Love on Assignment

by Cara Lynn James

  “I shall try.”

  “We’re so happy you’re here and ready to take the children in hand. A firm but gentle hand is needed with those two, to be sure. The professor tries his best, but sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with them. His head’s so far up in the clouds, way above everyone else’s, he can’t find his way back down to earth. But you seem earthy enough to me.” Mrs. Finnegan tilted her head and chuckled. “Oh, he can talk to them about the things of God and even of life, but those children need a good dose of fun too. You look like a girl who can mix right in with them and play. The professor and his mother aren’t much for playing. But it’s what the tykes need.”

  “I do agree with you, Mrs. Finnegan. We’ll start tomorrow.”

  DANIEL STROLLED TO his study to correct several sets of homework assignments, but his thoughts remained on the poor young woman who had suffered such humiliation tonight. She’d obviously tried her best to put together a decent meal. How unfortunate she’d burned the cod, one of his favorite dishes.

  But if she could keep the children quiet while he worked, she’d indeed prove to be a blessing. He hoped her lovely face and form hadn’t influenced him to hire her when he should have searched for a woman with more experience. No, he felt sure he wouldn’t regret his decision.

  “Papa, will you help me with my jigsaw puzzle, please? Ruthie’s tired of losing at checkers and wants to read a book,” Tim said as he and his sister peeked inside his office.

  Daniel sighed. He’d wasted several minutes daydreaming about Charlotte Hale when he should have been grading papers. And now his son wanted him to fritter away more precious time. He instantly regretted his selfishness. Tim deserved to spend time with his only parent. “I’ll play for ten minutes and then it’s off to bed. I have student essays to read.”

  After assisting Tim, he herded the duo upstairs. Without his mother’s help, he felt totally out of his element, like a codfish in the forest—or Miss Hale in the kitchen. His mother prodded the children to do her bidding, but he’d neither inherited nor developed the same talent for intimidation.

  Half an hour passed before Daniel settled the boy down. Perhaps he should’ve asked Miss Hale to put the children to bed, but he’d discovered he really enjoyed the evening ritual. He suspected she’d approve of his hands-on involvement.

  Unlike Tim, Ruthie slid right between her sheets.

  “Papa, can we have a heart-to-heart talk?”

  He coughed back a chuckle. “Of course, pumpkin.”

  “I’ve been thinking. Grandmother is getting old and won’t be around forever. Of course, we’d like her to live to be one hundred. But in case she doesn’t, it might be good to have a stepmother. A really nice lady, someone like Miss Hale. Sometimes I get so lonely for a mama, I cry.”

  He pressed his daughter in a gentle hug and buried his head in her auburn hair flowing loosely down her back. Ruthie squeezed him tight before he sat back on the edge of her bed. “Sometimes I get lonely too,” he admitted.

  Desolation surged through him with a familiar ache. He missed not having a woman to love, to wrap in his arms and hold close. Not that Sarah was one to ever really care about the important events in his life or even the trivialities. He tried to look ahead, not back to a past he couldn’t rewrite. And sometimes he succeeded.

  “Are you ever going to marry again, Papa?” Ruthie clutched her stuffed bunny to her chest, a last remnant of childhood.

  Pinned by his daughter’s sincere eyes and straightforward question, Daniel squirmed on the pink and green satin bedspread.

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “I’m sure God wants you to. You need a wife and I need a mama.” The children deserved a mother who adored them and spent time with them, but he was quite sure he didn’t need a wife. Or want one. He’d already been down that road . . .

  Daniel pulled her light summer blanket up to her chin. “If the Lord wants me to remarry, He’ll let me know who she is when He’s good and ready. We can pray about it, but remember, we must wait for the Lord.”

  Ruthie groaned as she thrust the covers back down. “Grandmother wasn’t waiting for the Lord’s timing when she made you meet all her friends’ daughters.”

