you our new governess?” the girl asked.
“Miss Maren, this is my oldest daughter, Lillian. And this—” Dr. Orton put his free hand on the head of the little boy who still clung to his leg “—is Peter.” He lifted the smiling baby in his arms, his voice softening. “This is Laura.”
“You can call me Lilly,” the girl said with a shy smile. “Will you sleep next to our room?”
Marjorie looked to Dr. Orton and posed a question with her eyes.
The doctor lifted the baby to his shoulder, lines edging his mouth. “For now.” He hugged Laura and then handed her to Marjorie, saying under his breath, “Until the end of the year, Miss Maren—and don’t let me regret my decision.”
Relief washed over Marjorie as she took Laura—trying to look as if she had held a baby before—and smiled. “You won’t—I promise.”
“The children are required to have at least one hour of exercise every day,” Dr. Orton said, “and the two oldest are to spend an hour reading. Petey needs to practice his numbers, letters, colors and shapes every day, as well. There is a schedule posted in the day nursery for you to follow. Laura’s feedings and nap times are listed beside the others. I don’t like the children to deviate from their schedule.” Dr. Orton paused and his face became grave. “If you fail at being a governess, you’ll prove my mother-in-law right—and I hate when she’s right.”
Marjorie jostled the baby in her hands, trying to remember everything he was saying. For a brief moment she thought she might drop the precious bundle—but she held her tight. “Come, Lilly and Peter, and show me your nursery.”
“First you’ll need to change Petey’s clothing.” Dr. Orton disengaged the child from his leg and put him near Marjorie. He turned toward the office but then pivoted back to face her. “One more thing, and this is the most important—the children are to take ten drops of cinnamon oil in a glass of water every morning with their breakfast.”
“Cinnamon oil?” Marjorie wrinkled her nose.
“It’s a preventative measure to ward off influenza. I’ve been studying the effects and they’re promising. I’ll require you to take the oil, as well.”
“Of course.”
Petey stood close to Marjorie, his eyes filled with apprehension.
Dr. Orton looked at his son, and then back at Marjorie. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Marjorie swallowed her anxiety. At the moment, she needed someone to tell her how to take care of four children—but the last person she would ask was Dr. Orton.
Marjorie stood in the water closet facing Petey. Laura was in her arms, chewing on her fist, and Lilly stood behind Marjorie quietly observing the scene.
Petey stared up at Marjorie with defiant blue eyes and she didn’t blame him.
First, he had lost his mother, and then he was presented with a strange woman who didn’t know the first thing about child care. How could she make him trust her—and feel comfortable in her presence?
She smiled—it was the only thing she could think to do.
He didn’t blink.
“I’m Miss Maren,” she said with a happy tone to her voice. “I’m here to take care of you.”
Still, he scowled at her.
“I need to help you out of your soiled clothes, and then I’ll give you a bath and put you in something clean.”
“His clothes are upstairs in his bedroom,” Lilly said. “Shall I get him something to wear?”
Marjorie could have sighed in relief. “Yes, thank you, Lilly.”
Laura began to whimper in Marjorie’s arms and she awkwardly bounced the baby to quiet her.
“I need to help you get your clothing off,” Marjorie said to Petey.
The boy took a step back and shook his head.
Laura’s whimper turned into a cry, close to Marjorie’s ear. She bounced her faster, but the baby refused to be soothed.
How would she hold the baby and take off Petey’s clothing?
“I’m going to put Laura in her cradle, and then I’m coming back here to help you. All right?”
Petey didn’t respond.
Marjorie turned from the water closet and stepped across the hall to the night nursery, where she placed Laura in her cradle. The baby’s cries increased at being set down, and Marjorie’s heart rate picked up speed. What would Dr. Orton think if this baby continued to cry? And how could she stop her? What did she need? Was she hungry? Was her diaper soiled?
She offered the baby a rattle lying in her cradle, but Laura cried even harder.
A flash of movement caught Marjorie’s eye.
Petey ran out of the water closet and down the hall toward the stairs.
Marjorie left the crying baby and rushed out of the room. Petey turned the corner and Marjorie raced after him. She grasped the little boy as he reached the stairway landing where the beautiful stained-glass window had caught Marjorie’s eye earlier. She held his arm to stop his escape and tried to sound calm. “We haven’t bathed you, Petey. You must wait for me.”
Laura’s wails filled the upper hall and met Marjorie on the stairway.
Petey tried to pull free from Marjorie’s grasp, his own whimpers filling her ears.
Heat gathered under Marjorie’s traveling gown, warming her neck and back until perspiration gathered. How would she get Petey back to the water closet? His clothing smelled of urine. If she lifted him, her dress would need to be cleaned, as well.
“Miss Maren?” Dr. Orton appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Do you need help?”
Petey reached for his father, but Marjorie held tight.
The doctor gave Marjorie a disapproving look. “It appears you are off to a poor start.”
Marjorie had little choice but to lift the child into her arms. His wet clothing penetrated hers, and she had to breathe through her mouth. “I’m fine.”
“Why is Laura crying? Does she need to be fed?”
Marjorie had no idea why Laura was crying—or what a person fed a hungry baby—but she couldn’t tell Dr. Orton. She was on trial. She couldn’t ruin her chances within the first half hour. “I have everything under control.”
“Are you sure?”
She wanted to glower at the
