September Sky (American Journey Book 1) (18 page)

"Ah, you are here," Wyatt said.

A man sitting at an ornate mahogany desk lifted his eyes.

"Did you think I'd be anywhere else?"

Wyatt stepped to the side and let the Townsends advance toward the desk.

"Silas, these are the men I told you about. This is Charles Townsend, the reporter from San Francisco, and his son, Justin."

The man stood up, walked around his desk, and offered a hand.

"I'm Silas Fitzpatrick. It's a pleasure, gentlemen."

Chuck and Justin shook the hand.

"Please take a seat," Silas said as he pointed to two nearby chairs.

The Townsends did as requested.

When Silas returned to his well-upholstered throne, Wyatt grabbed a more modest chair in the corner of the room and sat next to the guests.

"Wyatt tells me you're writing a book on Galveston and shipping," Silas said to Chuck.

"That's correct," Chuck said.

"He also says you're particularly interested in the Gulf Star Line and its owners."

"That, too, is correct."

"May I ask why?" Silas asked.

Chuck was ready for the question. He had heard that Silas, a humorless man with dark hair, darker eyes, and a slender build, was even more protective of the company's reputation and the Fitzpatrick family's image than his older brother.

"Of course you may," Chuck said. "As I told Wyatt a few days ago, I don't want to write merely about the prosperity taking place here. I want to write about the people driving it. That means focusing on those who own and operate the area's fastest-growing shipping line."

"I see," Silas said. "How can I help you then?"

"You can help by giving me your views on shipping and the economy. I've already obtained information on the company from the library and information on your family from Wyatt."

Silas shot Wyatt a pointed glance.

"What I really want now is your take on all this," Chuck said. "I'd like to know, for example, if you share your brother's optimism about Galveston's future."

Silas leaned back in his chair and smiled cynically.

"I share most of it," Silas said. "Galveston has a bright future, but it could be much brighter if some in the community did not insist on taking a step backward with each two forward."

Chuck didn't press for details. He had learned all he needed to know about those inhibiting Galveston's "progress" when he had spoken to Justin Sunday night.

"What about your particular line?"

"What about it?" Silas asked.

"Do you plan to change the structure or direction of the company in the coming years?"

Silas started to answer the question but stopped when a large, dour man passed through the slightly opened door and walked into the office. He got up from his chair.

"Excuse me for a moment," Silas said.

Silas stepped away from his desk and met the man in the middle of the room. He listened to the man's whispered message, nodded a few times, and glanced at Wyatt, Chuck, and Justin. A moment later, he sent the visitor on his way.

"I'm afraid I have to cut this interview short," Silas said to Chuck. "I have new business I must attend to. Perhaps we can continue this discussion at another time."

"I'd like that."

"I believe I'm free Friday morning. You can make an appointment with my secretary before you leave."

"I'll do that," Chuck said.

Silas gave Wyatt another harsh glance and then turned to face the Townsends.

"Please excuse me."

Charles watched closely as Silas pivoted and walked toward the door. When he finally left the room, he looked at Wyatt.

"Your brother's not very talkative today," Chuck said.

"He's not very talkative, period," Wyatt said.

"Do you think he'll open up Friday morning?"

"He might. If you can convince him that your book will further his agenda, he may give you the whole day."

Chuck laughed.

"I'll keep that in mind," Chuck said. He glanced at his watch. "It looks like we have an hour to go before lunch. What should we do now?"

Wyatt stood up.

"Let's do what we should have done earlier," Wyatt said. "Let's see the rest of the building."

Thirty minutes later, at the end of the tour, Wyatt guided the Townsends into a large room that looked an awful lot like the archives room at the Texas Maritime Library. Filled with books and tables, it featured a large picture window that offered a spectacular view of Galveston Bay.

"This is our main meeting room. It's also a place where we can speak freely," Wyatt said. He looked at Chuck. "I can see from your face that you have something to say."

"I do, as a matter of fact," Chuck said.

"Please sit then."

"OK."

The three men sat in chairs at the largest table.

