The Sapphire Brooch

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  “Stop gawking. This isn’t your first visit.”

  She sighed. “I know, but it still takes my breath away.”

  “So does the Grand Canyon.”

  “You’re so unromantic. No wonder your little black book has only a few entries.”

  He cocked one brow in disbelief. “I love violins and candlelit dinners, and for your information, I have a full book.”

  “Ha. According to MacKlenna Farm’s website, Stormy has a full book. You have CliffsNotes. And those candlelit dinners are followed by football or basketball games on TV.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Ginny loved to watch football and basketball games with me.”

  Charlotte dismissed his ploy with a wave of her hand. “She worked for CNN Sports, and you only dated her for a couple of months. Her travel schedule was worse than yours.”

  “Your love life is worse than mine, so stop picking on me.”

  They reached the registration desk and checked into their suite.

  “Here’s your key. I’m going to go put the car in the parking space I rented. When I get back, we’ll have lunch and go over our list one more time.”

  “Do you want me to make dinner reservations?”

  “I’m having dinner with my agent. You’re welcome to go, though.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m going to enjoy room service and a long, luxurious bath, since it’s likely to be a while before I enjoy either one again.”

  Charlotte watched her brother saunter away, wondering for the hundredth time or more why he sabotaged relationships. He refused to go to counseling, and every time she brought up the subject of their parents’ deaths, he shut down. She wasn’t forthcoming either, but at least she had given counseling a try. What the heck. They were probably stuck, going through life together forever, two people riding a tandem bicycle, trying to go in different directions, and too damn stubborn to let anyone else take the lead.

  32

  Washington, D.C.—Present Day

  At seven o’clock the next morning, Charlotte swished through the hotel lobby in a deeply pleated, silk-satin Civil War-era walking dress in a blue and black checkered pattern, and carrying a long blue winter cloak over her arm. Jack had told her to meet him at the Christmas tree, but he wasn’t there, so she tapped her foot, turned up her nose, and channeled Scarlett O’Hara. “Fiddle-dee-dee. War, war, war; this war talk’s spoiling all the fun at every party this spring. I get so bored I could scream.”

  Several early-morning risers had snapped her picture using their smartphones. She smiled sweetly and threw in more fiddle-dee-dees as she turned this way and that for them. Wearing such an elaborate costume freed the little girl inside her to enjoy a flight of fantasy. She went a bit overboard with her channeling, but what the heck. The fun would end when she left the building.

  “There you are,” Jack said.

  She blinked, and her mouth dropped open. The shock wore off and she shut her mouth, shaking her head. “Damn. You look good.” She straightened his cravat and hand-pressed the shoulders of his frock coat. “The silk striped vest is a nice touch. I like it. Very handsome.”

  He stood tall and easy and smiled down at her. He did indeed look every bit the gentleman he purported to be. The young women in Washington were in for a treat.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “I should ask you the same thing. I already know how dangerous it is.”

  His face telegraphed his brotherly concern. “Do you want to change your mind?”

  She shook her head and took a calming breath. “I don’t want to go. Other than witnessing history, there is nothing enticing, entertaining, or healthy about what we’re about to do. But it’s necessary. Regardless of how I feel about it, I have to go.”

  “The bellhop is taking our trunks to the corner.”

  She scrunched her face. “Is it a good idea to disappear in plain sight?”

  “Do you want to duck into a phone booth instead?”

  She smirked. “You’re the writer.”

  “I know, which is why I picked seven o’clock to disappear. The street is empty. And it’s cold outside and barely daylight. If you’ll stop lollygagging, we’ll get out of here.”

  She swooshed around his legs and stomped toward the door.

  Jack chuckled close behind her.

  A moment of levity before they spiraled into danger.

  She stopped and dug in her heels. “But I don’t want to go.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “You’ll be safe. I promise. Now, let’s get the flock out of here.”

