By the Light of the Silvery Moon (12 page)
Read By the Light of the Silvery Moon Online
Authors: Tricia Goyer
Suddenly he didn’t care. At this moment, Quentin could think of nothing more than doing just that. Of returning to second class and finding Amelia. Of risking everything—his heart, hers.
HAPTER
7
F
rom the glass windows of the promenade deck, Amelia looked down at the couple below. She’d been hurrying to her room when she saw them, and the way the woman curled up against the man’s back—as if they were the only two people on the ship—caused her to pause.
It was only as the man turned that a gasp escaped her lips. She’d been mistaken before, but not this time. It was Quentin who stood there with the woman.
No wonder he’d wanted on the ship. It wasn’t just the passage he’d wanted. It was her!
A hot smack of anger came out of nowhere and sent Amelia whirling in a half circle. An older couple strode by, bundled up in warm coats, and offered her a smile. Amelia attempted to smile back, but as soon as they passed, she covered her mouth with her hand.
She felt like such a fool. No wonder Quentin had been so awkward in her presence. Maybe that had been his plan all along—to prey on some merciful person on the docks. Maybe that was why he’d been so fidgety today as they sat on the deck chairs. He was just talking with her out of duty. He didn’t want to be with her—but rather another. He only spent time with her out of obligation.
“How foolish I’ve been,” she mumbled to herself. Aunt Neda was right. Just because she’d helped the man didn’t mean she needed to get involved in his matters. He most likely knew his father and brother were on board. How could he not? Maybe he had a plan to swindle them again, too. No wonder he warned her not to say anything.
Refusing to watch Quentin with the woman, she turned her head sharply aside and stared out the window at the expanse of ocean beyond. This was the very reason she wanted to start a relationship with someone like Mr. Chapman. He might be simple—boring even—but at least he would be dependable. He’d always been frank with her in his letters. He’d be a steady rock for her to lean on. Committing to someone like that would save her from a thousand tears and much heartbreak.
She made her way to her stateroom. Swinging the door open, she saw it was empty. Aunt Neda most likely still listened to the orchestra with her new friends. Amelia softly shut the door and eased herself onto the sitting bench, leaning her head back against the cushions and closing her eyes. She needed this time alone to think. Needed to remember her purpose for the voyage. How foolish she’d been for trying to forget what she was leaving behind. She’d do wise to learn from her mother’s mistakes, lest she repeat them. How equally foolish not to consider what lay ahead. That was the whole reason she was here. Mr. Chapman was the whole reason.
Amelia picked up the stack of letters she had brought with her. They were addressed to her in perfect penmanship. Mr. Chapman’s penmanship. She’d read them ten, maybe twenty times, over the previous months. Mr. Chapman had seemed so kindhearted. He appeared to be someone worth getting to know. Yet as she held the envelopes in her hands—letters that had crossed the ocean in the opposite direction—she suddenly couldn’t remember what they said. She also only remembered some of the words of Elizabeth’s letter. Her cousin had told her that Mr. Chapman had fair features, and that he was a highly respected man in the community and in their church. He was her neighbor, and he was a wonderful conversationalist. Upon first boarding this fine ship, Amelia had wondered if all those things were enough. Now she knew. Of course they could be enough. Relationships that succeeded were ones based on commitment. On stability.
She sat down on the cushioned sitting bench and picked up the letters, deciding to read a few again to remind herself why she’d set out on this journey.
Dear Miss Gladstone,
You asked about some of my favorite things in New Haven. By far I would have to say a fine spot I enjoy visiting is the New Haven Green. It comprises the central square of the nine-square settlement plan made by the original Puritan colonists in New Haven. It is a lovely park where many go to recreate. I often visit to feed the pigeons and sit down with a good book. Remind me when we visit sometime to tell you about when the greens were used as a burial ground for the citizens of New Haven. The headstones were moved to the Grove Street Cemetery, however, the remains of the dead were not moved. My father has a few stories about this, and I’m sure you would be interested in hearing his tales, which brings me to the main point of my letter, dear Miss Gladstone.
This may be much to ask, but it seems that we will never get a chance to truly know each other unless we meet face-to-face. I spoke to Len and Elizabeth about this. They mentioned that your aunt is getting on in years, and they would like to be able to provide for her—if only she were able to make it to America. I have proposed an idea to them, and I wanted to propose it to you as well. I am not an overly wealthy man, but I have saved most of what I’ve earned. If you and your aunt would consider coming to America for a visit, I would gladly pay your passage on a ship. Elizabeth suggested your aunt consider moving—and you, too, with her—but that will be your decision. Either for a short time or a longer stay, I’ll leave the decision to you, but I have faith that once we have the chance to meet in person, the small affections we have found in our letters will grow.
There could be a future for us, Miss Gladstone, a wonderful future.
With true sincerity,
Mr. Chapman
Amelia smiled as she read the man’s words. He did seem kind, and oh so thoughtful. She appreciated that he had a close relationship with his family, and it was sweet of him to think of Aunt Neda’s well-being. And surely Elizabeth and Len’s opinion greatly matters.
She set her chin and pulled out another letter. She needed this—needed the reminder of all the reasons she was willing to leave all she knew for this man.
Dear Miss Gladstone,
Before your letter came, there was a knock on the door from Elizabeth. She received your note saying that your aunt has agreed to come if passage for you and your cousin—Elizabeth’s brother, Henry—can come, too. Elizabeth and Len offered to pay your cousin’s passage, but I insisted I cover that expense. It is such a little thing when it means you’ll be coming here soon. A note has already been sent to my bank. The money will be sent soon. I will leave it to your discretion when you wish to come. I read in yesterday’s paper that the greatest ship ever built, the Titanic, is due to set sail in March or April. I will include enough funds for passage upon that grand ship if you so desire. It seems only fitting, such a great woman as yourself should ride upon the very best.
