The Pearl Brooch

by Logan, Katherine Lowry

  “Most of her paintings are from the early nineteenth century. The world would lose a major portion of her body of work, but the ones she painted in France and when she first arrived in America would still exist,” Matt said.

  “Sophia Orsini Jefferson lived until her nineties. She was a prolific artist. We’re talking about hundreds of paintings, not just a handful. The loss would be comparable to losing da Vinci’s ‘Medusa Shield’ or Lindos’ ‘Colossus of Rhodes’ or Gustave Courbet’s ‘The Stone Breakers.’ We just can’t do it,” Kit said.

  “Should we even tell her about her body of work?” Jack asked.

  “No, we can’t. If she stays, she’ll know her future. We can’t tell her,” Pete said. “Do you want to know how long you’ll live? What day you’ll die? I don’t. God, that would be awful. And besides, we still don’t know for sure whether the twenty-first century Sophia and the eighteenth-century Sophia are the same person. It’s possible they only resemble each other.”

  “There’s been an interesting controversy surrounding an Orsini painting of Jefferson in Paris,” Matt said. “Pete, see if you can find a picture of the painting titled ‘Jefferson in Paris’ by S.F. Orsini and pull it up on the screen.”

  A minute later the portrait appeared. “Now see if you can find a picture of the back where the artist signed the location of the painting and the date.” A moment later, a second picture appeared on the screen. Matt went over and pointed to the word Paris. “Look at the A. What does it look like?”

  “The Eiffel Tower,” Kenzie said. “What’s your point?”

  “How could S.F. Orsini in 1789 paint an A resembling the Eiffel Tower when the tower wouldn’t be built for another one hundred years?”

  Pete slumped as all his hopes squashed together in his chest. “Sophia went to Paris with her grandmother the summer before her junior year in high school. She sent me a postcard with three words: I love Paris. The A in Paris was the Eiffel Tower.”

  He poured another whisky at the sideboard. Was this his third or fourth? Didn’t matter. He wasn’t driving.

  Then he went to examine the window with Sophia’s initials etched in the glass. He skimmed the tip of his finger around the S, the F, and the O.

  Did you think of your first wedding when you carved your initials? Did you love him as much as you loved me?

  “Here’s some food for thought,” Kenzie said.

  Pete turned to face her, barely holding on to rational thought, desperately needing a life raft of hope.

  “If the travelers have a choice when to arrive in the past, they could choose to arrive in Paris in 1789 before Sophia meets Jefferson. Before she falls in love. Before she marries him. Before she changes history.”

  The square sail on his little life raft billowed in the wind. “That’s exactly what we should do, Kenzie. Go back to Paris and find her before she meets Jefferson. That’s the answer.”

  “No, it’s not!” Kit swung her arm and knocked over her coffee cup. She grabbed a handful of napkins and soaked up the spill. “You can’t do that to her.”

  “Why not?” Pete asked.

  “We know she met Thomas Jefferson, married him, and, from all reports had a very happy life. She’s also listed as one of the top ten Renaissance to Neoclassical painters. You can’t take that away from her without her knowledge. It would be criminal. She has to make an informed decision. Which means telling her everything.”

  “If we do, and she decides to stay, she’ll know her future. Which isn’t fair either,” Pete said. “Do you want her to stay, fall in love, then go home? That’s bullshit. There will be broken hearts all around.”

  “The travelers should go back to the point before Sophia meets Jefferson. It’s the only logical choice,” Jack said.

  “The early paintings Sophia did of Jefferson are some of her best work. As an artist, although my talent pales in comparison to hers,” Kit said, “if I lost an opportunity to paint Jefferson, Washington, Madison, Hamilton, and the rest, I’d be pissed.”

  Pete slammed his laptop shut and the large screen went blank. “If Sophia has a choice, she won’t stay.”

  “Ye haven’t seen her in twenty years, Pete. People change. She’s not the same woman ye knew,” David said. “She was a high school student. Now she’s almost forty years old. If ye’re not prepared to walk away and leave her there, then ye don’t need to go on this mission.”

