September Sky (American Journey Book 1) (23 page)

"I'll be sure to buy you a beer when you get your conviction."

"I'll take you up on that. In the meantime, I'd like to discuss something else. I've noticed that you've taken an interest in my fiancée."

"Don't you mean
former
fiancée?" Justin asked.

"I suppose. Either way, the designation is only temporary. It's just a matter of time before Emily comes to her senses and realizes that outrage is a luxury she can't afford."

Justin glared at Levi.

"You really don't think she was justified in leaving you?"

"No. I don't," Levi said. "She took a very rigid view of a common failing."

Justin snorted and shook his head.

"I could be wrong, but something tells me she made the right call."

"In fact, she made a big mistake," Levi said. "She could have secured happiness for years to come by following through with her commitment."

"I doubt that," Justin said. "I heard you pressured her into accepting your proposal."

Levi laughed uproariously.

"Pressured her? You've obviously been talking to the wrong people. Emily Beck did not rush from my arms, Mr. Townsend. She rushed into them, freely and enthusiastically."

"That's nonsense."

"Believe what you wish," Levi said. "I was there when she all but threw herself at me."

"Why would she do something stupid like that?"

"She did it, sir, for the reason most women like Emily throw themselves at a man. She did it to make another man angry."

"You mean Silas Fitzpatrick?" Justin asked.

"No, you fool. I mean Max Beck. Emily came to me because she knew it would be the fastest and surest way to punish her father for making her withdraw from college. Marrying me would have sent the old goat over the edge."

Justin paused before saying more. He still regretted getting into this drawn-out conversation, but now he regretted it for new reasons. As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, he didn't know Emily as well as he thought he did.

"Why is that?"

"Why? I'll tell you why," Levi said. "I am Max Beck's worst nightmare. I am the man who almost put him in prison for beating a sailor who had insulted him in this very saloon three years ago. Had it not been for a technicality, he would be serving time in Huntsville."

"You lie," Justin said.

"Don't take my word for it. Ask the police. Or better yet, ask Max the next time you see him. I'm sure he'll be delighted to tell you about how he left a man for dead on the floor behind you."

Justin wanted to say something in Max's behalf, but he couldn't. He had seen Max's anger firsthand and knew that angry people often committed violent acts. So instead of coming to the defense of the Beck family, he remained silent.

Levi finished his beer and put another nickel on the bar. Then he got off of his stool, pushed it to the side, and placed a hand on Justin's shoulder.

"Let me give you some advice, my young friend," Levi said. "Pack your bags and leave this town the way you found it. Don't dig into situations you don't understand, don't befriend people you don't really know, and don't try to steal women who belong to someone else."

Justin pulled his shoulder back.

"Get your hand off me," Justin said.

"Remember what I said, Mr. Townsend. I would hate to see your stay in Galveston take an unpleasant turn."

CHAPTER 36: CHUCK

Wednesday, May 30, 1900

Chuck noticed many things as he strolled with Charlotte through the cemetery. He noticed dozens of towering monuments, hundreds of beautiful headstones, and a flat lawn that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. He also noticed the numerous palm trees that provided vertical contrast to a mostly horizontal space and weeds that had begun to overrun wildflowers in the more neglected sections of the burial ground.

Most of all, however, he noticed the silence. Even for a graveyard on one of the most solemn days of the year, City Cemetery in Galveston, Texas, was quiet – eerily quiet.

"I expected more people," Chuck said. "This is Memorial Day, after all."

"Most mourners pay their respects in the morning, when the air is cooler," Charlotte said. "I come here in the evening because it's the time of day when Isaac and I went on our walks."

"Where is he buried?"

"He is interred over there."

Charlotte pointed to a spot near a large palm and then led Chuck to an assortment of obelisks and tablet stones. The objects marked the final resting places of veterans from the Mexican-American War to the recently concluded conflict with Spain. In the middle of the section lay a massive, ornate headstone bearing the name of U.S. Navy Lieutenant Isaac Preston Emerson.

