September Sky (American Journey Book 1)

by John A. Heldt

  Chuck knew then that the Becks had sought refuge in the home he had shared with Charlotte and Rose. By five forty, Chuck, Justin, Amelia, and Wyatt were at the house – or at least a pile of wood, metal, and brick that rose more than fifteen feet near the house's former location.

  When the four began sifting through the debris five minutes later, they discovered what many others had known since Sunday morning – finding anything under tons of broken beams, shredded roofs, and displaced furniture was damn near impossible. Still, they tried.

  Each of the four searched a different location.

  Chuck gravitated toward a crushed china cabinet that he knew belonged to Charlotte. He wanted to find something that he could take back to a wife who had lost nearly everything.

  Justin went to the edge of the debris, on the Avenue L side of the house, and started lifting boards. It was clear from his pace that he was searching for something he didn't want to find.

  Amelia wandered freely and picked up whatever appeared interesting. With no connection to the house or any of its possible occupants, she was able to look at everything with a fresh eye.

  Wyatt drifted to a location that contained items from Rose's bedroom, including a candelabra, jewelry, and a framed photograph of a couple that had never married. He picked up the objects, sat on a board, and resumed his role as the group's protector. He protected people and property with a Colt .45 pistol he had retrieved in Houston.

  Chuck found it difficult to dig too deeply. He considered the house a gravesite of sorts – for memories and cherished belongings, if not for people. He hoped it wasn't the latter. He had seen far too much death on this journey and had no desire to see more.

  Chuck picked up and discarded a salad plate that was too damaged to keep and then looked to the west. He saw one thing and heard another that gave him pause and put his situation into perspective.

  The setting sun reminded him that time was growing short. He knew that he and the others had no more than two hours to complete their work. As soon as darkness fell, they would have to end their search, return to the hotel, and prepare for an early-morning trip to the mainland.

  The sound of a gunshot reminded him that getting to the mainland might be difficult. Authorities and others were doing more than shooting looters. They were pressing able-bodied men into the relief effort and prohibiting most from leaving the island.

  If the time travelers missed Dave Schmidt when he made his final round, they would almost certainly miss their train to Los Angeles. At this late hour, Chuck didn't want to think about that.

  Chuck turned away from the sun and the sound of the shot and gazed again at a house he had called home just a few days earlier. He couldn't believe that something so seemingly sturdy and permanent had been reduced to kindling in one evening, but it had.

  When the sight of the debris began to bring him down, Chuck decided to associate the broken items with happier times. He looked at the scattered dishes and cups and saw things he wanted to see, like intimate dinners and festive staff breakfasts.

  Then he looked at a board that once formed part of the trim around the front door and saw something he didn't want to see. He saw an object that partially covered a human hand.

  Chuck braced himself for the worst as he walked several feet to the board. When he lifted the board and three larger, flatter ones, he found the decomposing body of Maximilian Beck. He collected his thoughts and then looked at his son with heavy eyes.

  "Justin?"

  "Yeah?"

  Justin continued to sift through debris.

  "I found something," Chuck said.

  Justin, Amelia, and Wyatt all stared at Chuck.

  "What is it?" Justin asked.

  "I found Max."

  When Chuck saw three people step toward him, he held up his hands and signaled for Amelia and Wyatt to stop. He wanted Justin to see the body next.

  Justin paused for a moment, as if to gather his strength, and then walked slowly toward his father and the grisly discovery. He kept his thoughts and his eyes to himself.

  When Justin reached the corpse, he dropped to his knees and gazed at a man who might have become his father-in-law. He looked at Max dispassionately for about a minute and then reached for a pillowcase that hung from a board a few feet away. He carefully straightened the linen, gently draped it over the deceased's face, and returned to his feet.

  Justin glanced at Chuck and then scanned his surroundings, as if looking for something in particular. He apparently found it in the form of a small pile of debris that stood nearby. He walked to the pile, lifted the board on top, and threw it to the side. He repeated the process with several other boards until he found the body of Isabella Beck. She had been cut in half.

