September Sky (American Journey Book 1)

by John A. Heldt

  "Like I said, gentlemen, I will not tolerate liars," Wyatt said with an edge in his voice. He got out of his chair. "Rest assured that I will do everything in my power to discredit this book of yours and see that you are both run out of town."

  "Sit down, Wyatt."

  "Don't push me, mister."

  Chuck went for the jugular.

  "Sit down, Wyatt, before you make a foolish decision."

  Wyatt, steaming, returned to his seat.

  "You have five minutes."

  "I won't need half that," Chuck said. He scanned the room for onlookers and then pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket, turned it on, and held it in front of Wyatt. "Tell me, my friend, have you ever seen anything like this?"

  "What is it?"

  "It is a wireless telephone."

  "That's ridiculous," Wyatt said.

  "It's not ridiculous at all."

  "Prove it then. Prove that this device is a telephone."

  "I can't. I can't prove it now," Chuck said. "This device requires a network and technology that do not yet exist. What I can do is show you something you've never seen before."

  "Keep talking."

  Chuck turned on the phone, set it to camera mode, and pointed it at Wyatt.

  "Smile for the folks back home."

  "Do what?" Wyatt asked.

  "Just sit still."

  Chuck snapped a few photos. He then switched to display mode, held the phone so that Wyatt could see it, and pressed a button.

  "Recognize that guy?"

  Wyatt grabbed the phone out of Chuck's hand and took a closer look at the image.

  "That's impossible."

  "It's not where I come from," Chuck said. He retrieved the phone and stared at Wyatt with smug satisfaction. "Let me show you a few more."

  Chuck scrolled to the first of several archived images and once again held the phone in front of his curious relative. He did not want to agitate Wyatt any more than he had to, but he wanted to make his case as boldly and concisely as possible.

  "This is San Francisco, California, one hundred and sixteen years from now," Chuck said. He pressed a button. "This is my automobile. Please note that it's a bit fancier than the horseless carriages that ply the Strand every now and then."

  "Do you have more?" Wyatt asked.

  Chuck noted the chastened tone of his voice.

  "Oh, I have many more."

  Chuck proceeded to show Wyatt color photographs from the 2016 cruise to Mexico, the 1900 walk through Los Angeles, and his second trip to Ivy's Saloon, which he had made alone. He had discreetly taken nearly a dozen photos of people sitting at the bar.

  "This is impressive," Wyatt said.

  "It is. Now let me show you something even more impressive."

  Chuck scanned the barroom and saw that the crowd had thinned. Only two others occupied the public space. Each sat at a table more than thirty feet away.

  Convinced that he could play a video without drawing unwanted attention from others, he switched his phone to movie mode, pointed the screen at Wyatt, and played a thirty-second clip of Charlotte, Rose, and Emily helping patrons at the front desk of the Texas Maritime Library. He smiled as he watched Wyatt's eyes grow wide.

  "Say hello to the prettiest librarians in Texas," Chuck said.

  Wyatt looked at Chuck like a defeated man.

  "You're legitimate."

  "We're as real as that bottle of whiskey," Chuck said.

  Wyatt sighed and rubbed his temples.

  "I'm not sure whether I need to stop drinking or fill my glass."

  Chuck laughed.

  "Go ahead and fill your glass," Chuck said. He smiled warmly. "Or, better yet, let me fill it for you. I suspect we're going to be here for a while. We have a lot to talk about."

  CHAPTER 39: JUSTIN

  Sunday, June 10, 1900

  The Beach Roof Garden and Restaurant atop Murdoch's bathing pavilion had everything one could ask for in a turn-of-the-century eatery. It had great food, fine liquors, and perhaps the best view of the Gulf in the entire city. On the eighth Sunday of Justin Townsend's most excellent adventure, it also offered the best company a twenty-one-year-old could ask for.

  "Did my dad ever tell you that you look like my mother?" Justin asked.

  "No. He didn't," Charlotte Emerson said from the other side of a table. "There are a lot of things your father hasn't told me, which is why I wanted to take you to dinner today."

