September Sky (American Journey Book 1)

by John A. Heldt

  "They never stop, my friend. They won't stop until I sell my father's legacy."

  "What's their latest pitch?" Chuck asked.

  "They have offered me a permanent seat on the board and a twenty-percent interest in the new company. They have also proposed retaining the Gulf Star name."

  "That sounds like a pretty good deal. What did you tell them?"

  "I told them to find something productive to do," Wyatt said.

  Chuck laughed.

  "I'm sure that went over well."

  "It did not. Max, in particular, was incensed. He vowed to crush me if it was the last thing he did," Wyatt said matter-of-factly. "I suspect he will have that opportunity at some point."

  "I wouldn't worry too much about Max," Chuck said. "If he hasn't found a way to beat you yet, I doubt he ever will."

  "I like your optimism."

  Chuck felt a little guilty about spreading the sunshine. If history repeated itself, Wyatt would soon have bigger things to worry about than corporate takeovers and family legacies. He berated himself once again for not unlocking the very mystery he had come to Texas to solve.

  "Something tells me you have more on your mind than Silas and Max."

  "I do," Wyatt said.

  "Care to elaborate?"

  "I've done a lot of thinking about what you told me the last time we were here."

  "You don't believe me. Is that it?" Chuck asked.

  "On the contrary," Wyatt said. "I believe every word. I just don't know what to make of your story or what to do about it."

  "That's understandable."

  "Tell me again about this hurricane."

  "What do you want to know?" Chuck asked.

  "Everything."

  Chuck sipped his sour mash whiskey and looked around the room. He saw three men at the bar and one by the door but no one close enough to hear the conversation at his table.

  "Like I told you before, I don't know everything. I didn't know everything before the burglar stole my papers and took all of the information I had. What I can tell you is that the hurricane will be bad. It will be the worst disaster this city has seen and may ever see. Most everything on the island will be swept into the sea."

  "Do you remember the date of this calamity?" Wyatt asked.

  "I don't," Chuck said. "I don't want to hazard a guess either. I can tell you only that it will be in early September. The bottom line, Wyatt, is that you don't want to be here when the storm hits. Move your ships, your belongings, and anyone you care about – including Rose. If you do nothing else in the next few weeks, make her understand that she simply cannot stay."

  Wyatt nodded.

  "What about the other things?" Wyatt asked. "Can you tell me more about this murder I am supposed to commit or the trial that awaits me?"

  Chuck frowned.

  "I wish I could, but I can't. I know only a few details of an old family story and the contents of a letter I no longer possess. The one thing I can say for certain is that the real killer's name is Mack or Max or something like that. I'm sure you can think of some individuals who fit that description."

  "I can," Wyatt said.

  "What can you tell me about Thomas Mack?" Chuck asked. "He has followed me like a bad habit since Justin and I arrived in town."

  Wyatt leaned forward and stared at Chuck.

  "You want to know about Thomas Mack? I'll tell you. He is as cunning as Levi MacArthur and as unscrupulous as Max Beck. He is the one man in Galveston others turn to when they want something done quickly and quietly."

  "It sounds to me like you have a suspect in mind," Chuck said. "Do you think he could really frame you for killing someone?"

  "He could do it without breaking a sweat."

  "Even if that's true, who would he have you kill? Silas? Max? Levi? I think that would result in a high-profile trial that would extend well past the fall and draw unwelcome attention to your enemies and detractors. Each would have to answer questions of his own."

  "Perhaps you are right," Wyatt said. "Mr. Mack is nothing if not careful. He would not risk everything he has built simply to put me in prison – not for a small price anyway."

  Chuck sighed.

  "There are two other possibilities to consider. The first is good."

  "Please continue," Wyatt said.

  "There's a chance that this so-called murder will never happen."

  "I don't understand."

  "Let me explain," Chuck said. "When 1900 happened the first time, I wasn't here. I wasn't alive, I didn't visit Galveston, and I certainly didn't meet and influence you and all the people around you. I may have already altered history enough to prevent this tragedy from happening."

