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

from Elizabeth and poured two glasses. Then she sipped slowly, considering her answer. Finally, she decided to tell Elizabeth the truth. “The war has decimated the South, as you know. It’s lost its manpower, roads, bridges, railroads, and will soon lose most of the labor force upon which it depends. A cycle of poverty is beginning. Income and wealth have already plummeted and will continue to do so. The Old South will take almost a century to recover before it emerges as the New South.”

Elizabeth tipped up her glass and emptied the contents in one long swallow, her eyes tear-glazed. Her shoulders lifted and dropped on a shuddering breath. “I wasn’t prepared to learn we have such a dire future.”

Letting both warmth and apology show in her voice, Charlotte said, “I could have been less direct. Would you have preferred I coated the South’s future in sugar to make it easier to digest? This devastates me, too. Richmond is my family’s home.”

“We’ve done what we had to do to get through the war. We’ll do what we have to do to recover.” Then the steel in Elizabeth’s voice seemed to melt, though the gritty determination in her eyes did not. “I’ll leave you now to finish your preparations.” Elizabeth left the room, sniffling, and quietly closed the bedroom door behind her.

Charlotte went to the window and gazed out over the lush gardens toward the James River, listening to the cannon and musket fire in the distance. She didn’t have a view of the river from her house near the hospital, but she enjoyed the view from Mallory Plantation, where she spent most weekends.

She and Braham had ambled along the banks during his recovery. Their animated conversations had skittered across the river’s surface like skipping stones. Had there been any other time in her life when she experienced such contentment? Why was he able to feed her soul in ways no other man ever had? Why couldn’t she have found him in her own time?

She blinked and shook her head, making no sense of it.

Once the brooch had plucked her off the reenactment field, her life was no longer her own. Some puppeteer had a tight hold on her marionette strings, letting her periodically believe she was in charge of her life, but she had actually lost a great deal of control. Someone, or something, was pulling her strings, directing her movements. It was time to dance to her own music again.

She set her mouth in a hard, thin, resolute line. After today, there’d be no more adventures, no more danger and uncertainty. The twenty-first century was waiting for her return, and she was ready to go.

But wait a minute. There might still be a chapter to write. If Braham remained in prison, he would be marched south and would be out of Washington on April 14—the date of the assassination. He wouldn’t have a chance to change history…but would he be able to survive until Lee surrendered?

She had returned to the past to stop Braham from changing history. But if she allowed him to die in captivity, she’d never recover from the guilt. She was damned if she did, and damned if she didn’t. She snatched her slouch hat off the bed, forced self-flagellating thoughts from her mind, and limped from the room.

54

Richmond, Virginia, April 1, 1865

Dr. Carlton Mallory hobbled down Eighteenth Street toward Castle Thunder, humming low in her throat to warm her vocal cords for her male speaking voice. The distant din of cannons thundered over the city. Army supply wagons rumbled through streets clogged with bewildered people who roamed aimlessly. They were all waiting to see what would happen next. If she told the citizens the Yankees wouldn’t hurt them, they wouldn’t believe her anyway.

Over the trees, osprey soared through the warm air, patrolling the shoreline, their sharp, hooked black bills and white heads gleaming in the tranquil blue sky, while the sun dropped slowly in the west. The dang birds were probably more vigilant than the Confederate Army. Too bad they couldn’t swoop down and carry Jack off and drop him in the river. Her brother’s brilliant idea had lost its appeal a couple of blocks back, when jabs of pain from the stones in her boot began to ricochet up her leg. From experience with running injuries, she knew pain reflected in tightness around her eyes. Ah, well. It would enhance her cover story, although at the expense of her foot and leg.

She patted her breast pocket. The crackling of paper reassured her that the signed order was still there. She hoped the sweat trickling down from her armpits and between her bound breasts didn’t soak the order, making it unreadable before she could produce the document for the prison guards. Although it gave her the authority to evaluate all sick and wounded prisoners held in all the Richmond prisons, she certainly didn’t plan to visit all the facilities, but it was imperative the guards believed her assignment wasn’t exclusive to Castle Thunder.

Jack was positioned on the corner across the street from the prison, exactly where he had planned, and was already shouting news of the evacuation to passersby. “It’s time to say your mournful good-byes,” he yelled from the corner like a man on a soapbox. “The city will soon fall to the hated Yankees.” His shouts provided a beacon for people who were swarming the streets searching for safety. Prison guards remained at their stations, although their glances and mutterings suggested even they were distracted by Jack’s proclamations.

The dark wood of Castle Thunder’s Cary Street entrance loomed closer with each hobbled step. How many soldiers and civilians had been dragged through the passage, wondering if they would ever emerge alive? She imagined men and women clinging to the doorframe to keep from being thrown into a forgotten pit. Charlotte didn’t plan to be another quill mark in the prison’s ledger.

Her uniform was fittingly stained and worn and created