September Sky (American Journey Book 1)

by John A. Heldt

  Justin pondered the comments for a moment. Did Max comply so easily because he respected his daughter's opinion or because he knew that a hurricane was coming?

  "Has your father redirected any of his ships to new destinations?" Justin asked.

  "I don't think so," Emily replied.

  "Do you know if any will be in port this weekend?"

  "I don't know. Why do you ask?"

  "I'm just curious," Justin said. "I'd hate to see any of his assets damaged by the hurricane. Make sure he reads the weather reports in the papers this week."

  "I will."

  Justin smiled softly and looked at a face he would never forget. He put his hands on Emily's shoulders and kissed her again.

  "I have just one more question," he said. "Will you see me off when we leave next Monday?"

  Emily nodded.

  "You know I will."

  "I was hoping you'd say that."

  "Now, I have a question for you," Emily said.

  "What?"

  "What are you doing Wednesday night?"

  "I don't think I'm doing anything," Justin said. "What are you doing?"

  "What I'm doing that night is not important. What I'm not doing is. I won't be attending a performance of The Merry Wives of Windsor with my parents and Anna."

  Justin blushed.

  "When they leave at six, I want you to pay a visit to the house," Emily said. She kissed him on the lips. "Before I say goodbye to you, I want to say goodbye."

  CHAPTER 67: CHUCK

  Wednesday, September 5, 1900

  Chuck needed only a quick glance at the newspaper's weekly digest of events to know that there was more going on in the world than a murder investigation in Texas.

  Robert Leroy Parker and Harry Longabaugh had robbed a Union Pacific train in Tipton, Wyoming, on August 29. Known to the world as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, the outlaws had made off with more than fifty thousand dollars.

  The next day, "Gentleman Jim" Corbett had knocked out Kid McCoy in the fifth round of a bout at Madison Square Garden. It was the former boxing champion's first win in six years.

  On September 1, the German-American Telegraph Company had opened the first direct line between Germany and the United States. Spanning nearly five thousand miles, the line was the longest across the Atlantic Ocean.

  Then there were the usual updates on the Boer War, the Boxer Rebellion, and the presidential campaign between William McKinley and William Jennings Bryan. It was enough to give a world-weary time traveler a serious case of déjà vu.

  "Do you see anything interesting in the paper today?" Charlotte asked.

  "I see a lot of interesting things, like stories on robberies, fights, and transatlantic cables," Chuck said. "What I don't see is an update on the hurricane. It has to be getting close."

  "How do you know?"

  "I can feel it," Chuck said. "The weather is starting to get more intense. That thunderstorm last night did more than make a lot of noise. It took out the power downtown. The police had to use bicycle lights and railroad lanterns just to find their way around."

  "Did you go to the station this morning?"

  Chuck nodded.

  "I did while you were sleeping. I wanted to see if the police in San Antonio had made any progress with Goldie. The officer in charge didn't know anything about Wyatt's case, but he knew everything about the power outage. I guess the electricity is still out in some buildings."

  "Did you see Wyatt?" Charlotte asked.

  "No. I asked to see him, but the officer wouldn't allow it. I hope to see him later today when I meet with Hannibal Butler. He's still trying to get the charges dismissed based on the discovery of Rose's ring in Goldie's purse."

  "We have to get Wyatt out of jail before the weekend," Charlotte said. "Do you still think the storm is coming on Saturday?"

  Chuck sipped his coffee.

  "I do. It's the only day that makes sense. I distinctly remember reading that the hurricane hit town on a weekend and that cleanup efforts began on a Sunday. We all need to be on a train to Houston by Friday."

  Charlotte gazed at her husband, who sat across from her at their small kitchen table, and then at a painting on a wall. The painting showed a farmer and his son racing toward a barn to escape a coming storm. When she looked again at Chuck, she did so with troubled eyes.

  "We have to warn people, Charles. We can't just leave Galveston and let people die."

  "I agree, Charlotte, but there's only so much we can do. We can't force the mayor to issue an alert or the papers to warn their readers. We can't physically put people on trains and boats."

  "So what can we do?"

  "We can do a lot," Chuck said. "We can talk to everyone we know and say what we must to persuade them to leave. Justin has already succeeded with Emily and she, in turn, has succeeded with her family. The Becks have reserved a hotel room in Houston for the weekend."

  "What can I say to people who don't believe a hurricane is coming?"

  "Don't mention the storm. Mention something else. Invite them to a Saturday picnic on the mainland. Tell them they have to be there by noon or they will miss out on something big. Make something up, Charlotte. They'll believe you."

  "I don't like to lie."

  "I don't either," Chuck said, "but this is one time we have to. The truth probably won't cut it. You know how people are. They believe if they can ride out one storm, they can ride out another. What they don't understand is that this will be no ordinary hurricane. If they are not off this island by Saturday afternoon, they won't get off at all."

  "There has to be something we can do to persuade more people to leave. Have you spoken to Mr. Cline at the Weather Bureau?" Charlotte asked.

  "I did yesterday. He's tracking the storm as well, but he hasn't issued any warnings. I'm not sure it would do any good if he did. When people think they are immune from harm, it's hard to convince them otherwise."