  "I see. That would be good."

  Chuck took another breath.

  "The second possibility, sadly, is not so good. There's the chance that I've been wrong all along. There's the chance that this 'deathbed confession' by someone named Mack or Max was nothing more than hearsay or the wishful thinking of your brother Benjamin. There's the chance that the legal system got it right the first time."

  "You're not saying that I'm about to kill someone, are you?"

  "I'm not," Chuck said. "I'm saying that I just don't know. As much as I like you and want to believe that you couldn't kill a man in cold blood, I don't know that you couldn't."

  "What do you suggest then?"

  Chuck looked at Wyatt sympathetically.

  "I suggest you do what any man would do in this situation. I suggest you secure your guns and behave yourself."

  CHAPTER 47: CHUCK

  Thursday, July 12, 1900

  "What are sunsets like?" Charlotte asked.

  Chuck stopped walking and smiled at the beautiful woman on his arm.

  "Now that's a question I don't hear every day. Are you new to this planet, Mrs. Emerson."

  Charlotte shot him a pointed glance.

  "What I mean, Mr. Townsend, is what are sunsets like in California? What's it like to look at the ocean and see the sun fall below the waves?"

  Chuck looked at her thoughtfully and sighed.

  "I'll tell you what it's like. It's like looking into the eyes of God and seeing all that is perfect in an imperfect world. I've seen a hundred such sunsets and can't think of two that were exactly alike. Each casts a unique spell that stays with you forever."

  Charlotte tightened her hold on his arm.

  "I thought so. I just needed to hear it from an authoritative source."

  Chuck laughed.

  "Spoken like a true librarian."

  Charlotte acknowledged the compliment with a gentle smile and then looked to the east, where evening – minus the setting sun – began to fall over the Gulf of Mexico.

  "I'd like to see a California sunset someday."

  "You will," Chuck said. "I promise."

  Charlotte continued to gaze at the shallow gray waves, which rolled onto the cocoa-colored beach with hypnotic regularity. When she finally returned her attention to Chuck, she did so with soft eyes that reflected vulnerability and doubt.

  "I'm going to hold you to that."

  "Please do."

  The couple resumed walking. For the next fifteen minutes, they walked along the beach west of the Midway. They commented occasionally about the weather and the things they saw but otherwise kept to themselves. When the silence began to make Chuck feel uncomfortable, he brought up one of the many things they had in common.

  "How are things at the library? Chuck asked.

  "They are slowing down," Charlotte said. "This is the time of year when people would rather sail a boat than read about one. That will start to change in September when summer ends, school resumes, and the air starts to cool. We'll be busy again in October."

  Chuck thought again about the news article that described the hurricane's impact on shipping and business. No matter what he did in the coming weeks to save Charlotte and her friends, he would not be able to save their workplace. There would be no busy October this year.

&
nbsp; "Do you ever take a vacation?"

  "I do," Charlotte said.

  "How many weeks does the board give you?"

  "I'm not sure I follow."

  "How many weeks of paid vacation do you get?" Chuck asked.

  Charlotte looked at Chuck like he was from Mars.

  "I'm allowed three weeks of unpaid leave a year. I generally request a week in the spring, the summer, and the fall. My next leave begins on Monday."

  "I see," Chuck said. "Are you planning to travel somewhere?"

  "Not this time. I had planned to see my parents and brother in Missouri, but I've decided to postpone that trip until the fall. I'm going to work in the garden instead. I have neglected it since May and want to try to salvage it before it turns to seed."

  "Doesn't Rose help out with things like that?"

  "She has in the past but not this year," Charlotte said. "As you no doubt know, she has spent quite a bit of time with Wyatt lately. That hasn't left much time for gardening."

  "I'm sure it hasn't."

