By the Light of the Silvery Moon

by Tricia Goyer

  Had they only been on the Titanic four days? It seemed he’d known this woman his whole life—and he couldn’t imagine the days ahead without her.

  They finished supper and moved to the second-class reception room. Yet instead of following Quentin and Aunt Neda to a nearby table, Amelia turned to the orchestra, hurrying over to them. For a moment, she talked to the bass violinist. He nodded, and then a smile filled his face. When Amelia scanned the room again, her eyes finally fell on Quentin, taking his breath away.

  For someone who’d lived in the shadows for the previous two years, his first inclination was to look away, to step back, to run out through the doors and find his way to a far deck. But the way she looked at him … Quentin’s heart pattered as he stepped forward and offered his hand to her.

  “I asked them to play my favorite song,” she said with a smile.

  “And what song would that be?”

  A tune began and Amelia hummed along. Quentin cocked an eyebrow, trying to remember the words. It wasn’t as if he’d attended any concerts lately or had a gramophone to listen to. It was a newer song than those he’d heard at the World’s Fair six years ago.

  He led her to the nearest table, and as they sat she started to hum. Soon her humming turned into words, her singsong voice loud enough for only him to hear.

  “By the light, of the silvery moon,

  I want to spoon,

  To my honey I’ll croon love’s tune.

  Honey moon, keep a-shinin’ in June.

  Your silv’ry beams will bring love’s dreams,

  We’ll be cuddlin’ soon,

  By the silvery moon …”

  Heat rose to her cheeks as she finished the last line. “I—I really hadn’t thought much of the words before. I just like the tune.”

  Quentin nodded. “Well, if there is a sliver of a moon left. By tomorrow it might be gone….”

  “Yes, that is a shame. The night never seems to be the same without a moon.”

  Amelia looked around at the happy passengers shined up like new pennies, and she smiled, disbelieving she was really here. Her mother had told her about the people all fancied up in lace and leather. And the music. And the fine furnishings. Often her mother described the fine things—what she’d seen and washed and mended—with such vivid detail Amelia had thought she’d seen it herself. Now she was dressed in fine things, a part of it all.

  Amelia touched the silky fabric that draped from her dress. What would her mother think to see her now, wearing these fine clothes on the fastest, most extravagant ship? What would her mother think about a number of Amelia’s fellow passengers being some of the most well-known and richest men and women in the world? A humored smile tugged at her lips. Her mother would be far from impressed about the last part.

  “I’ve cleaned the toilet pots of rich and poor alike,” she’d told Amelia once. “Waste is waste and people are people, no matter how you fancy them up. It takes no character to show favor to someone whose pocketbook declares their worth.”

  “The body grows hungry again and cold,” her mother had continued, transferring her thoughts from ‘back then’ to the reality she faced with her daughter. “Clothes dirty and tear and clean water is drunk down. We must take care of ourselves, dear daughter. We don’t have enough to give—enough to go around.”

  As Amelia listened to the music, as she looked around at those in the room, she thought about things in a different way. When she was little, those words had warmed her just the same as her mother’s hug. She knew Mother did what she could to provide for her.

  But now, as she thought if it, she wondered what would have happened if her mother would have reached out more. There was always, it seemed, someone who was worse off. If her mother would have sacrificed to meet other’s needs, would God have filled in their needs with unexpected bounty?

  Great character, she now knew, was realizing that the help you offered to a poor person would only soothe their soul for a few hours, but doing what you could despite the brevity of the gift benefited both the giver and the receiver. Character was realizing the need would still be there tomorrow just as fierce but still doing something to give comfort for an hour.

  In her mind’s eye, she again tried to picture Quentin at the docks. Where would he be if she hadn’t offered him the ticket? He would have missed out on this, but she would have, too. The music in the room punctuated her thoughts. Her heart swelled inside her, and she knew that all of it was worth it. All she was and where she’d come from were for this moment. She looked from the fine wood paneling to the carpets to the lines on the table. All she didn’t have back then made her appreciate what she had now. It also gave her hope for what was to come.

  Who had God planned for her to walk her life’s journey with? She didn’t yet know, but she was praying—asking God to make the knowing clear. And for now she’d enjoy this time with Quentin. Enjoy that God had brought them together.

  “You’re thinking of something, someone. Is it your Mr. Chapman?” Quentin’s words interrupted her thoughts.

  Amelia gasped. “How … how did you know about him?”

  “Your aunt. The other day when I was looking for you, she gave me an earful.”

  Amelia gasped. “What did she tell you?”

  Quentin’s finger’s tapped on the tabletop as if he were playing along to the music filling the room on an invisible piano.

  “She told me he was a dear man that had been writing you often and was looking forward to meeting you in America. She told me he paid for your passage—which means my passage, too. And …” He paused for a moment and cocked his head, looking at her as if trying to decide if he was going to say any more or not. Amelia didn’t press him. Instead she just waited.

  “She also told me that she had a feeling deep down that you were going to exit this ship with a different idea about your relationship with Mr. Chapman than when you boarded.”