  "We have to do more," Charlotte said.

  "We will, darling. We will."

  "I hope so."

  Chuck reached across the table, put a hand on Charlotte's forearm, and gazed at her lovely but tired eyes. He could see that she had a lot on her mind – and not just the storm or the ongoing investigation of the murder of her best friend. Something was different.

  "Are you feeling all right? You seem tense."

  Charlotte smiled sadly.

  "Is it that obvious?"

  "Yes," Chuck said. "I've noticed a difference. I know you've had a rough month, but it seems like you have more on your mind than Rose, Wyatt, and the hurricane."

  Charlotte sighed.

  "I do."

  "What is it then?"

  Charlotte gazed at Chuck for several seconds with eyes he couldn't read. When the awkward moment passed, she placed a hand on his face and caressed his cheek.

  "When you ran your errands yesterday, I ran one of my own," Charlotte said. "I paid a visit to Dr. Wilkinson."

  Chuck sat up in his chair.

  "Are you all right?"

  Charlotte nodded.

  "I haven't felt the best the last few mornings, but I'm OK."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure. At least Dr. Wilkinson thinks I'm OK."

  Charlotte took a breath.

  "He thinks I'm about six weeks along."

  She smiled softly.

  "We're going to have a baby."

  CHAPTER 68: CHUCK

  Friday, September 7, 1900

  Two hours after receiving a telephone call from Hannibal Butler, Chuck found himself in a police waiting room that had become as familiar to him as his own living room. He put his arm around Charlotte, who stood at his right, and then glanced to his left, where Justin and Emily patiently awaited news about a break in the Rose O'Malley murder case.

  "How are you doing?" Chuck asked his son.

  "I'm antsy," Justin said. "I wish Mr. Butler had told you more."

  "I'm sure he would have told me more if he could have. W
e just have to be patient. I don't think we'll have to wait much longer."

  Chuck looked at the young woman standing at Justin's side.

  "How are you doing, Emily?"

  Emily turned her head and gave Chuck a smile that looked forced.

  "I'm doing all right."

  Chuck nodded and then returned his attention to his wife. He didn't believe Emily for a minute. He knew for a fact she was miserable, but he also knew there was nothing he could do to make her feel better or change a situation that had left her in the dumps for days.

  Justin had updated Chuck on that situation on Sunday. He had said that Emily would not leave her family permanently, under any circumstances, and that he would have no choice but to return to Los Angeles and 2016 without her.

  As Chuck considered each of the people in the room, he thought about the opportunities and challenges that each of them confronted. Each faced a period of adjustment.

  He worried least about Emily. He knew that even though she was heartbroken, confused, and angry that she would get back on her feet. She would return to Vassar, find a satisfying career, and eventually meet another man who would remind her that men were not so bad after all. She would thrive in the early 1900s because that was her time.

  Chuck knew that Justin, too, would adjust. Like Emily, he would return to college, make a new life for himself, and find someone special to share that life. He would use the perspective he had gained in 1900 to excel and thrive in his time.

  He worried most about Charlotte. Unlike the others in the room, she was leaving her time and everything she loved about it. He wondered how she would adjust to the digital age and to raising a child in an environment that would surely seem as strange and scary as a foreign country.

  When Chuck thought about his own situation, he smiled. He had come to Texas to save an innocent man but in the process had saved himself. He had found answers and happiness in one incredible woman. He looked forward to life with his beautiful wife and their new child.

  Chuck glanced again at Justin and saw him fidget. He could see that his son was nervous about the outcome of a case that had taken on new importance in the past week.

  Justin had asked to assist with Wyatt's defense after visiting the Becks on Sunday. He had told Chuck that if he couldn't return to 2016 with the woman he loved, he wanted to at least return with the knowledge that he had helped to save a man's life.

  So Justin had spent the next four days asking questions, running errands, and even poring over Texas law. He had been the best investigative assistant that Chuck could have asked for and clearly looked forward to seeing his efforts bear fruit.

  Chuck started to say something soothing to his son but stopped when he heard footsteps in the corridor that led to the waiting room. He looked up just in time to see Deputy Chief of Police Patrick O'Malley walk through the door with Hannibal Butler, three local reporters, and Wyatt Fitzpatrick. Wyatt walked toward his friends the second he entered the room.

  "Does this mean what I think it means?" Chuck asked.

  "It does, Charles. They're letting me out," Wyatt said. "I'm a free man."

  The two men embraced.

  O'Malley greeted two more reporters as they passed through the door and then asked all of the people in the room to take a seat. When they did, he walked to the front of the room, turned around, and addressed his audience of eleven.

  "Thank you for your patience, folks. I apologize for the delay, but I wanted to make certain that I had all of the facts before providing a statement to reporters."

  O'Malley gave Wyatt a sympathetic glance and then looked at the others.

