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

He punched the W, then the H, then the E. He bit down on his lip. Hard. He punched the N. “How do ye start a new word?”

“Hit the space key.”

He ignored his inner voice shrieking to stop. His conscience. His moral compass. He hit the space key. Then entered the words when will the war of the Southern—“What do ye do if ye make a mistake?”

“Hit the arrow with the X.”

He erased all the words and started again. When did the war—His breathing became labored. He closed his eyes. Sucked in his lip. Deep inside his soul he found the strength to resist. He returned the smartphone, Satan’s tool, to Jack.

Jack glanced at the phone then shot a stern glance at Braham.

“When ye say US dollar, do ye mean United States?”

“The United States is referred to as—”

“Ye mean the United States are referred to?”

“It was changed after the Civil—” Jack stopped midsentence, and his jaw noticeably tightened. “It’s your intention to return to your time, isn’t it?”

“As soon as yer sister will take me.”

“Then there are topics we can’t discuss. Not even something as simple as a verb.”

“Yer use of the verb told me the states will be united again. Stronger than before. It will be easier to wait for it to happen, knowing it will.” Tension eased from his body. He settled back into the plush seat and closed his eyes. The car swerved violently to the right, to the left, and back to right. Braham’s eyes popped open. The seat restraint grabbed him. He slammed his feet against the floor.

“God damn it,” Jack swore. “Get the son of a bitch off the damn road.”

Braham’s heart cannon-fired inside his chest. “Are ye trying to kill us?”

“I’m not, but that son of a bitch is.” Jack pointed to a red car moving significantly more slowly than all the other vehicles on the road. “You okay?”

Braham patted the restraint across his chest. “Thanks to this. I’m sorry I was initially resistant. It saved me from landing on ye. All two hundred pounds. The stitches in my belly would have come undone and ye could have had my guts in yer lap.”

Jack resumed his casual one-handed driving and laughed. “I can do without the imagery, thank you.”

Now he had confidence in Jack’s driving skills and the vehicle’s maneuverability, Braham took more interest in details of the interior.

The seat was ample for his large frame and the leather was supple, but the interior had an offensive smell unlike anything he’d run across during his travels in Europe or across the western part of the country. He had invested large sums of money in real estate in San Francisco and his vineyards in the Napa Valley, all wise investments made in consultation with his bankers. He wasn’t at all sure Jack’s investment in this vehicle had been a wise one. The vehicle picked up speed. Jack changed lanes and pulled up behind a car small enough for the Land Rover to squash.

“Why would anyone drive a small vehicle?” Braham asked.

“Gas mileage, wear and tear.”

“In other words, it costs less.”

Jack changed lanes again and increased the speed. Braham gripped the seat, needing a distraction. “What are the parts called? The dials, the different colored lights, and the map.”

“The map is a Global Positioning System. You can plug in any address and the map will show you how to get there. There’s an owner’s manual in the glove compartment in front of your knees. The manual will explain what’s what. This car almost drives itself.”

“A car won’t get me home.”

“No, but it sure will make life easier while you’re here, especially at the plantation. You might like to get out and see the place. It’s beautiful this time of year.”

“Do ye have horses?”

“Not as many as we used to have, but I doubt Charlotte will let you ride.”

“I’ve ridden every day since I could walk. It won’t hurt me.”

“Butting heads with her might prove you’re stronger, but she’s smarter when it comes to healing and medicine. Had to go a few rounds with her myself before I learned my lesson.”

Not since his mother died had Braham been forced to listen to a woman tell him what to do or when to do it. He doubted he’d change for Charlotte’s benefit. Then he chuckled at his lapse of memory. Another blond-haired lass had told him what to do, and he’d listened, but Kit was the exception.

Being in the future unsettled him. Kit had expressed constant fear over how her actions in the past might affect the future. He had believed she worried needlessly. How could the actions of one small woman change the future? Now he was living in her time, he had decided to put on blinders so he could return ignorant of what was to come, but his natural curiosity was making the decision difficult, if not impossible.

He didn’t understand the customs of the day, which drove him to seek understanding. The more understanding he had, the more insight into the future he acquired. When he returned to his time, would he be able to put his knowledge aside, or would he use it for personal gain and disrupt the future?

He’d consider the problem in more depth later. For now, he had to convince Charlotte to take him back. His country was suffering from an intolerable war, and his president was waiting for vital information.

Time travel, as he’d learned from Kit, was a persnickety venture. While days passed in one time period, months passed elsewhere. The war could have ended by the time he returned. Would Lincoln think Braham had been executed, or would he know Braham had disappeared? He realized, with a disturbing sensation in the pit of his stomach, that dying seemed preferable to living with failure.

“Are you hurting?” Jack asked. “Charlotte said the trip to the plantation would be uncomfortable.” He pushed back his sleeve and looked at the timepiece he wore on his wrist. “You can have