While Love Stirs (24 page)

“But you’re not up to planning a charity ball, Mrs. Phillips.”

“No, I’m not.” Her eyes crinkled. “However, you and Charlotte are. If the two of you can stop squabbling with one another long enough to plan this event, I shall provide the funds to get it going.”

He glanced at Charlotte again. She had her knuckle pressed against her lips. Was she considering this crazy idea?

28

A charity ball? Charlotte stared at her aunt in disbelief. What made her think Charlotte could plan a ball—especially with Joel Brooks?

Aunt Sam set down her teacup. “I believe a successful charity ball should not only yield sufficient funds for a change in the hospital’s nutritional services, but would also pay for those pieces of medical equipment you mentioned you needed.”

Joel stood and walked to the mantel. “I don’t have any experience in planning an event, let alone a ball.”

“And Aunt Sam, you know that I don’t either,” Charlotte said.

“You don’t?” Joel’s voice raised a notch.

“Why would I?”

“Well, I assumed if you lived here, then you grew up attending functions like this.”

“I grew up on an Iowa farm.” She stared at him blankly as pieces began falling together in her mind. “Aunt Sam is Lincoln’s aunt by blood. Not mine. She is letting Tessa and me stay here out of the goodness of her heart. You didn’t know that?”

He shook his head. “I assumed you were Mrs. Phillips’s niece.”

“And she is in every way that matters to me.” Aunt Sam squeezed her hand. “I always wanted to have some girls to spoil, and thank goodness Lincoln had the sense to find me some. Now, back to the subject of the ball. First, I think we need to set a date.”

“Wait a minute.” Joel held up his hand. “If neither of us knows
anything about charity balls, then how could we possibly put one together?”

Like a patient schoolteacher, Aunt Sam folded her hands in her lap. “You are both intelligent and resourceful. I’m sure you can manage. Of course, I will advise you as necessary. Now, about the date.”

Didn’t Aunt Sam see how unwise this idea was? Charlotte rubbed her temple. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I do.” Aunt Sam tapped her finger against her open palm. “First, we need to set a date.”

Charlotte locked her gaze with Joel’s. He tilted his head to the side and shrugged.

Could they do this? An hour ago, she’d have chopped Joel into little pieces with her meat cleaver, given the opportunity. Now she was considering working side by side with him to plan an event well beyond the abilities of either of them.

Of late, she’d prayed so much about knowing when to wait on the Lord for an answer and when to act. This seemed like one of those defining moments.
Lord, what would you have me do?

Pressing a hand to her churning stomach, she bit her lip. Joel nodded in silent agreement, or so she hoped. “Aunt Sam, what do you think about the second Saturday of July?”

Shutting the door softly, as Miss Walker had instructed her to do, Tessa slipped into the theater’s office a few minutes late.

Miss Walker looked at the wall clock. “Promptness is a virtue, Miss Gregory. In the future, please try harder to be on time.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tessa sighed inwardly. Did this rigid woman have any idea how much she’d rather be somewhere else this morning?

“I have a surprise for you today.” Miss Walker held out a cash box. “Though I have my doubts, Mr. Jurgenson believes you’re ready to enter the cash receipts from the Friday and Saturday night performances.”

Oh, goody.
Tessa took the cash box and forced her lips to curl upward.

“You may work in Mr. Jurgenson’s office, as he does not like the account ledgers removed from his desk.” Miss Walker returned to her seat. “This is quite an honor, but of course I’ll want to check your work, so please let me know when you are finished.”

Tessa rolled her eyes after Miss Walker returned to her typing and trudged to Mr. Jurgenson’s office. She sat down at his desk, located the ledger, and began to count the bills inside the cash box. Was there anything less entertaining than this?

Perhaps if she imagined she was a queen’s treasurer in charge of the castle’s gold, the job would seem less tedious. She lost count as her mind wandered to court jesters and beautiful dresses.

She flipped open the ledger and located the column where the receipts were to be listed. Thank goodness she’d already taken bookkeeping in school. The numbers Miss Walker had listed from previous entries lined up in neat rows in her perfect script. Even if Tessa used her best penmanship, the ledger would be marred forever when she wrote down a single entry.

Glancing at the top of the desk, she had an idea. If she used pencil, then Miss Walker could more easily correct her figures if need be.

