The question answered itself when they found a bookstore where Sophia purchased three leatherbound journals. After the wind had carried off a sketch of Thomas on horseback, she realized drawing on loose paper while traveling was a bad idea. This would keep her notes and sketches safely attached.
Due to packing and last-minute visits with schoolmates, Polly had missed her painting lessons, so she could use a journal for her sketches and trip notes. Patsy wasn’t interested in keeping a journal or drawing, so instead she selected the book Cecilia by Frances Burney. Sophia wasn’t familiar with the author or title, and hoped it was appropriate reading for a young American woman. Thomas would let Sophia know if it wasn’t.
Two days later they arrived in Le Havre. In the twenty-first century the city was designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Most of it was destroyed during World War II, but it later became a symbol of reconstructed European cities. She’d visited the new city and hoped there would be time to tour the original before they boarded a ship to cross the Channel.
The carriage stopped in front of the Hôtel L’Aigle D’or. “Looks like we’re here, girls. Gather your things.”
“Miss Sophia, tonight will you help me with the sketch I was working on? I tried to draw Papa on his horse, but the animal looks more like a dog.”
Patsy made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a hiccup. “I’m not sure even Miss Sophia can help you turn a dog into a horse.”
Grinning, Sophia said, “I wouldn’t be so sure, Patsy.” Sophia glanced at the drawing. “Maybe it can be a pony instead.”
Polly gave her sister a so-there face.
“Papa would never ride a pony,” Patsy said smartly.
Sophia eyed the sketch again. “Maybe the picture could be a satire.”
“Of what?” Patsy asked.
Sophia didn’t do satirical paintings. “Maybe the pony could represent his view that all men are created equal.”
“I don’t understand,” Patsy said.
“I don’t either. But your papa is waiting for us. Shall we go?” Sophia didn’t have an end game in mind when she mentioned the idea of a satire. But if Thomas was sitting atop his views on equality, then the disproportionate size of the beast of burden certainly could be satirical. Or it could represent him riding, Pope-like, on a donkey in a show of humility.
“Miss Sophia,” Polly said. “I have an idea. The pony could represent our young republic, and Papa is riding the animal, guiding the country in the right direction.”
“That’s perfect, Polly. Your papa will like that very much.” Sophia almost felt guilty for her interpretation, but wasn’t that what art was all about? A viewer should always be free to search for multiple meanings within the context of the painting.
Thomas opened the carriage door. “What will I like?”
Polly hopped out. “My latest sketch, Papa. I’ll show it to you this evening.”
He gazed into Sophia’s eyes while reflexively whisking away a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. The emotion she saw in his eyes shook her to her core and beyond, if that was possible. Before she fell into his arms and kissed him passionately, she gathered her pillows and journal and, accepting his hand, climbed down from the carriage.
“I’ve booked two rooms here,” he said. “Would you join me for dinner?”
“Shouldn’t we all dine together?”
“Patsy and Polly will dine early. From the look of those dark clouds, we might be here a couple of days, and I’d like you to explore the city with me. I’ll get a recommendation for a place to dine tonight.”
They entered a stunning courtyard encircled by stone walls and heavy oak doors. The girls had gathered around a nearby flower garden with a pond and were thankfully too far away to hear.
“If there are any vacancies, I’d like my own room,” Sophia said.
Thomas stared up at the sky, grimacing. “That’s an extravagant expense.”
“I’ll pay for it, of course.”
“In a few weeks we’ll be married. By law your property will come under my control—”
She jerked at his archaic assertion, but instead of running as far from him as possible, she stood her ground and looked him squarely in the eye. “First, I haven’t agreed to marry you. And second, even if I do, my property will remain my own. I’ll be happy to share my resources with you, but, Thomas, you’re in debt, and I can’t live that way.”
His voice sounded almost normal, but an angry flush covered his ruddy face. “As soon as I’m reimbursed for my expenses and—”
“As soon as you’re reimbursed, you’ll spend the money on improvements to Monticello or another order of wine. You inherited debt from your father-in-law—”
He stared in open-mouthed shock and disbelief. “My finances are none of your concern. And may I ask how you know about my father-in-law’s estate?”
“Uh… I told you weeks ago that people talk, and I listen.” Heat rose up her neck to her chin to her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I had no right…”
His finances weren’t her concern, but she needed to put a stop to any thoughts he might have of using her money, her painting income, to offset his debts. Sadly, the sage of Monticello would die heavily in debt. If he didn’t already have two marks against him—his views on women’s rights and slavery—his financial situation alone should be enough of a red flag to keep her far away from him.
“Paying my bills has always been a priority for me,” she said. “Other than necessities, I don’t buy anything until what I owe is paid off.” She put several livres in his hand. “This is for my room and board and passage to America.”
He stared at his hand, unsure of what to do with the money. “I can’t take this.”
“I’m not your responsibility, Thomas. And if you won’t take it, I’ll strike my own deal with the captain of the ship.”
“Mr. Trumbull has made all the arrangements. Mr. Lawrence will take my Draft on Grand for one hundred guineas to cover the cost of the ship and the ship’s stores.”