  As they turned around and headed back toward the Midway and Nineteenth Street, Chuck noticed that the spark had gone out of Charlotte's eyes. While she answered his questions and made occasional observations, she seemed oddly disengaged. She spoke to him like she might speak to an acquaintance and not someone she had dated for several weeks.

  "Charlotte?"

  "Yes?"

  "Is something wrong?"

  Charlotte nodded.

  "What is it?" Chuck asked.

  "It's nothing important."

  "Everything is important. Please tell me."

  Charlotte gave him a fleeting glance and continued walking.

  "I'm just trying to reconcile some things that you've said."

  Chuck looked away for a moment and sighed. He knew what was coming.

  "What things?"

  Charlotte took a breath.

  "On our walk from the cemetery on Memorial Day, you told me that you were going to do your best to make me happy 'today, tomorrow, and the day after that.' At the dinner dance at the Garten Verein, you told the Becks that you might leave Galveston as soon as Labor Day. Those comments appear to be at odds."

  "They do. They surely do," Chuck said. "But they're not."

  Chuck stopped and turned to face Charlotte.

  "I don't understand."

  "You don't understand because I haven't been clear about my intentions. I haven't told you all the things I've wanted to tell you because I've been afraid, uncertain, and just plain lazy."

  "I'm sure you had good reasons," Charlotte said.

  "I did. I still do. But I'm no longer going to let them stop me from doing something I've wanted to do almost since I first stepped foot in the library."

  Chuck dropped to one knee.

  "When I told you I would do my best to make you happy, I meant it. When I told the Becks that I might leave as soon as Labor Day, I meant that too. What I didn't tell the Becks – or you – is that I didn't plan to leave you behind."

  Chuck reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a double solitaire sapphire ring, and took Charlotte's left hand. Nervously, he placed the ring on a finger that had not been adorned in more than two years. He smiled when he saw that his action brought about the desired reaction.

  "Oh, Charles. It's beautiful."

  Chuck rose to his feet, put his hands on Charlotte's face, and kissed her gently.

  "Consider the ring compensation for all the anxiety I've caused you."

  "It is more than that, is it not?" Charlotte asked.

  "Yes, it is. I love you, Charlotte. I love you with all my heart. I want to marry you and make you happy, just like I promised. I want to build a life together."

  Charlotte beamed.

  "I want that too."

  "I know you do," Chuck said. "I can see it in your eyes."

  He sighed.

  "For anyone else, that would be enough. For me, though, it can't be. Before I can accept your answer to my proposal I must provide you with some facts. I must tell you who I am and where I must go before the summer turns to fall."

  "This sounds serious," Charlotte said.

  "It is. It's very serious, but I hope not too serious."

  Charlotte grabbed his hands and offered a curious smile.

  "Tell me then. Tell me what you must. If we're going to spend a lifetime together, I want to know everything now. I want no secrets between us."

  CHAPTER 48: WYATT

  Wyatt patted his jacket and frowned.

  He felt naked. In any other situation, he would have welcomed nakedness – particularly in the presence of the ravishing Rose O'Malley – but he didn't welcome it tonight. Without a pistol on his person, he felt vulnerable, unprotected, and exposed.

  "What are you looking for, Wyatt?" Rose asked. "A few missing pounds?"

  Wyatt laughed.

  "If I were, I wouldn't know where to find them."

  "I'd know. You could find them right here."

  Rose pointed to her hips.

  "Now, darling, don't pick on yourself," Wyatt said. "You're perfect as you are."

  "I'm glad someone thinks so."

  Wyatt smiled and reached for his glass of whiskey, which sat atop a candlelit table in one of Galveston's finest restaurants. When he'd had his fill of liquid courage, he put down the glass and gazed at the woman he loved. Then he noticed two tough-looking men staring at him from a nearby table and patted his jacket again.

  "Wyatt, did you forget something?"

  "No," Wyatt said with a sigh. "I'm just feeling a bit naked without my Colt .45."

  "Did you leave it at home?"

  Wyatt nodded.

  "It's back in Houston, in my safe, along with my other children."

