A loud burst of the whistle announced their arrival in Atlanta.
With renewed energy, Trent bounded out of his seat and removed his luggage from the overhead compartment.
This time tomorrow he hoped to be seated on the front porch of Quincy School with Abigail. He’d watch the joy and excitement in her eyes as he regaled her with stories about his time in St. Louis.
And he hoped there would be a chance to talk on more personal things. Because he’d finally admitted to himself that Carrie was right. He was very sweet on Abigail.
❧
Abigail laughed as P.H. tossed her head, causing several blond curls to escape the tightly wound bun, and gave them the slam-bang finish of another funny escapade that had occurred at her last school.
“I can’t believe you’ve been involved in education for thirty years. You look much too young.” The words weren’t flattery. They were gospel truth. Abigail would have guessed the new director’s age to be between thirty-five and forty. But, with total openness, the woman had confided she’d turned fifty-two in March.
P.H. emptied her cup and set it on the table by her chair.
Immediately Howard was across the parlor and at her side. He picked up the teapot. “Here let me give you a refill, Miss Wellington.”
Abigail pressed her lips together to hide the smile that threatened to break through. Both Howard and Charles were smitten with the new director, and they either couldn’t hide it or didn’t care to. Abigail and Helen had been hard-pressed not to tease them. Abigail was especially tempted to get even with Charles, who’d teased her about Trent.
“Thank you, Mr. Owens. That’s very kind of you.” The lady smiled gently as she did each time she was inundated with one of her admirers’ attention.
Abigail had worried ever since she’d laid eyes on P.H. this morning about what Trent’s reaction would be when he realized he’d hired a woman director. She hoped he wouldn’t send P.H. packing, because she had won them all over in the few hours she’d been here. But gentlemen in general didn’t take too kindly to women in administrative positions. And she had a feeling Southern gentlemen were even worse. Of course they wrapped their attitudes up nicely in packages of chivalry and protection of the weaker sex.
Charles and Howard didn’t seem to feel that way, but they were fascinated with the woman herself.
A huge box had arrived the previous day, addressed to Trent from Trent. Something he’d purchased on his business trip she supposed. She couldn’t believe how much she missed him. Since yesterday she’d found herself peering up the lane every time she had an excuse to go outside.
She tried to tell herself she was simply eager for their doctor to be present in case of an emergency. But even she saw through that. After all, Dr. Lowell, who was retired, had agreed to take over Trent’s practice while he was away. And Dr. Lowell was a very competent doctor.
Was it possible Albert and Virgie were right? Was this feeling she had for Trent love? Since she’d never experienced it before, she had nothing to compare it with.
The sound of her name drew her attention back to her friends and colleagues.
Helen smiled. “I was telling P.H. about your desire to teach Braille.”
“Oh.” Abigail glanced at the director, who looked at her with interest. “Yes, I would love to teach Braille to Lily Ann. But so far, Dr. Quincy hasn’t given his approval.”
“I see.” Her blue eyes sparked.
Abigail almost cringed. She didn’t want P.H. to have a negative view of Trent before she even met him. “Dr. Quincy cares deeply for Lily Ann. I’ve no doubt he’ll change his mind when he realizes how much it would benefit her.”
“And the former director’s views on the subject?”
Abigail glanced around for a possible excuse not to answer.
Helen cleared her throat. “Actually, we’ve had a number of improvements in the school recently.”
“Oh?” To Abigail’s relief, P.H. turned her attention to Helen. “Please tell me.”
“Until recently, you see, we taught only lip reading and verbal speech.” Helen’s eyes sparkled. “A couple of months ago, thanks to our former director and Dr. Quincy, we added sign language to the curriculum.”
“I’m very pleased to hear that.” P.H.’s eyes confirmed the truth of her words. “You’d be surprised how many schools refuse to change. I’m glad to hear that’s not the case with this one. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge your Dr. Quincy about the Braille. We shall see what transpires.”
She stood. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll retire for the night. I’m rather tired from the train ride and subsequent buggy ride on the rutted roads.”
When she’d gone upstairs, Abigail glanced around at the other teachers. “I like her.”
“Me, too.” Robert’s emphatic agreement set them all laughing.
“Oh dear.” Helen wiped her eyes and laughed again. “It’s been quite a day. I’m curious about Dr. Trent’s reaction to our lady director.”
So she wasn’t the only one. Abigail nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that, too.”
“I don’t know what you two are worried about.” Charles stood. “Trent will see her worth, the same as we do.”
He walked out, and Helen rolled her eyes. “I hope he’s right. But Trent’s not going to be infatuated the way Charles is.”
Abigail sighed. She knew she’d be saying a special prayer tonight.
She was the last one to leave, so she turned the lamps off and shut the door behind her. As she climbed the stairs, a feeling of loneliness came over her. Well, perhaps he’d be home tomorrow.
❧
Trent tossed and turned in the uncomfortable hotel bed. He should have been home by now. But he couldn’t very well have refused to care for an emergency.
