By the Light of the Silvery Moon

by Tricia Goyer

  Other men—wise and wealthy men—had mimicked those words. “You need to be there for your father. He only has you to count on.” And as the days and weeks and months followed, those same men had watched him. They’d nodded their approval to see Damien attending dinners with his father, traveling with him, standing by his father’s side at public functions, transformed from a boy to a man before their eyes.

  And they watched him still.

  It was a heavy load to carry. The load hadn’t lightened over the years. Yet he also knew his father wouldn’t have been able to continue without Damien by his side. Father especially wouldn’t have been able to deal with Quentin’s foolish ways on his own. For every step of responsibility Damien had taken, his brother had taken a step backward, until he’d sunken to lows that even Damien never expected.

  Colonel Gracie’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Damien turned to see the older gentleman speaking to four women.

  “Mesdames, I see you are traveling alone.” Gracie tipped his hat to the women. “It would be my honor to offer my services to you.”

  Damien watched. Why didn’t I think of that? It was the gentlemanly thing to do to offer services to unprotected ladies. He glanced at his father, wondering if he’d see a hint of disappointment that Damien hadn’t offered first, but Father seemed more intent on hearing the story of the women—three of them sisters—who were returning to America after attending a family funeral in England.

  “I am Mrs. E. D. Appleton, and these are my sisters, Mrs. R. C. Cornell and Mrs. John Murray Brown,” one woman announced. “And, of course, our friend Miss Edith Evans.”

  At the pronouncement of “Miss,” his father glanced over at him, but Damien cringed. His father didn’t hide his desire for Damien to find a good woman to marry, but this woman was not what he had in mind.

  The woman was an old maid with a dour expression and condescending manner—not anything like the type of woman he wanted to spend his life with. Besides, he’d accepted his fate long ago. As long as his father needed him, he’d have to put off his own pursuit of a wife and family. Maybe next year—when his father had some time to realize his brother was lost to them forever—he’d be able to follow his heart. Even then, only the most stunning, most caring young woman would do.

  “Father.” Damien cleared his throat. “Why don’t we head to the back of the boat ferry? We needn’t rush to board the great ship. Ladies first, isn’t that what you always told me?”

  His father nodded, approval reflected in his eyes. That’s my son, his gaze seemed to say.

  As the boat ferry approached the Titanic, ten stewards stood at the gangplank, a small army of troops ready for service, but Damien’s eyes were not on the stewards. Instead he was drawn to a spot of yellow. A beautiful woman in a buttercup yellow dress stood like a rose among a meadow of thistles. Unlike most of the high society ladies who hid their hair under extravagant hats, her blond hair was pinned up on her head, and a few soft curls slipped from their hold and blew in the wind. As he watched, her head tossed back, and although he couldn’t hear her laughter, he saw the way it brightened and transformed her face. He wished he knew the joke her friend at her side shared. Wished he could see that laughter again. He envied her joy and her easy manner. An ache stirred deep inside wanting that for himself.

  “Is it everything you expected?” his father asked, speaking of the great ship.

  It wasn’t a difficult question, but Damien felt himself at a loss for words. “Yes … no. I expected this … but it’s also so much more.”

  His answer, of course, not only spoke of the ship, but of the woman. He’d lived among the same circles for so long he usually wasn’t impressed by those he met on voyages. Yet this woman. He knew he hadn’t seen her before. A face like that—her fine features and smile—those he would not forget. His heartbeat quickened, and he wasn’t sure if the sun had brightened or if it was simply her presence that caused him to warm.

  Damien looked at the long line of people ahead of him and willed those walking up the gangplank to hurry. He knew he couldn’t make his introduction yet, but …

  Please look this way.

  He wanted to get close enough to look into her eyes. To see if there was any spark of interest as she looked at him. One thing Damien had learned was that the best business deal was one with mutual interest and investment. He wasn’t one to chase a customer, and he had the same opinion about finding a woman to share his heart with. Yet even as he neared, the woman’s eyes weren’t on him. Instead she looked to his father’s maids with an interest that Damien could not understand.

  Look this way. Look this way, he willed. But as he neared, the woman lowered her wistful gaze and then turned to her friend who was standing by her side.

  His only consolation was they had the whole voyage to get to know each other. And Damien made it his goal to do just that.

  Amelia watched as the group of men and women climbed aboard. Men in their proper gray coats and matching caps. Women in dresses that looked fine enough for tea at Windsor Palace. Her knees buckled slightly, but she resisted the urge to curtsy as they passed. And then there were the maids. She saw the eagerness in their eyes. Yes, they boarded as servants, but they, too, experienced the same luxury. Had her mother felt a similar hint of excitement as she traveled to distant places? Mother had served those who traveled upon the seas, but she’d been carried along just the same over the rippling waves.

  She glanced to Ethel. The woman’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the maids who followed, clutching fresh flowers to their chests. “Even they dress finer than the rest of us,” Ethel muttered under her breath.

  One of the maids carried a dog who yapped at the gathering crowd, as if warning them to keep back. It was as if the small creature realized those who watched weren’t worthy to wait in the shadows of those who walked aboard.

