September Sky (American Journey Book 1)

by John A. Heldt

  "Different?"

  Anna nodded.

  "She said you were 'different' the other day. She never calls Mr. MacArthur 'different.' She just says he's 'difficult.'"

  Justin laughed. He was ready to adopt Anna as his little sister.

  Justin began to ask another question but stopped when he saw Emily throw up her arms, turn around, and walk back his way. When she finally reached the table and took her seat, he offered a friendly smile.

  "Looks like you had your hands full," Justin said.

  "It was nothing I couldn't handle," Emily said.

  Justin glanced at the curio shop and saw that the men had left.

  "Was he threatening you?"

  "No. He was spying on me."

  "Why?" Justin asked. "You're not doing anything wrong."

  "Sure I am. I'm living my life without him."

  "Does this have anything to do with me?"

  "Of course it does," Emily said. "You're kind. You're considerate. You're spending time with me. All three are crimes in this town. I'm sure Levi can't wait to prosecute."

  Justin looked at Emily and saw that she was rattled. Then he took a closer look and saw moisture in her eyes.

  "Emily, are you OK? If you're not, I can take you home."

  "No!"

  Justin looked away for a moment to collect his thoughts. He returned his attention to Emily when he felt a soft hand touch his.

  "I'm sorry for snapping," Emily said. "I'm just tired of men controlling my life and telling me what to do."

  Justin offered a reassuring smile.

  "I understand."

  Emily thanked him with her eyes and then turned to her sundae – or what was left of it. Her ice cream had turned to mush.

  "I guess I'm not the only one having a bad day," Emily said as she laughed through tears.

  Justin chuckled.

  "Would you like another one?"

  "Yes."

  Justin glanced at Anna and noticed that she had finished her concoction. She had reverted to form by putting her chin on her hands and staring at her new big brother with awe.

  "Anna, would you like to earn a dollar?"

  The girl nodded.

  "OK," Justin said. He pulled two coins from a pocket and placed them on the table. "The dime is for the man who sold us the sundaes. The dollar is for you. Can you buy your sister something that will bring a smile to her face?"

  Anna nodded again.

  "OK then. Go do it. Take all the time you need."

  Anna grabbed both coins and walked to the back of a long line that had formed in front of a small shack that sold ice cream and other concessions.

  "You should be ashamed for using a child like that," Emily said.

  Justin saw a smile form on her face.

  "I got you to smile, didn't I?"

  "Yes. You did," Emily said. "But you didn't have to send her off to talk to me. Anna and I keep nothing from each other. She is fully aware of the drama in my life."

  "It's nothing big," Justin said. "I just wanted to see if you were really all right."

  "I'm really all right."

  "That's good enough for me. I do have one question though."

  "What's that?" Emily asked.

  "Who was the guy standing next to Levi?"

  Emily sighed.

  "His name is Thomas Mack. Why do you ask?"

  "I'm just curious. I saw him deliver a message to Silas Fitzpatrick on Wednesday," Justin said. "Whatever it was, it was important enough to scuttle my dad's interview. What does he do?"

  Emily frowned.

  "That depends on who you ask. According to the people who compile the city directory, he runs an investigative agency on Water Street. According to the people I talk to, he does dirty work for men too cowardly to do it themselves. I'm embarrassed to say that my father has employed him for years."

  Justin looked away and shook his head. As much as he wanted to comfort Emily, he needed a moment to digest what she had said. Since arriving in Galveston on April 25, he had run into three men named Mac, Max, or Mack. The number of suspects in a murder that had not yet been committed was starting to grow.

  CHAPTER 30: CHUCK

  Tuesday, May 15, 1900

  As he walked out of Charlotte Emerson's house for the second time in five days, Chuck couldn't help but notice something. Even though he had seen Charlotte several times since their dinner at the Seafarer on April 27, he still hadn't kissed her. He hadn't even come close. He pondered that unacceptable situation for a moment as he watched three others join him on a brick walkway that divided a landscaped front yard.

