The Pearl Brooch

by Logan, Katherine Lowry

  Sophia put her arm around the girl’s shoulders, half expecting her to sluff off the embrace, but she didn’t. “I’m sure he feels the same way.”

  Patsy pushed her teacup aside and then shrugged off Sophia’s arm. “Then why would he agree to take the job?”

  “He hasn’t yet.”

  “But he will, won’t he, Miss Sophia?” Polly asked. “He’ll go to New York. I’ll go back to Eppington and stay with my aunt and uncle. It will be like when Momma died. I won’t see him again for years.”

  “But weren’t you happy at Eppington?” Sophia asked, her heart breaking for Polly.

  “Yes, but that was before we were all together in Paris. Now I want us all to be together at Monticello.”

  Sophia could identify with the feeling of wanting to be all together as a family. It was what she’d hoped for after she and Pete married, that her parents would accept the marriage, and they could all be happy. But her idealism had been shattered, her heart broken, her life ruined.

  She managed to climb out of the ruins and become a very successful painter, but at what cost? She lost Pete. She lost her parents. And here she was…about to lose it all again. No, not all. As long as she could paint, she’d always have something left.

  She slapped her hands on the tabletop and stood. “This melancholy will ruin our day. We have so much to be thankful for. The ship didn’t sink in the Atlantic. It didn’t burn down in the Chesapeake Bay, and because of the graciousness of a few Virginians, we have rooms for the night. Let’s go upstairs. This celebration will continue for a while, and from the looks on your faces, this isn’t going to cheer you up.”

  “Papa doesn’t look happy either,” Patsy said.

  Sophia linked arms with the girls. “I don’t imagine he is. He wanted to finish his assignment in France and retire to Monticello.”

  “Then why doesn’t he do it?” Polly demanded.

  “Because he’s a patriot and believes it’s his duty to serve at the pleasure of the president.”

  Patsy shook her head, her eyes glossy. “Poor Papa.”

  “Well,” Sophia shrugged. “At least he’ll get his face on Mount Rushmore.”

  Polly glanced up, and Sophia noticed, not for the first time, that Polly seemed even more fragile than normal, with dark circles under her eyes. The trip had exhausted the poor little thing. She needed to get home and rest in the warm embrace of her extended family.

  “What’s Mount Rushmore?” Polly asked.

  Sophia glanced back at Thomas, who was accepting a glass of ale from one of the politicians. “Oh, it’s sort of a museum,” she said distractedly.

  Thomas looked uncomfortable as he swallowed a bite of food from a tray on the bar, then he sipped from his glass, and smiled with effort, and a fragility that must be tugging at his insides. He had his heart set on returning to Paris, but instead he was heading from a boiling pot in France to one almost as hot in New York City. The fight with Hamilton over America’s debt wouldn’t be easily resolved, and his tenure as the nation’s chief diplomat wouldn’t be memorable enough for him to list it as an accomplishment on his tombstone.

  Sophia couldn’t worry about him right now, though, or even America. Her focus was on what Mr. MacKlenna or Mr. Digby could do for her. If they couldn’t do anything, then she and Thomas would both go to New York City. He would continue to pressure her to marry him, and she’d continue to resist. Eventually the capital would move to Philadelphia, and he’d go too.

  And that would be the end of it.

  If the time portal didn’t open within a year, she’d have to go to Scotland, which meant crossing the Atlantic again. What a dreadful thought. But she had no choice. The brooches came from there, the magic was conjured there, so the answers had to be there.

  But first, while she still had good light, she had a painting to finish.

  34

  Mallory Plantation—JL

  JL and Kevin opened the front door of the Mallory Plantation mansion, home to Jack and Amy, and passed through the quiet entry hall.

  JL saluted the portrait of General Mallory hanging over the fake fireplace. Jack’s ancestor fought in the Civil War and, according to Jack, the painting had been hanging in the same spot since that war ended.

  Also, according to Mallory family lore, the painting replaced a portrait of the first General Mallory painted after the Revolutionary War. That general now hung in the dining room along with a portrait of his wife. Jack loved those two paintings, and believed they’d been painted by a visionary who understood not only the subjects, but Mallory Plantation as well.

