Love on Assignment (39 page)

“From the beginning I had reservations about my assignment, but I ignored my conscience, and then I couldn't find the courage to confess.”

“We all fail from time to time, the best of us and the worst of us. Sure, you have a right to be hard on yourself for a while, but don't stay down in the dumps too long. Tell the good Lord you're sorry for your sins. Don't dwell on your shortcomings, dearie.”

“I think it'll be hard not to.”

She dismissed Charlotte's attitude with a wave. “Don't indulge yourself by worrying about your failings. We all got'em. None of us is perfect. So get on with your life and do better next time.”

“You're a wise woman, Mrs. Finnegan, and I thank you for your advice. Do you think the professor will ever forgive me? He said he did, but I doubt that it's truly possible.” She didn't really want to hear the truth, but her anxious question tumbled out. “I couldn't blame him for not speaking to me ever again.”

She nodded. “Indeed he will forgive you after a while. First give him time to get over the hurt. When the pain subsides, he'll be wishin' you back at Summerhill.”

“Are you sure?” Charlotte asked, brightening, afraid to think Mrs. Finnegan might be right.

“The poor fellow's in love with you, dearie. Can't you see that?”

“That was before he learned the truth.”

“He's got a close relationship with the good Lord, so he'll pardon you, even with his heart, not just his head. I'm sure of it. Haven't I known him for most of his life?”

“I do so hope you're right.”

Mrs. Finnegan put down her pen and closed her ledger. “He's not a man to hold a grudge.”

But Charlotte knew she had to return to her family and forget about the professor. She'd mucked it up, but like Mrs. Finnegan said, there was no use in dwelling on the mess she'd made.

“Where are Ruthie and Tim?” Charlotte asked.

“Playing with their little friends on Cove Road. Would you like me to run get them so you can say good-bye?”

Charlotte shook her head. “I'll leave them a note. And Grace Thompson as well.”

Mrs. Finnegan handed Charlotte paper and her fountain pen. Charlotte scratched out a short explanation to the children, sealed it in an envelope, and left it with Mrs. Finnegan. She wrote a note to Grace as well. Charlotte rose, gave the housekeeper a hug, and then quickly left. She strode past the front parlor where she glimpsed Mrs. Wilmont and Mr. McClintock talking and laughing on the settee. Valise in hand, she climbed into the buggy.

FROM HIS BEDROOM window Daniel watched Charlotte leave Summerhill. He blew out a weary sigh. His heart ached from losing the woman he thought he loved
. Did
love.
Still
loved, despite her betrayal. He understood her dilemma. Of course, she should have rejected Arnie Phifer's scheme, but financial considerations prevailed. He sauntered down to the shore, glad to feel the cool, salty wind slap against his face. Standing on the rocks he heard footsteps and the rustle of a skirt. Ruthie halted by his side.

“Miss Hale is gone! Why did she leave us?” the little girl asked, panting from her sprint across the damp grass. She pulled on his sleeve, her way of demanding an answer.

“It was time for her to go home.”

Ruthie waved a note. “Miss Hale left this for Tim and me, but she doesn't explain much.”

Daniel resisted the urge to grab the letter. “She had her reasons for leaving.”

Ruthie groaned. “I think she left because she feels bad about not marrying you.”

Perhaps that but so much more. “We'll all miss her, pumpkin.”

“Then go after her and bring her back. It's not too late.”

Daniel let out a joyless laugh. “No, Ruthie. I'm letting her go.”

WHEN CHARLOTTE RETURNED home to Bridge Street, relief spilled through her. Her awful charade was finally over. No matter how badly everything turned out, at least she was home safe with her family, and she didn't have to pretend she was someone else. She dropped her bag at the bottom of the staircase and joined Aunt Amelia and Becky in the parlor. They both hovered around her as she spewed out her misadventure. They listened silently as her aunt poured her a cup of tea.

“I'm sorry it went so wrong,” Aunt Amelia said as she sat next to Charlotte on the sofa.

In her wheelchair, Becky kept knitting, but her face drooped in a frown.

Charlotte stretched her lips into an unconvincing smile. “I might not be in high demand without a reference, but rest assured, I'll find some sort of job. We won't starve. I promise you that.”