  Pete jumped to his feet. “I won’t leave her behind!” His tone was sharp, cutting through the thickening air.

  Calmly, David said, “Ye might not have a choice.”

  Pete came around the table and poked his finger against David’s chest. “You’ll give Sophia a choice, but not me?”

  David glared at Pete, at his pointed finger. He leaned into the pressure of Pete’s finger. “To choose what?”

  Pete punched his finger into the rock-solid, muscular chest. “To stay behind, goddamn it!”

  Jack set Amy aside and stood, pointing at Pete, and shouted over their raised voices, “You’re not staying behind!”

  There was a palpable, almost physical dislocation of air and space, a tremor that promised violence between the two men of similar height and weight, but Pete backed down.

  Because that’s what men did when they challenged David McBain. There was something in his eyes. Something in his stance. Something in his voice. You knew he would kill you.

  But it had never stopped Pete or any of the men in the family from challenging David and initiating a fight. A fight they knew they couldn’t win. David earned his mental toughness in special ops. Pete and the O’Gradys earned theirs in the Marines. They all were tough as steel and could be mean as junkyard dogs. They could kill without second-guessing, love with unfathomable passion, and protect the innocent against injustice, even if they had to sacrifice their own lives.

  But McBain? He was all that and more.

  Silence descended on the room, except for the heavy breathing.

  Kenzie pushed between the two men. “At ease.” She turned her back on Pete and kissed David as if no one else was in the room. It didn’t do a damn thing for Pete, but David laughed.

  “The clan needs to vote on this. We can’t make an arbitrary decision when it impacts all of us,” David said. “We have to put it up for a vote.”

  “Fine,” Pete said, hitting the whisky again…because it’s what men did when they backed down from a fight with McBain. “But what exactly do you want to vote on?”

  “Do the travelers go back to Paris in 1789 before Sophia meets Jefferson and bring her home? Or do they go to New York City in the spring of 1790 before Sophia marries him?” Kenzie asked.

  “The only fair way to ask that question is to have equally persuasive people argue the two positions,” Kit said.

  “I’ll argue for going back to Paris before Sophia meets Jefferson,” Pete said.

  “You’re too emotionally involved,” Kenzie said.

  “I suggest Braham and Cullen,” Amy said. “They’re both lawyers. They’re both from the past.”

  “No, not Braham,” Pete said. “He wanted to change history by saving Lincoln’s life.”

  “Then who?” David asked.

  “Get Jeff up here. He’s never time-traveled. Never been backed into the position of changing history or fighting for the love of his life. He could be a dispassionate advocate for one side or the other,” Amy said. “Let Cullen and Jeff argue both sides and then the family can vote.”

  “I call bullshit,” Pete said. “Humans can’t make this decision.”

  “Then who’s going to make it?” Kenzie asked. “Do you want to play rock, paper, scissors, or flip a coin?”

  “We could, but I suggest the brooch will make the decision for us.” Pete said. “If we all focus on Sophia and not a specific time period, the stone will take us where we need to go. If it’s Paris before she meets Jefferson, then so be it. If it’s moments before she marries him, then so be it. If we put the question to a vote, we’ll
pit those who vote for love up against those who vote for reason, and everybody will get pissed off. It’s not worth it.”

  “So we’ll leave it up to the brooch,” Kenzie said. “I hope you can live with that, Pete.”

  “I’ll have to,” he said.

  Matt looked from David to Pete and back again. “You two had me worried. I thought for sure we were going to have a cultural battle.”

  “Are you kidding? Italians are part of Scottish culture,” Kenzie said.

  “In every wee town and village there’s an Italian somewhere,” David said. “We’ve been trying for almost two centuries to combine the best of Scottish directness with Italian warmth, courtesy, and generosity of spirit.”

  “Sorry, but I didn’t see directness or generosity of spirit in that exchange,” Matt said. “I only saw a former Marine and a former soldier ready to beat the crap out of each other.”

  David slapped Pete on the back. “We can fight, but Pete knows I’ve got his back.”

