"These are delicious," Justin said.
"I thought you'd like them," Isabella said. "Do they grow rutabagas where you live?"
Justin shook his head.
"I don't think so. At least I can't remember seeing any in the stores."
"Tell us about California," Isabella said. "It must be an interesting place."
"It is," Justin said.
"How so?"
Justin paused before answering. It was one thing to describe California. It was another to describe the one that existed in 1900. He had seen it for just a few hours.
"Well, for one thing, it's pretty crazy, at least in Los Angeles, where I grew up. Thousands of people get up every day and race across town like rats to get to jobs, school, and appointments. It never lets up."
"Is it as beautiful as magazines make it out to be?" Isabella asked.
Justin nodded.
"I think so. There's a lot to do too. The thing I like about California is that you can swim in the ocean in the morning and climb mountains in the afternoon. There are deserts and forests and citrus farms everywhere. I see something different every day."
"It sounds wonderful," Isabella said.
"It is."
Justin warmed at the sight of Isabella's smile. If nothing else, he was holding serve with the missus. He started to make another comment about the Golden State but stopped when Emily joined the conversation.
"Do women have more freedom in California than they do in Texas?"
Justin turned to face Emily and noticed a change in her eyes. She seemed more interested than detached. Miss Dispassionate had suddenly found something to get excited about.
"What do you mean by that?"
"What I mean, Mr. Townsend, is this: Do women in California have the freedom to attend college and make important decisions? Or are they forever beholden to the dictates of men?"
"Emily!" Isabella said.
Justin glanced at the Becks and again saw a range of expressions. He saw annoyance in Max, mortification in Isabella, and defiance in Emily. Only Anna seemed unmoved by the exchange. She continued to look at Justin like he was a Christmas present.
"Please excuse my daughter," Max said. "She is something of a free thinker."
Emily glared at her father.
"We can't have that now. Can we, Papa?"
"Mind your manners, Emily," Isabella said. She smiled at Justin. "I'm sure our guest has better things to do than answer provocative questions."
Justin immediately saw an opportunity and seized it.
"It's all right, ma'am. I don't mind answering questions," Justin said. "As for Emily's, women in California do have more freedom. They pretty much do as they please. Many attend college and seek careers. Some start businesses. I think that's a good thing."
"Do you now?" Max asked.
"I do," Justin said.
The guest watched with interest when Emily looked at her father and lifted her nose. He watched with even greater interest when she turned his way and mouthed a thank you.
"Do you also think women should take the jobs of men?" Max asked. "Do you think they should run companies or hold public office? Do you think they should vote?"
"I think they should be allowed do all of those things," Justin said. He looked at Emily. "If they want to become doctors, they should be allowed to do that too."
Emily gave Justin a smile that could melt the polar ice cap. She was clearly enjoying the moment.
"I see I have two free thinkers at my table," Max said.
"I know my views are not popular with many, Mr. Beck, but I do believe women should have the same opportunities as men. It's only fair. It's smart too. Think of where we'd be today if Madame Curie hadn't had the opportunity to study science."
"Madame who?" Max asked.
Justin quickly recognized his error. Though Marie Curie had begun making waves in Europe as a chemist and a physicist, she had not yet won a Nobel Prize and become a household name.
"Marie Curie is a scientist in Europe who is doing some great things," Justin said. "My point is that there are a lot of smart women out there. They should be given the opportunity to reach their potential and contribute to society as much as men."
Justin again scanned the faces at the table and saw that he had made a mark. Max smoldered quietly, Isabella smiled nervously, and Emily grinned like a cat that had just consumed a sparrow. Anna simply basked in the moment. She rested her chin on her hands and sighed.
Justin wanted to press his advantage but did not. Instead, he moved quickly to mend fences with the old man. He didn't want to be on the bad side of the father of a girl he wanted to date.
"Mr. Beck?" Justin asked.
"Yes?" Max answered curtly.
"Emily tells me that you own a passenger shipping line that provides service to Mexico."
"That is correct."
"Tell me about it," Justin said. "It sounds interesting."
"What would you like to know?"
"Let's start with your boats. How many do you have? How big are they? Where do they go?"
Max put his fork on his plate.
"I have four 'boats,' as you call them. Each is more than three hundred feet long and outfitted with the finest amenities and furnishings. As for where they go, they go where I tell them to go. For the past ten years, I have told them to go to Tampico, Campeche, and Veracruz."
"Is your company based in Galveston?"
"Beck Atlantic is based here, yes."
Justin glanced at the raven-haired beauties and saw that they were still engaged, though visibly less so than when he had struck a blow for women's rights.
"Did you start out here – in Galveston, I mean?"
Max sat up in his chair.
"No. I did not. I started the company with my father in Bremerhaven in the fall of seventy-one with ships the Germans had seized from the French. My father was a friend of Bismarck."
"You're German?"
"We're all German, sir."
Emily leaned forward.
"Papa speaks only for himself, Justin. He is, indeed, a German. Mama, however, is an American," Emily said. She lifted her nose. "Anna and I are Texans."
