September Sky (American Journey Book 1) (28 page)

A moment later, he glanced to his right and saw some of his least favorite people gather near the edge of a fountain. Levi MacArthur spoke to Max Beck and Silas Fitzpatrick as Thomas Mack and Goldie Gates looked on.

"It looks like the usual suspects have assembled again."

"What do you mean?" Charlotte asked.

Chuck pointed subtly with his eyes.

"Look over by the fountain."

Charlotte did as requested. When she returned her eyes to Chuck, she frowned.

"I'm sure they're discussing business, as usual."

"I'm sure they are," Chuck said. "What I don't get is Levi's presence in that group. He hates Max and Max hates him. Yet there they are, talking like old friends."

Charlotte smiled sadly.

"I'm not at all surprised to see them together. Levi and Max have much more in common than meets the eye."

"Do you mean Emily?" Chuck asked.

"No. I mean Beck Atlantic," Charlotte said. "Levi is a major stockholder in the company and would stand to profit handsomely if the firm merged with the Gulf Star Line."

Chuck sighed.

"Suddenly a lot of things make sense."

"One thing you must always remember is that business trumps all in Texas. When there are profits to be made, even the worst of enemies can be the best of friends."

"I see. That still doesn't explain Goldie. She has no vested interest in either company."

"She doesn't," Charlotte said. "I don't know what she sees in any of those men, except for the obvious. I guess when you're poor and powerless you gravitate toward those who are not."

"I take it she doesn't confide in you."

"She doesn't. Unlike Rose, who tells me everything about the men in her life, Goldie doesn't say much at all. She keeps her private life private, which I suppose is the way it should be."

Chuck glanced again at the group by the fountain and saw the party of five become a party of one. The men tipped their hats to Goldie and walked toward the house, leaving the library assistant, flower merchant, and ex-convict behind.

When Chuck returned his eyes to Charlotte, he saw that her stomach situation had apparently worsened. She took a deep breath and placed a hand on her belly.

"Are you all right?"

"I think so. I just need to spend some time in the ladies' room," Charlotte said. "If I'm longer than ten or fifteen minutes, go ahead and get something to eat. I don't think I'll be eating much this evening."

"OK."

Chuck got up, walked around the table, and pulled out Charlotte's chair. He looked at her with obvious concern as she rose to her feet, forced a smile, and then walked toward the house.

When Charlotte disappeared through a pair of French doors, Chuck moved toward his seat but didn't reclaim it. He instead stopped by the back of the chair and glanced again at Goldie. Deciding that she might welcome some company, he walked slowly toward the fountain.

"I see your friends left you to your thoughts," Chuck said when he reached his destination. He stood near Goldie but not too close. He wanted to give her some space.

"They went into the house to smoke cigars, drink brandy, and discuss business," Goldie said.

"In other words, they wanted to talk to themselves."

"You're very observant, Mr. Townsend."

"How are you doing, Goldie? We haven't really had the chance to talk much."

"I'm doing all right, I suppose."

"That doesn't sound very convincing," Chuck said.

"It wasn't meant to."

"Are you having some difficulties?"

"When you've done time in a penitentiary, you always have difficulties," Goldie said. "I'm sure Charlotte told you all about my past."

Chuck sighed.

"She told me a few things, but she did so with tact and empathy."

"I'm sure she did. Charlotte likes to make everyone look good, even embezzlers."

Chuck paused for a moment before speaking. He could see that Goldie was in a very dark place and didn't want to dampen her mood even more by saying the wrong thing.

"For what it's worth, Goldie, I admire you. I admire what you've done to rebuild your life. A lot of other people in your shoes would have made different choices. You didn't. You came back to your hometown and made the best of a bad situation."

Goldie turned to face Chuck and smiled.

"I see Charlotte has worked her magic on you."

Chuck laughed.

"Indeed, she has."

"You want to marry her, don't you?" Goldie asked.

Chuck turned serious.

"That's a very personal question, but since we're discussing personal matters I'll answer it. As a matter of fact, I do want to marry her. I haven't worked out all the particulars, but I do want to marry her before Justin and I return to California."

