By the Light of the Silvery Moon

by Tricia Goyer

  He leaned forward so his forehead rested on his fists, and he uttered thanksgiving to God. After that he prayed he’d have a chance to talk to the young woman again. And that God would put it on her heart to tell him Quentin’s whereabouts. Yes, they were on their way back to America, but he could get off the ship in Ireland. They’d be docking in Queenstown tomorrow. He could disembark, return to London, and find his son.

  Clarence rose with new energy in his movements. He moved to the bureau and began to pack the things his butler had already hung out. He could use his help, but he could also go alone. If Damien argued, Damien could stay on the ship, too.

  Clarence decided then that he’d find the young woman first thing in the morning and do whatever it took to enlist Amelia’s help. All he knew was he didn’t want to return to America if there was even a slim chance of finding Quentin.

  CHAPTER 8

  April 11,

  1912 Thursday

  Quentin struggled for breath as his mind clawed for wakefulness. Perhaps it was the ever-present vibration of the engines that had caused him to dream about the trains again. The trains that carried away all he’d loved on golden tracks.

  He remembered the first time he’d climbed aboard the large black engine. He’d been allowed to sit up front on the conductor’s knee. His mother’s laughter remained even more prominent in his mind than the sound of the engine. He guessed it had been loud—trains always were—but it was her joy that had made him so happy. She’d been depressed all their months in London. His father had sent them there to stay with her family while his business flourished in America and a home was being built for them in Maryland. His father had wished for his wife to see their home complete—to not have to worry about its construction. Finally, the time had come when he’d sent for them.

  Quentin didn’t remember the passage across the ocean as much as he remembered his first ride on the train. His father had invested in a raw materials business that provided steel and wood to feed the hungry railroad tycoons like James J. Hill, whose Great Northern Railroad controlled the northwest part of the country. His investment had paid off. The fine home with the pond in the back was proof of that.

  Another woman filled his mind, too, one who had some of the same qualities as his mother. Or at least the qualities he remembered most. But what had happened after they parted? Why hadn’t she answered the door? He’d heard her inside. He’d heard the rustling of papers. Was she angry with him for not coming to supper? Had Amelia finally realized the type of man he was?

  He imagined her aunt talking to her, bringing her around to the truth that he was a scoundrel. Her aunt hadn’t been happy to see him. She’d seen through the facade to who he really was.

  He walked to the mahogany bureau and opened the top drawer. His filthy rags lay bunched in the corner of the room. They were not worth saving, but the one thing he’d carried in his pocket the last five years—and all the years before that—was worth … everything. Quentin pulled the pearl necklace from the drawer and turned it over in his fingers. No matter how hungry he’d been. No matter how desperate for the drink and some company found seated upon the barstool of a London pub, he’d never been desperate enough to consider selling it.

  A shiver moved down his spine when he remembered finding it in his clutched fingers as his mother lay dead on the grass. His father hadn’t questioned what had happened to the necklace. And Quentin had never revealed that he had it hidden away. Since that time, he’d carried it around to remember—remember that it was his foolishness that caused her death. He’d looked at it again, remembering that his life had been an unworthy one to risk hers for—his last five years had confirmed that fact.

  Fingering the pearls, he told himself he needed to stay away from Amelia. Remaining in her life would lead to her destruction, too, but he couldn’t keep his mind off her. He’d walked away from most good things in the last five years. His heart begged him to hold on to her friendship. Last night she’d refused to talk to him, but maybe today would be different.

  Instead of shrinking back—as he’d done nearly every day for the last two years—something inside told him to go to her, to lay his feelings before her. Last night her silence had told him she wanted no part of him, but today … if she still felt the same, she would have to speak the words to his face.

  In all her life, Amelia had never eaten breakfast anywhere but at her mother’s small table—and later her aunt’s—but she could tell from the wonderful scents of food filling the dining room that the staff of the Titanic had planned more than her typical biscuits with jam. Scents of ham and bacon and eggs and fresh coffee caused her stomach to growl. As she and Aunt Neda walked along the tables, fellow passengers chatted about the wonderful night’s sleep and their nearness to Ireland. Amelia guessed that, like her, this trip was farther than most of them had ever traveled—and their journey was just beginning.

  The four people who’d joined Amelia and her aunt for supper had returned to sit in the same spot they had last night, and a new couple joined them, too. But the chair for “Henry Gladstone” still sat empty.

  Amelia told herself it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if Quentin would come. And she was rather relieved that he didn’t—it wasn’t as if she wanted to sit by him, to have to pretend to be pleasant.

  The couple who’d joined them for breakfast were old in years but young in character. They teased each other about scaling the last funnel on the Titanic—the one that was just for show.

  The woman waved to a young man serving coffee. “We’ve traveled the Olympic a few times—it’s good to see many of the same stewards and stewardesses here. They are like old friends.”

  Amelia took a sip of her coffee. The woman’s mention of the ship’s staff intrigued her. Was it possible others aboard knew her mother, had met her?

  “Have you been traveling by ship many years? Twelve or more?” Amelia dared to ask.

