By the Light of the Silvery Moon (26 page)

“It would have been so easy to fall in love with you,” she continued, “and although I do think you dream of finding love, Damien, I don’t think you’re ready to step down from being the perfect son to being an ordinary man who seeks the heart of an even more ordinary woman.” She looked into his eyes again as she said those words, and she saw a wall within his gaze. Quentin may have run away, but his brother had built a brick wall around his heart—too high for her to scale.

Not seeing even a hint of emotion in his eyes, she pulled her hand away and stood.

He followed her, jumping to his feet, wrapping her in a quick embrace. “Amelia, wait, can’t we at least try? I will do better. I—” He pulled her tighter, as if not wanting to let go. She looked up into his face and noticed moisture in his eyes.

“I wish I could. I really do. But I don’t want to have to fight for a man’s heart. My mother did that, Damien. She might have won it. She might have lost it.”

She pulled back from his embrace and left the room. Amelia didn’t look back. She didn’t need to consider what those people thought of her. They could have their opinions but that didn’t matter.

She made her way to the second-class staterooms and focused her eyes on one door, the door next to hers, and knocked.

Not ten seconds later, it opened. Quentin stood there with his shirt partly unbuttoned. She tried to ignore his painfully thin chest and instead focused on his face.

“Amelia, did you need something?”

“Tomorrow can we spend time together? Just as friends. I’m tired of trying to pretend. I’m tired of these fancy clothes. I’m tired of first class.”

His eyes focused on hers and he smiled. “Yes, I’d like to spend time with you, but I have one question.”

She folded her hands together and then tucked them under her chin. “What’s that?”

“Do you have one more pretty dress? I’d like to have you on my arm at supper, and maybe, dear Amelia, it’ll be my turn to ask you to dance.”

Saturday
April 13, 1912

O
utside on the boat deck, the morning fog had thinned and lifted, leaving behind polished handrails wet with moisture. The sun rose higher, bathing the decks in golden light. Quentin strode at Amelia’s side.

They’d eaten breakfast with her aunt. They’d played a hand of cards with new friends in second class, and now Amelia was thankful they once again had time alone to walk, to talk.

“Why did you get on the ship, Quentin? Not when you wanted bread, but when I offered you the ticket? You could have said no. You could have walked away.”

“I’ve fallen far, and I’m tired of wandering.” The words released with a sigh.

“Were you going home? To your family?” She thought about what Damien had said, what he feared—his brother finding his father only to leave again and break his heart.

“That was my desire … someday to find them. But I couldn’t return as a man in rags. I figured I could find a job and clean up a bit.”

“Do you think it matters to your father that you look more presentable?” She bit her lower lip as she asked that question, hoping he wouldn’t get angry with her. She’d gotten enough people angry with her over the last few days.

“You don’t understand my family. They have high standards. You walked the first-class decks—you saw. Those types are looking for heaven on earth. There is no room for anything but the finest—clothes, accommodations, food, service.”

“But your father, is he that way?” She thought about what Damien said, how C.J. enjoyed the common men as much as the rich.

“He didn’t used to be. Nor Mother, but once you have such things you become accustomed to them. The man who collects my father’s trash dresses finer, lives better, than I have lived these last years. I don’t want to be rubbish on his doorstep. If I at least had a stable job …”

Stable.
The word played in Amelia’s mind. It was the same word her aunt had used with her. It was the same word she’d used to describe Mr. Chapman. Her chest tightened as if it were being cranked down with a turn wheel.

Are you no different, Amelia? She chided herself. You don’t need fine things, but are you willing to forgo your chance of someday finding love for a simple home, regular meals, to carry the last name of a proper man? Is stability worth losing the one man who truly draws your heart?

“Can I ask—why did you leave in the first place?” She eyed Quentin. “You had everything—more than most people could imagine.”

He continued on in slow steps almost as if he didn’t hear her. Instead he nodded at the stream of people that walked by. Amelia watched them pass—ministers, bricklayers, salesmen, housewives—from many countries and all walks of life. Each of them had a story, she knew, but Amelia wasn’t concerned about them. She only wanted to hear one man’s tale.

Quentin paused, turning to her. Amelia halted her steps. He pressed his fingers against his eyes as if trying to hold back tears, and then he opened them, looking down at her.

“My mother died because of me,” he stated simply. “I was a boy. I’d grown tired of being at my parents’ party. I begged and begged for her to take me outside. It was a beautiful spring night. I was playing at the end of the dock.”

“Oh no.” She covered her lips with her fingertips.

“I was angry with her. Not just angry because she wasn’t paying attention to me that night. There were so many things….”

He stood before her, one man on a ship filled with men. When she’d first boarded the
Titanic,
the ship seemed so large, but as she looked to the side and took in the sea that stretched as far as she could see, she suddenly felt so small. Her ability to listen to the rest of this story and give Quentin the support he needed seemed inadequate.

Quentin balled his fists at his side. “I was angry at the big house. At the servants. At my parents’ friends. I didn’t understand what the money had done to us, but I knew things had changed. I didn’t like the changes.”

“Did you fall in, Quentin? Did you fall off the end of the dock?”

“Yes, but not on purpose.” He looked down on the wooden deck as if seeing something there. “There was a turtle. I reached for it, and before I knew what was happening, I was underwater. I didn’t know how to swim.” He let out a shuddering sigh. “My mother didn’t either. She jumped in to save me. She pushed me to the surface. I tried to hold on to her, but she was stronger. It wasn’t until later—as I was running up to the house—that I realized I had her pearl necklace in my hands. It’s the only thing …” Quentin covered his face with his hands. He didn’t make a sound, but his shoulders shook.