  She supposed he meant to comfort her, but his words were like Band-Aids on an open-heart incision, and did nothing to assuage the fear churning in her belly. A strange breeze slithered by her, sounding like whispers of secrets. She shook it off, or tried to.

  Their bellhop hovered at the corner of Fifteenth and E Street, guarding their trunks. Jack tipped the young man, but he didn’t want to leave them until their transportation arrived. Jack assured him a bus would be by to pick them up in a matter of minutes, and they wouldn’t need his assistance to get the trunks on board. The bellhop left, but kept looking back. Finally, Jack scooted them next to the side of the hotel and out of the bellhop’s line of sight.

  Charlotte sat on top of one of the trunks and spread out her skirt.

  “It’s time, sis. No one’s around. Say the words and let’s be gone.”

  “You’re sure this is what you want to do?”

  “Damn it. You’re becoming obnoxious. Get the brooch and let’s go.”

  The brooch and a pair of tweezers were packed in her reticule. Using the tweezers, she caught the edge of the broken clasp and pinched the pieces together until the stone opened. Then she patted the trunk beside her. “Sit, and let’s hold hands.”

  They squeezed each other’s fingers. Then after a silent prayer, she spoke the ancient incantation. “Chan ann le tìm no àite a bhios sinn a’ tomhais an gaol ach’s ann le neart anama.”

  As the peat-smelling fog engulfed them, Jack let out one of his boisterous laughs.

  33

  Washington City—December 1864

  As the frigid fog dissipated, Charlotte shivered, even in her long cloak. The mist’s embrace had been suffocating as it twisted and tumbled her through a void black as coal and cold as ice. The vertical loops and inversions were made worse on this trip by an unnerving effect that shot her back and forth, scaring her even more than the previous trips.

  Relieved it was over, she took several deep breaths. Big mistake. The smell of unwashed bodies and open sewers triggered bile up into the back of her throat. She gagged.

  Jack put his arm around her shoulders. “Are you going to be sick?”

  She fanned her face with her hand. “Give me a minute.” A combination of smells and riding on a speed-demon roller coaster would upset even the most stalwart of stomachs. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out through her mouth until the nausea passed.

  Finally, she said, “I’m okay now.” She opened her eyes to see Jack standing with his hands on his hips, gawking.

  He glanced down at her. “We’re…here.” His voice was choppy with excitement, reminding her of a hound dog sniffing the scent in a relentless drive to follow a trail.

  Gingerly, she stood. “You have a cast-iron stomach. The trip didn’t bother you at all, did it?”

  “Nah.” He pointed over her shoulder. “Look. We’re still at the Willard.”

  She turned to look at the old building. She hadn’t paid any attention to it during her prior visit, and now she saw there wasn’t much of a resemblance to the twenty-first century hotel, other than being on the same corner.

  “Let’s hope we arrived in the right year, too.” She pulled her cloak around her, trapping warmth between the heavy wool and her dress. “What time do you think it is?” Not that she had any place to be, but her entire adult life had been driven by the time. She glanced up, shading her eyes with
her hand, and studied the position of the sun in a slightly overcast sky.

  Jack stretched, cocking his head. “I’m facing north. The sun is to my left. It’s after twelve o’clock, but not by much.”

  “A line from one your books, I bet.”

  “It is, and a bad one, too. Honestly, I have no idea.”

  “I’m glad your sense of humor arrived intact.”

  “Why wouldn’t it? This is a game-changer for me. I have a good shot at getting another movie deal from this book. Don’t mess it up.”

  “This trip is not about you.” Her voice was sharp with agitation.

  His nostrils flared, but he didn’t snap back at her. “Maybe not, but I’m going to take full advantage of it. Now, I’m going inside the hotel to hire a carriage to take us to Georgetown. Will you be all right staying with the luggage?”

  “I’m within spitting distance of the White House. What could happen to me here?”

  “Yeah, right. Look what happened to you at the Cedar Creek reenactment.”