“I don’t know what that means. Is that a check? A bank draft? Surely he’ll accept livres. All of France does.”
“Sophia, don’t involve yourself in my finances.”
“I won’t, just as long as you don’t involve yourself in mine.”
“Until we’re married, I won’t,” he said, without a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
“Which means you’ll let me pay my expenses.” She wrapped her hand over his, closing his fingers over the money. “Now, shall we go see about our rooms?”
It was storming when they went to dinner later. While sitting at the table after the meal drinking a local wine, Thomas gave her a soft look. “You’re staring,” she said.
“No, Sophia. I’m gazing.” He looked away, but a moment later, he was staring again, and it made her heart squeeze. “If we were sitting in the garden at the Hôtel de Langeac, I’d kiss you.”
She leaned forward with her forearms on the table. “If we were in your garden alone, I’d kiss you back.”
“The weather might keep us here several days. We could find a few private moments.”
For a long time all they could do was stare, or, as he had said earlier, gaze. In the extended silence, the butterflies in her stomach began to feel like frantic birds, and all she could think about was how much she wished they were alone, yet how glad she was that they weren’t. She had no idea how this story was going to end, but couldn’t imagine closing the book without at least one night together, whatever that would entail. The thought of a final chapter for them was scary.
He touched her forehead with a lingering stroke of his fingertip, and the touch loosened something in her all the way through her diaphragm and down between her legs.
“The furrows in your brow deepen when you concentrate, especially while you paint, but you’re not painting now. What’s on your mind?”
She squirmed in her chair as she cleared her throat. “I’m sure my thoughts are not far from yours. But Thom
as, I’m not a young girl now, and I won’t act against my self-interest or allow others to impose theirs.”
“‘The art of life is the art of avoiding pain, and he is the best pilot who steers clearest of the rocks and shoals.’”
She lifted her glass. “Your epigram has been my motto since I was seventeen. But sometimes we can’t avoid the rocks and shoals no matter how far or fast we turn the wheel.”
He gave her a small, wistful smile. “I haven’t seen the philosophical side of you. I’m not sure what to make of it.”
“Make of it what you will, sir, because I’m not sure either.” The melancholy in her voice surprised her. But it was typical when haunting memories of Pete and their forced separation came to mind.
She changed the subject. “There are places I’d like to see and sketch here in Le Havre, even in the rain. But what of you? Is there any business you can conduct? I heard you mention something to Mr. Cutting when you returned from your tour this afternoon about cargoes from America returning with empty holds. Why is that? Surely there is something France can export, even with a rebellion brewing.”
“Ships unload their cargo and have nothing to take back except salt, but salt can only be bought at a mercantile price at places on the Loire and Garonne.”
“But they’re on the Biscay side of France, hundreds of miles away.”
“I posted a letter to comte de Montmorin, hoping to get a concession from the farmers-general to allow American vessels to load with salt at Honfleur, opposite Le Havre, paying only mercantile rates.”
“If you can accomplish that, it would be a wonderful way to end your diplomatic career in France.”
“Tis not an end yet, my dear. I’ll return in several months to complete it.”
“Thomas, you have to be prepared for President Washington’s offer to serve in his cabinet.”
He was frowning now, his gaze turned inward. He wore that look, she had learned, when he was listening to whatever inner voice drove him to rehearse different scenarios in order to respond appropriately.
“I’ve said before, I’ll finish the job I have, then retire.”
Sophia sighed and pressed her hand over his, holding the stem of the wineglass. “Be prepared. You’re too valuable to the president to be left behind in France or the mountains of Virginia.”
“We shall see, my dear. We shall see.”
31
Richmond, VA—Kit MacKlenna Montgomery
Kit watched JL and Kevin leave the pod, his arm around her, JL leaning against him. He was more than a foot taller, and while they were both physically fit, Kevin dwarfed her in size and presence. But JL had the heart and courage of a bear, and when she was pissed off, the growl of one too.
Of all the girls Kevin had dated when he and Kit were in high school, none of them were like JL. He’d dated the country club girls, the beauty pageant winners, girls more interested in the social scene, clothes, and shopping. He always had a knockout blonde on his arm or next to him in whatever expensive sports car his parents bought for him. He avoided career-minded, tough girls, and maybe that’s why he and Kit had become best friends and not boyfriend/girlfriend all those years ago. She was drawn to him for the same reason she loved her godfather Elliott—his heart for people and animals—although she was unaware at the time that they were father and son.
The years she and Kevin worked as EMTs at the same Lexington fire station had cemented their friendship. While it took a while to reestablish their relationship after she and Cullen returned to live in the future, she and Kevin had found their way back. Now a day didn’t go by when they didn’t text or call.
It had taken her a while to warm up to JL, to break through her hard-ass exterior, but once Kit did, she and JL became fast friends. How could they not? They both loved Kevin. And while JL didn’t worship at Elliott’s feet the way Kit did, JL did have a healthy respect for him—when they weren’t squabbling.
