched his aching neck. He tilted his head back and forth and rubbed the knots out of his shoulders.

Charlie.

He looked toward the bed and was met with a weak smile and the blinking blue eyes of his son. “Good morning, Papa.”

“Charlie.” John fell to his knees and tore off his mask. He grasped Charlie's hand and kissed his knuckles. “Charlie.”

“Did I miss Christmas?” His son's raspy voice was the most wonderful sound in the world.

John put his hand on Charlie's forehead. Cool. Blessedly cool.

John laughed. “You didn't miss Christmas, son. Today is Christmas.”

“Are there presents?”

John studied Charlie's face and smiled. “Right here, in your smile.”

“I'm thirsty.”

John took a glass of water off the table and helped his son take a drink.

“Am I going to die, Papa?”

John shook his head, tears gathering in his eyes. “No. God spared your life for something great, Charlie. You're going to be fine. It will be some time before you're back to normal, but you're past the worst of it.”

Charlie nodded, as if he understood, but did he? “Where's Miss Maren?”

John paused. “She's not here.”

“I heard her voice and felt her cool hand on my face.” He took several deep breaths. “She made me want to get better.” His voice faded as he fell asleep.

John grasped his son's hand and bowed his head. “Thank you, Lord. Thank You for sparing Charlie's life.”

John stood, feeling like a new man. He wanted to throw open the windows and shout to the world. There was so much to celebrate and so much to be thankful for. His son would live. Today was Christmas, the day they celebrated the arrival of their Savior. The day God sent His one and only son. How much more John understood the great sacrifice God made to allow His son to come to earth as a man.

It was the greatest gift of all time.

John left Charlie's side. He would get cleaned up and go to his children. They would want to know that Charlie would be all right. They should spend the day at the Scotts', to let Charlie rest, but they could come home for supper and presents.

After he told them the good news, he would tell Marjorie and ask her to come back to celebrate with them.

Last night, when Paul had come home, he told John all about his visit with Marjorie at the Antler's Hotel. Paul had been angry that John was marrying Camilla, and John had told him Marjorie was mistaken.

Marjorie needed to know the truth, and she needed to know that he was sorry. He had said things he regretted, but he had been scared and exhausted. Surely she would understand.

John knocked on the guest room door. “Mother.”

It took a few moments, but she finally opened the door, wiping sleep from her eyes. “What's wrong?”

“It's Charlie.”

Her eyes were wide-awake now. “No.”

John grinned. “He's going to be fine. His fever broke.”

“Praise God!” Mother threw her hands in the air and then around John.

“I'm going to get dressed and go tell the children. Will you sit with Charlie while I'm gone?”

“Of course.”

John walked down the hall and into his room. Paul was sleeping with his arm over his head. John shook his leg. “Wake up! Charlie's fever has broken. He's going to be fine.”

Paul lifted his arm and looked at John. A smile spread across his sleepy face. “That's good news to wake up to.”

John pulled clean clothes out of his bureau. “I'm going to get dressed and tell the children.”

Paul yawned. “It will be the best Christmas ever.”

“Mother is sitting with Charlie. I may be gone awhile.”

“Will you go tell Marjorie?”

John smiled. “I can't wait for her to hear the good news.”

“Are you going to ask her to marry you?”

John paused. “I already have.”

Paul pulled himself up, fully awake. “And?”

Suddenly John felt exhausted again. He sat at the foot of his bed. “She won't have me.”

“Why not?”

“I told her it would be a marriage in name only.”

Paul frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“It's complicated.”

Paul rested against the headboard. “If you don't love her, let her go.”

John looked out the window at the promise of a new day—a new beginning.

Paul leaned forward. “Do you love her?”

“I made a vow to Anna—”

“If I remember correctly, the vow says ‘Until death do we part.'” Paul's voice was surprisingly gentle. “You would not dishonor Anna by falling in love again. You would be honoring God, who created love and marriage and family. I think Anna would want you to move on with your life. I don't think she'd wish you to be lonely and unhappy forever.”

John studied his brother for a long time. What he said was true. Knowing Anna, she would want John to continuing loving and living—even if it was with someone other than her.

He glanced over at her Bible. It hadn't moved an inch since the last time she touched it, and it was now gathering dust. No matter how much he had loved her, she would not be coming back—yet John remained. He had fulfilled his vows to God and to Anna, and now...now it was time to move on.

“You're right.”

Paul shrugged. “I usually am.”

John grinned at his brother. “Sometimes you are.”

Paul tossed a pillow at John's head. “You'd better hurry. Marjorie will probably be on the first train out of town.”

John jumped off the bed and glanced at the clock. It was already eight. “Did she say when the train would leave?”

“I believe the ticket agent said it would leave just as soon as the tracks were clear.”

John looked outside, again. The snow was piled in high drifts, and it would take time to clear the tracks, but he didn't want to risk missing her. He raced to the water closet and tried to make himself presentable, though it was no use. His hair was disheveled and his face in need of a shave, but it hardly mattered. He wanted to be the one to tell his children that Charlie would recover before going to the depot.