He’d awoken that morning, dressed, and walked downstairs to turn in his key and leave. But just as he reached the desk, a boy came running up beside him.
His face white with fear, the boy shouted at the desk clerk. “Ma needs a doc. I think she’s bleeding to death.”
The clerk turned a startled glance upon Trent.
“I’m a doctor, son. I’ll go with you.” He followed the boy across the lobby to the stairs.
They took the stairs two at a time. “Do you know what’s wrong with your mother?”
“The baby’s coming, I think. But it ain’t time.”
“Where is your father?”
“Don’t know. He was supposed to get here last night, but he didn’t show up.”
They burst into the room, and Trent lost no time. A chambermaid stood helplessly wringing her hands, and three younger children stood crying.
“Get me some hot water and clean rags and sheets.” Trent fired the words at the frightened maid. “Hurry. Don’t just stand there. And tell the manager we need someone to look after the children.”
By God’s grace and Trent’s skill, he’d saved the tiny baby and the mother. Afterward he had them transferred to the hospital. He’d left them in the care of the hospital staff, after promising the mother he’d see that her children got to her aunt’s house about five miles from town.
The children were hungry, so he took them to a café then rented a wagon and mules for the trip to their great-aunt’s house.
By the time he’d made it back to town, it was too late to start home on horseback, so he stayed at the hotel for another night.
Late the following evening, Trent rode up the familiar lane to the school. The house looked dark. Disappointment washed over him. He supposed he’d go home and return in the morning. He started to turn Warrior when someone appeared in the doorway with a lamp.
He dismounted and walked up the steps.
“Trent!” Abigail came out on the porch. “You’re home.”
His heart quickened at the lilt in her voice. He stood looking at her in the lamplight. “It’s so good to finally be here.”
“We’ve missed you.”
“Has everyone else gone to bed?”
“Yes. Even the household staff. Would you like me to find something in the kitchen for you to eat?”
“No. I’m not hungry.”
Moonlight touched her hair, and the gold in her eyes gleamed.
“Are you too tired to sit awhile and talk to me?” He had so much to share with her, but tonight he just wanted to hear her voice.
“I’m not tired at all.” She blew out the lamp and went over and took a seat.
“Your box arrived.” The corner of her mouth turned up. “The one you sent to yourself.”
“Oh yes. I’ll leave that here. I’d like for you to open it with me tomorrow morning.”
“You would?”
He wanted to answer the question in her voice, but not enough to spoil the surprise when she saw what he’d brought.
“Yes. I think you’ll be interested.” He sat in the chair across from her. “I’ve been in St. Louis this week.”
“Oh? You had business there?”
“Yes. I went to see a surgeon about Lily Ann. He wasn’t very encouraging about her condition, but he did agree to see her.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good. Did you make an appointment?”
“No. That, of course, will be her parents’ decision.” He paused before going on. “Then I paid a visit to the Missouri School for the Blind.”
A sharp intake of her breath told him she understood the significance of his statement.
“Yes, I know you must have thought I was indifferent to your pleas concerning Lily Ann’s education. But I did tell you I would think about it.”
“Yes. Yes, you certainly did.” She spoke breathlessly, but he could hear the hope in her voice.
“I met some very interesting staff members, as well as a few of the students.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair and wondered how to tell her about Piper in a way that would really impart the wonder of the young man.
He finally told her about the boy’s amazing skills and the courage and joy that radiated from him, in spite of his double handicap. When he finally looked up, Abigail’s eyes were swim-ming with tears.
She pressed a handkerchief to her eyes. “The man from France I told you about mentioned Piper. He’d met him when he visited the St. Louis school. I was amazed at what he told us about the boy’s education, but you have brought his personality to life for me. Thank you, Trent.”
“No, I should thank you. Your passion for doing more to help the children lit a spark in me, Abigail.” He reached over and took her hand. She started but didn’t pull away.
He told her how they’d allowed him to observe one of the classes in session. And about the little girl who was just learning to use a cane. He laughed. “She didn’t want to use it at all. She felt she was doing perfectly well with her hands held out before her.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of a cane. Why doesn’t Lily Ann have one?”
“She does have one. Her father had it specially made for her. She doesn’t like it either.” He shook his head. “It’s in the cupboard in my office.”
“Hmmm. Would you let me have it, please? She really should start practicing with it. She got a thorn in her hand one day last week from carelessly grabbing on to a rosebush that was in the way.”
“Yes, you shall have it tomorrow.” He glanced into her eyes. “Abigail. . .”
“Oh my!” She jerked away from him and pressed both hands to her cheeks. “I’ve been so excited listening to you, I forgot the news.”
“What news?” Dear Lord, please nothing bad.
“The new director arrived this morning. P. H. Wellington is all settled into her new quarters and eager to meet you.”
“That’s great news!” He stopped. And gave a little laugh. “For a moment I thought you said her new quarters.”
She nodded. “Uh-huh. That’s what I said all right.”
