By the Light of the Silvery Moon (28 page)

She nodded. “Of course.” She didn’t want to say more. What she had to say didn’t matter. It was up to the Lord now to change his heart. “I’m sure they’ll remember you.”

Amelia was suddenly weary. Was it worth giving her heart to a man who carried so much pain, so much baggage from his past?

Not knowing what else to say, she reached up and touched his face, stroking her hand down his jaw.

“Quentin, love covers a multitude of sins. I’m not going to be able to convince you of that … but you have to trust that it’s true.”

Quentin watched the door to Amelia’s stateroom close. He stood there, unmoving. If he walked away—even five feet to the door to his room—he would break the spell she’d cast over him.

His heart felt full—fuller than it had in years. Even with her nagging, she spoke those things because she cared. If Amelia didn’t care, she wouldn’t take the time to listen to his stories. He smiled. She also wouldn’t bother trying to boss him around.

He placed a hand over his heart. He could feel its wild beating under his palm. After all the years and everything that had happened, he never thought he’d ever feel like this. He didn’t deserve to feel like this. Yet he also knew that to keep her, he was going to have to make some of the hardest decisions of his life. He was going to have to surrender, have to swallow his pride.

Quentin turned to take a step to his room when he noticed a man approaching. A gasp escaped his lips when he saw it was Damien. His brother’s bow tie was undone, and Quentin guessed from his brother’s swagger that he’d had more than one drink.

Strangely, after all these years of not being in his brother’s presence, the first thing that struck Quentin was the humor of the situation. Here he was happy, sober, with the scent of Amelia still fresh in his mind, and his brother was striding forward angry, forlorn, looking as if he’d just climbed out of the gutter.

“So you think you can fool her? Do you think she doesn’t know you’re trash?” The words spilled from Damien’s mouth, and Quentin hurried toward him.

“You don’t need to do this here. We can take it outside.”

“Good idea.” Damien stood up straighter, and Quentin saw then it wasn’t alcohol that caused him to slur his words, but jealousy. Damien’s eyes were red, maybe from tears. He turned and stalked up the stairway to the deck.

When they got outside, the cold air took Quentin’s breath away. It seemed strange to him that after five years, after losing his father’s riches and after hiding from his brother’s perusal, that the thing Damien was most concerned about—had finally approached him about—was a woman.

“Do you think she really cares about you?” Damien picked up where he’d left off. “She’s a kind soul who likes offering a helping hand. If she really understood, knew who you are and all you’ve done, then she wouldn’t treat you so kindly.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I? Why don’t you test it and see? Let her know what your life has been like for the last five years—really know—and see where that gets you.”

“I did that.”

“You told her everything?” Damien pointed a finger hard into his brother’s chest. “How many months have you been living on the streets?”

“More that I want to count.”

“And how many women have you slept with?” Damien huffed. “Yes, I bet the same answer.”

Quentin lowered his head.

“Tell her that. Tell her the truth, and we’ll see how far that gets you.” With that, Damien turned and began to stalk away.

“Are you trying to ruin everything?” Quentin called after him. “Are you trying to strip away my last glimmer of hope?”

Damien paused at those words. He turned to face his brother. “Me strip it away? Did you just say that?”

His brows furrowed and his face reddened. He rushed up to Quentin, fists balled and hands raised up in front of his chin like a prize fighter. Damien repeated. “You took Mother away! And half of father’s fortune. And now, when I find the one woman I have feelings for—“

Quentin didn’t expect the punch. It hit his jaw like an anvil. His head reeled back. His neck snapped. His body propelled backward, and his feet scrambled to keep up, but it was no use. He slammed against the deck. His back hit first then his head. Pain coursed through his skull. His eyes blurred.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he scrambled to his feet and rushed his brother. If Quentin had learned one thing on the street, it was how to fight. He lowered his shoulder and connected it with his brother’s chest. Damien’s breath released in a moan. Amazingly, Damien maintained his balance. Instead of tumbling, his knee rose up, catching Quentin under the chin.

Again Quentin felt himself reeling backward. He landed on his rear, hard. Obviously his brother had learned a thing or two during their time apart also.

Damien leaned forward, hands on knees, waiting for his brother’s next move. Quentin rose to one knee, and just as he was about to lunge again, he heard a man’s cry.

“Someone get an officer! Hurry! Fight!”

Quentin shuffled to his feet and moved to the doorway.

A sharp laugh erupted from Damien’s lips. “That’s right, Brother, run. It’s what you do so well. And when you get yet another thing stripped away, don’t blame that on me!” Damien shouted. “You’ve done it all to yourself. The only person you can blame for ruining your life is the one you see when you look into the mirror!”

