Love on Assignment

by Cara Lynn James

  Miss Hale stuffed the remains of supper into the basket and leaned back on her arms, her legs stretched across the sand, covered by her long skirt. A gentle breeze ruffled the hem and Daniel forced himself not to watch for a glimpse of her trim ankle encased in black stockings. The late afternoon heat cooled him as he relaxed for the first time in . . . maybe months.

  “Your idea for a picnic was grand, Miss Hale,” he admitted. He raked his fingers through the warm sand.

  She cocked her head. “Why do you call me Miss Hale? I should think you’d call me Charlotte. After all, I’m only a servant.”

  Taken aback, Daniel took his time in answering. “A servant deserves to be treated with respect and appreciation. That’s how I try to treat everyone regardless of their station in life.”

  She nodded. “Well, I must say you’re unusual.”

  “Thank you,” he mumbled. “I try to put my beliefs into action. The Bible directs us to love”—he colored at the word love—“which means to treat one another as we wish to be treated. It’s a clear and simple command, though often inconvenient to follow.”

  “Your newspaper columns are based on that idea, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, most definitely. Jesus also tells us to pay a just wage. Exploitation is a sin. I’m afraid many employers take advantage of their workers. They get rich on the backs of the poor by demanding long hours of work, low pay, and unsafe conditions.” He stopped short. “But as a Christian, I’m sure you know this.” Much as he believed his words, he feared he sounded preachy and perhaps a bit pompous. He was far from perfect and always hesitated to criticize others.

  Miss Hale hesitated but then nodded. “Of course, I agree with you. But most of the workers I know are at the mercy of their bosses. If they do not like it, there is always someone else ready to take their position. What is worse? A job with poor conditions or no job at all?” The thought made her visibly shudder.

  “Exactly,” Daniel said. “That is why I feel compelled to write about the plight of the poor and the responsibility of the upper class. Do you by any chance read my column?”

  “I do. I confess I don’t read about politics—or religion—as often as I should, but I find it fascinating how you connect the two.” A gust of wind fluttered the ribbon streamers on the back of her hat. “I imagine not everyone approves of your reformist views.”

  He laughed. “That is certainly an understatement. I merely point out that the factory owners have an obligation to treat their workers fairly. I’m not instigating rebellion. If I tweak a conscience or two, then I’m succeeding in my mission. I’m trying to show the gospel as the living, breathing word of God. It’s meant for every aspect of our lives, not just Sunday morning. But not everyone agrees.”

  Miss Hale nodded. The breeze loosened the hair framing her face and curls broke free from hairpins. She let the strands blow gently. “So you think many of these millionaires are hypocrites.”

  “Hypocrite is a harsh word, but I think some are failing to live their Christian beliefs and many people are suffering because of it. I try not to rant, because we’re all sinners. Jesus talks about the plank in one’s own eye.”

  Miss Hale nodded. “The rumor around town says you’ve angered the upper crust. They resent your criticism. And I know you’ve caused a stir among the workers. Your ideas make them feel . . . heard. But it doesn’t change their situation. It only makes them feel more . . . agitated.” He shifted his weight in the soft sand. “Sir, why do you write such things when they cause such a sensation?”

  He leaned closer to Miss Hale. “Not because I enjoy the attention. My column is a ministry. I believe God has called me to point out the evil, not with self-righteous indignation, but with love. It’s a difficult balance to maintain, but I strive to be tactful and avoid invective. I’ll continue to write until the Lord directs me to stop.”

  “But sir, if I may ask, what first prompted you to champion the cause of the common worker? You’re a rich man; surely your interests conflict with the welfare of the working class.”

  The wind ruffled his hair and he tried to smooth it down. “I’ve been steeped in the Bible for as long as I can remember. But it didn’t mean much until the summer I worked at the Wilmont Enterprises. Are you sure you want to hear this story?”

  “Yes, I do. Please continue.”

  He shrugged. “My father wanted my brother Edgar and me to learn the business from the ground up. He thought our training should start at an early age. Before then I hadn’t considered anything besides my books. But when I was sixteen, I decided I’d give the business my best try. My father assigned me to the bookkeeping department where I poured over numbers all day from eight to seven and half a day on Saturday.”

  “Now that must have been tedious. Or did you enjoy it?”

  The professor laughed, but Charlotte didn’t detect any humor. “I was bored with facts and figures, so I explored the factory. I’m afraid I found the mechanics of stove building just as tiresome as accounting.”

  Miss Hale smiled. “Did you stay with it for the summer or quit?”

  “My father didn’t give me a choice. But each day I escaped for a while by wandering through the factory and talking to the workers.”

  “I bet they were rather suspicious.”

  “Of course, given that I was the owner’s son. They assumed he sent me to spy on them. But once they realized I was truly interested in their welfare, they opened up. One of the young men invited me to his home. I was shocked at how little he could afford on his salary. A cramped apartment with no running water, barely enough food, ragged clothes.”

  Miss Hale nodded and glanced off to the distance. “That’s the way most people live.”