  “Serving girls, aren’t they lucky?” Amelia murmured. She lowered her head and turned away.

  A strange emotion stirred her—a longing for her mother. Being here, on this ship, made her feel closer to her mother than she had in years. Perhaps because she now experienced all the things her mother spoke of. How many nights had Amelia fallen asleep to the gossip from her mother’s past, juicy revelations the serving girls had shared with the stewardess from journeys long ago? More than she could count. Those stories had been to her like tales of knights and dragons, godmothers and queens, but being here on the Titanic made it all real. She sucked in a breath of salty air and clutched her hands before her. Her lips straightened into a thin line. Her chin quivered and the tendons in her neck tightened as she held back the tears.

  Ethel touched her arm. “Are you feeling ill?”

  Amelia forced a smile. “Just thinking of my mother.”

  “Come …” Ethel swept her arm as if offering the deck—all of the Titanic—to Amelia. “Let’s go listen to the orchestra. That will surely lift your spirits!”

  Amelia walked beside Ethel. She tightened her stomach muscles and held a pent-up breath, willing the engines to roar to life and the ship to slide out into the channel. Maybe, if the shore disappeared behind them, the memories would fade into the horizon, too. That would make all things easier.

  It seemed only right that she should launch a new life without the old one dragging her back as an anchor.

  Damien stepped onto the polished wooden deck, and a chief steward hurried forward. “Welcome, sir, welcome. We are glad to have you upon the Ship of Dreams.”

  He craned his neck and brushed the man aside. The woman was gone. He let out a disappointed breath and balled his fists at his sides. If only they’d had a chance to make eye contact. Then again, they were on the same ship, with almost a week to run into each other. Unless.

  He shook his head. Unless the woman wasn’t a first-class passenger.

  “Of course she is,” he mumbled to himself. She had to be. If she wasn’t—that would be the end of that.

  As much as Damien wanted to kn
ow the beautiful woman, he also had a standard to uphold. People watched him. They had expectations. He not only represented himself, but his father, too. His brother had done enough damage to the family name. It was his job to rectify all that his brother had tarnished.

  Damien remained one step behind his father. Their head butler, Arnold, strode by his father’s side, as if creating a buffer between his boss and any commoners who happened to cross his path. Damien followed as another steward led the way to their first-class stateroom, located on the promenade deck. It was almost directly below the bridge near the first smokestack—one of the finest rooms on the ship, he’d been told. Ocean air followed him, filling the corridor with a delightful breeze.

  Inside the stateroom, the room’s mirrors were trimmed with gold. Real gold. He’d been around it enough to know the difference. Instead of the usual bunks, his and his father’s rooms had full bedsteads, a telephone for shipboard communication, and a washstand with hot and cold running water. Hand-carved oak, teak, and maple wood paneling decorated the room in modern style. He eyed the rich velvet drapes and luxurious bedding. There was a sofa and a desk with a lamp. The dressing table looked to be hand-carved as well. If he hadn’t known better, he would have guessed they were in a luxury hotel, not on a ship. It was the finest passenger room he’d ever seen.

  “Your room has electric lights and heat, sir,” the steward said, pushing the switch on and off. “Please let me know if you have any needs.”

  As his father conversed with the steward and Arnold, Damien walked to the desk. A note sat on the marble top. His name was written in perfect script on the envelope. Who could it be from? One of his father’s friends sending an invitation for supper?

  He picked up the envelope. The scent of a woman’s perfume wafted up to his nose. He knew that scent, and with the whiff of it came a dozen memories of the dark-haired beauty in his arms as they twirled around the dance floors of East Coast estates. In his arms as they kissed in the gardens of English castles. His heartbeat quickened, but he told himself not to get excited. The woman who wrote this note was everything his flesh desired, and for that very reason she did not meet his father’s approval.

  Swallowing down desire, Damien slipped the piece of monogrammed paper from the envelope.

  Damien, imagine my excitement to discover we are on this grand adventure together. I’ll meet you at supper. I’ll be the one in red.

  Love, Dorothea.

  He didn’t know whether to smile or to wince as he read the note. Dorothea was one of the most eligible women on this ship—of “old money,” his friends reminded him, which meant that her prestige was accompanied by social graces. His friends often forgot he was “new money,” which meant their means came from their own hard work rather than investments and inheritances. Though Damien had worked hard to ensure that they forget. So diligently he’d strived to make his manner fit with those who’d been trained to live elegantly, nobly since birth.

  Yet for the first time, it didn’t bother him that his friends and his father disagreed. It didn’t bother him that he’d most likely have to fend off Dorothea’s advances. As much as the woman’s beauty and allure interested him, there had to be someone else out there who could be his companion in life.

  Dorothea was beautiful, yes, but she was painfully spoiled. She expected the best and received it. She was kind … most of the time, but her favor could turn at any moment. Did a woman exist who had a pure heart and good intentions? Someone like his mother.

  His father told him often that the right woman was out there, but as the years passed, he’d questioned if such a thing was true. That was why he’d found Dorothea in his arms more often than not. When one felt lonely, the companionship of another was like balm to an aching soul. His only concern was that she took their relationship more seriously than he. The note she’d left on his desk proved that fact.

