“He’s only a baby. He can’t play yet,” Meredith cautioned.
“When’s he going to stand up like Stormy’s baby did today?” James Cullen asked.
“Not for a while.”
“Congratulations, Charlotte,” Elliott said, smiling. “I’m going to take James Cullen to the playroom. Text me, Mer, if ye need anything.”
Jack walked over to the bed, wearing a relieved smile. The corners of his mouth trembled slightly. He kissed Charlotte on the cheek. “Congrats, sis. He’s beautiful. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe next time I’ll stay with you.”
“There won’t be a next time, Jack. You missed your shot.”
“He’s a big one,” one of the delivery nurses said.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Charlotte said. “How much does he weigh?”
“Nine pounds, five ounces, and he’s twenty-one inches long.”
After the nurse cleaned, diapered, and wrapped the baby up tightly, she returned the newborn to Charlotte to nurse. “Do you have a name picked out?”
A stew of emotions welled up in her as she gazed at her precious child. “Lincoln Michael McCabe Mallory.”
96
Sacramento, California, 1869
Senator McCabe arrived at the Leland Stanford Mansion promptly at nine o’clock. Melissa Mills, his companion for the past year, elegantly graced his arm. The evening fundraiser for the Republican Party had been on his calendar for several weeks. Leland Stanford, along with his partners in the Central Pacific Railroad, Charles Crocker, Mark Hopkins and Collis Huntington, were hinting at the possibility of backing Braham as the next gubernatorial candidate. If he decided to run, he would need not only their financial support, but their influence.
“Good evening, Senator.” Stanford shook hands with Braham and kissed Melissa on the cheek. “My dear Melissa, I’m sorry to hear your father is indisposed this evening.”
“It’s Papa’s gout. He’ll be fine in a few days.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. I believe your godmother has visitors from New York she’d like you to meet. Ah, here’s Jane now.” Stanford kissed his wife. “If you ladies will excuse us, I have business to discuss with the senator.”
Glancing at Braham, Melissa batted her eyelashes flirtatiously over the ivory lacework of her fan. “Don’t be long, darling.” She then linked her arm with her godmother’s and the two women sauntered away with their heads together, chatting in soft undertones.
Braham cocked his head, watching the lithe, coquettish brunette glide across the room. He had yet to bed her, preferring the company of his mistress, and often wondered if Melissa would even enjoy the marriage bed, or tolerate it only to produce an heir. Regardless, he would likely marry her within the next year.
“Come to the library, Abraham. I have a new bottle of blended Scottish whisky you’ll enjoy.”
Braham followed the railroad tycoon, dismissing thoughts of the woman he regularly bedded and the woman he wasn’t inclined to bed at all.
After pouring two glasses, Stanford handed one to Braham. “Have a seat, Senator. Cigars are on the table.”
Braham extracted a cigar from the humidor, lit it, and relaxed in one of the two leather wing chairs in front of a roaring fire, crossing one leg over the other.
Stanford remained standing in front of the fireplace with one arm resting on the mantel, cigar propped between his fingers. “Your term as senator is up next year, and the party wants you as our candidate for governor. Within six years, with Melissa at your side, you’ll reside in the White House. California needs you there, Abraham.”
Braham pulled a short draw, then removed the cigar from his mouth and studied it, blowing out puffs of smoke. “This is somewhat of a surprise, although ye have hinted at it.”
“Come now, Senator. Don’t be coy. You’ve been on the path to the governor’s office since you stepped onto the floor of the Senate. The White House is the obvious next step. My partners and I can make it happen.”
What Leland was offering was not only financial support and influence, but also a promise of victory. Braham puffed again, and the smoke wreathed up around his head. “I’m flattered. However, I couldn’t possibly give ye an answer without discussing the ramifications with my law partner. Being governor would preclude my practicing law. I’d hope my clients would stay with the firm, but clients are fickle when it comes to lawyers.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery are on this evening’s guest list. Dinner will provide the perfect opportunity to bring him around to our point of view. He’ll quickly see the benefits for all Californians to have one of our own in the White House. Of course, my business associates require legal representation on a variety of matters. I’m sure Mr. Montgomery could handle a multitude of issues brilliantly.”
