By the Light of the Silvery Moon

by Tricia Goyer

  Quentin’s feet felt planted to the ground, and he watched as his father staggered forward with shaky steps.

  Intense elation started as a buzzing in Quentin’s chest. He took a hesitant step. His knees softened. His father continued forward, his face beaming. Then, as if strength had been poured into his legs, Clarence Walpole set forth in a run.

  They hurried toward each other, and tears filled Quentin’s eyes. His father had aged—the gray hair and wrinkled face evidence of all the years lost. The crowd parted, letting them through, and before he could catch his breath, his father’s arms were around him. Holding him. His father lifted slightly, as if Quentin were a young boy and he wished to sweep him into his arms.

  His father’s arms. Warm, strong. Quentin’s throat thickened. Words refused to release.

  His father pushed back slightly to look into his face. He held Quentin’s cheeks, as if making sure he was real. And as Quentin looked into his father’s gaze, he didn’t see anger. He didn’t see questions. He saw only an acceptance he didn’t expect or deserve. He saw home. He saw love. He realized yet again what it meant to be a son.

  CHAPTER 21

  The room had just quieted, as if the Sunday service was about to start, when Amelia caught sight of a man entering the room. It was Quentin. He looked reluctant, and then his eyes widened.

  “Son, son!” she heard Clarence Walpole call. The room stilled, and everyone watched as the older man rose and stumbled forward.

  Amelia’s breath caught in her throat as she noticed Quentin’s eyes widen. Then as a tear broke through and trickled down his face, he stepped forward into his father’s embrace.

  C.J. wrapped his arms around his son, and he lifted slightly, as if Quentin were ten again and he prepared to scoop him up. The tears came. Amelia didn’t know who was crying more, the two men or herself.

  “Son,” C.J. repeated. Even from where she was seated near the front, Amelia could hear their words.

  Her hand covered her mouth. She’d hoped for this, but she’d never expected it.

  C.J. touched his son’s face, and he looked deeply at him as if trying to assure himself he was really there. All eyes in the room watched them, but they only had eyes for each other. Quentin’s lips lifted in a smile, and Amelia wondered what brought the most joy … seeing his father again or feeling his acceptance. If Quentin had doubted how much the older man cared before, there was no reason to doubt now.

  C.J. moved his hands from his son’s face to his shoulders. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but Quentin raised a hand to halt his words.

  Quentin stepped back slightly. “Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight, and am no more worthy to be called your son”

  C.J. turned to a man who had followed him. Amelia assumed it was C.J.’s butler. “And ask the steward for the best room still available in first class. I wish for my son to sleep as close to me as possible tonight. And if he needs clothes, we’ll find some.”

  Happiness sluiced through Amelia, making her feel weak in the knees.

  “That’s Quentin, isn’t it?” Aunt Neda tried to make sense of what was happening. “So he’s also the brother of …”

  “Damien Walpole.” Amelia nodded.

  “Oh dear.” Aunt Neda lifted a hand and placed it on her cheek. “It seems the men trying to win your heart are brothers.”

  Amelia wasn’t concerned about that now. All she cared about was the joy in C.J.’s face that brought a smile to Quentin. C.J. lifted a hand and squeezed his son’s shoulder as if still trying to believe he stood there.

  Amelia scanned the salon. Every person in the room was watching them. Some leaned awkwardly to get a better view. Some stood on tiptoes, trying to discover what the commotion was about.

  “My son!” C.J. turned and raised Quentin’s arm high. “My son whom I haven’t seen in five years … He’s here, on this very ship. Praise be to our Lord.”

  “His son? The one who left, robbed his very father?” one of the first-class men said, leaning heavily on his cane.

  “His mother drowned, too. She died saving him. What a shame.”

  A murmur of disapproval carried through the first-class passengers. It was only then that Amelia understood what Quentin had risked coming up here. Amelia looked to C.J.’s face, and there was not one hint of hesitation.

  As he returned to his seat, his arm wrapped around Quentin’s shoulders, C.J. didn’t notice the raised eyebrows and furrowed brows of his colleagues and friends, but Amelia could tell from Quentin’s downcast eyes he’d heard. Every gesture, every word had been noted.

  Tears filled her eyes, and she understood. She doubted a day passed during his growing-up years when he wasn’t reminded of the accident. Many of these same people had been there when his mother had drowned. They knew that she gave her life for his, and if their gazes back then were anything close to what they were today, they didn’t think it was a worthy trade.

  “Tomorrow night, on the last day of the voyage, we will have a party on this ship like no one has ever seen!” C.J. called to the crowd. “There will be food and music … a full banquet in the A La Carte Restaurant. Everyone here is invited. Bring your family, your friends! First class, second class, third—it does not matter. All must come to take part in the most joyous occasion!”

  Cheers rose from around the room, mostly from the third-class passengers. It was one thing that they were allowed into the grand reception room to worship together. What would it be like to attend a party put on by one of the wealthiest men on the ship?

  Seeing their joy displaced some of Amelia’s anger from a moment before, and she decided that no matter what life held for her, she never wanted to be so wealthy that she forgot about the true treasures she had in family, friends, and the healing hand of God that restored what had been hurt and broken for so long.