Justin laughed.
"I can tell."
He returned to Max.
"When did you move your company?"
"I moved it in 1876 – to New Orleans, where I met and married Isabella," Max said. "Two years later, I moved the company again, this time to Galveston. Like others, Mr. Townsend, I recognized this city's potential long ago. I knew even then that this community would someday be the shining star of the South and perhaps the whole country."
"My dad shares your high opinion of the city," Justin said. "That's why he wants to make it the focal point of his book on shipping. He wants the rest of America to know what's going on here. He calls it an 'economic renaissance.'"
"I heard about your father's book. It sounds fascinating. Perhaps I could help with it."
"How so?"
"I could help by telling him what I know about shipping and this community," Max said. "I am, after all, as much a part of this 'economic renaissance' as any man in Galveston."
"I'll tell him that the first chance I get," Justin said. "In fact, I'll go one step further. I'll steer him your way as soon as he's done with the Gulf Star Line."
Justin felt the temperature in the room drop.
"What do you mean by 'done' with the line?" Max asked.
"I mean when he's done researching the company. That's what he's been doing for most of the past two weeks. He's even spoken to one of the owners. Wyatt Fitzpatrick is giving us a tour of the line's offices and one of its ships on Wednesday."
"Your father has spoken with that man?"
Justin nodded.
"He interviewed him just last night. He sees Wyatt as a promoter of progress."
Max tensed up.
"Wyatt Fitzpatrick is a promoter of himself!" Max said. "He has done nothing but thwart progress in this town."
Justin paused before speaking. He didn't want to inflame Max a second time.
"I don't understand, sir. From what I've read and heard, the Fitzpatrick brothers have done a lot to push the city's interests."
"Silas Fitzpatrick has done that," Max said. "Wyatt has done nothing."
Emily jumped in.
"What Papa means to say, Justin, is that Silas has agreed to sell the Gulf Star Line to Beck Atlantic and Wyatt has not."
"Is that true?" Justin asked Max.
"Of course it's true," Max said. "The merger of our companies would make the new line the largest in the region and create hundreds of new jobs."
"Has Wyatt given you a reason for opposing the merger?"
"As a matter of fact, he has. He does not want to betray his father's dream by selling the company he built. Your so-called 'promoter of progress' is nothing but a sentimental fool."
"I'm sure if you make him the right offer, he'll change his mind," Justin said.
Max glared at Justin.
"Minds like Wyatt's never change, young man. They never change."
Max leaned forward and lowered his voice.
"But circumstances do."
Justin sighed and sank in his chair. He didn't know what to make of the comment or the way it had been delivered, but he did know one thing. A guy named Max with serious anger issues hated Wyatt Fitzpatrick. And that was worth remembering.
CHAPTER 26: CHUCK
Wednesday, May 9, 1900
Ten minutes after following Wyatt out of the Gulf Star Line's second-largest ship, Chuck and Justin followed him into its second-largest office. The workspace of the line's chief financial officer, however, was anything but second-rate. Filled with lavish furnishings, maps, paintings, and books, it looked more like the wing of a museum than an executive office.
"Ah, you are here," Wyatt said.
A man sitting at an ornate mahogany desk lifted his eyes.
"Did you think I'd be anywhere else?"
Wyatt stepped to the side and let the Townsends advance toward the desk.
"Silas, these are the men I told you about. This is Charles Townsend, the reporter from San Francisco, and his son, Justin."
The man stood up, walked around his desk, and offered a hand.
"I'm Silas Fitzpatrick. It's a pleasure, gentlemen."
Chuck and Justin shook the hand.
"Please take a seat," Silas said as he pointed to two nearby chairs.
The Townsends did as requested.
When Silas returned to his well-upholstered throne, Wyatt grabbed a more modest chair in the corner of the room and sat next to the guests.
"Wyatt tells me you're writing a book on Galveston and shipping," Silas said to Chuck.
"That's correct," Chuck said.
"He also says you're particularly interested in the Gulf Star Line and its owners."
"That, too, is correct."
"May I ask why?" Silas asked.
Chuck was ready for the question. He had heard that Silas, a humorless man with dark hair, darker eyes, and a slender build, was even more protective of the company's reputation and the Fitzpatrick family's image than his older brother.
"Of course you may," Chuck said. "As I told Wyatt a few days ago, I don't want to write merely about the prosperity taking place here. I want to write about the people driving it. That means focusing on those who own and operate the area's fastest-growing shipping line."
"I see," Silas said. "How can I help you then?"
"You can help by giving me your views on shipping and the economy. I've already obtained information on the company from the library and information on your family from Wyatt."
Silas shot Wyatt a pointed glance.
"What I really want now is your take on all this," Chuck said. "I'd like to know, for example, if you share your brother's optimism about Galveston's future."
Silas leaned back in his chair and smiled cynically.
"I share most of it," Silas said. "Galveston has a bright future, but it could be much brighter if some in the community did not insist on taking a step backward with each two forward."
