“I’ve changed my position since the videoconference this morning,” she said.
“To what?” David asked. “Are ye coming down on the side of the press?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, because I can’t stand the press, but if we can’t win the trial in the courtroom, we’ll win it in the newspapers.”
“And if we can’t win it in the press?”
She opened her door and slid into the passenger’s seat. “Easy. Do you know where we can get a drone?”
“What do ye want to do with it? Fly it into the Old Arsenal Penitentiary?”
“Yep. Blast a hole in Jack’s cell and rescue him during the confusion.”
David’s mouth twitched slightly as he cast a sidelong glance at her. “I can see it all now.” He spread his hands as if clearing the way of visual obstructions. “On the left, we have the steady hands of a surgeon operating a drone’s controls. And on the right, we have a writer inciting the public to reject the attorney general’s opinion as both unlawful and a gross blunder in policy.”
In spite of her distress, Charlotte laughed. “You have a future in either politics or the theater.”
Chuckling, David put on his seat belt and started the engine. “The ancient Greeks and Shakespeare had it figured out. They combined the two and created political theater.”
“Great. If we had a script ready, we could press our case on the stage, too.”
“Thank goodness we don’t. I have a feeling we’re going to have our hands full as it is.” He tapped her on the head. “Hold on to yer hat and tell me why ye dislike the press.”
“It’s a long story.”
“It’s a nice drive back to the farm.” He pulled out onto Old Frankfort Pike for a scenic drive back to the farm. “Tell me yer story, and I’ll tell ye mine.”
“During my residency, one of my first gunshot victims almost died on the table. We worked on him for several hours. It was touch and go. By the time we finished, I was exhausted. Several reporters were waiting for an interview. They reached me first and caught me off-guard. I said, ‘He coded on the table…’ Before I could complete the sentence to add the patient was resuscitated by the anesthesiologist, the reporters were spreading the rumor he was dead, upsetting the family members sitting nearby. I caught hell from the hospital administrator and the chief of surgery. And it’s the last time I’ve ever talked to the press.”
“And now ye want to use them?”
“Better to use them than be abused by them. So what’s your story?”
“A reporter in Afghanistan asked me what it felt like to be a hero. Another reporter shouted over the question, asking me what I was going to tell the widow of one of the men I’d rescued. I hadn’t known he had died.”
Charlotte squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry.”
“I was, too, but my sorry didn’t warm her bed at night.”
77
MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, Present Day
Charlotte propped her foot on the bottom rail of the white plank fence surrounding the paddock adjacent to the MacKlenna mansion. A gorgeous chestnut stallion with three white stockings trotted past her before stopping and lifting his head, his nostrils quivering as he sniffed the air.
“What do you smell, gorgeous?”
The stallion trotted toward her corner of the fence.
Charlotte sniffed the air, too—freshly turned earth, manure, magnolias—scents unchanging from one century to the next. The whiteness of the clouds was still as fierce against the dark blue of the sky as it had been in Washington. The blue was not as dark as Braham’s uniform, however. She sniffed again, this time to stop her runny nose. The pregnancy test was negative, and she had only herself to blame for dashed hopes. At thirty-eight the odds of getting pregnant without the use of fertility drugs were very low. Even with drugs, her chances were iffy.
“That’s Stormy. He’s a time-traveling stallion.”
She jumped when Elliott spoke from behind her. “Guess that means Kit either took him with her or brought him back.”
Elliott joined her at the fence and rested his forearms on the top plank. “Kit knew she’d need a horse to ride. Took a million-dollar stallion on a thousand-mile trip through the wilderness. Ye should have seen Stormy when he came home. Ribs were showing. Kit wasn’t in much better shape.” Elliott rubbed the horse’s forehead and Stormy flicked his ears in response.
“Why didn’t she take him back the second time?”
“She intended to, but at the last minute it came down to breeding. She didn’t want to introduce a twenty-first-century stallion’s bloodlines into the nineteenth century.”