"It's impressive," Chuck said. "Did you choose the design?"

Charlotte smiled sadly.

"No. I'd love to take the credit, but I can't. A local veteran's group approached me shortly after Isaac died and proposed this particular memorial. They wanted to honor my husband's service with something that would not only catch people's attention but hold it."

"Well, it certainly holds mine, Chuck said. "I feel honored to be here, Charlotte. Thank you for inviting me."

"You're welcome."

Chuck looked at the woman in the gray dress and nodded. He really
did
feel honored, but he also felt awkward. He felt like an interloper, a person who was intruding in a time, place, and situation in which he didn't belong.

"Would you like a moment with your husband?" Chuck asked.

Charlotte nodded.

"I won't be long."

Chuck released Charlotte's arm and watched closely as she walked the remaining twenty feet to Isaac's grave. He watched even more closely as she ran her fingers across the letters that formed her husband's name and then placed a vase of wildflowers near the base of the stone. He could only imagine what she was thinking.

When Chuck saw Charlotte linger at her husband's grave, he decided to give her additional space. He turned around, walked a few yards away, and inspected two more of the many memorials to Texas heroes. They marked the graves of Civil War veterans. Both reminded the twenty-first-century reporter that he was in a very different time.

Chuck glanced to the east and saw a woman in a black dress and a girl of four or five years kneel in front of a newer-looking tombstone. He didn't need to know anything else to know that the deceased was a beloved husband and father.

He then glanced to the west and noticed a field in the distance that had obviously been prepared for new residents. He wondered how many of its empty plots would soon be filled by victims of the hurricane. He wondered what, if anything, he should do to keep them empty.

Not a day went by that Chuck Townsend didn't think of the weight on his shoulders. He had the power to save thousands of lives and the moral responsibility to save none.

He knew he couldn't save everyone and knew he wouldn't even try, but he also knew he would never let the coming calamity claim those he now counted as his friends. He certainly wouldn't let it take the woman he had come to adore.

"Charles?"

The soft voice snapped Chuck out of his daydream.

"Yes."

"I'm done," Charlotte said.

"Where would you like to go now?" Chuck asked.

"Let's walk back to the house."

Chuck offered his arm and escorted Charlotte away from the reminders of the past. They walked in silence until they exited the cemetery and turned east on Broadway.

"Once again, thank you for inviting me," Chuck said.

"Once again, you're welcome."

"Do you go to the cemetery often?"

"I try to go once a month. Sometimes I make it," Charlotte said. "Sometimes I don't."

"I'm not a fan of cemeteries, but I can see why people come here. It's beautiful. I don't think I've ever been to a cemetery that affected me like this one."

"It is nice."

"Did you see the woman and the girl back there?" Chuck asked.

"I did."

"Sights like that really make you think."

Chuck thought of the many military funerals he had covered after the invasion of Iraq in 2003. He had seen enough tearful young widows and fatherless children to last a lifetime.

"Yes. They do," Charlotte said with a big sigh.

"Did I miss something?"

Charlotte tightened her hold on his arm.

"It's nothing important."

"Your sigh suggests otherwise."

Charlotte smiled sadly.

"OK. I suppose it is important," Charlotte said. "The girl reminded me of me at that age, when I buried my grandfather. She also reminded me of the daughter I always wanted to have."

"You wanted to have a daughter?" Chuck asked.

"I wanted to have several. Isaac wanted sons, of course. Military men always want sons. But I wanted daughters – daughters I could spoil and confide in. You can't imagine how much I envy Isabella Beck. She is the luckiest woman I know."

"Did you and Isaac consider adoption?"

Charlotte frowned.

"He did."

"You didn't?" Chuck asked.

"No. I resisted the idea. I didn't know if I could raise a child that wasn't my own."

"Did he try to persuade you otherwise?"

