September Sky (American Journey Book 1)

by John A. Heldt

"I mean it," Justin said. "That's the beauty of this country. People can pursue their goals or take a breather and set new ones. That's what I'm doing. I took premed classes for almost three years. Then I woke up one day and decided I didn't really want to be a doctor. So I quit college to think things over. I know now that it's only a matter of time before I find a new path."

  Justin hoped that his words would soothe and inspire. Instead, they irritated and inflamed. When he looked at the face of Emily Beck, he saw the picture of rage.

  "You had a chance to be a doctor and walked away?"

  "That's right."

  "I can't believe you did that," Emily said. "No one in their right mind does that."

  Justin reached for her arm.

  "Don't touch me! Get away from me!"

  Justin sighed as Emily glared at him with eyes he hadn't seen since their contentious encounter at the café. He started to defend his surprisingly indefensible decisions when he saw a woman push open a door and quickly exit the house.

  "Is everything all right, Emily? I thought I heard shouting."

  "Everything is fine, Mama."

  "Mama" passed through the front gate and approached Justin and Emily.

  "Who is this man?"

  "This is Justin Townsend," Emily said. "He walked me home from the library."

  The mother bear treated Justin like he was a clear and present danger. She got in his face, looked him in the eyes, and stared at him until he finally turned away. Then just as quickly she dropped her guard and shifted from cool to cordial. She stepped back, smiled warmly, and extended a hand.

  "It's nice to meet you, Justin. I'm Isabella Beck, Emily's mother."

  Justin took the hand.

  "It's a pleasure, Mrs. Beck."

  "I detect an accent," Isabella said. "Where are you from?"

  "I'm from California."

  "California? Oh, my! You're a long way from home."

  "I sure am," Justin said as he pondered the understatement of the year. He wondered what Isabella would think if he told her just how far he had traveled.

  "Did you come here with family?"

  Justin nodded.

  "I came here with my father. He's gathering information for a book he plans to write on Galveston and the shipping industry. I help him with his research."

  "That sounds interesting," Isabella said.

  "It is, for the most part.

  "How long have you been here?"

  "We've been here about a week and a half," Justin said. He shot Emily a pointed glance. "We arrived the day the statue was dedicated."

  Isabella turned to face Emily.

  "Why have you never mentioned this man?"

  "I haven't mentioned him because I didn't think he was important," Emily said. "He's just a person who loiters at the library."

  Justin sighed.

  Demoted again.

  "No one is just a person, Emily. Everyone is special in some way."

  Emily glared at her mother. When she didn't get the reaction she apparently sought, she huffed, shook her head, and looked away.

  "Please excuse my daughter's manners," Isabella said. "I'm sure she thinks of you as more than 'a person' or she would not have allowed you to walk her home."

  "I'm sure you're right, ma'am."

  Isabella glanced at Emily and then turned back to Justin.

  "I'm sure you have seen and done much since you arrived. What do you think of our fair little community?"

  "I love it," Justin said. "I love everything about it. I love the beaches, the restaurants, the weather, and the people. The people here are the friendliest I've ever met."

  Isabella smiled.

  "How long are you planning to stay?"

  "I'm not sure. I guess until my father completes his work," Justin said. "I can tell you that we will be here at least four more weeks. We just moved into a small rental down the street and have paid for it through the end of May."

  Justin glanced at Emily and noticed that the fire in her eyes still raged. He knew that her anger over his seemingly innocuous college comments would not dissipate soon.

  "Have you had supper, young man?" Isabella asked.

  "No. I haven't."

  "Then why don't you join us? I just made some chicken and dumplings."

  Emily jumped in.

  "I'm sure Mr. Townsend has other plans, Mama."

  "Do you have other plans?" Isabella asked.

  Justin looked at Emily and saw that her mood had not improved. As much as he wanted to sit at her table and explain his actions, he knew that tonight was not the night.

