She gestured to the building directly behind her, a four-story granite masterpiece with windows that sparkled in the sunlight. “Do you think the buildings are where our money goes?”
He looked at her blankly. “I’m sure they cost a pretty penny.”
They could have been built with my father’s pocket change, she silently thought. “Come with me, and I’ll show you the college’s real treasure,” she said. “It has nothing to do with fancy buildings or pretty landscaping. The amount we spend on it dwarfs everything you can see with human eyes. Are you willing to open your mind and heart to learn about it?”
A glint of curiosity sparked behind Mr. O’Neill’s big, strong face. “Lead the way.”
Against his better judgment, Patrick was intrigued. Sparring with the Blackstones was a dangerous undertaking, and he was already powerfully attracted to this woman. Now that he knew she was a widow, he was even more intrigued.
“This is the jewel in our crown,” Mrs. Kellerman said as she led him into the cool interior of the chemistry building, where their footsteps echoed in the hallway. “Our research focuses on diseases like botulism and tetanus. These are rare diseases that only afflict a few people each year, but the victims tend to be poor with little hope for a cure. Most colleges are researching treatments for the big diseases like tuberculosis where there’s far more profit.”
She stopped before the open door of a laboratory where several men and two women were bent over microscopes and lab books. The blackboard behind them was covered in what looked like hieroglyphics.
“My father’s dream was to cure the diseases of the lame, the halt, and the blind,” she said. “Every person who walks through the gates of Blackstone College feels the same, even though we know it’s going to be a steep road. If finding a cure was easy, it would have already been done. So we chip away at the problem, year after year, decade after decade. We lose more battles than we win, but we don’t give up, because each failure means we are one step closer to the finish line.”
Next she took him to a room with a wall of refrigerated cases, briefly opening them to reveal test tubes of serums and samples.
“These are strains of cowpox, chicken pox, and smallpox,” she explained. “We send professors and graduate students to India and China to collect additional strains of the diseases as they evolve, trying to stay one step ahead and mass produce vaccines that will treat these diseases anywhere in the world. The college has already vaccinated almost half a million people for smallpox in India.”
She led him to the next room, which looked like a library, but instead of bookshelves it held rows of maps and floor globes. “This is where we track disease,” she said, showing him how colored thumbtacks pushed into the maps indicated disease outbreaks.
He’d never heard of most of them. Beriberi, pellagra, yaws, and pertussis were all unfamiliar words to him, but apparently the college had teams of people working on each disease. Each year they spent a fortune sending their scientists abroad to gather samples and bring data home to analyze. They sponsored conferences and scientific journals to share information. They had an alert system to communicate news of outbreaks that might occur anywhere in the world. Chemists could swing into gear to mass-produce vaccines and then transport them to people in need.
“We are on the cusp of something wonderful,” Mrs. Kellerman said. “The lame, the halt, and the blind can be cured. We can move the unmovable object. We’re fighting against all odds to accomplish something that’s never been done before. This is where our treasure lies. This is what I’m fighting for.” The radiance in her face dimmed. “And when someone smears the Blackstone name, this is what they’re smearing.”
It felt like she’d struck him, and in a way she had. He was paving the way for a seedy memoir to pollute the air with old grievances against the Blackstone family. It wasn’t something he could be proud of.
“For what it’s worth, I wish Malone had taken your offer.”
“I do too,” she said softly. She looked around the strange library, filled with maps and globes that tracked human suffering around the world, then back at him. “I want you to remember this. What you see in this room is hope. It’s hope for millions of forgotten people in the world who need someone to extend a hand of compassion. We are good people. When you use your time and skills to help a man like Mick Malone, you are working against this.”
Before he could defend himself, she turned to walk away, leaving him at a loss. He’d never had such a humbling set-down before, even more effective because of her quiet grace.
Somehow he had to gain Gwen Kellerman’s respect, but he had no idea how to do it without betraying a client.
6
Each morning when Gwen awoke, she enjoyed a blissful few seconds of peace while listening to the meadowlarks in her garden.
Then she remembered the threat to the college, and the fear set in. She couldn’t leave this place. She couldn’t let the college fail. Her ploy with the lawyer had failed, so now her best hope was to convince her grandfather to override Uncle Oscar’s decision.
Normally her uncle and grandfather moved in lockstep accord, but if she could get Frederick away from the office and into the scholarly oasis of the college, he might soften. Frederick was meeting her for tea this afternoon in the college’s outdoor café, and Gwen prayed she could earn his support.
Her former bodyguard, Zeke Jankowski, now worked at the café that was surrounded by manicured box hedges to create a private haven from the rest of campus. Only a handful of students remained on campus during the summer, so the café was empty.
Except for a single woman nursing a cup of coffee in the far corner. She wore an immaculate white linen gown that ought to make her look washed out against her white-blond hair, but Vivian Chastain always looked magnificent.
“I didn’t realize you were coming, or I wouldn’t have let her in,” Zeke said as Gwen arrived at the café. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that woman.”
Gwen squared her shoulders. A better person might let Zeke tactfully handle the matter, but she had been far too tactful over the years.
“I’ll be all right,” she said quietly to Zeke, then headed toward Vivian, who looked up in surprise. Gwen would sound dignified and ladylike if it killed her. “I’m meeting with my grandfather in a few minutes, and it would be best if he didn’t see you. I think you should leave.”
Vivian’s tone was also coolly polite. “I’m not finished with my coffee.”
Gwen lifted the cup and tipped its contents into the nearby planting bed. “Now you are.” She set the cup down with barely a click, and Vivian wasn’t so cool anymore.
“That coffee cost ten cents!”
“Are you expecting me to pay for it?” Gwen asked. “I won’t.”
Vivian stood, her eyes narrowed. “But you’re so good at paying for things,” she said, hostility beginning to crack her voice.
Zeke immediately stepped between them. “Let’s settle down,” he said. “Miss Chastain, it’s true. Mr. Blackstone is on his way, so you ought to leave if you want to keep your job here.”