September Sky (American Journey Book 1)

by John A. Heldt

  Charlotte sighed.

  "I can't disagree with your reasoning. I know for a fact that Silas and Max don't care for you and that Levi doesn't care for Justin. Whether that alone is motivation to enter your home and steal your belongings is another matter."

  "I sense some doubt. Do you think they were involved?"

  "I don't," Charlotte said. "I know all three men well and don't think they would risk their reputations – and jail – to sift through the belongings of an out-of-town reporter or harass one of Emily's suitors. I think it is far more likely that you were the victim of a random burglary. The houses in that part of town are hit all the time."

  Chuck wanted to disagree. He wanted to tell Charlotte that garden-variety burglars didn't steal transcripts of interviews or news articles of disasters yet to come, but he didn't. The time had not yet come to tell her the truth about his past or his mission, if that time would ever come.

  "You're probably right," Chuck said. "In any event, I've done all I can do for now. I've filed a police report and changed the lock on the front door."

  Charlotte reached across the table and touched his hand.

  "I'm sure this will be resolved soon. Rose spoke to her brother last night. She demanded that he do all he can to recover your belongings."

  "That was thoughtful of her," Chuck said.

  Charlotte looked at him more intently.

  "It was thoughtful, but it wasn't surprising. Rose wants you and Justin to feel welcome in this community. She wants you to stay," Charlotte said. She paused. "I want you to stay."

  Chuck grabbed Charlotte's fingers, gazed at her beautiful face, and berated himself for whining about his troubles. He had more important things to think about than the recovery of stolen property, including a special friend who was becoming more special every day.

  "I would like to stay."

  Charlotte smiled warmly.

  "Is there a reason you can't?"

  Chuck frowned as he pondered her words. Had Charlotte asked the same question earlier in the week, when he was still in possession of the white crystal, he could have answered with a resounding "no." He could have told her that he had the time to stay in Galveston indefinitely and allow their friendship to grow.

  But Chuck couldn't give that answer now. He didn't have time to spare. He had less than four months to decide whether returning to 2016 was more important than spending more time with this remarkable human being. He thought about his reply and decided to go with a safe and defensible version of the truth.

  "There is," Chuck said. "There is a reason I can't remain in Galveston, but it's not one I wish to share now. Trust me, though, when I say it has nothing to do with another woman – or with you, for that matter. You are the most amazing person I've ever met."

  "I see I'm entertaining a man of mystery. Are you in some sort of trouble? I'm a very resourceful woman, Charles. Perhaps I can help in some way," Charlotte said. She took a breath. "I'd like to help."

  Chuck looked at his hostess again and wondered for the umpteenth time what he was doing. He knew he had no future with this woman, yet here he was courting her anyway.

  The reporter had to tip his hat to Geoffrey Bell. The professor knew this sort of temptation would come Chuck's way and wanted to make sure he was prepared to deal with it.

  "I know you would," Chuck said. "If at some point I can use your assistance, I'll ask for it. I promise. For the time being, however, I'd like to handle this matter myself."

  "I understand," Charlotte said.

  When Chuck heard the disappointment in her voice, he frowned and looked away. This was not how he wanted to end the conversation.

  "Let me reiterate that this has nothing to do with you, Charlotte, or my interest in seeing you. I would like nothing more than to see you tomorrow and the next day and the next."

  "Even for dinner?"

  "Especially for dinner."

  Charlotte grinned mischievously.

  "I'm glad to hear that," Charlotte said. "Since Rose started dining out more often, I've had no one to cook for. I would be delighted to cook for you and Justin whenever you desire something better than cabin cuisine."

  "In other words, you want us over for supper every night," Chuck said.

  "That would be a start."

  Chuck laughed.

  "Are you sure that's what you want? You know how much we eat."

  "I know that's what I want," Charlotte said.

  "OK," Chuck said. He turned serious. "I'll pass your invitation on to Justin. He keeps his own schedule, so I can't promise he'll come very often. But I will promise you one thing."

