The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (15 page)

14

Mallory Plantation, Richmond, Virginia, Present Day

T
he sun was
climbing above the horizon by the time Braham finished the last book in Carl Sandburg’s
The War Years
four-volume set. He knew how the war ended and how profoundly affected the country was and continued to be.

According to John Wilkes Booth’s notes quoted in Sandburg’s book, Booth believed Lincoln was a tyrant who had caused all the South’s troubles, and that he, Booth, was the instrument of punishment.

If Braham had anything to do with it, those words would never be written. Booth would die before he could end Lincoln’s life on April 14, 1865.

Braham sat in an upholstered chair in his bedroom, feet propped on a stool, staring at the river, unsure of how to proceed. He felt certain Charlotte would never help him return to his time, now that he knew of Lincoln’s assassination. That meant he had to find another way.

What that would be, he wasn’t sure, but the answers would come. They always did.

15

Mallory Plantation, Richmond, Virginia, Present Day

T
he sound of
shuffling feet told Jack his houseguest was up and about and on his way into the kitchen. Jack closed the
American History Magazine
he was reading and shoved it into a drawer. Then he turned his attention back to the newspaper spread open on the counter, and glanced up when Braham entered the kitchen. Tired, drawn, red eyes. Jack had seen the face of grief too many times, and his heart ached for his buddy. He reached for a mug in the overhead cabinet.

“Coffee?”

Braham slung a leg over the barstool. “As black as you can get it.” He nodded toward the paper. “Anything noteworthy happening in Richmond? Are the Yanks ready to invade?”

Jack gave him a squirrely grin. “Does a Detroit automaker looking to relocate count?”

“Is it cheaper to make cars here?”

“Tax incentives,” Jack said.

Braham gave Jack a curious squint.

“The government collects taxes from individuals and businesses. It then gives tax breaks to companies who relocate to depressed areas. Saves the company money, and it’s good for the local economy.”

“Your traffic will become more congested.”

Jack placed a steaming cup of coffee on the counter. “There’s the rub.”

“
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,”
Braham continued.

“
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause,”
Jack said.

“There’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life.”

Jack gave Braham a soft punch in the arm. “You’re the first person to ever share lines with me. Thank you.”

“I enjoy reading Hamlet.”

“Tonight we can entertain Charlotte with a theatrical performance.”

Braham scratched his chin. “Doesn’t Richmond have men’s clubs? I would think you’d be a regular, not home reciting Shakespeare to your sister.”

“You’d be surprised at today’s men’s clubs. And, no, I don’t belong to one.” He refilled his mug and stirred in a teaspoon of sugar. “On second thought, you might not be surprised.”

Braham glanced down at the T-shirt he was wearing. “I’d need appropriate clothes. A uniform, perhaps. Where does Charlotte get hers?”

“There’s a Civil War clothing store in Richmond. The owner makes custom uniforms. Whatever you need, he can make it. Women’s dresses, too.”

“I don’t think I’ll dress up in women’s clothing. I’ll leave dressing as the opposite sex to your sister.”

“Who, by the way, asked me to check your temperature this morning, but—”

Braham held out his finger.

Jack looked at the digit, then at Braham’s smirking face.

“Don’t you have one of those clothes pins they use in the hospital?”

“Clothes pins? Oh. You’re talking about a Pulse Ox.” Jack chuckled. “I don’t have one of those, but she asked me to take your temperature figuratively. Not literally.”

The wheels behind Braham’s eyes were spinning. After a long moment, he said, “She was asking about my mood, not my health.”

Jack held his fist out for a fist bump but Braham looked at him awkwardly. “Bump your fist against mine.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Braham gave him a fist bump which ended up being more of a punch. Jack spread his fingers and shook his hand. “Not so hard. This is an important guy ritual. Let’s try it again. It’s more about touching your knuckles than an actual punch.” Jack reached out his fist again and Braham applied the right amount of force this time.

Braham glanced down into his coffee. “I can do a fist bump, but it doesn’t mean I belong here. I don’t understand your jokes or your customs. Helplessness is emasculating, especially for a soldier. I’ve spent four years in a war. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But I never doubted my manhood until now. I’ve failed my President. I’ve failed myself. I don’t know why I’m here.”

Jack sipped his coffee, tapping his foot softly.

“You understand those sentiments,” Braham continued. “They’re similar to what you experienced at the monastery. I don’t have six months to follow you around, to find my own path. The path I’m on leads to a tragic end. If you won’t take me back, I’ll find another way.”

“Let’s eat breakfast,” Jack said. “Then I thought we’d go to Washington.”

Braham arched his brows.

“Sorry, buddy. Not your Washington, but mine. There’s something I need to show you.”

