A Mother In The Making. Gabrielle Meyer
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to listen and obey?
Marjorie squatted down to be eye level with the little boy and tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned to look at Marjorie, his airplane coming in for a landing.
“Do you like airplanes?”
Petey nodded.
“Have you ever seen a real one? In the air?”
He shook his head.
“I have, when I lived in Chicago. It was flown by a pilot named Glenn Curtiss. I even went up in the airplane for a ride with him.”
Petey’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”
Marjorie nodded. “I’ll tell you all about it tonight when I put you to bed, all right? But now it’s time to go home, so you need to put the airplane back on the shelf for the next little boy who wants to look at it.”
Petey hesitated for a moment and Marjorie sent up a quick prayer, hoping he would obey, because she had no other ideas.
He placed the tin airplane on the shelf and then stood.
Marjorie sighed with relief and pulled herself up, not an easy task with Laura in her arms. She led the little group out of the mercantile, the bell over the door jingling as they walked through.
A festive air filled the streets. The signing of the armistice in France was a boost for the community’s morale.
“Didn’t you need to buy something in there?” Lilly asked.
Marjorie readjusted the bonnet on Laura’s head to protect her from the cold air. “Not today.”
“But you didn’t buy anything at the millinery, the cobbler’s, the dress shop or the mercantile.”
“I’m just looking over the selection before I make a final choice.” Marjorie smiled, tickled that she had told the truth, if somewhat evasively.
Large snowflakes fell gently from the sky, like little feathers from heaven. They landed on their hats and shoulders, and the three older children opened their mouths to try to catch them on their tongues.
The children must have sensed the lighter mood about town. They laughed as they ran around chasing the flakes, their feet leaving prints in the fresh snow gathered on the sidewalk. Tall storefronts stood on either side of Main Street, and green streetlamps dotted the idyllic downtown. More than one person stopped to watch the children, though not everyone smiled along with Marjorie. Some of the older women looked downright mortified by the children’s behavior.
Marjorie considered stopping them—but she remembered the joys and wonders of childhood, and didn’t think it would hurt to let them revel in a carefree moment.
“Are those Dr. Orton’s children?” One lady stopped by Marjorie’s side and squinted at the trio. “No...they couldn’t be.”
Marjorie didn’t know if she should bother to answer, but when the woman turned her beady glare on Marjorie, she didn’t have a choice. “Yes, they are.”
The older woman put her hand over her bosom. “Haven’t you heard the old adage children should be seen and not heard?”
It was one of Marjorie’s least favorite sayings—something her parents had said to her all the time while growing up. “I have.”
“Well?” The lady lifted her eyebrows. “Why can I hear them?”
Charlie and Lilly stopped, but Petey continued to dance in circles, his face tilted to the sky, laughing and blinking as snowflakes landed on his eyelashes and cheeks.
“You can hear them because they’re having fun.” Marjorie lifted her own face to the sky and opened her mouth. A frosty snowflake landed on her tongue and promptly melted. She looked back at the matron and grinned. “You should try it some time.”
The lady stared at Marjorie as if she had grown three heads, but she didn’t say a word.
“Come, children.” Marjorie extended her hand to Petey. “Supper will be ready soon and your father should be coming home.”
Petey stopped twirling and stared at Marjorie’s proffered hand, and then he looked up into her face. His soulful eyes studied Marjorie, and he must have found her lacking, because he slipped his hand inside Lilly’s and hid his face against his sister’s sleeve.
Marjorie stood up straighter and started walking home. She couldn’t force Petey to like her...but she wouldn’t give up trying.
“Papa’s not going to like that,” Charlie said as he glanced at Marjorie.
“What?”
The boy pointed over his shoulder. “That was Mrs. Kingston.”
“It’s not polite to point, Charlie—and who is Mrs. Kingston?”
“The mayor’s wife.”
Marjorie quickly glanced over her shoulder. The lady still stood next to the mercantile, her perturbed gaze following Marjorie’s retreat.
“He’ll probably hear about this before we get home.” Charlie sighed and offered Marjorie a shake of his head. “Papa doesn’t like to be talked about, especially by Mrs. Kingston, because she tells everyone everything.”
“I heard Mama say that if Mrs. Kingston didn’t like you, then no one would like you,” Lilly added.
Marjorie frowned. “Really?”
“Really.” Lilly’s mouth turned down at the corners. “No one will come to our tea party now.”
“Because of her?” Marjorie pointed over her shoulder—recalling what she had said to Charlie just a moment ago—and then promptly put her hand by her side. How was she to ever teach these children proper manners when she didn’t display them herself? “I don’t think we have anything to worry about. She’s only one person.”
Lilly and Charlie shared a glance. “But she knows everyone in town,” Charlie said.
Marjorie was beginning to realize she didn’t know the first thing about small-town life.
John stalled the engine of his Model T and opened his door, grabbing his medical bag as he exited the vehicle. He kept his gaze on his home as he strode up the fieldstone path, through Anna’s dormant rose garden and onto the back stoop.
No doubt Miss Maren would have the children seated at the dining table, awaiting his arrival. He had told her he would be home at six o’clock, and it was now ten minutes past the hour.
His discussion with her would have to wait until after supper ended. The dining room, with four children listening, would not be the best place.
He stomped the snow and mud off his shoes and pushed open the heavy oak door, shaking snowflakes from his hat and coat as he passed into the back hall.
The aroma of pot roast and simmering root vegetables greeted him upon arrival. He paused for a moment to inhale a whiff of the delicious scents. If his nose didn’t deceive him, there would also be spiced cake for dessert. His favorite.
John set his medical bag on the back hall table and then paused. A strange sound filled his ears. It was a combination of thumping and grinding, followed by...laughter. Children’s laughter—and Miss Maren’s.
He took off his overcoat and set it on the hook next to his fedora.
“I won,” called Lilly.
“You didn’t beat me,” Charlie said. “I won, just like last time.”
Lilly’s joyful laughter seeped through the door. “You’re a sore loser, Charlie. Don’t you like to be beat by a girl?”
“Let’s