The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (68 page)

Charlotte slipped on a pair of sunglasses, not to shield her eyes from the bright morning sun, but to keep Meredith from seeing how puffy and bloodshot they were.

Meredith’s strong arms embraced Charlotte with gentle kindness, as if she already understood her pain without knowing the cause. Meredith was not only beautiful, intelligent, and successful, she was also kind-hearted.

And if Charlotte truly was pregnant with Braham’s child, the baby would be Meredith’s six-times-great-grandmother’s first cousin once removed.
Try saying that ten times fast, or better, yet, understanding the convoluted relationship.
Charlotte didn’t even have a cousin, much less one so far removed.

She tossed her bag into the back and settled into the front seat, fastening her seat belt. “Thanks for picking me up, and thanks for having me on such short notice.”

Meredith smiled, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Wherever we are in the world, our friends are welcome to join us. Elliot and I keep the door open.”

“I can’t imagine having so much flexibility in my schedule. Having friends show up on the doorstep would send me into a blind panic.”

Meredith drove out onto Man O’ War Boulevard. “Elliott thrives on having people around. He’s a problem solver. He’s in his element when he takes charge and bullies his way through a situation. Lord knows he bullied me through chemo. Our life has become so calm, even I’m getting bored. I’m thinking about launching another wine.”

“I was feeling sort of antsy when the brooch arrived.” Charlotte swallowed, forcing her voice to steady. “Now I’d give anything to just be antsy again.”

“Instead of—?”

Fat tears gathered in the corners of Charlotte’s eyes. “Scared.”

Meredith’s eyes were on her now, soft and warm and full of speculation. “This is about Braham, isn’t it?”

“Indirectly, but let’s talk about it when I can tell it to everyone at once.”

Meredith turned her attention back to the road. “Okay. Well, since it’s too early to go shopping, why don’t we go back to the farm? Mrs. Collins was making homemade biscuits when I left. We can eat first or have a yoga or spin class or go for a run. Whatever you’d like to do. Ted, my trainer, is working my butt off right now. He’s available to work with us this morning if you’d like to burn off some of the fear.”

“A run around the farm might be—” Charlotte tried to be enthusiastic but failed miserably. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She dug into her clutch for a package of tissues and dabbed at her eyes. “It’s bad, Meredith. It’s real bad.”

Meredith squeezed Charlotte’s hand. “No matter what has happened, Elliott and David can fix it. The extent of their creativity and resources boggles my mind.”

“This might be beyond even their capabilities.”

“One day something might come up which is beyond Elliott’s reach, but nothing will ever be beyond David’s.” A ghost of a smile crossed Meredith’s face, although her eyes grew dark with concern.

“I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who had so much faith in another person,” Charlotte said.

“It didn’t come easy for me, but Elliott, David, and even Kevin, have never failed me. I wouldn’t have made it through breast cancer and childbirth without them. David supported Elliott while he propped me up, and we all three yelled at Kevin.”

Meredith chuckled. “Poor Kevin crawled over broken glass for us, and we were so mean to him. We laugh about it now, but we all went through a very trying time for several months. Elliott and I both had moments of doubt, but it all worked out, and we have little Cullen to show for it. As the saying goes, it takes a village. Elliott is the center of an incredible village of loving and caring people. You and Jack are part of our village now.”

“For the longest time, it’s only been Jack and me. I’ve never had a circle of friends and family.”

“I didn’t either,” Meredith said. “I married into Elliott’s inner circle, and once you’re there, you’re never alone again.”

“You better call Elliott and tell him I’m bringing a problem for him to solve.”

“Elliott and David were in a closed-door meeting when I left. Something is going on with them, but Elliott will stop whatever he’s doing to help you out. Don’t worry.”

Charlotte closed her eyes and breathed in the scents of the countryside along Old Frankfort Pike—horses and spring grasses and freshly-turned earth, and she let her breath go with a sigh. For a few minutes she would relinquish fear and worry and enjoy the company of a friend who had been to hell and back herself, and found the love of her life along the way.

75

MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, Present Day

T
hirty minutes later,
Meredith, Elliott, and David sat around the conference table in Elliott’s office in MacKlenna Mansion. David had set up a video camera to record Charlotte’s statement. As Elliott explained, no one would interrupt her, and she was to start from the beginning and describe everything that had happened to her until the moment Meredith picked her up at the airport.

“Everything?” Charlotte asked.

“Ye’ don’t have to go into intimate details, just tell us what and when and if any promises were made,” David said.

Mrs. Collins came in with a tray of fruit in one hand and a basket of egg and cheese biscuits warm from the oven in the other. “You call me when you run out of food. I’ll bring in lunch.”

Three hours later, David and Elliott were both rubbing their noses and Meredith was wiping away the tears streaming down her face. Water bottles, empty plates, and half-filled coffee mugs littered the table, along with pages of notes. Reliving the horror of Richmond and the terror she experienced when she discovered Jack was gone had drained Charlotte completely. She slumped in the swivel chair, barely able to hold herself upright.

“I have a question,” David said. “Do ye’ intend to rescue Jack or prove his innocence?”

Charlotte’s head jerked up as if a puppeteer had yanked her strings. “Rescue him. Get him out of prison as quickly as I can.”

Elliott slid across the table the copy of Jack’s letter she had brought with her. “David’s question stems from this. Do ye’ have a family cemetery or a homeplace?”

She straightened in her chair, shaking her head, knowing exactly where Elliott was going with his question. The same one had niggled at her since she first read the letter. “No. After Jack hit the New York Times bestseller list, he bought a condo on the river, and we sold our parents’ house in downtown Richmond. When I came back to practice medicine, I bought a place of my own, too.”

“That’s what I thought,” Elliott said.

