"They did," Charlotte said. "We each had a marriage proposal by the end of the summer."
"That's sweet," Chuck said.
"Rose turned down her proposal."
Charlotte paused for a moment and looked away. When she returned her attention to Chuck, she did so with a wistful smile.
"I accepted mine."
Chuck lowered his eyes. He knew the story was about to take a sad turn. He stared at the floor until he could finally bring himself to look at Charlotte.
"I take it that the man who proposed to you was the man you married, the one you lost two years ago."
Charlotte nodded.
"My husband was Navy Lieutenant Isaac Preston Emerson. He was one of the 266 officers and seamen who died aboard the Maine."
Chuck closed his eyes as he pondered the sinking of the USS Maine on February 15, 1898. A mysterious explosion had sent the battleship to the bottom of Havana harbor and set the United States and Spain on the path to war. When he was done reflecting, Chuck gave the widow an empathetic gaze.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Charlotte said. "Isaac and I had seven wonderful years together."
Chuck sighed.
"I can't say that my marriage was as happy as yours, but I can relate to your loss. My wife – or rather, my ex-wife – was killed in an accident almost three years ago. Justin lost his mother and two of his grandparents on the same day."
"How awful," Charlotte said. "I can't fathom losing one loved one at that age, much less three. I imagine Justin has had a difficult time coping with their deaths."
"He's adjusted surprisingly well. He amazes me sometimes by how quickly and easily he adapts to difficult situations. I guess you could call it a gift, a gift he inherited from his mother and not from me."
Charlotte offered a comforting smile.
"Don't be so sure. Most children are a reflection of both of their parents. I'm sure you passed along many fine qualities to your son."
Chuck smiled.
"You're clearly one who sees the best in people."
"I am," Charlotte said. "I judge others by what I see and not what I hear. When I look at you, I see a kind, decent, honorable man – a man searching for answers. I'd like to know that man better. I'd like to be your friend."
"I feel the same way," Chuck said.
He picked up his glass of wine and raised it.
"Here's to friends."
Charlotte lifted her glass.
"To friends."
CHAPTER 20: WYATT
Saturday, April 28, 1900
Standing in front of a full-length mirror in a corner of his hotel room, Wyatt watched his reflection closely as he grabbed the Colt .45 strapped around his waist and pointed it at a familiar-looking bandit. He was still a little slow on the draw, but he was definitely getting faster. He turned around when he heard an infectious laugh.
"So you think this is funny, do you?"
The woman in Wyatt's four-poster bed nodded.
"I do," she said. "I think it's the funniest thing I've seen all week."
"I can't say I care for your attitude. It shows a lack of respect for both the master and his craft," Wyatt said. He grinned. "Perhaps I should do something about it."
The woman smiled coyly.
"I wish you would. I could use a little excitement tonight."
Wyatt laughed to himself as he considered his options. He didn't know whether he'd spank her or kiss her, but he'd definitely give her the attention she deserved.
He walked to the edge of the bed, stopped, and then dropped his arms to his sides, as if getting ready for the Shootout at the Bedroom Corral. Except for his gun belt, his cowboy boots, and a Boss of the Plains Stetson he had picked up in Fort Worth, Wyatt Townsend Fitzpatrick was completely naked.
The woman raised a brow.
"What are you planning to do, lawman? Shoot me with your 'pistol'?"
Wyatt beamed.
"Oh, Rose, darling, I'm planning all sorts of things."
Rose O'Malley laughed and patted the mattress.
"Then come back to bed, you old goat, or I'll accuse you of criminal neglect. I'm sure my brother would love to put the owner of the Gulf Star Line in a holding cell."
Wyatt chuckled as he removed his battle gear. A moment later, he crawled under the covers and embraced the sister of Galveston's deputy chief of police.
"What would I do without you, my love?"
Rose gave him a pointed glance.
"I imagine you would wine and dine the wives of the city's elite, just as you've done every weekend for the past fifteen years."
Wyatt smiled.
"I mean it, Rose. You've made a respectable man of me."
Rose laughed.
"Is that why we're spending another night in a second-rate hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Smith?"
"Hush now," Wyatt said. "I'm serious."
Rose looked at him thoughtfully.
"I know you are. I'm happy I've made you 'respectable' too," Rose said. She suppressed another laugh. "I've certainly been trying."
Wyatt smiled and pulled her close. He couldn't say that Rose was the first woman to try to take him off the market, but he could say that she was the first to succeed. He adored everything about her, from her wit and intelligence to the freckles on her face.
"How was your week at the library?"
"I'd say it was interesting and thought-provoking," Rose said.
"How so?" Wyatt asked.
"It was interesting and thought-provoking because I met an interesting and thought-provoking man. I spoke with him for four hours yesterday. He's been at the library nearly every day this week."
Wyatt sat up.
"You have my attention, Rose."
"Don't give yourself a stroke, Wyatt. I have no romantic interest in the man, though I'm not sure I can say the same about Charlotte. She's been smiling and humming all week and not because of the meager raise the library board gave her."