A woman? He’d hired a woman? He pressed his lips together and breathed in deeply through his nostrils then let it out with a whoosh. “P.H. She deliberately deceived me. Well, I hope she hasn’t unpacked yet, because she’s going right back to where she came from!”
“What?” Abigail’s brows furrowed. “Without even giving her a chance to explain? It seems to me you’re being very unfair. And in case you’ve forgotten, we need a director. Badly!”
seventeen
“A woman?” Trent exclaimed the words out loud as he rode to the school the following morning. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? He’d been berating himself most of the night until he finally fell asleep after midnight.
The woman had deceived him. That was obvious. P. H. Wellington, indeed. Using initials had been a deliberate attempt at subterfuge. He growled. And it had worked. Who would have thought a female would apply for an administrative position at a school for the deaf.
Well, she was in for a big surprise. This was only a trial. It said so right in the contract. He’d looked through it again this morning to be sure. Maybe when he sent her back to Savannah with her head hanging down in shame, she’d think twice before she pulled such a trick on anyone else.
A pang of concern ran through him. Abigail was right. They did need a director, and P. H. Wellington had been the only applicant for the position.
Maybe he’d at least give her a chance to explain herself before he fired her.
He rode around to the barn. Albert, avoiding Trent’s eyes, took Warrior’s reins and started to lead him away.
“Albert, wait a minute.”
“Don’t get me in the middle of this here ruckus.”
Trent, a little taken aback, gave the old servant a surprised look. “I haven’t said anything yet.”
“You don’t have to. Miss Abigail done told me what’s going on with that director lady. I told her the same thing as I told you. I ain’t getting in the middle of it.”
“I guess you’re taking her side though. I know you are.” Trent frowned. “Do you want a woman running things around here?”
Something like a cackle emitted from Albert’s throat. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.”
“Fine, Albert.” Trent stalked around to the front door and went inside.
A tall woman, with a twinkle in her eye that belied her severe bun and sensible black dress, stood in the foyer about to enter the dining room. She paused when she saw him. “Dr. Quincy, I presume.” She held out her hand and flashed him a dazzling smile. “P. H. Wellington.”
He took her hand and gave it a firm shake. If she thought she could charm him, she was mistaken. “Miss Wellington, may I speak to you in the director’s office, please?”
Her eyes darkened, and she gave a short nod. “Yes. Of course. Is right after breakfast satisfactory, or is this an emergency?”
Feeling like a schoolboy reprimanded for rudeness, he stepped back. “After breakfast will be fine.”
Virgie came down the hallway. “Dr. Trent, I see you’ve met our nice new director. Come have breakfast with the staff.”
“Thank you, Virgie, but I’ve eaten already. I think I’ll wait for Miss Wellington in her. . .or rather. . .the director’s office.”
Without another word, he turned and left.
By the time she joined him he had deliberately sat in the chair behind the desk. Instead of being flustered when she saw him there, something very akin to amusement crossed her face. Without comment, she sat across from him.
“Miss Wellington. . .”
“P.H. please.”
“Miss Wellington, I believe I deserve an explanation.” He tapped his fingers on the desktop.
“About what?”
“About why you misrepresented yourself.” He scowled. “Pretending to be a man.”
“I didn’t misrepresent myself, and no one asked my gender.”
“But you knew I would assume you were a man. P.H.?” He fired the accusation at her.
She sighed. “My birth name is Portia Hesbeth. Family names that I’ve hated all m
y life. Why anyone would put such a hideous name on a baby girl I can’t imagine, family name or not. So as soon as I left home to attend business college, I started going by my initials. But, yes, I suppose I did think you would initially think I was a gentleman. However, the letters of reference should have cleared that up. You did read my references?”
“Yes of course.” Well, not word for word. Unease bit at him. Had there been something in the reference letters about her being a woman?
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Well, perhaps I didn’t read them word for word.”
“Then I suggest you do that. In the meantime I’d like to remind you we have an agreement. And since I wish to keep this position, I will hold you to it. So unless you find an actual misrepresentation in my application, I intend to fulfill my portion of the agreement.”
He rose. “Very well, Miss Wellington. Then I hope you will remember that the children are the major concern in this school. And with that thought in mind, I’ll leave you to your work.”
“Actually, Dr. Quincy, today is Saturday.” She smiled. “I hope we can consider this a truce. And to relieve your mind, if at the end of the trial period you don’t wish me to continue here, then I will leave.”
He nodded and left the office, stalking down the hall to the infirmary. The box of supplies sat in the middle of the floor. He turned at a tap on the door. Abigail stood there, looking like an angel in a soft print dress with her hair hanging softly in curls—except for the front part, which she’d pulled back.
“Come in, Abigail.”
“How did your meeting with P.H. go?” She bit her lip, no doubt remembering his words from the night before.
He sighed. “I was rude. I made accusations before she had a chance to say anything.” He motioned to a chair, and when she was seated, he pulled another one up for himself.
Sympathy crossed her face. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for what I said last night. I know you must have been tired from your trip and shocked when you found out about P.H.”
Whispers of the Wind Page 13
