September Sky (American Journey Book 1) (12 page)

Chuck laughed.

"What's so funny?" Justin asked.

"Your claim," Chuck said. "You looked at a girl just yesterday, the same one you looked at on Saturday. I believe her name is Emily."

Justin reddened.

"She
is
pretty."

"She's more than pretty. She's drop-dead gorgeous," Chuck said. "I'm sure she's intelligent too. I don't think Charlotte would have hired her if she wasn't."

"It doesn't matter," Justin said. "It's not like we're sticking around. When can we go to Chicago? I'm looking forward to seeing the rest of the country."

"Let's give Galveston a few more weeks. If you still want to leave around the middle of May, then we'll move on. Is that all right with you?"

"I guess."

Justin stared blankly at his plate.

"Don't look so glum," Chuck said. "The time will pass quickly."

Justin nodded.

"I'm sure it will."

"In the meantime, I'm going to continue my research and see if I can find us some new digs – something we can rent on a week-to-week basis."

"What's wrong with our room?" Justin asked.

"There's nothing wrong with our room," Chuck said. "There's nothing wrong with the hotel. But if we're going to stay here more than a few days, we're going to have to find another home. The Bayside is taking a bite out of our budget."

CHAPTER 17: JUSTIN

Wednesday, April 25, 1900

Justin gazed out the wall-sized window at the Texas Maritime Library and watched a freighter leave its pier for parts unknown. He didn't know what the ship had in its hold, but he had a pretty good idea. Galveston hadn't become the largest cotton port in the world by shipping cattle.

He turned away from the window and looked for his father. He found him sitting at a small table in the corner of the archives room, perusing a local history book and copying relevant information into a leather-bound notebook.

Justin admired his dad's persistence in trying to right a wrong, even if he suspected that the persistence was driven at least partly by guilt. He knew his old man wanted to make things right with his family and his Creator after neglecting both for many years.

In the end, it didn't matter. Justin found his father's dedication inspiring. If Chuck Townsend, unemployed journalist, could find a new purpose in the past, perhaps Justin Townsend, college dropout, could do the same. He walked to the table.

"Have you found anything important?" Justin asked.

Chuck lifted his eyes from his work.

"It's all important, Justin, at least potentially."

"Why don't you just find this guy and talk to him? Tell him to take a vacation in August to a place where he can't hurt someone or be blamed for something he didn't do. It has to beat reading up on Jean Lafitte."

"I couldn't talk to Wyatt now even if I wanted to. According to his secretary at the Gulf Star Line, he's been on a business trip all week. He won't return until Monday."

"So talk to him then," Justin said.

"I'll talk to him when I'm ready," Chuck said. "I want to know more about him before I tell him he'll soon be arrested and convicted for a murder he didn't commit."

"OK. You do that. I'm going to go outside to get some air. Let me know if you need anything. I'd like to be at least occasionally useful."

Chuck smiled.

"I'll holler if I need you to run an errand."

Justin nodded, left the archives, and walked toward the lobby. When he reached the public area, he spotted Charlotte at the reception desk and acknowledged her with a slight wave. He still couldn't believe how much she resembled the mother he missed so much.

A moment later, Justin exited the building. He walked to the edge of the street, looked in both directions, and headed west. He traveled barely half a block before he found something far more interesting than cargo ships and history books.

He walked toward an outdoor dining area that a café had set up for its patrons. Sitting alone at one table was a young woman in a white blouse and a dark blue skirt.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Justin asked.

The woman lowered a sandwich to her plate and looked at the man who had disrupted her lunch. She gave him a hard stare he had seen for the third time in five days.

"Why should I mind?" she asked. "Do you bite?"

Justin smiled.

"I don't bite. I don't even have a biting wit. I'm just a regular guy."

Justin waited for a sign and got one when the woman pointed to an empty chair. He sat in the chair, straightened a jacket that he was beginning to love, and removed his hat.

"I'm Justin Townsend, by the way."

