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

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