"I think that's wonderful," Goldie said. "No one deserves happiness more than Charlotte."

"I agree."

"Have you told her how you feel about her?"

"I have. But I haven't hinted at marriage. Like I said, that's a work in progress."

"I see."

"I trust you will keep this to yourself," Chuck said.

"Of course."

"Thank you. I appreciate your discretion."

Goldie looked at Chuck thoughtfully.

"It's the least I can do for two people in love."

Chuck smiled and shook his head.

"I really meant it when I said I admire you. You're an admirable person."

"Don't be so certain."

"I'm not sure I follow."

Goldie smiled sadly.

"Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Townsend."

She sighed.

"Prison changes people."

CHAPTER 45: JUSTIN

Galveston, Texas – Wednesday, July 4, 1900

Justin laughed to himself as he tightened his hold on the handlebars and swerved to avoid a pedestrian. He had ridden two-wheelers in difficult situations, including a ten-mile mountain-bike race near San Bernardino, but he had never faced the horror of riding a bicycle-built-for-two through Galveston with a thrill-seeking woman barking orders at him from the back seat.

"Go faster!" Emily shouted as they roared down the Strand.

"I'm going as fast as I can," Justin said. "Do you want to crash?"

"Yes!"

Justin smiled and shook his head. He didn't know what had gotten into Emily Beck, but it was clearly something good. She had been nothing but hell on wheels since they had rented their stretch limo of a bike near the Midway and commenced a tour of the town.

He turned around to look at his back-seat driver.

"Can we at least take a breather?" Justin asked.

"Oh, all right."

Justin scouted the street for pedestrians and looked back again.

"Don't get petulant on me or …"

"Or what?"

Justin smiled.

"Or I'll kiss you."

Emily beamed.

"Please do!"

Justin laughed again and turned off of the Strand and onto the grounds that encircled the medical school. When they neared the imposing entrance of Old Red, Justin steered the bike to the right, toward a shady spot under a majestic oak, and brought the joyride to a halt.

"How are you holding up?" Justin asked.

"I'm perfectly fine," Emily said. "How are
you
holding up?"

"I'm a wreck."

Emily giggled.

"Did I push you past your limit?"

"You pushed me," Justin said. "Thankfully, you didn't push me into the Gulf."

"That's next on my agenda."

Justin chuckled and shook his head. When he was convinced that his riding partner had no more surprises in store, he hopped off the bike and relaxed for the first time since he had taken Emily to an Independence Day picnic. At her insistence, he had participated in everything from an egg-and-spoon race to a three-legged race to a seed-spitting contest.

He helped Emily off the tandem and then walked the bike to the oak tree. He leaned it against the trunk and turned to face a young woman who looked at him with mischievous eyes.

"You can wipe that smile off your face, Miss Beck. I'm done with the circus acts."

Emily forced a frown.

"You're a killjoy, Mr. Townsend."

Justin smiled warmly.

"What I am is exhausted," Justin said. "Let's sit on the lawn. It looks fairly dry."

"OK."

Justin returned to Emily, grabbed her hand, and led her around the tree to a grassy spot that looked like it had just been mowed. He then helped her to the ground, sat down beside her, and threw an arm over her shoulder.

"Now, this is more my pace," Justin said.

"I thought you liked riding bicycles."

"I do. I just like snuggling under a tree better."

Emily rested her head on his shoulder.

"I do too."

Justin pulled her close and gazed at Old Red, which loomed over the grounds like a Texan Taj Mahal. For a moment, he let his mind drift to his college days, his life in Southern California, and his once rock-solid plans to be a surgeon.

"Do you still think about it?" Justin asked.

"Think about what?"

Justin pointed to the building.

"Do you still think about attending medical school and becoming a doctor?"

Emily frowned.

"I do, but not as often as I used to."

"Why not?" Justin asked.

"Because I don't see the point of obsessing over something that will never be."

Justin took a breath.