  But JL thought Jack’s portrait should be the one hanging in the entryway. Amy thought so too, and had interviewed several portraitists, but hadn’t been impressed with any of their visions for the portrait. Until she found someone who understood the Mallorys and their connection to the Commonwealth of Virginia and the land they’d owned for four hundred years, Jack’s portrait wouldn’t be painted.

  JL padded slowly through the house toward the back door, following the sounds of laughing children. The heat wave had broken, and it was an unusually cool evening for July in Virginia. The windows stood wide open while the punkah-style ceiling fans swung in unison. The temperature had prompted the adults in charge of the Shakespearean production to change the venue to the willow oak instead of the small performance space in the library.

  She and Kevin paused when they walked out onto the back portico holding hands, taking in the action.

  A dozen or more tiki torches defined a semicircle area between the house and the willow oak, and lawn chairs were set up between the torches and the tree. Sheets were strung from one branch to another, creating a backdrop for the grassy stage. The boys’ costumes consisted of black pants, white shirts, red capes, and funny-shaped hats with feathers. The girls wore long cotton dresses with ribbons and bows in their hair, and multicolored capes swung behind them as they ran away from the boys who wielded plastic swords. The prop department might have gone a bit overboard giving this rambunctious crew plastic weapons. JL counted thirteen kids ranging in age from three to sixteen.

  The men in the family were standing away from the stage on the far side of the tiki torches. From the aromas wafting downwind, they were all smoking cigars and drinking whisky.

  Kevin kissed her. “I’m going to talk to the guys.”

  JL tried to laugh, remembering a time when things were simpler, when it took so little to make her laugh. But now she lived in fear that her phone would ring, and it would bring bad news.

  “Enjoy your cigar,” she managed to say.

  “Mommy!” Blane left the group of kids and charged toward her wielding his sword, but Kevin caught him and swung him up over his shoulders. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  Kevin twirled a giggling Blane through the air. “Why not?”

  “Pops said your job is to be with the wee lad who’s sleeping in the inc…abator.”

  “Aunt Kit’s with him so we can watch your performance. What time does the show start?”

  Blane pointed with his sword. “Soon as the uncles finish their cigars.” Then he pointed in the other direction. “And the aunts are running lights from up there.”

  JL moved off the porch and looked up to see the upper portico ablaze with candles. She counted eight women in rocking chairs. “Is that what they call rocking and drinking these days? Running lights?”

  “Heck no, Mommy. That’s theatre talk for turning spotlights on and off.”

  “JL, come up here,” Amy yelled. “We have a cushioned lounge chair and a pitcher of virgin piña coladas.”

  “Who’s up there?” JL yelled back.

  The women sounded off. “Meredith here.”

  “Kenzie.”

  “Charlotte.”

  “Amber.”

  “Olivia.”

  “Maria.”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “It sounds like the wives’ club is holding court. As soon as I get a hug from Bl
ane and talk to Jack, I’ll come up. Save me a drink. I need those carbs.”

  “Charlotte is explaining the pros and cons of using Dysport or Botox to prevent frown lines and wrinkles on our foreheads,” Amy called down.

  “I need to hear about that,” JL yelled back. “Mine are getting worse every year.”

  “Can you get up the stairs?” Amy asked. “We’ll come down if you can’t.”

  “I thought you guys were running lights.”

  “Kenzie is. We’re only here for moral support,” Amber said.

  “Okay, bring down the pitcher. I don’t want to climb up and then have to come back down for the show.”

  “Give your mom an easy hug, and I’ll go chat with the uncles,” Kevin said.

  “Are you going to smoke a cigar? The twins can’t wait to get old enough to smoke Uncle Braham’s ’spensive cigars. Robbie said one cigar cost five hundred dollars. Talk about something going up in smoke. That’s crazy. Don’t you think so, Daddy? Henry says when you get old enough to smoke Uncle Braham’s cigars, it’s a sign.”

  “Of what?” Kevin asked.

