His Precious Inheritance (Inspirational Historical Romance) Page 2

  The young woman was looking at him, a small frown line between her arched brown brows. Obviously, she had sensed his interest and was not pleased by it. She turned her head back to look out over the water before he could catch more than a quick glimpse of her face. But even in that short moment, her eyes arrested his attention. They were light colored...perhaps blue or gray, and decidedly cool in their expression. Quite off-putting. And insulting. Had she thought him some lothario?

  He glanced down and frowned. His dark blue suit, starched white shirt and simple matching tie should tell her he was a man of business. What made her so standoffish? The other young women surrounding her were all of a “holiday” frame of mind, as was displayed by their comportment. Hmm... He studied the passengers, forming an article about the excitement that was in the air in his mind.

  The steamer lurched and then slowed. They were approaching Fair Point. He moved away from the post and edged his way to the rail to catch a first look at the campgrounds that housed the Chautauqua Assembly, nodded in response to the cheerful waves of people in dozens of rowboats and canoes that dotted the water closer to shore.

  The Griffith blew its whistle. A bell ashore rang out an answering welcome, the sound mingling with the pounding of hammers. The construction going on would account for the pile of sawed lumber on the lower deck. He’d have to look into that, perhaps work it into another article for his paper.

  The boat lurched again, steamed slowly toward the end of a wide dock.

  He shifted his gaze to the grassy shore teeming with people then lifted it to the wooded hillside. Paths, lined with shingled rooftops interspersed among the trees, crisscrossed the hill in every direction. Here and there immense roofs showed in open glades. People swarmed on the paths, appearing and disappearing at breaks in the overarching cover of the branches of the trees. It put him in mind of a beehive. He’d heard several thousands of people attended the annual Chautauqua Assembly each August, but he hadn’t really believed it until now.

  Deckhands leaped to the weathered boards of the dock and snubbed the ends of the mooring ropes around the protruding ends of thick pilings, while others dropped the gangplank in place.

  He turned from the rail, caught a glimpse of a plain brown dress with a small nondescript bustle near the gangway and glanced back toward the benches. The wren had left her perch. He moved forward with the other passengers lining up to disembark.

  At the head of the line, the young lady with the thin wood box stepped onto the gangplank. He watched her cross the narrow span then walk the length of the dock, the short train of her gown trailing along behind her. She waved a hand to whoever was in the window at the gatehouse at the end and then kept right on going through the open gate.

  So she was known to the gatekeeper. That she was familiar with the Chautauqua grounds was evident in her purposeful movements as she turned and threaded her way through the people on the shore. Not that she didn’t look feminine. She did. Very.

  He frowned at his preoccupation with a young woman he would likely never see again and stepped onto the gangplank. He was curious to know what was in that box the wren guarded so carefully, was all. He liked answers.

  * * *

  Clarice stood by the fence and eyed Dr. Austin’s cottage. She’d spoken with the leader of the assembly a few times, but she’d never disturbed him at his home. Still, timidity never gained information for an article. She pushed through the gate, lifted her hem with her free hand and started up the porch steps shadowed by a striped canvas awning.

  The cottage’s door opened and closed. Footsteps sounded on the porch floor.

  “Well, good morning!” The object of her quest smiled down at her from the top of the short flight of steps. “Miss Gordon, is it not?”

  “Your memory serves you well, Dr. Austin.” She returned his smile and backed down the two steps she’d climbed.

  “As your articles about the assembly do you.” Dr. Austin descended the steps and stopped in front of her. “You wished to see me, Miss Gordon?”

  “I did, sir. But I see you are on your way out.” She swallowed back her disappointment and smiled. “With your permission, I will return another time.”

  “Of course.” He pulled the gate open and bowed her through. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you this way, Miss Gordon, but I’ve been summoned to a meeting I must attend.” His brown eyes peered down at her. “Is this call about your annual article?”

  “Yes, it is.” She held back the frown itching to form. She didn’t want to receive a no in answer to her idea because she didn’t have time to present it properly. It was imperative that he agree. What would she do if he refused? She thrust the worry from her. He would agree. She’d convince him...someway.

  “Then perhaps you would do me the honor of walking with me to the Herald office. We can talk on the way.” He motioned her onto the path.

  There was no choice. She couldn’t say she had to be elsewhere. She gripped her writing box and moved forward. He fell into step beside her and slanted a look down at her, the same sort of look she gave her students when they weren’t forthcoming. She accepted the cue. “Dr. Austin, I have had the good fortune to have had a Chautauqua Experience article printed in the Sunday School Journal each year since you began the Chautauqua Assembly.”

  His nod set his beard whispering against his shirtfront. “And excellent articles they’ve been, Miss Gordon.”

  Warmth spread through her at his compliment. “Thank you, sir. But it is the article I will write for this year’s Chautauqua edition of the Sunday School Journal I wish to discuss with you.” She took a breath and glanced up at him. “The Chautauqua Experience articles I have written thus far have been from the viewpoint of an attendee. I would like to write this year’s article from the viewpoint of the leaders, teachers, lecturers and entertainers who make the Chautauqua experience possible for the thousands of people who come here each August. To that end, I’ve come to request an interview with you.”

