By the Light of the Silvery Moon

by Tricia Goyer

  WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT

  By the Light

  of the Silvery Moon

  “By the Light of the Silvery Moon has everything I adore about Tricia Goyer’s writing—emotion that pulls me in, a plot that keeps me turning pages, and characters that won’t let go of my heart. Even now.”

  –Tamera Alexander, bestselling author of A Lasting Impression and Within My Heart

  “Tricia Goyer has a wonderful way of crafting a novel that the reader has a hard time putting down. She took the beautiful woman with secrets in her past and a future in America, a heartbroken father, a dutiful—but resentful—son, and a son who has wasted his inheritance and thrusts them onto the maiden voyage of the Titanic, the unsinkable ship. The lives are skillfully interwoven with major conflicts that kept me guessing. No one will want to miss this amazing tale.”

  –Lena Nelson Dooley, author of Love Finds You in Golden and Maggie’s Journey, book one of the McKenna’s Daughters series

  “By the Light of the Silvery Moon is officially my favorite Tricia Goyer novel. The story is filled with characters who will steal your heart. Take this voyage on the Titanic. You’ll be glad you did!”

  –Robin Lee Hatcher, bestselling author of Belonging and Heart of Gold

  “Be still my heart! A shipboard romance, a prodigal son, Tricia Goyer’s rich historical research, and all the Titanic‘s lushness and impending doom—By the Light of the Silvery Moon is everything a historical romance novel should be.”

  –Sarah Sundin, award-winning author of the Wings of Glory series.

  © 2012 by Tricia Goyer

  Print ISBN 978-1-61626-551-9

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-60742-788-9

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-60742-789-6

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  For more information about Tricia Goyer, please access the author’s website at the following Internet address:

  www.triciagoyer.com

  Cover design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design

  Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683,

  www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  DEDICATION

  To my mom, Linda, and my grandma Dolores. When I was at my darkest moment you pointed me to Jesus and reminded me of His love.

  It was that love that rescued me and gave me a hope and a future.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am thankful for my friend Kristen Gaffney who read this book as I wrote it and was the first one to care about the characters along with me. Also, thank you to those at the Titanic Experience in Branson who treated my family to your amazing museum. Months and months after being there we’re still talking about it. We have recommended you often.

  I also appreciate my editors, Rebecca Germany and Traci DePree, and the rest of the Barbour team!

  I’m also thankful for my agent, Janet Grant. You not only brought this idea to my attention, but your influence and encouragement keep my afloat. And my assistant, Amy Lathrop, who takes care of everything business-like so I can write!

  And I’m thankful for my family: John, Leslie, Nathan, Alyssa, Cory, Katie, and Clayton Goyer. Also my grandma Dolores who does all my laundry and covers me in prayer daily. My family means everything to me, and I love when I can reunite families within the pages of a book.

  Finally, to my best friend, Jesus Christ. None of this would be possible without You. Thank You for rescuing me from the depths and giving me a new life in You….

  Greater love hath no man than this,

  that a man lay down his life for his friends.

  JOHN 15:13

  But without faith it is impossible to please him:

  for he that cometh to God must believe that he is,

  and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.

  HEBREWS 11:6

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Song Lyrics

  Author Biography

  PROLOGUE

  Quentin, honey, don’t get too close to the dock.”

  Quentin’s footsteps stopped short as he looked back at his mother. His bright smile faded. Her gaze had already returned to the party on the top of the hill. He had run as far as he could, but even here at the edge of the estate pond, the high-pitched laughter and constant chatter followed. Even here those voices, those people, held his mother’s attention.

  Quentin had cheered when his mother agreed to take him away from the party for a while. Now he panted, out of breath. He bent over and placed his small hands on his knees, sucking in an especially large gulp of air at the sight of the house, their house, on top of the hill. Though it was not yet dark, Quentin’s eyes widened at the patio lights sparkling in the distance. They danced in the wind like forest fairies in the books his mother read to him.

  Chords of laughter rang in the distance, stirring Quentin back to reality. It was most likely his brother, humoring the crowd, charming their parents’ friends. Quentin stuck out his tongue at the party, almost wishing his mother saw him do it. She hadn’t. He wiped one hand down a red, sweaty cheek and ran to her side.

  “Mama, ‘Ring around the Rosie’? ‘Ring around the Rosie’?” His fingers glided over her silky dress and the long curls that trailed down her back.

  “Not right now, son. Maybe later.” She offered a half smile. Her fingers mindlessly played with the strand of pearls clasped around her neck.

  He grabbed her hand. “Please … please … please?”

  Her blue eyes met his gaze. “Quentin, honey, just run around for a bit, yes? We need to get back up there soon. I already feel bad for leaving the party. I’ll give you two minutes. Go.” She patted his bottom.

