September Sky (American Journey Book 1) (26 page)

Then there was Chuck's claim that he was the great-great-grandson of Benjamin Townsend. Wyatt had little difficulty buying that. Chuck bore a distinct resemblance to Wyatt's beloved brother, who had just begun a four-month tour of Europe with his family.

According to Chuck, it was Benjamin who had passed down the story of Wyatt's wrongful conviction and execution. He had provided few details about the trial or even the crime. He had said only that someone named Mack or Max had confessed to the murder before dying in the 1920s. Like the Townsends, Wyatt could think of at least three people who fit the description.

Wyatt glanced at the jabbering attorney and then at the man he represented. He could see that Max Beck was no more interested in what Cyrus Green had to say than he was. He knew he could not agree to anything Green proposed today, but he wondered whether it was not time to reconsider his stand. Maybe merging the companies did make sense – at least in the long run.

Then he thought about the last thing Chuck had said at Uncle Ben's. He had warned of a hurricane that would sweep the city off its sandy base, a storm that would claim thousands of lives, destroy countless buildings, and damage commercial interests up and down the coast.

Though Chuck could not remember the precise date of the calamity, he insisted that it would come in early September and come with little warning. Details of the storm had been contained in newspaper articles that had been stolen from his beach house.

Wyatt sighed when he thought about what others could do with knowledge of the hurricane. He sighed again when he considered the keeper of that secret could be someone in this room.

Wyatt returned his attention to Green and listened to the rest of his spiel. When the attorney finished explaining the changes to the latest proposal, he sat up in his chair and nodded.

"Do you approve of these modifications?" Green asked.

"I understand them," Wyatt said. "I will need additional time to consider them before I can tell you whether I approve or disapprove of them."

"I see. How much time do you think you will need?"

Wyatt grabbed the proposal and rose from his chair.

"I won't need much," Wyatt said. "I understand and appreciate the work you gentlemen have put into this latest proposal. I will give you my thoughts on this tomorrow morning."

CHAPTER 41: CHUCK

Saturday, June 16, 1900

Built in 1880 by a group of German businessmen, the tiered dancing pavilion was one of Galveston's architectural treasures. Rising above a park near the intersection of Twenty-Seventh Street and Avenue O, the octagonal Garten Verein featured whimsical Victorian ornamentation, walls of paned windows, and extensive electrical lighting. Fully lighted on a late spring evening, it looked like a giant fairy-tale lantern.

Even the pavilion, however, could not measure up to the seating arrangement at Chuck's table as a conversation starter. Seated around his long, linen-covered table was a collection of diners that only a fun-loving god or a shortsighted party planner could possibly organize.

Chuck and Charlotte sat on one side of the table, along with Justin, Emily, Wyatt Fitzpatrick, and Rose O'Malley. Max Beck and Isabella Beck sat on the other, along with Levi MacArthur, Goldie Gates, Silas Fitzpatrick, and Julia Brown, the plain-but-pleasant Gulf Star Line receptionist who had come as Silas' date. Anna Beck sat at the end of the table near her parents.

Max, of course, had objected to the seating arrangement from the start. He wanted nothing to do with Wyatt, who had rejected the new-and-improved proposal to merge their companies, or Levi, who had once tried to put him in prison.

Then there was Emily, who had the pleasure of dining not only with her new boyfriend but also two men who had sought her hand in marriage in the past calendar year. She looked at Levi like she might look at a lice-covered vagrant who had just emerged from a dump.

Chuck did not know what to make of Goldie. She appeared to get along better with her date, a man who
had
put her in prison, than with her library colleagues. Goldie did not speak to Rose. Nor did Max, Levi, or Silas. The joyless pessimists had no use for Rose's off-color jokes, spirited toasts, and humorous observations.

"This is quite a group," Chuck whispered into Charlotte's ear. "I don't think there's been a more interesting dinner for thirteen since the Last Supper."

Charlotte smiled nervously.

"Be nice, Charles. We need a grown-up at this table."

