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

hadn’t spent the last decade listening to Kit’s unusual vernacular, he’d be at a complete loss, with no idea what Jack meant. Braham knew Apple was a company which had helped make Kit’s wealthy family richer. Whatever the company made, it wasn’t fruit.

When Braham reached the entryway, his eyes went immediately to the stunning carved walnut flying staircase, which rose three floors without any visible support structure. Jack closed the front door and joined Braham at the foot of the stairs.

“This staircase is the most outstanding architectural feature in this old house.”

Braham studied the underneath side of the first landing, pinching his face in concentration. “What holds it up?”

“There’re two flat iron straps running wall to wall which allow it to float in place. Quite an engineering feat for the eighteen hundreds. A building inspector wouldn’t approve it today.”

“If it’s all the same to ye, I’d prefer not to climb any more stairs today. I’ll sleep here on the floor.” His incision burned as if a doctor was pulling out the stitches using fingernails.

“We have a guest suite down this way. You’ll be comfortable in there.”

Jack led him into a large and well-apportioned bedroom. The fireplace’s hand-carved woodwork featured more pineapples. The tall four-poster bed was the biggest Braham had ever seen. After the skinny hospital bed, he looked forward to having room to roll over. Two of the room’s walls had floor-to-ceiling windows, bringing light into the dark blue room. A set of French doors were open. When he lay in the bed he’d be able to see the river.

“I put jeans, sweaters, underwear, T-shirts, and socks in the dresser. Shirts are hanging in the closet. The bathroom is stocked with personal care items. If you have any questions, yell. My office is across the hall and my bedroom is directly above.” He took a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “Charlotte shoved this into my hand when we passed each other at the hospital. You need two o’clock meds, a light snack, and a nap. She also listed four prescriptions.”

Braham set four medicine bottles on the table next to the bed. “It’s time for the antibiotic and pain medication, right?”

“It’s what the note says.”

“I don’t want the pain medicine. It makes me tired.”

Jack sighed. “You don’t want to get on her bad side. If she said to take the pills, take the pills.”

Braham opened two of the bottles and poured out the necessary pills. “I need to move and get my strength back. Not sleep the day away.” He’d hold the pill under his tongue until Jack looked away.

Jack handed Braham a bottle of water from a silver tray on the dresser. “Drink this.”

Braham studied the bottle and gave an impatient huff as he pulled on the top cap.

“Twist the cap. It breaks the seal.” Jack opened a dresser drawer, pulled out some clothes, and tossed them on the bed. “Pajamas and a T-shirt. You might want a shower to get rid of the hospital smell. I don’t know how Charlotte can stand smelling like sanitizer all the time. It dries out her hands, too.”

Braham didn’t think so. He remembered them as quite soft. They had warmed him when he shivered, comforted him when he was dying, and held a cup when he needed a drink.

“I’ll go fix lunch while you shower.”

“Ye don’t have to do anything else. Ye’ve done enough.”

Jack folded his arms, leaned against the desk, and crossed one booted foot over the other. “I spent two years in a Tibetan monastery studying an esoteric meditative discipline. For the first six months, I couldn’t speak the language or do the meditations. I felt inadequate and doubted my purpose for being there. A monk took me aside and said in English, ‘Follow me.’ He never said another word, and for the next six months I never took my eyes off him. Then one day he said, ‘Follow your own path.’ I never followed him again. You said I’ve done enough. How much is enough when a person is in need?”

“Give a man a fish and ye feed him for a day—”

“Teach a man to fish you feed him for life?” Jack finished Lao Tzu’s proverb.

“Ye don’t have to teach me to fish, but ye might need to show me around the bathroom.”

“Good idea. This shower has all the bells and whistles. Come here.”

After Jack showed Braham how to operate the controls, he gave a two-finger salute and left the room.

Finally, alone for the first time in days, Braham stared out the French doors, which opened onto the riverside portico. Teach a man to fish. Fine. But he didn’t intend to stay. He didn’t belong here. It was different for Kit. She was out of place to begin with, but not him. He had a home, a winery, and a law practice to return to after the war. He had a life planned out in intricate detail—a plan he would not veer from; a plan which included a political career. The door to the office of the governor of California would one day have his name engraved on a brass plate.

He appreciated the Mallorys’ time and attention, but he had to return. The president depended on him. He had responsibilities and commitments. How could he make Charlotte understand? Abandoning his life would be tantamount to asking her to give up being a doctor, and he doubted she would ever consider doing it. Then how could she expect him to give up his dreams?

13

Mallory Plantation, Richmond, Virginia, Present Day

Charlotte knocked lightly on Braham’s door before entering quietly. The French doors were open to an exquisite view of the moonlight undulating on the surface of the river. The windows were slightly cracked, and a cool breeze rippled through the sheer curtains. Braham had fallen asleep on top of the covers wearing Jack’s black pajama bottoms with a lightweight blanket thrown haphazardly over his legs. A white T-shirt stretched tight across his expansive chest, and a