"I know who you are," the woman said.

"You do?"

"Of course I do. You're the son of that Yankee reporter who messes up my shelves, leaves maps on my tables, and flirts with my supervisor."

Justin chuckled.

"You're observant."

"I have eyes, Mr. Townsend."

Justin couldn't take issue with that. She had eyes all right, stunning ones. The shade of a tropical rain forest, they were the prettiest peepers he had ever seen.

Justin leaned forward.

"I know who you are, too, Miss Emily Beck."

"I should hope so. You've been watching me all week."

Justin laughed as he tried to decide which was more unsettling – Emily's attitude or her perceptiveness. After giving the matter some thought, he went with the former.

"Are you always this friendly?" Justin asked.

"Do I detect sarcasm, sir?"

Justin nodded.

"I meant no offense. You just seem a little testy."

"Perhaps I am," Emily said.

"Why?"

"I have my reasons."

Justin smiled. He didn't think it was possible to be angry and appealing at the same time, but Miss Get Your Hands Off Me was pulling it off.

"I saw you at the dedication," Justin said.

"That's impossible. You must have seen someone else."

"No. It was you."

"How do you know?" Emily asked.

"I know because I stared at you for a long time. It was you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure," Justin said.

"In that case, you should apologize. Staring at people is rude."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Justin wondered why Emily had been reluctant to admit they had seen each other on Saturday. Was it embarrassment or something else?

"I noticed that you seemed upset with the man standing next to you. You left before the governor's speech was over. May I ask why?"

Emily pushed her plate away.

"No. You may not. It's none of your business."

"Sorry for asking," Justin said.

"Stop apologizing. It's a sign of weakness. You obviously want to know why I left the dedication, so I'll tell you," Emily said. She folded her arms. "I left because I learned that my fiancé, the man at my side, is a filthy, lying cheat."

"That's a good reason to leave."

"It doesn't matter. What's done is done. I am free of a miscreant and a little wiser to the ways of your kind."

"What do you mean by 'my kind'?" Justin asked.

"I mean men."

"So all men are bad?"

"Yes," Emily said. "If they don't lie and cheat, they use and abuse. They also treat women like chattel and drink too much. Did I leave anything out?"

Justin shook his head.

"I don't think so. Should I kill myself now or let you finish your lunch?"

Emily gave him an icy stare.

"You're making fun of me."

Justin smiled and nodded. He waited for a positive reaction. When he didn't get one, he switched from flippant to sympathetic.

"I'm sorry you had a bad experience. I really am," Justin said. "For what it's worth, I think that any man who cheats on his fiancée is a jerk and that any man who cheats on someone as beautiful as you is clinically insane."

Justin watched with interest and amusement as Emily turned red and bit her lip. He decided right then that a self-conscious beauty was just as appealing as an angry one.

Emily turned away in an apparent attempt to hide her blush and stared out at the street, where noisy seagulls feasted on discarded scraps of fish. When she looked again at Justin, she did so with softer eyes. She smiled sadly, put a quarter next to her plate, and got up from her chair.

"I should return to work," Emily said. "Thank you for the company."

Justin nodded and then watched the lovely man-hater leave the dining area, turn a corner, and continue toward the library. When she disappeared from sight, he settled into his wrought-iron chair, stared blankly into the distance, and smiled.

He didn't know what to make of Emily Beck or their short, crazy exchange, but he did know one thing. Chicago could wait.

CHAPTER 18: CHUCK

Friday, April 27, 1900

Chuck had to admit that his first impression of Rose O'Malley had been about as wrong as an impression could get. He had expected a country bumpkin with a host of colorful stories. What he got was a college graduate and a gifted actress who had turned down Broadway and three marriage proposals to live and work in the town she loved.

"Thanks for taking the time to see me," Chuck said as he walked with Rose from a library meeting room to the lobby. "I'm sure there were other things you could have done today."

Rose glanced at Chuck and smiled.