"I know you don't want to hear this, particularly from me, but you can still become a doctor. You can do anything you want to do if you put your mind to it."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir, but my change in attitude is not driven solely by hopelessness."

"It's not?"

Emily shook her head.

"I've done a lot of thinking lately and reached a few conclusions."

"Such as?"

"Such as I'm more like my mother than I care to admit," Emily said. "I may huff and puff and make a lot of noises about being a doctor, but when it comes right down to it, I want the same things she does. I want a husband and children and a home."

Justin repositioned himself so that he could see Emily's face. He looked for a thoughtful and reflective woman and instead found one who looked resigned and sad. He grabbed her hand.

"There's no reason you can't have all those things
and
a career, Emily. Life isn't an either-or proposition. Most doctors, even women doctors, have families."

Emily looked at him with thoughtful eyes.

"You're growing on me, Justin Townsend."

"I hope it's nothing serious. I may have to call in a surgeon to remove the growth. Do you know any lady doctors I can call on a moment's notice?"

Emily laughed.

"What am I going to do with you?"

Justin put a hand on her face.

"Love me."

Emily sighed.

"That won't be difficult."

"Good."

"Justin?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for believing in me," Emily said. "Thank you for putting up with my rants and my tantrums and my boorish behavior. Thank you for allowing me to dream, if only for a while."

"You're welcome."

Justin leaned forward and kissed Emily tenderly.

"To dreams," he said.

CHAPTER 46: CHUCK

Friday, July 6, 1900

Chuck loved two things about Uncle Ben's. It was quiet, and it was secluded. Unlike Ivy's and numerous other saloons in Galveston, it was quiet and secluded seven days a week, and that was a good thing when one wanted to talk about private matters in public places.

Chuck thought about the establishment's virtues as he looked across a small table at his friend and relative. He could see that Wyatt Fitzpatrick had a lot on his mind.

"You look troubled, Wyatt. Are Silas and Max leaning on you again?"

Wyatt sipped his whiskey and smiled sadly.

"They never stop, my friend. They won't stop until I sell my father's legacy."

"What's their latest pitch?" Chuck asked.

"They have offered me a permanent seat on the board and a twenty-percent interest in the new company. They have also proposed retaining the Gulf Star name."

"That sounds like a pretty good deal. What did you tell them?"

"I told them to find something productive to do," Wyatt said.

Chuck laughed.

"I'm sure that went over well."

"It did not. Max, in particular, was incensed. He vowed to crush me if it was the last thing he did," Wyatt said matter-of-factly. "I suspect he will have that opportunity at some point."

"I wouldn't worry too much about Max," Chuck said. "If he hasn't found a way to beat you yet, I doubt he ever will."

"I like your optimism."

Chuck felt a little guilty about spreading the sunshine. If history repeated itself, Wyatt would soon have bigger things to worry about than corporate takeovers and family legacies. He berated himself once again for not unlocking the very mystery he had come to Texas to solve.

"Something tells me you have more on your mind than Silas and Max."

"I do," Wyatt said.

"Care to elaborate?"

"I've done a lot of thinking about what you told me the last time we were here."

"You don't believe me. Is that it?" Chuck asked.

"On the contrary," Wyatt said. "I believe every word. I just don't know what to make of your story or what to do about it."

"That's understandable."

"Tell me again about this hurricane."

"What do you want to know?" Chuck asked.

"Everything."

Chuck sipped his sour mash whiskey and looked around the room. He saw three men at the bar and one by the door but no one close enough to hear the conversation at his table.

"Like I told you before, I don't know everything. I didn't know everything before the burglar stole my papers and took all of the information I had. What I can tell you is that the hurricane will be bad. It will be the worst disaster this city has seen and may ever see. Most everything on the island will be swept into the sea."

"Do you remember the date of this calamity?" Wyatt asked.

"I don't," Chuck said. "I don't want to hazard a guess either. I can tell you only that it will be in early September. The bottom line, Wyatt, is that you don't want to be here when the storm hits. Move your ships, your belongings, and anyone you care about – including Rose. If you do nothing else in the next few weeks, make her understand that she simply cannot stay."