September Sky (American Journey Book 1)

by John A. Heldt

  "It's a pleasure to meet you," Charlotte said. She stepped back and looked at each of her visitors. "I haven't heard your accents before. Where are you from?"

  "We're from California," Chuck said.

  "I thought that might be the case. I must say I'm envious. I've always wanted to see your wonderful state, but I've never had the opportunity."

  "I'm sure that will change."

  Charlotte smiled sweetly.

  "I hope so. I love visiting interesting places," Charlotte said with a lilt that was a lovely fusion of Midwest and Southwest. "In any case, I'm sure you didn't come all the way from California to hear me talk about travel. What can I show you that will help with your research?"

  "That's hard to say, since we don't know what you have," Chuck said.

  "Let me ask a different question then. What are you planning to write about?"

  Chuck took a few seconds to gather his thoughts. Even though he had rehearsed the lie many times, he wanted to get it right. He might have to remember details later.

  "I'm planning to write a book about shipping and Galveston's leading role in that industry. I'm particularly interested in the passenger lines that serve the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean. I learned on the train ride here that one of the more successful companies is based in this town and is owned by a family named Fitzpatrick."

  Chuck saw a head turn when he uttered "Fitzpatrick." The second librarian pushed her work to the side and walked to the other end of the desk to join the party of three.

  "If it's the Gulf Star Line you want to learn about, then you've come to the right place," she said. "Silas and Wyatt Fitzpatrick run the company, which was founded by their father. The Gulf Star is the most prestigious line in Texas."

  "Thank you for that information, ma'am," Chuck said.

  "This is Goldie Gates," Charlotte said. "She is one of my three assistants and is our resident expert on commercial and passenger shipping."

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gates."

  "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Townsend."

  Chuck winced when he heard his name. Miss Gates had done more than note his interest in local passenger lines. She had listened to the conversation from the start.

  Chuck took a moment to assess the blonde. Like Charlotte, she was attractive, articulate, and clearly informed. Unlike Charlotte, she had lifeless eyes, an icy smile, and a businesslike edge to her voice. Tall and poised, she appeared to be in her late twenties.

  "If you're in a hurry, I can turn you over to Goldie right now," Charlotte said. "I'm sure she'll be able to answer most of your questions. Or, if you prefer, I can continue with a general tour of the library."

  Chuck laughed to himself as he considered his options. He could talk to Goldie and get the information he wanted or spend more time with the library's delightful director. He gave the matter a few seconds of thought and then returned with his answer.

  "Let's start with the tour. If I have any questions about the Gulf Star Line, I'll save them for your knowledgeable assistant."

  "Then let's begin," Charlotte said. She glanced at Goldie. "We'll be in the archives if anyone wishes to speak to me."

  "Take your time," Goldie said.

  Charlotte turned back to the visitors and smiled.

  "Please follow me, gentlemen."

  Two minutes later, the librarian with the kind eyes and the soft voice led the Townsends into a room that gave new meaning to the word archives. It was not small, dusty, and dark but rather spacious, clean, and brightly lit. A paned window the size of a bedroom wall offered a stunning view of the harbor.

  Chuck admired the view for a moment and then turned his attention to the main attraction – the collection. He saw thousands of volumes on shelves that climbed the walls and nearly as many in freestanding units that shot up from the floor. He could smell the leather that covered some of the books, not to mention the money that had gone into the facility.

  "I'm impressed," Chuck said. "Does the state fund all this?"

  "The state doesn't fund a thing," Charlotte said. "This is a privately financed institution. It is supported by grants, donations, and subsidies from the very companies that built this city and want it to be the envy of every seaport from Seattle to Savannah."

  "Tell me about this collection. What do you have here?"

  "We have everything," Charlotte said with obvious enthusiasm. "We have statistics, logs, financial reports, company histories, and even biographies of major figures in the maritime industry. There is no library like this in America. I have no doubt you will find much on the Gulf Star Line and every other line on the coast."

  "I believe it," Chuck said.

  Chuck walked to the west side of the room and pulled a book from a shelf. It contained the names of people who had immigrated to the United States through the Port of Galveston. A moment later, he moved to the east side and fetched a complete history of the city. The seaport traced its roots to the early 1800s and the pirate Jean Lafitte.

  "There's a lot of history in this town," Chuck said.

  "Do you like history, Mr. Townsend?"

  Chuck smiled warmly at Charlotte.

  "I like a lot of things, Miss Emerson."

  Charlotte blushed.

