Love on Assignment (29 page)

I
f you'll excuse me, Professor Wilmont, I have an errand to do in town. Ruthie needs a few items from the music store.” Charlotte glanced at her pocket watch. Twelve forty-five. To meet Mr. Phifer at one o'clock, she'd have to leave at once. She headed for the door of the professor's office when he stopped her mid-step.

“Are you going to Thames Street, by any chance?”

“Thames Street?” she sputtered. “Why yes, I am.”

He grabbed his gray bowler and umbrella and strode toward her. “Mind if I come along? I need to purchase some supplies at the stationery store.”

How could she refuse him the use of his own carriage? “Of course, if you wish, but I may take awhile and I wouldn't want to delay you.”

“That's no problem. I don't mind waiting.”

Rats
. She'd have to dash to the music store, buy the items, and then, literally, run to her meeting. What if the professor saw her entering or exiting O'Neill's Café? How would she explain that? Nothing came to mind. She'd think of a reason later, if necessary—though, if she were lucky, the need wouldn't arise.
Please Lord, I don't want to lie. I've already told too many lies and half-truths
.

Only confession would settle her stomach lurching with queasiness. Charlotte silently led the way outside and climbed into the buggy.

A mist swept down from thick gray clouds, dampening the early afternoon. The professor pulled up the folding top of the gig to keep off the impending shower, then climbed in beside her and took the reins. He chatted about the children but avoided discussing the important things—his resignation and future plans.

“Professor, please tell me why you chose to keep your newspaper column instead of your teaching position.”

He sighed. “It was a difficult decision . . . one I didn't want to make. I prayed about it and asked the Lord to show me what He wished me to do.”

Charlotte nodded. “So how did He tell you? Obviously He didn't whisper in your ear or talk to you out loud.”

He let out a laugh. “No. If it were only that clear I wouldn't hesitate for a moment. But I did realize that if I chose teaching it would be for the wrong reasons. The salary was the incentive, even more than the satisfaction of instructing students. I could keep Summerhill and I wouldn't disrupt my family.” His mouth curved in a crooked smile. “And Arnie Phifer would leave me alone. But I knew in my heart the Lord wanted me to write my columns and continue to challenge anything that harms the defenseless or takes us away from our Christian walk. Once I accepted that as the Lord's will, I felt at peace.”

It would be so much easier for her if Daniel had just quit the newspaper, but she understood why he decided to leave the college instead. “Do you know what you're going to do, besides write your column?”

The professor shook his head. “No. The Lord hasn't told me yet, but I'm listening for His voice.”

By the time they arrived in town, a steady drizzle obscured their vision. But the pounding of the rain on the roof of the carriage halted their talk.

“I'll pick you up in about twenty minutes.” Daniel pulled up in front of the music store, helped her down, and rode off. Opening the umbrella he insisted she borrow, Charlotte waited for the gig to vanish into the cold drizzle. She splashed through puddles on the sidewalk.

Fortunately, she found the shop nearly empty. She made her purchase just as the clock on the back wall struck one. Two blocks separated her from the restaurant. She'd never arrive on time if she didn't hustle. She wove past workers and housewives crowding the sidewalk. The umbrella, along with her hat brim, kept her face and hair dry, but the rain poured down faster and soaked through her black uniform.

She entered O'Neill's Café, drenched and shivering like a puppy. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she spotted Mr. Phifer seated by the front window finishing dessert and coffee. She slid into the chair opposite him as a gust of wind rattled the awning that covered the front of the brick building. Rain splattered against the windowpanes.

“Miserable weather,” she muttered over the din of customers dining on simple luncheon fare.

Mr. Phifer grunted his agreement and then, without asking, ordered her a cup of tea. “Would you like a piece of blueberry cobbler?”

“No thank you, sir.”

He requested another square for himself. “So tell me about the inestimable professor and his student. What have you learned, Miss Hale?” He leaned toward her, elbows on the checkered tablecloth. His eyes looked ravenous.

Charlotte's pulse raced. “There's really nothing new, sir.” He looked askance. “Miss LeBeau asked Professor Wilmont to speak at her college retreat, but I'm quite convinced it's not any sort of tryst, though she does seem to be more than a little interested in him.”