  “Let me see.” The man nodded his head. “Yes, maybe a bit longer. My younger brother bought out half of our engineering business, giving me the time to travel and the funds to do so!” He laughed. “I could never be more grateful.”

  “I’m sure you have many stories of your voyages.” Amelia folded her hands on her lap. “Do you remember a stewardess named Emma?”

  “Emma is a common name.” The woman focused on Amelia. “What did she look like, dear?”

  “I’m told she looks like me. Or rather I look like her.” Amelia cleared her throat. “You see, she is my mother. She would look older now, of course. Maybe she is still working on the ships; I do not know. I haven’t seen her in many, many years.”

  Amelia glanced over at her aunt, noticing Aunt Neda’s surprised expression. She imagined what her aunt was thinking. In the many years that Amelia had lived in her home, they’d only discussed her mother a few times.

  The woman placed her fork across her plate and leaned slightly closer, as if she was more interested in Amelia’s request than in the fine food on the menu.

  “You do not know where your mother is? I’m sorry to hear that, darlin’.”

  The man scratched his head. “And I’m sorry to say I don’t remember a stewardess that matches your description.”

  “No, surely we would remember.” The woman reached for Amelia’s hand. “I wish my husband and I could help you. We would remember a stewardess as lovely as you, but know that we will keep you in our prayers. May God fill your heart with a new love—not to replace the love of a mother, but to hold you up when the missing gets too terrible.”

  Amelia squeezed the woman’s hand and smiled. How kind of her to say such words. The older woman released her grasp and looked to her husband. It was clear the woman knew the type of love she spoke of. Amelia spread her cloth napkin over her lap, wondering if she’d find such a love with Mr. Chapman.

  The gaiety at their table settled into a subdued appreciation of the ship and their journey. Like children in a candy shop, those gathered around the table pointed ou
t to each other the delightful items on the breakfast menu.

  Amelia looked at her own printed menu, trying to decide between the grilled ham and fried eggs or the buckwheat cakes, when she spotted someone out of the corner of her eye.

  A tall, dark-haired man stood at the entrance to the dining hall and scanned the room. Quentin. She twisted one of the curls that lay on her shoulder, and the slight smile he offered sent her heartbeat thumping. She willed her heart to stop its pounding, but instead of calming, goose bumps rose on her arms.

  Amelia lifted the cup of tea to her lips, pretending she didn’t care if he was there or not. It did no good. Although the room was filled with people, noises, smells, and conversation around her, she was only aware of him—of his presence. The room around her seemed to quiet. The faces of those seated at their section of the long table blurred as her eyes fixed on his.

  Quentin approached with quickened steps and sat down in the chair beside her—the chair that should have been Henry’s.

  After a quick greeting to everyone at the table, he leaned close to Amelia. So close she felt his breath on her ear. “I came to see you last night after supper.”

  “Really?” She gingerly unfolded her cloth napkin and placed it on her lap. “Where did you eat? I remember sitting in this very spot, but that chair was empty.”

  He glanced down at his fingers as they fiddled with the silver spoon. “I ate in third class. I thought I’d be more comfortable there.”

  Comfortable? Is that what he calls it? She thought of seeing him on the third-class deck—but something even more pressing pushed to the forefront of her thoughts. His lie. Did he think he’d make it all the way to America without the truth of who he really was being discovered?

  “Third class? Is that so?” She lowered her voice and leaned close to his ear. Quentin leaned in. “Because, if I wasn’t mistaken, I would have guessed you to have a much higher status, like first class. Like your father and your brother. So tell me, Quentin, why didn’t you join them at their table last night? The first-class dining room is something to behold.”

  Quentin jolted to his feet. If the chair weren’t bolted to the floor, he would have knocked it over. His eyes widened, and his forehead knotted, as if his mind worked to make sense of her words.

  “They’re here?” His voice was ragged, shaky.

  Amelia pushed down her panic, wondering if she’d just made a horrible mistake. Had she misjudged him? Maybe he really didn’t know. Maybe he honestly had just been a person in need and had no other motives than that.

  Unless Quentin was as talented as the picture show actors, the news of his father and brother being on board took him by complete surprise. His eyes blinked slowly as he looked to her, as if he was trying to make sense of her words.

  She almost stood, too, to offer him an apology, but something else kept Amelia planted firmly in her seat. She may have assumed wrong about him knowing his father and brother were on board, but she had not been mistaken when it came to seeing him with that woman. Amelia’s neck tightened in a dozen knots as the image resurrected of the woman from third class curling herself against his back, her arms embracing him.

  “Amelia.” Quentin’s voice quavered. “Can I speak with you for a few moments? In private?”

  Her companions turned to her, waiting for her response. The steward approached, but seeing the awkwardness of the moment, he told them he had an errand in the kitchen and would be back soon to take their orders.

  “Yes, of course.” She placed her linen napkin on the table and turned to her aunt and the others. “Won’t you excuse me? I’ll be back in just a moment.”

  The displeasure was clear in her aunt’s gaze. If only Amelia could tell her not to worry. She may have fallen in step with this man’s schemes yesterday, but today she would not let herself be drawn back in.

