The Sapphire Brooch

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  “There are four solitary cells with a prisoner in each one: Hancock, White, Lohmann, and Braham. Those men will probably be grouped together during the evacuation. It will make them easier to find—”

  “But harder to rescue,” Elizabeth added.

  Jack poured another drink. “We need someone trustworthy positioned close to the prison who can notify us as soon as the evacuation begins.”

  “I can arrange for someone,” Elizabeth said.

  Charlotte tugged on her ear, fingering the Darwin’s point she’d had since birth. “General Ewell will pull his five thousand soldiers out of Richmond after dark. The streets are already crowded. When the people see the defenders abandon the city, there will be widespread panic.”

  “Panic is already here. Folks are tracking the advancement of the Union Army from the church spires,” Elizabeth said. “Neighbors who have shunned me, even calling me a traitor, have started bringing wheelbarrows of silver and jewelry to the door, begging me to hide their treasures. They should be more afraid of looters than the approaching army.”

  “General Ewell will systematically burn all the tobacco in the Shockoe warehouse and other buildings to keep it out of enemy hands,” Jack said.

  Elizabeth patted perspiration from her forehead with a dainty lace handkerchief. “I’m not surprised. What about the bridges?”

  “The warehouses and bridges will be torched,” Jack added. “Toward morning, the wind will pick up.”

  Elizabeth searched the face of one Mallory, then the other. “What are you implying?”

  Charlotte tried to sound reassuring, but her anxiety over what they faced was clear in her voice. “When fires are deliberately set, they often burn more than the intended structures.” Richmond was Charlotte’s beloved city, too, and it made her stomach clutch to think so many beautiful buildings would be lost to future generations.

  “I don’t know where your information comes from or your insight into future events, nor will I ask,” Elizabeth said.

  A knock on the front door brought Jack and Charlotte to their feet. They followed Elizabeth out into the entryway. When the door opened they heard brass bands and drum corps playing with unusual vigor—dueling patriotic songs from both sides of the trenches.

  Gaylord, along with the father and son Charlotte and Jack had previously met, and two others of Elizabeth’s friends, entered the house.

  A friendly smile spread across Gaylord’s blunt features when he saw Jack and Charlotte. “Our people are in place and ready. We’ll get the major out.”

  Jack nodded and extended a welcoming hand to Gaylord. The dim light threw shadows on Jack’s face, emphasizing the strong bones. He looked so much like their father, a man she remembered mostly from family photographs.

  Elizabeth gave an intentionally audible sigh. “Good. It won’t be much longer now. There’s food on the table. Come. While we eat, we can work out the logistics of how we’re going to help our men escape.”

  Charlotte knew what would take place during the night, but there were additional factors influencing the outcome now; Braham’s existence was the most glaring one. He should never have been here. He should have died in Chimborazo. And what about the parts she and Jack were playing? They should not be in this century. How would the night change because of them? They all ambled into the dining room where, behind closed doors and curtains, they planned the underground’s final mission.

  58

  Richmond, Virginia, April 1, 1865

  Eight weary people sat uneasily around Elizabeth’s dining room table, drinking strong coffee and eating chicken soup, bread, and dried apples. With every rifle shot or cannon rumble, Charlotte glanced toward the windows and doors. They were all facing a bleak night, but it would be followed by a sweet victory when the Union Cavalry marched into town.

  Elizabeth drew herself up, lifting a glass in a shaky hand. An extraordinary look appeared on her face, something akin to satisfaction, which brightened her eyes. Jack noticed the look, too, and he relaxed his shoulders, and a smiled curled the corners of his mouth. A restless current meandered through the rest of group. Gaylord kept his face steady, but Charlotte could see something going on inside him—a roiling. He didn’t speak, nor did he need to. He was concerned about Braham and the other men, as was everyone else at the table.

  Elizabeth tinged a spoon lightly against the crystal and cleared her throat, getting everyone’s attention. “For four years we have endured martial law, conscription, underfeeding, and horrendous casualties. It will all end in a matter of hours. Please join me now in a toast.”