  Quentin didn’t answer, and he didn’t run. Instead he walked to the edge of the pond where the water lapped against the grassy shore. He folded his arms across his chest, stuck out his bottom lip, and plopped down. Dampness seeped through his good pants.

  Why did they have to move to this big house? At their old place, his mother used to play with him. She used to hold him—hold him tight—snuggled close to her heart.

  With no more than a glance in his mother’s direction, Quentin jumped to his feet and scurried down the dock. Down to the very end. He eased himself onto the last woode
n plank and dangled his feet over the dark green water. Tall lake grass quivered just beneath the surface, waving ever so slightly at him. Quentin moved his legs back and forth, allowing the tips of his black dress shoes to skim the water. The thrill of it took his breath away.

  “One more minute,” his mother called without looking back.

  Quentin frowned and considered kicking off his shoes. He imagined them hitting the surface and then descending through the lake grass until they plopped onto the slimy bottom. Maybe if he kicked them off, he wouldn’t have to go back to the party. Maybe he’d have to go to his room instead and Mama would have to talk to him, spend time with him. Even a scolding would be worth it.

  A small green turtle surfaced and snapped at his shoes. He jumped with surprise. Quiet laughter escaped Quentin’s lips as he wiggled his shoes, luring the turtle closer. Instead it swam the other direction.

  He reached toward the small form. “No, wait!” he called, and suddenly the air had more hold on him than the dock. With a splash, he fell into the water. Cold wetness enveloped him, pulling him into its depths.

  Quentin’s hands opened, fingers splayed. He reached toward the surface, toward the dock, but the lake grasses held him tight. His eyes widened. Legs kicked, body twisted. Lungs burned. The light so far, far away.

  Someone called his name.

  Help me! He opened his mouth to scream. Water poured into his lungs, burning, choking him. A fuzzy blur filled his vision. The force of a body jumping in next to him stirred the waters.

  Mama. He reached for his mother and grabbed a piece of her, but his grip gave way. Mama.

  Hands unwrapped the tangled weeds around his legs and propelled him toward the dock. His numb fingers grabbed the rough wood. His face surfaced. Coughing, he struggled to suck in air.

  He pulled with all his might, but lifting himself onto the dock was impossible. Quentin dragged his body along the wooden edge toward the shallow water. Only when his shoes hit the slimy, muddy bottom did he look back. Where was she? Quentin struggled onto the grass.

  “Mama!”

  No response.

  “Mama!” he screamed again, louder.

  He searched the dark water. There! Bubbles surfaced no more than ten feet from the dock. His heart pounded as he retraced his steps down the weathered wooden planks. Wet and shaking, he leaned down and reached one hand toward the water. His mother struggled just beneath the surface.

  Crying, he called to her—but she would not come to him. She would not come.

  It wasn’t until the bubbles ceased that Quentin turned and ran to the house as quickly as his legs would carry him. Held tightly in his fist was the strand of pearls from around his mother’s neck. When had he grabbed it? He couldn’t remember. The clasp broken but the pearls intact, it streamed behind him like a trail of tears.

  CHAPTER 1

  April 10, 1912

  Wednesday

  Almost on board. Amelia Gladstone took a step forward, her hand wrapped around Aunt Neda’s elbow, leading the way. Her aunt leaned heavily on her cane, and Amelia moved with slow steps. She had never given much thought to leaving Southampton, and those few moments she’d considered it, this picture wouldn’t have crossed her mind. This excitement.

  Full. The pier was full. The boarding ramp. The decks. Her heart and soul.

  Porters hauling luggage. Men and women strolling. Children, faces bright with excitement. Some in fine dress from tailor’s shops, most in handmade frocks. Reporters snapping photos. Everyone talking at once. The shrill whistle of the train that had just arrived from London to the docks. Laughter. She looked down at her arms. Prickles. Goose bumps raced up them as if her skin attempted to absorb the energy of people around her and the regality of the ship before.

  Amelia lifted her head and craned her neck. The RMS Titanic was larger than her sister ship Olympic. She blocked out most of the sun and sky with four smokestacks jutting into the air. Even from the dock the Titanic‘s promenade deck could be seen below the boat deck. Butterflies tumbled in her stomach. Not long from now she’d be walking those decks.

  There’d never been a ship like it in the history of the world, which seemed fitting for the occasion. Titanic filled the horizon with more than just evidence of men’s great feat. It symbolized promise, the promise of seeing her cousin Elizabeth again. Elizabeth was her closest friend—the daughter of her aging aunt, whom Amelia again tried to encourage to move just a bit faster toward the loading ramp.

  “Come, Auntie. Watch your step. We don’t want you tripping over anything or anyone. It’s mighty busy here today.”

