A Mother in the Making (20 page)

He rushed downstairs and pulled on his coat and hat. He was about to exit the house when a voice stopped him.

“John?” Mother stood in the front hall in her robe and slippers.

John closed the door. “Is it Charlie? Does he need something?”

She walked into the back hall, took his hand and then gently placed a small velvet box on his palm. “Paul told me where you're going.” She closed his fingers around the box.

“What—?”

“When you married Anna, your father was alive, so I still needed this.” She looked up at him, her eyes misting over. “Now I want you and Marjorie to have it.”

John was quiet for a long time. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, a smile gracing her dear face. “Nothing would make me happier.”

John opened the lid on the box. It was the first time he'd ever seen Mother's wedding ring anywhere but on her finger. She had been wearing it that very morning. Now the diamond glinted up at him, nestled in black silk. At one time, it was brand-new, but now the band was a bit worn around the edges, smoothed and softened by age and love.

“Your father and I were not perfect, but over time, and through many trials, we became one in marriage. I only hope and pray you and Marjorie will be as happy as we were.”

John didn't know if he'd catch Marjorie in time—but if he did, he would be honored to offer her his mother's ring—if she'd have him. “Thank you, Mother.”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Now go.”

He had no time to lose. If he didn't go now, he might never get a chance to tell Marjorie he was sorry about all the horrible things he'd said to her—or tell her that he loved her.

He slipped the box into his pocket, raced across the street and knocked on the door. Dora answered, her face filled with fear—but the moment she saw the grin on John's lips, she smiled.

“He's much better this morning,” John said quickly. “He's going to make it.”

Dora opened the door wider and pulled John into the foyer. “It's a merry Christmas indeed.”

“Papa!” Lilly raced into the foyer and jumped into his arms. “Did God answer our prayers? Is Charlie all better?”

“He's much better.”

“But he won't die, like Mama?”

John shook his head. “No.”

Lilly threw her arms around John's neck and squeezed hard. “I'm so happy.”

“Me, too.”

Petey walked into the foyer, followed by Mother Scott. John shared the news with her.

Petey held his toy airplane and lifted his arms to John.

John set Lilly on her feet and then picked up his son.

“Where's Miss Maren?” Petey asked.

“She's gone and good riddance,” Mother Scott said. “I'm happy to be done with the woman.”

“Is she gone, Papa?” Petey asked, hugging his plane to his chest. “Like Mama?”

“She's not gone like Mama,” Lilly said. “She's coming back. Don't worry, Petey. Miss Maren wouldn't leave us like Mama left us.”

John squatted down to be eye level with Lilly. “Mama didn't have a choice, Lilly. You know that, don't you?”

Lilly nodded. “God took her home with Him.”

John nodded.

“But God isn't taking Miss Maren home, is He?”

John swallowed. “I hope not.”

“Can we keep her?” Petey asked. “I like Miss Maren.”

It was the second best thing John had heard that Christmas morning. “I like her, too.”

“John!” Mother Scott scolded. “Leave well enough alone. The woman is gone and she should stay gone.” She crossed her arms over her bosom. “Now maybe you'll see the person standing right in front of you.” She indicated Dora.

John stood with Petey in his arms. “Mother Scott—”

Dora put her hand on his arm. “Let me tell her, John.”

“Tell me what?” Mother Scott asked. “Have you two finally come to your senses?”

“For the last time, Mother, John and I are not getting married.”

Mother Scott looked at both of them and then turned and left the foyer.

“Can we come home now, Papa?” Lilly asked. “I want to see Charlie and Miss Maren. We have a surprise for you. We've been practicing since Thanksgiving.”

“You can come home for supper tonight, but until then we'll let Charlie get some rest.” John looked up at Dora. “Is that all right?”

“Of course.” Dora smiled and put her hand on Lilly's shoulder. “We'll bake cookies and treats for tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you go to Marjorie?” Dora asked quietly.

John nodded. “I need to hurry.”

Petey lifted his airplane toward John. “Give her my plane and tell her to bring it back to me like before.”

