She looked at Daniel for confirmation, her forehead creased. He nodded. Why was she practically whispering?
“Good to have you with us. We’ll look forward to seeing you on Sundays.”
Bowing her head over the Scriptures, Charlotte’s mesh veil concealed most of her face. Throughout the discussion she hardly moved a muscle and never once added a comment or posed a question. Very unlike Charlotte. From time to time her fingers fanned the pages of her Bible or fidgeted in her lap. When the teacher directed everyone to turn to a particular chapter and verse, Charlotte consulted the table of contents first. This meant nothing, of course, except that she wasn’t as familiar with the text as most longtime Christians. And she didn’t feel comfortable among these strangers. Or did it mean something else? He shuddered to think she might have misled him about her faith.
“Did you like the class?” Daniel asked later as they headed for the sanctuary.
She quirked an odd smile. “I learned a lot.”
I LEARNED I’M mired in quicksand and I want to get out of here!
How had Mr. Phifer ever convinced her she could pull off this ridiculous charade? Pretending to be a Christian was impossible. Straightforward and direct—that was how she thought of herself. Truly, she wasn’t a liar, at least not until this assignment. She didn’t fool the professor. She felt quite sure of that. He stared at her with narrowed eyes every time she fumbled through her Bible, unable to locate anything past Genesis. He must know, or strongly suspect, she wasn’t a genuine Christian. Perspiration coated her skin despite the cool air flowing through the open front doors of the church. She rubbed her palms against her skirt, resisting the urge to mop her brow.
Sliding into the pew between Professor Wilmont and Ruthie, Charlotte took her seat and glanced around the plain, almost stark room. People of all ages crowded shoulder to shoulder, chatting quietly.
The robed singers filed to the right of the pulpit and focused on their director. Bursting into song, they raised their voices to the rooftop, blending and harmonizing like a choir of angels. Then the congregation joined in, belting out an upbeat hymn she’d never heard before. Charlotte glanced around. No one else needed to read the lyrics from the hymnal.
Ruthie peeked sideways and whispered, “Don’t you know the words?”
“I’m afraid not. We sing different hymns.”
“Like what?” Ruthie insisted. Professor Wilmont frowned and the girl reluctantly turned toward the front.
The songs were so easy to sing, Charlotte joined in softly at first and then louder as a few of the melodies became familiar. The lyrics must come from Scripture. Words about the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, the Counselor. She’d certainly appreciate guidance from the Holy Ghost and confirmation that she was doing the right thing. But how could any holy personage give snooping a nod of approval?
For no discernable reason tears stung the back of her eyelids and threatened to spill down her hot skin. What had come over her? Was she disintegrating emotionally? Or was she just responding to the wonderful music?
A feeling of peace settled into her heart and then intensified, leaving her alone with . . . God?
Charlotte was surprised that the unexpected warmth lingered even after they left the sanctuary. Savoring her spiritual experience, she felt a part of a new realm she hadn’t known, though after reading the Bible several times before bed, she suspected there might be something far beyond her experience and knowledge. Unable to define it, she let God’s unseen presence overwhelm her with joy, quite different from the familiar happiness that appeared and disappeared so easily.
She needed to ponder the feelings the church service had stirred in her heart. “I believe I’ll take a walk around the campus and enjoy the beautiful afternoon.”
“Then we’ll see you later,” Daniel said, looking a bit disappointed. He headed down Cove Road, glanced back, and waved. Charlotte waved back. With a light spirit, she strolled across the lawn toward the bandstand. Several young ladies, students she presumed, gathered on the benches, giggling and chatting. Missy LeBeau sat right in their midst. Charlotte dropped onto a stone bench under the shade of an elm and watched her from a discreet distance. Missy was the swan amid the ducks. Her cream-colored frock stood out among the charcoal gray and brown garments the other students wore. Even her laughter rang out above their giggles.
“May I join you?” asked a young woman dressed in a dark plum walking suit without lace or trim. It shaded a square face punctuated with plain features. Charlotte recognized her from the church. “Lovely service, wasn’t it?” she asked as Charlotte motioned her to sit.