  The service started then, but Amelia’s heart was already full. As they began singing their first hymn, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of Quentin. The words echoed through her heart:

  O God our help in ages past,

  Our hope for years to come,

  Our shelter from the stormy blast

  And our eternal home.

  It was the cheers in the room that caught his attention first. Damien had expected a solemn and traditional church service, but the noise from the room sounded more like a rugby game.

  He entered the reception room, surprised to see most of the churchgoers on their feet. They were looking at something, cheering about something. He followed their gaze and a gasp escaped his lips. There, in the front of the room, was his father with his arm around Quentin.

  Anger mixed with surprise pulsated through Damien. Surely many people in this room knew of his brother’s deeds. He was shocked his brother had the nerve to show his face here of all places.

  Quentin had lost and wasted what had taken their father years to earn. Losing the money was one thing, but the harm to his father’s reputation was another. Yes, Clarence Walpole had a mind for business, but the man couldn’t control his own son.

  And now?

  Damien balled his fists, wishing he could pound them into his brother’s chest. If his brother were going to be the fool, why couldn’t he have chosen another time, another place? Word of this reunion was sure to hit New York by wireless before they even reached the shore. More than one reporter had tried to get his father to talk about Quentin asking for his inheritance. Damien cursed under his breath, hating knowing what this would look like in print.

  Over the years the society pages had produced photos of Quentin throwing lavish parties, and later lying drunk in the gutter. There were news stories of him entertaining a new woman every night. His father hadn’t turned the reporters away, but each time they’d approached, he’d only offered one comment. “While my son makes choices that hurt my heart, he will forever be the son I love, and until he returns home again, I will display his photo upon my mantel.”

  As the church service ended, Damie
n ran a finger under his starched collar and attempted to control his emotions as he strode to his father’s side.

  “Father?” he said sweetly. His eyes scanned the crowd, noticing all eyes on him.

  Clarence turned to Damien. “Damien. Your brother—look, he’s here. He’s been on the liner this whole time.”

  Then Clarence’s smile faded just slightly. “Son, Damien, why don’t you look surprised?

  Amelia returned to her room, dropping her handbag onto the sitting bench. She pulled off her white lace gloves one finger at a time then plopped down on the bench herself. She noticed Aunt Neda hadn’t tightened the faucet all the way closed, and the water dripped a drop every few seconds.

  She replayed the disapproving comments of the first-class passengers. Each drip of water spurred her anger. She wanted to give them a piece of her mind for their harsh judgmental attitudes. They’d been at a church service, after all. She set her lips in a grim line and told herself this wasn’t her battle to fight—as much as she would enjoy taking up arms. It was the life Quentin would have to face, whether he liked it or not.

  Damien sat on the deck chair, staring into the inky black sky.

  He heard footsteps approach, and he knew it was Arnold, his father’s butler.

  “Sir, your father has set up your brother in a fine room. He wishes for you to come see him.”

  “Arnold, I have no desire to see my brother.”

  “Sir?”

  “You can tell my father that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Not five minutes later, he heard another set of footsteps approaching. He could tell by the slow pace and the soft steps that it was his father.

  “Son, do you not wish to come see your brother? We are making plans for the party tomorrow night. I could use your help with the menu.”

  “Use my help? Father, all you’ve taken from me in the last ten—twenty years—was my help. All these years I’ve been by your side. I have done all you asked. I’ve worked far more hours than I’ve rested to ensure that your business prospers. I’ve agreed with all your decisions. Not once have you thrown a party for me, and you never even suggested I have a luncheon for my friends. Now this …” Damien spit out the words. “Now this son of yours shows up. Did you forget he’s the one who lost half of your holdings? You heard the rumors. Wild living, prostitutes, drunkenness. You’re throwing a party that will be attended by some of the most influential men in this world … for him? For that?”

  Only then did Damien dare to look into his father’s face.

  “Son, you are right when you say you’ve been by my side, and deep down you know that everything I have is yours. But this celebration—I have no choice but to be glad. This brother of yours was dead and is alive again. He was lost and now is found.”

  CHAPTER 22

  The Sunday sun was not as bright as the previous days’, and nippy air blasted Amelia’s cheeks as she stepped onto the decks. The cold outside only served to make the cabins seem warmer, the salons more luxurious.

  She had met Quentin’s eyes from across the reception room during the Sunday service, but after that he’d been ushered away by C.J. She told herself he wouldn’t forget her. She told herself Quentin was just caught up in the excitement of his father’s acceptance, but she had to admit that after spending so much time with Quentin not having him by her side left her feeling terribly alone.

  On the deck, a group of men gathered around the starboard side. They stared down to the ocean below, studying the water being churned up by the blades of the propellers. The watery foam spread like a thousand diamonds bubbling up. Amelia bundled a scarf tighter around her neck as she watched the diamond bubbles spread.

  “Why is it doing that?” she dared to ask.

  “We’re closer to the ice fields,” a steward explained.

  Amelia glanced out over the waters, as if expecting to see chunks of ice floating there, but she only saw a dark haze rippling out in every direction.