JL could be an odd bird, but the oddest thing was her unusual friendship with Jack Mallory. The former Southern playboy and the former NYPD detective had forged an unexplainable and unbreakable bond. You just had to shrug and accept the closeness without trying to analyze it.
The brooches had brought an amazing group of people together and cemented the connections with love and a bit of magic. Kit and Cullen were the first, and their love had started the dominos falling with amazing precision. Braham and Charlotte found each other in the middle of a war, and so did David and Kenzie. Then Jack and Amy, Daniel and Amber, Connor and Olivia.
Who would be next? Whose lives would be turned upside down by a brooch? If no more showed up in Kit’s lifetime, it would be just fine with her.
Since Lawrence’s birth, Kit’s memories of babies had played on a constant loop in her mind. The Shakespeare reenactment brought a sad memory front and center, and now, gazing down at Lawrence, Kit’s mind floated back almost four decades.
She and Cullen were married on a hot day in June of 1852 at Chimney Rock, Nebraska, and had ridden off to spend their wedding night at a hot spring. They returned to the wagon train the next evening.
“It’s quiet as a hog’s tit,” Adam Barrett had said as they rode back into camp.
But the peace and quiet hadn’t lasted. Kit found Adam’s mother Sarah laboring on a cot inside her tent. Kit hadn’t even known her friend was pregnant with her sixth child. She’d been so pissed when she found out, especially at John, Sarah’s husband. The wagon train was still nine hundred miles from Oregon, and the hardships they’d experienced so far were minimal compared to the ones that lay ahead.
Kit stroked Lawrence’s hand, remembering the night in vivid detail, remembering the pain, remembering the sadness. Sarah had only been twenty-four weeks pregnant. And Kit knew when she found her friend that if Sarah had the baby, it wouldn’t survive the night.
The moment Sarah realized what was about to happen—that her baby would die—broke Kit’s heart. Sarah had been so brave. She knew both the pain of childbirth and the pain of losing a child, and now she had to endure both again.
Amid muffled groans, Sarah pushed her tiny baby out into the world. He was so small, smaller than Lawrence. Kit lightly touched the tip of Lawrence’s nose, remembering so clearly the undeveloped features of Sarah’s baby. Kit had cleaned the infant, felt the beat of his heart, a heart that beat for only a few minutes. She glanced up at the monitor tracking Lawrence’s heartbeat.
If I’d brought Sarah and the baby forward in time, could I have saved him? The question had haunted her through the years, and now even more so.
Lawrence squeezed her finger, and she smiled down at him.
She had longed to save Sarah’s baby, but at the same time knew heroic efforts would only delay the inevitable. And she had given her word to Cullen that she wouldn’t use the brooch to take Sarah and the baby to the future.
But what if she had?
Could modern medicine have saved him? And if so, what physical disabilities would he have had? His dependence on modern medicine would likely have required them all to stay in the future.
Kit’s attention returned to the cardiopulmonary monitor, and she studied the numbers, all within normal parameters. Without the machines, no one would know if Lawrence’s heart slowed or his temperature dropped.
When Sarah’s baby was born, she’d wept over him, sprinkled his forehead with her liquid love, and named him Gabriel. While she and her husband sang their baby into Heaven, Kit left them to find Cullen and cry for the baby she’d elected not to save. Tears had streamed down Kit’s face then as well as now. She swiped them away, still wishing she had done more.
Someone came up behind her, and strong arms with large, familiar hands encircled her. She placed her hands over Cullen’s, the backs of which were sparsely peppered with dark, graying hair, and she leaned into him.
“I was worried about ye, lass,” Cullen whispered near her ear. “I couldn’t stay away.”
“I’m okay. You should have stayed to w
atch the show.”
“Braham had it under control, and my bride’s state of mind was more important. I didn’t want ye to be up here by yerself.”
“I’ve been up here before by myself.”
“Aye, ye have. But only for an hour while Elliott met with the Director of Philanthropy.” Cullen nuzzled her ear, breathing warm air on her neck. “Lawrence is so small. Was Gabriel this size?”
“What made you think of him after all these years?”
“He’s been on my mind as much as he’s been on yers. I was just too much of a coward to mention it.”
She patted Cullen’s hands. “Me too. But I should have known he was on your mind too.” She drew in Cullen’s scent of strength and purpose, absorbing the radiant warmth of his love, so intoxicated by it that she snuggled up as close as she could. She didn’t want to lose a single precious moment of him.
It was exactly what she did, exactly how she had felt that night on the prairie. “Gabriel was smaller than Lawrence. Four weeks makes a huge difference in their development.”
“Smaller?” Cullen asked. “Then I could have held him in my hand.” He kissed Kit’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have made ye promise not to take Sarah to the future. Now that I’ve heard what’s being done for Lawrence, the same could have been done for Gabriel. I should have encouraged ye to save his life instead of thinking of myself and exacting a promise from ye.”
“You made the right decision, and I’ve never blamed you,” she said.
“But I’ve blamed myself, especially now that I can see what’s possible.”
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