  Chuck didn't wait to see Justin's reaction. He immediately stepped toward his son. He wanted to embrace him and at least try to ease his pain, but he didn't get the chance. Justin held up a hand and shook his head. He apparently wanted nothing to do with parental compassion.

  Chuck turned to Wyatt. He hoped to find a friend who could offer an encouraging word or at least an empathetic smile but instead found a man who stared blankly at the ground.

  Then Chuck looked at Amelia and saw something he would remember for the rest of his life. He saw a girl hold up an open locket that contained photos of two people. Even from a distance he could see the locket was the one Emily had worn on Saturday.

  Justin noticed Amelia a moment later. He dropped a board, stepped away from the rubble, and walked toward his friend. When he reached her, he took the locket, held it out, and rolled it between his fingers as if he were inspecting something new or strange.

  Justin put the item in his pocket, glanced at Chuck, and then turned to face the setting sun. When he looked again at his father, he did so with watery eyes.

  "No," Justin said. He shook his head. "I refuse to believe it."

  "Justin?"

  "She's alive. I know she is."

  "Justin?"

  "Don't say another word. I don't want to hear it."

  Chuck stepped toward Justin as he started to pull and then throw every board that was even remotely close to the Becks. When Chuck reached his son and put a hand on his shoulder, Justin recoiled and pushed the hand away.

  "Go away! I have work to do!"

  Justin returned to the debris and went through it at an even faster pace. For more than a minute, he pulled boards, kicked them, swore at them, and tossed them in every direction. When he threw a small board that nearly hit Amelia in the head, Chuck intervened.

  "Stop it!"

  "Go away, Dad!" Justin snapped. "I mean it."

  Chuck grabbed Justin's arm, stopped him from throwing boards, and then turned him around.

  "I said, 'Stop it.'"

  Justin pulled his arm back but stopped his pursuit of a woman he would probably never find. He gave his father a hateful glare and then turned to face Amelia, who had dissolved into tears. When he saw the girl shake her head in disapproval, he lowered his head and started to sob.

  Chuck put his hands on Justin's shoulders and pulled him close.

  "I'm sorry," Chuck said. "I'm so sorry."

  CHAPTER 85: CHUCK

  Wednesday, September 12, 1900

  The skipper kept his word. At six o'clock on the fourth morning of the recovery, he sailed the Harmony through a debris field that was once a wharf and sent his sons to fetch three men and a young woman in a leaky, ten-foot rowboat.

  Chuck was grateful for that not-so-little favor, but he didn't feel like celebrating. He felt like crawling inside of a cave or a whiskey bottle and shutting out the world. He didn't care much for a place where death struck so randomly and senselessly. He was sick of it all.

  He thought about random, senseless death when Dave Schmidt brought the party of four to Houston and again when a carriage driver took them to a sprawling mansion that hadn't suffered a scratch in the hurricane. He thought of little else.

  Chuck conceded that he should have
known. He should have known that even when you're a time traveler with knowledge of things to come that you can't stop everything from coming. You can't stop others from acting recklessly or courageously or in ways that make no sense. You have to recognize that when you step into another time – any time – you can't control its course.

  He watched Justin closely as he helped Amelia out of the carriage in front of the house. He knew that his son was tough, but he also knew that he had never been tested like this.

  Chuck wondered how Justin would cope not only with the loss of Emily but also with his pending separation from two other young women who had become dear to him. He had less than a day to say goodbye to Amelia Gaines and Anna Beck, who each had awaiting relatives.

  Chuck had not wasted a moment in notifying others of what he had found on the island. When he had learned that the Tremont had restored telephone contact with the mainland Tuesday night, he called Charlotte, James and Josephine Gaines of Corpus Christi, and Pierre and Estelle Pelletier of New Orleans. He told his wife that he would meet her at the mansion in the morning and the others that he would meet them at the Grand Central Depot in Houston on Thursday.

