The Sapphire Brooch Katherine Logan (best beach reads TXT) 📖

With lips pursed, Elizabeth gently stroked strands of hair from the light brown wig Charlotte wore, finger-combing some of the hair back off Charlotte’s face. “Is this real hair? Feels real.”

“Yes, I wanted the disguise to be as realistic as possible.”

Elizabeth heaved a sigh and folded her arms across her middle, the basket dangling from her elbow. “Your eyes are the only thing giving you away. Keep them averted, but in a distracted sort of way.”

Charlotte averted her eyes, practicing, and spotted the four pills, two antibiotics and two painkillers, she had left sitting on the corner of the dresser. If Elizabeth spotted them, it could lead to awkward questions. Charlotte surreptitiously scooped them up and slipped them inside her jacket. The guards were unlikely to allow her to visit the prisoners in the solitary confinement cells, but in the event, she could cajole her way in there, she’d find a way to press the pills into Braham’s hand. Having relief from pain might enable him to walk out of the prison on his own. If he couldn’t walk, she wasn’t sure what might happen to him.

Her hands were steady as usual, but they were also stark white and cold, her tell in times of stress, and they were about as icy as they had ever been, even during cold January training runs. “Any other advice?” she asked Elizabeth.

“Be careful.” Elizabeth reached into her pocket and handed Charlotte a piece of paper. “Here are your orders. I’ve reviewed the document carefully, and it specifically says you are to inspect all the sick, injured, and wounded to determine how many prisoners are unable to walk. I’m sure the Confederacy would prefer to leave all the prisoners behind. The army doesn’t have food to feed them or medicine to treat them. However, they can’t afford to abandon healthy prisoners who could then rejoin their units and swell the ranks of the Union Army in the field.”

Charlotte studied the order, reading each line carefully and analyzing every word to be certain the document couldn’t be misinterpreted. She didn’t doubt Elizabeth, but thoroughly checking patient records and orders was a career habit she didn’t intend to break. Satisfied, she slipped the document inside her jacket, alongside the pills. She then gently touched Elizabeth’s forearm. “One day your contribution to the war effort will be fully understood and appreciated.”

Elizabeth raised a dark, wing-shaped eyebrow. “I’d prefer to remain anonymous, if it’s all the same to you. If the extent of my involvement were known, living here would be impossible. And this is my home.”

History would show Elizabeth had been despised, seen as a lonely spinster, and called Crazy Bet. Yet she had the most giving heart of any woman Charlotte had ever met, and she was saner, not less sane, than her accusers. If Charlotte could do anything for Elizabeth when she returned to the future, it would be to put the myth of Crazy Bet in proper perspective. She may have acted crazy at times to throw off suspicion, but she was a pillar of reason in a world gone mad. Jack could write her story—the real story. Maybe they couldn’t save her house, but they could resurrect her good name.

Elizabeth seemed lost in her own troubled thoughts, if her furrowed brow was any indication. Charlotte tugged lightly on a fold of Elizabeth’s sleeve, pulling her toward the settee, where they both sat, with Elizabeth fidgeting and glancing around.

“It’s going to be an endlessly long night, Elizabeth, but tomorrow the Union forces will be here. All you’ve worked for is about to come to fruition.”

Elizabeth lifted her eyes upward, as if looking toward Heaven to pour out her thanks. “I can survive one more bad night, because I know when the sun rises, Yankees will be marching up Main Street.”

Charlotte picked a handful of pebbles from the basket and sorted through them in her palm before dropping several of the small stones into her boot. “They’ll march straight for the Capitol building, where they will unfurl the flag and raise the Stars and Stripes.”

Elizabeth clasped her hands together and pressed them under her chin, as if in prayer. “The Union has always seen Richmond as the holy grail of the war effort, believing when they captured the city the horror would end.”

“Seven hundred fifty thousand dead,” Charlotte told her. “This war will always be a central, tragic chapter in American history.”

Elizabeth clutched her chest as she gasped for a breath, shock on her flushed face. “Seven hundred fifty thousand? My heart breaks for all the wives and mothers and sisters.”

Charlotte got up and tested the feel of the stones, which she’d placed evenly across the bottom of the boot for maximum discomfort, against the sole of her foot. She took a few steps, hissing between her teeth. The sensation was similar as walking barefoot across broken shells on the beach. There was absolutely no chance she’d forget which leg was supposedly injured.

Elizabeth remained sitting, distracted and muttering, her face now pale as she fingered the brooch pinned to her neckline.

Charlotte returned to the settee, relieved to take the pressure off her already-tender foot. She shucked her boot, removed half the stones, and tried again. She only needed a reminder, not excruciating pain.

“I know you’re curious about the information Jack and I share with you.”

Elizabeth waved her hand in a shooing motion. “No, no. I have no reason to doubt you. Although I do pray the number of war dead is exaggerated.” She fell into a troubled silence for several moments then roused herself. “How can the country recover from a loss of such magnitude? An entire generation of men—husbands, sons, fathers, brothers, friends—gone.”

Elizabeth reached for the decanter of sherry and crystal glasses on a small table next to the settee. Distractedly, she lifted the narrow-necked bottle while gazing out the window. “You seem to know the future, Charlotte. Tell me this. Will the South ever recover?”

Charlotte took the decanter