Read Online By the Light of the Silvery Moon by Tricia Goyer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tricia Goyer
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chance to respond.
Her lower lip puckered.
“Do you think I should go after him—to invite him to supper? I’d hate to have him feel as if he doesn’t have a friend on the ship.”
“Amelia. Just because you helped him once does not mean you need to have any further responsibilities. What do you know of the man? He could be a scoundrel or a crook. He was trying to sneak on this ship after all.”
“As any poor man would,” she said in his defense. “Just because one does not have sufficient means does not mean he has an evil heart. I have a good feeling about him, Aunt. I believe there is more to Quentin than what’s on the surface.”
Her aunt nodded but did not respond, and with careful steps Amelia led her to one of the lounge chairs and helped her to sit. Quentin reminded Amelia of the young children who’d come to the orphanage after living in poor conditions. He was wounded—that she knew—and he was scared. Mostly, he was looking for a friend, one person he could trust. She could see that deep in his gaze.
If only I could do more for him.
Amelia hoped to be that friend. Maybe in their weeklong journey she’d get the opportunity. It was a ship of dreams—of hope—after all.
C HAPTER 5
C larence Walpole walked onto the first-class deck of the
Titanic,
gripping the handrail with each step as if he held on to his last ounce of faith. Leaving England’s shores meant he left his youngest son. Deep regrets churned in his heart, just as the large
Titanic
propellers churned up silt from the bay floor.
He stared into the water. His heart ached. His eyes blinked back tears. How could he still have tears? He’d cried enough to fill this channel—to fill the Atlantic.
His throat felt on fire as he attempted to hold in his own muted cries. It was as if stokers shoveled in smoldering coals and he was forced to keep them down with one swallow. But he did not cry. He had to be strong. He had to prove that God’s strength carried him; otherwise, what hope could he offer?
Clarence stared into the water. The light played on the ripple of waves flowing away from the ship, stirring a memory. He gripped the rail tighter as he was taken back to that place again—the place that never left his thoughts.
Jillian’s still form under the water. The shock of jumping in and pulling her body to the shore. Her blond hair splayed—tangled and limp on the grass. Her beautiful dress clinging to her frame, and her arms limp at her side.
Yet it was her face Clarence could not forget. Pale yet serene. Perfect, as if someone had cast a porcelain doll to model his wife. He’d never seen her so still. Even in her sleep, Jillian had been restless, as if sleep was an interruption to her full and fulfilled life. She’d always been excited for what the next day held, whether it was ordering uniforms for their sons’ new school or gathering flowers in the garden to fill the crystal vase on their dining room table. He’d never been one interested in attaining wealth for himself. Clarence had worked for all he had for her—for their sons. Yet what joy was work without Jillian to celebrate in the rewards?
Even after almost twenty years, he couldn’t help but think of how excited she would have been to be on such a fine ship as the
Titanic.
They’d traveled across the Atlantic Ocean a number of times in their twelve years of marriage, but those steamers could not hold a candle to the opulence he found here. It was like comparing a simple wedding band to queen Victoria’s jewels. And because of her—because of the memory he carried in his heart—he’d booked one of the finest rooms he could afford for the joy of imagining Jillian experiencing the richness and comfort with him.
Besides, Damien would enjoy it. His eldest son reminded Clarence of the boy’s mother. He appreciated fine things, and Clarence worked hard to see he enjoyed them often. Unlike most of the other wealthy passengers who prided themselves in
Her lower lip puckered.
“Do you think I should go after him—to invite him to supper? I’d hate to have him feel as if he doesn’t have a friend on the ship.”
“Amelia. Just because you helped him once does not mean you need to have any further responsibilities. What do you know of the man? He could be a scoundrel or a crook. He was trying to sneak on this ship after all.”
“As any poor man would,” she said in his defense. “Just because one does not have sufficient means does not mean he has an evil heart. I have a good feeling about him, Aunt. I believe there is more to Quentin than what’s on the surface.”
Her aunt nodded but did not respond, and with careful steps Amelia led her to one of the lounge chairs and helped her to sit. Quentin reminded Amelia of the young children who’d come to the orphanage after living in poor conditions. He was wounded—that she knew—and he was scared. Mostly, he was looking for a friend, one person he could trust. She could see that deep in his gaze.
If only I could do more for him.
Amelia hoped to be that friend. Maybe in their weeklong journey she’d get the opportunity. It was a ship of dreams—of hope—after all.
C HAPTER 5
C larence Walpole walked onto the first-class deck of the
Titanic,
gripping the handrail with each step as if he held on to his last ounce of faith. Leaving England’s shores meant he left his youngest son. Deep regrets churned in his heart, just as the large
Titanic
propellers churned up silt from the bay floor.
He stared into the water. His heart ached. His eyes blinked back tears. How could he still have tears? He’d cried enough to fill this channel—to fill the Atlantic.
His throat felt on fire as he attempted to hold in his own muted cries. It was as if stokers shoveled in smoldering coals and he was forced to keep them down with one swallow. But he did not cry. He had to be strong. He had to prove that God’s strength carried him; otherwise, what hope could he offer?
Clarence stared into the water. The light played on the ripple of waves flowing away from the ship, stirring a memory. He gripped the rail tighter as he was taken back to that place again—the place that never left his thoughts.
Jillian’s still form under the water. The shock of jumping in and pulling her body to the shore. Her blond hair splayed—tangled and limp on the grass. Her beautiful dress clinging to her frame, and her arms limp at her side.
Yet it was her face Clarence could not forget. Pale yet serene. Perfect, as if someone had cast a porcelain doll to model his wife. He’d never seen her so still. Even in her sleep, Jillian had been restless, as if sleep was an interruption to her full and fulfilled life. She’d always been excited for what the next day held, whether it was ordering uniforms for their sons’ new school or gathering flowers in the garden to fill the crystal vase on their dining room table. He’d never been one interested in attaining wealth for himself. Clarence had worked for all he had for her—for their sons. Yet what joy was work without Jillian to celebrate in the rewards?
Even after almost twenty years, he couldn’t help but think of how excited she would have been to be on such a fine ship as the
Titanic.
They’d traveled across the Atlantic Ocean a number of times in their twelve years of marriage, but those steamers could not hold a candle to the opulence he found here. It was like comparing a simple wedding band to queen Victoria’s jewels. And because of her—because of the memory he carried in his heart—he’d booked one of the finest rooms he could afford for the joy of imagining Jillian experiencing the richness and comfort with him.
Besides, Damien would enjoy it. His eldest son reminded Clarence of the boy’s mother. He appreciated fine things, and Clarence worked hard to see he enjoyed them often. Unlike most of the other wealthy passengers who prided themselves in
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