By the Light of the Silvery Moon (20 page)

“Listen to me.” Clarence placed a soft hand on John Jacob’s arm. “As long as you try to run from the past, it will keep trailing you. What you’ve done cannot be undone. A child is a gift—remember that.”

“Yes.” John Jacob focused on Clarence’s face as if clinging to a lifeline. “Thank you, I will.”

“More importantly, today is a new day,” C.J. continued. “You’ve made mistakes aplenty. All of us have. God will forgive you for any wrong deeds. You know the hurt you’ve caused others, but the truth is, your misdeeds hurt God’s heart even more.”

John Jacob nodded, and from the look on his face, he appreciated C.J.’s words. Amelia guessed that most people in his life were more apt to talk behind his back than to speak to him heart to heart.

“Take time tonight to talk to God about all that’s bothering you,” C.J. continued. “Also remember the next step you take can be a step in the right direction.”

With the soft tone of Clarence’s words, the lines in John Jacob’s face softened.

“Thank you. You’ve given me something to think about.”

While most would bristle to have such a sermon shared in a public setting, John Jacob clung to the hope—the truth—C.J. offered. And with relief on his face, they turned to new topics of conversation—the stock market, their time in Europe, and the weather.

“It seems as if you’ve met a lot of interesting people,” Amelia said to Damien as the two older men continued their conversation.

He took a sip of the water in his crystal glass and nodded. “These are the influential ones. The interesting ones are something very different.” He chuckled. “Like the railroad man who taught me how to kill a man in a poker game with a flip of my wrist and make it look like he’d just passed out. How to hop a train without being seen. How to scale the outside of a building …”

“Have you done any of those things?” Amelia’s eyes widened.

“No, of course not, but at least I know how.” He chuckled. “You may note how my father fits well here, but I guarantee if we were to walk down to the third-class gathering room, he’d enjoy himself just the same. There are days he’ll attend great luncheons and then at night join some of the men at the railroad yard for hobo stew. He sees the worth in people when most just focus on their worth—as in money.”

“Sounds like a great man.”

“Yes, well, many think so. But sometimes I think he cares too little for his holdings. He’s made foolish decisions and put his trust in the wrong places. The wrong people.”

She squirmed in her seat, wondering if it was his brother that Damien spoke of. From the pained expression on his face, she had a feeling it was.

“You’re nervous, Amelia.”

“Yes, I am.”

“That’s to be expected, I suppose. I’m sure you’ve never sat amongst such a gathering.”

“No, I haven’t … so near to the likes of these types of folks.”

She blinked slowly, trying to decide if she should tell him the truth. She picked up her fork with quivering fingers. It wasn’t them—the people in the room—who intimidated her. It was Damien. His presence made her feel impatient and exhilarated in a way she hadn’t known before. She wanted to get to know him better, while at the same time she feared knowing more and being disappointed. Or maybe it was the secret. How could she share an honest conversation with Damien when she held back telling him the one piece of information that could change everything?

“You’re right.” She looked around. “I’ve never been in a gathering like this, but that’s not what is making me uneasy.”

“Then what do you have to be nervous about?”

She thought of a dozen things she could say. It was the people, in a small part. The names and faces she’d studied in the newsprint were living, breathing, fleshy people moving around her, laughing and talking. It was this fine dining room and the food on her plate. It was his father, C.J., who looked at her with such intensity it was as if he could read the joys and fears that had been embossed upon her heart. But the one thing that outweighed them all was that Damien’s brother was on this very ship. And before that he’d been a thin man in rags without a coin to his name. Did Damien really understand that? Did he understand how his brother had been living?

She bit her lip—remembering the defeat on his face as he was dragged off the ship. Why had things come to that? Why hadn’t Quentin allowed his own family to care for him when he needed care? They could have purchased a ticket for him in one of the finest rooms on this ship. Why had it come down to her mercies that had brought him on board?

It was a story she didn’t fully understand. Quentin had wanted to keep his presence a secret, but what would keep a poor man from seeking help from a father who seemed to be caring and compassionate in every way?