"So tell me about this 'interesting and thought-provoking' man."
"His name is Charles Townsend," Rose said. "He's a reporter from California who came here with his son a week ago. He says he's doing research for a book on shipping, but I suspect he's got something else up his sleeve."
"Why do you say that?"
Rose looked at Wyatt with serious eyes.
"I say that because he asked a lot of questions that had nothing to with shipping or even Galveston," she said. "He asked a lot of questions about you."
"He did?"
Rose nodded.
"Don't get me wrong. I think he means no harm. He hasn't asked any questions that cross a line or done anything unethical. I found him to be rather pleasant, in fact. He's polite, articulate, and very cultured. He even likes the theater, which I found refreshing in a man. But he also has a keen interest in the Fitzpatrick family."
"What kind of interest?" Wyatt asked.
"Well, for one thing, he inquired about your past. He asked if we had a biography on file, which we do. He also asked about your reputation as a businessman and wanted to know if you or Silas had any enemies."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him that the shipping industry here is very competitive and that people in competitive industries tend to make enemies," Rose said. "I didn't tell him anything about you, your brother, or your company that he couldn't read about in the papers."
Wyatt rubbed his chin as he considered what Rose had said. He couldn't fathom why anyone would go to a library to ask such questions, but then he couldn't fathom why a reporter from a coastal state like California would travel to Texas to research a book on shipping either.
"Well done, my love. Be sure to let me know if this Mr. Townsend asks any more questions about me or the company."
Rose gave Wyatt a serious glance.
"You know I will."
Wyatt leaned to his side and kissed Rose. He kissed her not like a woman he wanted simply to pleasure but rather like a woman he wanted to marry
. He did not relent until he sensed that the woman was ready for a change.
A moment later, Rose moved out of Wyatt's grasp, climbed on his lap, and turned to face her lover. When she looked at him again, she did so with lively, mischievous eyes.
Wyatt chuckled.
"I know that look, Rose. It means trouble."
Rose sighed.
"Yes, it does."
Without breaking eye contact, Rose reached to the side of the bed and retrieved two white handkerchiefs. She used the first to tie Wyatt's left wrist to a post and the second to tie his right. When she was done with her handiwork, she kissed him gently on the lips.
Wyatt raised a brow.
"What do you think you're doing, Miss O'Malley?"
"Why, I think it should be obvious, Mr. Fitzpatrick."
Rose flashed a devilish grin.
"I'm doing to you what you usually do to me."
CHAPTER 21: JUSTIN
Wednesday, May 2, 1900
Sitting on the sweeping front steps of the Texas Maritime Library, Justin Townsend thought about several things. He thought about the strange but increasingly familiar world of 1900, his father's new "friendship" with Charlotte Emerson, and people he knew and missed. Mostly, however, he thought about the library assistant who had said no more than a dozen words to him since their enlightening lunch the week before.
He had hoped that the encounter might lead to another and maybe something more, but it had not. Each time he had tried to speak to Emily Beck, he had found her "busy" or "in a hurry" or on her way to "another place."
Opting to leave rather than wait for his father, Justin stood up, brushed off his pants, and walked down the steps. He proceeded to the sidewalk, stopped, and debated whether to walk or ride the trolley to his new beach-shack home on Eighth Street and Avenue M. He needed only one glance at the blue sky above to decide it was a good day to walk.
Justin moved toward the street but stopped when he heard the click of the library door. He turned around and saw Emily exit the building and descend the steps. He spoke to her when she reached the sidewalk.
"Are you going home?" Justin asked.
"I am," Emily said. "I'm leaving now."
She threw a red shawl over her shoulders. The shawl complemented a crisp white blouse and a red, ankle-length skirt that stood out in a drab world of blacks and grays.
"Where do you live?"
"I live on the corner of Tenth and M, near the beach. Not that it's any of your business."
"Oh," Justin said. He laughed to himself. He could see that this conversation, like all of the others, was going nowhere. "Do you walk or take the trolley?"
"I usually take the trolley, but today I plan to walk."
"Would you like some company?" Justin asked. "I'm headed in that direction."
Emily looked at Justin suspiciously and shook her head.
"No, thank you. I'd prefer to walk alone."
Ouch.
"OK then," Justin said. "Have a nice evening."
Emily acknowledged his words with a nod and then started on her way. She moved down the Strand like she had things to do, people to see, and no time to waste.
Justin guessed that she wouldn't stop for anything – not for people, not for vehicles, and certainly not for an aimless, loitering time traveler. Then two loud whistles pierced the air and the woman who wouldn't stop for anything stopped on a dime.
Justin turned to face the source of the noise and saw two shabbily dressed men on the other side of the street. Even from fifty feet away he could see that their intentions were less than noble. Each sized up Little Red Riding Hood like a tasty snack. Both invited her to walk across the street and relieve them of their loneliness.
When Justin shifted his attention to Emily, he saw that she was reluctant to proceed. He watched with interest and considerable amusement as she spun around and returned to the library with her hat in her hand.