  "About three hours ago, I learned that Maxine 'Goldie' Gates, age twenty-nine, of Galveston confessed to the murder of Rose O'Malley. Miss Gates had been a suspect in the case since incriminating evidence, an engagement ring belonging to the deceased, was found in her purse after she was brought in for questioning last week in San Antonio. Miss Gates, a former colleague of Miss O'Malley's at the Texas Maritime Library, made a full confession following a week of negotiations between her attorney and prosecutors. She continues to cooperate with authorities. As a result of the confession …"

  Chuck watched closely as O'Malley paused to collect himself. He could only imagine the pain he had suffered in the past two weeks and admired him all the more for sticking with a case that he could have – and probably should have – turned over to others.

  "As a result of the confession, prosecutors have dropped all charges against Wyatt Fitzpatrick in connection with this case. Mr. Fitzpatrick is today a free man. I will be happy to share more information on these developments as I learn about them. Are there any questions?"

  Chuck waited for the reporters to ask some questions and was more than a little surprised when they didn't. They instead scribbled away on tiny pads and kept to themselves.

  So Chuck did what he had done so often in the past and jumped into the fray. He got out of his chair, looked at O'Malley, and asked the most obvious question of all.

  "I have one, Chief."

  "What's that, Mr. Townsend?"

  "You said that Miss Gates is continuing to cooperate with authorities."

  "That's right."

  "Why would she 'continue to cooperate' if she has already made a full confession?"

  "That's an excellent question, sir. I'll give you an answer," O'Malley said. "But before I do, I must ask the reporters in the room to put down their pencils and pads. Anything I say from this point on is strictly off the record."

  Chuck knew instantly that the case was about to take a sudden and unexpected turn. He knew that police spoke off the record only if a crime was still under investigation.

  O'Malley stared at the five reporters in the room.

  "Can I rest assured, gentlemen, that you will not print a word of this?"

  Each of the reporters nodded or muttered an affirmative answer.

  "That's good. Then I will continue."

  O'Malley took another breath.

  "In her confession to authorities in San Antonio, Miss Gates said she conspired with another individual to kill Miss O'Malley. She said that her fellow conspirator was not at the Stratford Hotel on the morning of August 18 but had participated fully in the planning of the crime."

  Chuck felt his stomach drop when he saw O'Malley stare at Emily. Was he about to give her bad news? Was Max Beck the conspirator?

  "We believe that the statement offered by Miss Gates is credible. For that reason, we will issue, within the next two hours, an arrest warrant for Silas Fitzpatrick of Galveston. I expect to make an official statement on this development at that time. Thank you."

  Chuck scanned the room as O'Malley headed for the door and saw five scribbling reporters, two stunned women, a shocked son, a furious friend, and an attorney who didn't look the slightest bit surprised that Silas had been charged as a conspirator. He looked at Butler.

  "You saw this coming, didn't you?" Chuck asked.

  "I suspected Silas might be involved when he said he had to leave town the day after Miss Gates was arrested," Butler said. "I haven't heard from him since."

  "Did he tell you how you could reach him?"

  "No. He said he would contact me."

  "This makes no sense," Chuck said. "A crime like this would require an incredible amount of trust. Why would Goldie and Silas trust each other on anything? They barely know each other."

  "That's not true," Wyatt said in a cold, deliberate voice. "They know each other very well. They've been lovers for weeks."

  CHAPTER 69: CHUCK

  Houston, Texas

  At 5:30 p.m. on the day before Chuck believed the hurricane would hit, he followed two men, two women, and an eight-year-old girl into the house that Hiram Fitzpatrick built.

  The house was empty. Though police had searched it from top to bottom in an effort to learn the whereabouts of Silas Fitzpatrick, they were gone by the time Wyatt, Chuck, Justin, Charlotte, Emily, and Anna walked through the door.
>
  Chuck considered that a blessing. After getting less than ten hours of sleep in the past three days, he didn't want to do anything but rest and relax in a mansion that was built for rest and relaxation. He had accomplished his mission and more. It was time to take a break.

  He escorted Charlotte to their room, helped Emily and Anna with their luggage, and then walked to a second-story porch that overlooked the north side of the property. He found Wyatt sitting in a rocking chair, smoking a cigar, and staring blankly into space.

  "I'm afraid to ask what you're thinking," Chuck said.

  "Perhaps it's better if you don't," Wyatt said.

  Chuck sat in another rocking chair a few feet away. After a moment of awkward silence, he turned to face his distant relative and not-so-distant friend.

  "You can't go after him, Wyatt. You can't kill him."

  "I can and I will."

  "He's not worth throwing your life away," Chuck said.

  "My life is worth nothing without Rose!"

  "Let the police take care of this. You've already cut off his assets. Silas won't last long on the run without money. If you want to honor Rose's memory, let the police do their job. Then find that happy life that I know Rose would have wanted you to have."

  "You make it sound easy."

  "It's not easy," Chuck said forcefully. "It won't be easy. Your brother conspired to kill your fiancée. You will never be able to purge that from your mind, but you will be able to move on and have a good life if you leave justice to others."

  "Perhaps you're right," Wyatt said.

  "I know I'm right."

  Wyatt closed his eyes and massaged his temples, as if trying to stave off a headache. When he was done, he stared at Chuck with eyes that reflected concern and not anger.

  "Where are the others?"

  "Most are resting in their rooms," Chuck said. "Like you and me, they need a break from all the drama. There will be plenty more in the days to come."