Mr. Phifer gave a nasty a laugh.

“And he in her?” Charlotte tried to relax her tightened jaw. “No, definitely not. The professor is a man of integrity—and much too smart to be seduced by a student.”

“Have we been wasting your time and my money investigating a saint? If he's innocent, do you think we should just give up this whole inquiry?”

Charlotte ignored the dripping sarcasm and met his glare. “I believe so. I haven't found one bit of incriminating evidence, despite a thorough search. I learned from another student that Missy is telling everyone about her crush on the professor, but he doesn't seem to reciprocate her feelings.”

He grunted. “You give up too easily, Miss Hale.”

As soon as the waiter deposited the tea and cobbler on the table, Mr. Phifer dug in. Charlotte stared at him, though with his head bent over the plate, he didn't notice. Would he fire her now for insubordination or incompetence—or would he wait awhile longer?

He finished the last crumb before looking up. “I was convinced you'd discover something valuable by now. But perhaps the good professor is craftier than I thought.” His eyes bore into hers. “I need something to print, young woman.”

“Sir,” she began in a croak, “I can only do so much. I can't get rid of him for you. I can't poison his coffee or concoct evidence that's not there.”

Mr. Phifer exhaled through his nose. “Your coffee would poison anyone.” His hearty guffaw caused heads to turn and Charlotte to wince.

The morning coffee she brewed for the staff always ended up either too strong or too weak, never just right. It was the object of many jokes she'd learned to laugh off.

“I agree you can't poison the man. It looks like we'll have to take matters into our own hands.” His face radiated optimism that chilled her. “In fact, I've already devised a plan.”

She raised a shaky palm. “Sir, you wouldn't plant false evidence, would you? That's unethical and probably illegal.”

He dismissed her scruples with a snort. “Miss Hale, you have a Puritan streak a mile wide. Where did that come from? Too much exposure to the high and mighty Professor Wilmont? Or was it there all along and I never noticed?”

He'd never noticed
anything
about her before. She met his gaze. “I've always had moral values, sir.” She sounded so self-righteous. How could she pretend high standards when her ethics were obviously adjusted to meet the needs of the moment? She detested hypocrites and here she was, the worst offender. When she'd agreed to investigate the professor, she'd conveniently ignored the importance of honesty.

“I must return to Summerhill or Mrs. Wilmont will question why I took so long. I'll keep you informed, sir.”

Mr. Phifer drew his shaggy brows in a frown. They resembled an untrimmed hedge covered with snow. “I'm beginning to doubt your loyalty to the
Rhode Island Reporter
. You're not doing your job effectively and you don't seem to care.”

A quick denial caught in the back of her throat but threatened to dislodge in a torrent of truth that would cost her everything. It was hypocritical to protest her innocence when he was correct. Her regard for Daniel Wilmont kept her from turning over Sarah's journal and performing her assignment as she was paid to do. She had no right to continue employment with either Mr. Phifer or the professor.

Yet she didn't have the gumption to quit either position. Or did she? The poison of self-disgust spewed through her chest. She jumped to her feet and opened her mouth to say her peace. “I quit” lay on the tip of her tongue. She gulped in a breath of air, finally ready to stand up for her principles.

Mr. Phifer looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “If you can't accomplish the task, I'll send someone who can. Miss Wengle is raring to take over. She's a born journalist and chomping at the bit for a big story. Fortunately, she's not hampered with an overactive conscience.”

His threat pushed the determination out of Charlotte's lungs. Edith Ann Wengle would stop at nothing to further her advancement, even fabricate evidence. Charlotte feared the woman was as ruthless as Mr. Phifer himself. No, she couldn't possibly allow that unscrupulous toady to take over her inquiry and put Daniel in jeopardy. Charlotte dropped into her chair, deflated. “Yes, sir, I understand.”

“Good.”

The door flew open and Wes Dobbyns, one of the newspaper's up-and-coming reporters, rushed inside and skidded to a stop at their table. He pulled off his fedora and inadvertently spattered water in her face. Charlotte dabbed at her cheeks and eyes with a cloth napkin.

