The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (89 page)

Kit took his hand in hers. “When you came home from the war, you were a broken man. Cullen and I both worried about you. The first harvest was heartbreaking to watch. You looked over your shoulder constantly. I don’t know if you were expecting the enemy or Charlotte to surprise you, but you were on guard. It wasn’t until you had faith the grapes would grow again on empty vines that your soul was able to heal, but it didn’t heal your heart. And that’s why Charlotte’s on your mind. She’s still holding pieces of it.”

He chuckled. “Not pieces. Chunks. And I want my heart to be whole again, too.”

“If you’re feeling the tug to go to her now, don’t let Cullen or anyone else stand in your way. Not only should you go. You must go.”

97

San Francisco, California 1869

A
week later,
Braham entered Cullen’s office at the law firm on Montgomery Street and dropped a signed Last Will and Testament on top of the open book on his desk. “I made you executor of my estate. If anything happens to me, liquidate all my assets, convert the cash into gold, and bury it.”

Cullen leaned back in a swivel desk chair, fingering the steel and gold dip pen in his hand. “Should I draw a treasure map so you can find it in the afterlife?” A fleeting smile crossed his features.

Braham sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk from his childhood friend. This was going to be a hard sell, but Cullen couldn’t stop him from doing what he truly wanted—no, needed—to do. Although he hoped for Cullen’s blessing, Braham was prepared to leave without it. “If you follow my instructions, I won’t need a map.”

Cullen picked up the document and perused it quickly. “According to this, Kit is your sole beneficiary.”

Braham crossed one leg over the other, and when he did, the crease stayed straight. “I want her to sell everything I own, except the vineyards and the horses. Those she’s to keep. Liquidate the rest, then turn the cash into gold.”

Cullen harrumphed. “And bury the gold?”

Braham nodded. “In my casket.”

After a few seconds of silence had elapsed, Cullen remarked in a sarcastic tone, “I take it your remains won’t be in your casket.”

“No, they won’t.”

Cullen tossed the document onto his desk, and stood, pounding the top with his fist. “
Don’t do this
.”

Braham uncrossed his legs, put his hands on his knees, and got to his feet, pressing his fists at his hips to keep from slugging Cullen. “Nothing you can say or do will change my mind.”

“We’re too old for fisticuffs.” He strode to the sideboard and poured two whiskeys. “Kit hasn’t spoken to me in a week. She told me if we didn’t work this out, she’d take the kids and go with you.” He handed a glass to Braham.

Braham took a restorative gulp and followed it with another. “Since she hasn’t left your sorry ass by now, she’s not going anywhere.”

There was an awkward silence. Then one corner of Cullen’s mouth curved up in wry acknowledgement. He sat on the edge of the desk, sipping his drink. “Except for the years you were gone during the war, we’ve been together every day since we learned to walk. I can’t imagine growing old without you.” His voice was soft now, wistful. “Why are you giving up everything, including possibly the White House, for Charlotte, when she wouldn’t give up anything for you?”

“Charlotte saved my life, and in doing so, she almost lost hers and Jack’s.”

“You can be grateful without leaving home.”

Braham set his glass on the end of the desk and scrubbed his face with his hands. “You don’t understand, do you? She did it out of love. Not love for love me, but love for her country, for Virginia, family, and tradition. She put everything at risk, and she almost lost it all. It’s why we fought a war. But I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t go to Washington for lofty ideals. I went because I’d given Sherman my word.”

“You made the promise to Sherman because of me.” Cullen reached out and squeezed Braham’s shoulder.

“Charlotte is the most honorable, fearless, and loving woman I’ve ever met. And I don’t want to spend another day without her. She’s calling me, Cul. You want to know why I can walk away from my law practice, the governor’s office, and possibly the White House? The answer is simple. Because I want Charlotte more.”

Cullen returned to his desk chair, picked up Braham’s Last Will and Testament, and leafed through the pages. “What will you do in Charlotte’s time? You can’t practice law.”

“Since the Mallorys still own the plantation, I assume they will continue to own it in Charlotte’s lifetime. I’ll have money to build her a house on the property, and I’d like to start a winery and breed horses.”

Cullen folded the will and tucked it into his top drawer. “What if she’s married?”

Braham’s brows shot up, and he looked at Cullen, shrugging slightly. “Then I’ll be a part of her life in any role she’ll allow me to play.”

“How are you going to pull this off?”

“I’m going to MacKlenna Farm, and I’ll die either by accident or disease. When you have all the gold, bury it in my casket.”

“What are you going to tell Stanford and the other members of the party?”

Braham rubbed a hand across his mouth, wiping away a drop of liquor. “I have business in the East to settle, and when I return, we’ll make an announcement.”

“And Melissa? What about her?”

“I’ll tell her the same thing. I wish I could make it easier on her, but I can’t, Cul.”

“You’re giving up everything for a long shot.”

“I’m giving up this life, for the one I truly want, and I’m willing to bet Charlotte still loves me. And hasn’t married.”

Cullen opened his calendar and thumbed through the pages until he reached the present month. “When are you going to Kentucky?”

“Next week.”

“Now that the railroad is completed, it won’t take months to get there.” Cullen dipped his pen into the ink then scratched a note on the calendar. “Kit and I are going with you.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes we do. If you’re going to die, we’ll want to attend your funeral.”

