On the bed was a white box, attached to a cord connected to the wall. Jack pushed a button on the box. The head of the bed slowly lifted, making a low grinding noise.
He adjusted Braham’s pillow. “What year did you graduate?”
“1848.”
From the dark look in Jack’s eyes, he was working hard to keep his temper from rising to the surface. “You know it’s impossible, don’t you?”
Braham forced a grin. “I thought ye would believe yer sister.”
Jack picked up a cup from the bedside table with a small bent tube angled horizontally out of it. He put the tube to Braham’s lips. “Here’s some water. Take a few sips.” Braham did and found the ice water refreshing. “I neither believe nor disbelieve, but I do know she’s never lied to me before.”
Braham pushed the cup away and Jack returned it to the table.
“What did she tell ye about me?”
Jack rested his forearms on the bed’s railing and clasped his hands. “That you’re a major in the United States Cavalry. That you were caught spying in Richmond, and that if you didn’t die from your wounds, the Confederate Army was planning to hang you.”
“And ye don’t believe it?”
There was a knock and two men dressed in blue uniforms entered without waiting for a response.
“Mr. McCabe,” one of the men dressed in blue said. “We’re with the Winchester Police Department, and we have a few questions for you. Is this a good time?”
Jack moved away from the bed, standing behind the police but staying where Braham could see him.
“Let’s begin with your full name,” one of the policemen said.
Braham glanced at Jack. “I was telling Mr. Mallory I don’t remember my name or where I’m from. Or anything else.”
“Doctor Mallory said you told her your name was Major McCabe,” the other policeman said.
“I have no memory of the conversation.”
“The beating you took to your face and head could have caused memory loss.” Although the first policeman’s voice was amiable, his gaze was unblinkingly chilly. “What were you doing before the fight started?”
Braham had never lied before he went to work for Lincoln and Stanton as a secret agent. He had withheld the truth, but he had never deliberately lied. During the past four years he had perfected the art of not answering questions, and it had saved his life more than once.
He gave a weighty sigh. “I don’t remember.”
“You have a Scottish accent. Have you recently moved here?” the second policeman asked.
Braham shrugged. “I wish I could help ye.”
The first policeman pulled a card from a pocket inside his notebook. “I can see we’re not going to get anywhere today. Here’s my phone number. If anything comes to mind, give me a call. We intend to catch the person who shot you.”
The other policeman scratched his chin. “I’d like to try something which might trigger a memory.” He left the room and returned a minute later carrying a mirror. He handed it to Braham. “Look in the mirror and tell me who you see.”
Braham studied the image in the looking glass. He had a bandage on his forehead and bruises on his cheeks. He hadn’t shaved in days, and the stubble finished off his well-crafted image of a fearless and daring spy.
“I see one sorry son of a bitch. But not someone I recognize.”
The policeman placed the mirror on the bedside table. “Thank you for your time. If you do remember any details, we’d appreciate a call.”
The policemen left the room. Jack watched the door for a minute and then let out a breath. “You played it brilliantly. Almost convinced me.”
“If I had given them my name, they might have learned I died in 1864.”
The box in Jack’s shirt pocket made a noise, and he answered it. “Your time traveler told the police he didn’t remember who shot him…no, I don’t believe him…” He handed the box to Braham. “Charlotte wants to talk to you.”
He put it against his ear as Jack had done. Silence.
“Hello. Is anyone there?”
Braham jerked the loud noise away from his ear.
“Hello, Major McCabe. Are you there?”
Braham kept the box several inches away from his ear and said, “Yes.”
“I can’t hear you.”
Jack took Braham’s hand and pushed the box closer to his ear. “Don’t talk so loud, Charlotte.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Is this better?”
Braham whispered, “Yes.”
“Major, don’t talk to anyone else. If you have to say anything, do what you just did and claim you don’t remember. If anyone discovers the truth, it could be a problem. We’re trying to work out a plan now. Will you hand the phone back to Jack?”
