Love on Assignment (4 page)

“No, I'm fine, thank you. In fact, I'm in the best of health.”

The muscles that tightened Amelia's thin face into deep lines and wrinkles relaxed. “That's a relief.”

Her sister, Becky, sat in her wheelchair by the table and quartered potatoes. Charlotte's heart never failed to squeeze at the sight of her once athletic sister now unable to move her legs. Four years had passed since Becky's accident, but the horror still was fresh to Charlotte. She remembered vividly how their uncle's horse had thrown her sister and hurled her into a fence, paralyzing her from the waist down. Becky's injuries still pained her.

Becky's eyes moved from her task to her sister. “Do tell us why you're home! I'm dying of suspense.”

Charlotte hung her straw boater on the hat tree by the kitchen door and sat down across from her sister. “Mr. Phifer called me to his office this morning,” she said, taking a deep breath, “and gave me a
journalism
assignment that could boost my career right up to the moon. Or at least start me on the road to a real journalism career.”

“Oh my, that's splendid,” Becky gasped.

But Aunt Amelia looked worried as she rested her back against the wooden icebox. “Are you saying he bypassed all the men and chose you out of the whole bunch?” She raised a skeptical brow arched over a pair of hooded, dark eyes.

Charlotte nodded. “I'm saying just that. I know it sounds unlikely, even preposterous, but he picked me not because I'm a reporter, but because I'm a woman.”

Aunt Amelia tossed back her head and chuckled. “Now that's a switch. The man has held you down and made no bones about it for the very reason that you are a woman. What caused his sudden change of heart?”

“He needs me to take a job that only a woman can do.”

Her aunt's eyes widened to the size of wagon wheels. “Mercy me, does he expect you to do something immoral? I hope you refused in no uncertain terms.”

Charlotte grinned. “Really, Aunt Amelia, you should know me better than that. The assignment isn't immoral in any way.”

Investigating surely wasn't immoral, though perhaps in this particular case, a bit on the shady side. No, she'd merely perform her assignment like all the other reporters. And what was the point of mulling over the ethical issue of misleading Professor Wilmont when she didn't have a choice? What was done, was done.

“I know you're a decent young lady, but I don't quite trust Arnie Phifer. Back in grammar school, he used to dip the girls' braids in his ink well and then laugh his fool head off. He was nobody's favorite, I can assure you.”

Aunt Amelia poured Charlotte a cup of tea. “Would you like something to eat?”

“No, thank you, I'm not a bit hungry. My excitement stole my appetite.”

Becky reached for another potato. “Tell us all about your assignment.”

Charlotte hesitated. If either her aunt or sister inadvertently let the details slip to one of their many gossipy friends, Professor Wilmont might discover she worked for the
Rhode Island Reporter
and that revelation would spoil the entire plan. Aquidneck College and the millionaires summering around the Ocean Drive and Bellevue Avenue occupied another part of town from the fishermen, carpenters, and shipbuilders of the Point, yet the two worlds could conceivably overlap. No reason to tempt fate.

“I'm taking the job of governess for a week or two at most.

And that's all I should reveal.”

Becky's shoulders sagged as she frowned. “Oh, I do so wish you'd tell us more. Will you still be in Newport?”

“Yes, I'll not be far away, though I do have to live with my employer's family for the time being. Listen you two, I wish I could tell the whole of Mr. Phifer's plan, but he wouldn't want me to confide any of the particulars. I'm thrilled by the opportunity to get ahead, but I'm obliged to accept the assignment—on his terms.”

Neither Aunt Amelia nor Becky responded, though her aunt's frown deepened.

“No woman at the newspaper has ever been sent out on a real assignment
to actually report a story
. I'm the first one. And if I botch this, Edith Ann Wengle would swoop right in to take my place.”

Aunt Amelia drew out a long sigh and commenced sweeping the pantry, her tall frame bent over the broom. “If you're sure this assignment is on the up-and-up, then you'll hear no complaints from me. Yet I worry about you competing in a man's world, especially Arnie Phifer's world.”

