The Sapphire Brooch by Katherine Logan (reading eggs books .TXT) 📗

Charlotte helped him settle in. She held up the little white box used to manipulate the bed. “This is the nurse call button, the bed remote, and the controls for the television. Did Jack introduce you to the wonders of TV?” She pointed to the box on the wall.

He shook his head.

“You want to go home, right?”

He nodded.

“Then we’re going to be vigilant about what you see, who you talk to, what you do. From that box, you can learn everything there is to know about the past and the present. If you stumble across information which has the potential to change history, I won’t take you back. It almost happened to me. Sheridan threatened to burn down my ancestor’s home if I didn’t do what he asked.”

“What did he make ye do? Rescue me?”

“He didn’t know what Lincoln wanted with a Confederate doctor, only that he wanted one. My point here is I had no idea I could impact history so easily. My advice to you is don’t even turn on the television, don’t read newspapers or magazines, and, for God’s sake, stay off the web. If you’ll make a list of books you enjoy reading, Jack will get them. He might have some recommendations for you, too. In the meantime, take short walks and sleep. You probably haven’t had much sleep in the last few weeks.”

“When can I eat?”

“I see the orders are still NPO—nothing by mouth. You’ll get clear liquids later today. See how you do. You’re recovering quickly, and Ken and I believe it’s because you have no resistance built up to the medicines we use to treat infection. Since you’re doing so well, we’ll advance your diet as quickly as your body allows.”

“If I’m going to walk, I need clothes.”

“I’ll text Jack to bring you a robe and slippers. He should be here shortly. I’ll be back later, probably this evening. If you need me before then, ask the nurses to have me paged. Any more questions?”

He shook his head, wondering what had happened to the sweet woman with apple-scented hair who’d wrapped her arm around him.

12

Mallory Plantation, Richmond, Virginia, Present Day

Two days later Charlotte released Braham from the hospital. Although he had pleaded with her to send him back to his time, she had refused, and instead sent him home with Jack, along with a long list of restrictions. He rode in a wheelchair to the front door of the hospital, where he sat waiting until a big black conveyance drove up and parked in front of him. Jack got out and came around to help Braham into the front seat.

“What do ye call this conveyance?”

“A Land Rover.”

Kit had referred to her conveyance as a car. This must be different. “Are all conveyances called Land Rovers?”

“Vehicles come in different makes, models, and prices. Land Rover is the brand name. There’re different models within the brand. This is the Range Rover Sport.” Jack showed Braham how to buckle his seat belt.

Braham immediately unbuckled it. “I don’t want to be strapped in. If I hadn’t been so sick when I rode in the ambulance I would have yanked off the restraints.”

“If we crash, you’ll go through the windshield. Put it back on,” Jack said.

Braham shook his head. “I’ll take the risk.”

Jack turned in his seat, glaring. “It’s not your life I’m worried about. I don’t want two hundred pounds landing on me. Put the damn belt on. We’re not going anywhere until you do.” Jack pulled his phone out of his pocket and pecked on it, ignoring Braham as he wrestled with the idea of being restrained.

“Don’t like it,” Braham said, securing the belt around him.

Jack’s lip twitched as he pocketed his phone and started the vehicle. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t plan to be here long enough.” Braham stared out the window at the unrecognizable city: paved streets, no grass, few trees, and hundreds of conveyances. “Looks like there’re enough for the entire city.”

Jack pulled away from the hospital and merged into a long line of vehicles, all different shapes, sizes, and colors. “Certain times of the day you’d think everyone who had a car was out on the roads. Traffic’s a nightmare.”

Braham rubbed his hand across the leather seat, the sparkling glass, and odd textures that weren’t metal or wood or stone. “Yer Land Rover looks rich, expensive. How much did it cost?”

“About ninety-five thousand.”

“Dollars?” Braham whistled. “I’ve seen the war through the lens of economy and I understand inflation. What’s the difference in the value of the dollar between 1864 and now?”

“When I stop at the traffic light, I’ll look it up.”

Braham spotted a light strung on a wire stretching from one side of the street to the other. The light turned from green to yellow to red. The conveyances going in the same direction and in the opposite direction all stopped, while the vehicles on his left and right moved forward. “I crossed this street a few days ago, dodging wagons and marching soldiers. Risked life and limb to get to the other side. The…traffic light?” He glanced over to see Jack’s nod. “It’s very clever.”

Jack punched the keys on his phone again. Then the light turned green, and he proceeded through the intersection. He handed over the phone. “Read this. Then you’ll understand why we call our phones smartphones.”

Braham read the words on the tiny colored glass. “Compute the relative value of a US dollar amount.”

Jack reached over and pointed to the letters fixed to little squares underneath the colored glass. “Enter the year and the amount of $95,000, in the boxes. Then click calculate.”

“The relative value in 1864 is $6,530.00.”

What other kinds of questions could he ask this smartphone? His fingers itched to punch the letters and ask the one question weighing on his heart every waking moment: What year will the War of the Southern Rebellion end? He curled his fingers into his palm. His nails bit into his skin. The urge grew stronger,