September Sky (American Journey Book 1) Read online

  "I assume you have something to say," Chuck said.

  "I do. I'm just not sure how to say it."

  "I don't understand."

  "I have many enemies, Charles," Wyatt said. "Some are old. Some are new. Some I have made in business. Some I have made on a more personal level."

  "I still don't follow."

  "Then let me help you," Wyatt said. "As you may know, I have long had a fondness for the ladies of Galveston. I have not, however, limited my choices to single ladies."

  "I see," Chuck said. "That explains why some people don't like you, but it doesn't explain why someone would go through my house and steal my notes."

  "It wouldn't unless the person responsible did not want you to publish a book that was in any way flattering toward the man who had won the affections of his wife."

  "You obviously have someone in mind."

  "I do," Wyatt said. "Have you met our local prosecutor?"

  "I assume you mean Levi MacArthur."

  "Yes. Have you met him?"

  "I haven't had the pleasure," Chuck said. "I know he is politically ambitious and was recently engaged to Emily Beck, but other than that I don't know much about him."

  Wyatt took a puff of his cigarette and turned to face Chuck.

  "What I tell you now, I tell you in confidence."

  "Of course," Chuck said.

  "Several years ago, I met a woman who stole my heart. She was beautiful, intelligent, and charming. She was also neglected and mistreated by a man who cared only about his career."

  "I read about this woman."

  "If you did, you read only the things her husband wanted you to read," Wyatt said. "Georgia MacArthur was so much more than the wife of an ambitious man. She was loving and vivacious, the kind of woman who put a smile on the face of everyone she met. Everyone except the miscreant she married, that is. To Levi, she was little more than an ornament – a prop he could show off at public events and ridicule in private."

  "You had an affair?"

  "Yes, we had an affair. We fell in love and planned a future together, a future filled with happiness and children. But Levi would not grant Georgia a divorce. Despite many financial incentives I threw his way, he would not relent."

  "So what happened?" Chuck asked.

  "I proposed to Georgia that we live together anyway – away from Galveston and the hurtful talk – but she would have none of it. She did not want to raise children under a cloud of shame."

  "She returned to Levi?"

  Wyatt nodded.

  "She went back to him for a few weeks. Then one morning a maid found her hanging from a rafter in the attic. She had been dead for two days. The bloody bastard had not even reported her absence," Wyatt said. "He hushed it up, of course. He used his influence with the police and the papers to keep the truth from getting out, but he couldn't keep the truth from me. I learned about Georgia's final misery from the maid herself."

  Chuck took a moment to digest Wyatt's words. He had heard from Charlotte that Wyatt was a ladies' man, but he had never heard anything like this. He felt new sympathy for the distant relative he had vowed to save from the gallows.

  "Let me guess," Chuck said. "Even though Levi is the one who made Georgia miserable, he blames you for her suicide and has vowed to destroy you."

  "You're a quick study."

  "I'm sorry to hear all this," Chuck said.

  "Don't feel sorry for me. I am more than capable of protecting myself from the likes of Levi MacArthur. If anything, you should feel sorry for yourself."

  "You think Levi burglarized my cabin?"

  "If he didn't, he paid to have it done," Wyatt said. "I'm sure he'd like to know more not only about the man who is singing my praises but also about the man who is pursuing his former fiancée. Don't forget your son, my friend. I'm sure he figures into this as well."

  Chuck sighed. He had counted Levi among the chief suspects from the start but not for all the reasons Wyatt had noted. Now, he had every reason to believe that a person sworn to uphold the law was personally responsible for breaking it.

  "You make a pretty persuasive case," Chuck said. "What do you suggest I do?"

  Wyatt took another puff and then stared at Chuck with empathetic eyes.

  "I suggest you do what most men would do in your situation," Wyatt said. "I suggest you watch your back."