Chuck couldn't disagree. When he scanned the faces around him, he saw more children than adults. Even Anna, who played with the sauerkraut on her otherwise empty plate, acted more like a grown-up than most of the people in her party.

Deciding to pacify the most contentious member of the group, Chuck turned toward Max and started to say something nice. But before he could raise a glass to the city's German community, Julia Brown tapped her goblet and made a toast of her own.

"Before the music starts and we go our separate ways, I'd like to remind you all that we have a genuine hero in our presence," Julia said. She smiled at Justin. "Here's to young men who show up at the right time in the right places."

"Hear, hear!"

Everyone at the table clinked glasses.

Chuck looked on with amusement as Justin blushed and with utter fascination as Emily gazed at him adoringly. He knew she had warmed up to his son in recent days, but not
how
much. He felt good about the change but worried about the problems it might bring in the long run.

"I spoke to a lifeguard on duty that day who said you used a rather unusual technique to save Mr. Benton's life," Levi said. "He said you actually put your mouth on his and blew air into his lungs. Is that right?"

"That's right," Justin said.

"Where did you learn this 'procedure'?"

Chuck glanced at Justin and gave him a green-light nod. He knew his son well enough to know that he could handle the question adroitly, even if the question came from a crafty prosecutor and jilted fiancé who was clearly fishing for trouble.

"I learned it in California," Justin said. "I was a lifeguard there for several years."

"I see," Levi said. He raised a brow. "It seems there are many things you do in California that we don't do in the rest of the nation."

"I'm sure the other states will catch up," Justin said cheerfully. "I'd be happy to teach you the technique if you'd like."

"No, thank you."

Chuck, Wyatt, and most of the women laughed heartily. Goldie forced a weak smile. Silas, Levi, and Max looked at Justin like he was an annoying pest begging to be swatted.

When the busty waitress who had plied the diners all night with beer and schnapps returned with apple strudel and chocolate cake, Chuck took a moment to scan the ballroom. He saw what he had expected to see – the city's rich, famous, and well-connected mingling with its large and influential German community. Then he glanced at the entrance and saw something he didn't expect to see – the man who had interrupted his first interview with Silas Fitzpatrick.

Chuck didn't know why the individual he knew as Thomas Mack, private investigator, kept popping up everywhere he or Justin went, but he knew he didn't like it. There was something strange about the dateless man by the door, something that didn't quite add up.

Chuck gave the mystery man another moment and then turned to the much more pleasant distraction at his side. When he looked at Charlotte Emerson, he saw more than a woman in a light blue embroidered evening dress. He saw someone he never wanted to leave.

For more than two weeks, Chuck had obsessed over his new dilemma. He tried to think of a solution that didn't involve staying in 1900 or bringing Charlotte to 2016, but he couldn't. He knew at some point he would have to make a serious sacrifice or ask her to do the same.

The problem always came down to the same thing. He couldn't imagine Charlotte leaving her family, friends, and familiar world any more than he could imagine leaving his. He hadn't even broached the subject with Justin, whose views on the matter would be as important as anyone's.

Chuck put his arm around his date and pulled her close as the band started up. He knew he would have to come up with an answer soon, but he knew he wouldn't have to do so tonight or even for several more weeks. He decided to make the most of an incredible evening and hope that wisdom would come to him when he needed it.

"I hear music, Mrs. Emerson. Would you care to dance?" Chuck asked.

"I may in a little while. Right now, I want to sit and enjoy your company."

Chuck tilted his head.

"Are you sure? I'm kind of boring."

Charlotte smiled.

"Let me be the judge of that."

Chuck laughed and settled into his chair as most of the others got up from theirs and headed for the polished hardwood dance floor. He nodded to Justin and Wyatt, the last ones to leave, as they escorted their dates away from the table.

"It looks like it's just the five of us now," Isabella Beck said from the other end of the table. She sat next to her glowering husband and fidgety daughter.

"I take it you're not much for dancing," Chuck said.

"Oh, I am. But Max is not in the mood right now."

"I see."