She counted the bills into piles, added the figures, and jotted down the ticket sales total for Friday night. Studying previous weekends, she noticed the figures were lower. Probably because it was almost time for a new show. Would the receipts from
Peter Pan
’s premiere next weekend do better?

What did the theater do with the money it made? She couldn’t resist flipping to the other half of the ledger. Here she recognized Mr. Jurgenson’s writing, heavier and more angular. She ran her finger down the row and read the list to which the theater manager paid out money: the gas and light company, the performance company, salaries, supplies, and repairs. Then, in a column all his own, a Mr. K. O. was listed. He received weekly sums with the amounts varying little.

She tapped the pencil against her chin. That was odd. She’d never met a Mr. K. O., and why was he referred to with initials rather than a name like everyone else?

Perhaps Mr. Jurgenson committed murder and this Mr. K. O. was extorting money from him in exchange for his silence. Or maybe Mr. Jurgenson had a wife at an insane asylum and money was sent to Mr. K. O. for her care. Or maybe he was paying Mr. K. O. to court Miss Walker.

She giggled to herself. That was the only way Miss Walker would find someone.

Jumping at the sound of Miss Walker’s footsteps outside the office, she hurried to turn back to the correct page and then picked up the money from Saturday night.

“Do you have any questions?” Miss Walker asked from the doorway.

Only one, but she couldn’t ask it.
Who’s
Mr. K. O.?

Questions pummeled Joel’s mind as he approached Mrs. Phillips’s home in his Model T. If he hadn’t had to get back to the hospital right after Mrs. Phillips had surprised them with her charity ball idea, he might have gotten some answers then. Delivering a baby had kept him from returning that evening, so another day had passed since Mrs. Phillips had presented her idea, and there’d been no opportunity to speak with Charlotte about the plans either.

Was Charlotte still upset with him? That question loomed above the others. And a close second was the question of whether the two of them could work on something without killing one another. He wasn’t sure how to ask either of those.

He parked the motorcar and started up the walk. After patting his jacket pocket for the list he’d made last night, he rapped the brass knocker. The butler greeted him and directed him to the kitchen, where he found Charlotte seated at a table with papers strewn haphazardly around her. How could anyone work in this clutter?

She looked up as he entered. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

“Hey, you’re the one who told her yes.”

“But I didn’t hear you correcting me.” She pushed a paper in his direction. “Sit down and we’ll get started.”

He pulled out a chair across from her and examined the sheet. She’d written a cursory to-do list in eloquent, flowing handwriting.

Charlotte went to the stove, poured a cup of coffee, and brought it to him at the table. “Have you had dinner?”

He took the warm cup in his hand. “I’ll make a sandwich when I get home.”

“I’ll make you something here.” She didn’t wait for him to answer but instead took a small round skillet off a hook on the wall. “What do you like in your omelet? Cheese? Ham? Peppers?”

“Really, Charlotte, you don’t need to bother.”

“It’s no bother.” She dropped a pat of butter in the skillet and turned toward him, spoon in hand. “You’d better tell me what you want in this, or I might get creative.”

“Ham and cheese.”

Once she’d gathered the ingredients from the icebox, she cracked three eggs into a bowl and whipped them with a fork.

He found himself spellbound by the way she moved around the kitchen. She cut, mixed, and poured with a surgeon’s precision—and she made it all look so easy. He’d always been drawn to a woman’s hands, and Charlotte’s long, tapered fingers danced as she worked.

Pulling his gaze away from her, he went back to the notes. He tried to concentrate, but the scattered papers on the table begged to be straightened. While Charlotte finished making his omelet, surely he could help her out here on the table. It took him only a few seconds to make a neat stack. He held it vertically and tapped the stack on its end to line up the sheets.

Charlotte set a plate down in front of him with a clatter. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Helping you organize these.”

“They were organized—my way.” She scowled at him and sat down. “I knew exactly where everything was.”

“Well, let me put it all back.” He laid the pile on the table and scattered the contents with his hand. “There. Everything is back where it was.”

“Joel Brooks! I can’t believe you did that. You’re supposed to be logical—not full of surprises.”

He grinned at her. “I like order, but that doesn’t mean I won’t surprise you.”

“For the record, I like my surprises in the form of chocolate.” She began sorting the papers into jumbled piles. “Eat up. We have a lot of work to do.”

He stilled her hand with his own. “Will you pray with me?”

She blinked and looked down at his hand on hers, then nodded. “That’s an excellent idea. I think we’re going to need a lot of prayer.”