  Daniel grinned. “But it didn’t work, now did it?” During the last few years his mother had badgered him to court her current favorite—the Belle of the Month, as he’d come to call them. They were all upstanding Christian women from good families, but not one caused an ember to flare. Or even flicker.

  He kissed Ruthie good night, turned off her bedside lamp, and retreated to his bedroom. This was the first time Ruthie mentioned wanting a stepmother. He wondered if she still mourned Sarah, though now that he thought of it, Ruthie hadn’t spoken of her in ages. Five years was a long time for a child to remember. Her image of Sarah had probably faded just as his had.

  Heavenly Father, please fill Ruthie with your love and take away her loneliness. Send her a helper to guide her as she grows up—but not necessarily a stepmother—unless this is Your will for me.

  She’d reach young womanhood in a few short years and need someone besides an old-fashioned grandmother or an awkward papa to steer her in the right direction and teach her the feminine things he didn’t know anything about. He shuddered at the idea of tackling the task by himself.

  As he climbed into his four-poster bed, a picture of Charlotte filled his mind. The gleam in her dark eyes and the thick brown hair swept up into a topknot stirred his imagination. She certainly added a fresh spirit to the household.

  If he ever remarried he’d like a wife like Charlotte Hale— playful, not coy, and totally natural. After years of Sarah’s indifference, all he wanted in a wife was honesty and a desire to share his life. A woman who loved him and loved the Lord. A woman he could trust.

  He sighed in the hushed night air. Was that too much to request? Probably so. He knew from experience if a woman demanded all of his time and attention, then the relationship veered toward disaster.

  He couldn’t tolerate emotional storms complete with accusations and tears, so he ought to avoid the fuss and never chance another marital failure. With a weary sigh Daniel took Sarah’s journal from the drawer of his nightstand and paged through it. After her death he read it cover to cover, absorbing her pain, wallowing in it, belatedly understanding he caused so many of their problems. Even though she betrayed him, he knew he shouldered part of the blame. Yet when he replayed the events of their marriage, he still didn’t understand exactly why their love had died so abruptly and completely.

  The memory of their unhappiness still anchored him to the past. Snapping the journal shut, he padded over to the wardrobe, retrieved a hatbox where he’d stored odds and ends, and shoved it inside.

  It was time to shake off sad memories and concentrate on his children.

  The future.

  Life.

  FIVE

  Charlotte burrowed under the covers and tried to relax and let the day fade into oblivion. Tomorrow she’d redeem herself. She wouldn’t give the professor even the remotest reason to regret his decision to hire her. Rolling to her side, she pulled the light blanket up to her chin and hoped for a peaceful sleep. It wouldn’t come.

  In the distance waves crashed against the rocks, and below her bedroom window crickets hummed softly in the warm night air. But nothing soothed her restlessness. On her own, she’d have to depend solely upon her wits for the next week or so.

  Maybe she wasn’t suited for spying, even for a worthwhile cause. Her heart sputtered as she recalled the unpaid roofer’s and doctor’s invoices. Charlotte groaned as she sat up and turned on the bedside lamp.

  She picked up the Bible lying conspicuously on the nightstand. Perhaps the professor had left the book for her. He seemed to put a lot of stock in his religious beliefs and no doubt expected she did as well. She wasn’t particularly interested in learning more about Jesus. But she was interested in Professor Wilmont, and he seemed interested in Jesus.

 
; What did he find so fascinating about a man who lived two thousand years ago? She couldn’t imagine. But maybe Scripture held the key to understanding the professor. And that might help her investigation. It was worth a look.

  She opened the Scriptures at random. The gospel of St. John. She skimmed the first few chapters with some interest. Then verses nineteen through twenty-one in chapter three grabbed her full attention.

  “And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved. But he that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God.”

  Were her deeds really evil or was she merely doing her job? She certainly feared being exposed for what she was—a reporter and a snoop. Not one bit comforting. Maybe she’d ponder this another time.

  Closing the book, she tried to sleep. After a long while her mind slowed. She drifted off just as dawn seeped through the off-white curtains.