Charlotte softened. “I know.” She sipped her tea. “But I'm perfectly capable of watching out for myself. I'll go right in, do my job, and come home before you even miss me.”

“But you'll let us know you're getting along all right?” Becky asked.

“I shall come home as often as I can. If you need me in an emergency, call on Mr. Phifer. I'll stay in close contact with him.” Charlotte rose and squeezed her aunt's rough hand, calloused and misshapen from arthritis. Her condition had worsened over the last few years, crippling her knees and her back.

Before Aunt Amelia tried to talk her out of the grandest opportunity of her fledgling career, Charlotte packed her valise with her clothing and two novels she'd recently purchased. She found Becky had moved to the parlor and was now bending over her knitting. A pair of blue booties and a matching infant's cap lay on the side table. Becky's lightning fast fingers kept flying as she looked up.

“I'll finish this baby sweater within the hour and then Aunt Amelia can bring the set to the shop.” One of the exclusive stores on Bellevue Avenue sold her knitted infant wear to the socialites, which earned Becky a small income. Her fingers came to an abrupt halt and she let the knitting fall to her lap. “I'll miss you terribly, Charlotte, but this assignment seems like a grand opportunity.”

“I'll miss you too. But it's not for long.”

“At night when Aunt Amelia falls asleep in her chair, I'll truly be bored without you to keep me company. I do so wish I had a book to read.”

“I have one you might like.” Charlotte opened her valise and removed a copy of
Jane Eyre
. “Or would you prefer
Sense and Sensibility
?”

“Jane Austen, if you please. Thank you so much. If I can't have you around for a game of checkers, at least I'll have a good read.” Becky smiled. “What would I ever do without you?”

Charlotte handed her the novel. “Don't worry, you won't have to. Now I must go.” She hugged her sister and retreated to the hallway.

On her way out the door, Aunt Amelia handed her a letter. “It's from Mr. Knowles's attorney. Not good news, I'm sure.”

Charlotte stuffed it into her reticule. “I'll read it later. It's probably not important. But if it is, I'll take care of it.”

As soon as the carriage rounded the corner of Bridge Street, Charlotte ripped open the envelope with a trembling hand. She skimmed the contents of the letter and groaned. If she didn't make full payment for the new roof by the first of September, Mr. Knowles would sue.

Much as she dreaded an encounter with the crusty old codger, she knew she had to confront the problem head-on. “Driver, please stop at Knowles Roofing on Thames Street. I'll only be a few moments.”

When the cab halted before the storefront, she sucked in a deep breath. She stepped inside the office. Mr. Knowles stood behind the counter discussing the qualities of different roofing materials with a customer. They chattered endlessly about the advantages of wooden shingles coated with boiled fish oil versus slate. She practiced patience and held her tongue as she rehearsed what she'd say.

If she were a praying woman, this would be an excellent time to invoke the Almighty, but she wasn't.

When the customer departed, Mr. Knowles glared down at her with eyes deeply set beneath bushy black brows. “So, Miss Hale, you've come to pay your bill. I've waited long enough. I'm running a roofing business, not a charity.” He cocked a head too large for his skinny neck and body. “You got my letter, did you? I thought that might catch your attention.”

Charlotte bit back a sharp retort because he
was
right. She was delinquent and more regretful than he could ever imagine. “I'm sorry your payment is late.” There was no point in explaining about Becky's medical bills because her sad story wouldn't soften his heart of rock or put food on his table or pay his rent. “In two weeks I'll give you every last cent I owe. And I do appreciate your understanding. I'm dreadfully sorry I couldn't pay on time.”

“Apologies are meaningless. Settle up, or you and your aunt will find yourselves in court.”

Heat crept up her neck into her face. “Don't you worry, Mr. Knowles, I'll bring your money as soon as possible. And again, I apologize for the delay. Good day.” She left with her head held high, but her lower lip quivered.

The drive to Summerhill took only twenty or twenty-five minutes, even with the traffic on Thames Street. Yet it was long enough for her nerves to jangle from the problem temporarily left behind and the challenge that lay ahead.