John took the peace offering from his son and patted his head. “I will.”

“Tell her to come home,” Lilly said. “We miss her.”

Dora offered John a beautiful smile. “Tell her all of us want her to come home.”

“I'll tell her.” John stepped out of the house and crossed the street. The snow came up to his knees and he had to struggle to take each step. With Petey's airplane in hand, he went into his carriage house and hooked the mare up to the sleigh, moving as quickly as he could.

Just as he was pulling out of the carriage house, he heard the shrill whistle of the train traveling through the clear winter air and his heart sped up at the sound.

He prayed he wasn't too late.

Chapter Twenty

M
arjorie had been told the westbound train would leave the Little Falls Depot at nine o'clock in the morning. As the train pulled out of the station, she couldn't help thinking she was making a mistake.

The whistle blew and steam poured out from under the carriage, blasting the cold air with a thick cloud. It billowed out, growing wider and wider until it eventually dissipated into nothing.

She had slept fitfully the night before, rising before dawn, and had sat in the hotel room staring out the window at the beautiful Christmas morning. Her thoughts were with the Ortons, but especially Charlie and John. Had Charlie made it through the night? She ached at the thought, and longed to be there beside him as he fought for his life, but knew it wasn't her place. John was more than capable of fighting for his son—but who would fight for John? Camilla? Was she there even now?

The train rounded the bend, on its way toward places West, and disappeared from sight.

Marjorie hugged her arms around her body and patted them furiously against her back to get the blood flowing again. She had stood on the platform and watched all the other passengers board, but hadn't had the courage to get on herself. She wasn't ready to leave—or rather, she wasn't ready to face the next chapter of her life.

Her dream to go to California no longer held the same appeal. A new dream had wiggled its way into her heart, planting itself firmly while she had been with the Ortons.

She longed to be a wife and a mother like never before, to bring joy into the lives of people she loved—and people who loved her in return. But that dream seemed even more far-fetched than going to California to be in the movies. Life had shown her that having a happy marriage and family was a very rare blessing.

She went back into the station to stay warm and wait for the next train.

Maybe she'd have enough nerve to get on that one.

“Looks like you missed the train,” the ticket agent said from his perch behind the counter. He glanced at the large clock at the end of the depot. “No worries. Next one heading west should be along any minute. They were so backed up in the Twin Cities it should be easy enough to get on another one soon.”

Marjorie found a spot to sit on a hard bench and put her satchel on her lap. “Thank you.”

The ticket agent scratched his head. “Doesn't seem right, a young lady like you all alone on Christmas. Don't you have a home?”

Marjorie looked away from the well-meaning man and shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Pity.” He cleared his throat. “You're more than welcome to come home with me and have lunch with the missus. Would you like that?”

“Thank you for your offer, but I think I'll get on the next train.” She had another orange in her bag. It wasn't much, but it was all she could afford to eat.

“Suit yourself.”

Marjorie glanced around the large depot. A handful of people were waiting for the next train. Most were talking among themselves, but one man sat alone on the opposite end of Marjorie's bench, and when she glanced at him, he looked up and smiled.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Merry Christmas.” She looked away, not feeling like conversation.

“Have we met before?”

She looked back but didn't recognize him. He was an aging gentleman with a white mustache and sparkling brown eyes.

“Me name is Sam Turner.” He spoke with a bit of an Irish accent. “I believe I met you at church. You're the Ortons' governess. Miss...” He held up his hand. “Don't tell me. Miss Maren?”

“That's right.”

The sparkle in his eyes turned to amazement. “God answered me prayer when he sent you to the Orton family.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Mr. Turner smiled and looked a bit sheepish. “Dr. Orton is a friend of mine. After his wife died, I asked God to bring someone into his home to be a mother to his children and a companion to him.” He studied her for a moment, as if weighing the wisdom in his next statement. “Maybe me old eyes deceived me, but I saw how happy the children were with you—and how much John had grown to love you.”

A dam broke within Marjorie and she turned into a sobbing mess before Mr. Turner.