Amelia wanted to speak words of comfort—to tell him he didn’t need to continue. Instead something inside told her to wait. To give him time to tell his story. He needed to get the words out just as dirt needed to be cleaned from a wound, so healing could begin.

After a moment, he composed himself and lowered his hands. His face was red, his eyes bloodshot. “After that it was too hard seeing my father without my mother by his side. I couldn’t stay and watch, so I asked for my inheritance. I didn’t want to wait until my father died before I could leave my own mark. I got tired of walking in his shadow, mostly because of the pain. It was a dark place to be.”

“I imagine you enjoyed the freedom. At first at least.”

“Yes, and after that … I didn’t plan on losing everything—no one does. I didn’t plan on living in rags. Didn’t plan on going to bed more often hungry than full. I wanted to prove to my father I could do something right. That I could make it on my own.” He sighed. “That failed, and I don’t know why I even tried. I robbed my father twice—of his wife and his wealth.”

“You’re not the person you think you are. You didn’t mean to cause your mother’s death, and just because you’re a poor businessman and chose the wrong friends doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of loving and being loved. You being here—me being here—is proof of that.”

“What do you mean?”

She paused, trying to collect her thoughts.

A couple strolled by arm in arm. They appeared as if they didn’t have a care in the world. For a moment, Amelia was envious. She wished that were her and Quentin. What would it have been like if they’d boarded this ship as two whole people, without all the invisible burdens? What would it have been like if they could start a relationship without so many walls built around their hearts, so many pin pricks causing tender places?

Then maybe we would have had a chance at love.

Then again, because of the past—the pain—she was learning more about Quentin than she thought possible. How many people could say they got to know another person—truly know his heart—in such a short amount of time? She placed a hand on Quentin’s arm, thankful. She knew what she wanted to say—what she
had
to say.

“It is no accident we met. God caused those men to unload you at the same time I was loading up. This ship is large, to be sure, but for a man who likes to run … it seems you have nowhere to go.”

He listened but didn’t answer. She looked to his hands at his side. His fingers curled as if holding an invisible necklace within them.

“It’s time for the truth, Quentin…. You need to go to them.”

“You don’t understand. The truth is that I ruin all I touch.”

“That’s your truth, but what is God’s truth? How does He see you, Quentin? Not only who you are, but who you
can
be.”

“You’re the only one I’ve encountered who sees me like that—as what I should be. You see the promise, not my faults.”

“Yes, well, just keep looking into my eyes, then. Until you trust that’s how God sees you, too, Quentin, just keep looking into my eyes.”

The day was nothing like Amelia planned. She thought it would be a day of walking with Quentin and exploring the ship together. But after their first walk on the deck, they mostly sat. Even during lunch they found their own table instead of sitting with everyone else. Amazingly Aunt Neda didn’t seem to mind. Maybe she’d been praying about matters—just as she’d suggested Amelia do. Maybe God was giving them both peace about the situation.

With Damien she’d enjoyed all the luxuries the ship had to offer. With Quentin they explored each other’s hearts, feelings, and emotions. She knew they could explore the whole world, and no matter where they went and what they saw, what they’d appreciate most was each other.

“Why did you go to London?” she asked as they enjoyed the afternoon tea a steward had brought to the deck.

“We lived in a small cottage on our property when my father was having our house built. I remember one day as my mom sat and drank tea, she was staring at a postcard of the London Bridge that a friend had sent. I asked what she was doing, and she told me she was pretending she was there, pretending she was sitting at an outdoor café gazing at the London Bridge.”

“And she never went there, did she?”

Quentin shook his head. “And …” A sly smile crept up his face. “There is the fact that they speak English there. I was never one for foreign languages.”

They talked about the differences between London and America, and with each comparison excitement bubbled in her chest. America, it seemed, was a place where anything could happen. And as Quentin talked, she saw new hope in his eyes, too.

“Is the music different, too?” she asked.

“Well, there were some songs that came from The World’s Fair that I really liked. I attended it in St. Louis with Father before I … left. I learned to play quite a few songs.”

“Can you play one? Or two? There’s a piano in the second-class reception room.”

Quentin nodded. “One or two, I suppose.”

They made their way to the reception room, and Quentin sat down to play. He played a song called “On the Pike” by James Scott, and Amelia marveled at the way his fingers moved over the keys. A small crowd gathered, and smiling faces looked on. The group clapped along as he played.

The song ended, and Quentin’s hands poised motionless above the keys. Seeing him pause, Amelia wondered if it was because he’d heard the beating of her heart. As she watched him, she ached with a joy she didn’t understand. There was no place she would’ve rather been.

While Damien’s face had been so confident, so determined as he’d asked her to dance, Quentin’s eyes registered surprise when he looked up at her, as if he couldn’t believe she’d stayed to listen—or that the crowd had stayed. It was as if he felt unworthy to have her attention at all.

Her heart fluttered like a captured bird. Her breath came short. Her mouth dried up. Her mind searched for sufficient words.

“That was beautiful,” she finally managed. “Can you play a few more?”

Quentin did, and when the music finally stopped, the crowd dispersed with murmurs of praise. Seeing their smiles as they left caused Quentin’s face to glow.

Amelia felt her stomach rumble. Supper would be served soon. She didn’t want this day to end. In fact, she hoped it would go a new direction.

“Quentin, was there a suit included in that suitcase—Henry’s suit?”