  He didn't look forward to the partings at the train station. He knew they would be long, emotional, and possibly problematic. He didn't want to think about how each party would respond if the girls simply refused to leave Justin's side.

  Chuck decided to set aside thoughts of Thursday for at least a few more hours as he opened the front door of the mansion, stepped inside, and waited for Justin and Amelia to join him. There was no point in fretting over something he could no longer control.

  He looked back at Wyatt, who talked quietly to the carriage driver, and then walked through the door. When he called out for Charlotte, he was mildly surprised to hear no reply. When he called out a second time, he became mildly concerned.

  Chuck called out again and this time heard what sounded like a muffled scream. He moved quickly up the stairs, just ahead of Justin and Amelia, and raced to a large sitting room on the second floor – a place that Charlotte favored. He walked into the room and found three people – two he wanted to see and one he didn't.

  When Chuck looked into one corner of the room, he saw Anna Beck sitting in a chair. She had been bound and gagged. When he looked into another corner, he saw Silas Fitzpatrick hold a revolver to his wife's head. She had been gagged.

  "Come in, Charles. I've been waiting for you," Silas said. He pointed the gun at Chuck. "You can stand in the corner next to the brat."

  Chuck walked slowly toward Anna. He started to say something comforting to the girl but held his tongue when he saw her stare blankly into space. It was clear, at least to him, that the eight-year-old had fallen into shock.

  Silas trained his gun on Chuck until he stepped behind the chair and put his hands on Anna's shoulders. He returned his attention to the door just as Justin and Amelia walked through it.

  "Come on in, folks," Silas said.

  "What are you doing?" Justin asked.

  "I'm adding spice to your morning, young man."

  Silas pointed the gun at Justin.

  "Now go stand next to your father, or I'll add some lead."

  Justin grabbed Amelia's hand and led her to the corner of the room.

  "Where is Wyatt?" Silas asked Chuck.

  Chuck glanced at Charlotte, who looked terrified, and then at Silas, who looked irritated. He glared at the gunman but didn't answer his question.

  "I asked, 'Where is he?"

  "I don't know," Chuck finally said. "He didn't come in with us."

  Silas cocked the revolver and pointed it at Charlotte's temple.

  "I'm going to ask you one more time, Mr. Townsend. If you don't provide me with a good answer, I'm going to kill your wife in front of you."

  "I don't know!" Chuck said. "He stayed behind to talk to the driver. He's probably outside."

  "You're mistaken, Charles," Wyatt said as he entered the room. "I'm inside now and more than ready to join this little get-together that Silas has arranged."

  Wyatt pointed his Colt .45 at his younger brother.

  "Put the gun down," Silas said. "No one has to get hurt."

  "I disagree," Wyatt said. "Someone always has to get hurt."

  "I won't ask again, Wyatt."

  "Of course you will. You'll ask because you're a coward who can't follow through. You're a coward who can't even do his own dirty work."

  "Shut up," Silas said.

  "What did you promise her, Silas? Did you offer Goldie money or a house in the country? You must have promised her a lot to get her to risk prison again."

  "I didn't promise her a thing."

  "What about Max?" Wyatt asked. "What did you promise him?"

  "He knew nothing about this," Silas said.

  "I want better answers, brother. Before I kill you, I want to at least know the truth."

  "Max knew nothing about Rose."

  Chuck resisted the temptation to do something stupid when he saw Wyatt take a step closer to Silas. He knew that bullets were about to fly and didn't want one of them to strike his pregnant wife. The time to make a life-or-death decision was rapidly approaching.

  Wyatt seemed to be in no hurry to resolve the standoff. He stared at Silas with patient eyes and addressed his brother matter-of-factly. It was obvious that he wanted answers before results.

  "I suppose the next thing you'll tell me is that he didn't know about the hurricane either."

  Silas grinned.

  "That's the problem with you, Wyatt. You think everything is a conspiracy. I would trust the police before I'd trust a buffoon like Max Beck."

  "Then tell me," Wyatt said. "Tell me the truth now. I may even let you live."

