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

She placed her palm over the top. “No more for me. I have to drive.”

Jack sat and crossed his legs, his slipper dangling from his toes. “Braham’s never questioned the whole concept of time travel. It’s as if he already knew it was possible.”

Charlotte tilted her head, considering the possibility. “He’s opened-minded and accepts situations that aren’t easily explained.”

“He won’t accept being stuck here.”

“He can’t see it from our perspective, and we can’t see it from his. To us, Lincoln has always been a man carved in white Georgia marble, larger than life, the nation’s quintessential self-made man.”

Jack finished off his drink. “You’re waxing poetic, sis.”

“What? Are you jealous? Afraid I’ll write a book of my own and compete with you?”

“I’d love for you to write a book. You’ve got an entertaining writer’s voice.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you. But I’ll stick to surgery. I’ve got to go. Take Braham’s temperature in the morning.”

“I assume you mean figuratively.”

She rolled her eyes. “If he’s still set on a plan likely to derail the country, we’ll keep him here. Maybe you should take him to Washington and let him see the Lincoln Memorial.”

Jack’s face brightened. “That’s worth a try.”

She slipped on her jacket and grabbed her purse off the entryway table. “Check on him later. I’ll text when I get home.”

She opened the door and a black cat darted between her legs and into the house. She jumped and slapped her hand over her heart. “Where’d he come from?”

Jack crouched down and called to the cat. “She showed up a couple of nights ago. Come here, girl.” The cat rubbed up against Jack’s leg, meowing. “She’s healthy and well fed. Her owner probably dumped her in the field, hoping she’d find a home here.”

“Just because we have a farm, people think they can dump their animals here. Did I miss seeing a signpost saying strays welcome? What are you going to do with her? You can’t keep her. You’re hardly ever home.”

Jack eyed Charlotte with a speculative gleam in his eyes. “Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to tell you?”

She threw up her hands. “Apples and oranges.” She left the house, letting the door slam behind her, feeling a hard, unmovable knot in her throat, and cursing brothers, cats, and green-eyed cavalrymen.

14

Mallory Plantation, Richmond, Virginia, Present Day

The sun was climbing above the horizon by the time Braham finished the last book in Carl Sandburg’s The War Years four-volume set. He knew how the war ended and how profoundly affected the country was and continued to be.

According to John Wilkes Booth’s notes quoted in Sandburg’s book, Booth believed Lincoln was a tyrant who had caused all the South’s troubles, and that he, Booth, was the instrument of punishment.

If Braham had anything to do with it, those words would never be written. Booth would die before he could end Lincoln’s life on April 14, 1865.

Braham sat in an upholstered chair in his bedroom, feet propped on a stool, staring at the river, unsure of how to proceed. He felt certain Charlotte would never help him return to his time, now that he knew of Lincoln’s assassination. That meant he had to find another way.

What that would be, he wasn’t sure, but the answers would come. They always did.

15

Mallory Plantation, Richmond, Virginia, Present Day

The sound of shuffling feet told Jack his houseguest was up and about and on his way into the kitchen. Jack closed the American History magazine he was reading and shoved it into a drawer. Then he turned his attention back to the newspaper spread open on the counter, and glanced up when Braham entered the kitchen. Tired, drawn, red eyes. Jack had seen the face of grief too many times, and his heart ached for his buddy. He reached for a mug in the overhead cabinet.

“Coffee?”

Braham slung a leg over the barstool. “As black as ye can get it.” He nodded toward the paper. “Anything noteworthy happening in Richmond? Are the Yanks ready to invade?”

Jack gave him a squirrely grin. “Does a Detroit automaker looking to relocate count?”

“Is it cheaper to make cars here?”

“Tax incentives,” Jack said.

Braham gave Jack a curious squint.

“The government collects taxes from individuals and businesses. It then gives tax breaks to companies who relocate to depressed areas. Saves the company money, and it’s good for the local economy.”

“Yer traffic will become more congested.”

Jack placed a steaming cup of coffee on the counter. “There’s the rub.”

“For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,” Braham continued.

“When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause,” Jack said.

“There’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life.”

Jack gave Braham a soft punch in the arm. “You’re the first person to ever share lines with me. Thank you.”

“I enjoy reading Hamlet.”

“Tonight we can entertain Charlotte with a theatrical performance.”

Braham scratched his chin. “Doesn’t Richmond have men’s clubs? I would think ye’d be a regular, not home reciting Shakespeare to yer sister.”

“You’d be surprised at today’s men’s clubs. And, no, I don’t belong to one.” He refilled his mug and stirred in a teaspoon of sugar. “On second thought, you might not be surprised.”

Braham glanced down at the T-shirt he was wearing. “I’d need appropriate clothes. A uniform, perhaps. Where does Charlotte get hers?”

“There’s a Civil War clothing store in Richmond. The owner makes custom uniforms. Whatever you need, he can make it. Women’s dresses, too.”

“I don’t think I’ll dress up in women’s clothing. I’ll leave dressing as the opposite sex to yer sister.”

“Who, by the way, asked me to check your temperature this morning, but—”

Braham held out his finger.

Jack looked at the digit, then at Braham’s smirking face.

“Don’t ye have one of those clothes pins they use in the hospital?”

“Clothes pins? Oh. You’re talking about a pulse ox.” Jack chuckled. “I don’t have one of those, but she asked me to take your temperature figuratively. Not literally.”

The wheels behind Braham’s eyes were spinning. After a long moment, he