Free By the Light of the Silvery Moon by Tricia Goyer Page A

spray.” Amelia spoke to her aunt, but her eyes scanned the passengers, looking for Quentin. Men, women, families walked along the enclosed deck. An older boy ran by in suspenders and cap, but Quentin was nowhere to be seen.
    “I feel as comfortable here as I would walking down Market Street.” Aunt Neda smiled. “I can barely feel the vibration from the engines.”
    Amelia nodded an acknowledgment, but her mind wasn’t on her aunt’s words. Aunt Neda had meant no harm, but Quentin hadn’t heard her aunt’s words that way. She saw the shame on his face as her aunt had pointed out his borrowed things—and that memory caused Amelia’s heart to ache. Amelia had seen the same look hundreds of times, if not more, on the faces of those she’d tried to help. Her greatest joy was to offer help to someone in need, yet many people accepted her gifts feeling worse about themselves. Charity was hard to accept sometimes, no matter if the hand that offered it did so with a noble heart.
    Aunt Neda patted Amelia’s hand. “As delightful as this is, I’d like to return to our room to write a few letters to our friends back in Southampton before supper.”
    “Yes, of course.” Amelia tried not to smile too broadly. With Aunt Neda writing letters, she’d be able to find Quentin and apologize. To clear the air and maybe get to know him better.
    They used the lift to take them back to D deck. She marveled at the contraption and smiled at the kind young man who seemed as excited about operating the lift as they were about riding in it.
    “It seems you enjoy your job,” she said, taking in his wide-eyed gaze.
    “I enjoy meeting all our guests the most. And what is your name, ma’am?”
    “Amelia Gladstone, and this is my aunt Neda.”
    “Gladstone?” he chuckled. “Are you related to our former prime minister?”
    Amelia laughed as if she hadn’t heard that question every day of her life. “If I were, I’d be riding in first class. I have no doubt about that.”
    “What do you think of the magnificent
Titanic,
Miss Gladstone?”
    “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. If I weren’t looking out the windows, I’d never know it was moving, so smooth the ride.”
    They chatted until they reached their deck. As soon as the lift doors opened, she stepped out and scanned the hallway. Her heart fell. There was no sign of Quentin. A steward in a sharp white suit was the only one who walked down the long passageway.
    Once her aunt was settled back in the room, Amelia shut the door of their stateroom behind her and moved to the next door. Amelia took a deep breath and knocked—quietly enough so her aunt wouldn’t realize what she was doing, but hopefully loud enough for Quentin to hear. She thought she heard rustling inside but wasn’t sure.
    Was Quentin hiding from her? She wouldn’t blame him if he did.
    Amelia turned as footsteps approached. An older stewardess neared with a pile of fresh linens in her arms.
    The stewardess paused before Amelia, tilting her head to the side. “Emma?” She tossed her gray curls as soon as the words were out. “Nah, that’s not possible.”
    “I’m not Emma, but surely you couldn’t mean … Did you believe I was Emma Gladstone?” Amelia took a tentative step forward. A thousand butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Her hand covered the spot where her racing heart was sure to jump from her chest. “That’s my mother’s name. She was a stewardess on many ships. Did you know her?”
    The woman nodded, and the look in her eyes told Amelia she was thinking back to a distant past. “Oh, I did.” The stewardess was short but erect, with a pert nose and full cheeks. An Irish lilt softened her words.
    “Have you seen her lately? By lately, I mean the last twelve years?” Amelia’s words were eager, intrigued and worried at the same time.
    “Darlin’, it’s been eighteen years at least. Emma looked as young and beautiful as you the last time we worked side by side. Ye look