He slid down the bench toward her and patted her hand in a fatherly gesture. “There, there. Don't cry, lass. Things aren't so bad.” He handed her a clean handkerchief. “Ach, now, I've made a mess of things, haven't I?”

She wiped at her face, her cheeks growing warm. “I'm sorry for carrying on so.”

“No need to apologize for tears, especially ones from so deep within. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

He squinted, as if bracing himself for a blow. “Was it something I said?”

“Yes.” She offered a little laugh.

He put his hand over his heart, his face revealing his distress. “It's sorry I am.”

“No. What you said was wonderful.”

He looked straight, confusion on his brow. “I wish I could remember what it was, then.”

She laughed again, but then turned serious. “You said you saw how much John loved me—I wish it was so.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “I think I understand. Maybe these tears are because you don't think he loves you?”

She nodded and wiped at her nose once again.

“Then I think these tears are for naught.”

She looked down at her hands and fiddled with the cotton handkerchief. “I wish I could agree with you—but he's engaged to another woman.”

There was a long pause and then he said softly, “Are you so sure?”

She glanced at Mr. Turner with a question on her face.

But Mr. Turner was looking over her shoulder toward the door.

Marjorie turned her head.

John had just entered the depot, frantically searching the interior until his gaze landed on Marjorie.

“Merry Christmas,” Mr. Turner said, sliding back to his end of the bench.

John strode across the wooden floor, his long coat flapping as he walked.

Marjorie stood on shaking legs. What was he doing here?

His gaze roamed all over her, as if he was looking for an injury. “How are you?”

“I'm fine. How's Charlie?”

He smiled and Marjorie clutched Mr. Turner's handkerchief to her chest.

“He's doing well,” John said. “His fever broke and I expect him to make a full recovery.”

The news was too good to be true. Marjorie sank to the bench, the tears starting all over again. The past few days had been the longest days of her life and she had never known fear as she'd known it while Charlie was sick.

John sat close beside her, his voice low. “I thought you had already gone.”

“I couldn't get on the train.”

“Why not?”

“I was afraid.”

“That doesn't sound like the Marjorie I've come to know.”

“Then maybe you haven't known the real me.”

He took her gloved hand in his and she bit her bottom lip. It felt so wonderful to be held by him.

“I know the real Marjorie Maren,” he said. “She's the young lady who walked into my home two months ago and turned everything upside down. She broke my rules, defied my orders and tried to marry me off to half the women in this town. Not once did I see fear in her eyes.”

“Maybe you weren't looking hard enough.”

“Or maybe...” He leaned close to her and tried to get her to look at him. “I couldn't see the fear past the love in her eyes for my children.”

She sniffled. “I do love your children.”

“And they love you.”

She finally looked up at him and was startled by the look in his brown eyes.

“I love you, too, Marjorie.”

“You do?” she whispered.

“More than I ever thought possible.”

She couldn't hold in the truth any longer. “I love you.”

He put her hand to his lips. “I hoped you would say that.”

“But I'm scared, John. Scared of so many things.”

“Then that makes two of us.”

“What are you scared of?”

“I'm scared I'll lose you.” His hand came up to her cheek and he wiped away a stray tear. “I have something for you.” He reached inside his coat and pulled Petey's airplane out of the inner pocket.

“Why do you have Petey's airplane?”

“I stopped there to tell the children about Charlie before coming here and Petey asked me to give this to you.” He extended the metal airplane.

Marjorie took it in her hands, holding it like it was the most precious item in the world, and at the moment, it was. “Why?”

“He asked me to give it to you, so you would have to return it to him.” He studied her face. “He doesn't want you to go, and neither do I. None of us want you to leave.”

Marjorie examined the airplane, thinking of the quiet little boy who loved it. Had he finally accepted her? She wanted nothing more than to take him up in her arms at this very moment.

“I want you to be my wife,” John whispered beside her. “Not because I need a mother for my children, but because I want you by my side for the rest of my days.”

“What about Camilla?”