  "Thank you for dinner," Chuck said. "It was the best I've had in years."

  "You don't need to flatter me, Charles. I know you like my cooking," Charlotte said.

  Both of them laughed.

  "He means it though. Your cooking is much better than what we're used to," Justin said. "You should see what he fixes when it's just the two of us. It's not pretty."

  Emily Beck, standing next to Charlotte, smiled smugly and raised a brow.

  "Then maybe it's time you two learned how to cook."

  Justin chuckled.

  "Yeah. I suppose it is."

  Chuck jumped in.

  "In any case, it was nice of you to invite us and nice of Goldie to stay late at the library so we could get an early start on dinner. Be sure to thank her if you see her before I do."

  "I will," Charlotte said.

  Chuck nodded and shifted his eyes to Emily.

  "As for you, young lady, are you sure you don't want us to stick around? We'd be more than happy to walk you home. Justin, I'm sure, would be very happy to walk you home."

  "Thank you for the offer, Mr. Townsend, but I won't need an escort this evening," Emily said. "I'm spending the night here."

  "You're not going home?" Justin asked.

  Emily smiled and shook her head.

  "I have asked Emily to stay," Charlotte said as a grin formed on her face. "We have many important matters to discuss – matters that can't wait until morning."

  Chuck laughed.

  "OK. I get the hint. Good night, ladies."

  Chuck glanced at Justin and saw he wasn't quite ready to let Charlotte have the last word on whether Emily stayed or went.

  "Are you sure?" Justin asked.

  "I'm sure," Emily said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  "OK. See you."

  Justin turned around and joined his father at the front gate. He didn't speak until they had walked the first two blocks of their twelve-block journey home.

  "We could have loitered a bit more," Justin said.

  "No. We did the right thing by leaving," Chuck said. "When two women want to compare notes on two men, the best thing the men can do is get out of their way."

  Chuck glanced at Justin and saw a lost sheep.

  "You like her, don't you?"

  "I love her," Justin said. "Every time I see her I want to hug her and kiss her, but I'm afraid to even touch her. She wants nothing to do with dating right now. She wants nothing to do with men. She hates half the human race."

  Chuck laughed.

  "She may hate men, but she definitely doesn't hate you. I noticed the way she looked at you tonight. You, my son, are the exception to the rule."

  "I hope so," Justin said. "I really hope so."

  Chuck wanted to say more but knew he shouldn't. To encourage a relationship that could not possibly last more than a few months would be cruel. So he kept to himself.

  Chuck thought about pleasant things as he continued down Avenue M. He thought about Charlotte's cooking, her mesmerizing smile, and the lovely dress she had worn at dinner. He even thought about the deft but humorous way that she had ushered him out of her house.

  Then he reached the front of his beach rental on Eighth Street and saw something that chased the pleasant thoughts away. He saw curtains sway inside an open window. He moved quickly for the door and reached for his key but quickly discovered he didn't ne
ed it. The door was unlocked.

  "Someone paid a visit tonight," Chuck said.

  "You sure we should go in?" Justin asked.

  "Yes. I'm sure."

  Chuck pushed open the door, rushed into the one-room residence, and flipped on the light. He needed only seconds to realize that the place had been burglarized.

  "Oh, no," Justin said as he entered the cabin.

  "Oh, yes. It looks like he was thorough."

  Chuck rushed to a desk on the east side of the room and went through the drawers one by one. Drawer by drawer, he realized the magnitude of his loss. The burglar had taken not only his notes on the Fitzpatricks but also the five photocopies he had brought from the future. Whoever had entered the residence now had priceless information.

  "Check the clock," Chuck said.

  "The what?" Justin asked.

  "Check the clock on the mantel. Check the drawer at the bottom."

  Justin raced to the west side of the room, where a hardwood steeple clock stood atop a fireplace mantle. He pulled out the drawer and held it out for his father to see.

  "It's empty."