  “And I’ve got his,” Pete said.

  “Can we get back to business?” Jack asked. “Costumes will basically be the same whether we go to Paris or New York City, so that’s easy enough. But now we have to decide who’s going.” He pulled Amy into his arms. “I want to go.”

  “I thought you would. If I wasn’t pregnant, I’d go with you. You won’t get into trouble, will you?”

  He kissed her. “My troublemaking days are over. I’m just old, boring Jack now. But I’d like to take Patrick.”

  “He’d love to go, I bet, but you’ll have Lincoln and Noah crying foul.”

  “The rule is kids can go if a parent goes,” Jack said.

  “I’d like to go,” Matt said. “And if Noah wants to go and his parents agree, I’d like to take him. His chronological age is only fourteen, but he has a much older mindset. And since he’s just shy of six feet, he looks older.”

  “If Noah and Patrick go, Lincoln will go nuts.”

  “If Braham and Charlotte agree, I’ll be responsible for him,” Jack said. “He is my nephew.”

  “There’s no way in hell I’ll be left out of this rescue,” Pete said.

  “Then we have three adults and three teenagers,” David said. “I’m putting Jack in charge.”

  Jack was nibbling on Amy’s neck, and his head shot up. “Me? Are you serious?”

  “The Mallorys are connected to this story. Ye’ve got the experience. Ye can handle it, but ye might have to use a different last name.”

  “I could use my mother’s maiden name. She was a Pendleton… Wait… No, that won’t work. There was a Pendleton in the Virginia legislature with Jefferson. If it comes up, I’ll just say I’m distantly related to the folks at Mallory Plantation.”

  “Just tell them you’re the family black sheep and were disowned years ago,” Amy said.

  Matt sat back and clasped his hands over his stomach. “Do you realize who’ll be in New York City in early 1790?”

  An ecstatic smile spread over Jack’s face, reaching his eyes, widening them. Pete hadn’t seen him do that since his wedding day. “I could have an orgasm just thinking about it.”

  David rolled his eyes. “Don’t let me regret my decision.”

  “Just messing with you.” Then to Matt he said, “All the Founding Fathers in one place. It boggles my mind to think of meeting George Washington, John Adams, Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, and the rest. I’ll be a kid in a candy store.”

  “Okay, I’m regretting it now,” David said.

  “The thought of meeting them is overwhelming.” Matt pushed away from the table. “I need to prepare.”

  “Hold up,” David said. “When can ye be ready to go?”

  Jack got out his phone and pulled up his calendar. “It will take our costumers three, maybe four days to make two outfits apiece. We’ll need to go to Lexington to get the brooches and weapons for Pete, and gold and a few diamonds to sell. Five days max.”

  “Five days should give us enough time to do a thorough review of Jefferson’s life, the Compromise of 1790, historical events of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Can you think of anything else?” Matt asked.

  “Why don’t we head over to the library and hit the books for a couple of hours, then draw up a plan to present at tonight’s meeting.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Pete asked.

  “Ye’ll need to go to Lexington to pick up the brooches, weapons, and gold,” David said.

  “I’ll go through Sophia’s catalogue and order reprints of all her paintings,” Kit said. “You’ll want to take those with you. If she returns, those paintings will disappear. She might want to recreate them later.”

  “You’re brilliant,” Kenzie said. “But I wouldn’t give them to her yet. I’d wait a few months for the experience to soak in and give her time to recover from the emotional upheaval in her life. If she walks away from Jefferson when she has strong feelings for him, she won’t want to see the paintings for a while.”

  “I’d like to have jpegs,” Pete said. “If they’re on my laptop and I take them with me, they won’t disappear.”

  “Which reminds me, we should print out every mention of her we can find. The library at Monticello will be full of articles. I’ll go there tomorrow and talk to the docents. They always have the best stories,” Kenzie said.

  “I’ll expect everyone to report on their assignments at tonight’s meeting. Matt, be sure to clear Noah’s participation with Amber and Daniel. The same for Lincoln. They’ll need to attend the meeting. Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of,” Pete said.