  When she recovered, she walked to a shelf on the east wall and pulled a book the size of a dictionary. She placed it on a nearby table and opened the tome to a page in the middle.

  "If you like history, particularly the history of this area, then you will want to look at this book," Charlotte said. "It was written by a native Galvestonian who now teaches at the university in Austin. It is considered the definitive work on the history of the island. This chapter is the first of many on local shipping."

  Chuck watched and listened closely as the librarian thumbed through the book and explained what it contained. He noticed that she suddenly seemed reluctant to look him in the eyes. He had apparently rattled her with his mildly flirtatious comment and felt bad about it. Like Justin, who stared blankly out the picture window at a cargo ship leaving port, he had to watch his tongue.

  "Are you the 'resident expert' on local history?" Chuck asked.

  "I know enough to direct our patrons to the right resources, but I'm not the expert when it comes to Galveston's past. That would be Rose O'Malley."

  "Is she here?"

  "She is today," a woman said as she emerged from the stacks with a book in her hand. The library assistant, who appeared to be Charlotte's age, wore a wide grin.

  Charlotte shook her head.

  "I should have known she might be hiding in here," Charlotte said to Chuck. "This is her favorite part of the library."

  Charlotte turned to face her assistant.

  "Rose, this is Charles Townsend, a new patron. I'm giving him a tour of the place."

  "It's a pleasure," Rose said. "I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Townsend. I was pulling some old reports and couldn't help but listen in. It's a bad habit of mine."

  Chuck laughed.

  "That's all right. I do it all the time. Eavesdropping is a tool of the trade in journalism."

  "You're a journalist?"

  "I'm a newspaper reporter – or at least I used to be. My son and I came to Galveston to do research for a book about shipping," Chuck said. He pointed toward the window. "That's Justin over there."

  Rose and Justin exchanged waves.

  "Where are y'all from?" Rose asked.

  "California."

  "California? Oh, goodness gracious! I went to San Francisco a few years ago with my brother George. It's the prettiest place on the planet, if you ask me."

  Chuck smiled.

  "I like it too."

  Chuck took a close look at the effervescent redhead and laughed to himself. He didn't know if the Texas Maritime Library had the best and most when it came to materials on shipping, but it certainly had cornered the market on pretty, knowledgeable librarians. He wondered if the hiring committee consisted of cigar-chomping, whiskey-drinking men.


  "So you're the go-to gal on Galveston?" Chuck asked.

  "I should hope so," Rose said with a deep Texas twang. "I was born here, grew up here, and will probably die here unless I find my millionaire and run off to Paris. I can tell you everything you want to know about this town and a few things you don't want to know."

  Chuck glanced at Charlotte and saw her try to contain a smile. He could only imagine what it was like to manage Rose O'Malley.

  "It sounds like we need to talk," Chuck said.

  "Are you planning to stay in town for a while?" Rose asked.

  "We are. We'll be here at least a couple of weeks."

  "That's good. I've got my hands full with these reports. Let's plan to meet next week. I'll have all the time in the world then to chew the fat."

  "Sounds like a plan," Chuck said.

  "I'd better go," Rose said. "It was nice meeting you."

  "You too."

  Chuck watched Rose as she grabbed two books off a table and walked toward a door bearing a STAFF ONLY sign. When she disappeared, he returned his eyes to Charlotte.

  "I think I'm going to enjoy talking to her."

  "I'm sure you will. Rose is a font of information," Charlotte said. "She can tell you things you won't find in any of these books."

  Chuck laughed.

  "I'll bet she can."

  Charlotte resumed the tour a few minutes later. She showed the Townsends the map collection, a room featuring replicas of merchant ships, and a small museum dedicated to the naval heroes of Texas. When she was finished, she led the visitors into a gallery filled with framed photographs of virtually every kind of vessel afloat.

  Chuck found all of it fascinating. He wondered why he had never heard of the library until arriving in Galveston. Then he remembered something he had read in one of the articles. The hurricane had destroyed nearly every building on the waterfront, including this very facility.

  He walked to the longest wall in the gallery and examined dozens of photographs. He saw pictures of everything from dinghies to ironclad warships. Most of the photos had been taken in the past thirty years. Nearly all were mesmerizing.

  Chuck glanced at Justin and saw that his interest in the photos was just as keen. He closely examined pictures of clippers, men-o'-war, privateers, and other ships that had all but disappeared when sailors had turned to steam.

