A Worthy Pursuit

© 2015 by Karen Witemeyer

Published by Bethany House Publishers

11400 Hampshire Avenue South

Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

www.bethanyhouse.com

Bethany House Publishers is a division of

Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

Ebook edition created 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

ISBN 978-1-4412-6941-6

Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services

Author is represented by Books & Such Literary Agency.

To Laura Baker,
librarian extraordinaire and the first person I ever trusted to read my stories. It is your encouragement and knowledgeable feedback that gave me the fortitude to pursue my dream. You taught me to see the world through lenses different than my own and deepened my understanding of the human condition. You have left your mark on me, my friend, and I thank God for the gift.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Contents

Epigraph

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

Epilogue

About the Author

Books by Karen Witemeyer

Back Ads

Back Cover

Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.

—Deuteronomy 31:6

Prologue

F
EBRUARY
1891
A
USTIN
, T
EXAS
S
ULLIVAN
’
S
A
CADEMY
FOR
E
XCEPTIONAL
Y
OUTHS

“I’m closing the school, Miss Atherton, and that’s my final word on the subject.” Dr. Keith Sullivan shut the attendance ledger on his desk with an ominous snap and pushed to his feet, forcing Charlotte to stand as well. “I’ve sent wires to all the students’ parents, informing them of the closure and offering to reimburse a percentage of the tuition to compensate them for the inconvenience of ending the school term earlier than expected.”

A reimbursement of funds? From the man who’d refused to purchase a single new text in the last five years? It was all Charlotte could do to keep her jaw from coming unhinged. There must be another source of income—one large enough to overshadow the loss of tuition. Dr. Sullivan charged exorbitant fees for his exclusive school. Only the most noteworthy students
were accepted into the small academy—unless, of course, a particularly wealthy family sought entry for one of their children. In that case, a well-placed donation seemed to make up for any lack in giftedness. Charlotte could only imagine how large a donation would have to be to convince him to close the school entirely.

Backing out of the way as her employer strode around his desk, Charlotte fiddled with the cameo at her neck then marched after him. “What of Stephen Farley? His parents are in Europe. They couldn’t possibly collect him before we close the doors. And John Chang is an orphan here on scholarship. He has no place to go.”

She paid the Chinese boy’s tuition herself out of her monthly stipend and had for the last three years. She’d fought to get him into the school after one
of the women from St. Peter’s Foundling Home had brought him to her attention. John had been only four at the time, but when he’d climbed onto the worn bench of the secondhand piano in the orphanage parlor and flawlessly picked out every note of Fanny Crosby’s “Safe in the Arms of Jesus,” she’d known she had to tutor the boy. God had bestowed a rare gift on the child and placed him in her path for a reason. She couldn’t have him torn away from her now.

“Arrangements have been made for them to board at St. Peter’s.”

Charlotte fought down the protest tearing at her throat. Stephen wouldn’t last a day there with his penchant for finding trouble. And John. Dear heaven. The boy had been picked on mercilessly by the other children because of his foreign heritage, even as a toddler. He’d been so traumatized, he hadn’t spoken a word for months after coming to the academy. He was still much too withdrawn for Charlotte’s liking. No telling how far the boy would retreat into himself if he were forced to return to St. Peter’s.

And what of Lily? Ice shards speared Charlotte’s heart as a new, more sinister possibility cast its shadow over Dr. Sullivan’s bizarre behavior.

“Miss Dorchester will stay with me, of course,” Charlotte asserted, any other contingency being untenable.

Dr. Sullivan pivoted to face her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Atherton. You are headmistress, not mother, to these children, regardless of that piece of paper Rebekah Dorchester had you sign. Lily will return to her grandfather, where she belongs. He plans to be here in the morning to collect her. You,” he said with a suddenly beneficent smile that did nothing to thaw the ice impaling her chest, “will surely find a new position in record time. Here.” He pulled a paper from a thin stack of folders in his arms. “I’ve taken the liberty of putting together a list of potential employers for you. These are some of the finest female academies in the country.”

Charlotte took the paper from his hand and willed it not to quiver. “Chicago. Boston. Charleston.” Her eyes continued down the list. “All so far away.”

Dr. Sullivan beamed at her. “You are a brilliant music instructor, Miss Atherton, and have proven yourself quite capable at administration as well. I’ve already sent glowing letters of recommendation to each of these institutions. Any of them would be lucky to have you.”

But none of them would accept her if she had a child in tow.

Charlotte glanced up from the page to meet her employer’s eyes—not a difficult task since the man stood an inch below her in height. Neither was it difficult to read the guilt behind his smile. The list of prestigious schools, letters of recommendation, unnecessary compliments—all appeasements for his conscience. He knew how unlikely the staff were to find replacement positions mid-term, just as he knew how wrong it
was to turn his back on the pupils he’d promised to educate. Yet he was closing the school anyway. Closing the school and narrowing her options so that she had no choice but to give Lily Dorchester into her grandfather’s keeping if she wished to retain a teaching position.

Well, he might think he’d herded her like a heifer into a chute, but if she’d learned one thing in her twenty-eight years, it was that even when backed into a corner, one always had a choice.
Always.

After Dr. Sullivan nodded to her in that condescending way of his that made her skin itch—as if she hadn’t a brain for herself and would be lost without a man to give her guidance—he swung the office door wide and gestured for her to exit. Biting her tongue, Charlotte passed through the doorway and silently resolved to toss his list of schools into the belly of her stove the moment she returned to her room. Her career could be sacrificed easily enough. Protecting Lily took precedence.

With the dark of night cloaking the halls of the school, Charlotte placed her two carpet bags outside her door and gave a final glance over her room. The rug lay properly aligned with the angle of the floorboards. No stray papers across the desk. No wrinkles in the coverlet atop the bed. All as it should be. She gave a little nod of approval, a nod that would have to serve as good-bye as well, for she would not be returning. She’d taught at the academy for ten years—seven as music instructor, three as headmistress. A tiny part of her ached for the loss of the familiar, the safe. Yet she had no time for sentimental attachment. She’d made a promise—a promise she intended to keep, no matter the cost.

Straightening her shoulders, Charlotte turned her back and
pulled the door closed, clicking the latch silently into place. Then, careful to stay on the balls of her feet so her heels wouldn’t click against the wooden floor, she made her way to the staircase that led to the boys’ dormitory. She crept up the stairs then down the hall and eased open the door to the sleeping chamber.

“Stephen,” she whispered into the darkness, her eyes not yet adjusted to the full-black of the attic room.