  Silas tightened his hold on Charlotte.

  "You want the truth? I'll tell you the truth. The fact of the matter is that I have planned this for months," Silas said. "I knew as soon as Goldie told me about your particular 'habits' that I had a chance to frame you for a capital crime. When I learned that a very nasty storm was coming our way, I decided to act sooner rather than later."

  "You broke into my cabin," Chuck said.

  "I did no such thing," Silas said. He looked at Chuck and then at Wyatt. "I merely instructed Goldie to make sure that your shack was up to snuff. As a good 'friend' of your landlord, she was able to obtain a key to your place rather easily. I trust your accommodations were satisfactory."

  "So you're a thief as well," Chuck said.

  "Spare me the outrage, sir. As one who spent several weeks prying into the affairs of others, you are hardly one to talk."

  "I ought to kill you now," Chuck said.

  "Sit tight, Charles," Wyatt said.

  "Listen to my brother," Silas said to Chuck. "If you do, you may still have the opportunity to spend many wonderful years with your wife and the child she is carrying."

  Silas smiled.

  "Oh, yes. I learned all that and more. You'd be surprised what you can learn when you hold a gun to someone's head."

  Chuck stepped toward Silas but stopped when Justin grabbed him and pulled him back. He had never wanted to harm anyone more than he wanted to harm Silas at that moment.

  "Finish your story," Wyatt said. "You're wasting my time."

  Silas smiled.

  "Are you in a hurry, brother?"

  "I am."

  "Then I'll finish quickly," Silas said. "As I said, it all came down to opportunity. When I saw a chance to remove you from the picture without drawing attention to myself, I took it. Whether you rotted in prison or hung from a rope or drowned in jail awaiting your trial didn't matter. All that mattered is that I would not be blamed for your demise and lose my inheritance. With you out of the way, I could sell the company to the first fool willing to pay double its worth."

  "I commend your creativity. It's too bad for you that you decided to return to Houston."

  "I had no choice. When I learned that the authorities had seized my assets and issued
a warrant for my arrest, I knew I had to do something. So I came back to access an emergency cache I had set up for just such an occasion. Don't worry. I'm leaving you the house."

  "How thoughtful," Wyatt said.

  "Now, if you don't mind, place your gun on the floor and join the others over there. If you don't, I'm afraid I'm going to have to put a bullet in your pretty little friend."

  Wyatt smiled.

  "It seems that you've left me no option."

  "I will count to ten, Wyatt. Please don't disappoint me," Silas said.

  "Do what he says," Justin said.

  "One, two …"

  Chuck fell victim to paralysis. For the second time in as many days, he felt utterly powerless to remedy a dire situation. He didn't know whether to rush Silas or put his faith in Wyatt. He knew only that the lives of his wife and unborn child hung in the balance.

  "Three, four …"

  "Please, Wyatt," Justin pleaded. "Drop the gun!"

  "Five, six …"

  Wyatt cocked his pistol and aimed it at Silas' head.

  "Be still, Charlotte," Wyatt said. "Be very still."

  Silas glared at his brother and pressed the muzzle of his gun against Charlotte's temple.

  "Seven, eight …"

  "Wyatt!"

  "Nine …"

  Chuck tried many times in the coming weeks to recall what happened next, but he always came up short. He could not remember if Wyatt Fitzpatrick reacted when Justin screamed or showed even a trace of emotion when he pulled the trigger.

  He remembered only that Wyatt fired a bullet that split his brother's head in half and brought a chapter to an end. In one sudden, violent, unexpected moment, one life ended, at least two were saved, and justice that had been denied the first time had been delivered on a plate the second.

  CHAPTER 86: CHUCK

  Harris County, Texas – Thursday, September 13, 1900

  Chuck stared out a window of his passenger car on the Sunset Limited and watched a slice of Texas go by in a blur. The land was pretty, he thought. It was flat and featureless, for the most part, but it was still pretty. He would miss the greenery, just as he would miss a lot of things.