  “I’d seldom seen poverty, so I had never given it much thought. Finally I mustered my courage and asked my father to raise the workers’ pay. But he ranted like a lunatic and called me a radical. When he realized I’d continue to badger him about the lax safety conditions, he banished me from the factory. Later Edgar inherited the business. He has treated the workers the same way my father did.”

  Miss Hale studied him. Was that shock in her eyes? Perhaps she assumed he had inherited half the family fortune. “And later you decided to write about it in the column?” she finally asked.

  “Yes. My faith demanded I speak out against injustices. During the summer I worked at the factory, I came to know the Lord in a personal way for the first time. I felt He was directing me and I had to obey.”

  She paused for several seconds. “But how do you know when He’s . . . speaking to you?”

  Her earnest expression nearly made him chuckle. Although she was a believer, perhaps she didn’t have a close enough relationship with God to recognize His voice. “I pray about it. The Lord answers my prayers not verbally, but in my spirit. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  She fussed with the pocket watch pinned to her blouse and avoided his gaze. “Yes, of course I do.” But she looked and sounded unconvinced. “My goodness, it’s already eight o’clock.”

  “It’s time we returned home. Thank you for inviting me on your picnic.”

  She gave a merry smile as she rose. “I’m so glad you could leave your work behind for a while. I’m sorry I kept you longer than your half hour.” Turning toward Ruthie and Tim, who were tossing a rubber ball, she called for them to gather their belongings.

  “Papa, please play a short game of ball with us.” Ruthie clasped her hands to her chest and pleaded. His determination to leave weakened.

  “Just for a few more minutes,” Tim said.

  “We need to go, you two.” The children’s groans assailed Daniel’s ears as they trudged across the beach kicking sand, heads down. “Come on. We can toss the ball as we walk.”

  “Schedules are all well and good, but flexibility is the key to any happy relationship,” Miss Hale said lowly, but with conviction.

  Daniel let out a breathy chuckle. “Throw me the ball, Tim.” He raised his hands in a catc
her’s stance.

  Tim tossed him the ball and sped ahead to catch Ruthie, who was now waiting for Daniel’s toss. He loved the joy in the children’s sun-warmed faces.

  When was the last time he’d played with Ruthie and Tim for more than a few minutes? He couldn’t recall. Work stole his attention. It forced the children into second place while they begged for top priority. He sighed. There wasn’t enough of him to go around.

  He hired Miss Hale to occupy them and shift the burden of child care away from him. So far she’d coaxed him from his work and pinched his conscience as a parent. But he was glad she did. Yet his newspaper column wouldn’t write itself. Further behind than ever, he needed to refuse Miss Hale’s future entreaties when he ought to bury himself in his study and work without interruption.

  She caught Ruthie’s ball and tossed it to him. “Sir, I enjoyed our talk about putting your beliefs into practice. I’d like to read more of your columns. Do you have any I may borrow?”

  “Of course,” Daniel said, pleased. “In fact I have several I’m trying to put together for a book, but I have to organize them first. And that’s quite a task.”

  “Perhaps I can help. Organization is one of my strengths—at least I think it is. I can do it at night or when Ruthie and Tim are working on their lessons.”

  “Why, thank you. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not a bit.”

  “Of course, I shall pay you extra. I don’t expect you to do this in your spare time.” He named a generous sum. Obviously the professor practiced what he preached.

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Sir, that’s much too much for the task.” But it would pay for Becky’s doctor bills. How could she turn it down? “I accept. Thank you.”

  She called Tim and Ruthie. When they came she surged ahead, chasing and tickling them as if she were still a child herself. But as engaging as the children were, it was Miss Hale whom Daniel found he studied.

  SEVEN

  In the quiet of her room that night, Charlotte sorted through the stack of columns Professor Wilmont had given her after their picnic. Many of them seemed similar to sermons since they were peppered with Bible verses. Well, what did she expect from a religion column? She picked the top one from the pile on her bed and settled into the comfortable chair by the window. She began reading.

  Saints Mattthew, Mark, and Luke all tell the story of Jesus answering questions posed by learned men who were trying to entrap him. In Chapter 22 verses 34–40, St. Matthew says, “But when the Pharisees had heard that he had put the Sadducees to silence, they were gathered together. Then one of them, which was a lawyer, asked him a question, tempting him, and saying, Master, which is the greatest commandment in the law? Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

  Jesus was clear as He could possibly be, repeating what these men would have already known. For in Deuteronomy 6:5 God says to His people, “And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might.” God directs them and us, as well, to give all our love to Him. We must totally commit ourselves in every conceivable way. He doesn’t leave us any other option.

  But Jesus doesn’t stop there. Out of our love for God comes the second commandment, which initially comes from Leviticus Chapter 19, verse 18. “Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself: I am the Lord.”

  God made man in His own image, which elevates man above all other creatures. Loving God makes it possible for us to love our neighbor. Now we must ask: Who exactly is our neighbor? The answer is obvious. Our neighbor includes everyone, not just the man who lives next door! He’s the worker in our shipyard, the woman who rides on the trolley with her children in tow, our boss, and our servant. He’s the man who needs a few coins for a bowl of soup, the family without shelter. Our neighbor is anyone who requires our assistance. Can we look the other way or pass them by and still call ourselves God-fearing Christians? We demonstrate our love for the Lord through our actions toward others.