  “That you’re a MacKlenna Man.”

  “Is that like being a Marlboro Man?” JL asked, teasingly.

  “Who’s that?” Blane asked.

  She made a face. “A smoker, and I don’t want you to ever start. Got it? And Trainer Ted yells at the uncles when he hears they’ve been smoking.”

  “I don’t want Trainer Ted to yell at me. I always do my exercises. I want to be a good runner like Daddy, so I can do the Kentucky Derby Festible Marathon when I’m sixteen.”

  “Festi…val,” Kevin said. “As fast as you are now, I bet you’ll be able to do it before you’re sixteen.” Kevin set Blane on the ground, and he ran straight to JL. “Slow down and be careful with that sword. Even plastic swords can hurt people.”

  Blane put on the brakes before he plowed into her and dropped his sword. “I’m glad you’re here, Mommy. I’ve got a big part in the play. I’m one of the sailors who deliver a letter from Hamlet to Horatoe.”

  “I think that’s Horatio,” JL said.

  He waved his hands around his head. “Whatever.” Then he leaned in and whispered. “I was going to be a tree, but I talked it over with Uncle Matt, and he found another part for me.”

  JL eased into one of the chairs lined up facing the tree and hugged him. “You’re such a big boy. Are you getting along okay without me?”

  “I’m grown up. I can even disagree with the director. It’s easier for me to…you know…get along without my mommy and daddy. The wee lad needs your ’tention more than me.”

  She struggled to speak over the lump in her throat. “You’re…you’re killing me, buddy.” She squeezed him. “You’re so sweet. Lawrence really does need me right now.”

  “I thought you were going to call him Lance. Us boys think Lance is a better name than Lawrence. But don’t tell Pops. We know it’s his name too, but we don’t have to call him Lawrence because we call him Pops. So we’re calling the wee lad Lance. Got it?”

  “I certainly do. Now give me a hug. I want to go talk to Jack.”

  Blane gave her a hot, sweaty hug, his damp hair tickling her cheek. He smelled like a little boy who’d played in the dirt and eaten hot dogs with ketchup. “I love you, baby boy.”

  “I’m not a baby boy. The wee lad is your baby boy now.” He kissed her cheek again and started to run off.

  “Hey, Blane, don’t forget…”

  He fisted his hands on his hips, jutting out his elbows. “Make my bed, eat my vegetables, and never, ever lie to the FBI.” He then gave her a thumbs up. “You can count on me.”

  She pulled on his cape.

  “Hey, don’t tug on Superman’s cape,” he said.

  “Don’t pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger either,” she replied.

  Blane giggled as he picked up his sword. “That’s funny.”

  His cape lifted behind him as he ran off, and her eyes misted. It took a moment to compose herself. God, she loved that little guy. And she loved her littlest one, too.

  As soon as she imagined Lawrence in the incubator, her milk let down. She folded her arms and squeezed her breasts, but they leaked anyway. Another hour and she’d have to pump. While thinking about Lawrence, she slipped her phone out of the side stash pocket in her leggings and sent Kit a text: How’s he doing?

  When Kit didn’t respond right away, JL pocketed her phone and went to join the smokers, staying upwind from them. If she got cigar smoke in her hair, she’d have to wash it before she returned to the hospital.

  Pete gave her a hug. “It’s good to see you out of the hospital. Do you want me to get you a chair?”

  “No, I want to talk to that thug standing next to you.”

  Pete glanced left to right. “Are you talking about your brother or Mallory?”

  “It’s a tossup.”

  Connor pulled her in for a hug. “How do you feel, sis?”

  “Good enough to be here.”

  “Guess that means she’s talking about me.” Jack wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.” He kissed the top of her head. “What’s up, kiddo?”

  “Where’s Elliott?” she asked, before breaking away from Jack to give hugs to David, Braham, Daniel, and her other brother, Shane.

  “He’s helping Matt and Pops behind the curtain,” Connor said.

  “I thought Jeff and Julie were coming up,” she said.

  “Too many kids’ activities,” Connor said. “And he’s got a trial in Federal District Court.”