He shook his head.

“You're not marrying her?”

“It never even entered my mind.”

A great burden lifted from Marjorie's heart at the news.

“You once told me you are afraid that you could never complete anything,” John said. “So I'm asking you to finish something right now.”

“What is that?”

“You said you couldn't leave until you found me a wife—so become the wife I need, and finish the job you set out to accomplish.” He reached inside his coat once again, and this time he pulled out a small velvet box. “This isn't from Petey. This is a gift from me.”

He opened the box and a beautiful diamond ring sparkled in the sunshine pouring into the depot. “It's my mother's ring. Unlike Petey's gift, I don't want this back. I want you to keep it and wear it forever.”

Father's words ran through Marjorie's head once again.
You're a quitter, Marjorie, and you'll never change.

This time, she wouldn't quit. She would spend the rest of her days loving John and his children—their children. Marjorie couldn't contain the grin. “Yes.”

John offered her a stunning smile. “Yes?”

She nodded and allowed him to slip the ring on her finger.

It fit perfectly.

He let the box fall to his lap and then he kissed her, right there in front of Mr. Turner, the ticket agent and a whole host of strangers.

His kiss was soft and loving, yet it held promise for passion, adventure and a dose of whimsy.

* * *

John lifted his lips from Marjorie's and offered her another smile as he shook his head.

“What?” she asked quietly, a smile playing about her mouth, her dimples glowing.

“The day you walked into my home, I never imagined I'd be asking you to stay forever.”

“Neither did I.”

“But now I can't think of anything better than this.”

She put her arms around him and pulled him down to kiss him once again.

A train whistle filled the depot and they both looked toward the bank of windows. A hulking locomotive pulled into the station.

“Westbound train,” the ticket agent called out.

Marjorie looked away from the train and toward John. “Can we go home now?”

John grinned. “The children will be excited to hear our news.” He glanced down at her bag. “Is this one yours?”

“Yes.”

He lifted her bag and offered his arm, but then he stopped and stared out the window. A familiar figure strode away from the train and toward the depot, wearing a dark wool coat and matching fedora. “It looks like we have another guest.”

Marjorie followed his gaze. “Who is he?”

John grinned. “That's Dora's fiancé, Jeremiah Watkins.”

Her brow rose high. “Did Dora know he was coming?”

“I don't know. Do you mind if we give him a ride?”

“Of course not. I'm eager to meet him.”

They waited near the door for Jeremiah to enter the depot.

“Hello,” John said, snagging the young man's attention. “Merry Christmas.”

Jeremiah's blue eyes registered his surprise. “John! Merry Christmas. What are you doing here?” His questioning gaze lingered on Marjorie.

“I came here to pick up my fiancée, Miss Maren.” John couldn't hide the pride in his voice. “Marjorie, this is a good friend of mine, Dr. Jeremiah Watkins.”

Jeremiah grinned at Marjorie, and John could tell his friend approved. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Maren.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Marjorie smiled back at Jeremiah and then took John's hand in hers.

“It's a pleasant coincidence running into you,” John said to Jeremiah. “Would you like a ride?”

“Yes.” Jeremiah's face showed his appreciation. “It would save me the trouble of hiring a cab.” He clutched a single satchel in one hand. With the other, he clapped John's back. “Do you think Dora will be happy to see me?”

“A little surprised, but very happy.”

The three walked out to John's sleigh and were soon swishing through town, toward East Broadway and the Scotts' home. On the way, John told Jeremiah all about Charlie's illness.

“How long will you be in town?” Marjorie asked Jeremiah.

“Just as long as it takes to make Dora my bride.”

“I plan to get the preacher to my house in the morning,” John said, giving Marjorie a wink. “You're more than welcome to join us.”

“I might, at that, if she'll finally say yes!” Jeremiah laughed, and the sound matched the ringing of the jingle bells on the harness.

John stopped the sleigh in front of the Scotts' home and helped Marjorie out.

“I'm nervous,” she said to John quietly as Jeremiah climbed out of the back.