  CHAPTER 35: JUSTIN

  Monday, May 28, 1900

  Justin stared at the mirror behind the bar at Ivy's Saloon and noticed for the first time in days that the man in the mirror smiled back. He had reason to smile. He had made significant progress with the girl of his dreams, even though their first real date had ended on an awkward note.

  The beginning of the date was anything but awkward. Justin had arrived at the Beck house at five forty-five on Saturday, greeted Isabella like a second mother, and spent more quality time with Anna than the girl could handle. By the time Emily walked down the staircase wearing a silk evening dress, the eight-year-old was in the stratosphere.

  Dinner at the Seafarer and the play at the Grand Opera House on Post Office Street went just as well. Emily seemed as happy, relaxed, and interested as ever. She asked many questions about Justin's past – which the time traveler handled deftly – and clung tightly to his arm from the moment they left Tenth and M at six fifteen to the time they returned at eleven.

  The only difficult stretch was the last five minutes, when Justin Townsend, a man who had lived with a woman for several months, couldn't muster the courage to kiss Emily on the lips. Instead of ending the date the way he wanted to end it, he hemmed and hawed and kissed her on the cheek. He vowed to do better the next time, if given the chance.

  He downed what was left of his beer and motioned to the bartender to bring him another. But before he could dig out a nickel and place it on the bar, someone else dug out two of his own.

  "I'll get that and one for myself," a man said to the bartender. "Unless Mr. Townsend objects, that is."

  Justin turned to his right and saw a slim, dapper man who appeared to be ten to fifteen years his senior. He didn't need a second look to know he was sitting next to Levi MacArthur.

  "I don't," Justin said.

  The man watched the bartender retreat to the taps. When the server reached the far end of the otherwise unoccupied bar, he slid his stool closer to Justin's.

  "I hope you don't mind the intrusion," Levi said. "When I saw you come in a little while ago, I told myself I simply had to introduce myself."

  "I know who you are."

  "I'm sure you do. That doesn't mean we can't go through the motions. I'm Levi MacArthur."

  Levi extended a hand.

  "Justin Townsend."

  Justin reluctantly shook the hand.

  "It's nice to finally meet you, Mr. Townsend. I've heard so much about you."

  "Is that so?" Justin asked.

  "It is."

  "Did you hear a lot about me from the person who broke into my house?"

  Levi pivoted on his stool and leaned forward. He grinned like a prosecutor who had just boxed a defendant into a corner.

  "Is that an accusation?"

  "No," Justin said. "It's just an idle question. You don't have to answer it."

  "You're right. I don't. But I will," Levi said. "Contrary to what you may believe, I had nothing to do with the burglary of your rental unit. Indeed, I am working closely with the police to solve that heinous violation."

  "Of course you are. I'm sure an arrest is imminent."

  Justin regretted the words the second he uttered them – not because he didn't want to needle an obnoxious public servant but rather because he didn't want to get drawn into a long pissing match. He had better things to do on a Monday night, even if his choices were limited to drinking beer and thinking about a girl.

  "When, not if, an arrest is made, you will be the first to know," Levi said.

  "That makes me feel warm inside."

  "It should," Levi said. "Very few suspe
cts who face me in court walk out of the courtroom free men. Most don't even bother with appeals."

  "I'll be sure to buy you a beer when you get your conviction."

  "I'll take you up on that. In the meantime, I'd like to discuss something else. I've noticed that you've taken an interest in my fiancée."

  "Don't you mean former fiancée?" Justin asked.

  "I suppose. Either way, the designation is only temporary. It's just a matter of time before Emily comes to her senses and realizes that outrage is a luxury she can't afford."

  Justin glared at Levi.

  "You really don't think she was justified in leaving you?"

  "No. I don't," Levi said. "She took a very rigid view of a common failing."

  Justin snorted and shook his head.

  "I could be wrong, but something tells me she made the right call."

  "In fact, she made a big mistake," Levi said. "She could have secured happiness for years to come by following through with her commitment."