Aunt Amelia patted her on the arm. “I do admire your spunk, but you don't need to put on a brave front for us.” Her hands twisted in her lap and Charlotte knew Aunt Amelia worried just as much as she did.

“I'm afraid I'm out of ideas at the moment, but Monday I'll put on my best dress and hat and go to town and find a position far superior to typing for the
Rhode Island Reporter
.” Exactly what, she didn't know. But staying at home wasn't an option.

Aunt Amelia's mouth tipped upward in a brave smile, but her eyes betrayed her fear. Without funds they couldn't pay the roofer and they'd have to go to court. Would they lose their home? No, Charlotte vowed, they'd never end up as charity cases if she had even one breath left in her body.

Sunday morning she attended the church near her home and sought the solace of the Lord. She believed He'd help her secure a job.

The next day she donned her best hat and walked to Thames Street where she'd undoubtedly find Help Wanted signs. Surely some shopkeeper needed a strong intelligent woman to sell a thimble or sweep a floor or send out an invoice.

Oh Lord, don't let me go without work
, she prayed as she glanced at the storefront windows, hoping for a sign advertising a job vacancy. The dry goods store needed a shop boy, not
girl
, and the shoe shop wanted experienced help. Her feet slowed as she tired. She stopped at the grocery and purchased a bag of white corn meal for Aunt Amelia and a few mint candies for Becky before coming to the
Rhode Island Reporter
.

Out of habit she turned toward the door that led to the newspaper's second floor offices, but stopped mid-step. Her heartbeat raced at such a fast pace it almost hurt. She spun around, ready to flee from regret and hopes dashed when she remembered Mr. Phifer owed her two weeks' salary. She'd rather have a tooth pulled than face her former boss, but if she didn't insist on her just wage, he'd never pay. Sending a note would be far easier than confronting him. But ignoring a written request would be easy for him. In the end, she'd have to deal with him person to person. Charlotte took a deep breath, which failed to calm her nerves, and climbed the steps to the second floor.

She opened the door to the newsroom, glanced at her former colleagues, and tilted the corners of her mouth in a weak smile. Raised eyebrows and tentative smiles greeted her. Undoubtedly they'd all heard the story, at least Mr. Phifer's or the photographer's version. Fortunately Jesse Miller wasn't there that morning. Typewriters clicked as Charlotte approached the editor's office.

Charlotte gave a hesitant rap on the door. Holding her breath, she waited on unstable legs.

She heard a gruff call to enter but didn't move. Several seconds passed before she pushed on the door and stepped over the threshold.

“You!” he growled. “What do you want, Miss Hale? Out with it. I haven't time to waste.”

Charlotte straightened and lifted her chin. “My pay. I neglected to pick it up when I quit my job.”

The red in Mr. Phifer's ruddy complexion darkened to purple. “The nerve! What makes you think you deserve any pay?”

Charlotte stepped closer. “I worked hard and I deserve compensation.”

“You deserve nothing,” he boomed as he came around from his desk. Halting only a hair's breadth away, he towered above her.

She took a step backward, hitting her head against the hard wood. “Nevertheless, you must pay me.”

“And if I don't?”

Her body melted to jelly. “I'll—I'll tell everyone I know that you refused to give me my just wages. I know quite a few Newporters, and they might not take kindly to your unfairness. They might even stop buying your newspaper.”

“Get out of my office and never darken my door again.” He wagged a beefy finger at Charlotte.

“I shall collect my wages from the bookkeeper right now. And don't try to stop me, Mr. Phifer.” She opened the door and stepped into the newsroom, still shocked by her own audacity. She headed for the bookkeeper's office, her heart hammering in her chest, and only started to breathe again when he didn't follow her. He was going to let her collect her salary and leave!

Five minutes later, with her money safely in her reticule, Charlotte rushed down the staircase and out into the noise and bustle of Thames Street.

Thank You, Lord. I couldn't have done that without You
. She leaned against a storefront window and slowly regained her equilibrium. Without His courage she never would've demanded her salary. Feeling better, she strolled down the opposite side of Thames Street in search of a position. But at least her pay provided a short reprieve, and she was more than thankful.