  “Then let’s get to work,” David said. “And remember, we’re not going to discuss the dilemma. We’re leaving it up to the brooch. It will take ye where ye need to go.”

  37

  Mallory Plantation—Pete

  Pete headed for the exit at the conclusion of the seven o’clock meeting. Everyone signed off on the plan to send him, Matt, Jack, and three hyper-excited teenage boys on a mission to rescue Sophia.

  Well, everyone except a pissed-off set of twins who cornered their father like two growling lion cubs. A recent growth spurt had added several inches to their already imposing preteen height.

  “It’s not fair, Dad,” Henry said, fists at his waist, elbows jutting out.

  “Not fair at all.” Robbie’s jutting elbows abutted his brother’s and created a formidable barrier in front of David.

  Pete stopped to watch the confrontation. David always had control over the twins. Although he occasionally let them think their roles were reversed.

  “We know how to ride, shoot, and hunt better than Patrick, Noah, or Lincoln. You can’t do this to us.” Henry slapped his forehead. “We’ll never live it down.”

  Robbie grabbed his brother’s hand to stop him from beating on himself. “We’re not better than Lincoln.”

  Henry glared at him. “Shhh. Our skills are close. And besides, his dad rode with the Union Cavalry. They were the best riders ever.”

  Pete leaned against a bookshelf, chuckling. The twins were smart, athletic, and had a sense of humor and a memory for jokes second only to their mother. It wasn’t that Pete didn’t want responsibility for them because they wouldn’t obey. That wasn’t it at all. They were always obedient. Pete just couldn’t be responsible for them on this adventure. As soon as he had the chance to talk to them, he’d try to explain his position.

  Robbie turned toward his brother, scrunching his face. “Nah, they weren’t. American Indians were better riders than anybody.”

  “Better than jockeys?” Henry demanded. “Their average speed in the Kentucky Derby is thirty-five miles an hour.”

  “Thirty-seven. Just ask Uncle Elliott,” Robbie said.

  “I can’t ride as fast as a jockey,” Henry said.

  Robbie tugged on his chin. “Me neither, but we can hunt better than Lincoln.”

  David remained standing, legs spread, arms folded, his expression one that would have co
wed most men. The boys appeared to have forgotten he was even there.

  “Lincoln can snare a rabbit with a string a lot quicker than we can,” Henry said. “And don’t forget he shot down that light fixture in San Francisco.”

  Robbie chuckled. “Man, he set the place on fire, too.”

  “He was just doing what Uncle Braham told him to do.”

  “I could have shot it down and not caused a fire.”

  Henry shoved Robbie. “Liar. The light fixture was full of burning candles. Didn’t matter who shot it down, the place was going up in flames.”

  “Don’t hit yer brother,” David said.

  “Lincoln’s a lot older than we are,” Robbie continued as if David hadn’t spoken. “No wonder he can ride, shoot, and hunt better than we can, but we’ve got Noah and Patrick beat.”

  David grabbed Robbie to keep him from giving Henry a payback shove. “Listen up. We’re not having a contest to see who can ride and shoot the best. The single criterion here is who are ye bringing to the dance? And ye two don’t have partners. Plus, ye’re not old enough.”

  “You’re making up rules, just like you did when we were little and couldn’t go into the security center until we were six,” Robbie said, shaking loose of David’s grip.

  If there was a betting pool on how this comedy act was going to shake out, Pete would bet on David. If Pete ever had kids, how would he handle this kind of thing? He wasn’t sure, but he certainly wouldn’t go to the family priest for advice. The priest’s heart might have been in the right place all those years ago, but his advice was based on what was best for Sophia’s parents, not on what was best for her or Pete.

  David would have advised Pete to run after the woman he loved. And if he had, they would have a houseful of children by now. The woman he remembered wanted a dozen. From the research he’d done between meetings, he sadly learned she never had children with Jefferson, probably a huge disappointment for her.

  “Age doesn’t matter either,” Robbie said. “Don’t you remember Lincoln went back to rescue his dad when he was a lot younger than we are now?”