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. With an edge of impatience, Stanford called out, “Come in.”
The butler stepped into the room. “Sir, the governor’s carriage arrived. Mrs. Stanford asked that you join her at the door.”
Stanford waved away the servant. “Yes, yes. Tell her I’ll be along.” He puffed on his cigar. “As soon as I have your answer, you’ll be free to call on Melissa’s father. He should be recovered from his gout attack and will be pleased to entertain your offer for his daughter’s hand.”
Braham cleared his throat discreetly.
“Timing is everything, Senator. Announcing your upcoming nuptials and your bid for governor at the same press conference will guarantee the announcement appears simultaneously on the front page of every newspaper in California and in the society columns. Now, we don’t want to keep the ladies waiting. Shall we go?”
Braham stubbed out his cigar and emptied his whisky glass. His plan was falling into place like expertly arranged dominoes.
Thirty minutes later, Cullen and Kit arrived. After kissing his cousin, and remarking on how beautiful she looked in a green silk gown matching her eyes, he and Cullen went out onto the balcony for a private conversation. Kit and Melissa remained inside, chatting amiably.
“What are ye going to tell him?” Cullen asked.
Braham leaned against the railing, folding his arms. “I don’t want to live in Washington ever again.”
“It’s not the same city ye left four years ago, and ye still own two houses there.”
Braham steeled himself against the riptide of memory. “I need to sell them.”
A silence followed. Cullen fixed him with a frown. “Charlotte is not coming back. Sell the properties.”
“But—”
Cullen gave him a friendly slap between the shoulder blades. “It’s time ye proposed to Melissa and started a family. Ye’re forty-six years old. Run for governor. After two years, if ye still don’t want to run for president, tell the party ye want another term as governor.”
Braham took a long, silent breath and opened his hand, revealing a sapphire ring.
Cullen eyes held a glint matching his half smile. “Ye’ve got the ring. Ye’ve got the girl. Propose this evening. What in God’s name is holding ye back?”
Braham felt an uneasy rumble in his stomach and put the ring away. “Do ye think Charlotte married David? He was in love with her.”
Cullen pointed with his index finger. “If ye’re expecting me to tell ye to go to Charlotte, I’m not going to do it.” He tapped Braham’s chest with the tip of the finger. “Ye have a beautiful, intelligent woman who loves ye. A political career which leads to the White House, and, as a heavy investor in the continental railroad, ye’re one of the five or six wealthiest men in the country. This is where ye belong.”
Braham turned away from Cullen. He put both hands on the railing, leaned forward, and rocked slightly on the balls of his feet. “It’s not the advice I gave ye almost two decades ago.”
Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “Goddamn it. The situations are completely different.”
“I still love her.”
“Then ye should have go
ne four years ago. It’s too late now.”
The French doors opened, and Melissa and Kit joined them on the porch. “There you are, darling.” Melissa kissed Braham on the cheek, then looked from one man to the other, and flitted her hand about her head. “I feel the remnants of a serious conversation in the air. Would this be about you running for governor, or something else of great import?”
Kit gave Cullen a probing stare, and raised an eyebrow, giving her husband a signal Braham had seen her use before.
Cullen switched his focus to Melissa. “Ye’re too astute my, dear. Shall we go inside? I need a drink.” He took Melissa’s elbow and smoothly guided her through the doorway, leaving Braham and Kit on the balcony.
“I get the feeling you’re trying to solve the problem of world hunger again. I might be able to help.”
Braham opened his arms and Kit melted into his bear hug. He rested his chin on top of her head. “Ye’ve always been able to read me.”
“It’s because we’re so much alike.” She pulled away from him and looked up into his eyes. “Whatever’s going on with you has nothing to do with Melissa or running for governor. What is it?” Instead of waiting for an answer she said, “It has to be Charlotte.”