“Is that an indirect way of asking me if I’m breeding?”
Elliott lifted only one shoulder in a shrug, and then he pursed his lips a little, as thoughts flashed half-formed across his face. After a moment, he said, “When Meredith and I were dating, she told me she never wanted to see me again. I wasn’t a very nice person, and I deserved the verbal blow to the jaw. A few weeks after she kicked my ass to the curb, she got clobbered with a double whammy.”
“Meredith told me she was diagnosed with breast cancer at the same time she found out she was pregnant.” Charlotte patted Stormy’s neck. Basking in the attention of two people, the stallion’s muscles relaxed and his eyelids began to droop. “If you were being a jerk, I’m surprised Meredith told you. She must have been very scared.”
“Aye, she was. Her doctor encouraged her to tell me in case she became too sick to care for the child. She showed up here one night and told me I was going to be a father. I was thrilled, of course. In the next breath, she told me she had breast cancer. I had recently lost Kit and my father, and I wasn’t going to lose Meredith, too. We had a difference of opinion about how to handle both situations. I wanted her to fight for her life. She wanted to fight for the baby’s.”
“Now she’s healthy, and you have little James Cullen.”
“Aye, it’s true. But the point I’m trying to make is we don’t understand why we have the trials we do. If we give up, we’ll never receive the blessings to come afterward.” Elliott gave the horse a final pat and linked his fingers, rubbing one thumb with the other in a distracted sort of way. “In the last few years, I’ve known two women who were pregnant in difficult circumstances. Both found a way to be joyful in spite of hardship. Whether ye’re pregnant or not, find yer place of joy and rest there. It’s where ye’ll truly be blessed.”
Charlotte stopped petting the horse, swallowed hard, and asked, “Do you think I can find it?”
Elliott turned his head to look at her, and his eyes held a depth of understanding she had never seen before. He gathered her into his arms, hugged her tightly, and the muscles in her back yielded slowly as tension subsided.
“I know ye will, lass. Now come inside. We have last-minute preparations. It’s almost time to go.”
She backed away from him, scarcely breathing, watching his eyes. The tension which had barely subsided ramped back up. “We’re going today?”
“We’re waiting for the FedEx truck. As soon as we receive the last delivery, all will be ready. Yer clothes arrived from the tailor. We’ve gathered every piece of relevant research, and David’s testing the drone.”
She stared at Elliott, baffled, and then simply blinked, making no sense whatever of this. It had only been two hours since she had mentioned a drone, jokingly. “He got one?”
Elliott nodded, eyes intent on hers. “It was either the first or second item he added to his want list.”
A warm ripple of shock thinned the air in her lungs. Why hadn’t he told her?
Evidently her thoughts showed, for Elliott said, “He ordered the drone to use for reconnaissance, but he’s leery of introducing a UFO and possibly PE-4 into the nineteenth century. He likely won’t use it, but he won’t leave anything to chance either”
“A drone and plastic explosives?”
“Kit took an assault rifle and saved a wagon trai
n from a stampede. Nothing much came of it except a few journal entries about a mysterious gun.”
“Changing history wasn’t such a big concern when she was saving lives, I guess.”
A slight smile turned into a wry glance as Elliott’s mouth tucked in at one corner. “I told Kit she couldn’t go back in time and change history, since it might obliterate her life. When Jack returned to find his journal, he got caught up in something that changed yer family history.” Elliott took her arm. “Come on, let’s walk.” They turned toward the mansion, following a brick path around the paddock. “This will get tricky for ye, lass. When ye exonerate Jack, he’ll be coming home to a plantation which for ye doesn’t exist. Ye and David will be the only people in the world who will have any memory of the plantation being destroyed and never rebuilt.”
“But you’ll know, won’t you? I mean, we’re having a discussion about the plantation right now.”
