“Professor, I’m merely asking you to remove politics from your religion column. It is not a matter of faith that incites our benefactors. Indeed, these men are fine, Christian men who all regularly attend church. It is how you choose to apply your theological views to the day to day of our lives. It becomes rather . . . personal.”
“But faith is a personal matter,” Daniel sputtered. “For everyone.”
President Ralston’s lips clamped together. He held out a hand toward Daniel. “Listen to me. You are clever enough, Professor, to seek a more conciliatory method to convey your views. If you do not at least attempt to do so, I shall have no choice but to insist upon your resignation from this institution.”
Choked by President Ralston’s threat, Daniel rose. “I understand the dilemma you’re facing, but those who complain mischaracterize my writing.”
“That’s immaterial.”
Daniel blew out a sigh. He was getting nowhere with the man. “I shall, of course, mull over your advice,” he said, choking over the words.
“Then I expect you’ll heed my words. Excellent.” His expression eased for the first time. “You’re a fine teacher and we’d hate to lose you, Professor. Your reasonable attitude is commendable.”
Daniel shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean to suggest I’d alter the direction of my column. But I shall consider all the ramifications.”
Ralston’s wrinkles in his forehead returned. “You have only one viable option. Please accept it without further delay.”
“I’ll convey my decision as soon as possible.” Daniel turned on his heel and left the president’s office before he sputtered some self-righteous cliché he’d regret.
Only the Lord could command him to quit heralding the truth. He didn’t preach and he didn’t condemn. He merely illuminated the horrifying effects of greed and indifference toward the plight of those less fortunate. It mattered not who wanted his opinions silenced because as long as deplorable conditions continued among the poor, the problem would flare up again and again.
But Daniel knew that many of the country’s great industrialists, including his own brother, Edgar, supported the college and held tight reign over the administration. Was he prepared to battle with them over his column? David would undoubtedly fall to Goliath this time around unless the Lord intervened. A negotiator by nature, he couldn’t imagine raising his fists in even a metaphorical fight—unless he utilized his pen for a sword.
Returning to his department, Daniel smiled gamely at Miss Gregory. He disappeared into his office and closed the door. He’d expected to encounter resistance to his writing at some point, but he hadn’t truly prepared himself.
From the beginning of his stint as columnist he’d known powerful men might try to silence him. But God nudged him at first and then shoved until he started to write. The Lord had expected obedience and He still did. Daniel buried his head in his hands and let the rhythmic tick of the wall clock pound into his ears. President Ralston was forcing him to decide sooner rather than later.
A knock sounded at the door and then opened. “Ruthie, Tim. Miss Hale. Is everything all right?” His mother kept them from visiting during the day, but apparently the governess didn’t know the unwritten rule. Or maybe she was ignoring it.
“Oh yes,” Miss Hale said. “We’re quite all right.”
“Children, you know perfectly well you must not disturb me at my office during the day. The college doesn’t welcome professor’s children running around the campus.”
Miss Hale’s face reddened. “Sir, it’s my fault. They explained the policy, but I thought just this once we could break the rule.” Her words were apologetic and the tone of her voice calm, yet her eyes flashed.
Daniel shook his head. “No, Miss Hale, rules are made to keep, even when you don’t agree with them.”
Ruthie tentatively held out a box. “Miss Hale and I baked sugar cookies for you. They’re scrumptious.” He hated the look of fear in his daughter’s eyes. She’d brought him cookies and all he could do was preach rules and regulations. Where was the love and grace in his own heart?
Miss Hale’s full lips tilted upward in a small, sheepish grin as if she’d already forgiven him for his outburst. “We learned together. I burned the first dozen, but the second batch turned out perfectly. Do try one.”
He reluctantly took a lopsided cookie and bit into it, expecting the worst. Instead, the buttery confection melted in his mouth. “Delicious. Thank you.” But they still shouldn’t disregard the rules. And Miss Hale ought not to condone it either.
Ruthie clapped her hands in delight. “They are good, aren’t they? Tim ate half a dozen all by himself.” Tim stuck his tongue out at his sister and then picked up two cookies and crammed one in his mouth. Miss Hale abstained.
“No one wanted us near the kitchen, especially Chef Jacques, but Miss Hale volunteered to clean up the mess after we baked. And we did. All three of us,” Ruthie said.
“You can be proud of them, Professor.”
Ruthie glanced toward the door. “Do you mind if we go outside and roll our hoops? We left them in Miss Gregory’s office.”
Perhaps outside they would not bring down the ire of the other faculty. “Go ahead, but be certain you don’t bother anyone. And keep the noise down, please,” Daniel said.
He motioned Miss Hale to take a seat as the children tore out of the room. She slid gracefully into a chair and glanced up at him expectantly.
“Is everything all right, Professor? I mean besides my mistake in coming here with the children. You do look a bit down this morning and I suspect it’s not from a surprise visit.”
Taken aback by her perceptiveness—and informality—Daniel didn’t know how to respond. He’d never confided in a servant before, but Miss Hale seemed more like family, and as a governess, she wasn’t exactly a part of the regular staff.
“I ran into a problem. But since everything is in God’s hands, I’m sure all will be fine—eventually.” Maintaining a positive attitude wasn’t easy, yet the Lord would work things out as He always did. In the meantime—well, he wouldn’t dwell on future difficulties. And he certainly wouldn’t share his troubles.
Miss Hale’s eyes filled with concern and her perfectly shaped mouth turned downward. She leaned forward across the desk, her hands folded together. He inhaled the fragrance of her hair, and her freshly starched and pressed white shirt. Her straw boater adorned with only a band of black ribbon tilted down over her creamy forehead. She removed it and laid it on her lap, obviously unaware her hairpins had loosened. Her topknot seemed in danger of cascading down her back. Wispy dark curls spiraled around the curve of her cheeks, giving her a girlish look—so young and carefree, not prim and proper as her attire would suggest.
Those eyes set beneath arching brows radiated more compassion than he’d ever felt from a woman before. Certainly more than his mother or Sarah had ever shown. Before he knew it, he found himself spilling the whole story.
CHARLOTTE LISTENED CAREFULLY to Professor Wilmont as he confided the misery of his morning. She wanted to rush around the desk and nestle her arm around his shoulder and tell him she was so sorry for his predicament. And how he had every right to feel anger toward the ungrateful President Ralston, a man who should defend him against the wicked men who wanted him fired. The professor lived his convictions to the point of putting his job on the line. She wished she could do the same.
But instead of offering a consoling hug or at least a squeeze of the hand, Charlotte sat on the opposite side of the desk, her palms folded rigidly in her lap. Her voice shook. “I’m not a bit surprised your writing would raise the ire of such people. But it’s so unfair they expect you to give up your column or lose your position here.”
And how hypocritical of her to take his part when she was sent to Summerhill to ruin him. The stifling air made her perspire. She ran her finger beneath her tight collar to loosen it.
Yet his misfortune might turn the tide for her. Her heart thudd
ed. She considered herself a loyal employee of the Rhode Island Reporter, though her conscience called her a snitch, traitor, betrayer. Perhaps if he was forced to quit his column, Mr. Phifer would be appeased and she could take her leave of Summerhill. She’d find another way to prove herself as a journalist and pay her bills. But what other way?
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
Daniel 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 h
is 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.
Love on Assignment Page 10