98

MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, 1869

T
wo weeks later,
the train carrying Braham, Cullen and Kit from Cincinnati approached the Lexington depot. Kit hadn’t visited her uncle since the summer of 1853, and she had never met her aunt. For the last hour, Kit had primped and paced up and down the aisle of the train, moving about in an unfocused sort of way, quite unlike her usual decisive strides. The swishing of her skirt and bumbling movements had disturbed other passengers. Finally, Cullen grabbed her around the waist and plopped her into her seat.

She shot him an angry glance. “Why’d you do that?”

Cullen merely smiled, not bothered by her tone. “The man across the aisle was about to do the same. Be thankful it was your husband who manhandled you and not a stranger.”

She pursed her lips in speculation, looking from Cullen to the man across the aisle. Then she shrugged and fiddled with her clothes, ironing the front of her dress with the flat of her hand.

When they reached the depot, Braham immediately spotted Sean and Lyle Anne waiting on the crowded platform. Kit’s aunt, a woman in her mid-forties, appeared as anxious as Kit, patting at the hair at her nape. What was it about women which made them afraid having one hair out of place or a wrinkle in their clothes would somehow make them unacceptable?

They disembarked and Kit almost tripped as she hurried to her uncle.

“Kitherina.” Sean grabbed her in a bear hug and swung her around, swishing her skirts. “I’m so glad to see ye’, lass. How’re those bairns of yers?” He set her down, beaming with excitement. “Oh, excuse me. Kit, this is your aunt, Lyle Anne.”

Lyle Anne’s wide eyes stared at Kit, obviously baffled by her unorthodox behavior. Then finally her face brightened, and her small, pink mouth reversed her lips’ downward droop and she beamed.

Braham pressed the crook of his finger against his lips to contain his smile, but his shoulders trembled with suppressed laughter.

“I haven’t seen Kit this spirited since I met her at Fort Laramie in ’52,” Braham said, low-voiced, to Cullen.

Something moved in the backs of Cullen’s eyes. Surprise? Acknowledgement? “I’ve had glimpses, but mostly I see spirit play out in our wee lassies.”

“For your sake, I hope they don’t race Thoroughbreds or jump into swollen rivers.”

Cullen slapped Braham on the shoulder. “I can only hope.”

When they reached the farm, the ladies went to visit the nursery, and the men found their way to Sean’s office for whiskey and cigars.

“Your telegram said you’re on your way to Washington, but didn’t say why. Is this in preparation for a presidential campaign?” A broad grin creased Sean’s face.

Braham puffed on his cigar. “No. The trip is only to provide a reason for my absence. We let it slip to the press we were going to Washington for business and on to New York on a shopping expedition.”

“What are ye’ really planning?” Sean watched Braham closely.

Braham made a quick glance behind him to be sure no one was coming in. “I’ve come to MacKlenna Farm to die.”

Sean’s head jerked back, brow furrowed and he became tight-lipped and pale. “Are ye’ ill, then?”

Braham rolled the tip of the cigar along the edge of the ashtray and tapped it gently to let the ash fall. The plan he easily concocted suddenly seemed impractical to implement. “It seemed the best place to disappear. I can die here in peace, and that will be the end—” He blinked hard for control. “The end of Braham McCabe.”

Sean puffed smoke out through his lips in genial disbelief. “Ye’re intending to go to Charlotte’s time, then?” He pointedly fixed Braham with a look Braham returned undaunted. If Cullen had been unable to convince Braham to stay, Sean didn’t have a prayer.

Cullen ambled over to the bar, refilled his glass, and then took a long gulp. “After I settle Braham’s estate, I’ll convert all the cash into gold. The gold will then be shipped here to be buried in Braham’s casket.”

“So, I’m to dig up the coffin months later and bury the gold.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Braham said.

Sean waved him off, laughing. “I’ll be able to say, ‘Braham McCabe died and took his gold with him.’ Based on your reputation, no one would doubt it. Of course, we’ll have to bury the gold in secrecy, or I’ll have treasure hunters digging up the entire cemetery.”

“If the timing doesn’t matter to you, I thought we’d go for a ride tomorrow. My plan is to be thrown from a horse and break my neck. Since there’s no family to inform, there’s no reason to delay the funeral. It might seem heartless, but Cullen could explain he’s following my wishes to dispense with a wake and bury me immediately.”

“Ye’re sure this is what ye’ want? There’ll be no coming back.”

Braham smiled at him in an attempt at confident reassurance. “I don’t intend to come back.”

“If ye’re set on this course, we’ll bury ye’ tomorrow, but tonight, I think we should drink and sing a few ballads. We’ll give ye’ a proper Scottish wake tonight before ye’ break yer neck.”

The next morning the men saddled their horses and left on Braham’s “fatal” ride. And that afternoon, on a cool, crisp fall day with the fiery yellows of beech trees and the vibrant reds of maples providing a glorious backdrop, Kit, Cullen, Sean, and Lyle Anne laid to rest Colonel Michael Abraham McCabe, war hero, lawyer extraordinaire, California Senator, and philanthropist, who would be missed by those who loved him.

After the minister departed, Kit and Cullen joined Braham beneath the sycamore tree, its brown-yellow leaves forming a canopy over the small cemetery.

Braham hugged Cullen tightly, seeing their lives flash behind his closed eyes. “I’ll miss you, Cul.”

Cullen wiped away tears but more came. “Saying goodbye to you is ripping out my heart. The only consolation is I know you’re not dead and will have many happy years to come.”

“I’m sorry I left you on the trail all those years ago.”

Cullen grabbed him around the neck, pulling him close. “You’ve more than made up for it.”

Kit wrapped her arms around Braham. “I can’t imagine life without you. There will always be an empty chair at our table.”