“When ye go back for Jack, ye’re taking with ye everything ye know today. Ye’re a doctor, ye grew up in Richmond, and yer parents were teachers. Those memories are not going to change. When ye see Jack, his memory will not be the same as yers. He’ll be ready to return to the homeplace—”
“Which doesn’t exist for me.”
“When he’s exonerated and saves the plantation, it will then exist in the future. It’s what ye’ll return to—to the world of Jack’s memories, not yers.”
78
MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, Present Day
Charlotte tied the narrow black cravat into a small, flat bow and primped in front of the mirror. Satisfied with the look of trousers, shirt and vest, she slipped on a matching jacket and smoothed the front. The tailor had done a remarkable job in a very short time.
The shoulder-length wig she wore belonged to Meredith. When Meredith’s hair fell out during chemo, Elliott had it made to match perfectly the color and texture of her hair. Meredith had hated wearing it, claiming it was too hot. She rarely wore it then. Since her hair had grown back, she gladly contributed it to Charlotte’s costuming.
Charlotte pulled the hair into a queue and tied it at her nape with a leather thong. Transformed now into Charley Duffy, she paused in front of the mirror again, studying her appearance. There was something odd about the costume. She shrugged uncomfortably from the breast binding and adjusted the cravat. The suit was too fitted, too perfect, and too brown. If she were going to dress like a man, she preferred to be a soldier, not a dandy.
She fluffed her beard with a few swipes of her fingers to give it a more rugged look, and turned away from the mirror.
Her mind drifted from her clothing to her conversation with Elliott. What he’d said played like a short looping video. It was possible she and Jack would no longer have shared memories, and the thought gave her a sense of leg-weakening helplessness, sharpened by grief. If she gave in to despair now, she’d be unable to focus on ensuring they’d at least have a future, with or without shared memories.
The Frasers’ Maine Coon cat, Tabor, ran into the bedroom and leaped onto the bed, where she immediately burrowed all thirty of her pounds into the middle of the pillows.
“You, goofy cat. Don’t you know you’re not a person?” Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed and cuddled Tabor, who purred for her. “If you stow away in my bag, I’m sending you back. One trip to the past should be enough for a cat like you.”
How in the world Kit managed to take care of a menagerie while traipsing across the country in 1852 boggled Charlotte’s mind. The logistics of getting from Kentucky to Washington were complicated enough, and she only had to worry about herself.
“Is that really you?” Meredith’s voice came softly from Charlotte’s doorway, startling her. She jerked her head around to see her friend’s wide-eyed stare.
“Yes and no. Usually I have a sense of the person I’m portraying, but I have no clue who this man is.” Charlotte glanced toward the mirror, squinting, as if refocusing would bring clarity. It didn’t.
“Elliott thought he might have upset you earlier. Are you okay?”
“I think so.” Charlotte gave up hoping for character insight and hugged Tabor good-bye.
“Good. He was worried.”
Charlotte picked up the carpetbag with her medical supplies and clothing and joined Meredith, scratching at a bug bite on her hip. “He told me when the two of you met, he wasn’t a very nice person. It’s hard to imagine.”
“He had good days, and those were fantastic.” Meredith paused and seemed to drift off, then returned as if she’d suddenly remembered what she was saying. “When the pain in his leg worsened, he depended on drugs and alcohol to get him through and then he became verbally abusive.”
“I’ve seen similar things happen too many times. I’m sorry he went through it, but he looks healthy now.”
“He is, thank God. It’s been more than two years since he’s had a drink. He’d be okay now with a glass of whisky or wine, but he won’t…” She paused again, and curled her bottom lip over her top one. Something was on her mind.
“Are you okay?” Charlotte asked. “You seem distracted.”
“Do I? Well, hmm.” Meredith dismissed Charlotte’s observation with a shrug and seemed to remember the point of her visit. “Come downstairs. Elliott and David are waiting.”