  "You love him, don't you?"

  Charlotte blushed.

  "You don't need to answer that," Justin said with a smile. "I can see that you do. I think that's awesome. I really do."

  "You're not concerned that I will encroach on your mother's memory?"

  "No. I'm happy to see that my dad has found someone special. A few weeks ago, I was sure he would spend the rest of his life regretful and lonely. I'm not so sure of that anymore."

  "Tell me about your mother," Charlotte said.

  Justin took a breath. He didn't mind talking about Megan Townsend or his past life, but he didn't want to say anything that might make Charlotte feel inferior. He wanted to encourage this woman to remain in his father's life, not chase her away.

  "It's hard to know where to begin. Mom was a very special lady. She was intelligent, kind, and incredibly selfless. She raised me all by herself, took care of my grandparents, and even set aside time to volunteer in the community. She put everyone else's interests ahead of her own."

  "She sounds wonderful," Charlotte said.

  "She was. But taking care of others didn't bring her the one thing she needed most."

  "What's that?"

  "Happiness," Justin said. "My mom wore a smile like it was glued to her face, but the smile was just a facade. She cried a lot when she thought others weren't around and spent time alone whenever she could. She never dated anyone seriously after she divorced my dad. She just accepted her lot and poured all of her energy into her family."

  "That's sad," Charlotte said.

  Justin nodded.

  "It is. She did a good job of keeping her true feelings from all of us," Justin said. "That's one reason I like you. You're easy to read. When you smile, I know you're happy."

  Charlotte put her hands on her hips.

  "Are you saying I don't have a poker face, Mr. Townsend?"

  "That's exactly what I'm saying."

  Charlotte laughed.

  "Oh, I suppose it's true. I've never been very good at hiding my feelings."

  "That's not a bad thing, Charlotte. It's a really good thing, in fact," Justin said. He smiled. "You remind me of someone else I know."

  "Dare I guess who?"

  "I think you know."

  "She's smitten with you," Charlotte said.

  "She is?"

  Charlotte nodded.

  "Emily has liked you from the start but never more than now. She told me on Friday that you're the only man she's known who could make her laugh and think at the same time. That's quite a compliment."

  "It is," Justin said. "I'm not sure I deserve it though. All I've really done the past few weeks is argue with her and pester her for a date."

  Charlotte leaned forward.

  "Oh, you've done more than that."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'll tell you exactly what I mean," Charlotte said. "You've restored her faith in humanity, given her hope for a better future, and taught her that men can be more than vile, selfish creatures."

  Justin chuckled.

  "I think she's making too much of the thing at the beach."

  "Is she?" Charlotte asked. "You saved the life of a prominent businessman and then refused to take credit for it. Do you know how many men in this town would have refused to be interviewed by the papers or lauded publicly by the mayor? I can't think of one."

  "I just did what I was trained to do. I was a lifeguard in California and did that sort of thing all the time," Justin said. "It was no big deal."

  "It was to Emily. The first
thing she did on Tuesday, her day off, was go to the public library. She wanted to learn more about CPR or whatever you called it. She spent all day reading medical manuals but couldn't find a thing."

  Justin regretted using the terms CPR and cardiopulmonary resuscitation on his dinner date with Emily on June 2. He should have known that a woman who dreamed of going to medical school would have done everything in her power to learn more about the procedure.

  "So are you saying that I've inspired her?" Justin asked.

  "I am," Charlotte said. "You've inspired her in many ways. You've also softened her heart."

  Justin sighed and smiled.

  "Well, for what it's worth, I like her too. I like her a lot. I think about her all the time. Even when she's in one of her crazy moods, I want to be with her. She's like a narcotic."

  Charlotte laughed.

  "Have you told her that?"

  Justin nodded.

  "Yeah. She knows I like her. She also knows she's the reason I don't want to leave town."

  Charlotte frowned.

  "Has your father said anything about leaving Galveston?"

  "No," Justin said. "He's been really quiet on the subject lately."