  Charlotte lowered the paper to her lap. No wonder Mr. Phifer detested the professor. When the paper had made record profits last year, he had begrudgingly given every employee a small raise—but then demanded that every employee work an extra couple of hours a week “to be worth their keep.” He obviously held little love in his heart for any of them, thinking only of the bottom line.

  To be honest, she herself had never thought much about loving either the Lord or her neighbor, though she did lend a hand from time to time. Maybe when the next opportunity came along she’d volunteer to help, not wait for someone to ask.

  She admired the professor for writing about a commandment that pricked the conscience. He wouldn’t make many friends reminding people of their responsibilities, but he’d certainly make a slew of enemies.

  MR. EDWARDS, DANIEL’S editor at the Newport Gazette, snatched away the paper in his hand. The gray-haired, gray-suited stick of a man glanced at the office clock.

  “Your deadline passed half an hour ago, Wilmont. You’ve always been on time. I require punctuality from my people. No excuses accepted. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course. It won’t happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t.”

  Daniel exited the office in a hurry, disgusted he’d allowed a picnic to interfere with timely delivery of his column. Up late last night polishing his writing, he’d overslept. Now he suffered from the fuzziness of too little sleep.

  Never before had he neglected his work. But yesterday he readily tagged along on Miss Hale’s outing, content to idle away precious time he should have spent with pen and paper. He seldom allowed pleasant distractions to interfere with his responsibilities. Never again would he indulge himself. Unfortunately, Miss Hale possessed the uncanny ability to dissolve him like a sugar cube in hot tea.

  As he drove off in his buggy, duly chastened, he vowed to keep his mind off the governess and concentrate on his columns and classes. Pointing out the wrongs of the world and connecting them to biblical truths sounded insignificant to many people. But to his mind, trumpeting the Word of God was equally as important as teaching his students. And he reached a larger audience through the newspaper.

  Lord, I pray I haven’t jeopardized my column through negligence. And please don’t let a bright smile and dancing brown eyes distract me from the tasks You’ve given me.

  Eager to forget his lapse and Mr. Edward’s rebuke, Daniel returned to his college office ready to begin the day anew. Miss Gregory, his matronly secretary, waylaid him before he reached his desk.

  “You have a message from President Ralston, Professor.”

  Every fiber in Daniel’s tired body tensed. “Thank you. I’ll see him right away.” The knot in his gut twisted. What did the president of Aquidneck College want? Nothing came to mind as he headed down the long, empty corridor. He’d only spoken a word or two to the man during the entire summer term.

  Professor Ralston’s assistant ushered Daniel into the president’s large office, paneled in dark walnut and carpeted with a fine Turkish rug that muffled the sound of his footsteps. Portraits of two predecessors hung on the wall in gilt frames. Narrow faces stared down at Daniel with cold, arrogant eyes.

  He rapidly examined his conscience and it came up clear. No dissatisfaction in the ranks of students that he could recall, and he hadn’t failed any pupil recently who might have complained. He got along well with his colleagues and even with the administration, which oftentimes irritated him for straying from the Aquidneck’s Christian heritage. But for the most part he kept his opinions to his columns, not the halls.

  Then Miss Melissa LeBeau popped into his mind. Could she have reported he’d put off a meeting when she’d r
equested assistance in her studies? Maybe her family wielded influence and power with the college administration. Perhaps her father contributed to the building fund or sponsored a scholarship or endowed a chair. Daniel sighed. He didn’t keep track of trivial things that others considered crucial.

  Frowning, President Ralston directed Daniel to take a seat. He dropped to the edge of the brown leather chair and waited. His heart raced with uncharacteristic anxiety. Clifford Ralston stood behind his massive desk. His lips thinned and his square face compressed like an accordion into an expression of pain. Feigned, Daniel suspected.

  President Ralston avoided Daniel’s steady gaze and cleared his throat. “Professor Wilmont, I called you here because of a problem that’s recently come to my attention.”

  “Yes, sir.” Daniel shifted in his chair as the man began to pace in front of the windows behind his desk, his head bowed in thought.

  “I’ll get directly to the point. Some of our generous benefactors have criticized your newspaper column. To be perfectly frank, they feel your writing is unseemly for an esteemed professor.”

  “Oh?” Daniel frowned.

  “Whipping up the masses against their benevolent employers is hardly a suitable undertaking for one in your position. Our students look to you as an example, as well they should. But if you’re unwilling to represent the highest values of this college, then I’m afraid I must step in and warn you of the consequences.” He leveled a glare as deadly as a bullet.

  “I see,” Daniel murmured. The blood in his veins froze. “I’m sorry these men are pressuring you, sir, but I can assure you my viewpoint is entirely Christian and in accordance with the gospel, as well as the highest values of this college—at least those of the founder’s. And I am a professor of biblical studies. Does it not make perfect sense for me to write about my views as a Christian?”