Love on Assignment (21 page)

His eyes narrowed. “Do you really think so?”

“I most certainly do.” If only she could explain how Mr. Phifer counted on him to succumb to his student's charms. Yet right from the beginning Charlotte had felt sure the fine, upstanding Professor Wilmont wouldn't fall prey to a young vixen. He was too smart and too good to be snared by such overt flattery.

“I believe you're exaggerating. She's forward, but that's the extent of it, I'm sure.”

“She'll use any ploy to capture your attention, even pretend an interest in religion.” Charlotte uttered the truth, but Daniel's questioning gaze made her wish she'd spoken with more tact.

“You're quite cynical, Miss Hale.” His face registered surprise, though he didn't sound judgmental.

“Oh no, sir, I'm not in the least bit jaded. But I am realistic. And I understand women, including Missy. I mean, Miss LeBeau.”

“Then you must know Melissa LeBeau needs the Lord in her life. Somebody should help her before she takes a wrong turn.”

Charlotte jerked a nod. “Yes, of course. But, sir, if you'll pardon my saying so, you're
not
the right one to guide her. She'll cling to you like a vine.” She hoped she wasn't stepping out of line by voicing her opinion, but he had to take heed.

Professor Wilmont drew out a long sigh as the shadows lengthened across lawns and gaslight glowed in the windows facing Faculty Row. “Sometimes students have crushes on their professors, or so I've been told. It's just a passing fancy. Fortunately, it's never happened to me before.”

Such a good-looking man was an obvious target for a girl's fantasies. “Just beware of her, sir. That's all I'm suggesting.”

“Yes, I shall keep her at arm's length.” He spoke in a light, dismissive tone.

His lack of concern made Charlotte groan inwardly. “Sir, you're humoring me when you should be taking my warning seriously. You're giving her the benefit of the doubt on the off chance she's sincere. And that could be a grave mistake.” Charlotte glanced at him sideways and held her breath.

“I do thank you for that admonition”—he gave a wry smile—“but you needn't worry.”

She tried to hide her apprehension, but she felt the muscles in her face tighten. “You're so open you leave yourself vulnerable to people with dishonorable intentions.”

Professor Wilmont shrugged. “Maybe, but I won't turn my back on anyone. The Lord will protect me if necessary.” He frowned. “Why do you look skeptical? Don't you believe that?”

She should say, “Yes, of course I do.” But she couldn't force the words. Professor Wilmont ought to trust his own common sense, not rely on a God who was out there somewhere beyond the moon and the stars—certainly not close enough to offer personal counsel or assistance. Though lately she'd sought to communicate with Him through prayer. She thought He might be listening, but she couldn't be sure.

“God doesn't always protect us from harm,” she said softly. He'd taken her parents and brother John all within weeks. Influenza had struck them, and He hadn't intervened. Sadness laced with anger ripped her heart—even now, years after they'd died.

His eyebrows arched in astonishment. “Perhaps not physically, but the Lord keeps us from spiritual peril and that's what counts in the long run.” Professor Wilmont regarded her with a steady gaze that cut right through her.

She looked down at the stones and twigs scattered across the lane. “I suppose so.” She knew all about the physical harm that came from disease and pain and death, but what exactly was
spiritual
harm? She had so much to learn and experience. Her Scripture reading and feeble attempts at prayer had given her a taste, though it was hard to forgive a God who stole half her family and left her with the other half to take care of.

He gave her arm a conciliatory pat. “At any rate, I appreciate your concern. Not many governesses take such a special interest in their employers.”

She scrutinized his face for sarcasm but found gratitude instead. She pushed away the sad memories, as she always did when they came to mind, and dragged her focus back to the present. Why was the professor so open and trusting of others, ignoring their less-than-honest motives, her own included? She appreciated his transparency, but she couldn't quite understand how the Lord could become such a force in one's life to direct every thought and deed. It was beyond her comprehension. Yet with her job nearly finished, it didn't matter. She'd soon go home. Whether or not she succeeded in Mr. Phifer's eyes remained to be seen.

“You look troubled, Miss Hale.” He read her like a book. And that's what she was—an overblown, overdrawn character from one of Elna Price's outrageous dime novels—filled with joy, angst, remorse, and fear all rolled into one pathetic story.

Charlotte pulled on her cheerful mask and forced a smile. “I'm fine.”

As they came to the ivy-covered brick buildings, the professor's penetrating gaze drew her in. “I'm always nearby if you care to talk.”

“Thank you. I do have things on my mind, but nothing to burden you with, sir.” She clamped her mouth shut.

They followed Ruthie and Tim to the benches set in front of the bandstand where the concertgoers were gathering in small groups. Well-dressed ladies and gentlemen crowded together on the hard seats and chatted with friends. Their conversations rose above the noise of the brass band tuning their instruments. Several children raced across the wide swath of grass while most remained under the watchful eyes of their parents. Ruthie and Tim slid into the back row and motioned to their father, but Professor Wilmont held back.

“Save us a place, please. We'll be there in a few minutes,” he said.

Charlotte followed him to a corner of the lawn, bathed in early evening shadows. They settled onto a stone bench set beneath a silver maple shimmering in the pale light. Still in full view of the other concertgoers, they were several yards away and out of earshot.

Charlotte's heart thudded against her ribs. Why did he want privacy—with her? His colleagues and their wives glanced their way with obvious curiosity. What was a professor doing huddling with a servant? She wondered herself. A rich young woman who belonged to the smart set ought to stir his interest, not a governess with a hidden agenda. She must discourage his attention at once, if that's what it was. But as she edged away, the professor inched closer.