  "For what it's worth, I hope you stay."

  "I hope we stay too. Emily asked me to this big whoop-de-do on Saturday. It's some sort of dinner dance at the Garten Verein. I'd like to go."

  "You'll go," Charlotte said.

  "How do you know?"

  "I know because I have your tickets in my purse. You and Emily are going with your father and me. The 'whoop-de-do,' as you call it, is the most prestigious social event of the season. It's open only to Galveston's Germans, civic leaders, and those who donate generously to various causes. The board of the maritime library was kind enough to provide me with four tickets. Not that Emily would have needed them."

  "I'm really looking forward to it now," Justin said. "I know we'll have a good time."

  "I know we will too."

  Charlotte smiled sadly.

  "Justin?"

  "Yes?"

  "When I said that I want you and your father to stay, I didn't just mean for the summer. I meant for the fall and the winter and all of next year. I meant forever."

  Justin reached across the table when he saw Charlotte get misty. He knew there was nothing he could say – or should say – to make the situation better, but he wanted to say something. He grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  "I wish I could tell you we'll stay that long. I know my dad wants to stay. He definitely doesn't want to leave you. But our situation is kind of complicated."

  "I understand," Charlotte said.

  "If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure we'll stay at least through the end of August. I'd bet on it, in fact," Justin said. "After that, though, all bets are off. There are changes coming – big changes – and we haven't decided how to roll with them."

  CHAPTER 40: WYATT

  Thursday, June 14, 1900

  Wyatt surveyed the rascals in the boardroom of the Gulf Star Line and shook his head. He knew by the way they acted that they had cooked up some kind of trouble.

  They would offer something new or perhaps propose a variation on an old theme. They might even sweeten the deal with something no man could refuse. In the end, though, he knew he would do just that. No matter what his brother wanted or what his lawyers suggested, Wyatt Fitzpatrick would not sell the company his father had built.

  Cyrus Green, lead attorney for Beck Atlantic, started the meeting by distributing typewritten copies of a two-page proposal he had worked out with Daniel Stanton, chief counsel for the Gulf Star Line. When each of the lawyers and company owners, including Max Beck, had a copy in his hands, Green turned to Wyatt and smiled.

  "Can I count on you to bring an open mind to this proceeding?" Green asked.

  "Of course," Wyatt said.

  "I know you all have had a chance to familiarize yourselves with the broad outlines of this proposal, but I want to draw your attention to a few changes Daniel and I worked out on Tuesday. They can be found near the bottom of the second page."

  As Green blathered on about leases and shared resources, Wyatt let his mind drift to his strange but illuminating conversation with the Townsends one week earlier. He wasn't sure he believed their tale, but he found it compelling enough to record it in a journal later that night.

  Wyatt had the most difficulty believing the time-travel claim that was at the core of their story. He knew that science had advanced by leaps and bounds even in the past five years, but he had never heard of anything as preposterous as someone traveling through the ages.

  He tried to reconcile their claim with the incredible device they had shown him. Whatever one could call that telephone with pictures, it was not an object from his time.

  "Do you have any opinion on the first change, Wyatt?" Green asked.

  "I don't. Please continue," Wyatt said.

  Wyatt, of course, had all sorts of opinions on the first change, a suggestion that the new company build smaller vessels to service shorter routes. He had read the drivel on his way to the meeting and dismissed it as typical corporate myopia. The future, he knew, was in larger ships and longer routes, like the ones that had become synonymous with the White Star Line.

  When Green nodded his head and continued his pointless monologue, Wyatt returned to his thoughts about his strange new friends. Even if the time travelers were not what they claimed to be, they were far more interesting than any proposal he might hear in a boardroom.

  Wyatt returned again to the night at Uncle Ben's. The Townsends had not only shocked and amazed him but also frightened and alarmed him. Of greatest concern was Chuck's assertion that Wyatt had been tried, convicted, and executed in the fall of 1900 for murder.