  “I see. This way, Miss Gordon.”

  Dr. Austin gestured toward an intersecting path, then lowered his head and stared at the ground as they walked. Her stomach tensed at the contemplative look on his face. She couldn’t write the article as she envisioned it unless he agreed. She could pick and choose among the teachers, but Dr. Austin had to be included. The readers would expect it. Would he agree to her idea for a new viewpoint?

  The board-and-batten building with a painted sign that read Assembly Herald appeared ahead. She slowed her steps a bit to gain time. The tension in her stomach turned to knots. She had planned to write the article from the new perspective so she would be able to conduct interviews with the various teachers and entertainers over today and not have to return. She could not spend the next two weeks here at Chautauqua attending the classes and lectures to take notes for an article the way she had in the past. She had no money to pay Mrs. Duncan to care for her mother. With the increase in her weekly payment to Mrs. Smithfield for her mother, she barely had enough to pay for their room and board until the next school term began. And even then, her teacher’s wage would not cover—

  “I believe we need to discuss this further, Miss Gordon.” Dr. Austin raised his head and glanced over at her. “Your articles have been very well received by our readers and I’m not certain changing them is a good idea. But I am willing to listen to your argument.” He glanced at the Assembly Herald building and frowned. “I’m uncertain how long this impromptu meeting will take, but if you could possibly wait until I’ve finished, we could continue our discussion.”

  He hadn’t said no. She might still convince him. “I will wait, Dr. Austin.”

  “Excellent. There is a bench over here.”

  She followed him along the short stone path that ran parallel to the building, sat on a bench beside a door bearing a small sign that read Herald Office and rested her writing
box on her lap. Her index finger searched out the small scratch in the smooth waxed surface and traced the indentation from end to end and back again in a tempo that matched the tapping of her foot. How would she care for her mother if he said no? She needed the money she would earn from the article to cover the increased room and board for September.

  Her chest tightened, squeezed air from her lungs. She forced a breath and opened her box, pulled out paper and pencil and closed the lid. Worry would help nothing. And certainly prayer was of no avail. It was up to her to use her education and God-given talent— God-given? She thrust away that idea, narrowed her eyes and gazed around. Written words carried power. Much more than any argument she could present for the article would convey. She lowered her gaze to the blank piece of paper resting on the box and began to write the introduction she would use to convince Dr. Austin to agree.

  The view from Dr. Austin’s office at the Assembly Herald building is, at once, spectacular and calming. Maple, elm and oak trees paint dappled shadows on the paths and grass, and between their bark-roughened trunks one can see the water of Chautauqua Lake rippling in the sunshine. A warm breeze rustles through the tree branches and the leaf shadows dance...

  * * *

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Austin.” Charles rose and extended his hand to the courtly older gentleman. “I am an admirer of your writings.”

  “You’re too kind, Mr. Thornberg. And I’m quite certain you have not come to Chautauqua merely to compliment me. So why am I here? What is this meeting about?” Dr. Austin pinned him with a sharp look.

  He smiled, stood by his chair and waited for the older man to take his seat. “I have submitted a business proposal to your partner, Dr. Austin. And Mr. Fuller graciously consented to summon you so that we might discuss it.”

  “Mr. Thornberg has recently purchased the Jamestown Journal, John. He has come here with a business plan that he believes will be advantageous to us both. I think he is right.” William Fuller rose from the chair behind the cluttered desk and came to stand beside him. “So I will simply say, from a monetary perspective, that what he offers is, indeed, advantageous for us. And from that angle, I would recommend we accept the deal he brings. However, I know there are things about the Assembly Herald newsletter more important to you than profit. Therefore, I will leave you two to discuss those matters. A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Thornberg. I wish you well in your new endeavor.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Fuller.” Charles shook the man’s large work-scarred hand. “The pleasure was all mine, sir.”

  “I’ll talk with you later to hear your decision, John.” William Fuller put on his top hat, tapped it into place and left the room.

  “Well, it appears you have jumped one hurdle to your proposition, Mr. Thornberg. Let’s see if you can clear the next.” Dr. Austin stepped behind the desk, sat back in the chair William Fuller had vacated and folded his hands across his chest. “Have a seat and begin. And you can leave out the monetary details. That’s William’s decision. Mine is the content of the newsletter. What have you to say about that?”

  “My proposition as to content is this, Dr. Austin.” He sat in the chair facing the desk and leaned forward. “I will accept and edit any articles or columns you wish included in the Assembly Herald. I will lay out the newsletter with the regular columns on their designated pages, provide all ‘filler’ material, write an editorial if you wish and handle any correspondence that is not meant for a specifically named contributor. I will pass forward all such letters.” He sat back, encouraged by the slow nodding of Dr. Austin’s head. “All this plus the printing of the newsletter will be done at a cost less than you now expend. But the true value to you, sir, will be the time you will save for your other duties and callings.”

  Dr. Austin’s gaze fastened on his. “You are a shrewd negotiator, Mr. Thornberg. You have pointed out all of the benefits to us here at the assembly. However, you have neglected to tell me what advantage this deal holds for you.”