  "I doubt that," Justin said. "I heard you pressured her into accepting your proposal."

  Levi laughed uproariously.

  "Pressured her? You've obviously been talking to the wrong people. Emily Beck did not rush from my arms, Mr. Townsend. She rushed into them, freely and enthusiastically."

  "That's nonsense."

  "Believe what you wish," Levi said. "I was there when she all but threw herself at me."

  "Why would she do something stupid like that?"

  "She did it, sir, for the reason most women like Emily throw themselves at a man. She did it to make another man angry."

  "You mean Silas Fitzpatrick?" Justin asked.

  "No, you fool. I mean Max Beck. Emily came to me because she knew it would be the fastest and surest way to punish her father for making her withdraw from college. Marrying me would have sent the old goat over the edge."

  Justin paused before saying more. He still regretted getting into this drawn-out conversation, but now he regretted it for new reasons. As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, he didn't know Emily as well as he thought he did.

  "Why is that?"

  "Why? I'll tell you why," Levi said. "I am Max Beck's worst nightmare. I am the man who almost put him in prison for beating a sailor who had insulted him in this very saloon three years ago. Had it not been for a technicality, he would be serving time in Huntsville."

  "You lie," Justin said.

  "Don't take my word for it. Ask the police. Or better yet, ask Max the next time you see him. I'm sure he'll be delighted to tell you about how he left a man for dead on the floor behind you."

  Justin wanted to say something in Max's behalf, but he couldn't. He had seen Max's anger firsthand and knew that angry people often committed violent acts. So instead of coming to the defense of the Beck family, he remained silent.

  Levi finished his beer and put another nickel on the bar. Then he got off of his stool, pushed it to the side, and placed a hand on Justin's shoulder.

  "Let me give you some advice, my young friend," Levi said. "Pack your bags and leave this town the way you found it. Don't dig into situations you don't understand, don't befriend people you don't really know, and don't try to steal women who belong to someone else."

  Justin pulled his shoulder back.

  "Get your hand off me," Justin said.

  "Remember what I said, Mr. Townsend. I would hate to see your stay in Galveston take an unpleasant turn."

  CHAPTER 36: CHUCK

  Wednesday, May 30, 1900

  Chuck noticed many things as he strolled with Charlotte through the cemetery. He noticed dozens of towering monuments, hundreds of beautiful headstones, and a flat lawn that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. He also noticed the numerous palm trees that provided vertical contrast to a mostly horizontal space and weeds that had begun to overrun wildflowers in the more neglected sections of the burial ground.

  Most of all, however, he noticed the silence. Even for a graveyard on one of the most solemn days of the year, City Cemetery in Galveston, Texas, was quiet – eerily quiet.

  "I expected more people," Chuck said. "This is Memorial Day, after all."

  "Most mourners pay their respects in the morning, when the air is cooler," Charlotte said. "I come here in the evening because it's the time of day when Isaac and I went on our walks."

  "Where is he buried?"

  "He is interred over there."

  Charlotte pointed to a spot near a large palm and then led Chuck to an assortment of obelisks and tablet stones. The objects marked the final resting places of veterans from the Mexican-American War to the recently concluded conflict with Spain. In the middle of the section lay a massive, ornate headstone bearing the name of U.S. Navy Lieutenant Isaac Preston Emerson.

  "It's impressive," Chuck said. "Did you choose the design?"

  Charlotte smiled sadly.

  "No. I'd love to take the credit, but I can't. A local veteran's group approached me shortly after Isaac died and proposed this particular memorial. They wanted to honor my husband's service with something that would not only catch people's attention but hold it."

  "Well, it certainly holds mine, Chuck said. "I feel honored to be here, Charlotte. Thank you for inviting me."

  "You're welcome."

  Chuck looked at the woman in the gray dress and nodded. He really did feel honored, but he also felt awkward. He felt like an interloper, a person who was intruding in a time, place, and situation in which he didn't belong.