“Miss Hale, let me explain why I try to be open and accessible, even to those who may not have my best interests at heart. It's not because I'm too stupid to spot trouble.”

Charlotte tossed him a droll smile. “You don't owe me an explanation.”

“I know. But I feel compelled to tell you anyway.”

“All right.”

He looked to the horizon, as if remembering. “When Ruthie and Tim were young, I returned to Yale for an advanced degree. My wife cared for the children while I tried to study. But they shouted and cried so much, I couldn't concentrate. Sarah thought I should quit the university and work for my father, but I couldn't see myself as a businessman. So I spent long hours at the university library to avoid the children . . . and Sarah too. She begged me to stay home more often, but I refused.” He wrung his hands. “I didn't understand the extent of her melancholy. Then one night I arrived home from class, and she and the children were gone.”

“Oh my,” Charlotte murmured. In the approaching dusk she saw pain etched in Professor Wilmont's face. If only she dared to reach up and touch his skin and smooth away the sorrow.

“Sarah left me a note detailing all of my shortcomings.” He grimaced. “She accused me of being selfish. I'm afraid she was right on target. I didn't spend enough time with her and the children. She was overwhelmed and alone. And I was to blame.”

Charlotte's heart raced. “What happened then?” She touched his hand and then snatched it away, afraid someone might observe her gesture.

“Sarah moved home to her parents. I followed and apologized, but she demanded a divorce anyway.” His voice broke. “That nearly destroyed me.”

“But you reconciled, didn't you?” Living apart was unusual and divorce practically unheard of. It would have caused a scandal still gossiped about to this day.

“Eventually she agreed to give our marriage another try.”

“Does your story have a happy ending?” After reading the journal, she feared it didn't.

Professor Wilmont's shoulders slumped. “Not a storybook ending, I'm afraid. We worked hard to make each other happy, but we were only partially successful.” Groaning, he looked past the bandstand toward the sea, his eyes clouded. “Then a year later Sarah died in a coaching accident.”

“I'm so sorry,” Charlotte said, touched that he'd confide his deepest failures.

He looked directly into her eyes. “So now if someone requests my assistance, I give it gladly with no questions asked. I believe Sarah turned away from the Lord because I turned away from her. I didn't realize I was running from my marriage while I was burying myself in my studies, but I was.”

“And that's why you won't dismiss Miss LeBeau.” Now his attitude made more sense.

“That's right. I don't want her to turn away from the Lord because I was too thoughtless to help.”

Charlotte nodded. “Of course, as a Bible professor you have to set an example.”

“As a decent human being and as a Christian, I need to set an example and practice what I preach.”

“I understand.”
To an extent
. But setting a good example was quite beside the point. “Just stay on your guard. Your student is concerned about her own best interests, not yours.”

“Don't worry. I shall be careful. That's why I suggested she hire a tutor.”

The professor's version of his marriage sounded so different from the stories Sarah shared in her journal, especially the ones about another man. Did Professor Wilmont learn of Sarah's infidelity? If not, he must have suspected something was amiss. But he hadn't allowed bitterness to affect his relationships with other people or with his God. He was a truly remarkable man.

She wished she were more like him.

TWELVE

T
hey took their places beside Ruthie and Tim and listened to the brass band fill the hot summer evening with snappy military marches interspersed with a few popular waltzes. Daniel barely heard the music. Against his will and better judgment, he focused on the lovely governess by his side. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed the brim of her straw hat devoid of satin ribbons and bows, as charming and practical as Miss Hale herself.

His gaze swept her perfect profile—the slight tilt of her nose, her sculptured cheeks, and full, pink lips. He wanted to loop his arm around her right here amidst his students, colleagues, and their families. But he was already in more than enough trouble with the college without adding impropriety. Yet nothing could distract him from Miss Hale. Her smile brought sunshine to Summerhill, drawing him home from class with the music of her laughter and her playful chiding he'd grown to enjoy.

He leaned back on the bench and drank in the evening. Behind the bandstand the sun dipped toward the water, painting the sky with peach and rose swirls. They were the colors of his world—at least the one he imaged for his future. But gradually the brilliance faded and folded into the night sky. He couldn't hold on to the glory of the sunset. And he couldn't hold on to this moment—or to Miss Hale. Beneath her golden smile lay a young woman with darker, deeper shades to her personality than she seemed willing to share. Yet somehow it seemed so right to sit beside her as the moon rose and the stars blinked and the music played on.

When they returned to Summerhill, he said good night and retreated to his bedroom. Charlotte's determination to face life without flinching had convinced him to bury the past and look only to the future. While his head was in the clouds, her feet were rooted to the ground.

Perhaps he should glance through Sarah's journal one last time and then toss it into the fire. Reading it again and again had kept the final remnants of pain locked inside his heart. He padded over to the wardrobe and removed Sarah's old hatbox and placed it on the bed. As he opened the cover he realized how much he needed to let her hateful words burn to ash. She'd spilled all her emotions onto these pages, the last testament of their charred marriage.

Yet did he have the courage to leave it all behind? He searched the hatbox, but the journal was gone. Daniel fumbled through it again and then glanced around. Had he misplaced it, as he had so many other things?

“EVERYONE IS TALKING about you and the professor going to the concert tonight,” Grace said in the dim light of Charlotte's bedroom. “I told them it was your job to watch the children, so of course you went along. But they think Tim and Ruthie don't need constant care. And they say if you were old or ugly he'd have taken them by himself.”