Jack put the phone up to his ear and listened. “I can stay until he’s ready to leave the hospital, but it would be easier for both of us if you transferred him to Richmond…yes…no…I’ll talk to Ken.”
The blood drained from Braham’s face at the mention of Richmond. He tossed back the covers. A fire burned in his belly, his head hurt, and when he moved he got dizzy, but he was not going back to Richmond. All it held for him was a date with the hangman.
A look of alarm flashed across Jack’s face. He pressed his free hand against Braham’s shoulder. “Hold on, buddy. You’re not getting out of bed yet.”
“I’m not going back to Richmond and give those Johnny Rebs another shot at me.”
“He doesn’t want to go to Richmond. He thinks he’ll be killed,” Jack said into the black box. “How much of a history lesson do you want me to give him? If he’s going home, he doesn’t need to know the future.”
Going home seemed like a fine idea to Braham. He pulled up the covers.
“I’ll sleep here in the room…yep, it’s a private suite…yep, I talked to the admission’s office…yep, I’ll pick up the tab and recoup my losses when I publish this story…are you freaking kidding? Of course, I am.”
Jack put the little black box back in his shirt pocket. “Okay, nobody’s listening but me, and I want the truth. If you’re married and spent the night with my sister, and then your wife showed up and shot you, I want to know. So, spill it.”
Braham used the white box to raise the head of the bed higher.
“My name is Major Michael Abraham McCabe. I’m a special agent for Abraham Lincoln. The president sent me to Richmond to meet with a group of Northern sympathizers. I was followed when I left the meeting, and had almost reached my rendezvous point when I was attacked by five Rebel soldiers. I gave as good as I got, but in the end, I was gut shot.
“They carried me up the hill to Chimborazo Hospital. I lay there for two days, in agony and dying. Yer sister said she was sent to rescue me.”
Jack scrubbed his face with his hands. “How long have you been a major?”
“Six months.”
“How long have you worked for the president?”
“Since Gettysburg.”
“Why are you lying?”
“I’m not.”
“You and Charlotte didn’t have time to concoct a similar story. You weren’t talking when you got here. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now. After all, I write fiction, and this sounds like the beginning of an intriguing mystery novel. I’ll play along and see where it goes.”
“I hope ye get good reviews.” Braham said, smirking.
“I usually do,” Jack said. “Now, crank the bed down. I can see you’re hurting, so I’ll let the nurse know. She’ll give you something to reduce the pain and help you sleep. We’ll talk more when you wake up.”
Within minutes a nurse was at Braham’s bedside injecting medicine into the tube connected to his arm. Sleep came quickly, and with it dreams of a lass with golden hair and eyes bluer than the waters of Loch Lomond.
11
Winchester Medical Center, Winchester, Virginia, Present Day
&n
bsp; Raised voices woke Braham from a restful sleep, but he remained still, eyes closed. He listened to the discussion taking place in his hospital room.
“I told her I didn’t like the idea at all.”
From the tone of Doctor Thomas’s voice, he’s not happy.
“She’s being overly protective. You know how she can be.”
Jack defending his sister.
“I’d have released him to go home in two days. I don’t see the point in transferring him to another hospital.”
“You’ll have to have that argument with Charlotte,” Jack said.
“I will, but it won’t do any good.” Doctor Thomas huffed. “I’ll sign the release order.”
“You two are made for each other. I don’t know why you never hooked up.”
Doctor Thomas gave a derisive laugh. “Because I’m not a suitable mate. I don’t meet all ten requirements on her must-have list.”
“I’d say you meet the most important one. You’re as committed to the practice of medicine as she is.”
“Are you kidding? It isn’t even on the list.”
Jack laughed. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Doc.”
“Take her patient to Richmond, and tell her to forget the rib eye and wine. All bets are off.”
Leather shoes squeaked across the floor and the door closed.