  Chuck felt his stomach sink.

  "What's wrong, Dad? What's wrong?"

  Chuck sighed.

  "I put the white crystal in that drawer."

  Justin didn't wait to hear more. He sprinted to the higher of two bunks that took up a corner of the cabin and shoved his hand under a mattress that had clearly been moved out of place.

  Chuck knew even before Justin lifted the mattress that they were in trouble. When Justin threw the mattress to the floor and began tearing off the blanket and sheets, real fear, the kind he hadn't felt in years, began to set in.

  "It's gone, Dad. It's gone!"

  Chuck closed his eyes as the relevance of the discoveries set in. They were stuck in 1900 with no means to return to their own time. He tried to clear his mind and think of something constructive but was distracted by the sound of furniture being moved about.

  Justin had commenced a frantic search. He had thrown Chuck's mattress to the floor, removed the bedding, and shaken it like a madman. When he began pulling the drawers out of a small bureau and turning them upside down, Chuck stepped toward his son and spoke.

  "Justin, stop!"

  "We have to keep looking, Dad. We have to keep looking!"

  Chuck started to repeat his command but stopped when he saw the hopelessness in his son's eyes. He knew the burglar had taken everything of value, including their tickets to 2016, but he saw no harm in searching some more. So he walked quietly to the other end of the cabin and began going through cabinets, drawers, and scattered debris.

  When he finally reached the dishes and pans that had been tossed on the floor, he berated himself for making the trip. He had been a fool to pass through the portal and an even bigger fool for taking Justin along.

  Chuck winced every time he heard Justin swear or throw something on the floor or move quickly from one place to another. He didn't dare turn around. He wasn't sure he could handle the panic, fear, and disappointment he would surely see on his son's face.

  So he kept at it. For the next ten minutes, he searched and searched again and looked for new ways to cover the same ground. The one thing he didn't want to do was give up. If nothing else, he had to set an example for a son who was falling apart.

  After a while, though, he couldn't even convince himself that the situation wasn't hopeless. He sat on the floor, with his back to Justin, and buried his head in his hands as he tried to conceive how they could have lost both crystals on the same night.

  Chuck kept his head hidden until he felt a finger lightly poke his shoulder. He didn't want to turn round. He didn't want to see the letdown in his son's eyes, but he knew he couldn't put off that unpleasant moment forever. So he rose to his feet and turned to face the one person in the world he vowed never again to disappoint.

  Justin didn't speak right away. He just stared at his father with watery eyes. Then he lifted an arm, held out a closed hand, and opened the hand slowly.

  "I found it in a nook on the edge of the bed," Justin said. He took a deep breath. "We caught a break, Dad. We caught a break."

  CHAPTER 31: CHUCK

  Wednesday, May 16, 1900

  Chuck battled irritation and frustration as the officer completed the report. He was irritated by the policeman's attitude and frustrated by the glacial speed with which he worked.

  "Is your boss coming?" Chuck asked.

  "One of them is," the officer said. "Patience is a virtue, Mr. Townsend."

  "So is consideration."

  Chuck glanced at Justin and decided to give the sparring a rest. He knew he wouldn't get any further with this officer and didn't want to further agitate his son.

  Justin had all but shut down since Tuesday night, when a burglar had cut in half his chances of ever seeing home again. He spoke sparingly, kept to himself, and clung tightly to a three-inch chunk of gypsum that was now his sole remaining ticket to the future.

  "Are you OK?" Chuck asked.

  Justin nodded but kept his eyes on the cop at the desk.

  Chuck began to ask if Justin was hungry but stopped when a burly redhead emerged from the door behind the desk. He knew without asking that the supervisor he had requested was closely related to Rose O'Malley.

  "I'm Deputy Chief Patrick O'Malley. How can I help you gentlemen?"

  "We're the Townsends, Charles and Justin. We reported a burglary last night on Eighth and M and want to see if we can get a little more help in recovering at least one of the stolen items."