  CHARLOTTE AWOKE WITH a start and sprang out of bed. Her pocket watch read six o’clock. Time to help out in the kitchen—if they wanted her. Thoughts of those Bible verses came to mind. That men loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. This rubbed her conscience raw, but she pushed it aside as she checked on the sleeping children.

  Charlotte dressed quickly in the light blue uniform and hurried down the backstairs to the basement. When she entered the kitchen, she found Fiona whisking eggs in a bowl while Ellie carried dishes into the servants’ hall.

  Stirring a pot of oatmeal, the French woman glanced at Charlotte with eyes nearly as dark as the coal stove. “We didn’t formally meet yesterday. I am Simone, Mrs. Wilmont’s maid. My husband is Chef Jacques.” She lifted her chin up, as if she expected the utmost respect for her exalted position.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Charlotte said. “How is the chef feeling this morning? I hope he’s better.”

  Simone shrugged one sloping shoulder. “He’ll recover, but right now he fears he’ll be gone by nightfall. He’s not used to feeling poorly and he’s taking it like a man.” The maid twitched her first hint of a smile.

  “Do you need my help with breakfast?” Charlotte asked, ignoring Fiona and Ellie’s snickering.

  The little woman shook her head. “That’s not necessary. With Mrs. Wilmont in the hospital, I have little to do. So I’ll cook in place of my husband. But Miss Hale, you need not fill in for another member of the staff. We each have our own duties. They are not interchangeable.”

  Charlotte blushed. “Of course.” She hadn’t known.

  Simone waved Charlotte away. “You go off now and eat in the nursery with the children. They’ll be waiting for you.”

  Charlotte nodded before she climbed the steep backstairs to the second floor.

  At the top of the staircase she nearly collided with a plump, chestnut-haired maid she instantly recognized. “Grace Thompson! I never expected to find you here. How nice to see you again.” But Charlotte feared her voice held more trepidation than pleasure.

  Childhood friends and neighbors, a few years back Grace had suddenly stopped speaking to her for no reason. And then Grace’s parents had died from diphtheria. She had gone to live with her aunt and uncle on their farm in Portsmouth, several miles from Newport and on the opposite end of Aquidneck Island. Charlotte hadn’t seen her since her move.

  “You’re not still angry with me, are you? I’m not exactly sure what I did to offend you, but I am sorry our friendship ended so abruptly.” Charlotte stared into a pair of bright hazel eyes that added sparkle to her small, even features.

  Grace grasped Charlotte’s hands in her own and squeezed. “I apologize to you for getting mad before I learned the truth. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “Forgive you for what? I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Grace.”

  The pretty girl glanced down the staircase. “I need to get back to work, but maybe we can talk later tonight and I’ll explain.”

  “Yes, I’d like that. My bedroom is directly off the children’s playroom.”

  Grace smiled. “I’ll come by after I’m finished for the day.”

  She hurried away leaving Charlotte to wonder if her old friend knew she worked for the Rhode Island Reporter. She’d have to find out and beg her not to tell. But what if she gossiped to the other maids first? Charlotte sighed then pushed worry to the back of her mind. What she couldn’t control she wouldn’t dwell upon, at least not right now.

  Charlotte found Tim and Ruthie in the playroom. The children sat at the table as the dumbwaiter delivered their breakfast. Charlotte served the oatmeal, eggs, and toast.

  “Would you two enjoy a bicycle ride this morning?” Charlotte asked. She nibbled cinnamon toast and sipped strong coffee doctored with a generous dose of cream and two spoons of sugar.

  Tim’s eyes sparked. “You mean we won’t have lessons?”

  She’d forgotten about their schoolwork. “We’ll read later today. But let’s have a bit of fun first.”

  Ruthie clapped her hands with delight. “Thank you, Miss Hale.”