Jack had his own important reasons for helping Braham return to his time. He wanted to go, too. He had done extensive research on the sixteenth President. In one article, he had described Lincoln as the captain who had guided America’s ship through stormy seas of secession and civil war and then led the people to a safe harbor called peace. Following the release of the article, a line of text had trended on Twitter, which resulted in a bump in sales for both his fiction and non-fiction books.

He had planned to write a follow-up article about how Lincoln’s untimely death had caused the President to become a martyr to the cause of liberty, but Jack discovered he had nothing new to add to the discussion. An interview with Lincoln, Grant or even Booth could give him enough new material to even write a full-length book. He framed the premise in his mind: How did Lincoln’s mythic stature grow over the century to the point where he was now considered America’s greatest President?

So all he had to do, Jack thought as he sipped his coffee, was help Braham understand how saving the President’s life would prevent Lincoln from becoming immortal. Once Jack accomplished that, he would have to then convince Charlotte she wouldn’t land in another high-risk adventure with bullets flying over her head.

Convincing Braham might actually be easier than convincing his sister.

16

Washington, D.C., Present Day

A
n hour later
Jack and Braham climbed into the Range Rover for their day trip to Washington. Jack put on his seat belt and so did Braham, sliding it easily across his chest and clicking in the latch plate without glancing down.

“You sure you’re feeling up to this?” Jack asked.

“I’m not accustomed to staying indoors.” He knocked on the window glass. “I’m still closed in, but at least I can have the wind on my face. Is Charlotte coming with us?”

Jack started the car and put it into gear. “She said she would call if she could rearrange her schedule. I doubt she’ll do it. Nothing comes between her and her precious hospital.”

“You don’t like her work taking up so much of her time, do you?”

“I don’t have a problem with her job. I have a problem with her believing she doesn’t need anything else in her life.”

Braham pushed the window button and watched the glass disappear inside the door, then pulled the button in the other direction, raising the window. “What do you have besides your books?”

Jack chuckled. “More than she does. Charlotte calls me a serial monogamist.”

“What’s that?”

“A person who moves from the end of one relationship to the beginning of a new relationship as quickly as possible. I’m not quite that bad. But what about you? Are you married?”

“Never found a woman with the right mix of cleverness and sass.”

“There probably aren’t many eligible women in Washington…in your Washington, I mean.”

Braham chuckled, remembering the stack of invitations to dinner parties and balls he’d declined prior to leaving for Richmond. He intended to thank the President for rescuing him from dozens of overbearing mothers eager to marry off their daughters. “You’d be surprised how many educated and wealthy women there are, but none of them interest me.”

“What? Are you hard to please?”

“I’d prefer to be the pursuer, not the pursued.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

They drove down the lane, a country road lined with vineyards. “I’ve seen several vineyards. How’s the wine?” Braham asked.

“Pretty good. It took a few years to get the vines established, but in the last two years The Lane Winery has won several awards.” Jack’s phone rang, flashing Charlotte’s name. He answered using the Bluetooth speaker phone connection. “Hey, sis. What’s up?”

“I cleared my calendar. Where are you?”

“We’re not on the highway yet.”

“Oh, good. Come get me.”

Jack tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m not sure we want you to go. You’ll put a damper on our conversation.”

Braham shook his head and mouthed, “No, she won’t.”

“It’ll take you thirty minutes to get here,” Charlotte said. “You can tell Braham everything you know about women in ten minutes, all your dirty jokes in five, and how to avoid an STD in thirty seconds. You’ll be talking sports by the time you pick me up, and I know as much about that as you do.”

“What about the subtle nuances of dating in the twenty-first century?”

“From what your ex-girlfriends say, you don’t know any.”

Jack slapped his chest. “Insulted by my own sister.”

Charlotte laughed. “I’m getting off the phone before you start in on me. I’ll be waiting on the corner. Ciao.”

“Don’t make us wait,” Jack said, but Charlotte had already disconnected.

“What’s an STD?” Braham asked.

Jack turned up the radio to hear the news on NPR. “Sexually Transmitted Disease.”

“Like syphilis and gonorrhea?”

“There are even more diseases now to worry about.”

Braham turned down the radio. “I’m listening.”

Thirty minutes later, they stopped at the corner of 11
^th
Street and Clay. Charlotte jumped into the back seat. “So, how far through his repertoire did Jack get? Can you repeat any of his jokes?”

Braham turned in his seat, trying to stifle a smile. “I’m going to drive once we hit the …hmm… interstate.”

Charlotte smacked the back of Jack’s head. “Don’t you
dare
let him drive. Can you imagine the nightmare we’d have defending a lawsuit if Braham had an accident while driving your vehicle?”

“Calm down. It was a joke. You’re more afraid of being sued than you were of Sheridan’s threats,” Jack said.

She put her head in her hands for a moment, then straightened. “If Sheridan had acted on his threats, you wouldn’t be living at the plantation now, and if Braham causes a serious accident, a judgment against us could do what Sheridan didn’t. Please don’t let him drive.”