As she sat there, quiet tension mounted between them.

Damien picked up the menu and placed it to his chest. “Don’t worry. If you refuse to tell me what the matter is, I refuse to tell you what we will have for dessert,” he said with a playful smile. She supposed he was trying to ease her nerves, but all his teasing did was make her heart flip over in her chest and provide her with another thing to worry about.
Could a man like him honestly be interested in me?

Surprised laughter bubbled from her lips, and she briefly closed her eyes, sending up a quick prayer for guidance. Damien seemed like a fine man, and his father, too. She could guess why Quentin didn’t want them to know his fallen state—it was his pride that kept him at bay—but if she had a family member in such a situation, wouldn’t she want to know?

C.J. and John Jacob Astor finished their conversation, and John Jacob excused himself to check on his young wife who was resting in their room.

Just when Amelia considered telling both C.J. and Damien about Quentin, the older man rose.

“If you’ll excuse me, this old man has occupied your supper long enough. I can see you have much to discuss. It was a pleasure meeting you, Amelia; honestly it was. As Damien can tell you, when thoughts of Quin arise I can think of little else. It’s a surprise I can even run a business.”

He rose and patted Damien’s shoulder. “In fact, without my eldest son, I couldn’t.”

Just when Amelia was sure C.J. was going to ask Damien to walk him to his room, he looked at her and paused. It was as if his mind were someplace other than this room—in a different time. Finally, he sat down again, scooting his chair close to her. “I’ve been battling within myself all evening, my dear. More than anything I want to ask you questions about my son. I can tell by your reluctance that at some time he told you we are estranged … and maybe he even made you promise not to share his whereabouts. Is that correct?”

As C.J. spoke, her heart ached as much as if he pierced it with his words. She nodded. “Yes … yes to both of those.”

“I won’t ask you to tell us more than you feel comfortable saying, but I want you to know I’m also praying that if God releases you … Well, I can imagine nothing greater than hearing more about Quentin—what he said, how he looked, everything you can tell me. My heart aches….” He paused and placed a hand on her shoulder. “No, I won’t burden you with that, but—“

“Do you need me to see you to your room, Father?” Damien interrupted.

“No, oh no. I’ll have one of the stewards show me the way.” He shook his head and stood again. “You know I’ll get lost if I attempt it on my own.”

Amelia opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, C.J. walked away with quickened steps. With each step Amelia felt the tension in her rise. Why had she hesitated?

C.J. exited the room, but instead of relief at seeing him go, the truth grew in her mouth, pressing to be released. If only she could tell him.

If she were in their shoes, she’d want to know. Quentin was a drowning man. How could he succeed in America with nothing, no one? He didn’t want her to toss him a lifeline, but she knew his father and brother could be just that to him.

“Damien, I have to tell you something.” The words spilled from her lips. “I have to tell you. I cannot hold it in. Quentin is here. He’s on the ship. That was when I met him, just yesterday … that’s how I am certain he’s well.

His breath rushed out in a ragged gust. “Oh no.” He propped his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands.

“I promised him I wouldn’t tell your father or you, but you need to know. You need to help him. He’s so thin. He was in rags when I first met him.”

Damien reached out his hand and took hers. He tenderly ran his thumb over the back of her fingers. “You did the right thing by not telling my father. My father has faced more loss because of my brother than anyone should. Quin most likely wanted to get back to America so he could work himself into my father’s life. If you care for anything right and good, you will urge Quin to let my father be. He’s already faced enough heartache—“

“But wouldn’t it help to see him?” she interrupted.

“You don’t understand. You don’t know my brother. He will cry and say he’s been a fool, but as soon as the social circles press, or as soon as anyone questions where he’s been and what he’s done, he’ll be gone. He’ll disappear just as he did before. I’m not sure my father’s heart could take that.”

She nodded, and sadly she had a feeling Damien was right. She’d seen how Quentin tried to keep everyone at arm’s length. Even when he’d sought her out, there had been a barrier there, as if he wanted to get close but was fearful of that very thing.