  They all picked up the glasses and stood.

  “To the Union,” Elizabeth said.

  Everyone responded in a lighthearted yet formal manner. “To the Union.”

  The toast signaled a temporary lull in the escalating tension, especially among the men. Charlotte well understood the emptiness of heart she’d sensed in these Unionists; the sense of sleepwalking through life and lying open-eyed at night, finding no rest and knowing only hopelessness. She had seen it in her patients, in their families, and in herself following the death of her mother. To see these men with light in their eyes and hope for their future allowed a semblance of a smile to ease out. The arrival of the Yankees wouldn’t solve all their problems, but it would stop the fear and the suffering.

  Now, with assignments made and planning completed, the men said their good-byes and left to rescue Hancock, White, and Lohmann. Jack and Gaylord were assigned to rescue Braham.

  Jack whispered into Charlotte’s ear. “Come with me. I need to talk to you.”

  She swept into the drawing room behind him like a turbulent weather front. “I’m going with you. Give me a minute to change into pants. You’ll need another set of eyes when several hundred haggard looking men march down the street. You can’t check them all.”

  “Maybe not, but Braham knows I’ll be there.”

  “You can’t be sure.” The words came quickly and without thought.

  “Yes, I can. Because it’s the underlying message you gave him this afternoon. He’ll be looking for me and Gaylord.”

  “He’ll be looking for me, too.”

  “No, he won’t, because he’ll be praying you’re out of danger.”

  She sucked in a shuddering breath and steadied herself. “I’ll follow you, so you might as well take me.”

  He collapsed into a chair by the door and dropped his head back, hissing between his teeth. After a moment, he sat forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. “I hate to admit this, but I think Gordon was right. I should have instituted a little more control over your life.”

  She tried to suppress the dangerous urge blooming in her chest to throw something at him. “What?”

  The veins in Jack’s neck were pumped with blood, his hands opening and closing. “I don’t have time for this right now, Charlotte. Don’t be an idiot. You don’t belong out there tonight. You’ve read the books. You know what’s going to happen. Stay home. Stay safe.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. You put yourself in danger this afternoon. You’ve used your lucky quota for the day. Stay here. Get your medical supplies ready. You might have more than one patient before the night is over. None of us can do what you can do.”

  Charlotte sighed, reluctantly convinced. “Take a jacket, hat, and boots for Braham so he can slip into the crowd unnoticed, and take these, too.” She gave Jack two pain pills. “The others will have worn off by now.”

  Jack pointed to a brown paper-wrapped package on the table next to the whisky. “Jacket and boots. I’ll give him my hat to wear.”

  “I should have known you’d be prepared.”

  He stood and placed his hands on her shoulders to give her a little squeeze. “Relax and trust me. I’ll bring your patient back as soon as I can.”

  She bit down on the corner of her lip, her eyes fixed on him. “Be careful. Please don’t take any unnecessary chances.”

  As they walked to t
he front door together, she cocked her head and studied the play of shadows over his face. Although his features were set, he was calm and confident. She had to work at not smiling. The siblings were both very competent people, but their fear of losing each other inevitably got in the way of rational thought, and caused unnecessary stress and anxiety.

  Charlotte watched from the open door until he was out of sight. If anything happened to him—

  Elizabeth came up beside Charlotte and wrapped her arm around her waist, interrupting her thoughts. “Let’s go out onto the terrace. The Confederate infantry is passing through the city.”

  Charlotte, Elizabeth, and a few of the servants watched from the terrace as the infantry, followed by a mule-drawn supply train, rumbled over the cobbled streets.

  “What will happen now?” one of the young servants asked. “Folks say the Yankees will burn Richmond like they burned Columbia.”

  “Any fires tonight won’t be the fault of the Yankees,” Charlotte said.

  “What time will the prisons be evacuated?” Elizabeth asked.

