His Precious Inheritance

“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.”

She put the paper and pencil back in the box, met his questioning gaze with another cool look. “I’ve no need to write the direction. I’m familiar with the area and with your new Journal building. I live at Mrs. Smithfield’s boardinghouse on East Second Street.”

“How very convenient.”

“Yes, isn’t it?”

“Well, I must leave. There is an opening lecture I must give.” Dr. Austin tucked his watch back in his vest pocket, leaned down, then straightened and placed a large burlap bag on the piles of letters. “Take the letters with you, Mr. Thornberg. You’ll need time to read and answer them. And you’ll have to make arrangements to get the others that will continue to come in. I’ll see that they are placed in a sack for you.” He rose and made a courtly bow. “Good day, Miss Gordon. I shall look forward to reading your new monthly Chautauqua Experience column in the newsletter.”

Her new column...submitted to him. And all those letters with more to come! Charles cast a jaundiced eye at the piles, rose and picked up the bag. Miss Gordon clasped her box and stood. Well, that was one good thing. His curiosity had been answered. The box held writing supplies.

Sunlight slanted across the floor when Dr. Austin opened the door, disappeared when he closed it.

“Don’t forget these.” Miss Gordon put her box on the chair, stooped and picked up some letters that had slipped to the floor at the opposite end of the desk. “Why, these are all marked CLSC. That’s the reading program...” Her voice trailed off. She rose and looked at the piles of letters, her eyes widened. “Oh, my.” Her gaze lifted, met his. “Do you have to— I mean, are you going to—”

“Answer them in the Herald?” He opened the bag, grabbed a handful of the letters and shoved them into it. “Every one of them.”

“Oh, my.”

He slanted a look down at her. “You said that already.”

Her chin lifted. “It bears repeating.” She dropped the letters she held in the open bag, turned to the desk and snatched up those that had slid to the brink and were about to fall.

He studied her neat, no-nonsense appearance. She was a teacher. And a writer. Perhaps... He blew out a breath, examined the idea, decided he had no real choice. “Miss Gordon, could I interest you in a position answering correspondence at the Journal?”

Her left brow lifted. “Do you mean these Assembly Herald letters?”

“Yes.”

She tossed the ones she held into the bag and reached for more.

Obviously, she was waiting to hear his offer before she expressed any interest. It galled him to yield to the tactic, but he had no choice. “I’d be willing to pay you—” he glanced at the high tottering piles “—two cents for each letter answered.” That was too much. He should have said a penny. No. He couldn’t risk her turning him down. He couldn’t handle this amount of correspondence and run the paper, too. It was worth the money to free his time. He sweetened the deal. “And you would be permitted to use the typewriter for writing your own articles in your off time.”

She drew in an audible breath, straightened and looked at him. “A typewriter?”

Ah. He had her now. “Yes, the new Remington Standard model two.” He smiled, appealed further to the writer in her. “They say once you grow proficient at using the machine, you can type eighty or more words a minute.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “I take it you have not reached such a proficiency—hence the offer?”