"He did. He did every day of his last leave until I finally saw the light. We traveled to Houston shortly before he shipped off and made arrangements to adopt the baby of a local woman upon his return. When Isaac died, my dreams of becoming a mother died with him."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Charlotte said tersely. "Like I told you before, Isaac and I had seven wonderful years together. We had a good life, even if that life did not include the family we wanted."

Chuck took a moment to process Charlotte's comments and her tone as they neared the grassy park surrounding the Texas Heroes Monument. He had obviously touched a nerve by bringing up the subject of children. So he decided to move to safer ground.

"Lieutenant Emerson must have been quite a man."

Charlotte sighed and kept walking.

"Yes. He was."

"I mean it though," Chuck said. "Most men these days seem to care only about money or influence. Very few give their wives a second thought, if they think about them at all. Your husband obviously cared about your happiness. He cared a lot. That says much about him."

Charlotte frowned and stared at Chuck for an uncomfortably long moment. When she could apparently look at him no longer, she looked away.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Chuck didn't need to repeat the question. When Charlotte again turned his way, he saw tears well in her eyes. Somehow, someway, he had stepped in it.

"What is it, Charlotte?"

Charlotte took a breath and wiped away a tear.

"The reason I asked you to come today was not to show you how much I miss my former life but rather to bring you into my current life," Charlotte said. "I wanted you to be a part of something that is important to me because
you
are important to me."

"Charlotte …"

"Let me finish."

"All right," Chuck said.

"I loved Isaac more than life itself. He was a good man and a good husband who would have made a good father. I will always cherish his memory, but I will not dwell on it. I believe that life should be lived in the present and not in the past. I …"

Chuck put a finger to her trembling lips.

"Say no more. I get it. It's taken me a while, but I get it," Chuck said. He grabbed Charlotte's hands and pulled her close. "I don't know what you see in me, but it must be something good. No woman – not even Megan – ever did this much to win me over. If being a part of your life makes you happy, then I'm going to do my best to make you happy. I'm going to do it today, tomorrow, and the day after that. You mean a lot to me, Charlotte Emerson, and I don't want to lose you."

With that, Charles leaned forward and kissed a woman born in 1868. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her long and hard, the way he should have kissed her before and would hopefully kiss her again. When he was done, he held her tightly under a statue of Victory and peered toward the bay and the setting sun.

He knew this wasn't the wisest course to follow. He knew Geoffrey Bell would not approve. But he didn't care. After sixteen years, Charles Townsend had finally found the missing piece of his empty, regret-filled life – and he wasn't about to let it go.

CHAPTER 37: EMILY

Saturday, June 2, 1900

Emily laughed as she watched Justin descend the creaky wooden steps of the bathhouse to the beach. She didn't know how many times he had ever gone swimming in the ocean, but it was clear to her that he had never done anything like this.

When Justin stepped into the water, he tugged at his red-and-white, horizontal-striped crew-neck shirt and then did the same with his matching knee-length shorts. He glared at Emily like she had dressed him in ballet tights.

"I don't know about these duds," Justin said.

"I do," Emily said. "You look splendid."

"I look like an inmate."

"Nonsense. You look like every other man on this beach, except that you're ten times as handsome," Emily said. She looked at her sister. "Isn't that true, Anna?"

Anna nodded enthusiastically.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, ladies, but I still feel like I belong in prison," Justin said. "Was this all they had at the store?"

"Oh, no. They had many other outfits, including several in black and gray," Emily said. "But you asked me to buy something 'dashing,' so I did."

Emily and Anna giggled.

"Next time I'll use a different adjective," Justin said.

"No. You shouldn't," Emily said. "Dashing suits you. You're a dashing man."

Emily meant it too. In her book, Justin Townsend was not only dashing but also distracting, disarming, and more than a little mysterious. She didn't know where their budding friendship was headed, but she did know she wanted it to continue. She enjoyed every minute in his company, even those spent needling and bickering.