  Charlotte pulled her lower lip through her teeth, thinking. “Now the troops have left, the prisoners will follow.”

  Elizabeth folded her arms, shivering. “I’ve seen enough. I’m going back in. It’s a warm night, but I’m chilled.”

  The two women sat in the candlelit parlor. Richmond’s mayor had ordered the gas lighting and gas that fed it be turned off, plummeting the entire city into darkness. Candle flames wavered and flickered, filling the room with dancing shadows. A strange paralysis took hold of Charlotte, partly due to the day’s trauma, and partly because of the night’s promised destruction. Through an open window topped by faded velvet draperies, a warm gust tousled the sheer lace curtains beneath.

  The sounds of musket fire and cannon blasts drew nearer, but the shouts right outside the house alarmed her. She hurried over to the window and pulled back a corner of the drapes. Elizabeth joined her. On the lawn, a group of men clustered, shouting. Many of them carried burning torches.

  “They’ve come to burn us out,” Elizabeth said, moving quickly to the front door.

  Charlotte’s sense of unease reached a high pitch. She grabbed Elizabeth’s hand. “You can’t go out there. Those men are dangerous.”

  Elizabeth’s cold, trembling fingers clasped Charlotte’s. “If I don’t, they’ll burn the house down on top of us.”

  “Give me a gun. We’re not going out there without protection.”

  Elizabeth exhaled a pent-up breath. “There’re a dozen men in the yard. What are you going to do? Shoot them all?”

  Charlotte glanced at the door. “I couldn’t even shoot one, but they don’t know what I’m capable of doing…or not doing. Give me a gun. It doesn’t have to be loaded.”

  “No. You’ll get yourself shot. Stay here.”

  Charlotte put her fist on her hip, huffing, as she tapped her foot on the Oriental rug. “Damn it. I’ve already been told once tonight to stay put. It’s not going to work a second time. If you’re going out there, so am I.”

  Elizabeth swirled her shawl around her shoulders. “Let me do the talking, then. These are my neighbors.”

  Charlotte snatched her shawl off the coat tree and followed Elizabeth out onto the porch to face a dozen snarled faces with eyes glowing red in the light.

  A man reeking of whisky yelled, “Lincoln lover.”

  Another yelled, “Traitor.”

  “We’re burning this Union house to the ground.”

  A man threw his torch, but it landed just shy of the house. Inwardly Charlotte cringed. Although she knew the house would not be burned down, she held onto the knowledge like a mantra, repeating the historical fact over and over in her mind.

  “You’ll have to kill me first.” Elizabeth faced the instigators erect and unbendable, a beacon of bravery. “I know you…and you…and you,” she said, pointing.

  The mob moved forward, chanting, “Burn it down. Burn it down.”

  Flames from the torches heated Charlotte’s face in the cool night air. For a terrifying moment, she no longer trusted history. Her knees shook, and she was momentarily sure the men would burn down the house. If the house caught fire, she would have to run in and rescue her medical kit. The bag was on the table next to the window in her bedroom. If she got up the stairs, though, would she have enough time to get back down?

  Elizabeth stepped to the edge of the porch and, in an unfaltering voice, threatened the mob, saying, “General Grant will be here in the morning. Burn my house and he’ll burn yours.”

  “Burn yours,” echoed Charlotte, and the words came out louder than she’d intended. She shifted uneasily as one of the men advanced closer to the house, his threatening torch waving in the air.

  The rest of the men muttered among themselves. One man dropped his torch and then another. Charlotte took a tentative breath. There seemed to be a temporary standoff, and for Charlotte hope burned brighter with each extinguished torch. Slowly the grumbling crowd began to disperse and slink off into the night.

  Charlotte and Elizabeth remained on the porch, holding hands and shaking.

  “Holy shit. Oops, sorry.” Charlotte let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

  Elizabeth sighed with relief. “What you said aptly describes the situation.”

