Love on Assignment (13 page)

Charlotte lowered the paper to her lap. No wonder Mr. Phifer detested the professor. When the paper had made record profits last year, he had begrudgingly given every employee a small raise—but then demanded that every employee work an extra couple of hours a week “to be worth their keep.” He obviously held little love in his heart for any of them, thinking only of the bottom line.

To be honest, she herself had never thought much about loving either the Lord or her neighbor, though she did lend a hand from time to time. Maybe when the next opportunity came along she'd volunteer to help, not wait for someone to ask.

She admired the professor for writing about a commandment that pricked the conscience. He wouldn't make many friends reminding people of their responsibilities, but he'd certainly make a slew of enemies.

MR. EDWARDS, DANIEL'S editor at the
Newport Gazette
, snatched away the paper in his hand. The gray-haired, gray-suited stick of a man glanced at the office clock.

“Your deadline passed half an hour ago, Wilmont. You've always been on time. I require punctuality from my people. No excuses accepted. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course. It won't happen again.”

“See that it doesn't.”

Daniel exited the office in a hurry, disgusted he'd allowed a picnic to interfere with timely delivery of his column. Up late last night polishing his writing, he'd overslept. Now he suffered from the fuzziness of too little sleep.

Never before had he neglected his work. But yesterday he readily tagged along on Miss Hale's outing, content to idle away precious time he should have spent with pen and paper. He seldom allowed pleasant distractions to interfere with his responsibilities. Never again would he indulge himself. Unfortunately, Miss Hale possessed the uncanny ability to dissolve him like a sugar cube in hot tea.

As he drove off in his buggy, duly chastened, he vowed to keep his mind off the governess and concentrate on his columns and classes. Pointing out the wrongs of the world and connecting them to biblical truths sounded insignificant to many people. But to his mind, trumpeting the Word of God was equally as important as teaching his students. And he reached a larger audience through the newspaper.

Lord, I pray I haven't jeopardized my column through negligence. And please don't let a bright smile and dancing brown eyes distract me from the tasks You've given me
.

Eager to forget his lapse and Mr. Edward's rebuke, Daniel returned to his college office ready to begin the day anew. Miss Gregory, his matronly secretary, waylaid him before he reached his desk.

“You have a message from President Ralston, Professor.”

Every fiber in Daniel's tired body tensed. “Thank you. I'll see him right away.” The knot in his gut twisted. What did the president of Aquidneck College want? Nothing came to mind as he headed down the long, empty corridor. He'd only spoken a word or two to the man during the entire summer term.

Professor Ralston's assistant ushered Daniel into the president's large office, paneled in dark walnut and carpeted with a fine Turkish rug that muffled the sound of his footsteps. Portraits of two predecessors hung on the wall in gilt frames. Narrow faces stared down at Daniel with cold, arrogant eyes.

He rapidly examined his conscience and it came up clear. No dissatisfaction in the ranks of students that he could recall, and he hadn't failed any pupil recently who might have complained. He got along well with his colleagues and even with the administration, which oftentimes irritated him for straying from the Aquidneck's Christian heritage. But for the most part he kept his opinions to his columns, not the halls.

Then Miss Melissa LeBeau popped into his mind. Could she have reported he'd put off a meeting when she'd requested assistance in her studies? Maybe her family wielded influence and power with the college administration. Perhaps her father contributed to the building fund or sponsored a scholarship or endowed a chair. Daniel sighed. He didn't keep track of trivial things that others considered crucial.

Frowning, President Ralston directed Daniel to take a seat. He dropped to the edge of the brown leather chair and waited. His heart raced with uncharacteristic anxiety. Clifford Ralston stood behind his massive desk. His lips thinned and his square face compressed like an accordion into an expression of pain. Feigned, Daniel suspected.

President Ralston avoided Daniel's steady gaze and cleared his throat. “Professor Wilmont, I called you here because of a problem that's recently come to my attention.”

“Yes, sir.” Daniel shifted in his chair as the man began to pace in front of the windows behind his desk, his head bowed in thought.

“I'll get directly to the point. Some of our generous benefactors have criticized your newspaper column. To be perfectly frank, they feel your writing is unseemly for an esteemed professor.”

“Oh?” Daniel frowned.

“Whipping up the masses against their benevolent employers is hardly a suitable undertaking for one in your position. Our students look to you as an example, as well they should. But if you're unwilling to represent the highest values of this college, then I'm afraid I must step in and warn you of the consequences.” He leveled a glare as deadly as a bullet.

“I see,” Daniel murmured. The blood in his veins froze. “I'm sorry these men are pressuring you, sir, but I can assure you my viewpoint is entirely Christian and in accordance with the gospel, as well as the highest values of this college—at least those of the founder's. And I am a professor of biblical studies. Does it not make perfect sense for me to write about my views as a Christian?”

“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 thudded. 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?