  Amelia chuckled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Quentin shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

  She eyed him for a moment. She still wasn’t sure what her final thoughts were going to be when she disembarked, but she knew they would be different. They weren’t halfway through the voyage yet, and her thoughts were already different from when she’d first boarded.

  Amelia touched her fingers to her lips. Her smile was larger than she thought.

  “I suppose we’re just going to have to find out when the time comes. But to answer your question, I wasn’t thinking about Mr. Chapman. I was thinking about my mother. If she were here, there would be laughter and dancing, much dancing. She would have thought it foolish to hear such fine music and not honor the musicians by truly enjoying it.”

  He rose and extended a hand to her. “Well, if a dance is what you want, you could have just asked.”

  As he pulled her into his arms, his whispered words caressed her ears. “I’d like to think my mother would have been dancing, too.” His voice was reminiscent, wistful.

  As he led her across the dance floor, Amelia clung to him tighter. She’d known the truth all along, even after spending time with Damien. She could care for a man like Damien. She could appreciate his care for his father. They could talk and laugh, but it was Quentin who moved her. His eyes seemed to reach into her heart and squeeze. He looked at her as if he had nothing to offer, and that was what she appreciated. He did have nothing to offer, except himself. His heart.

  When the music stopped, they walked to the glass-enclosed promenade deck and stared into the sky, hand in hand.

  The sliver of moon hung there, and Amelia yawned. It had been the most wonderful day, and she didn’t want it to end. Yet tomorrow they’d have another day together on this grand liner. And the day after that …

  She turned to study his profile that was lit by the lights from the rooms where music played and people danced.

  “Have you thought about what’s going to happen when we reach New York?” she dared to ask.r />
  He turned to her and smiled. “How did you know I was thinking about that?”

  “The plain truth is, Quentin, I want to spend more time with you. I don’t want to get off of the docks in New York and walk away and wonder what became of you. But I also know it is no coincidence that your father—that your brother—is on board. You need to—“

  “Stop!” he raised his hand. “I don’t need to do anything.” His voice was sharp, but she didn’t back down.

  His words came from the depth of pain he’d been carrying. She hadn’t caused the pain, but his sharp words stung just the same. The wonderful mood of the evening crumbled at her feet like a dry and dead rosebud.

  She cocked her chin higher and crossed her arms in front of her, not intimidated. “All right, tell me then, what’s going to happen when you get to New York? You don’t have a penny to your name.” “I can find work. Maybe at one of my father’s railway yards. I know some of the guys. Maybe if I approach them they won’t tell my father.”

  She nodded. “Of course.” She didn’t want to say more. What she had to say didn’t matter. It was up to the Lord now to change his heart. “I’m sure they’ll remember you.”

  Amelia was suddenly weary. Was it worth giving her heart to a man who carried so much pain, so much baggage from his past?

  Not knowing what else to say, she reached up and touched his face, stroking her hand down his jaw.

  “Quentin, love covers a multitude of sins. I’m not going to be able to convince you of that … but you have to trust that it’s true.”

  Quentin watched the door to Amelia’s stateroom close. He stood there, unmoving. If he walked away—even five feet to the door to his room—he would break the spell she’d cast over him.

  His heart felt full—fuller than it had in years. Even with her nagging, she spoke those things because she cared. If Amelia didn’t care, she wouldn’t take the time to listen to his stories. He smiled. She also wouldn’t bother trying to boss him around.

  He placed a hand over his heart. He could feel its wild beating under his palm. After all the years and everything that had happened, he never thought he’d ever feel like this. He didn’t deserve to feel like this. Yet he also knew that to keep her, he was going to have to make some of the hardest decisions of his life. He was going to have to surrender, have to swallow his pride.

  Quentin turned to take a step to his room when he noticed a man approaching. A gasp escaped his lips when he saw it was Damien. His brother’s bow tie was undone, and Quentin guessed from his brother’s swagger that he’d had more than one drink.

  Strangely, after all these years of not being in his brother’s presence, the first thing that struck Quentin was the humor of the situation. Here he was happy, sober, with the scent of Amelia still fresh in his mind, and his brother was striding forward angry, forlorn, looking as if he’d just climbed out of the gutter.

  “So you think you can fool her? Do you think she doesn’t know you’re trash?” The words spilled from Damien’s mouth, and Quentin hurried toward him.

  “You don’t need to do this here. We can take it outside.”

  “Good idea.” Damien stood up straighter, and Quentin saw then it wasn’t alcohol that caused him to slur his words, but jealousy. Damien’s eyes were red, maybe from tears. He turned and stalked up the stairway to the deck.

  When they got outside, the cold air took Quentin’s breath away. It seemed strange to him that after five years, after losing his father’s riches and after hiding from his brother’s perusal, that the thing Damien was most concerned about—had finally approached him about—was a woman.

  “Do you think she really cares about you?” Damien picked up where he’d left off. “She’s a kind soul who likes offering a helping hand. If she really understood, knew who you are and all you’ve done, then she wouldn’t treat you so kindly.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Am I? Why don’t you test it and see? Let her know what your life has been like for the last five years—really know—and see where that gets you.”

  “I did that.”