  The women returned to the parlor and headed straight to the sideboard and the whisky. Each took a big gulp from her tumbler full of the highly aromatic spirit. Elizabeth carried her glass over to the sofa, where she leaned back and closed her eyes.

  Charlotte sat next to her. She butted her glass against the crystal in Elizabeth’s hand and, with a slight twist of her wrist, the tumblers clinked. “You were amazing. There were a dozen men liquored up and ready to burn you out, and you valiantly faced them down. I wish I was half as courageous.”

  “Don’t ever think you’re not, Doctor Mallory.”

  Charlotte eyed her suspiciously. “I don’t think I ever mentioned I was a doctor.”

  Elizabeth frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Gaylord told me.”

  Gaylord had always addressed Charlotte as Doctor Mallory, so it seemed logical he would use the title when referring to her. Now really curious, she asked, “What else did he say?”

  “To believe you regardless of how outrageous you sounded.”

  Charlotte lifted her glass to her lips, paused, and said, “Did he say why?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “He didn’t have to.”

  “Why?”

  “He reports directly to Grant.”

  Charlotte’s mouth dropped. “Now I know how we got out of Washington so easily.”

  “The president didn’t want to send you into harm’s way again, but he knew he couldn’t stop you. You were as safe as possible during your trip here.”

  “Did Lincoln know I was a woman when he sent me to rescue Braham?”

  “No. He didn’t discover who you were, or claimed to be, until after his meeting with the major.”

  Now it was Charlotte’s turn to sit back and close her eyes, then they popped open and she sat up straight. “Grant orchestrated the last few days. He sent Jack and me to you, knowing you would help us rescue Braham. But why?”

  “I got the impression the major still has a mission to complete.”

  Charlotte jumped to her feet. “What mission?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Charlotte stomped back and forth, thinking while she paced. “What mission could possibly be left? Richmond is being evacuated. The Union Cavalry will be here tomorrow. The city will be under the Union’s control. What’s left to do?”

  She stopped and replayed the last few days. When Gaylord came to Braham’s house in Washington, he only told them Braham was working undercover. He didn’t mention any assignment. What work could Braham have been doing for Lincoln? Elizabeth kept Grant apprised of what was happening in the city. What else would be of interest?

  A ligh
t flashed on in Charlotte’s brain with the intensity of a two-hundred-watt bulb. “The treasury…the Confederacy’s gold. When the government is evacuated, they’ll move the gold, and it will be vulnerable to an attack, especially by a person…” She stopped before saying out loud: who knew in advance when and where it would be moved. Her thought processes made another giant leap. Capturing the gold would benefit the Union’s reconstruction efforts greatly.

  Charlotte smacked her fist into her palm. “I’ve got it. I know what Braham intends to do. He’s going after the gold.”

  “But you said he could barely stand. How can he do anything?”

  Charlotte gave a cynical laugh. “You’d be surprised at what Braham McCabe is capable of doing when he sets his mind to a task, and don’t forget Jack’s with him.”

  Elizabeth sat rigid on the sofa, staring at her. “Will Jack help him?”

  The mystery of what happened to the Confederate treasury had intrigued historians and treasure hunters since its disappearance the night of the evacuation. By all accounts, it was boxed for shipment, delivered to the Richmond & Danville Railroad Depot, and guarded by midshipmen of the Confederate naval academy. Solving the mystery, by preventing it from ever becoming one, would be too big a temptation for Jack to pass up.

  “Absolutely.” Thinking aloud, Charlotte glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It’s almost ten thirty.” Davis’s train would leave at eleven. “If Davis is captured—or worse, killed—Lincoln will be blamed and the war could escalate.” She grabbed her shawl from the chair where she’d dropped it when they came back inside. “I’ve got to find them.”

  Elizabeth followed Charlotte into the hallway. “You can’t leave. You promised Jack you’d stay here.”

  “I promised before I realized they’d be doing something crazy.”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  “I know them, especially my impulsive brother, and it leads me to only one conclusion.” Charlotte flung open the door and dashed out of the house.