David took the letter and added it to his notes. “Jack’s execution has changed yer family’s history.”

Charlotte fixed David with a direct look, and clearly enunciating each word for emphasis said, “I don’t care.”

“Ye’ might, if ye’ knew what it was.”

“Nothing matters but Jack. I need to get him out.”

Elliott frowned and rubbed a knuckle slowly down the long, straight bridge of his nose. “Ye’ll have to tell him.”

“Tell him what? That there’s no homeplace or family cemetery. Do you think he’ll care? No, he won’t. His freedom will be all that matters.”

“Ye’ might be surprised,” Elliott said. “But here’s something else to think about. If Jack disappears from prison, how will they explain his escape? The government and the public will blame the warden and guards. There’ll be another manhunt. They’ll never find Jack. The country will be left with an unsolvable mystery, and the Mallory name will be as sullied as Doctor Mudd’s.”

“Do you think I care about my name? I don’t. I only care about Jack. Nothing else. Not my name, not my medical practice, not my savings or my retirement. Nothing.” She licked dry lips and took a gulp of water. “This is my fault. If I had returned home instead of chasing after General Ramseur at the Battle of Cedar Creek, none of this would have happened. I had to see if my twenty-first-century medical knowledge could save him. Because of my ego,” she said, thumping her chest, “Braham spent the rest of his life riddled with guilt and Jack was executed.”

Elliott pushed away from the table and propped his leg across his opposite knee. Meredith appeared very interested in the lipstick on the edge of her coffee mug, and David stared at his notes, flipping a pen back and forth across the page. Charlotte watched them, wondering what they were thinking…or better yet, what they had not told her.

The charged silence passed when David eventually cleared his throat, and focused on Elliott for a moment. “Jack has to be exonerated. We have to find the culprit who framed him, expose the man, and have the charges against Jack dismissed. The Mallory name might still be stained, but not as badly as it would be if Jack disappeared. I don’t advise whisking him away unless it’s the last resort.”

“I agree,” Elliott said. “But what about Charlotte? Jack’s execution altered her family history. Once Jack is exonerated, he’ll come back with his history intact, no alteration, but it will be different from hers. They’ll no longer have a shared history.”

Charlotte shook her head vehemently. “What nonsense. No more shared history? Really? I don’t buy it.”

Meredith tucked her arm in the crook of Charlotte’s elbow, and gently bumped shoulders, showing solidarity. “Give us an example, Elliott.”

Elliott and David exchanged glances, then David said, “I’ll take the question.” He opened a folder and leaned forward confidentially. “This is only a hypothetical, because we have no way of knowing what Jack is really talking about. Okay? Are ye’ with me?”

Charlotte nodded, but worrisome thoughts were darting in her head like hornets around their nest mobilizing to attack a threat.

“Based on Jack’s letter, we know he believes there is a homeplace and a family cemetery.” David slid an old photograph across the table. “Look at this.”

“What is this?” Meredith asked.

“A picture of Mallory Plantation taken shortly after it was destroyed by fire in 1865. What do ye’ see in the background?”

Meredith and Charlotte squinted at the picture. “A cemetery,” they said in unison.

“Look at this picture,” David said.

“It’s The Lane Winery in Richmond,” Charlotte said.

“What do you see in the background?” David asked.

She and Meredith squinted again. “An old cemetery.”

“What else to do you see?”

“Besides the vineyards, an old willow oak.” Charlotte glanced at the Mallory Plantation photograph again. “The tree is smaller, but it seems to be the same tree.”

David produced two more pictures. One from the Richmond Historical Society, and the other from a Richmond architectural firm. “Here is a picture of an 1835 painting of Mallory Plantation, and the other is an architectural rendition of what the mansion would look like today if it had survived intact.” He spread the four pictures out on the table.

“Now, let’s pretend Mallory Plantation survived the Civil War and generations of Mallorys have resided there, including you and Jack. Maybe you or Jack or both still resided there when he went back in time to find his journal. Are you still with me?”

“Sort of,” Charlotte said, scrunching her brow while she studied the architectural rendition of the mansion.

“When Jack was executed,” David continued, “the mansion lost the protection you earned from General Sherman. Let’s say, for argument’s sake, after the fire the Mallorys didn’t have the funds to rebuild the mansion, so the property was sold. We know it had four different owners before it was purchased by The Lane Winery.

“After the property was sold, we know the Mallorys moved to Richmond, where your six-times-great-grandfather practiced medicine until his death in 1885. His children and his children’s children grew up in Richmond like your parents.”

“Everything you’ve said is true,” Charlotte said.

“But it’s not what Jack is saying in his letter. He wants to be buried at the homeplace. The next time you see Jack, he might be looking forward to returning to the mansion, sitting on the back porch looking out over the river, and drinking a bottle of good California wine.”

A sinking, twisting feeling wrapped around Charlotte’s heart. “But there’s no mansion.

“Under David’s hypothetical construct, there will be one until Jack is executed,” Elliott said.

“I’m still not sure I buy any of this.”

“Look at it this way. There is a memorial to Abraham Lincoln in Washington, D.C. Ye’ know it, and I know it. Now, say ye’ go back in time and Braham stops the assassination. Lincoln continues his term of office and then retires to Illinois.”

“Okay,” Charlotte said. “So…”

“When ye’ come back to the twenty-first century, the Lincoln Memorial will no longer exist. Ye’ll remember it was once there because it was yer memory when ye’ went back in time. But if Braham changes history, Lincoln will lose his immortality, and the memorial will never be built. And ye’ and Jack will be the only people who will ever know it was once there.”

Charlotte slumped in her seat, put her head in her hands for a moment, then slowly straightened. “I see the problem now.” She glanced from Elliott to David. “There’s no way to fix this, is there?”