A WEEK LATER Daniel spent the afternoon helping Mrs. Finnegan and the children pack books from his study shelves. After emptying the top shelf, he turned to his desk. He hadn't expected to ever move from Summerhill, but he'd easily found a buyer through word of mouth. And the prospective owners were anxious to move in.

Clearing off his desk, he discovered an envelope inscribed “Newspaper Columns.” Inside he found all his writings organized with explanatory notes. Charlotte's work. He bit his lip. Her absence still stung.

His mother shuffled into the office, her hair carefully done up with her best diamond-studded pins. A long strand of pearls hung around the neck of a fancy ruffled blouse as if she expected company. She probably did. Mr. McClintock visited faithfully each day, always bearing some small gift. A book, a box of sweets, a bouquet of carnations or roses.
At least she has found love
.

“You're looking chipper today,” Daniel said as he placed Charlotte's envelope in a packing crate.

“Indeed, I am. My dear friend Mr. McClintock and I are going for a carriage ride. There's nothing like bracing sea air to restore one's health.”

“I couldn't agree more.” He opened another drawer.

Vivian slid into the chair with the broken springs. “You need to throw away this piece of junk.”

He nodded. If they were staying he'd eventually have a footman cart it up to the attic. But a move required he rid the entire house of his paraphernalia, including every “treasure” stored away. Perhaps he should have allowed Charlotte to clean it out when she first came. Or maybe her seemingly generous gesture was merely a trick to gain access to a likely hiding spot for his personal things. His chest compressed as he considered Charlotte's spying. He'd trusted her implicitly. His mother sighed, obviously reading his face. “I'm sorry to leave Newport, but I'm more than happy to leave Charlotte behind. She tried to ruin your life, Daniel.”

When he'd returned home from Spring Creek Lodge, he'd told her about the incident with Missy and the photographer from the
Rhode Island Reporter
. She'd smirked as if she'd always known Charlotte's true character. Perhaps she had. Yet, despite the overwhelming evidence, he believed Charlotte's boss had misled her. And he couldn't forget how desperately she needed her salary just to survive. Now she lacked a job. He hoped she'd secure a good one quickly.

He should feel far angrier than he did, but he couldn't forget the enjoyment they'd had with the children and the lessons she'd taught him. He'd never again leave their care solely to others, not even to his mother.

“Charlotte deceived me, but she's repented, and I forgive her. At first I was angry, but after a while I realized she was trapped by her situation. She didn't want to mislead me, yet she felt she had no other choice. Eventually the Lord gave her the courage to confess.”

His mother slumped in the chair, her chin resting for a moment on her tight collar. “It pains me to say it, but you're a fool, son. When will you stop trusting everyone?”

Daniel shrugged. “Probably never. But I don't want to argue about Charlotte. She's out of our lives forever, I'm afraid.”

His mother's face drew in at the cheeks and fine lines seemed to have deepened overnight. Her complexion was tinged with a sickly gray. “Are you feeling well?” he asked.

She straightened her shoulders. “My energy is still low and every now and again my heart hurts. I spoke to Doctor Lowe and we agreed my little spells are nothing to worry about.”

“I can fetch him right now if you wish.”

“Thank you, but I don't want you to go to any trouble.”

Daniel stood up. “It's no trouble, Mother.”

“There's no need. Mr. McClintock will be arriving in a few minutes, and I don't want our visit spoiled by a doctor.”

Daniel nodded, unconvinced. “Now who's the foolish one?”

She bristled. “I'm a grown woman. Don't you think I'd send for the doctor if I needed him?”

Daniel raised his palms in surrender. “Of course.”

Mr. Grimes waddled into the study, an envelope in hand. “A boy delivered this from the college. President Ralston, he said.”

Daniel slit open the envelope and removed a short note.
Professor Wilmont, please stop by my office at your earliest convenience
. He read it aloud to his mother. “I wonder what that's all about.”

“Oh, do and go find out at once, Daniel.”

As curious as his mother, Daniel washed and changed from his work clothes into a charcoal summer suit and black bowler. In half an hour he was seated in President Ralston's grand office, waiting for the academic to get to the point of the meeting. The administrator paced, bending forward, hands clasped behind his back. His furrowed forehead suggested this meeting wasn't to his liking. His heavy eyebrows twitched.