  Braham handed Kevin a cigar. “This is an E.P. Carrillo Encore Majestic, named Cigar of the Year by Cigar Aficionado. All Nicaraguan tobacco from three major growing regions.”

  “Sounds good.” Kevin passed the cigar under his nose to take in the aroma. “Smells sweet. Do I have to listen to a long spiel before I can light up?”

  “Aye,” Braham said. “Writing reviews in Cigar Aficionado and making recommendations is the only way I can justify buying such expensive smokes.” He pointed with the cigar held loosely between two fingers. “This is a medium-bodied cigar with enough flavor to appeal to those who smoke more than a fair amount, but also appeals to those who don’t smoke as much.”

  “Can I light it now?”

  “Hang on, I’m almost done,” Braham said. “Ye’ll taste the vanilla oak. Just look at this burn.” He rolled the cigar between his fingers to show Kevin. “It’s razor-sharp. Holds the ash. Well-constructed.”

  “Are you done now?” Kevin asked.

  “Aye. Enjoy.” Braham put his cigar between his teeth, struck a match, and held the light while Kevin rotated the foot of the cigar above the flame, drawing in smoke.

  JL never tired of watching the delicate dance, and sometimes wished she could smoke one too, but they made her gag. It was one of the manliest activities they could do. And these men knew how to smoke one and make it look sexy as hell. They’d all earned a man card that simply couldn’t be revoked.

  She linked arms with Jack. “Walk with me. I want to talk to you about something.”

  Connor puffed on his cigar, blowing rings and watching them merge with others hovering nearby. “What’s so important that you can’t tell the rest of us?”

  “I’ll tell you later, nosy,” she said.

  She and Jack ambled down to the permanent pier he had constructed to dock the boats he and Braham bought when the kids wanted to learn how to bass fish. It had become one of Blane’s favorite activities.

  Not to be outdone, Amy and Charlotte bought a customized catamaran houseboat. The girls had planned to spend most of the weekend on the water, but the plane crash cancelled those plans.

  JL and Jack sat in the Adirondack chairs parked there and Jack puffed on his cigar.

  “How’s Lawrence today?” he asked.

  She waved away the smoke. “Since I texted you two hours ago, nothing has changed.”

  Jack smiled. “Has it been t
hat long?”

  “You couldn’t tell it by me. Some days seem like they last thirty hours, and others seem like only six. I’m always tired, and I live in constant fear that one of the alarms on Lawrence’s incubator will go off.”

  “You’ve got a lot of family who will cover for you, so you can get out of the hospital, spend time with Blane, take a nap, get drunk—”

  “You know I can’t drink right now.”

  “Then go get one of those pedi things. Whatever you want. We’re here.”

  “I know, but I worry when I’m not with him almost as much as I worry when I am.” She grabbed Jack’s glass and sniffed the whisky instead of drinking it. “I smell cherry, fresh fruit”—she smacked her lips, imagining the flavor—“pineapple, fudge, vanilla, honey.”

  “And Seville oranges,” Jack said.

  She handed it back and smacked her lips again. “Damn, it smells smooth. What is it?”

  “Glenlivet—a fifty-year-old single malt scotch whisky.”

  “Sounds expensive.”

  “Braham only serves the best with his cigars.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the waves lapping against the pier and the sides of the boats. “Have you ever thought about how the family gets stronger with each new set of soul mates?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I was jotting down a few notes the other day, tossing around story ideas about soul mates, but it hit too close to home. I need more information about the history of the brooches.”

  “To write about them and tell the world?” JL was aghast. “The evil force will find us for sure.”

  “Relax. You’re way too stressed. I don’t want to write what’s real. But you know how active my imagination is. I might inadvertently write the truth without knowing it.”

  “Stay on the safe side and throw those notes away.”

  “I already did.”

  “Good.” JL stared up at the stars. “You know, since Amber and Olivia came along, a steel-strong camaraderie has formed in the family. I feel like together we could fight evil all around the world. I know we can’t really, but it feels like it. Am I making any sense?”