With care,
Mr. Chapman
Amelia bit her lip. What would Mr. Chapman think to know that Henry didn’t make it? That his own foolishness landed him in jail? She refolded the letter and put it back in the envelope.
From what she knew about Mr. Chapman, he’d be gracious—maybe a little put out, but gracious all the same. Len and Elizabeth wouldn’t be surprised. Losing his father when he was just a wee boy had hurt Henry the most, and from a young age he spent time with the wrong people at the docks. Still it was she whom Mr. Chapman wished to see disembarking from the ship. As long as she was there—and was eager to fulfill her promise for them to get to know each other in new and deeper ways—she figured Mr. Chapman would not feel so flustered about the rest.
Dear Amelia,
First, I will say with sincerity, thank you for insisting that I call you Amelia. It is a fine name, one you should be proud of.
Many thanks for your Christmas note also; it just arrived. When I told your cousin, Elizabeth, and her husband, Len, that I would be writing you a letter momentarily, they asked that I pass on their good wishes.
I found it of interest in your last note that you do not like to cook. When I discussed this matter with Elizabeth, she confirmed that was the case. She said if you do cook, it is simple meals that you share with neighbors and those in need. I, too, cook simply, but considering the upcoming arrival of you, your cousin, and your aunt, I realized that hiring a cook would be a wise procurement. I stopped by the newspaper during my lunchtime today and put in an advertisement. I will be interviewing cooks Monday next, although I wonder how best to do that. Should I ask each to bring a favorite dish? I believe my stomach likes the idea of such an interview.
In the last letter, you asked me to share a bit more of my life. I have shared about my education, my job, and my friends. I’ve described my house, and I’ve told you about my growing-up years, but I realize that maybe I need to go into more detail about our community.
I have lived in New Haven, Connecticut, all my life. If you are not aware, it is part of the Long Island Sound, and my home has a nice view of Long Island, New York, to the south. My father worked from the time he was a young boy at the Winchester Repeating Arms Company. He retired there two years prior and lives one street over from me. Most of my relatives, in fact, live within two miles of my home. They are all eager to meet you.
Also, Amelia, you wouldn’t be aware of it unless I confessed, but this letter has sat on my desk a day and a night as I tried to figure out how to write what I am thinking about most. I suppose the only way to say things is to state them clearly. Amelia, you are a beautiful woman, and I am worried you would be disinterested in such a simple man as myself who lives such a simple existence.
Yesterday, just as I had started writing my letter, Elizabeth stopped by with a photograph of you that she had found in her trunk. She described you very well, but your beauty came through in your photo. She said I can keep it, so I have placed it on my piano. As I look at your photograph, more worries now fill my mind. I knew from the beginning I would find you a woman of interest. I’ve known Elizabeth and Len for many years, and I trust them explicitly. I am more eager now than I have ever been to meet you face-to-face and to settle down on the front porch for long talks.
Were you able to procure a suitable ship passage for your aunt and your cousin? I do hope the money that I sent was enough. I wish to tell you again there is no need to thank me. If we are to get on as well as Elizabeth thinks we are, then your friendship is quite enough. After that … we will let matters settle once we are able to discuss things face-to-face.
I will post this letter now and eagerly await your response.
Sincerely,
Your Mr. Chapman
She picked up one more letter and had just pulled it from the envelope when a knock interrupted Amelia’s reading. She frowned at the door. Who could it be? She rose, thinking it might be Ethel. After all, her friend had scurried away, leaving Amelia to face those in first class alone.
The knock sounded again.
“Amelia? Are you in there?” Though muffled through the door, she could tell it was a male voice. “Amelia,” the voice said louder. “I know you’re in there,” she heard Quentin say. “I saw your aunt in the lounge. You weren’t with her. I talked to the steward, and he said you entered your stateroom not thirty minutes ago.”
She sat there quietly, her fingers playing with the letters on her lap. Amelia bit her lip. If she opened the door, she’d have something to say—too much to say. She’d question Quentin about his father and brother. She’d ask him about the woman in third class, even though it was none of her business. And because she didn’t want to get hurt any more than she’d already been, she sat.
She heard Quentin pacing outside the door. Under the lower edge of the door his shadow briefly blocked the light as he passed. The longer he paced, the more she wanted to open the door and talk to him, and that was exactly what he wanted her to do. She would not give in. Not this time.
Another thought stirred, causing her to sit up straighter. Maybe Aunt Neda was right. Maybe he was a con man and a crook.
“This is a game,” she whispered. “But what is he after?” She hardly had two coins.
Amelia considered what she
did
have. She did have compassion. She did have concern. And those were things men like him took advantage of most. She’d heard about things like that happening before—women trusting the wrong men, only to end up alone and forgotten.
She also had her heart … which Quentin could be intent on trying to steal. And where would that leave her if he succeeded? She had others to think of—Mr. Chapman, her aunt, even Elizabeth and Len.
Amelia swallowed hard and rubbed the goose bumps rising on her arms. Her mother had warned her of men like him. Even before she was able to understand, her mother had told her about men who played with a woman’s affections in order to meet their desires for a time. Well, Amelia Gladstone wasn’t that type of woman.
Amelia sighed, closed her eyes, and rested her head against the back of the cushioned bench and willed the
Titanic
to move faster. Willed it to take her to a man who could be trusted—her Mr. Chapman who waited on the distant shore.