  “You told her everything?” Damien pointed a finger hard into his brother’s chest. “How many months have you been living on the streets?”

  “More that I want to count.”

  “And how many women have you slept with?” Damien huffed. “Yes, I bet the same answer.”

  Quentin lowered his head.

  “Tell her that. Tell her the truth, and we’ll see how far that gets you.” With that, Damien turned and began to stalk away.

  “Are you trying to ruin everything?” Quentin called after him. “Are you trying to strip away my last glimmer of hope?”

  Damien paused at those words. He turned to face his brother. “Me strip it away? Did you just say that?”

  His brows furrowed and his face reddened. He rushed up to Quentin, fists balled and hands raised up in front of his chin like a prize fighter. Damien repeated. “You took Mother away! And half of father’s fortune. And now, when I find the one woman I have feelings for—“

  Quentin didn’t expect the punch. It hit his jaw like an anvil. His head reeled back. His neck snapped. His body propelled backward, and his feet scrambled to keep up, but it was no use. He slammed against the deck. His back hit first then his head. Pain coursed through his skull. His eyes blurred.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, he scrambled to his feet and rushed his brother. If Quentin had learned one thing on the street, it was how to fight. He lowered his shoulder and connected it with his brother’s chest. Damien’s breath released in a moan. Amazingly, Damien maintained his balance. Instead of tumbling, his knee rose up, catching Quentin under the chin.

  Again Quentin felt himself reeling backward. He landed on his rear, hard. Obviously his brother had learned a thing or two during their time apart also.

  Damien leaned forward, hands on knees, waiting for his brother’s next move. Quentin rose to one knee, and just as he was about to lunge again, he heard a man’s cry.

  “Someone get an officer! Hurry! Fight!”

  Quentin shuffled to his feet and moved to the doorway.

  A sharp laugh erupted from Damien’s lips. “That’s right, Brother, run. It’s what you do so well. And when you get yet another thing stripped away, don’t blame that on me!” Damien shouted. “You’ve done it all to yourself. The only person you can blame for ruining your life is the one you see when you look into the mirror!”

  CHAPTER 18

  Sunday

  April 14,1912

  Amelia awoke early, if that’s what one called it. It was hard to use the term awoke when one had had so little sleep. She dressed quietly and made her way to the closest deck, noticing the sun rising behind them, spreading light to a bank of clouds. Bright red and pink, the clouds were a beautiful sight. Her eyes moved from the enchanted light to the swell of sea that extended outward from the ship. It continued on as if it touched the skyline. Did those who’d crossed the ocean a hundred times appreciate the beauty as she did? Or did they get used to it, just as she had gotten used to the sights and scents of Southampton?

  Footsteps sounded from behind her and she turned. She wasn’t surprised to see Quentin standing there.

  “Amelia. I have to talk to you … before we go on. Before our hearts grow any closer.”

  Amelia nodded, and she approached him. She stared into his dark brown eyes. They appeared more troubled than before. She motioned to a small outside café table and they sat.

  “You say you want to know everything, Amelia, but you have no idea. The depths of where I fell. The pain I’ve caused.”

  “I know things must have been hard…. I can’t imagine what it was like. You’ve been through so much.” She rested her forearms on the table, and her fingers inched toward his hands. He pulled his hands back.

  She could tell he wanted to talk, but she also saw fear. A deep fear. Looking into his gaze was like looking into the face of a pained child.

&nb
sp; “I told you that you don’t want to get involved with me, Amelia.”

  “Why don’t you let me decide that for myself?” she urged. She balled her fists and considered pounding them on the table. When would she get through to him? All night she’d worried about how things would work out if she gave him her heart, but at this moment a new worry struck—that he’d never give her the chance.

  Dear Lord, help me. Show me a way to get through.

  “I shouldn’t do this.” He leaned back in his chair, sitting straighter. He ran his hands through his hair. “Maybe later. I need more time to think.”

  He scooted his chair back as if preparing to stand. Instead of pleading with him, urging him, she looked into his face.

  It was then she felt an answer stirring in her mind, a gentle peace. It was what Quentin needed, too—not her constant confrontation. He needed her gentleness and God’s whispers of care.

  She released her fists and opened her palms to him.

  “You are still running, Quentin.” Her voice was a soft breath of air. “And I have bad news for you.”

  He paused, surprised. Then he leaned forward to hear her words. “What’s that?”

  “We’re on a ship, Quentin. You can’t keep running forever. There’s nowhere to go but into that water.”

  It was her whispered words that caught his attention. Many had tried to urge him, had argued with him, but she simply waited.

  He studied her, studied the way the wind blew strands of blond hair across her face. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful. It would be easy to do. He’d learned how to woo a woman, but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t sway her emotions to meet his desires. In just the few short days that he’d known her, he’d come to care more about her than he’d cared for any other woman in his past. At first those women had come to him because they’d wanted to be linked to his money, his fame. He’d allowed that in order to get what he wanted. The romances lasted weeks, some months, but they always ended badly. Just remembering those times brought him shame. It was as if Amelia’s purity shined like the sun, casting penetrating rays into all the dark places of his heart.