  Damien moved to his trunk that had been delivered to the room and pulled out the jacket he’d picked up from the tailor in London. The fit and style favored him, the tailor had exclaimed.

  As he hung the jacket in the wardrobe, he again thought of the blond woman on the deck. Perhaps she was someone worth getting to know. After traveling the same circles for so long, a new face was always a welcome sight.

  He removed his hat and placed it on an ornate hook on the wall, glancing at the crystal chandelier. His emotions over returning to the States were mixed. He was eager to return to their fine estate, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he carried the burden of his father’s pain. They’d traveled to London for business, but more than once Damien had overheard his father’s command to the servants. “Please, while you go about your tasks, be on the lookout for my son.”

  Damien sighed and finger-combed his hair as he looked into the gilded mirror. His father hadn’t been the same since Quentin’s departure. Yet Damien was glad they were returning to America without him. Quin had been a fool. He’d demanded what he had no right to receive—and walked away from all he knew—trampling their father’s heart with each step. His father’s fortune, though they lived well, had never quite recovered from being cut in half. Quentin’s greed insured those left behind would have to watch their own accounting more closely.

  Damien left their room and strode toward the first-class deck.

  He found his way to the gentleman’s first-class smoking lounge, taking in the mahogany paneled walls and mother of pearl inlaid work. Painted glass windows displayed pastoral landscapes, ancient ships, and mythological figures. Potted plants offered the room color, life.

  A bartender wiped down an immaculately clean bar, and two young men dressed in new suits chatted about jobs waiting for them in New York as they smoked cigars. Damien sat in the tall-backed chair, and thankfulness flooded him. They were on the Titanic. They would be leaving London, and hopefully when they returned to Maryland, thoughts of his brother would stay far away.

  His knee bounced. He was eager for the ship to place an ocean between them. He tired of his father’s craning neck and wide-eyed pursuance of every tall, young, dark-haired man. What his father didn’t know was that Quentin wouldn’t be found in the restaurants and museums they visited. While his father had hired investigators to find his son over the years, Damien paid double to make sure their findings never met his father’s ears. The newspaper clippings after Quentin first moved to London had been bad enough. It pained his father to see how Quentin had wasted his fortune on wild living. It would kill him to know his son slept in the gutters and ate out of trash cans. What he hid was for his father’s protection. His peace.

  Damien scanned the crowd, and a bit of color caught his eye from the doorway to his right. The woman in the yellow dress—as soft and delicate as a rose in the queen’s garden—peeked into the room. Another woman walked by her side. Would it be too forward for him to make an introduction? He took a step and then paused.

  As they passed, he heard the woman speak to her friend. “Could you imagine crossing the ocean in first class? Maybe someday, Ethel, we’ll experience such a thing.”

  Her words caused his head to jerk back as if she’d slapped him across the face with her gloves. She wasn’t first class, thus she wasn’t suitable. The two ideas, in his mind—and in the minds of those of his peers—went hand in hand. Damien considered introducing himself to the woman despite her social standing. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. All those in first class knew who he was, knew who his father was. But what about someone in second class? He doubted it.

  Damien stroked a hand down his chin. What would it be like to spend time with someone who would look at him as just another man instead of an heir to a fortune? At thirty-one years of age, he’d never known such a thing.

  From the moment he’d boarded the ship, all eyes had been on him—on his father. He knew over the days to come their every need would be met. He’d be introduced to beautiful, eligible women and engage in talk of politics, science, and literature. It wouldn’t be nece
ssary to introduce himself. All would know who he was as clearly as if he’d had his name pinned to his chest.

  Yet she hadn’t even glanced over to try to get his attention as she passed. If he introduced himself, she wouldn’t know who he was, and even if she did, it wouldn’t matter in the slightest.

  And for the first time ever, he liked that.

  CHAPTER 4

  The excitement of their launch soon lifted Amelia’s mood. Tonight, as she snuggled in her bunk, she’d think of Mother and wonder, Why couldn’t things have turned out differently? But today—today she was going to let the joy of the occasion push those thoughts to the side. Today she would celebrate being part of a new era of history—being a passenger on a new league of ship.

  She’d decided something else, too. On this trip aboard the Titanic, Amelia would strive to live in the present. She wouldn’t let the anchor of her mother’s memory sink her spirits. She wouldn’t let the waves of worry over what waited on the other shore crash against her heart.

  Dear God, she prayed within her mind, her soul. Help me live in this moment and be open to what you have for me. New friendships or new insights … new relationships and a stronger faith. Amelia smiled. That prayer was a first step. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in God. She did. She loved Him greatly. But with the many needs that always presented themselves, Amelia often worked in the strength she could muster. While many knew her to be a caring and capable woman, she hadn’t been as bold in sharing her faith in God as she wished.

  “Give me a chance to do that.” She whispered the words, only to have them swallowed up by the noises blaring all around on the deck.

  The docks and gangways buzzed as the final passengers and crew members hurried on board.

  The ship’s whistle caused Amelia to jump, and laughter spilled from her lips.