He fell silent, astounded as always by Kit’s insightfulness. There was no point in denying it. She’d badger him until he confessed. “What gets me—what surprises me, is the way thoughts of her catch me so unaware.” He bowed his head and stroked his furrowed forehead with the tips of his fingers. “Once she’s in my head, she’ll stay there for hours, and I’ll relive every moment we had together.” He dropped his hands and looked again at his cousin. “As the years go by it happens more often, not less.”
Kit took his hand in hers. “When you came home from the war, you were a broken man. Cullen and I both worried about you. The first harvest was heartbreaking to watch. You looked over your shoulder constantly. I don’t know if you were expecting the enemy or Charlotte to surprise you, but you were on guard. It wasn’t until you had faith the grapes would grow again on empty vines that your soul was able to heal, but it didn’t heal your heart. And that’s why Charlotte’s on your mind. She’s still holding pieces of it.”
He chuckled. “Not pieces. Chunks. And I want my heart to be whole again, too.”
“If you’re feeling the tug to go to her now, don’t let Cullen or anyone else stand in your way. Not only should you go. You must go.”
97
San Francisco, California, 1869
A week later, Braham entered Cullen’s office at the law firm on Montgomery Street and dropped a signed last will and testament on top of the open book on his desk. “I made ye executor of my estate. If anything happens to me, liquidate all my assets, convert the cash into gold, and bury it.”
Cullen leaned back in a swivel desk chair, fingering the steel-and-gold dip pen in his hand. “Should I draw a treasure map so ye can find it in the afterlife?” A fleeting smile crossed his features.
Braham sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk from his childhood friend. This was going to be a hard sell, but Cullen couldn’t stop him from doing what he truly wanted—no, needed—to do. Although he hoped for Cullen’s blessing, Braham was prepared to leave without it. “If ye follow my instructions, I won’t need a map.”
Cullen picked up the document and perused it quickly. “According to this, Kit is yer sole beneficiary.”
Braham crossed one leg over the other, and when he did, the crease stayed straight. “I want her to sell everything I own, except the vineyards and the horses. Those she’s to keep. Liquidate the rest, then turn the cash into gold.”
Cullen harrumphed. “And bury the gold?”
Braham nodded. “In my casket.”
After a few seconds of silence had elapsed, Cullen remarked in a sarcastic tone, “I take it yer remains won’t be in yer casket.”
“No, they won’t.”
Cullen tossed the document onto his desk, and stood, pounding the top with his fist. “Don’t do this.”
Braham uncrossed his legs, put his hands on his knees, and got to his feet, pressing his fists at his hips to keep from slugging Cullen. “Nothing ye can say or do will change my mind.”
“We’re too old for fisticuffs.” He strode to the sideboard and poured two glasses of whisky. “Kit hasn’t spoken to me in a week. She told me if we didn’t work this out, she’d take the kids and go with ye.” He handed a glass to Braham.
Braham took a restorative gulp and followed it with another. “Since she hasn’t left yer sorry ass by now, she’s not going anywhere.”
There was an awkward silence. Then one corner of Cullen’s mouth curved up in wry acknowledgement. He sat on the edge of the desk, sipping his drink. “Except for the years ye were gone during the war, we’ve been together every day since we learned to walk. I can’t imagine growing old without ye.” His voice was soft now, wistful. “Why are ye giving up everything, including possibly the White House, for Charlotte, when she wouldn’t give up anything for ye?”
“Charlotte saved my life, and in doing so, she almost lost hers and Jack’s.”
“Ye can be grateful without leaving home.”
Braham set his glass on the end of the desk and scrubbed his face with his hands. “Ye don’t understand, do ye? She did it out of love. Not love for me, but love for her country, for Virginia, family, and tradition. She put everything at risk, and she almost lost it all. It’s why we fought a war. But I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t go to Washington for lofty ideals. I went because I’d given Sherman my word.”
“Ye made the promise to Sherman because of me.” Cullen reached out and squeezed Braham’s shoulder.