“Excuse me, Miss Hale.” He bobbed his head and then faced Mr. Phifer. “And I'm sorry to disturb you, too, sir, but a fire has broken out down at one of the wharfs. Shall I cover it myself or should I send—”

“You can handle it. All this rain should extinguish it in short order.” Mr. Phifer thrust himself out of his chair, tossed a dollar bill and change on the table. “Ambitious pup,” he mumbled with grudging praise. “We're finished for now, Miss Hale.”

Charlotte followed the reporter and editor outside. Why couldn't Phifer have assigned her to a fire story rather than the destruction of Daniel Wilmont?

Charlotte darted to the edge of the sidewalk flanked by the two newspapermen and popped open her umbrella. Waiting for a break in the traffic, she looked down Thames Street for Daniel's gig. Peering through the rain, she couldn't distinguish one equipage from another, although a steady line of carriages and wagons headed in her direction.

Mr. Phifer grumbled, “Nasty weather. Don't look so morose, Miss Hale. I've handed you the chance of a lifetime and you act as if I've condemned you to the gallows. What is the matter with you?”

Charlotte tilted her umbrella to get a better look at her boss. “Nothing, sir. I merely wish to uncover the truth.”

“Grow up, Miss Hale. This isn't child's play. The professor is stirring up the rabble and I won't have it. Wilmont is a troublemaker using the cover of religion to build himself up. You seem to ignore that fact.”

The urge to quit her job swelled within her chest. Angry tears burned behind her eyelids, but she blinked rapidly until she finally regained her composure and common sense. Quitting in haste would be shortsighted. She'd ponder her options first and then decide a course of action.

But what if she never found the strength to follow through on her convictions? How horrid to go through life compromising on her values just to get along with others.

The answer suddenly settled in her heart. God had heard her prayer and He'd help her. Without a doubt she'd act according to her convictions, no matter what the consequences.

But right now she needed to protect the professor from the likes of Mr. Phifer and Missy LeBeau. And Edith Ann Wengle.

“Mr. Phifer, please don't send Miss Wengle to Summerhill. I'm quite capable of completing the assignment on my own. She's not suited for minding children. If Mrs. Wilmont hired her, and I doubt she would, she'd let her go within hours. I'll uncover the truth within the next few days.” Spewing false bravado, she stared directly into his scarlet face.

Mr. Phifer wagged a finger. “You haven't produced the goods, young woman. I have a mind to fire you this very minute. But I shall think it over before I decide what to do, between you and Miss Wengle. You'll be hearing from me. Good day, Miss Hale.” He turned on his heel and stomped off.

The professor's gig, splashing through the rain and mud, drew to a halt on the opposite side of the road. Charlotte stepped forward, but Wes Dobbyn's voice stopped her.

“Whew!” He swept his hand across his forehead. “I couldn't hear all Mr. Phifer said, but you certainly angered him. You'd better do as he asks and fast, or you'll be pounding the pavement looking for another position. Good jobs are hard to come by these days.”

“I know, I know.” Charlotte grimaced. “And thank you for your concern. Good afternoon, Mr. Dobbyns.”

Grasping the umbrella with one hand and holding on to her hat with the other, Charlotte jogged through the congestion as carriage wheels splattered mud on her skirt. Wes followed close behind, called good-bye, and then headed toward the wharf. The soles of Charlotte's polished boots skidded through the slippery dirt before she reached the opposite sidewalk. She jumped into the buggy beside Professor Wilmont and folded the umbrella.

The professor eased out into the traffic and glanced sideways. “You look worried. I saw you standing with two gentlemen across the street. Did that older fellow distress you? He looked angry.”

Charlotte shook her head and yanked her veil down to obscure her face.

Daniel's eyes widened as he stared at the figure striding down the sidewalk. “My goodness. That's Arnie Phifer. Why were you talking to that scoundrel?”

Charlotte gulped, speechless. Of course the professor recognized his harshest critic. And in a few seconds, he'd probably remember where he'd seen her before—in the office of the
Rhode Island Reporter
. She wished she could vanish into the rain and never be seen again.