The driver unloaded her baggage and carried it to the veranda. Charlotte followed on his heels, anxious to accomplish her mission before she succumbed to second thoughts. From the side yard, she heard boys shouting. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she spotted Tim and his friends climbing a sturdy apple tree. Ruthie and another girl in pigtails and pinafore read books under the shade of a nearby maple, while pretending to serve tea and cake. Charlotte waved to the children and left them to their fun.

She found the professor on the veranda, half hidden behind a jungle of ferns and deeply absorbed in his newspaper. The gold frames of his spectacles glinted in the afternoon sunshine as he glanced up.

Charlotte's breath escaped in one
whoosh
. Professor Wilmont's skin glowed with a light tan, accentuating the turquoise of his eyes as he squinted against the light. He leaned back in the wicker chair to avoid the brightness that slanted between the low roof and the spindle railing.

A warm breeze rustled his newspaper and she caught the name
Rhode Island Reporter
on page one. She swallowed the fear lodged in her throat.

The professor grimaced. “Confound Arnold Phifer and his vile newspaper. This is the most deceitful rag ever published. I hope you've never had the misfortune of reading it.”

Charlotte gulped. “Oh, is it untrustworthy? I thought it was one of the state's finest dailies.” She looked down, afraid Professor Wilmont would see guilt written all over her face as dark and as bold as the newsprint.

“It's disgraceful.” Though his voice was controlled, his tone sent apprehension spiraling through her heart.

She shifted from one foot to the other. “Sir, I only wanted to tell you I've arrived and I'm ready to work. Does the housekeeper have the key to my room?” If she didn't conquer her apprehension, he'd notice her lack of poise and flushed complexion. He might become suspicious and fire her before she could even begin her assignment.

She relaxed the grip of her mouth and raised her lips in a small smile.

“YES, MRS. FINNEGAN has all the keys.” Miss Hale's face radiated a rosy pink, like mild sunburn. Very becoming. “I'm sorry I forgot to mention it earlier. My children tell me I'm absentminded. I'm afraid they're right. I also apologize for my outburst against Mr. Phifer.”

Miss Hale glanced toward the front door. “It's quite all right, sir. If you'll excuse me, I'll go unpack and then come right back down to begin my duties.” She hesitated.

Daniel lifted his hand. “Look, I apologize for my rant. I'm usually not such an angry fellow.” He smiled as he pulled off his spectacles. “Would you like a tour of the grounds before you get settled?”

“Yes, thank you. I'd like that.”

They strolled around the side of the house to the kitchen garden and then across the grass toward the boulders that touched the lawn and reached into the roaring surf. “I often wander down to the rocks to think or pray. Nature turns my mind toward the Lord.” Daniel relished the solitude of the sea, especially during the early morning hours when the mist shrouded the landscape and moistened the grass and air.

Miss Hale glanced at him sideways. “Do you and Tim come here to fish?” The sleeves of her high-collared shirtwaist billowed in the warm wind and the hem of her skirt swept around her legs.

“Fish? No, I'm afraid not. Never have.”

“Ah, then you've missed out. My father used to take me fishing every Saturday. My older brother died young, so I was the substitute son.”

Daniel paused. “You were blessed to have so much attention. My father spent his spare time away from home, so I entertained myself. I haunted our library and developed a great love of books. My son, however, prefers falling out of trees and sliding down the staircase on silver trays.” Whenever he tried to interest his children in chess or a trip to a museum, they countered with pleas for a bicycle ride or tennis match. They usually ended up all going their separate ways.

“Are you close to your father now, Professor?”

He shook his head. “He passed on several years ago. Unfortunately, we always had a distant relationship.” What was the point of discussing a sad and difficult period in his life, especially with a stranger? Yet Miss Hale seemed easy to talk to and more like an old friend than a new acquaintance—certainly not a servant.

She walked a few steps to his side. “Well, we learn from our past, don't we? I'm sure you're not making the same mistakes as your father.”

Her question touched a raw spot in his heart. His mother had taken charge of Tim and Ruthie until her recent illness, and he hadn't yet hit upon common ground with his children. Perhaps when they matured, their interests would merge. Yet the distance among the three of them bothered him more than he liked to admit.