“Yes, indeed.”
“I’m Agnes Brownington. I’m a freshman.”
“How do you do? I’m Charlotte Hale, governess to Professor Wilmont’s children.”
“Yes, I noticed you sitting with him in church.”
They chatted amiably before their attention drifted to the girls by the bandstand. Agnes’s mouth tightened so much her lips nearly disappeared. “They’re a rowdy group, especially the blonde with the cat eyes. Missy LeBeau. She’s in Professor Wilmont’s New Testament class with me.”
Charlotte’s nerves stood on end. “Oh? I take it you’re not close friends.”
Agnes shook her head. “You are indeed correct. We’re the only two women in the class.”
“Is Miss LeBeau a good student?”
A grunt escaped Agnes’s throat. “The very worst.” She leaned closer while keeping her gaze fixed on Missy. “She’s a disgrace to our sex.”
“Truly? Why is that?” Charlotte asked.
“She’s chasing Professor Wilmont all over campus. Everyone’s noticed. She ought to be ashamed, but she’s not. She flaunts herself like a hussy. Someone ought to report her behavior to the dean.”
“And the professor, how does he react to the attention?” Charlotte leaned closer.
Agnes’s eyes narrowed. “He dislikes it, I can assure you. He’s a model Christian man.”
“I agree. But Miss LeBeau is not a model Christian woman?”
“Not in the least. She ought to be expelled.”
With nerves twitching, Charlotte pumped Agnes for details, but the girl soon rose. “If you’ll excuse me I must be off to the dining hall or I’ll miss my meal. It was so pleasant conversing with you, Miss Hale.”
At least Agnes had confirmed Charlotte’s assessment of the professor and his brazen student. Her instincts were right.
Then the young woman turned around. “I’ve heard a rumor that Professor Wilmont expects to leave at the end of the semester. That’s not true, is it?” She wrung her hands. “He’s such an excellent instructor. We’d all miss him terribly.”
“You’ll have to ask him, Miss Brownington.”
“Yes, I expect you’re right.”
They soon parted and Charlotte returned to Summerhill. During the afternoon she sketched with Ruthie on the back veranda, while out of the corner of her eye, she watched Tim and the youngest Hopkins boy climb trees on the side lawn. No doubt Mrs. Wilmont would disapprove, but the woman was ensconced in the drawing room entertaining the dapper Mr. McClintock and anyone else who stopped by to wish her a rapid recovery. A dozen or more well-wishers had streamed into the cottage during the last few days.
Charlotte finished her drawing, satisfied she’d captured Ruthie’s whimsy.
“Why, that’s me,” Ruthie said with a smile, looking over at Charlotte’s sketch pad. “May I show the picture to Papa? He’ll love it. You’re a splendid artist.”
Charlotte laughed, embarrassed by the praise. “Yes, of course. You may have it, if you’d like.”
“Thank you, Miss Hale. I shall sketch you now.”
Charlotte grinned. She laid her pencil on the wicker table set atop an Oriental carpet and glanced toward the sea, more quiet than usual in the stillness of the late afternoon.
The warm feelings she’d had in church had remained throughout the day, although they could easily fade in the light of
reality. But at the moment they radiated within, like captured sunshine. The Lord loved her. Recently she’d read a verse in Proverbs: “I love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me.” She understood that now. And it changed everything. While Ruthie silently sketched, Charlotte prayed.
Lord, I’ve committed so many sins and I ask for Your forgiveness. I am truly sorry.
And then the gravity of her deception smashed into her stomach. She’d lied for the vindictive Mr. Phifer who was using her shamelessly.
Should she continue to work for him? Quitting her position would mean she’d have to obtain another job quickly. Where could she apply?
The back door opened and Daniel stepped outside. Charlotte’s heart lurched.
“Good afternoon, Charlotte, Ruthie. I’ve been searching for Sarah’s prayer journal, but I can’t seem to locate it. Did you happen to run across it? I can’t imagine why you would’ve seen it, but I’ve asked my mother and the staff and no one has any idea where it might be. It was in a hatbox on the shelf of my wardrobe not long ago. I looked for it last night and searched for it again just now, but I’m afraid it’s disappeared.”