  “Good point. Go. Hurry. The sooner we get to Georgetown, the sooner we can find Braham.”

  He pulled down on his right cuff, then his left, straightened his jacket, and finally adjusted his hat, fidgeting. She’d seen him do much the same before an interview. “Stay put,” he said, “and don’t talk to strangers.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  Jack strode toward the Willard’s main entrance with shoulders squared, as confident as someone who belonged in this era. Nothing about his general appearance, hair, or clothing looked out of place…except he was clean and didn’t stink.

  Did she look out of place? She might be dressed authentically, but she saw herself as a plastic checker piece on an ivory chessboard. Wearing a costume and playing a role at reenactments was fun, but in the nineteenth century it rattled her. Her layer of disguise could be easily dismantled with a yank here or there. Although she had held it together under extreme conditions last time, could she maintain her disguise over the course of several weeks?

  This trip she didn’t intend to let herself be dragged off and dumped into another life-threatening situation. If she could find a small hospital willing to allow her to work, she’d be able to help with the war effort.

  Her abilities had already won acceptance in the surgical world heavily dominated by male doctors, although it had been a long, hard-fought battle. And it was a battle she would have to fight again if she intended to practice medicine now. The hospitals needed doctors, but they would refuse to believe she had the necessary skills. Being a woman, she would need references, and she doubted the president would give her one. She doubted Braham, if and when they found him, would help her either. He would want her gone, not entrenched in one of Washington’s hospitals.

  Glancing up and down the street, she saw hundreds of soldiers within a few blocks of where she sat. If he were among them, wearing a uniform, would she recognize him? How would he react to her presence? Would he be glad to see her? Probably not. Had he even thought she would come after him? She didn’t know him well, but she knew him well enough, and he would be expecting her.

  Three soldiers on horseback rode closer and reined in right in front of her. The man in the center wore an officer’s double-breasted coat with one gold eagle on his shoulder boards. He dismounted, grimacing, then with a stiff leg stepped up on the sidewalk and out of a street which was little more than a channel of liquid mud.

  “What sort of rogue would abandon a beautiful woman on the sidewalk?” Although his voice was amiable, his cognac-colored eyes were fixed on her with an unblinking chill.

  She took a step backward and glanced around, searching for Jack.

  The man politely doffed his slouch hat, which bore the cavalry’s crossed-sabers insignia. Wavy brown hair fell across his forehead. “Colonel Henly at your service, ma’am. Where may I escort you?” He shoved fingers through his hair before resettling his hat.

  “My brother has gone to rent a carriage and will be right back. But I appreciate your offer.” She shivered slightly from the cold and from his chilling visual appraisal.

  The colonel set his lips in a grim line and glanced up and down the street. “It’s too cold for you to wait here. While my aides guard your luggage, I’ll escort you inside the Willard where it’s warm. You will wait for your brother there. Come along.” He took her hand and threaded it around his proffered elbow.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t leave without him.” Being less than subtle, she reclaimed her arm, yanking it from the colonel’s clutches. She quickly scanned the crowd. Jack was a good head taller than most men, including the obnoxious colonel, and she would spot him immediately. But he wasn’t around to be spotted.

  The colonel turned to his aides. “Guard these trunks. When the lady’s brother returns, send him inside the hotel.”

  The aides dismounted and took up positions on either side of her luggage.

  Unease gave her another reason to shiver. She rooted her feet to the planked sidewalk. What if they searched her luggage? Twenty-first century antibiotics and pain medications, as well as her Confederate uniform, were packed in the bottom.

  “Come, before you freeze.” The colonel had her hand tucked in the crook of his arm and was towing her off in the direction of the hotel, despite her protests.

  “I’m sure you have other matters more important than seeing to my comfort.” She could continue to resist him, stall to give Jack more time, but was it wise? He was a colonel, and she needed friends with connections.