  Chuck studied his son for a moment and then shifted his attention to his tour guide, the beautiful woman with the unadorned left hand. He wanted to see her again and see her in a social setting. If doing so broke one of Professor Geoffrey Bell's rules of time-travel etiquette, then so be it. He wouldn't walk through 1900 on eggshells.

  Deciding to rekindle the conversation with the library director who had left the Townsends to enjoy the photos on their own, Chuck walked toward a corner of the room. He started to ask Charlotte if she needed help straightening a picture but stopped when he saw a young woman enter the gallery from a side door and approach the boss.

  "I couldn't find the picture of the blockade runner," she said to Charlotte. "It wasn't in either of the storage rooms. I don't know where else to look."

  "Don't worry about it, Emily. I probably put it in a box when we moved things last week. I'll find it," Charlotte said. "Why don't you see if Goldie needs help at the desk? I imagine it's getting busy now."

  "OK."

  The girl stared at a bare spot on the wall, frowned, and made a beeline for the main door. She left the gallery a few seconds later but not before exchanging glances with one Justin Townsend.

  Chuck laughed to himself as he watched Emily the Picture Hunter exit the room. She was the young woman who had left her male companion at the statue dedication. Life at the library, he concluded, was about to become interesting.

  CHAPTER 16: CHUCK

  Tuesday, April 24, 1900

  Chuck surveyed the large utilitarian room and smiled. He could think of a number of adjectives to describe Lafitte's, but pretentious wasn't one of them.

  With cable spools for tables, wooden crates for chairs, and weathered boards for walls, the restaurant on Market Street looked more like a rustic warehouse than one of Galveston's most celebrated eateries. Even the clientele gave the place an informal feel. Dockworkers and sailors in work clothes outnumbered businessmen in suits at least three to one.

  Chuck found the food, however, to be anything but second-rate. The sautéed prawns in front of him were as delicious as any he had eaten in San Francisco. Whatever one could say about the cooks in this joint, they knew how to prepare bounty from the sea.

  Chuck returned his attention to the eating machine on the other side of his table. He needed only a second to see that someone else was enjoying his lunch too.

  "Do the prawns meet your approval?" Chuck asked.

  Justin washed down a mouthful of food with a swig of beer.

  "I'll let you know tomorrow when we come back for more," Justin said.

  Chuck laughed and shook his head.

  "You do that."

  Chuck took a sip of coffee and gazed at his son. As he watched Justin finish the seafood that might need additional evaluation, he thought about the things they had done in their first three days in Galveston, the things they hadn't done, and the things they hoped to do.

  "You haven't said much about our visit to the library yesterday," Chuck said.

  "That's because I'm still having some doubts about all this," Justin said. "I know you want to save this guy, but is it really our place to do so? I mean history has already played out once in this town. I'm not sure we should go about rewriting it."

  Chuck nodded.

  "I've been thinking the same thing. People come and go. Some make a mark, some don't. Some have children, some don't," Chuck said. "Wyatt Fitzpatrick left no heirs. His family line, to my knowledge, died the day he did."

  "Then why are we still here?"

  "We're still here because I can't let it go. An innocent man will be executed in a few months, a man who meant a lot to my grandfather's grandfather. If I don't at least try to stop the injustice while I have the chance, I'll never be able to live with myself."

  Justin gave his father a pointed glance.

  "Is that the only reason you want to stay in Galveston?"

  Chuck smiled and sighed.

  "No. I suppose it isn't."

  "I'm not judging, Dad. Charlotte's nice – and pretty. She looks just like Mom. She looks so much like Mom it's scary."

  "It is," Chuck said. "I did a double take when we walked into the library."

  "Is that why you like her?" Justin asked. "Because she looks like Mom?"

  Chuck shook his head.

  "No. If anything, that's a strike. Looking at her yesterday reminded me of all the mistakes I made with your mother, mistakes I hope never to repeat. The reason I like Charlotte is because she's a kind, intelligent woman – a woman I'd like to know better."

  Chuck paused for a moment to think about what he had said. He wanted to know Charlotte better in part because he didn't know her at all, at least not away from the library. He had learned only that she was a childless widow who had moved to Galveston from Missouri as a young woman and had served the city nobly as one of its most prominent information professionals.

  "Are you going to ask her out?" Justin asked.

  "I don't know. I want to, but I'm still debating whether I should. Suppose we went out and ended up liking each other. What's the point of starting something you can't finish?"

  "I know what you mean. That's why I haven't bothered looking at girls on this trip."

  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.