By the Light of the Silvery Moon (31 page)

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.”

T
he 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.”

“For what?”

“For sharing your father’s words. For helping me understand that my past shouldn’t be forgotten…. Instead I need to offer it to God to be transformed.”

His eyes scanned the horizon, but she could tell from his gaze that his thoughts were not on the sea.

“What are
you
thinking about?” she dared to ask.

He blew out a sigh. “I have seen children on the streets. I’ve also seen those kicked out of the orphanages when they came of age. You have a worthy mission.”

“Is that all you’ll tell me?”

He nodded. “Yes, lest I break your heart.”

They stood for a while, smelling the cold ocean air that stung her nose, feeling the slight vibration of the ship. Finally, Quentin cleared his throat. “Amelia, I have never cared so much for a woman. I have wanted to tell you that all day. But telling you such is a problem.”

“Why does it have to be a problem?”

“I sit here in borrowed clothes. I have nothing to offer.”

“You have yourself. You have your heart.”

“I am afraid neither is much. I’ve given my heart away to too many things, enjoyments, entertainers, people. The rest of my heart is small and as hard as a lump of coal.”

“You say that, but I do not believe it. You have a kind heart. Every time we meet, I see more evidence of that.”

He nodded, but Amelia could see he was distracted.

“There’s something else, too,” he confessed. “To provide for you—if that’s where this leads—I will have to depend on my father’s mercies. I’ve already taken—lost—my inheritance. I can’t ask him for more.”

“I don’t think you should ask, but maybe there’s a job for you. I imagine your father can find something.” She cast him a soft smile. “Life when you exit this ship will be different than you thought, and that’s okay. You’ve already accepted God’s grace, Quentin. The hardest part for you will be accepting your father’s favor, too. But that’s what grace is—accepting what we don’t deserve.

A shiver of cold had driven the other passengers below, and Quentin lowered his head and closed his eyes, still overwhelmed with the day’s events. When he’d first climbed aboard the ship, he’d planned on hiding among the baggage and sleeping to the noise of the engines thundering with the might of a hundred thousand horses.
And now?