The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (27 page)

The President stopped and turned. When he saw Braham he opened his long arms. “The Prodigal has returned.”

Braham jogged toward Lincoln, arriving breathless, his hand braced on his belly. Lincoln embraced him. “We heard you were fatally shot, and we feared you were dead. We’ve had no word, but here you stand. Doctor Mallory performed an astounding feat of magic.”

Braham lowered his eyes, shaking his head. “I can’t explain it any other way.”

“Nicolay, find the doctor. I want him to work his magic and end this terrible war.”

The President took Braham’s hand and clasped it between his own. “I prayed for your return. My prayers have been answered.”

“Congratulations on your reelection,” Braham said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to vote.”

“It was a hard-fought campaign. The victory at Cedar Creek was instrumental.”

“You need to be careful now. It’s even more dangerous for you. I even dreamed you would be attacked,” Braham said.

“Mrs. Lincoln has one every night. I’ll tell you what I tell her. ‘I confess, the first two or three threats made me uncomfortable, but having become familiar, I pay them little attention.’ Besides, I have always thought
there’s a divinity that shapes our ends…
”

Braham finished the quote from
Hamlet
, “…
Rough-hew them how we will
—. Maybe so, Mr. President, but—”

The President waved away Braham’s worry with a flip of his hand. “Tell me, Major, what’s the news from Richmond?”

If he couldn’t convince the President to take the threats seriously, Braham would implement his own plan, even though he didn’t, as of yet, have one completely formed.

“There’s increasing desolation and rampant inflation. The election and fall of Atlanta has demoralized the citizenry. Deserters are pressed into service at the Tredegar Iron Works to free up factory workers for military duty. The functioning intelligence network is hearing rumors of the prospective evacuation of Richmond.

“What of Miss Van Lew?” the President asked.

“The Provost Marshal Thomas Doswell initiated an investigation of her.” Braham laughed. “You should have seen her. With head held high, she insisted she was a victim of the espionage and treachery prevailing in Richmond. In essence, she threw the accusations against her right back in his face. Her cover of respectability remains intact because of her mother. Fine women, both of them,” Braham said.

“The Union is deeply indebted to them. Miss Van Lew has aided the escape of Union prisoners, retrieved and buried dead soldiers honorably, and sends reliable information to Grant through her pipeline. I am still astonished she was able to place a spy in the Confederate White House.”

Braham and the President walked in silence to the War Department building’s entrance. Before opening the door, Lincoln said, “I want you to go back. The Union loyalists need a strong leader to ratchet up their activities. They remain firm in their resolve, but this war has to end soon. I need you inside.”

“I’ll be arrested as soon as I enter the city.”

“Not if they don’t know who you are. We’ll cobble together a satisfactory disguise.” Lincoln slapped Braham on the back. “Hell, we’ll make you thin as a beanpole and ugly as a scarecrow.”

The door opened and a solider held it while they entered. Lincoln removed his hat and unfurled his scarf. “A man approached me one day not long ago and said, ‘If I ever came across an uglier man than myself, I’d shoot him on the spot.’ I told him, ‘Shoot me, for if I am an uglier man than you, I don’t want to live.’” Lincoln burst into a hearty laugh and exclaimed, “Looks aren’t so important. I got elected President, and I was the homeliest man in the State of Illinois.”

The last place Braham wanted to go was back to Richmond. God help him. Even thin as a beanpole and ugly as a scarecrow, his very survival would be at risk.

29

Richmond, Virginia, Present Day

T
wo days after
Charlotte decided to return to the past she officially went on sabbatical. Surprisingly, her cover story—a six-month retreat in the Himalayas with her brother—was well received. Over the years she had sacrificed nights and weekends to help every member of the department. Charlotte could take the time off, the Chairman told her, but she needed to return by summer or the department would be short-handed.

With work issues resolved, Charlotte met with her CPA and established a bill-paying account. Until she returned, a bookkeeper would pay all her expenses from those funds. It was a setup similar to one Jack had established when he became a bestselling author and decided he was too busy to mess with little details like paying the plantation’s electric bill.

Sweating from a long run, she now sat in her home office drinking a protein shake and reviewing her list again. Since her life revolved around work, she had few close friends who needed explanations. No pets. No vacations to cancel. No extracurricular commitments needing to be rescheduled. She didn’t have much of a life outside of the hospital. Her lifestyle would change, though, when she turned forty and entered her Procreation Year.

After a shower, she headed downtown to the Southern Lady Suttlery, a supplier of Civil War reenacting supplies, dresses, and uniforms, where she spent the afternoon selecting fabrics and designs for a half dozen dresses with all the underpinnings, plus shoes, hats and accessories. Then she paid a small fortune for a one-week turnaround.

When she told Jack her dresses wouldn’t be ready for a week, he immediately booked a flight to Los Angeles to pitch his story concept to a producer friend. She was glad to see him leave. He had been driving her nuts with his impatient excitement. She instructed him not to return home before she was packed and ready.

30

Mallory Plantation, Richmond, Virginia, Present Day

“Y
ou told me
you were ready to go,” Jack said, breathing heavily from dragging Saratoga trunks and portmanteaus down from the attic.

“Everything I’m taking is laid out on the bed in the guest room, waiting for the trunks. And you’re not packed, so don’t give me a hard time.”