"What is it that you'd like to tell me?" Wyatt asked.

"It's probably nothing," Chuck said. "It's just something I noticed earlier."

"What's that?"

"Silas seemed perturbed when you first spoke to him and gave you a nasty look when I told him that you had shared family information with us," Chuck said. "Do you two get along?"

Wyatt smiled.

"We are like many brothers, Mr. Townsend. We agree on some things and not on others. In our case, we disagree on most things."

"So I hear."

"What do you mean?" Wyatt asked.

"I mean Justin had dinner with Max Beck and his family on Sunday and learned that you and Silas were at odds over a merger between the Gulf Star Line and Beck Atlantic."

"Did Max tell you that?" Wyatt asked Justin.

Justin shook his head.

"Emily did."

Wyatt laughed.

"I'm not surprised. That girl knows as much as her father and has twice the sense."

"Is it true that you oppose the merger?" Chuck asked.

"It is. I have opposed it in the past and will oppose it in the future."

"Max said as much," Justin said. "He wasn't very happy."

"I imagine he wasn't. He has wanted the merger for years," Wyatt said. He turned to face Chuck. "Would you like me to explain why I will never support it?"

"You can if you want, but I think I know why," Chuck said. "Max told Justin that you don't want to betray your father's dream."

"That is correct. As I have told Silas and Max many times, I will not turn my father's company over to a man who does not share his vision, much less his family name."

"I understand your position. I admire it, in fact. What I don't understand is how you and Silas can run a successful company when you are constantly at odds. Or have I got it wrong?"

Wyatt sighed.

"No. You have it right, my friend. Silas and I agree on little."

"That doesn't answer my question though," Chuck said. "How have you two managed to run a successful passenger line amid all the discord?"

Wyatt smiled sadly.

"We haven't. We've merely managed to preserve what our father gave us."

"Are you equal partners in the company?" Chuck asked.

Wyatt nodded.

"Silas handles the financial matters. I handle the operational. Neither of us has the authority to sell company stock or make a major decision without the consent of the other."

"Did your father insist on that before he died?"

"He did," Wyatt said.

Chuck got out of his chair, walked to the window, and gazed at two tugboats as they slowly pulled out of port. Something about all this didn't make sense. When that something came to him, he turned around and looked the Gulf Star Line's chief operational officer in the eyes.

"It just occurred to me that since each of you is unmarried and childless, each of you would stand to gain a lot if the other were dead," Chuck said. "Have you thought about that?"

"Of course I have. I think about it often, but I don't dwell on it."

"Why? Given what you've told me, I would think you'd dwell on it a lot."

"I don't because I don't have to," Wyatt said.

"I don't understand."

"Let me explain then. Long before he died, my father added a clause to his will designed to discourage bad behavior. It said that any brother who killed or sued the other or contested the will would be disinherited. My attorney calls the clause
in terrorem
. I call it peace of mind."

"Your father was a smart man," Chuck said."

"He was a brilliant man. More important, he was a good man and loving father," Wyatt said. "He wanted Silas and me to act like brothers, or at least business partners, so he changed his will. He gave us an incentive to cooperate and behave responsibly. So you see why I am in no hurry to soil his legacy by selling his company to the highest bidder."

Chuck turned again to face the window. As he watched the tugboats disappear into a distant haze, he considered Wyatt and his words. This was not a man who could kill another human being – at least not in cold blood. This was a man who was as honorable and principled as Benjamin Townsend had thought him to be.

Chuck sighed. Despite all that he had learned in Galveston, he was no closer to achieving his goal than when he had arrived. Unless he learned more, an honorable and principled man would soon be tried and executed for a murder he did not commit.

CHAPTER 27: CHUCK

Thursday, May 10, 1900

The smells hit him long before the sights. When Chuck followed Justin through the front door of Charlotte Emerson's blue-and-white gingerbread house, he picked up everything from sausages and eggs to pancakes and fruit. This was a woman, he thought, who knew how to cook.

"Sorry we're late," Chuck said. "We took the wrong trolley this morning and finally got off about eight blocks north of here."