“I’m sure it will turn up soon.” Charlotte’s voice trembled. She should have returned the prayer journal days ago, but she’d read it cover to cover over the course of several nights. Then she’d shoved it to the back of her chest of drawers without ever finding an opportunity to return it. As soon as possible, she’d sneak the book back to its proper place.
But why did he suddenly want it?
“I’m sure it’ll turn up. I have a bad habit of losing things right when I want them the most.” Daniel shook his head and started for the door, still looking puzzled.
“Look at the sketch Miss Hale drew of me and the one I made of her.” Ruthie beamed. “Would you like them, Papa?”
“If Miss Hale wouldn’t mind, I’d love to have them both.” His smile slid from one to the other.
FOURTEEN
Charlotte awoke to a dreary day punctuated by the mournful wail of a foghorn. A damp chill spread across her bedroom and raised goose bumps on her bare arms. Closing the window, she watched charcoal clouds skitter across the opal sky and darken the surf to gray. Fog veiled the lawn.
Today she’d celebrate her birthday by herself. No one at Summerhill knew of it, so of course no one would make a fuss. Twenty-three years wasn’t really special. But she did miss waking up to the aroma of Aunt Amelia’s devil’s food cake wafting from the oven.
With a sigh, Charlotte dressed in her plain, light blue uniform with white collar and cuffs, brushed her hair into a neat pompadour, and donned the silly cap with streamers that Mrs. Wilmont insisted she wear. She looked like a parlor maid minus the apron. She glanced toward the locked bureau drawer concealing Sarah’s journal. Gulping in a big breath, she steeled herself for the day’s most crucial task. At the first opportunity, she’d slip the diary back into Sarah’s hatbox. The professor need never know she’d pilfered it, though she really ought to confess and clear her conscience. Easier said than done.
Charlotte headed for the bedroom door. She could kick herself for accepting such a dishonorable assignment, but at least she hadn’t tattled to Mr. Phifer about the journal and made matters even worse. Yet nothing excused her.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted the birthday present from Aunt Amelia and Becky. Too curious to wait for evening, she tore open the wrapping with one quick rip. She lifted a fine lawn blouse with tucks down the bodice and pearl buttons! It was by far the loveliest shirtwaist she’d ever owned. Her aunt must have toiled for hours sewing this fine garment. How thoughtful, especially since the crippling in her fingers made handwork so difficult. Several linen handkerchiefs edged with crocheted lace came from Becky.
Her spirits restored, Charlotte roused the groggy children from their beds and served them breakfast in the playroom. All morning she looked for a chance to return the journal, but Ruthie stayed by her side. Then an hour of cross-stitch, a game of chess with Tim, and lessons in arithmetic and grammar swallowed up the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon. She couldn’t squeeze in even a few minutes to replace Sarah’s journal until well after lunch.
The fog burned off and the grass dried by early afternoon, allowing Charlotte and her charges to enjoy the outdoors. While both children read their favorite books under a maple tree in the side yard, Charlotte excused herself.
“I shall be right back. Do stay put. That means you, Tim.” The little boy’s bad habit of vanishing when she wasn’t looking often sent her in all directions in search for him.
“Miss Hale, may I get my book, An Old Fashioned Girl? It’s in the playroom. I’m almost finished with Jo’s Boys,” Ruthie asked.
“I’d be glad to fetch it,” she said, rising. “And I shall grab a book of my own. I’m about to begin Life on the Mississippi.”
Charlotte hastened up the backstairs, grabbed Sarah’s journal, then hurried to the professor’s bedroom. Fortunately the hallway was deserted. Her heartbeat throbbed in her eardrums. With shaking hands she yanked the oval box from the wardrobe, shoved the journal inside, and pushed it back on the high shelf. Relief rushed through her. Professor Wilmont would probably find the book and assume he’d overlooked it. Heading out the door, the heels of her sturdy shoes clicked softly against the floorboards.