Sunday
April 14,1912

A
melia awoke early, if that’s what one called it. It was hard to use the term
awoke
when one had had so little sleep. She dressed quietly and made her way to the closest deck, noticing the sun rising behind them, spreading light to a bank of clouds. Bright red and pink, the clouds were a beautiful sight. Her eyes moved from the enchanted light to the swell of sea that extended outward from the ship. It continued on as if it touched the skyline. Did those who’d crossed the ocean a hundred times appreciate the beauty as she did? Or did they get used to it, just as she had gotten used to the sights and scents of Southampton?

Footsteps sounded from behind her and she turned. She wasn’t surprised to see Quentin standing there.

“Amelia. I have to talk to you … before we go on. Before our hearts grow any closer.”

Amelia nodded, and she approached him. She stared into his dark brown eyes. They appeared more troubled than before. She motioned to a small outside café table and they sat.

“You say you want to know everything, Amelia, but you have no idea. The depths of where I fell. The pain I’ve caused.”

“I know things must have been hard…. I can’t imagine what it was like. You’ve been through so much.” She rested her forearms on the table, and her fingers inched toward his hands. He pulled his hands back.

She could tell he wanted to talk, but she also saw fear. A deep fear. Looking into his gaze was like looking into the face of a pained child.

“I told you that you don’t want to get involved with me, Amelia.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that for myself?” she urged. She balled her fists and considered pounding them on the table. When would she get through to him? All night she’d worried about how things would work out if she gave him her heart, but at this moment a new worry struck—that he’d never give her the chance.

Dear Lord, help me. Show me a way to get through.

“I shouldn’t do this.” He leaned back in his chair, sitting straighter. He ran his hands through his hair. “Maybe later. I need more time to think.”

He scooted his chair back as if preparing to stand. Instead of pleading with him, urging him, she looked into his face.

It was then she felt an answer stirring in her mind, a gentle peace. It was what Quentin needed, too—not her constant confrontation. He needed her gentleness and God’s whispers of care.

She released her fists and opened her palms to him.

“You are still running, Quentin.” Her voice was a soft breath of air. “And I have bad news for you.”

He paused, surprised. Then he leaned forward to hear her words. “What’s that?”

“We’re on a ship, Quentin. You can’t keep running forever. There’s nowhere to go but into that water.”

It was her whispered words that caught his attention. Many had tried to urge him, had argued with him, but she simply waited.

He studied her, studied the way the wind blew strands of blond hair across her face. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful. It would be easy to do. He’d learned how to woo a woman, but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t sway her emotions to meet his desires. In just the few short days that he’d known her, he’d come to care more about her than he’d cared for any other woman in his past. At first those women had come to him because they’d wanted to be linked to his money, his fame. He’d allowed that in order to get what he wanted. The romances lasted weeks, some months, but they always ended badly. Just remembering those times brought him shame. It was as if Amelia’s purity shined like the sun, casting penetrating rays into all the dark places of his heart.

He stared at her hands opened on the small table.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

He glanced up guiltily. “My mother had soft, delicate hands like that. They’re beautiful.” He didn’t believe he’d said that.

He leaned forward and kissed the back of her hand. Then he stopped himself. He knew what he had to do. He had to tell her what he’d been dreading.

“Amelia.” He cleared his throat, determined to get this done with. Willing to share everything. “I’ve been with many women. I’ve hurt many people. I’ve stolen. I’ve lied….” Quentin felt a tear run down his cheek. “For so many years I made wrong choices—”

“I know.” Her simple statement interrupted him.

“For so long I took what my flesh desired—“

“Quentin,” her voice was gentle. “I said I know, and I have to say something.”

She focused on him until his mind had settled. Until it was clear he was ready to listen.

“You have done many wrong things. All of us have. You have done worse than some … but when it comes to how God sees sin, no one’s sin is greater than another.”

He swallowed hard.

“That’s why Jesus died for us, Quentin. He didn’t sacrifice His life for those who’ve lived perfectly or those who’ve tried to. He died for all of us, and if you ask Jesus, He will forgive you now. At this moment.”

Quentin lowered his head, a battle waging in him. When he was small, his mother had read him stories from the Bible and had often sung her favorite hymns. As he got older, it had been his father who’d told him about God. But Quentin hadn’t listened. He hadn’t wanted to think about God or imagine what God thought about what he’d done.

“Is it that easy?” he finally asked.

“Yes.” Emotion poured out with the single word.

“And all I have to do is pray?” He glanced up at her, taking in the beauty of her face. The joy he saw there. “I’ll do it.”

Quentin lowered his head, and for the first time he could remember, he surrendered. He asked God to forgive him for the foolish mistake he’d made as a boy and all the millions of mistakes he’d made since then.

And as he prayed, something changed inside. It was as if his heart had been cracked open and the pain finally had a place to drain out—into the hands of Jesus.

When he finished and lifted his head, he looked to Amelia through his tears.

“Thank you, Amelia. Thank you.”