Love on Assignment

by Cara Lynn James

  Vivian peered through half glasses at Charlotte, her eyes as hard as gemstones. “If Daniel lives to be one hundred, he’ll never get over her. I don’t suppose he’ll ever find such a sweet, charming girl again.” She let her words sink in. “And oh my, Sarah was talented. She decorated this house, entertained—there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do and do well.”

  Charlotte suppressed a grimace. No, Daniel would never meet such a paragon again—at least not in her. “You must all miss her.” Although, Mrs. Wilmont’s characterization scarcely squared with what she’d read in the journal.

  The elderly woman nodded. “We do. No one can ever take her place. She was a perfect wife and mother.”

  Though it was an obvious lie, Charlotte understood her meaning, loud and clear.

  Were her warm feelings toward Daniel so obvious his mother had to warn her to keep her distance? The lady must fear she’d lose her son just as she’d lost her husband. Well, Mrs. Wilmont shouldn’t worry. She wouldn’t lose Daniel, at least not to her.

  Charlotte plumped the pillows on the sofa. “Would you like lunch now? I can order it for you.”

  “I’m not hungry. I never eat before two o’clock and it’s only twelve thirty,” Vivian snapped. “Besides, Mr. McClintock will be joining me for luncheon later on.”

  “Not even a cup of coffee or tea?”

  “I said no thank you.”

  Charlotte hid her annoyance behind a faint smile. “Of course, ma’am.”

  “I don’t have much of an appetite these days. I’m still feeling poorly.” Mrs. Wilmont gave a moan of self-pity and then lifted the parcel that had come in the morning post. “I believe these are the books my son has been anxiously awaiting.”

  “I have a few errands to run in town. I could drop them by his office, if you’d like.”

  “What is it you need to buy?” Vivian Wilmont’s eyes narrowed with skepticism.

  Charlotte had prepared an answer well in advance. “Some sheet music for Ruthie. I shall not take long.”

  “All right. But where is Tim? You can’t expect me to watch them while I’m convalescing.”

  “Of course not. Mrs. Finnegan volunteered to keep an eye on him.”

  “Why don’t you take him along instead of imposing on my housekeeper? She has her own duties to attend to.”

  She couldn’t bring Tim to a meeting with Mr. Phifer. “As you know, the professor prefers the children not come to his office. Besides, Tim loves Mrs. Finnegan. She promised to play checkers with him.”

  Mrs. Wilmont sighed. “All right. You may go on your errands, but be quick about it.”

  Charlotte left Summerhill in the gig with the parcel of books beside her. She drove the short distance to the college and then hastened into the professor’s office. She’d have just enough time to meet Mr. Phifer at O’Neill’s Café at one o’clock. Dread spurted through her, but she quickly calmed her nerves.

  When she peeked inside Daniel’s college office, his face split in a grin. “What a nice surprise! I see you have the books I ordered. Thank you for delivering them.” He cleared away a pile of papers and she set the package down. His cluttered space reminded her of his Summerhill study.

  “It was no trouble at all.” She stood before his desk, her hands clenched at her waist until he motioned her to take a seat. She perched on the chair across the desk. The wall clock read twelve thirty. If she didn’t hurry, she’d arrive late for her appointment.

  He pointed to a copy of the Rhode Island Reporter, opened to the editorial page. Arnold Phifer’s name flashed like a fork of lightning. Perspiration erupted on her face and neck and dribbled in a clammy rivulet down her back.

  Daniel read the headline out loud, “‘Radical Columnist Condemns Business Practices.’ Of course I’m the so-called radical he’s complaining about.” A wry smile tugged at his mouth. “I think that’s a bit overstated, don’t you?”

  Her muscles tightened. “I’m sure it is, sir.”

  “Arnie Phifer brings out the worst in me. I shouldn’t let his ranting get under my skin, but I can’t stomach distortions and lies.”

  A sick feeling spread through her. “Does he actually lie about you?” Stretch the truth a bit, but outright lie?

  “Yes, he most certainly does. I expect him to be fair and confront my ideas point by point, but instead he uses ridicule and character assassination. I detest that, especially when I’m the target.” He laughed ruefully and ran his fingers through his hair. “On one occasion, Arnie Phifer wrote such a scathing piece about me, I actually went down to his office and gave him a piece of my mind.”