  "As a matter of fact, I do, Mrs. Beck. I'm meeting my father for supper," Justin said truthfully. "Thanks, anyway, for the invitation. Perhaps I can accept it another day."

  Isabella frowned.

  "Perhaps you can," Isabella said.

  Justin took a deep breath and looked for an escape hatch. It was time to bring this awkward exchange to a conclusion and retreat to the beach house.

  "I should probably go," he said. "It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Beck."

  Justin turned to Miss Indignation.

  "See you around, Emily."

  The young woman appeared relieved.

  "How about dinner on Sunday?" Isabella asked. "I'm cooking a roast. You can meet the rest of the family and tell us all about California. Please say you'll come."

  Justin winced when he heard the conviction in her voice. He knew now that Isabella Beck had no intention of taking no for an answer. He laughed to himself.

  Mothers.

  Justin glanced at Emily one more time – not to seek her approval but to remind himself that she was worth another contentious encounter. He wanted to see her again, even if it meant incurring her considerable wrath. He turned to Isabella.

  "I believe that's an offer I can't refuse, Mrs. Beck," Justin said. "I'd love to come."

  Isabella beamed.

  "Then I'll set another plate," she said. "Dinner, Mr. Townsend, is at one."

  CHAPTER 22: CHUCK

  Friday, May 4, 1900

  Since taking her out for dinner seven days earlier, Charles Townsend had learned a lot about Charlotte Trudeau Emerson. He learned that she played the piano like a master, made breakfast for her staff every Thursday, and spoke four dialects of French, including a Creole variety called Missouri paw-paw that had been pushed to the edge of extinction by 2016.

  Charlotte also liked to walk. When she wasn't walking fourteen blocks to work, she was walking half that far to church or often twice that far to shops, restaurants, and parks.

  So when Charlotte asked Chuck to go for a walk on a rare Friday off, he knew it would be more than a short, leisurely stroll. It would be a marathon – a marathon that began on the mile-long stretch of concessions, amusements, and resorts known as the Midway.

  "Thank you for joining me today," Charlotte said. "I have the impression you're not as fond of walking long distances as I am."

  "You're right," Chuck said. "I'm not."

  Both of them laughed.

  "I am, however, very fond of my new friend and wouldn't think of passing up an opportunity to spend an entire day with her."

  Charlotte squeezed his arm.

  "Thank you again."

  "You're welcome, Miss Emerson – or is it Mrs. Emerson?"

  Charlotte smiled softly.

  "The answer to that question varies daily."

  "I don't understand," Chuck said.

  Charlotte sighed.

  "It's simple, really. It depends on whether I'm looking forward or backward."

  "I see."

  "When you're a widow, Charles, you must make many decisions, such as whether to keep your title and whether to wear your ring. I usually go by Mrs. Emerson because I want people to know I was married to a wonderful man. But I leave my ring in a box because I want them to know I haven't stopped living."

  Chuck looked at his friend with awe. He had known many women in his forty-five years but only one that measured up
to this one. Like Megan Townsend, Charlotte Emerson was beautiful inside and out and possessed qualities that were as refreshing as they were rare.

  "That's a lovely sentiment, Mrs. Emerson. Your husband was lucky."

  Charlotte smiled again.

  "I like to think that we both were."

  Chuck paused to survey his surroundings as he walked with Charlotte along the seemingly never-ending shore. To his right and in the distance lay a hodgepodge of buildings that ranged from opulent resorts and concert halls to poorly constructed shacks and frame houses. To his left lay the Gulf itself, a shimmering spectacle that had already begun to draw thousands from Houston, Austin, San Antonio, and points beyond.

  Just seeing the buildings filled Chuck with dread. He knew that most of what he saw now would be gone by early September, swept away by wind and waves that few on the island would see coming and even fewer would be able to avoid.

  Chuck didn't know whether he would warn residents of the coming disaster or even alert those in positions of authority. He knew only that he had some decisions to make if he remained in Galveston, Texas, and that none of those decisions would be easy. He gave the matter a little more thought and then turned to the woman at his side.