Damien cleared his throat. “I appreciate your telling me, Amelia.” He offered her the beginning of a smile. “That means you trust me. And I will do what I can to not violate your trust.”

She gazed at him, taking in the handsome man and his fine suit. She looked around the room at the people in their expensive clothes. “
Give God a chance to guide your heart
,” Aunt Neda had said, but here … how could this be part of God’s plan?

A dining steward cleared their empty plates, and Damien rose. He was solemn, but Amelia could tell he wanted to finish off the evening well for her. “Would you like to have dessert at the Café Parisien? I hear the orchestra will be playing in the reception room there.”

“Yes, of course, I would love it.”

A few minutes later, they entered the Parisien, and Amelia sucked in a breath. It was decorated like a French café with wicker chairs and large picture windows.

“Did you know the Prince of Wales is in Paris as we speak?” Damien asked.

“Yes, actually. He invited me to go with him, but I told him I didn’t want to be civilized. I decided to travel to the United States instead.”

Damien chuckled. “I beg your pardon. Are you saying Americans are uncivilized?” “Not all Americans. Not you.”

Amelia touched her stomach. She felt bad that she’d told Damien about his brother. Wasn’t he concerned about Quentin? How could he hear that his brother was on board and act as if nothing had changed?

Her stomach tightened into a knot, and she wanted to excuse herself. But where could she go? If she walked the decks, she could run into Quentin. She didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to explain why she’d betrayed his confidence.

She also knew if she returned to their room her aunt would want to hear every detail about their evening. Maybe if she stayed out a bit longer, her aunt would be snoring, and Amelia could slip into bed without too much fuss.

A dining steward approached, and Damien ordered vanilla éclairs for them both. When the steward walked away, he placed his cloth napkin on his lap and looked at her with a soft smile. “I wonder if the éclairs are as good as my favorite café not far from the Louvre. Then again, I hope the baker here treats us more kindly. You should have seen that other man’s outburst when my father left part of his pastry on his plate,” he said, launching into a story.

She studied Damien’s calm appearance and wondered if he was more bothered than he was letting on. Seeing his indifference made her wary of any emotions that he expressed. Did Quentin know this was how his brother would react?

I shouldn’t have said anything. What was I thinking?

Amelia’s hand trembled as she added cream and sugar to her coffee. The steward returned with their desserts, and nearly as soon as he set them down, she took a bite of her pastry. She needed something to distract her. Something to focus on other than her worries. The pastry was light and sweet, but in her mouth it felt as dry and tasteless as cobblestone.
Why did I tell him? What have I done?

She glanced up, meeting his eyes, noticing that his face was lit with color. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin, wondering if she had food on her face or if she had done something else to embarrass him.

“It is all right to eat this pastry with a fork, isn’t it?”

When he didn’t respond her eyes widened. “Or did I say something? Do something?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that you aren’t saying anything. I was wondering if I was a bore.”

“No, no not at all. I just … well, I shouldn’t have told you about your brother. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Telling you about Quentin being on the ship … and with your father finding out.”

“My father won’t find out.”

“Really?”

“I won’t tell him. I refuse. My brother chose to walk away. He chose his own path. I told Quentin it was a mistake when he left. I told him I wouldn’t chase him.”

Unblinking, she stared at him. “And you don’t think he’ll seek your father out?”

A curt laugh burst from Damien’s lips. “And reveal once and for all how he lost everything? How he ended up on the streets with nothing?”

“Then you know?”

“Everyone in our circle knows. There are many eyes on us always, Amelia. The eyes of those of the same status. And then common people, too—those who look to us with awe, wishing they could live our lifestyle.”

She set down her fork and leaned closer. Her body felt hot, flushed, and she wasn’t sure if it was from anger at how Damien treated his brother or sadness that Quentin had lost so much—by his own hand. Then again, what did she know, being one of those “common people”?

Damien’s face flushed even deeper. “I’m not heartless. I don’t hate Quin for what he’s done. Sometimes he gets into trouble … with the law, with owing money to the wrong people. I’ve helped him in—” He paused. “Never mind.” Damien took a sip from his water. “Just forget I said anything.”