Chuck didn't press for details. He had learned all he needed to know about those inhibiting Galveston's "progress" when he had spoken to Justin Sunday night.
"What about your particular line?"
"What about it?" Silas asked.
"Do you plan to change the structure or direction of the company in the coming years?"
Silas started to answer the question but stopped when a large, dour man passed through the slightly opened door and walked into the office. He got up from his chair.
"Excuse me for a moment," Silas said.
Silas stepped away from his desk and met the man in the middle of the room. He listened to the man's whispered message, nodded a few times, and glanced at Wyatt, Chuck, and Justin. A moment later, he sent the visitor on his way.
"I'm afraid I have to cut this interview short," Silas said to Chuck. "I have new business I must attend to. Perhaps we can continue this discussion at another time."
"I'd like that."
"I believe I'm free Friday morning. You can make an appointment with my secretary before you leave."
"I'll do that," Chuck said.
Silas gave Wyatt another harsh glance and then turned to face the Townsends.
"Please excuse me."
Charles watched closely as Silas pivoted and walked toward the door. When he finally left the room, he looked at Wyatt.
"Your brother's not very talkative today," Chuck said.
"He's not very talkative, period," Wyatt said.
"Do you think he'll open up Friday morning?"
"He might. If you can convince him that your book will further his agenda, he may give you the whole day."
Chuck laughed.
"I'll keep that in mind," Chuck said. He glanced at his watch. "It looks like we have an hour to go before lunch. What should we do now?"
Wyatt stood up.
"Let's do what we should have done earlier," Wyatt said. "Let's see the rest of the building."
Thirty minutes later, at the end of the tour, Wyatt guided the Townsends into a large room that looked an awful lot like the archives room at the Texas Maritime Library. Filled with books and tables, it featured a large picture window that offered a spectacular view of Galveston Bay.
"This is our main meeting room. It's also a place where we can speak freely," Wyatt said. He looked at Chuck. "I can see from your face that you have something to say."
"I do, as a matter of fact," Chuck said.
"Please sit then."
"OK."
The three men sat in chairs at the largest table.
"What is it that you'd like to tell me?" Wyatt asked.
"It's probably nothing," Chuck said. "It's just something I noticed earlier."
"What's that?"
"Silas seemed perturbed when you first spoke to him and gave you a nasty look when I told him that you had shared family information with us," Chuck said. "Do you two get along?"
Wyatt smiled.
"We are like many brothers, Mr. Townsend. We agree on some things and not on others. In our case, we disagree on most things."
"So I hear."
"What do you mean?" Wyatt asked.
"I mean Justin had dinner with Max Beck and his family on Sunday and learned that you and Silas were at odds over a merger between the Gulf Star Line and Beck Atlantic."
"Did Max tell you that?" Wyatt asked Justin.
Justin shook his head.
"Emily did."
Wyatt laughed.
"I'm not surprised. That girl knows as much as her father and has twice the sense."
"Is it true that you oppose the merger?" Chuck asked.
"It is. I have opposed it in the past and will oppose it in the future."
"Max said as much," Justin said. "He wasn't very happy."
"I imagine he wasn't. He has wanted the merger for years," Wyatt said. H
e turned to face Chuck. "Would you like me to explain why I will never support it?"
"You can if you want, but I think I know why," Chuck said. "Max told Justin that you don't want to betray your father's dream."
"That is correct. As I have told Silas and Max many times, I will not turn my father's company over to a man who does not share his vision, much less his family name."
"I understand your position. I admire it, in fact. What I don't understand is how you and Silas can run a successful company when you are constantly at odds. Or have I got it wrong?"
Wyatt sighed.
"No. You have it right, my friend. Silas and I agree on little."
"That doesn't answer my question though," Chuck said. "How have you two managed to run a successful passenger line amid all the discord?"
Wyatt smiled sadly.
"We haven't. We've merely managed to preserve what our father gave us."
"Are you equal partners in the company?" Chuck asked.
Wyatt nodded.
"Silas handles the financial matters. I handle the operational. Neither of us has the authority to sell company stock or make a major decision without the consent of the other."
"Did your father insist on that before he died?"
"He did," Wyatt said.
Chuck got out of his chair, walked to the window, and gazed at two tugboats as they slowly pulled out of port. Something about all this didn't make sense. When that something came to him, he turned around and looked the Gulf Star Line's chief operational officer in the eyes.
"It just occurred to me that since each of you is unmarried and childless, each of you would stand to gain a lot if the other were dead," Chuck said. "Have you thought about that?"
"Of course I have. I think about it often, but I don't dwell on it."
"Why? Given what you've told me, I would think you'd dwell on it a lot."
"I don't because I don't have to," Wyatt said.
"I don't understand."
"Let me explain then. Long before he died, my father added a clause to his will designed to discourage bad behavior. It said that any brother who killed or sued the other or contested the will would be disinherited. My attorney calls the clause in terrorem. I call it peace of mind."
September Sky (American Journey Book 1) Page 13