  “A monetary one, sir. The Jamestown Journal is failing. The income earned from editing and printing your monthly newsletter will help to keep my newspaper afloat while I work to implement the changes I have planned and turn it into a profitable concern.”

  “I see. I like your honesty, Mr. Thornberg.” Dr. Austin leaned forward, a smile peeking out from his beard. “If I understand you correctly, all of my present editorial duties will fall to you...including handling the correspondence.”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “And I still have the final say over the content of our newsletter—the columns, articles and such?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then we have a deal, Mr. Thornberg. Unless you choose to back away.”

  He puzzled over the odd statement, could find no reason for it. “And why would I do that, sir? I’m the one who came to you with the offer.”

  “Look at the top of my desk, Mr. Thornberg, and tell me what you see.”

  He eyed the piles of letters spilling into one another, then glanced at the sudden twinkle in the Chautauqua leader’s eyes. “I suppose it’s too much to hope you are a very poor correspondent, sir?”

  The older man let out a hoot. “You suppose right, Mr. Thornberg. These are this month’s letters from the far-spread members of our nationwide Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle. And all of the questions they contain have to be answered in the monthly column in the newsletter. A few of the letters will be directed to specific teachers and those must be answered individually. So have we a deal, Mr. Thornberg?”

  “We have, Dr. Austin.” Though I wish I had known about those letters and the time they will swallow preparing your monthly newsletter before I made my offer. He rose, met the Chautauqua leader’s hand over top of the letters littering the desk and shook it.

  “There’s one other thing, Mr. Thornberg—as long as you are here, I shall introduce you to the author of a new column I intend to include in the monthly newsletter.”

  “I shall be most pleased to meet him, Dr. Austin.”

  “Her, Mr. Thornberg.”

  Her? He jerked his gaze from the piles of letters and stared at Dr. Austin as he came around the desk, scowled after him as he walked toward the door. A woman?

  “Would you please come in, Miss Gordon? I’ve someone here you need to meet.”

  He wiped the frown from his face and took a step toward the door.

  “Of course, Dr. Austin.”

  A slender woman garbed in a plain brown dress and carrying a thin wood box appeared in the sunlit doorway. The wren! He jerked to a halt. She was the columnist? He wiped the astonishment from his face as she stepped into the room and glanced his way.

  Dr. Austin closed the door and turned to face them. “Mr. Thornberg, may I present Miss Gordon. Miss Gordon, Mr. Thornberg.”

  “Miss Gordon.” He dipped his head in polite acknowledgment.

  “Mr. Thornberg.”

  You. She didn’t speak the word, but it was clear from the cool look she gave him that she recognized him as the man she’d caught staring at her on the steamer. He clamped his jaw to keep from launching into an explanation.

  “Well, this is a fortuitous meeting for all of us. Please be seated, Miss Gordon.”

  He moved to hold a chair for her as Dr. Austin strode behind his desk. She gave him a curt nod to acknowledge the politeness and sat, holding the box on her lap. He moved to sit in the other chair, eyed the polished wood and wondered at the contents.

  “This morning has been full of pleasant surprises for me.” Dr. Austin smiled at them and took his chair. “I hope it proves the same for both of you.”

  Charles swept his gaze from Dr. Austin to the piles of letters to Miss Gordon. He would not term these surprises pleasant. Startling would be a more apt description.

  “Miss Gordon, I have given some
thought to your idea for your next article for the Chautauqua edition of the Sunday School Journal.”

  He lifted his gaze to her plain felt hat, forced down the irritation percolating inside him then focused his attention back on Dr. Austin.

  “I like the idea for your piece and will include it in the Chautauqua submission for the Sunday School Journal.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Austin.”

  Her voice sounded soft, a tiny bit husky and...relieved? He glanced her way.

  “I also think the idea wonderfully suited for a monthly column in the Assembly Herald.”

  What? He jerked his gaze back to Dr. Austin but bit back the protest that sprang to his lips. The man had final say over the contents of the Chautauqua newsletter.

  “You could feature one or two of the teachers or lecturers or entertainers here at Chautauqua each month, which will spur interest and excitement for next August. Should you agree, the stipend for the column will be the same as that you receive for your Journal articles. Would you care to take on the responsibility of the monthly column? I know you are a teacher and will have a large draw on your time come September.”

  The wren was a teacher? He cast a sideways glance at her and glanced again. The woman’s face had transformed astonishingly, with an undeniable sweetness to her smile—a snare for the unwary.

  “That will not be a problem, sir. I will be happy to write a monthly column for the Assembly Herald. To what address shall I submit it?”

  “You will submit it to Mr. Thornberg. He will now be performing the editing and publication duties of the Assembly Herald.”

  The smile faded. She opened the box, took out a piece of paper and a pencil and turned her head and looked at him. Gray eyes. Cool gray eyes. Miss Gordon was no more pleased with the situation than he. Good.

  “The address where you wish me to submit the column, Mr. Thornberg?”

  He refrained from giving a mock shiver at the cold tone of her voice. “That would be my newspaper office. The Jamestown Journal on West Second Street in Jamestown, New York.”