“Charlotte is the most honorable, fearless, and loving woman I’ve ever met. And I don’t want to spend another day without her. She’s calling me, Cul. Ye want to know why I can walk away from my law practice, the governor’s office, and possibly the White House? The answer is simple. Because I want Charlotte more.”
Cullen returned to his desk chair, picked up Braham’s last will and testament, and leafed through the pages. “What will ye do in Charlotte’s time? Ye can’t practice law.”
“Since the Mallorys still own the plantation, I assume they will continue to own it in Charlotte’s lifetime. I’ll have money to build her a house on the property, and I’d like to start a winery and breed horses.”
Cullen folded the will and tucked it into his top drawer. “What if she’s married?”
Braham’s brows shot up, and he looked at Cullen, shrugging slightly. “Then I’ll be a part of her life in any role she’ll allow me to play.”
“How are ye going to pull this off?”
“I’m going to MacKlenna Farm, and I’ll die either by accident or disease. When ye have all the gold, bury it in my casket.”
“What are ye going to tell Stanford and the other members of the party?”
Braham rubbed a hand across his mouth, wiping away a drop of liquor. “I have business in the east to settle, and when I return, we’ll make an announcement.”
“And Melissa? What about her?”
“I’ll tell her the same thing. I wish I could make it easier on her, but I can’t, Cul.”
“Ye’re giving up everything for a long shot.”
“I’m giving up this life for the one I truly want, and I’m willing to bet Charlotte still loves me. And hasn’t married.”
Cullen opened his calendar and thumbed through the pages until he reached the present month. “When are ye going to Kentucky?”
“Next week.”
“Now that the railroad is completed, it won’t take months to get there.” Cullen dipped his pen into the ink then scratched a note on the calendar. “Kit and I are going with ye.”
“Ye don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, we do. If ye’re going to die, we’ll want to attend yer funeral.”
98
MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, 1869
Two
weeks later, the train carrying Braham, Cullen, and Kit from Cincinnati approached the Lexington depot. Kit hadn’t visited her uncle since the summer of 1853, and she had never met her aunt. For the last hour, Kit had primped and paced up and down the aisle of the train, moving about in an unfocused sort of way, quite unlike her usual decisive strides. The swishing of her skirt and bumbling movements had disturbed other passengers. Finally, Cullen grabbed her around the waist and plopped her into her seat.
She shot him an angry glance. “Why’d you do that?”
Cullen merely smiled, not bothered by her tone. “The man across the aisle was about to do the same. Be thankful it was yer husband who manhandled ye and not a stranger.”
She pursed her lips in speculation, looking from Cullen to the man across the aisle. Then she shrugged and fiddled with her clothes, ironing the front of her dress with the flat of her hand.
When they reached the depot, Braham immediately spotted Sean and Lyle Ann waiting on the crowded platform. Kit’s aunt, a woman in her mid-forties, appeared as anxious as Kit, patting at the hair at her nape. What was it about women that made them afraid having one hair out of place or a wrinkle in their clothes would somehow make them unacceptable?
They disembarked and Kit almost tripped as she hurried to her uncle.
“Kitherina.” Sean grabbed her in a bear hug and swung her around, swishing her skirts. “I’m so glad to see ye, lass. How’re those bairns of yers?” He set her down, beaming with excitement. “Oh, excuse me. Kit, this is yer aunt, Lyle Ann.”
Lyle Ann’s wide eyes stared at Kit, obviously baffled by her unorthodox behavior. Then finally her face brightened, and her small pink mouth reversed her lips’ downward droop and she beamed.
Braham pressed the crook of his finger against his lips to contain his smile, but his shoulders trembled with suppressed laughter.
“I haven’t seen Kit this spirited since I met her at Fort Laramie in ’52,” Braham said, low-voiced, to Cullen.
Something moved in the backs of Cullen’s eyes. Surprise? Acknowledgement? “I’ve had glimpses, but mostly I see spirit play out in our wee lassies.”
The Sapphire Brooch Page 65