  "Would you like a moment with your husband?" Chuck asked.

  Charlotte nodded.

  "I won't be long."

  Chuck released Charlotte's arm and watched closely as she walked the remaining twenty feet to Isaac's grave. He watched even more closely as she ran her fingers across the letters that formed her husband's name and then placed a vase of wildflowers near the base of the stone. He could only imagine what she was thinking.

  When Chuck saw Charlotte linger at her husband's grave, he decided to give her additional space. He turned around, walked a few yards away, and inspected two more of the many memorials to Texas heroes. They marked the graves of Civil War veterans. Both reminded the twenty-first-century reporter that he was in a very different time.

  Chuck glanced to the east and saw a woman in a black dress and a girl of four or five years kneel in front of a newer-looking tombstone. He didn't need to know anything else to know that the deceased was a beloved husband and father.

  He then glanced to the west and noticed a field in the distance that had obviously been prepared for new residents. He wondered how many of its empty plots would soon be filled by victims of the hurricane. He wondered what, if anything, he should do to keep them empty.

  Not a day went by that Chuck Townsend didn't think of the weight on his shoulders. He had the power to save thousands of lives and the moral responsibility to save none.

  He knew he couldn't save everyone and knew he wouldn't even try, but he also knew he would never let the coming calamity claim those he now counted as his friends. He certainly wouldn't let it take the woman he had come to adore.

  "Charles?"

  The soft voice snapped Chuck out of his daydream.

  "Yes."

  "I'm done," Charlotte said.

  "Where would you like to go now?" Chuck asked.

  "Let's walk back to the house."

  Chuck offered his arm and escorted Charlotte away from the reminders of the past. They walked in silence until they exited the cemetery and turned east on Broadway.

  "Once again, thank you for inviting me," Chuck said.

  "Once again, you're welcome."

  "Do you go to the cemetery often?"

  "I try to go once a month. Sometimes I make it," Charlotte said. "Sometimes I don't."

  "I'm not a fan of cemeteries, but I can see why people come here. It's beautiful. I don't think I've ever been to a cemetery that affected me like this one."

  "It is nice."

  "Did
you see the woman and the girl back there?" Chuck asked.

  "I did."

  "Sights like that really make you think."

  Chuck thought of the many military funerals he had covered after the invasion of Iraq in 2003. He had seen enough tearful young widows and fatherless children to last a lifetime.

  "Yes. They do," Charlotte said with a big sigh.

  "Did I miss something?"

  Charlotte tightened her hold on his arm.

  "It's nothing important."

  "Your sigh suggests otherwise."

  Charlotte smiled sadly.

  "OK. I suppose it is important," Charlotte said. "The girl reminded me of me at that age, when I buried my grandfather. She also reminded me of the daughter I always wanted to have."

  "You wanted to have a daughter?" Chuck asked.

  "I wanted to have several. Isaac wanted sons, of course. Military men always want sons. But I wanted daughters – daughters I could spoil and confide in. You can't imagine how much I envy Isabella Beck. She is the luckiest woman I know."

  "Did you and Isaac consider adoption?"

  Charlotte frowned.

  "He did."

  "You didn't?" Chuck asked.

  "No. I resisted the idea. I didn't know if I could raise a child that wasn't my own."

  "Did he try to persuade you otherwise?"

  "He did. He did every day of his last leave until I finally saw the light. We traveled to Houston shortly before he shipped off and made arrangements to adopt the baby of a local woman upon his return. When Isaac died, my dreams of becoming a mother died with him."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be," Charlotte said tersely. "Like I told you before, Isaac and I had seven wonderful years together. We had a good life, even if that life did not include the family we wanted."

  Chuck took a moment to process Charlotte's comments and her tone as they neared the grassy park surrounding the Texas Heroes Monument. He had obviously touched a nerve by bringing up the subject of children. So he decided to move to safer ground.

  "Lieutenant Emerson must have been quite a man."