“There’s an old valise in the attic I can use.”

“Bring your clothes in here and I’ll pack everything.”

He left to get his clothes and Charlotte went to work, folding her dresses carefully to prevent as many wrinkles as possible. An hour later she closed the trunks and dragged them to the entryway. While she waited for Jack to return, she sat down with her laptop to answer last minute emails.

Jack entered the foyer jingling his car keys. “Are you ready?”

“Almost.” She finished an email and clicked send. “Everything is packed. You have greenbacks to pay our expenses. What else?”

“The post office is forwarding the mail to our CPA. I’ll set the alarm when we leave. The farm manager will take care of everything on the plantation, including the cat.”

She opened the next email and quickly scanned it. “What’d your agent say in the call you just finished?”

“She was relieved I wouldn’t be pestering her, but made me promise I’d have a draft to her as soon as I returned.”

Charlotte fired off a quick answer to the email and sent a copy to her Chairman. Why were her colleagues asking her about the surgical residents’ evaluations? She wouldn’t be teaching for a while, all her required evaluations were in, and they all knew it. What part of the word sabbatical did they not understand? She turned her attention back to Jack. “How are you going to write a draft without a laptop?”

“In case you haven’t heard, pen and paper were invented a few years ago.”

“Ha. Ha. Well…speaking of writing, I have something for you.” She dug into her computer case and pulled out a dark walnut leather journal. “Here. This is for your notes. You’ve never kept up with one before, but this one was especially made for you. So don’t lose it.”

He rubbed the distressed, smooth leather she’d had engraved with his initials, CJM, and then he fanned the textured artist pages, sniffing the mild, easy-on-the-nose leather smell. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. I’ll try to keep up with it.” He slipped the book into his inside jacket pocket and picked up one of the trunks. “Good God. What do you have in here, lead?”

“Shoes.” She opened the next email and read it quickly. This morning she was unusually testy. She had planned to fit in a long run to work off some of her mounting anxiety, but she hadn’t gotten the chance.

“Shoes don’t weight this much. I think you packed Thor’s hammer.” He set the trunk in the back of the SUV and came back for another one.

“You made our reservation at the Willard, didn’t you?”

“Two adjoining rooms for one night.”

“Where’re your guns?”

“In the valise.” He picked up another trunk. “You do realize this is the same list we went over last night.”

“And discovered you hadn’t made the hotel reservations. Today we might remember something else.”

He carried the second trunk to the car. “You’re sure the luggage will go with us? I hate to go to all this work then have them left behind.”

“I don’t know for sure, but Braham’s bed and my chair both went into the fog and came out on the other side. As long as we’re attached to them in some way, they should make the trip.”

“I hope you’re right. Oh, by the way, did you tell Ken we were leaving?”

She sent another email to cancel a speaking engagement at the Rotary Club. “I talked to him about ten minutes ago. He’s insanely jealous.” She glanced at Jack as he emerged from the porch with his long coat flapping in the wind and moving with his characteristic loping gait.

Jack snagged the last trunk and headed back out. “Did he say anything else?”

One more email. Then she’d be done, and she wouldn’t have to put up with this political crap—budget cuts, medical records, Medicare changes—for several weeks. Taking care of patients was only a small part of her job and the one part she truly enjoyed.

“Yes, he hoped I wouldn’t bring home another dying patient. Why?”

“Just curious about what he thought about you chasing after Braham.”

“You make it sound like I’m chasing after
him
instead of…you know…chasing after him to keep him from changing history.”

Jack came back inside, picked up his valise, and tucked it under his arm. “All I know is it was hard to sit in the same room with you two without getting electrocuted.”

“What are you talking about? Are you writing romance novels now?”

He stopped, tossed back his head, and laughed. “Why do you think I always left the two of you alone? I was trying to help you out, sis. I figured if he fell in love with you, he’d stay and I’d get a huntin’ and fishin’ brother-in-law.”

“You’ve actually gotten subtle in your matchmaking attempts. I didn’t even notice.”

There was an ironic twist to his lips and sparkle in his blue eyes. “If you had, we wouldn’t be hauling ass back to the Civil War.”

“And you wouldn’t be getting a bird’s-eye view into your new story.”

“We’re both getting something out of this.”

“You’re wrong.” There was the sharpest of prickles in her voice. “I’m doing this because what I’ve already done could possibly screw up history for everyone else. I don’t want the responsibility. I’m not getting anything out of this except risking my life again.”

“History is not going to get screwed up. I promise.”

“Are you serious? You can’t make that promise.”

He smiled. “Maybe not, but it won’t be from a lack of trying.” He turned off the lights and picked up her black medical bag. “Cars loaded. Shut down your laptop and let’s get out of here.”

“I want to send Elliot and Meredith an email to let them know we’re leaving. Then I’ll be done.” Charlotte had already shared her plans with the Frasers. At least someone would know where she and Jack had gone and why. Now she signed off, wondering if she would ever sign back on again.

She didn’t want to go back in time, but she had to clean up her mess. If she had only thought through the possible consequences of her actions, she would have let Major McCabe die.

Ha. Who was she kidding?

The moment she saw Braham in that filthy ward, she’d known exactly what she would do, and consequences be damned.