Charlotte had never seen Meredith so befuddled. Was she sick again? Had her cancer spread? Had she received a bad report? No, if it was true, she’d have all Elliott’s attention, but at the moment, he was single-mindedly focused on Jack’s rescue. Either she hadn’t told Elliott, or her distraction had nothing to do with her health and everything to do with something else she’d discovered.
Charlotte shouldered her bag and followed Meredith down the stairs. “This is my third trip and I’m more scared this time than I was the other two combined.”
“I often think about what Kit endured and wonder if I would have had half the courage she had. But I know for sure I don’t have the courage you do,” Meredith said.
“Don’t discredit what you did. You delivered a healthy baby after an attempted murder, breast cancer surgery, and chemo. It’s remarkable. No, it’s amazing.”
“I can’t wait to meet the woman who has the emerald brooch,” Meredith said.
Charlotte stopped on the stairs, almost tripping, and looked at Meredith. “It might be a man. But whoever has it, I hope to God their journey isn’t as traumatic.”
Elliott jaunted out of the office and watched them descend the stairs. “I hope so, too.”
She leaned against the newel post before stepping off the last riser, thinking. “Knowing someone else will go through a similar experience is not very comforting right now.”
David joined them with a golden retriever close on his heels. He slipped the strap of her bag off her shoulder. “It’s not about comfort. It’s about finding true love, and there isn’t a damn thing easy about it.”
“What do the brooches have to do with finding true love?” she asked.
“It’s complicated, and we shouldn’t let it distract us.” David beckoned her to follow with a cock of his head. “We’ll tell ye everything we know when ye return.”
Charlotte crossed her arms. “No. I’m not moving until you tell me what the stones have to do with true love.”
Elliott sighed, scratching the back of his head. “Sean the first told Kit a story she later recorded in her journal in 1852. She left the journal for me to find in the future. According to the story, over four hundred years ago, a laird’s wife was kidnapped. Three brothers went to rescue her. When they returned her to her husband, the brothers were each rewarded with a brooch. One was a ruby, the other a sapphire, and the third brother received an emerald.” Elliott cleared his throat. “The stones bring true lovers together.”
“What?” Charlotte put her hands on her hips and stomped to within a foot of Elliott. “Are you serious? This has all been about finding true love? What. A. Bunch. Of. Crap.”
Elliott thre
w up his arms. “I’m merely telling ye what I learned. Ye’ll meet Sean shortly. Ask him.”
“I will.” She marched into the office, then stopped, and turned back toward Elliott, who was standing in the doorway, looking rather perplexed. “The stone gods got it wrong this time. You know that, don’t you?”
He sort of smiled and shrugged. “I don’t have any control over the stones, Charlotte. I don’t get to decide who gets them or where the stones take them. My job is to prepare people for their journey. This isn’t about what’s before ye, or even what’s behind ye. It’s about what’s within ye. When it’s all said and done, if ye can say ye’re a happier and better person and have a fuller life than ye did before, then the brooch will have given ye all it was meant to give.”
“I want my brother back, but even when I get him back, we won’t know anything about each other because we’ll have different memories. I can tell you right now, when this is all said and done, I will not be a happier and better person.” She grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take this out on you. You’re right. You didn’t pick me. You’ve given me everything I need to succeed. It’s up to us now to bring Jack home.” She went over to him and held out her arms for a hug. “Thank you so much.”
Elliott pulled her into his arms and squeezed. “Ye’ll be fine, lass. Trust yer intuition and ye’ll turn ’round right.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant, but when she returned home she’d have plenty of time to reflect on his Elliott-isms.
David set her bag next to his on the conference table. He pulled out his cell phone and handed it to Elliott. “Don’t run up my bill while I’m gone.”
Elliott hugged him. “Ye got everything? Money—”
David held up his hand. “No litany, please. We’ve gone through this a dozen times. If I’ve forgotten anything, we’ll make do.” He turned toward Charlotte. “Are ye ready, Charley?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The Sapphire Brooch Page 52
