Until the Dawn by Elizabeth Camden Page B

was a long, narrow room with books running the length of one wall and a series of arched windows marching along the opposite side. Quentin’s brooding face was in sharp contrast to the morning light pouring in from the windows as he jotted down the measurements in the small notebook he always seemed to have with him.
    “Did you complain to the Weather Bureau about me?”
    His pencil froze as he glanced up at her. “I sent a telegram suggesting their illegally installed equipment needed relocation. I also wanted to verify that you were indeed associated with the organization.”
    “You think I would lie about that?”
    “At the time I did. Now that I know you better, I understand you are perfectly willing to let people exploit your foolishly naïve disposition.”
    She squared her shoulders and took a few steps closer. “Don’t you understand that people sometimes do things simply for love?I know I was in the wrong when I set up that station without permission. I didn’t think the family would ever return, and the station causes no harm, but I still should have asked one of your lawyers and I’m sorry I didn’t.” She paused to catch her breath so her voice would stop shaking. With his complaint to the bureau, he’d done so much more damage than he realized.
    “I’ve spent the past year working to get the Weather Bureau to invest in an upgraded climate observatory in New Holland,” she explained. “I’ve done it all on my own without a bit of help or encouragement from anyone. I’ve drafted proposals and circulated petitions. I’ve listened to people tease me for being idealistic and irrational. No one, not even my own father, thinks I have a chance at persuading the Weather Bureau to plant that research station here, but I’ve worked so hard. And in one afternoon, you’ve stained my reputation with them out of pure meanness.” She rarely spoke so harshly, but it didn’t put a dent in the iron expression on his face.
    “Why does this mean so much to you?”
    How could she explain years of feeling useless and adrift? A man born with the Vandermark name had opportunities showered on him since birth, while people like her had to go find them—and that wasn’t easy in a dying village.
    “Because I want to have a sense of purpose in this world.” She should know better than to expose her feelings so freely, for it hurt when he smirked at her answer.
    “Odd, it seems like you’ve had a purpose for quite a while.” Grasping his cane, he limped toward the walnut desk on the far side of the library. “Come here. There’s something I want to show you.”
    After plopping into the desk chair, he slid open a drawer and tossed a photograph at her. It was the postcard sold to the tourists that showed Sophie as a five-year-old, standing in the grand salon and clutching a bouquet of tulips almost as tall as she.
    “My goodness, what a charming little girl you were,” he said coolly, but his eyes were dark with accusation.
    Sophie stiffened but didn’t move. She’d been only a child when the photograph was taken and could hardly be accused of wrongdoing, but she didn’t like where this conversation seemed to be heading. “What would you like me to say?”
    “Who took the photograph?”
    My father. She had no intention of telling Quentin that. Given his hard-eyed expression, Quentin was out for blood.
    “I was five years old. You don’t really expect me to remember, do you?”
    He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his cane, and lurched around the desk in that lopsided gait she was coming to know so well. She felt like an insect trapped in a web as the spider drew closer. Her mouth went dry, and she took a step back, but he didn’t seem angry, he seemed . . . curious.
    “The rest of the world may think you are an innocent lamb in the woods, but you are twice as clever as you let on. I doubt anything escapes your notice, despite your wide-eyed innocence. Who took the picture?”
    She blinked,