Thud! A crash loud enough to wake the dead assaulted her ears. She stopped short and glanced over her shoulder and back into the professor’s room. A stack of textbooks lay on the floor beside the hatbox, its cover knocked off. Charlotte groaned, picked it up with shaking hands, and thrust it back in the box and onto the shelf once again. She piled the books beside it and raced toward the back staircase.
Tearing downstairs she paused at the landing, breathless.
Mrs. Wilmont looked up from the bottom of the steps, hands on her narrow hips.
“What was that noise?” the woman demanded.
Charlotte looked down, attempting to remain calm. Surely the professor’s mother would notice the terror in her eyes and hear a squeak in her voice.
The cracks in Mrs. Wilmont’s face hardened. “You dropped something in my son’s bedroom right over the drawing room. What were you doing in there?”
“I was upstairs looking for one of Ruthie’s books. I went to fetch her copy of An Old Fashioned Girl.”
Mrs. Wilmont’s eyes widened with triumph as she stared at Charlotte’s empty hands. “I see you didn’t find it.”
Charlotte paused. “No. When I heard the noise I got distracted and forgot all about the novel.”
“Are you claiming you weren’t in my son’s bedroom?”
Charlotte took a deep breath and willed her heart to stop thumping. “No, ma’am. I was there for a few moments. The clatter seemed to come from the wardrobe, so I looked inside and found a hatbox lying on the floor beside several books. I put everything back on the shelf and left immediately. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll run upstairs and fetch Ruthie’s book.” She tried to dash around Mrs. Wilmont, but the woman blocked her exit.
“You don’t fool me, Charlotte Hale. You have no business in any bedroom except for the children’s. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Charlotte hung her head so her employer wouldn’t see the guilt rising to the surface of her face.
“One more misstep and I shall dismiss you.”
Mrs. Wilmont’s threat hovered in the stifling air. Charlotte nodded, turned on her heel, and climbed the back staircase to retrieve Ruthie’s book and her own.
The afternoon slowly faded into early evening. Charlotte had a light supper with the staff while the family ate together in their spacious dining room. After the kitchen help cleared the table, Charlotte looked up at the sound of giggling on the basement stairs.
“Miss Hale, Papa would like to see you in the playroom.”
Oh Lord, please don’t let this be about the journal. I don’t have the strength to confess—if You think that
I must. I need a little more time to muster the courage.
“Miss Hale, do hurry.” Ruthie’s face glowed with anticipation.
Charlotte followed the children up the back staircase to the second floor and into the playroom. Brightly wrapped packages were piled beside the table holding a bucket of ice cream and a two-layer cake, iced in pink, and resting on a crystal pedestal plate.
“Happy Birthday, Miss Hale,” the professor, Ruthie, and Tim shouted all together.
Charlotte’s jaw popped open. “How did you know today is my birthday?”
Daniel grinned, happily smug. “The date was on the sheet you filled out when I interviewed you.”
Tears clogged her throat. “I can’t believe you’d do this for me. Thank you so much.” Charlotte’s voice cracked. “I’m overwhelmed.”
Ruthie spoke with authority. “Everyone should have a birthday party. And Miss Hale, you’re practically family, so it’s up to us to give you one.”
Charlotte grinned with pleasure tinged with regret. What kind of woman betrayed her family?
“Chef Jacques helped me bake the cake.” Ruthie gazed at her creation with unfettered pride.
Tim volunteered, “It’s a little bit lopsided, but that doesn’t matter. Ruthie put gobs of frosting on the top so you really can’t tell.”
After making an appropriate fuss, Charlotte cut the cake and served it along with homemade vanilla ice cream. A real treat.
“Is it impolite to ask how old you are?” Tim asked between bites.
Daniel frowned. “Never ask a lady her age, even a young one.”
Charlotte laughed. “I’m twenty-three.”
“That’s old. Shouldn’t you be getting married soon?” Tim tipped his chair back precariously. “Is that a rude question too?”
“You know it is,” the professor said with mock sternness while Ruthie rolled her eyes. “Please excuse my son’s bad manners. He knows better.”
Tim hung his head, but a mischievous smirk belied true repentance. “I’m sorry.”
Love on Assignment Page 18