  "Do you mind if I ask you a very personal question?"

  Charlotte met his eyes.

  "That depends on the question, of course. But if we're going to get to know each other better, then I suppose we have to start somewhere."

  "I assure you that it's nothing inappropriate," Chuck said. "I just wondered the other day why you and your husband never had children."

  Charlotte slowed down.

  "I knew you would ask that at some point," Charlotte said. She frowned. "The truth of the matter is that we couldn't have children. Isaac had a medical condition that made it impossible for him to have offspring."

  "What a shame. I'm sure the two of you would have made wonderful parents."

  "I'm sure we would have. We both loved children."

  Charlotte took a deep breath.

  "Now, it's my turn."

  Chuck smiled. He knew what was coming.

  "Fire away, my lady."

  Charlotte looked at Chuck with kind eyes.

  "Why did you divorce your wife?"

  "I didn't divorce her," Chuck said. "She divorced me. She divorced me when Justin was five because I spent more time writing stories and chasing down leads than enjoying the best wife and son a man could ask for. I lived in Northern California at the time. She raised Justin in Southern California. My son and I have spent more time with each other in the past seven weeks than we have in the past seven years."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," Charlotte said. "I'm sorry for you."

  "Don't be. This trip has brought us together in ways you can't possibly imagine. I have a son again – and my son has a father."

  Charlotte nodded.

  "I haven't really had the opportunity to speak to Justin, even though I see him almost every day. Does he like it here?"

  Chuck laughed.

  "I think the answer to that question, like your opinion of Miss vs. Mrs., varies daily," Chuck said. "He definitely likes the city, but I think he is frustrated with the people here."

  "Is he frustrated with people in general or one person in particular?"

  Chuck smiled.

  "I think the sum of his frustration works for you four days a week."

  Charlotte giggled.

  "I've noticed as much. I don't know what is going on between your son and my assistant, but I do know that Emily hasn't been the same since the two of you arrived."

  "Justin hasn't been the same either," Chuck said. "He said that their walk to her house the other day ended badly. But it couldn't have ended that badly."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "I say that because Justin is having dinner with the Becks Sunday afternoon."

  "That's odd," Charlotte said. "Emily asked me just yesterday if she could work on Sunday, even though the library is closed. She insisted I give her some papers to file."

  Chuck laughed.

  "Perhaps there's more to this dinner than meets the eye."

  "It would appear so," Charlotte said.

  "I do know that Justin likes her," Chuck said. "He's told me as much. He's just not sure that Emily likes him. In fact, he's not sure she likes men, period."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "I mean she apparently said a mouthful when Justin met her at the café last week, including something about men being 'liars and cheaters' and 'users and abusers.'"

  "I'm not surprised," Charlotte said. "Many of the men she has dated have fit that description."

  "I think we saw one of them the day we arrived in Galveston," Chuck said. "When we attended the dedication of the heroes monument, we saw Emily shake off a man who apparently had an interest in her."

  "Was he a slim, dashing man in his late thirties?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you saw Levi MacArthur or 'Mac' as his supporters call him," Charlotte said. "He is a local prosecutor and a politician in training. He was also Emily's fiancé until he apparently chose not to honor his commitment to her."

  "That's what Justin said."

  Charlotte looked at Chuck.

  "Don't let Emily's demeanor fool you. She may seem bitter and angry, but inside she's a kind and loving person. I've seen her interact with her sister and other children. She has a lot of love to give. She just hasn't found a man worthy of receiving it."

  "I believe it."

  When the two approached a busy concession stand, Chuck decided to stop and order a couple of lemonades. Ten minutes later, the walkers returned to the esplanade and continued their surprisingly candid conversation.

  "Now that you've told me more than you probably should have about Emily, why don't you do the same with Rose," Chuck said with a shameless smile. "I know you talked about her a bit at dinner the other night, but I'd like to know more. What's her story?"

