Love on Assignment (14 page)

There was no other way.

“Thank you for your sympathy, Miss Hale.” He smiled sheepishly.

She looked down at her hands. She was hardly his friend. A spy—that's what she was. A quick glance revealed a man struggling against anger and despair. Warring emotions marched across his face. And the worst of it was he trusted her enough to pour out his fears. He had far more faith in her than she deserved.

So how in good conscience could she possibly betray the professor?

She tried to shake away her doubts. She had to place her own survival first and not let a soft heart weaken her. She'd fail at her assignment if she worried about Daniel Wilmont's job as much as her own. A few days at Summerhill made her troubles fade like a distant memory. But her creditors awaited payment. How could she forget Mr. Knowles's threatening letter for even a moment? He'd toss Aunt Amelia and Becky out on the streets, without a moment's hesitation. But the professor looked like he had been served with his own papers.

“I'm so very sorry about your troubles, Professor. Have you decided what to do?” She couldn't keep empathy out of her voice.

“I'm leaving it in God's hands,” he said.

“As well you should.” Leaning closer, she gave the professor's hand a reassuring pat despite her better judgment. Horrified, she snatched her fingers back. “Sir, I'm sorry. Please forgive my audacity.”

“Don't apologize for offering a kind gesture. And it's I who should apologize. I have no right to impose my problems upon you.” His shook his head. “I don't know what got into me. Normally I keep my trials to myself.”

“I'm honored you confided in me.” Though she couldn't imagine why he'd tell such personal things to a servant.

“I don't want to worry my family, so I won't mention it until I carefully think things over.”

Her voice shook. “I suppose you have no choice but to give up your column now.”

Professor Wilmont let out a sigh. “It goes against my principles to cave in to pressure.”

Her optimism faded. “That's brave of you, sir.”
And foolhardy too
. “I'm afraid if I were in your position, I could never do that. I'm not equipped to fight the forces of the world.”

Professor Wilmont dragged a wry smile to the corner of his mouth. “Neither am I. But the Lord will provide me with everything I need, including His guidance. I put all my trust in Him.”

“What would be worse?” she dared to ask him as she fiddled with the hem of her blouse. “Losing your column or losing your position here at the college?”

He paused for a few seconds before he smiled. “I need funds to support myself and my children and maintain the cottage. Teaching gives me a livelihood and more important, a purpose. But so does my column. They're both ministries and equally important.”

“I understand, sir,” Charlotte murmured, though she suspected the loss of the job he loved would be far worse than the loss of his salary. He had no inkling of what real poverty entailed. “Might you sell Summerhill to tide you over for a time, if you must go? There are so many New York millionaires looking for ocean property these days.”

The professor nodded. “I've thought about selling the cottage more than once, since it is so expensive to maintain. But my mother loves it. And so do the children. Their only memories of their mother are at Summerhill. Truth be told, I'm fond of the place myself. I've spent most every summer there.”

Charlotte found the financial arrangements of the rich quite strange, but she couldn't say that to the professor. In fact, she found most of their habits odd. Did a family of four truly need a twenty-two-room mansion with fifteen or more servants? He might not consider himself wealthy, but she certainly did. She'd wager he could survive quite comfortably without his teaching position as long as the family economized. And to hold on to an impractical, money-sucking mansion for sentimental reasons seemed nonsensical. But then again she'd lived on the edge of poverty all her life.

“I must keep doing the work the Lord set aside for me. I hate to be idle. I need to contribute something to society,” he said.

“Might you consider a break from the column, then? Just a temporary interval until the criticism dies down.” That would benefit both of them.

But Professor Wilmont shook his head. Charlotte bit her lip to keep from blurting out that he was an idealist who ought to back away from trouble before it crushed him.

He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes earnest. “As soon as I resumed writing, the objections would start again. I need a permanent solution.”

Again Charlotte hesitated. She had to say it. “If your intent is to keep Summerhill, should you not find a way to compromise?” Heat blazed through her face.

From his grimace, she knew Professor Wilmont disagreed.

“My duty to God comes first before anyone or anything else. And He has asked me to stand, not bend.”

Charlotte forced her gaping mouth shut. Didn't he understand that sometimes you had to put the well-being of your family above your own interests? And sometimes you had to reorder your values just to survive?

“You look shocked, Miss Hale. Do you disagree with my logic?”

Logic? It sounded more like a
lack
of logic. “Sir, I'm afraid I can't begin to fathom your reasoning.” How could he trust so blindly? “I also support my family—an aunt and a sister. And I can't envision putting my religious convictions ahead of them.”
If I had any religious convictions
. But maybe that was the problem. She and the professor viewed the world very differently.

Professor Wilmont blanched. She tensed and waited for his verbal reaction. He'd accuse her of lying about her Christian faith. But he didn't say a word as he stared at her, obviously bewildered.

“I must be going, sir. Please excuse me. As usual, I spoke with too much candor.” Charlotte leaped up to exit the room before she uttered something else she'd regret. She could barely force herself to pause at the doorway to say good-bye.

EIGHT

D
aniel shook his head as the small, feisty woman swept out of his office. She paused at the threshold and glanced over her shoulder, her face resuming a mask of politeness.

“I'll be back by suppertime, if that's all right, sir.” Her calm voice held an edge. “This is my afternoon off. The children are going to visit their friends, the Hopkins children, on Cove Road. I'll fetch them before dinnertime.”

He'd forgotten. “That will be fine.”