  "What's that?"

  "I'll be here every night."

  CHAPTER 33: JUSTIN

  Monday, May 21, 1900

  Justin approached the outdoor café table cautiously. He remembered the last time he had spoken to Emily at her favorite lunch spot and didn't want to catch her in another foul mood.

  "Is it safe to proceed?" Justin asked.

  Emily lifted her head and looked at the intruder.

  "Is it what?"

  "Is it safe for me to join you?" Justin asked. "The last time I sat in that seat it was rather hot."

  Emily offered a warm but sad smile.

  "You can join me. I promise I won't bite."

  "That's good, because I come in peace."

  Justin pulled out a white iron bistro chair and sat in it. He took a quick look at a menu on the table and then a long look at the woman he had come to see.

  "Is everything all right?"

  "Why wouldn't it be?" Emily asked.

  "You look a little sad, that's all," Justin said.

  Emily pushed away her half-eaten sandwich and stared blankly across the table.

  "I'm not sad. I'm just deep in thought."

  "Are you thinking about anything in particular – say, me?" Justin asked playfully.

  Emily raised an eyebrow and offered a mildly scolding glance.

  "I thought you came in peace."

  Justin laughed.

  "I came to see you," Justin said in a more serious voice. "I haven't seen much of you lately and wondered whether you were mad at me again."

  Emily shook her head.

  "I'm not mad at you. I've just been very busy at home working on several projects for my mother and my sister. I'm sorry if I've neglected you."

  Justin smiled.

  "Don't apologize. It's a sign of weakness. Someone told me that once at this very table."

  Emily smiled amusedly.

  "Maybe I should treat you as a hostile, after all."

  "Please don't," Justin said. "I've had a rough week."

  "So I hear," Emily said. "Have the police made any arrests?"

  "No. I don't think they will either. Whoever went through our shack was pretty careful not to leave any clues behind."

  "Do you think it was someone you know?"

  "I did at first," Justin said. "The timing was too suspicious."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean my dad and I have been asking a lot of questions lately. We've been checking people out. It makes sense that someone would want to do the same to us."

  "So what has changed?" Emily asked.

  "Nothing has really changed. I'm just coming around to Charlotte's view of things. She thinks we were the victims of a random burglary. She's probably right too. Two more beach shacks were vandalized over the weekend."

  Justin took a deep breath.

  "In any case, I didn't come here to talk about my troubles. I came here because I wanted to see you again," Justin said. He tilted his head and looked at Emily until she met his gaze. "I'd like to see you more often – a lot more often."

  Emily smiled sadly but didn't reply.

  "Did I say something wrong?" Justin asked.

  Emily shook her head.

  "No. You said something right. I'm glad you came."

  "What is it then? You seem kind of lost."

  "I am in a way," Emily said. "I'v
e been asking myself a lot of questions lately, but I haven't come up with many answers."

  "Maybe I can help."

  "Thank you for your offer, but I think I can manage."

  Justin sank in his chair. He could see that the progress he had made in the past several days was just an illusion. He was as much a stranger to her as ever.

  "Emily?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you mind if I ask you a question about your personal life?"

  Emily gazed at Justin with eyes that reflected both sadness and uncertainty.

  "No."

  "Why didn't you marry Silas?" Justin asked. "I know he's a lot older than you, but he seems like a pretty solid guy."

  Emily fixed her gaze.

  "I didn't marry him because I don't love him. I don't even like him," Emily said. "My father pressured me to marry Silas for business reasons. He figured that if I married him and produced a child or two, then Wyatt would change his mind about selling the Gulf Star Line. He figured that Wyatt would see the Becks as family, rather than business competitors, and soften his stand toward merging the companies."

  Justin frowned. He knew that parents arranged marriages in 1900 as often as they arranged silverware on tables, but he couldn't wrap his head around something this brazen. He could now fully understand and appreciate Emily's hostility toward her father and men in general. What he couldn't understand was her relationship with Levi MacArthur.