Anna got out of her chair and whispered something in her mother's ear. She smiled when Isabella nodded and gave her some sort of instructions.

"Remember to leave the grown-ups alone," Isabella said.

"I will," Anna replied.

The girl ran off and disappeared into a crowd that had formed in the middle of the hall.

"She's adorable," Chuck said. "If I had a daughter, I'd want one just like Anna – or Emily, for that matter."

"What a coincidence," Isabella said. She smiled. "If I had a son, I'd want one just like Justin."

Chuck laughed.

"I guess we have more in common than I thought."

"I'm sure we have a lot in common," Isabella said. "It was so nice to finally meet you after all that we have heard about you. We think the world of your son. Don't we, Max?"

Max glared at his wife and then at Chuck.

"Yes," he muttered.

"We're also delighted that you've extended your stay in Galveston," Isabella said. "I can't tell you how much that means to Emily. How long
do
you plan to stay?"

Chuck glanced at Max and Charlotte and saw that Isabella wasn't the only person at the table who wanted an answer to that question. He smiled softly at Charlotte, grabbed her hand under the table, and turned to face Isabella.

"Justin and I plan to stick around at least through Labor Day," Chuck said. "Whether we stay longer will depend entirely on how our summer goes."

"I see," Isabella said.

Chuck glanced again at Charlotte and saw a frown. He could see she was hoping for a more definitive answer. He vowed to engage in damage control at the earliest opportunity.

"Have you completed the research for your book?" Isabella asked.

"I have," Chuck said. "I actually finished my work a month ago but had to start over after my cabin was burglarized. The thief took most of my notes."

Though he spoke to Isabella, Chuck looked directly at Max. He had hoped to see a guilty expression on his face and was mildly disappointed when he didn't find one.

"I'm sorry to hear that your belongings were taken," Max said. "If you wish to know more about passenger shipping or even the community, I'd be happy to educate you."

"I appreciate that, Max."

Chuck did too. Though he still considered Max a prime suspect in the crime, he appreciated his willingness to talk. As a reporter, Chuck had often pulled useful tidbits from reluctant subjects. He could only imagine what Max might reveal under direct questioning.

"Can I count on you, then, for an interview?"

Max smiled.

"Of course. I owe you at least that much."

"You don't owe me a thing," Chuck said.

"I disagree, Mr. Townsend. I owe you a lot. Or at least I owe your son a lot."

"I don't understand."

"It's simple. Since your son began seeing my daughter, my daughter has stopped talking about college and medicine," Max said. He sipped his beer. "That is a feat worth rewarding."

CHAPTER 42: JUSTIN

Justin looked away from the green-eyed beauty he held in his arms and laughed.

"Well, what do you know? Our fathers are breaking bread."

He wheeled Emily in the direction of the dining table from hell.

"Don't read too much into what you see," Emily said. "My father is probably negotiating my future. He does that every now and then."

Justin resumed dancing – or whatever it was he was trying to do. He had done little but trip over his feet since guiding Emily to the dance floor. When the band switched from polkas to waltzes, he focused solely on holding his partner upright.

"You don't like your dad, do you?"

"Can we discuss something else?" Emily asked.

Justin nodded.

"We can discuss how I feel about you."

Emily smiled.

"That's a much better topic."

"I'm glad you think so because I've wanted to tell you how I feel for days," Justin said. "I'm insanely crazy about you."

Emily giggled.

"Insanely crazy is redundant, Mr. Townsend, but I understand your point," Emily said. She sighed and looked at Justin thoughtfully. "I feel the same about you."

"You do?"

Emily nodded.

"It took me a while to get there, but I got there. I hope you'll forgive me for the way I treated you those first few weeks."

"Don't apologize, Emily. It's a sign of weakness."

She pinched his arm.

"Ouch!"

"Don't say that again or I'll revisit my feelings," Emily said.

"OK. In your case, it's a sign of great strength."

"That's better."

"Seriously, though, I don't blame you for viewing me with skepticism," Justin said. "I
am
a male, after all, and you haven't had the best luck with that half of the species."