  "What makes you think we're not doing all we can?"

  "I'll tell you, Chief," Chuck said. "Your officer here doesn't think it's worth the police department's time to notify local jewelers and pawnshops of the theft."

  "It's not," O'Malley said.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I said it's not."

  Chuck shook his head in disgust.

  "Look, gentlemen, there are hundreds of places in Galveston where a thief could sell stolen goods," O'Malley said. "There are hundreds more in Houston, New Orleans, and San Antonio. Very few are legitimate. Do you see my position?"

  Chuck took a breath.

  "Yes. What do you suggest we do?"

  "Why don't you start by describing the item in question?" O'Malley asked.

  "I'll do better than that," Chuck said. "I'll show you its kissing cousin."

  Chuck glanced at his son.

  "Justin?"

  Justin snapped out of his daze and looked at his father. He then turned toward O'Malley and slowly and reluctantly placed the blue crystal on the counter.

  "What's this?" O'Malley asked.

  "That," Chuck said, "is what we're looking for. Only the one we're looking for is colorless."

  "It's a pretty rock, Mr. Townsend. People report stolen gems every day."

  "I know to you it doesn't look like much, but to us it is priceless."

  "Do you know who might want to steal such a thing?" O'Malley asked.

  Chuck wanted to rattle off several names but held his tongue instead. He knew he would gain nothing by making wild accusations and didn't want to forfeit any advantages he might have in a private pursuit of the truth.

  "No one comes to mind."

  "What about the other items? Do you know who might want to steal them?"

  Chuck again resisted the temptation to tell the truth. He could think of several people who might want to steal his book notes, including Max Beck, Levi MacArthur, and Silas Fitzpatrick, who had been noticeably uncooperative in their make-up interview on Friday.

  He didn't think that Wyatt was responsible, but he couldn't rule it out. He didn't know him all that well. He didn't know anyone that well.

  "I'm sorry. I can't think of anyone who would want to steal any of my belongings."

  O'Malley gave Chuck an I-put-up-with-guys-like-you-five-times-a-day look and sighed.

  "I'll instruct my officers to keep an eye out for you
r pretty rock."

  "Thank you," Chuck said.

  Chuck grabbed the blue crystal, gave it to Justin, and guided his son out of the police station. When they got outside, he put his hand on Justin's shoulder and pointed him toward a restaurant across the street.

  "Do you want to get something to eat?"

  "No," Justin said. "I just want to go back to the cabin and put this away."

  "I understand."

  Justin sighed and then stared at the street for almost a minute. When he finally looked back at Chuck, he did so with eyes that revealed a mixture of puzzlement and relief.

  "Is something wrong?" Chuck asked.

  "No," Justin said. "I was just thinking about last night. As bad as it was, it could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse – and not in the way that you think."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that the burglar could have taken your diary."

  Chuck took a moment to ponder the comment. He had found his diary among a dozen or so books scattered on the floor. The journal contained not only his idle musings but also detailed passages about who he was and how he had traveled to 1900. In the hands of the new owner of the white crystal, the diary would have been a time-traveler's lottery ticket.

  "You're right, son. You're right," Chuck said. He smiled empathetically. "Let's go home. Let's go home and make some breakfast and talk of better days."

  CHAPTER 32: CHUCK

  Friday, May 18, 1900

  Sitting at a table on Charlotte Emerson's patio, Chuck smiled sadly as he watched chunks of ice swirl inside a lemonade pitcher. He could relate to things that went round and round. For two days, he had gone in circles trying to determine who had violated the sanctity of his home.

  "No matter how many times I look at this, I keep coming back to the same three people," Chuck said. "It's hard for me to imagine that none of them had anything to do with the burglary. It's impossible, in fact."

  "Have you shared your suspicions with the police?" Charlotte asked.

  "No. I don't plan to either – at least not for now. I want to learn more about each of them before I make any accusations."

  "I think that's wise."

  "What do you think of all this?" Chuck asked.