  “Protecting you from freezing is the most important task of my day. My men will notify your brother the moment he returns.”

  Her feet tingled from the cold. She truly did not want to stand outside much longer. The two men guarding her luggage stood at attention, appearing to take their task seriously. She didn’t think they would have time to pick the locks and dig through her belongings before Jack returned. The colonel was pushy, but there wasn’t a logical reason for her to remain out in the cold while soldiers guarded her bags. She took another look around for Jack. Then, reluctantly, she accepted the colonel’s assistance.

  “What is your brother’s name?” he asked.

  “Jack Mallory,” she said.

  After giving his aides instructions, the colonel led her toward the corner. “How did you come to be stranded, Miss Mallory?” He glanced at her, waiting expectantly.

  Cold prickled at the back of her neck. What in the world was she going to say?

  Think quickly. Think smart.

  “The carriage…we were in had a lame horse…and the driver put us out.” She had been in the nineteenth century only five minutes and had already told her first lie. How many more would she tell? Jack’s advice was to keep it simple and as close to the truth as possible. Hers didn’t have any semblance of truth, but it was simple enough.

  A look of astonishment on his face quickly changed to disbelief then displeasure. “The driver should be whipped.”

  “It’s wartime. We have learned to adjust to unusual situations.” She kept her voice light, not wanting to be overly dramatic.

  They headed toward the hotel’s entrance at an unhurried pace. She had the impression Henly wasn’t walking slowly for her comfort. He had probably been recently wounded.

  “It’s almost eleven o’clock,” he said. “The politicians should have finished their breakfast and hastened to the public rooms to mingle. It will be quite crowded.”

  They reached the main entrance and proceeded through a spacious corridor toward the hotel rotunda. Before reaching the rotunda, though, the colonel stopped at a news, books, and cigar stand. The banner over the merchandise proclaimed the cigars were the best the market affords.

  “Would you mind waiting a moment?” he asked.

  She shook her head, eyeing the books and folded newspapers. Above the headline was the date—December 8, 1864. Perfect. Booth should be in Washington, living at the National Hotel, and romancing Lucy Lambert Hale. If Jack visited the h
otel, he could find Booth, and possibly Braham as well.

  A lanky, immaculately dressed man joined Henly at the counter. “Morning, Colonel.”

  “Morning, Senator Sherman. I just read a report indicating your brother is halfway to Savannah. Does he plan to make the city a Christmas gift to the president?”

  The senator gave a nasal laugh. “A gift Mr. Lincoln would gladly accept.”

  Henly paid the clerk for a handful of cigars and tucked them into his coat pocket. “Pray Hardee realizes the futility of defending the city and surrenders before thousands more die and the city is burned to the ground.”

  Another man approached and asked to have a moment with the senator. Henly excused himself and escorted Charlotte back out into the corridor.

  “It’s a bold move for General Sherman to operate so far within enemy territory without supply lines,” she said. “It hasn’t been tried before in the annals of war, has it?”

  He arched his brow and frowned back at her in puzzlement.

  “I heard someone refer to his march,” she continued, “as a scorched earth campaign, designed to bring a quicker resolution to the war.”

  “You’re not only beautiful but quite knowledgeable.”

  She shrugged, deliberately nonchalant. “Washington has dozens of daily newspapers. Many of them find their way out beyond the city limits. I read everything I can find.”

  The rotunda looked different from the one in the twenty-first century hotel. Instead of comparing the two, she blocked the hotel of the future out of her mind, and turned her entire attention to the features in the current one.

  The vaulted ceiling was elaborately frescoed and supported by pillars. At the base of each pillar was a circular walnut-seating bench with cabriole legs and velvet cushions. Most were filled with overweight men smoking cigars. Other men clustered in small groups, buzzing with animated conversation. Certain words rose above the din: Lincoln, Sherman, Richmond, Lee, Grant, and the recent election. She craned her neck, searching for both Jack and Braham.