Charlotte smiled.

"You should have walked."

Chuck laughed.

"I guess we should have."

"Please take a seat and join us," Charlotte said as she led the Townsends into the house. "We didn't know if you would make it this morning, so we already started eating."

Chuck looked at the dining area and saw Rose, Goldie, and Emily sitting at a small table and eating the very foods he had smelled on the way in. A card table with two place settings stood in a corner of the room several feet away.

"Good morning, ladies," Chuck said.

Rose, Goldie, and Emily returned the greeting.

"The food looks and smells wonderful," Chuck said.

"Thank you," Charlotte said. "We do have a bit of a seating problem though. Because my regular dining table is being refinished, I was forced to use two smaller tables."

"I don't mind."

"Neither do I," Justin said.

"I didn't think you would," Charlotte said.

"Would you like us to sit at the card table?" Chuck asked.

"No. I have something else in mind," Charlotte said. She turned toward the woman sitting at the far side of the main table. "Emily, would you mind dining with Justin at the card table?"

The young woman stopped eating, put her fork on her plate, and lifted her head. She stared at her friend, hostess, and employer with incredulous eyes.

"I wouldn't mind at all," Emily said in a way that suggested just the opposite. She sat up and shot Charlotte a scolding glance as she moved her plate and utensils to the smaller table.

Chuck laughed quietly as Charlotte set a place for him next to the grown-ups. With one deft stroke, she had placed the Townsend men at the tables of the women they wanted to woo.

"Please help yourselves, gentlemen. All of the food is in the kitchen," Charlotte said. "I'll pour you some coffee while you get your breakfast."

Chuck and Justin entered the kitchen, grabbed their plates, and loaded them like they were at a one-trip buffet. A few minutes later, they found their places in the dining room. When Chuck saw his son settle into a conversation with Emily, he turned to the ladies at his table.

"Thank you for inviting us and letting us intrude on your staff breakfast," Chuck said. "Justin and I usually settle for oatmeal at the beach house."

"We're delighted to have you," Charlotte said.

"I'll second that," Rose said. "It's nice to have handsome men in this house. Charlotte invites a man over for a meal about as often as the mayor passes up a ribbon-cutting."

Chuck and Charlotte laughed. Goldie, who sat across from Rose, did not. She continued to eat her breakfast until the laughter died and the voices at the table quieted.

"How is the rental working out for you?" Goldie asked.

"It's working out well," Chuck said. "I wouldn't mind a bigger kitchen or a more reliable lock on the door, but I can't complain. For five bucks a week, I can't complain at all. Thank you for telling me about it. It's perfect for our needs."

"I'm glad I could help."

When Goldie returned to her breakfast, Chuck took a moment to study the mystery woman of the Texas Maritime Library. Despite what he had learned from other staff, he still knew little about her. He couldn't believe she had served time in prison.

Chuck glanced at Rose, who tore into her sausage like it was her last meal, and then at Charlotte, who gazed at him with eyes that were becoming difficult to ignore. He wasn't sure if there was more to the gaze than simple interest, but he suspected there was. When the gaze began to make him feel uncomfortable, he looked at the center of the table and started a new conversation topic.

"The flowers are beautiful, Charlotte. Did you pick them from your garden?"

"I didn't pick them from anywhere," Charlotte said. "Goldie did."

Chuck looked to his right.

"You picked these at your rental?"

"No," Goldie said. "I picked them from a field west of town."

"Oh."

Charlotte smiled.

"Goldie's a florist when she's not working for me," Charlotte said. "She gathers flowers from local growers, arranges them at home, and distributes them to hotels, restaurants, and offices in Galveston. She's become very successful."

"Is that so?" Chuck asked.

"It is," Goldie said. "I've been doing it for more than a year."

"Well, good for you."

Chuck shook his head as he considered the talent at his table. Within an arm's length, he had a French-speaking pianist, a college-educated actress, and an ex-con-turned-entrepreneur. He wondered if Emily had a background in Slavic languages or nautical engineering.