  During her interview Daniel had mentioned she looked familiar. Now she knew why. He must have seen her that day, though bent over a typewriter, she probably wasn’t memorable.

  Oh Lord, please don’t let him recognize me. I promise to confess my part in this awful scene, but let me prepare myself first. I’m not quite ready, Lord. Please forgive me for being such a coward.

  Daniel tossed the paper into the trash can. “Every day I pray that Arnie Phifer will change his attitude. And I pray the Lord will soften my heart, too, since my thoughts about the man are far from charitable.”

  Charlotte bit her lip to keep from snorting a nervous laugh. Arnie could use all the prayers he could get, though he wouldn’t appreciate them if he knew.

  A soft knock on the door drew Charlotte’s attention. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Missy LeBeau stride into the room. Decked out in a raspberry pink outfit with ruffled parasol and plumed hat, she looked ready for a garden party. Most of the female students wore tailored skirts and shirtwaists in practical colors and plain, serviceable hats.

  Missy stuck her nose in the air like a spoiled debutante, looked through Charlotte, and then turned to Daniel with a broad smile. “Excuse me, Professor, may I have a word with you? Alone, if you please.”

  “Perhaps you can make an appointment with my secretary. As you can see, I’m rather busy at the moment.” His voice was cordial but cool as he stood behind his desk. Charlotte swallowed a smile.

  “I’m sorry, this won’t wait.” Missy waltzed over to the professor, edging so close he had to step back. “Professor Wilmont, do you remember I mentioned joining a prayer group? Well, we’re having a retreat next weekend and we’re in desperate need of a speaker.” Missy pleaded with a smile worthy of Sarah Bernhardt. “At the last minute our guest lecturer, Miss Symington, withdrew because her father is going into the hospital. I’m in charge of finding a substitute, so I immediately thought of you. I know you’ll truly inspire us.”

  Daniel shifted from foot to foot and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d afraid I’m terribly busy just now. Have you asked Professor Fielding or perhaps Miss Rollins? Either one would be excellent.”

  Missy frowned. “No one else can come because it’s such short notice. Please, Professor. You’d be doing us a tremendous favor.”

  “I understand your dilemma, but please try to find someone more suitable.”

  Missy’s lower lip quivered. “I’ve asked everyone I could think of and all have turned me down because they didn’t have enough time to prepare. You’re so frightfully clever, I know you could do this without any preparation at all.”

  Charlotte stifled a groan and waited for Daniel to say no for good.

  Daniel let out a sigh of resignation. “All right, Miss LeBeau.

  I’ll do it.”

  Missy grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Thank you so much, Professor. The ladies and I will be forever grateful.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened in surprise. How could he have fallen for the girl’s patent play?

  He cleared his throat. “If that’s all, I believe it’s almost time for my next class. Please send me the details, including the topic I’m to speak on.”

  Missy nodded and sashayed out the door, her skirt rustling.

  Daniel turned to Charlotte.

  “I’m doing Miss LeBeau a favor because—”

  “She’s
so persuasive and you didn’t know how to refuse.” That was the truth, but had she spoken too plainly?

  Daniel winced. “Ouch, that pinches. You’re right. I do hate to let anyone down, especially when they’re in a bind.”

  “You’ll be making a dreadful mistake if you speak at Miss LeBeau’s retreat. I can’t explain exactly why, so I’ll just say it’s my womanly intuition.” Mr. Phifer’s “tip” about the girl rang through her mind.

  “Are you still worried Miss LeBeau has a crush on me?” Daniel turned as red as a radish.

  Her gaze fastened on his. “I’m more convinced than ever.”

  He wiped the embarrassment off his face and shrugged. “Perhaps she does, but that’s beside the point. I’m gratified she’s taking such an interest in spiritual things. That’s a big step forward.”

  When he crossed his arms over his chest, Charlotte silently groaned. The subject was closed. He’d already explained his reasons and obviously he wasn’t open to persuasion. “I hope you’re right.”

  SEVENTEEN

  If 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.”