"I've reconsidered your offer, Mr. Townsend," Emily said solemnly. "I would love to have your company."
Justin held back a grin. While he was sorry to see the fear in Emily's eyes, he was not at all sorry to see the humility. He smiled empathetically and extended an elbow, which she grabbed quickly. A moment later, the two moved arm-in-arm toward the eastern edge of the city.
"I apologize for being so unfriendly this week," Emily said. "I'm sure you're a nice man. I just didn't want to give you any false impressions."
"I understand," Justin said. "For what it's worth, I really am a nice guy. I don't lie or cheat or use or abuse, and I haven't treated women like chattel in more than a year."
Emily gave Justin a sidelong glance and smiled.
"You're making fun of me again."
"I have no choice," Justin said. "I want to see you smile. You have a pretty smile."
Emily turned red.
"My mother warned me about men like you."
"What do you mean?"
"She said, 'Beware of men who make you smile. They will steal your heart and maybe a few other things.'"
Justin chuckled.
"She really said that?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll try not to make you smile," Justin said. "I don't want to steal anything, except maybe a little of your time."
Emily brightened.
"OK."
Justin smiled and shook his head. He didn't know how Emily had gone from cold, callous, and defiant to warm, sensitive, and apologetic in a matter of minutes, but she had. He liked this person next to him and wanted to keep her around.
As they walked east on the Strand and then south on Tenth, they passed several interesting buildings, including one Emily identified as "Old Red." A tribute to Romanesque Revival architecture, the brick-and-sandstone colossus was the medical school of the University of Texas.
Justin thought about another university in another state as they left the Galveston campus and picked up the pace. He didn't regret taking a break from school, but he knew that the break could not be permanent. He would eventually have to find his purpose in life and obtain the education to achieve it.
For now, though, Justin was content simply to chill out on the Texas coast and walk beautiful women from their workplaces to their homes. He turned to Emily and shifted the conversation from buildings to people.
"You mentioned your mother, the one who warned you about men like me," Justin said. "Tell me about the rest of your family. Do you have any siblings?"
Emily glanced briefly at Justin, as if to guess his motive for asking the question, and then returned her eyes to the sidewalk ahead.
"I have one sibling, a sister named Anna. She's eight years old and a firecracker."
"Eight? Wow. That's a pretty big age difference."
Emily gave him a harsher glance.
"Not that you look old or anything," Justin said. "I mean …"
"I know what you mean," Emily said. "I get comments like that all the time. The simple truth of the matter is that Anna was something of a surprise. After I was born, doctors told my parents that they would not be able to have any more children. As with many things, however, they got it wrong."
"You're happy to have a sibling though, right? I mean you like your sister."
"I adore her."
"What about your dad?" Justin asked. "Tell me about him."
"My father is Max Beck. He owns and operates Beck Atlantic."
"You mean the passenger-shipping line?"
Emily nodded.
"That's the one."
"I've seen its ads in the paper," Justin said. "It sure likes Mexico."
"It should. It can't go anywhere else."
Justin looked at Emily with puzzled eyes.
"What do you mean? Can't your father expand to Cuba or Florida or someplace like that?"
"No," Emily said. "The other lines have exclusive arrangements with the major ports."
Justin thought about that for a moment and then returned to Emily.
"I take it your father knows
the Fitzpatrick brothers."
Emily stared at Justin.
"Everyone knows the Fitzpatrick brothers."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Justin said.
"It's not good or bad. It's just the way it is."
"Does your father like them?"
"He likes the one who agrees with his business objectives," Emily said matter-of-factly. "He doesn't like the one who doesn't."
Justin considered a follow-up question but decided against it. He would find out soon enough which brother gave Max Beck fits and, when he did, he would report that tidbit to his father.
"Can I ask you a personal question?"
"I suppose," Emily said.
"Do you get along with your dad?"
Emily looked away.
"I respect my father."
"That's not what I asked."
Emily sighed.
"My father has different views than me. He believes women should marry early, have children, and take care of their families. He doesn't believe they should go to college and expand their minds, much less go to college and train to be doctors."
"You want to be a doctor?" Justin asked.
"I've wanted to be a doctor since I was ten."
"That explains your interest in Old Red."
"There are days when I can't bear to even look at that place. It's painful to know that my dream is so close and yet so far away."
A few minutes later, Emily stopped in front of a three-story mansion at the end of Tenth Street. With ornate trim, dormers, and large paned windows, the residence was a tribute to Victorian excess and the jewel of the neighborhood.
"This is my house," Emily said. "Thank you for walking me home."
She released her hold on Justin's arm.
"You're welcome."
Justin glanced at a first-floor window and noticed a woman looking out of it. He could tell by her attractive features that she was Emily's mother.
"I should go," Emily said.
"OK. Before you leave, though, can I ask you one more question?"
"I guess."
"If you want to attend medical school so badly, then why don't you do it?" Justin asked. "You're an adult. You can do anything you want."
"You really aren't from around here, are you?"
September Sky (American Journey Book 1) Page 10