“You can open your eyes now,” Jack said. “I know you’re awake.”
Braham pushed the button on the little white box and raised the head of his bed, grinning. “Ye fight yer sister’s battles well.”
“I’ve been doing it since she could walk. I’m not likely to quit.”
“Ye’re moving me to Richmond? Are ye sure it’s safe?”
Jack chuckled almost soundlessly, shaking his head. “You’d be safer with the hangman. You don’t know my sister.”
Braham put his hand to his throat and swallowed hard. He didn’t find Jack’s comment the least bit humorous.
Jack pulled the thin black device from his pocket again, and Braham pointed his finger at it. “I assume the thing in yer hand is a communication device. What’s it called?”
“Smartphone,” Jack said as he punched at it and raised it to his ear. “Ken’s going to sign the release order, but he’s not happy.” Jack also poked at the device he called an iPad with his finger while he talked to his sister about logistics. “Sure, I’ll put him on.” He handed the phone to Braham. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Hello,” Braham said, mimicking Jack’s tone. Braham didn’t understand how Charlotte could hear his voice through the device, especially speaking normally. He intuitively wanted to raise his voice, but Jack didn’t. So, Braham didn’t.
“I’ve arranged for an ambulance to pick you up and bring you here. You’ll stay in my hospital for a couple of days. Do you have any questions?”
“Only one. When can I go home?”
“Soon. I’ll see you tonight.”
There was no softness in her voice. Only a rush to finish the conversation. He handed the phone back to Jack. “She must be busy.” Braham shifted his weight in the bed, pretending her hurried tone didn’t matter, but it did. He wanted the intimacy they had shared when she ran her fingers through his hair.
“She’s always busy, but sometimes I think she’s busier than she needs to be.”
Braham scratched his whiskers. If he continued to look the part of a rogue, he’d never get any of her time and attention. Jack hadn’t shaved, though. Maybe men in the twenty-first century didn’t scrape their faces every day.
“I need a shave. Do I have time before we leave? I also need pants and boots.”
“Your face is too cut up to shave, and you’ll go in an ambulance in what you’re wearing now. Tomorrow or the next day I’ll have my barber come in and give you a shave and trim.”
An hour later, rattling wheels approached their door.
“Looks like your ride’s here.”
Two men rolled a gurney into the room. “Mr. McCabe, we have an order to transport you to Richmond.”
Braham didn’t look forward to the future’s mode of travel. He’d seen a picture of Kit with a conveyance she’d called a car. He didn’t understand how it moved without horses, but he’d soon find out.
The men rolled the gurney next to the bed and lowered the rails. “We don’t want you to do anything. We’re going to lift and move you.” They rolled him and slid something beneath him. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three.” As his body jerked sideways, Braham groaned. “Sorry, sir.” They settled him onto the gurney, tucked in the sheet, and strapped him in.
Jack picked up his leather satchel, slung the strap over his shoulder, and walked over to the gurney. “You’re in good hands. Don’t worry. I’ll see you in Richmond.”
When Jack left, Braham shivered. He knew no one other than Jack and Charlotte, and Doctor Thomas, and this strange world stymied him. In a short time he had become dependent on Jack to shepherd him through the strange customs. Braham’s weakness and fear shamed him. What would he say to Kit when he saw her again? Admit her world frightened him? No, he would tell her he acclimated quickly. With that, he relaxed, slowed his breathing, and let his shoulders go slack.
The men rolled him headfirst into what looked like a miniature hospital room. One of the men climbed in beside him and locked the rolling bed into place. He attached the clear bag to a hook hanging from the ceiling. The walls were lined with cubbyholes and equipment.
“Are ye a paramedic?” Braham asked.
“Pretty close. An EMT. Been doing this work for ten years now.”
How many paramedics could there be? Maybe he knew Kit. Again, Braham bit his tongue. He mustn’t mention her name to anyone. “How long will the trip take? All day?”