  Amelia stepped closer to her aunt as a mother with two small children passed. The younger boy clung to a ragged blanket, tucking it under his chin. His fist gripped the hem of his mother’s traveling jacket as his wide eyes focused on the ship. The boy’s mouth curled into a circle at the sight of the Titanic, and Amelia nodded in understanding. I feel the same.

  “I cannot wait to tell Elizabeth about this.” Aunt Neda pointed a thin finger to the smokestacks high above. “I wish she were here to see it herself.”

  Laughter tumbled from Amelia’s lips. “Oh, she’ll see it, Auntie, on the other side. This grand ship won’t lose its luster in one crossing.”

  They stepped forward just as a lady dressed in a tailored red wool coat hustled past, moving to the front of the line. Her dark hair flowed in soft waves to her shoulders. She carried a purse on one arm and a hat box on the other.

  The woman paused before the steward at the end of the gangplank. “Excuse me. Is this the way to first class?”

  The steward’s jaw dropped. He swallowed hard, composing himself. “No, ma’am.” His finger pointed to a gangplank farther down. “That is the one, there.”

  The woman glanced over her shoulder, scanning the crowd. Amelia offered a smile, but the woman’s gaze passed over Amelia as if her kind offering was of no consequence.

  “Yes, of course. I should have known.” And with that she moved toward the far gangplank, her feet gliding over the rough wooden dock as if she walked on a puff of air.

  Amelia touched the collar of her yellow dress. She’d been so pleased with her garment this morning, but now she fretted. How did others see her? As simple? Plain? Dull?

  How would Mr. Chapman see her?

  The promise of meeting Mr. Chapman—the friend and neighbor of Elizabeth and her husband, Len—caused Amelia’s stomach to flip even more than the excitement of the ship. Mr. Chapman who’d written her no less than a dozen letters and ended each one expressing an eagerness to meet her in person. Mr. Chapman who’d purchased the second-class tickets, for her, Aunt Neda, and …

  Amelia lowered her head, the excitement of the day interrupted by the heat of anger flushing her cheeks. He’d even bought a ticket for her cousin Henry who’d been foolish enough to land himself in jail just last night.

  Mr. Chapman wasn’t her intended—not yet. She had hopes, though, of a future together. And from the letters he wrote—so did he. She wouldn’t let Henry’s getting arrested sink that happy thought.

  Truth be told, Amelia was thankful for her cousin’s absence. Even her aunt seemed somewhat relieved that they wouldn’t have to put up with Henry’s foolishness aboard the ship. If trouble brewed, Henry found it. Amelia blew out the anger and sucked in a breath of fresh ocean air. Without Henry she’d be able to enjoy herself. To find a bit of peace before a change in her life situation.

  She took one step closer to the gangplank.

  “Almost there, ladies,” the steward called. “Jest wait till you see what this beauty offers inside.” The steward talked to her without really looking at her—a stark contrast to the attention he’d paid to the lady in the wool coat.

  Suddenly Amelia felt self-conscious. Will Mr. Chapman be disappointed?

  Amelia pushed that thought from her mind. There was no turning back. Mr. Chapman would be waiting at the docks in New York. Would he be even a smidgen as impressed with her as he would be b
y the great ship? At least, she comforted herself, he had already been impressed enough in her correspondence to ask her to come in the first place.

  “Thank you, sir. I’m looking forward to walking the decks.” She smiled at the steward. “I’ve heard so much from the papers. I’m eager to see such grandeur with my own eyes.”

  Aunt Neda gripped her arm, leaning close to Amelia’s ear. “It is a large vessel, but do you believe they’ll all fit?” Aunt Neda scanned the quay teeming with people.

  “Not all of them are coming on, I suppose. Some are watchers. Others goers.”

  “Yes, I can see the difference now. Shiny faces. Bright smiles. All things new. Well, except for that man. Pour soul.”

  Amelia followed her aunt’s gaze up the gangplank. Two stewards in white uniforms dragged a man between them, escorting him off the ship. He was thin. Matted hair clung to his head. His face was lowered, ashamed as the crowds looked on. Amelia’s heart went out to him. She clutched her gloved hands together and pulled them to her chest. Then she stepped slightly to the side as the stewards approached.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” one steward said, his gaze falling and holding hers. “Thank ye for letting us past.”

  “Yes, of course.” She eyed the stowaway. Blood dripped from a gash in his cheek. They passed, and she took a step to follow them. Follow him.

  Aunt Neda’s hand tightened on Amelia’s arm. “Where are you going?”

  She glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back. The man … he was injured.”

  Her aunt’s eyes widened. “Now? Here?” She looked to the large ship and then back to Amelia. “Can’t one day pass without you running off to tend to the unfortunate? America surely has plenty of poor souls for your mercies—“