  "Your answer makes sense. I can't imagine marrying anyone under those circumstances or anything close to those circumstances," Justin said. "What I don't get is why you agreed to marry Mr. MacArthur so shortly after that. Did your father pressure you into that too?"

  Emily shot Justin a pointed glance.

  "Men pressure women into everything, Mr. Townsend. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

  Justin sighed. He was growing weary of this.

  "I understand why you feel the way you do, Emily. You have a right to be bitter and cynical, but you don't have a right to generalize. Not all men think of women as property or ornaments. I certainly don't. I'm here because I like you. I like everything about you – even the things no one else likes."

  Emily raised her brow again.

  "Such as?"

  "Oh, I have a whole list," Justin said. "I like your petulance, your mood swings, and even the way you dismiss half the human race over a few bad experiences. I really like that. I also like how you whine endlessly about things that you can still change."

  Emily glared.

  "If you 'like' me so much, Mr. Townsend, then why do you bother with me?"

  Justin smiled softly. He had broken through.

  "I'll tell you why I bother," Justin said. "I bother because you are one of the most interesting people I've ever met. I bother because I like talking to you and hearing about your day. I bother because you are intelligent, educated, and occasionally funny."

  Emily's face softened.

  "Is that all?"

  "No. That's not all," Justin said. "I bother with you because I think about you almost every minute of every day. I bother because every time I look at your silly dimples and button nose and big green eyes, I turn to putty."

  Emily blushed.

  "That's a pretty good list."

  Justin chuckled.

  "I'm glad you like it. I just made it up!"

  Emily laughed and laughed in a way that made Justin's spirits soar. When the light moment subsided, she smiled, sighed, and shook her head.

  "I'm finding it far too easy to like you."

  "That's good," Justin said. "I want you to like me. I want you to like me a lot. I want you to go out with me."

  When Justin saw Emily sigh and turn away, he was sure he had overstepped again. When he saw her look back at him with the kindest eyes he had seen in days, he wasn't sure of a thing.

  "Are you certain that's what you want?" Emily asked.

  "Yes, I'm certain. I've been certain of that since the day you said men lie and cheat and treat women like chattel."

  Emily reddened again.

  "OK. I'll go out," Emily said. "What do you want to do this time?"

  "I want to take you to dinner and then to a show," Justin said. "I don't care which one. Are you free on Saturday?"

  Emily nodded.

  "I am. I do have a request though."

  "Let me guess," Justin said. "You want to bring Anna along."

  "No. I just want you to spend time with her when you come for me. Even a few minutes would brighten her day. She thinks the world of you."

  "I'll give her an hour, if you want me to. It's not like it's a chore. She's a great kid."

  "Then I think we have a date, Mr. Townsend," Emily said. She smiled warmly and placed her hand on his. "You can pick me up at six."

  CHAPTER 34: CHUCK

  Thursday, May 24, 1900

  Chuck covered his eyes and watched in awe as his friend displayed his prowess with a Colt .45. He had seen marksmen do their thing many times, but he had never seen a man in a three-piece suit mow down six soup cans in rapid succession from a distance of fifteen yards.

  "Are you sure your name isn't Wyatt Earp?" Chuck asked as he approached from behind.

  Wyatt Fitzpatrick turned around.

  "Ah, Mr. Townsend. I see my secretary told you where you could find me."

  "She pointed in this direction," Chuck said. "She didn't tell me to beware of flying bullets."

  "I assure you that my aim is as true as my intentions are noble," Wyatt said.

  "That's comforting."

  Chuck took a moment to survey his surroundings. He had to admit this was not where he had expected to find Wyatt when he had decided to drop by his office for a chat. Except for the horse and buggy Wyatt had used to travel to this remote location on the west end of town, there was little to see but tall grass and a weathered split-rail fence.

  "How did you get here?" Wyatt asked.