  Mrs. Finnegan located a split skirt for Charlotte to wear, and with a belt to tighten the waist, it fit fine. For most of the morning Charlotte and the children rode bicycles on the Ocean Drive. Spectacular views of the rugged coast and cottages as big as palaces appeared as they rounded bends and conquered gentle inclines. Charlotte perspired from pumping hard, but the ocean breeze cooled her off. They returned to Summerhill windblown and slightly sunburned, despite their sleeves and hats.

  “That was such fun. May we play a game of croquet or tennis now?” Ruthie asked as she adjusted the bow on her middy blouse.

  “Maybe later, but reading comes first. Would you prefer to read on the veranda or in the nursery?”

  Ruthie rolled her eyes. “Please don’t call our playroom a nursery. That sounds so babyish.”

  “Yes, you’re absolutely right. Pardon my mistake,” Charlotte said with a smile.

  “I choose the veranda. And I think I’ll get a cookie or two first,” Tim said.

  “All right, but no dawdling in the kitchen,” Charlotte warned. “I’ll meet you on the back veranda in about half an hour. And remember to bring your books.”

  She watched the pair head to the kitchen before she slipped into Professor Wilmont’s study to search for evidence. The possibility of someone catching her in the act of snooping loomed large. Her every nerve vibrated, pulsing unease through her chest. But it was better to start now before the professor returned from his morning classes.

  With shaking hands she rifled through papers on his desk and opened cabinets and desk drawers. She scanned notes and writings but discovered nothing except a few dust bunnies in the far corners.

  She wasn’t surprised. A smart man, Professor Wilmont would surely lock up incriminating information to thwart a nosey person such as herself. She hastened upstairs to check his bedroom. She took a deep breath and stepped inside the large, expensively furnished room flooded with light and the ever-present salty smell of the sea. She spotted few personal items except for a gilt-framed wedding photograph displayed on the wall.

  She drew closer to examine the picture of a young Daniel Wilmont gazing adoringly at his lovely bride. The lady, who looked no more than eighteen or nineteen, had wavy hair topped with a crown of orange blossoms and a lace veil. Delicate features set in a heart-shaped face seemed to caress the unseen camera with half-closed, sensuous eyes. Charlotte was caught in the enigmatic gaze of the young woman, long dead.

  What was Mrs. Wilmont like? Smooth and sophisticated?

  Charlotte shook the musings from her mind and pulled her attention back to her task before someone discovered her in a room where she had no business. She needed to hurry. Rummaging through the bureau and chest of drawers, she found only clothes stuffed inside all in a jumble.
On the far side of the room she looked through a cedar chest containing winter blankets and handmade quilts. The nightstand yielded nothing either. Peering under the bed, she noted a lone dust ball.

  In the wardrobe, vests and woolen scarves spilled over the top shelf, crowding a stack of books, scrapbooks, and photograph albums. And a hatbox. She kept listening for voices or footsteps in the hallway. Satisfied she was still alone, Charlotte pulled down the hatbox and lifted the cover. A small book labeled Prayer Journal lay on top of several dime novels and books of poetry. She opened the journal and found the name Sarah Wilmont written on the inside cover. Had she discovered gold? She took a peek.

  With no time to read now, she’d have to borrow the book. Most likely the professor wouldn’t notice its absence. She shoved the hatbox back in place, tucked the journal under her arm, and then hesitated. Was it right to read someone else’s personal account? Certainly not, but this was for a good cause, indirectly for the betterment of society. She’d return it to its proper place as soon as she glanced through it—and before the professor had a chance to notice its absence.

  Charlotte flew to her bedroom and locked the book safely inside her bureau. She collapsed in a chair and tossed back her head and breathed slowly. For several seconds she sat perfectly still, relieved and exhilarated that she might have found something promising. She’d read it tonight before bed, when her time was her own. Glancing at her pocket watch, it confirmed she still had a few more minutes to search. But only a few, so she’d have to hurry.

  Taking a kerosene lamp from her bureau she hurried upstairs to the attic. A lump in her throat grew to the size of a cannon ball as she plunged through the shadows and into the depths of the unlit space.