“We’re only going to Richmond. About two hours. You relax, lie back, and enjoy the ride.”
The vehicle’s rolling, swaying motion made him queasy, and he gagged. The EMT cranked up the head of the gurney. “Ask the driver to slow down,” Braham said.
The EMT chuckled. “I doubt he’s going more than five miles an hour.” He put a cold compress on Braham’s forehead. “Riding backward often makes people sick. This should help.”
Braham didn’t think so. Jerky stops and starts kept his belly churning. All he could see through the back window was scenery. After a while he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the conveyance was backing up to a building.
“When are we leaving?” Braham asked.
“We’re here,” the EMT said. “You slept through the entire trip.”
The two EMTs rolled him out of the ambulance and into the hospital. As the gurney traveled down halls and around corners, Braham’s view of the ceiling didn’t change much. The confined space in the elevator made him break out in a sweat. When the door opened and he was rolled out, he let out a long-held breath. He never realized how small enclosed spaces terrified him, or maybe it was small enclosed spaces in motion which terrified him.
He entered a room much like the one in Winchester, except he couldn’t see any trees from the window. He groaned as the jolt of transferring into the new bed sent flashes of fire through his insides. The EMTs straightened him up then covered him with the blanket folded at the end of the bed.
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. McCabe. Get well soon.”
The two men left the room just as Charlotte entered wearing a white coat with her name embroidered in blue above the breast pocket. On the other side of the coat were the words UVA Health Systems, also embroidered in blue. Her hair was pulled back into a tail at the nape of her neck, but a riot of curls fell loose around her face, a lovely face which appeared tired and drawn.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, reading a stack of papers the EMTs had given her. “This report said you were queasy. Are you still?”
He shook his head. The only thing wrong at the moment was he had to piss. He would have used the urinal, as Jack called it, but he refused to do so in Charlott
e’s presence. Jack had assured him it was acceptable in medical situations, but it would never be acceptable to him. He squirmed.
Charlotte looked up from her notes, pursing her lips into a tiny smile. “The bathroom is behind me. Have you been out of bed since surgery?”
He shook his head again.
She put the papers down, lowered his bed, and helped him sit up. “You’ll be wobbly. Put your arm around me.”
He was almost twice her size. If he lost his balance, they would both end up on the floor. When his hand slid across her upper back and around her shoulder, her muscles flexed beneath his fingers. He cocked his brow in surprise. Although small, she might be able to support him after all. How could a woman who appeared so delicate have such strength? Her hands were not callused from heavy work, though. Where did her muscles come from? Kit was muscular, too. It must be the way women were made in this century.
“Are you ready?” she asked, gazing up at him. “Go slow, now. It’s going to hurt a bit when you stand.”
If he hadn’t had to piss, he would have been happy to sit on the edge of the bed, with her arm wrapped around him and his arm around her, while he sniffed the pleasing apple scent in her hair and enjoyed the warmth of her body pressed alongside his.
How long had it been since he’d been with a woman? Not long. So, needing a woman wasn’t the problem; it was because the woman in his arms was highly desirable. In fact, her presence was having an effect on him which would soon become obvious to anyone who noticed the tent in the front of his long shirt.
When he stood, he gasped. “Damn.” His rising tent collapsed.
“You had a serious injury. It’s going to hurt for a while.”
He took a step then stopped. Sweat beaded across his forehead.
“Let’s take another step,” she said.
He gritted his teeth.
Charlotte pulled the pole with the plastic bag along with them. Inside the bathroom was a white porcelain bowl.
“Pee in the bowl then push the silver lever down when you’re done.” She closed the door behind her.
Braham peed in the bowl, pushed the lever, and watched water swirl around and disappear. Hanging over the washbasin was a reminder note to wash hands. He did, although he didn’t find any soap. When he finished, he hobbled back to the bed, holding tight to the pole for support.
The Sapphire Brooch Page 8