  "I took a trolley to Fifty-Sixth and walked the rest of the way," Chuck said. He smiled at Wyatt. "Aren't there shooting ranges for this?"

  "As a matter of fact, there are. There is one three blocks from my office. I go there to improve my aim. I come here to damage metal."

  Chuck laughed.

  "I take it the property owner doesn't mind."

  "Why should he? He usually brings the cans. He's a good friend of mine – a publisher, in fact," Wyatt said. "Perhaps I'll introduce you to him when he returns from Boston."

  "I'd like that," Chuck said.

  Wyatt walked to the fence, collected the cans, and placed the ones that were still usable on the top rail. He replaced those that weren't with new ones. When he returned to Chuck, he pulled his revolver out of its holster, and offered it to his visitor.

  "Care to have a go at it?" Wyatt asked.

  Chuck hesitated. He had about as much interest in firearms and shooting as a leader of a gun-control organization, but after a moment of thought he decided to reach for the pistol. He wanted to earn as much of Wyatt's trust and respect as he could and knew that one way to do it was to play along with the natives.

  "Sure. Why not?"

  "Have you ever fired a Colt .45 before?"

  "I've never fired a gun before," Chuck said.

  Wyatt chuckled.

  "You are a rare bird, Mr. Townsend."

  Chuck smiled.

  "You have no idea. And please call me Charles. Mr. Townsend sounds like a British butler."

  Wyatt grinned.

  "Duly noted. Now, let me show you how to use this Single Action Army. It is a very special firearm. It is one of many service revolvers my father gave me shortly before he died."

  "I'll try not to break it."

  Chuck took the Colt .45 from Wyatt and listened carefully as he explained how to steady the gun, aim it, and fire it toward the fence without hurting anything but soup cans. When the tutorial was over, he fired six shots. He hit a piece of the fence and not much else.

  Wyatt laughed heartily.

&nbs
p; "Would you like to try again?"

  Chuck sighed.

  "Sure. If you have the bullets, I have the patience."

  Chuck and Wyatt repeated the process of teaching, aiming, and firing three more times. When Charles Townsend, can killer, finally nicked the top of the last can on the right, he decided to call it a day. He handed the heirloom back to its owner.

  "Give yourself time," Wyatt said with a sly smile. "In another day or two, you'll be ready to ride with the Rangers."

  "I doubt it," Chuck said.

  "I doubt it too."

  Both men laughed.

  "It's nice to see you laugh, Wyatt. You seem more relaxed than the last time I saw you."

  "It's because I am. When I escape to places like this, I'm able to leave my troubles behind. I'm able to think and gain perspective and enjoy myself."

  "I can relate."

  "I'm sure you can," Wyatt said. He looked at Chuck closely. "Now, what can I do for you? I know you didn't come out here today just to wander through the weeds."

  "I didn't."

  "Do you want more information for your book?" Wyatt asked.

  "No. I want more information about a crime. I'd like to know who might burglarize the house of an out-of-town reporter researching a man named Wyatt Fitzpatrick."

  "Surely you don't think I had anything to do with your recent misfortune."

  "I don't," Chuck said. "You would have had no incentive to steal the transcripts of our interviews. You know what you said – just as you know what I found at the library. I'm sure Rose filled you in on every detail."

  "Then why did you come here?"

  "I came because I thought you might be able to help me out. I have no idea who went though my shack last week, but I suspect that the person responsible wanted to know why I've shown an interest in you. The burglar, you see, went straight for my notes and left far more valuable items, like an antique clock and silverware, where he found them."

  Wyatt put his gun in its holster. He glanced at the sun, which loomed high in the azure sky, and motioned with his hand toward the fence.

  "Let's sit," Wyatt said.

  Chuck followed Wyatt to the fence and found a smooth place to sit on the top rail. He waited patiently as the gunslinger pulled out a cigarette, lit it with a match, and stared at the tall grass, which swayed under the weight of a gentle breeze.