  Rose laughed.

  "You're not turning into a peacemaker, are you?"

  "No," Wyatt said. He smiled. "I'm just trying something new. Charles convinced me that it might be in my best interests to leave my guns at home for a few weeks."

  "He did, did he? I didn't think he had that kind of sway over you."

  "He doesn't. In this instance, however, I agree with him."

  "Well, for what it's worth, I think he's right," Rose said. "You don't need a gun – at least in a place like this. It's not like you're going to shoot the waiter if your steak is undercooked."

  Wyatt laughed.

  "Speaking of Charles, where is he tonight? I expected to see him when I picked you up. Has he decided to prepare his own meals?"

  Rose looked at Wyatt with serious eyes.

  "He's on a mission this evening."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He's going to propose to Charlotte," Rose said. "He's probably doing it right now."

  "How do you know this?"

  "I know it because I helped him pick out a ring. I did it yesterday. While you were playing with your boats and Charlotte was shelving books, I helped our friend pick out a winner."

  "What does the ring look like?" Wyatt asked.

  "It looks like a lot of other engagement rings, except that it has two sapphires instead of one diamond. It's as pretty as peaches. I don't know where a man who lives in a shack got the money to buy it, but he had it. Charles paid for the ring with cash."

  Wyatt smiled. He now knew where the money Charles Townsend had requested on Monday had been invested. He felt good about playing a role in a couple's happiness.

  "Describe this ring again," Wyatt said.

  Rose looked at him with amusement.

  "Why? Are you planning to go in the jewelry business?"

  "I'm just curious," Wyatt said.

  "All right. I'll tell you then. The sapphires are set in two bands of white gold. There's not a lot of ornamentation, but then Charles didn't want it. He wanted something as unpretentious as his future bride. The rocks are big though – bigger than an opossum's eyes on a moonlit night."

  Wyatt laughed. Any doubts he may have had about the woman at his table were long gone. He reached into his jack
et pocket and pulled out a velvet box. When he had Rose's complete attention, he opened the box and grinned.

  "Were the rocks bigger than these?"

  "Oh, Mary, mother of God, you bought the same darn thing."

  Wyatt chuckled.

  "It appears that Charles and I have the same taste in jewelry. Let me put it on."

  Rose offered her left hand and smiled when Wyatt gently slipped the sapphires that were 'bigger than an opossum's eyes' on her ring finger. When he completed the task, she withdrew her hand and admired her newest adornment.

  "I love it."

  "I thought you would," Wyatt said. "I should add that this ring is not quite the same as the one Charles gave Charlotte."

  "How is that?" Rose asked.

  "Take it off and see."

  Rose slipped the ring off her finger and examined it closely. When she saw her name and Wyatt's engraved on the band, she beamed and shook her head.

  "You are just bound and determined to make an honest woman of me, aren't you?"

  "Indeed, I am, Miss O'Malley. I love you and want to make you my wife."

  Rose blushed.

  "You are something, Wyatt Fitzpatrick."

  "Does that mean you'll marry me?"

  "Oh, of course it does, you old fool. I'd marry you if you'd put a rubber band on my finger."

  Wyatt laughed heartily. When he finally collected himself, he reached across the table and grabbed Rose's hands.

  "Thank you, Rose, for making me a very happy man."

  She sighed.

  "You're welcome, Wyatt."

  Rose looked at him more intently.

  "Have you given some thought as to when you want to make this union of ours official?"

  "I have," Wyatt said. "I think a church wedding in late August with all of our friends and acquaintances would be just the thing."

  "I agree. What about a honeymoon?"

  "I've thought about that too. How does September in New England sound?"

  "It sounds lovely," Rose said.

  She rubbed his hand.

  "I suppose you want me to quit my job at the library."

  "Only if that's what you want. I want you to be happy, Rose, whether you're filing company reports or raising our six children."

  "Six? Oh, my! You have thought of everything."

  "I'm nothing if not prepared," Wyatt said.