  They walked out of the second-class dining salon, and she followed him to the boat deck. A few feet out of the doorway, the cool ocean air took her breath away. He paused and turned to her.

  “Amelia, are you saying what I think you are? Did you say—are my father and brother on this ship?”

  She tugged at the lace on her sleeves, feeling foolish for blurting out the news as she had. “You didn’t know? I’m sorry. It’s just that … Well, yes they are, but I shouldn’t have …” She pressed her lips together. “I assumed you knew.”

  Running a hand down his face, Quentin mumbled something under his breath. “How would I know that? Think about it, Amelia. Do you think I checked with the White Star offices about the passenger list before I tried to sneak on?”

  “But I thought …” Amelia placed trembling fingers to her lips. She didn’t know what she thought. She didn’t know why she’d assumed what she had. What had happened between Quentin and his family? How could Quentin run so far … fall so low without them reaching out to help?

  “When did you find this out?” he asked.

  “Last night.”

  “So when I knocked at your door last night …”

  “Yes, I already knew.”

  He walked nearer to her and sat on a lounge chair, peering up into her face. “You don’t know me. You don’t have any reason to trust me, but would it have been too hard to tell me?”

  “I—I …” She lowered her head. “I was angry. I saw you on the deck with that woman and—“

  “On the third-class deck? You were watching me?”

  She shrugged, not knowing what to say. The desperation in his face caused her heart to soften. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything about her. You don’t owe me an explanation. I was glad to help you.”

  He looked down at the polished deck and blew out a deep breath.

  Is he trying to figure out how to explain?

  “I’m still trying to figure out my past,” he finally said. “There are many things I thought I’d left behind. Things that seem to be following me.”

  He rose and nervously looked in the direction of the first-class deck.

  “Are you going to find your father and brother? Are you going to let them know you’re here? Talk to them? Your father, he—“

  His eyes darted to hers. “No.” The word shot from his lips. “I can’t.”

  A cold rush of ocean breeze ruffled Amelia’s hair. The large ship skimmed through the water, and the cloudless sky stretched until it touched the edge of the horizon. When she’d boarded yesterday, she’d been excited to ride amid such luxury. What she didn’t realize was what would impact her most wouldn’t be the Titanic, or its grandeur, but who she’d meet on its decks.

  “But you don’t understand.” Amelia took a step toward him. “I’m not sure what happened in your past, but they were asking about you. They wanted to know how you were.”

  Quentin’s eyes widened. “You talked to them? How did that happen? You didn’t tell them I was on this ship, did you?”

  “No, I did not tell them. I told your father you were well. I—” She bit her lip. “I saw your brother and thought he was you. I called out to him. I called your name. That was when they approached. They asked about you. You should at least consider—“

  “Don’t try to convince me. There is too much to understand, Amelia.” Quentin tucked his hand into his pocket and seemed to grasp something. “I am not going to tell them I’m on this ship, and I beg you not to utter a word.”

  Two men in officer’s uniforms strode by. Quentin pressed his lips together and took a step forward, closer to her. He took both of her hands in his, and when he looked into her face, she noticed tears in his eyes.

  “They can’t … they can’t see me like this, Amelia. Although I wish things were different, this is the way they have to be.” And with that, Quentin released her hands and strode away.

  After ten steps, his pace quickened until he was nearly jogging. Her heart sank, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She thought about following him, but that was the last thing Quentin needed. If she tried to talk to him,
if she pressed, it would just push him further away.

  She lifted her face to the sky. She thought about saying a prayer to God, but she didn’t know what to pray for. Finally, she decided to pray for Quentin.

  Amelia sat down on the lounge chair and folded her hands on her lap. A strange sensation came over her, almost as if someone stood behind her. She quickly turned around, but no one was there. Her stomach flipped. What seemed like a thousand needles pierced her arms. It was almost as if God was sitting there with her on the deck. A warmth filled her, warmer than the sun beaming down. A peace fluttered in her heart, brushing away the tension.

  As her heartbeat settled, a deep knowing filled her chest. It was no coincidence Quentin was on this ship. No coincidence his father and brother were, too. There had been times over the years when Amelia had felt used by God, such as when she called upon a friend with a basket of food only to discover that friend had just served her children the last that they had. But now … this …

  She’d been on the pier for a reason. It was not by chance that she had an extra passenger’s ticket in her pocket as she saw Quentin being dragged off the gangplank. She might never evidence the family coming together while they were on the open sea, but suddenly it didn’t matter.

  Just as the ocean depths stretched under the ship deeper than she imagined, God had a purpose for Quentin. Perhaps she’d play a larger part in the days to come—or perhaps her job was only to offer him the ticket—but as Amelia arose and moved back toward the second-class dining room, faith that God had a plan encircled her, as gentle as the ocean breeze.

  She didn’t need to run after Quentin. She didn’t need to try to fix anything. Even though she did not know where he had run to and she couldn’t fathom the depths of the aching in his heart. He was in God’s hands. God saw him even when she could not. And she prayed God would soften Quentin’s heart and remind him of his father’s love.