"You're right," Rose said. "I could have filed company reports, mopped the floors, and rehashed the War Between the States with the geezers in the gallery."

Chuck laughed.

"Your job's not that bad."

"It's not when I have the opportunity to talk to people like you. It was a pleasure, Mr. Townsend. I mean it."

"The pleasure was mine," Chuck said.

Rose stepped ahead of Chuck when they reached the front desk and walked around to the work area in back. She grabbed a shawl off a coat rack and joined Charlotte behind the desk. At five after four, her workday was over.

"Did you two accomplish a lot?" Charlotte asked.

"I think we did," Rose said.

"I
know
we did," Chuck said. "That's why I'd like to visit again. If it's all the same to you, we can meet at the café next door. You pick the day. Lunch is on me."

"Now that's an offer I can't refuse," Rose said.

She turned to face Charlotte.

"You'd better watch this one," Rose said. "He may try to talk you into keeping the library open after hours with promises of wine and roses."

Charlotte smiled as she filled out papers at the desk.

"I'll be careful," Charlotte said.

Chuck laughed.

Rose threw the shawl over her shoulders.

"That's it for me today," Rose said to her supervisor. "I'll see you sometime on Sunday."

"Enjoy yourself," Charlotte said.

"Do you have a big weekend planned?" Chuck asked.

Rose smiled.

"I have plans, Mr. Townsend."

"That's nice to hear," Chuck said. "Before you go, though, I'd like to ask you one more question. I figure a longtime resident might know the answer."

"Fire away."

"OK. It's a simple question, actually, and it has nothing to do with my research. Where can I find a place I can rent by the week?"

"You don't like the Bayside?" Rose asked.

"The hotel is nice. It's very nice, in fact. It's just much more than my son and I need for an extended stay."

Charlotte lifted her eyes from her work.

"Are you planning an extended stay?" Charlotte asked.

Chuck nodded.

"We are. Justin and I talked it over last night. We both want to stay in Galveston at least through the end of May. That's why we need to find something more affordable."

Rose put her hand on her chin.

"That's a tough one. I know of less expensive hotels but none that rent by the week."

"We don't necessarily need a hotel room," Chuck said. "We just need something that's less expensive. We'd gladly take an apartment or a small house, so long as it's furnished."

"Let me check around," Rose said. "Can you wait until next week for an answer?"

"I can."

"Then let me see what I can do."

Rose retreated again to the work area, lifted a purse off a table, and walked around the side of the desk to the front. She approached Chuck and offered a hand.

"Once again, it was a pleasure, Mr. Townsend."

Chuck shook her hand.

"Have a nice weekend, Rose."

Rose glanced at her colleagues in the back of the room. Goldie straightened tables and chairs. Emily picked up scraps of paper off the floor.

"See the rest of you on Monday," Rose said as she started toward the exit.

Emily responded with a faint wave. Goldie continued working. Two patrons sitting in chairs kept their noses in their newspapers. Only Charlotte, who offered a warm smile, seemed to care when Rose O'Malley left the building.

Chuck took a moment to think about his afternoon and then directed his attention to Charlotte, who continued to process papers at the desk. He started to say something when he heard footsteps from behind. He turned around.

"I couldn't help but overhear the conversation about your housing dilemma, Mr. Townsend," Goldie said. She stopped when she reached the desk. "I believe I can help."

"You can? How?"

"My landlord rents beach houses. Most are no more than shacks, but they are furnished and have electricity and running water. The smaller units go for five dollars a week."

"How do you know this?" Chuck asked.

"I know because I rent one myself," Goldie said.

Chuck looked at Charlotte.

"What do you think?"

Charlotte smiled slightly and gave him a sidelong glance.

"I think if you're going to stay in Galveston another month, then you should see what five dollars a week buys at the beach."

Chuck returned to Goldie.

"Who's your landlord?"

"He's a developer named Samuel Billings," Goldie said. "He maintains an office on Avenue Q. I can let him know you're interested in a rental, if you'd like."