  “If ice is near, does it mean the ship will slow?” she asked.

  “If the captain hears that ice is near, he will make sure we heed the warnings, but it’s my guess it’s far enough away that it won’t affect us. Not that any ol’ ice could hinder the Titanic anyway.” The steward smirked.

  The steward hurried off, and she listened to the sloshing of water against the sides of the liner as she replayed her last conversation with Quentin. They’d been so focused on his spiritual healing they hadn’t taken time to discuss their feelings for each other. He hadn’t asked if she felt differently about them now. He hadn’t asked if she had more hope in their future together.

  And she did have hope for a future with him.

  Amelia had cared for many people during her years. She’d fed and clothed orphans. She’d stopped to talk to the beggars under the bridge. She’d visited new mothers and took them soup, but never in all her years had she witnessed someone who not only accepted her help but also heeded her advice. Her suggestion that Quentin put down his pride and reunite with his father had been hard for him to hear. Even harder to do. Yet he’d done it. He’d valued her words enough to put his own honor to the side. In return, she felt utterly cherished.

  More than that, she hadn’t seen the power of prayer at work in such an amazing way. She’d prayed for Quentin to do the right thing, and it was clear God had stirred his heart. And the more she prayed for him, the more she understood for herself that prayer made a difference. When she left this liner, she’d start praying more.

  As a woman who loved God, Amelia knew she should pray. She did so at church and after her morning Bible reading, but she never really talked to God throughout the day, and for the first time she wondered why. Why had she thought she must store up all her concerns and take them before God in the morn or at night? Wasn’t God attuned to her words and watching over her all day long every day?

  “Lord, if I am to allow these seeds of love for Quentin to take root in the garden of my heart, won’t You make that clear?” She whispered the prayer and felt it lift, carried away by the spray of the ocean. “Also, forgive me for not coming to You more often. Not only for this, but for all things.”

  Amelia finished her prayer and hurried back inside the liner to warm up. As she walked, she noticed that that sun setting on the watery foam glowed red, as did the Titanic’s side. A strange sensation came over her, and she had a feeling God was not finished working yet. She didn’t know what the days and weeks ahead held, but as the warm air enveloped her inside the doorway, Amelia had a feeling she would have to trust God more than she ever had before.

  A steward had been waiting by her stateroom door when she returned. In his hand was a note from Quentin.

  Amelia, darling, can you meet me at the first-class promenade deck? I’m overwhelmed by my father’s love, but I’m missing you most. With care, Quentin

  She entered her stateroom and saw that her aunt Neda wasn’t there. Her aunt, it seemed, was yet again busy with newfound friends. Amelia checked her hair, put on her warm coat, and then hurried to find her way to Quentin.

  He, too, wore a coat as he stood on the promenade deck. He must have heard her footsteps, for just as she approached, he turned and smiled.

  “Have you been waiting long?” she asked.

  “No, not very.” He blew out a breath. “Besides, it was good to have some quiet. My father’s been making quite a fuss.”

  As they looked out on the water, cold air carried his breaths up in vapor clouds. Her own breathing was quickened. She placed a hand over her heart, hoping to still it. The sea was calm, perfectly serene for miles. The ship cut through the dark glass. Only the broken surface lapped against the ship’s side.

  Amelia placed her gloved hand into the crook of Quentin’s arm. As they stared out onto the waters, a solemn hush brooded over the sea. Her lips curled in a smile. It was good just to be together again—to know they could be comfortable like this without words.

  Only the whoosh of the waters
as they protested being pushed aside by the speedy vessel and the beating of her heart broke the silence. At least Quentin couldn’t hear the beating of her heart.

  She’d never thought love could happen so fast. Especially love for a person who lacked what she’d thought she wanted most. Yet in their four days together, he had become a different person. On the docks she’d found someone who’d run away from love. The man who stood alongside her now dared to hope love could be possible—she had seen it in his eyes as soon as she had walked out the door.

  “Amelia, I have to ask you.” His voice broke the silence. “Once off this ship, if you did not have to worry about means for supporting yourself, what would you do?”

  She laughed. “Of all the people who should ask such a question!” Then, as she studied his face, she realized he was serious.

  “Well, all right. I will entertain your question. When I was in London, I volunteered at a home for orphaned children. There were many there who needed food and clothes—that was actually the easiest part to remedy. As they grew, though, I saw many older children sent out on the streets ill-prepared. It seemed a shame to me that one would feed a child but not educate him. It seemed a shame to teach a young girl proper manners without giving her a way to support herself once she left the shelter of the children’s home.”

  Quentin nodded.

  “Why do you ask?”

  He looked to her and shrugged. “I was just wondering. I’d just like to know your dreams.”

  “Is that the only reason why?”

  He shook his head. “Not really. My father’s been asking me the same type of questions. He tells me my experiences will not go to waste. He said that God can take all those broken parts of me and turn them into a beautiful mosaic. I’d never thought of things that way before—to think something good could come out of all my failings.”

  “It makes sense; your father is wise. Maybe that’s why I dream of helping children. Because I was in their situation before, I understand what they’re going through.” She placed her hand over his and squeezed. “Thank you.”