  Charlotte gave Chuck a playful glance and then looked away.

  "There's not a lot more to say. Rose is a hometown girl who never left home, except to attend college in Missouri. When she gave up the local stage a few years ago, she came to the library to work for me. Even though she had no previous library experience, she learned her job quickly and is now my most capable employee."

  "Has she ever married?" Chuck asked. "I'm frankly astonished a woman that attractive and vivacious doesn't have ten husbands – or at least a gaggle of boyfriends."

  Charlotte laughed.

  "How do you know she doesn't?"

  "I guess I don't," Chuck said sheepishly.

  Charlotte looked at him more thoughtfully.

  "As I stated the other night, Rose is very guarded about her personal life," Charlotte said. "She hasn't married, I suppose, because she hasn't found the right man."

  "Is she seeing someone right now?"

  Charlotte blushed.

  "She is."

  Chuck laughed.

  "I can see from your face that I've asked enough about Rose, so I'll move on."

  "I think that's a good idea," Charlotte said.

  "OK then. What can you tell me about Goldie?"

  "What would you like to know?"

  "Well, for starters, how did you meet her?" Chuck asked.

  "I met Goldie when she applied for an opening at the library two years ago."

  "Did she have any library experience?"

  "No. She did not," Charlotte said. "Like Rose, she was new to the profession. But she had worked in an office and had excellent organizational skills. I knew she would be easy to train."

  "Are the two of you friends?"

  Charlotte hesitated before answering.

  "We are friends in the most general sense of the word. We work well together and will occasionally do something away from the library. Last Thursday, for example, we went out for lunch at Lafitte's."

  "I've been to that place. It's quite an establishment."

>   "Yes. It is," Charlotte said. She playfully scolded him with her eyes for interrupting. "As I tried to say, I am friends with Goldie but not in the same way I am friends with Rose or even Emily, of whom I'm quite fond. She is someone I admire and respect but do not count among my closest friends."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Emerson, for that thoughtful explanation."

  Charlotte laughed.

  "You're welcome."

  "There are two things about Goldie I can't figure out though."

  "Oh? What are they?" Charlotte asked.

  "The first is that she doesn't seem to like Rose."

  "She doesn't."

  "Why is that?" Chuck asked.

  "I don't know exactly, but I suspect it's because she's envious of how easily Rose makes and keeps friends – including male friends," Charlotte said. She smiled. "I'm envious of that."

  Chuck laughed.

  "You shouldn't be."

  "If you say so," Charlotte said. "What's the other thing you can't figure out?"

  "I can't figure out why Goldie always seems anxious. Every time I see her, she's either looking over her shoulder or scanning the room like she's doing something she shouldn't."

  Chuck sensed he had stepped in it even before Charlotte lessened her grip on his arm and looked away. What he had stepped in, however, he did not yet know.

  "Did I say something wrong?" Chuck asked.

  "No."

  "Is my comment unfair?"

  "No. It's very fair," Charlotte said. She looked Chuck in the eyes. "I can see why you went into journalism. You're very observant."

  "Then what is it?" Chuck asked.

  "I'm hesitant to tell you because I don't think it's my place to do so."

  "You don't have to tell me a thing. It's probably none of my business anyway."

  "You're right," Charlotte said. "The reason Goldie appears anxious all the time is none of your business, but it's something I should probably tell you."

  "Why? If it's none of my business, it's none of my business."

  "The problem is that if you don't hear it from me, you will probably hear it from someone else. I would rather you hear it from someone who has all the facts and has Goldie's best interests at heart."

  "Then what is it?" Chuck asked. "What do you need to tell me?"

  Charlotte stopped and pulled away from Chuck. She stepped to the edge of the esplanade and stared blankly at the gentle waves that rolled in from the Gulf. When she returned her attention to her friend, she did so with troubled eyes.