Read Online By the Light of the Silvery Moon by Tricia Goyer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tricia Goyer
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“Well, I help where I can.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “It seems to me that it’s not necessary to always give and care. Everyone needs a chance to relax, to listen to music they like and enjoy a good conversation.”
Amelia nodded. “It makes sense, but I’m finding it hard even now to sit here.” She smiled. “Even though I enjoy it, I know there are beds that need to be made somewhere. Maybe there’s a tired mother who would appreciate an extra pair of arms to help her with her children….”
“I understand.” And deep down, he truly did. From the time he left his father’s home, he’d worked. When he wasn’t working, he spent time with friends, enjoying the good life. That had kept him busy in a different way.
Even after he lost it all, he didn’t sit. He ran. He lived on the streets and knew each passageway. He walked them. Heading where, he didn’t know. To sit meant he had time to remember, and remembering was the hardest of all.
Amelia nodded and settled back into the lounge chair, letting her eyes close briefly. Quentin felt himself settling in, too. Here, with her, he found a glimpse of peace he hadn’t known for as long as he could remember.
Then, just as Quentin felt himself relaxing into the lounge chair, he glanced up to notice an older woman approaching. The woman’s eyes studied Amelia, and then the woman looked to him. Her eyebrows furrowed as she glanced from his shirt and jacket to his pants and even his shoes. Thoroughly displeased, she turned her attention to his face, and Quentin knew that she saw right through him. To her he wasn’t simply another passenger on the ship. He was someone who wasn’t worthy to be here. She looked at him as a thousand Londoners had looked at him over the previous two years—with disapproval.
Amelia was saying something—asking a question about supper—but he didn’t make out all her words. He only saw the disgust in the older woman’s eyes—the silent accusations. More than anything, Quentin wanted to run again—to find a hidden corner in the bowels of the ship. For Amelia’s sake he remained, but it took everything within him to stay rooted in place.
“So, Quentin,” Amelia asked, “what do you suppose they’ll serve for supper? On a ship this nice, I’d guess it will be something delightful.”
The words were no more out of her mouth than her aunt approached. The thin, older woman leaned heavily on her cane as she walked down the deck. Amelia sucked in a breath and stood to hurry toward her. Guilt over not attending to her aunt weighed on her with every step. More than that, lounging with a handsome man was shameful. After all, what would Mr. Chapman say? Amelia didn’t want to think of that.
“Aunt Neda, please tell me you didn’t take the stairs alone. I’m sorry I didn’t come for you sooner. I suppose I got carried away with the launch.” She felt Quentin’s presence as he rose and stood behind her, but she didn’t know what to say. She felt like a child who’d just snuck a biscuit from her mother’s plate. Her aunt tilted up her head and eyed the tall man. Recognition filled her face, and something else—disbelief. Maybe she should have confessed to her aunt that she’d given the man the ticket and Henry’s clothes instead of letting her discover it for herself.
Instead of commenting to him, she turned to Amelia. “I see your cousin’s property has not gone to waste. I assume the room is also being put to good use.”
Quentin stepped forward. “If it is a problem—“
Her aunt’s lifted hand halted Quentin’s words. “It is not a problem. I know my niece, and I’m not surprised.”
He lowered his head like a child who’d just been scolded, even though Aunt Neda’s disapproval was directed to her niece and not him.
“I do appreciate it,” he said. Then he turned to Amelia. “I will leave you to enjoy the day. Thank you again.” He hurried away before Amelia had a
“Well, I help where I can.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “It seems to me that it’s not necessary to always give and care. Everyone needs a chance to relax, to listen to music they like and enjoy a good conversation.”
Amelia nodded. “It makes sense, but I’m finding it hard even now to sit here.” She smiled. “Even though I enjoy it, I know there are beds that need to be made somewhere. Maybe there’s a tired mother who would appreciate an extra pair of arms to help her with her children….”
“I understand.” And deep down, he truly did. From the time he left his father’s home, he’d worked. When he wasn’t working, he spent time with friends, enjoying the good life. That had kept him busy in a different way.
Even after he lost it all, he didn’t sit. He ran. He lived on the streets and knew each passageway. He walked them. Heading where, he didn’t know. To sit meant he had time to remember, and remembering was the hardest of all.
Amelia nodded and settled back into the lounge chair, letting her eyes close briefly. Quentin felt himself settling in, too. Here, with her, he found a glimpse of peace he hadn’t known for as long as he could remember.
Then, just as Quentin felt himself relaxing into the lounge chair, he glanced up to notice an older woman approaching. The woman’s eyes studied Amelia, and then the woman looked to him. Her eyebrows furrowed as she glanced from his shirt and jacket to his pants and even his shoes. Thoroughly displeased, she turned her attention to his face, and Quentin knew that she saw right through him. To her he wasn’t simply another passenger on the ship. He was someone who wasn’t worthy to be here. She looked at him as a thousand Londoners had looked at him over the previous two years—with disapproval.
Amelia was saying something—asking a question about supper—but he didn’t make out all her words. He only saw the disgust in the older woman’s eyes—the silent accusations. More than anything, Quentin wanted to run again—to find a hidden corner in the bowels of the ship. For Amelia’s sake he remained, but it took everything within him to stay rooted in place.
“So, Quentin,” Amelia asked, “what do you suppose they’ll serve for supper? On a ship this nice, I’d guess it will be something delightful.”
The words were no more out of her mouth than her aunt approached. The thin, older woman leaned heavily on her cane as she walked down the deck. Amelia sucked in a breath and stood to hurry toward her. Guilt over not attending to her aunt weighed on her with every step. More than that, lounging with a handsome man was shameful. After all, what would Mr. Chapman say? Amelia didn’t want to think of that.
“Aunt Neda, please tell me you didn’t take the stairs alone. I’m sorry I didn’t come for you sooner. I suppose I got carried away with the launch.” She felt Quentin’s presence as he rose and stood behind her, but she didn’t know what to say. She felt like a child who’d just snuck a biscuit from her mother’s plate. Her aunt tilted up her head and eyed the tall man. Recognition filled her face, and something else—disbelief. Maybe she should have confessed to her aunt that she’d given the man the ticket and Henry’s clothes instead of letting her discover it for herself.
Instead of commenting to him, she turned to Amelia. “I see your cousin’s property has not gone to waste. I assume the room is also being put to good use.”
Quentin stepped forward. “If it is a problem—“
Her aunt’s lifted hand halted Quentin’s words. “It is not a problem. I know my niece, and I’m not surprised.”
He lowered his head like a child who’d just been scolded, even though Aunt Neda’s disapproval was directed to her niece and not him.
“I do appreciate it,” he said. Then he turned to Amelia. “I will leave you to enjoy the day. Thank you again.” He hurried away before Amelia had a
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