As soon as she departed, Daniel opened his Bible to prepare for tomorrow's lesson, but his mind detoured from St. Paul to Miss Hale. Charlotte. Her reliance on her own power rather than the Lord's signaled caution. She claimed to follow Christ, and Daniel believed she had no reason to lie about her faith. Yet apparently she didn't understand how God helped those who trusted Him. How could she have missed such a crucial principle? He'd try to explain later, but would she understand or merely pretend to? Her instinct for self-preservation seemed so strong she might not want to relinquish the power she thought she had. Better to pray about it first and seek the Lord's direction.

A twinge of disappointment about her faith unsettled him. Was it as shallow as it seemed or had he just hoped for more?

Daniel gathered his books and left for the day. Just off campus, he glimpsed Ruthie and Tim rolling hoops in front of the Hopkins', at the end of Cove Road, the official name for Faculty Row, the housing area for many of the professors. Even from a distance, the children's hoots and hollers carried on the breeze. He'd spent years attempting to quiet them down to no avail. In a few short days their irrepressible governess had stirred them up and encouraged their exuberance. Yet his heart warmed at the sight of his children romping with gusto and shouting to the rafters along with the Hopkins children. He watched Charlotte follow along far behind, her skirt swaying slightly, head held high, arms swinging at her side. Whatever fears that drove her didn't seem to rob her of her spirit and her joy.

He'd walked only a few yards when footsteps sounded at his heels. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted Miss LeBeau striding to catch up. Her chest rose and fell from labored breathing and perspiration coated her face with a slight sheen. As usual, she wore a fancy dress decorated like a wedding cake and a hat, undoubtedly the latest fashion, chock-full of fake fruit and greenery.

“Good afternoon, Miss LeBeau. Out for a walk?”

He didn't relish strolling down Cove Road with his young, beautiful student for all the faculty wives to see. A widower, even one with half-grown children, always snagged the interest of matchmakers. He disliked being the center of female attention with speculation either from faculty wives or from students, but their interest was difficult to avoid.

“Professor, I saw you leaving your office, so on a whim I decided to speak to you.” She giggled for no discernable reason. “Do you have a few moments?”

“Of course, Miss LeBeau. What can I do for you? This isn't the day we're supposed to meet, is it?”

She sidled so close her arm brushed against his side. He stepped back onto the dean of students' grass.

“No, that's not today, sir. I decided to join the Ladies Prayer Circle. They have meetings and devotions and even weekends away for deeper contemplation. I want to improve my spiritual life and learn a bit more about the Lord. Even beyond what I'm gaining in your class.” She gazed up at him with innocent eyes, yet somehow they looked oddly calculating.

“That's splendid. I'm sure you'll gain much from the group.”

“I do hope so, Professor. I don't want you to think badly of me.”

“Of course not. Why should I?” he asked as they strolled down the dirt lane. Cove Road ended at the edge of his property and provided a shortcut to Summerhill.

“Because I'm so unschooled in Scripture.”

But why did Miss LeBeau care about his opinion? He merely taught her one required course; he didn't advise her about her studies. Her flirtatious attitude struck him as not quite genuine, her manner a little too bright and brittle. She prattled on and he only half listened to her high-pitched, breathy voice.

“The Prayer Circle scheduled a spiritual get-together in August, and I'm planning to attend. Aren't you proud of me, Professor?”

Her white-gloved hand lightly touched the sleeve of his jacket, yet it struck like a burning coal. When he sidestepped, she lowered her arm, apparently unfazed by his movement. How could she find so many words to spout?

“Yes, I'm glad you're seeking the Lord in such a tangible way.”

She chatted on about her new interest in spiritual things, and when she finally took a breath, he excused himself and hurried off, relieved to escape her capture.

CHARLOTTE LEFT THE children with the Hopkins' governess, strode to the end of the road, and then crossed acres of freshly cut lawn to Summerhill. Once in the drawing room she found the housekeeper running a white-gloved hand across the polished surface of a side table.

“Mrs. Finnegan, it's my afternoon off and I'd like to go into town. Do you know if anyone is headed in that direction?”

Inspecting her dust-free fingers, the older woman smiled with satisfaction. “It so happens I'm sending Grace on an errand. She'll be taking the buggy. If you hurry you can catch her at the stable before she leaves.”

“Thank you.” Charlotte hastened back outside into the warm afternoon filled with humidity and birdsong. The buggy, pulled by a spirited black horse, rolled down the lane between the stable and the cottage. She waved at Grace, who halted the carriage by her side.

“Mrs. Finnegan said I might catch a ride with you. Are you going anywhere near Thames Street?”

“Indeed, I am. Hop in.”

For a while they chattered amiably about friends from the Point, the neighborhood where they'd both grown up. Then Grace turned toward her and cocked her head. “Charlotte, I've been wondering why you left the
Rhode Island Reporter
to work for the professor. He's so hated by the newspaper. It seems a bit strange.”

Grace was connecting the dots, just as Charlotte feared she might. “I needed a job and the position of governess was available.”

“Did Mr. Phifer fire you?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No, he didn't.” It was bad enough to deceive her old friend without lying.

“Hmm. Well, I'm glad you left there. Did you apply at the
Newport Gazette
? Surely they'd hire you.”

“Perhaps as a secretary, but certainly not as a reporter. While I decide about my future, I'm perfectly content to be a governess.”

Fortunately the traffic thickened and made conversation difficult. Grace stopped talking as she drove, though she looked deep in thought. And her brow creased with unasked questions. Charlotte clutched her hands in her lap until they reached Thames Street.