  Wyatt had spent every waking moment mulling over that. He had never come close to killing someone. Nor did he have plans to do so. Though he could think of several people he wanted to humiliate and ruin, he knew that the proper way to do so was by beating them at their own games – not by depriving them of life. The fact Chuck could not provide him with dates, places, or even the name of the victim of this alleged murder proved even more unsettling.

  Then there was Chuck's claim that he was the great-great-grandson of Benjamin Townsend. Wyatt had little difficulty buying that. Chuck bore a distinct resemblance to Wyatt's beloved brother, who had just begun a four-month tour of Europe with his family.

  According to Chuck, it was Benjamin who had passed down the story of Wyatt's wrongful conviction and execution. He had provided few details about the trial or even the crime. He had said only that someone named Mack or Max had confessed to the murder before dying in the 1920s. Like the Townsends, Wyatt could think of at least three people who fit the description.

  Wyatt glanced at the jabbering attorney and then at the man he represented. He could see that Max Beck was no more interested in what Cyrus Green had to say than he was. He knew he could not agree to anything Green proposed today, but he wondered whether it was not time to reconsider his stand. Maybe merging the companies did make sense – at least in the long run.

  Then he thought about the last thing Chuck had said at Uncle Ben's. He had warned of a hurricane that would sweep the city off its sandy base, a storm that would claim thousands of lives, destroy countless buildings, and damage commercial interests up and down the coast.

  Though Chuck could not remember the precise date of the calamity, he insisted that it would come in early September and come with little warning. Details of the storm had been contained in newspaper articles that had been stolen from his beach house.

  Wyatt sighed when he thought about what others could do with knowledge of the hurricane. He sighed again when he considered the keeper of that secret could be someone in this room.

  Wyatt returned his attention to Green and listened to the rest of his spiel. When the attorney finished explaining the changes to the latest proposal, he sat up in his chair and
nodded.

  "Do you approve of these modifications?" Green asked.

  "I understand them," Wyatt said. "I will need additional time to consider them before I can tell you whether I approve or disapprove of them."

  "I see. How much time do you think you will need?"

  Wyatt grabbed the proposal and rose from his chair.

  "I won't need much," Wyatt said. "I understand and appreciate the work you gentlemen have put into this latest proposal. I will give you my thoughts on this tomorrow morning."

  CHAPTER 41: CHUCK

  Saturday, June 16, 1900

  Built in 1880 by a group of German businessmen, the tiered dancing pavilion was one of Galveston's architectural treasures. Rising above a park near the intersection of Twenty-Seventh Street and Avenue O, the octagonal Garten Verein featured whimsical Victorian ornamentation, walls of paned windows, and extensive electrical lighting. Fully lighted on a late spring evening, it looked like a giant fairy-tale lantern.

  Even the pavilion, however, could not measure up to the seating arrangement at Chuck's table as a conversation starter. Seated around his long, linen-covered table was a collection of diners that only a fun-loving god or a shortsighted party planner could possibly organize.

  Chuck and Charlotte sat on one side of the table, along with Justin, Emily, Wyatt Fitzpatrick, and Rose O'Malley. Max Beck and Isabella Beck sat on the other, along with Levi MacArthur, Goldie Gates, Silas Fitzpatrick, and Julia Brown, the plain-but-pleasant Gulf Star Line receptionist who had come as Silas' date. Anna Beck sat at the end of the table near her parents.

  Max, of course, had objected to the seating arrangement from the start. He wanted nothing to do with Wyatt, who had rejected the new-and-improved proposal to merge their companies, or Levi, who had once tried to put him in prison.

  Then there was Emily, who had the pleasure of dining not only with her new boyfriend but also two men who had sought her hand in marriage in the past calendar year. She looked at Levi like she might look at a lice-covered vagrant who had just emerged from a dump.

  Chuck did not know what to make of Goldie. She appeared to get along better with her date, a man who had put her in prison, than with her library colleagues. Goldie did not speak to Rose. Nor did Max, Levi, or Silas. The joyless pessimists had no use for Rose's off-color jokes, spirited toasts, and humorous observations.