The Pearl Brooch

by Logan, Katherine Lowry

  Now he could read. He thumbed through the pages until he reached the summer of 1790. Using his finger as a guide, he scanned down the page, moving quickly through the summer months.

  Congress ended the session, boxed up, and moved to Philadelphia the end of August. Jefferson would have gone to Monticello first.

  Jack’s finger continued to guide his eyes down the page.

  Which would have put Jefferson at Mallory Plantation in early September.

  Which was where Jack found what he was looking for. The general made an entry the second week in September saying he’d been asked to give Sophia Orsini away in marriage to Thomas Jefferson. The next entry reported her etching her initials in the window. And the next one knocked Jack’s legs out from under him. He dropped into his chair. The general recorded:

  Sophia Orsini, bride of Thomas Jefferson, fell into the James River, was dragged under and carried away by a fast-running current. Thomas Jefferson, James MacKlenna, and Seamus Digby witnessed the accident. Several attempts were made to rescue her, to no avail. Her body was never recovered.

  “Holy Christ.”

  He continued reading: Four days after the service, a glassmaker was called to remove Sophia Orsini’s initials. It was believed they would bring bad luck to future Mallory brides.

  Jack sat back in his chair, gripped his hands together over his midsection, and considered what this meant for Pete. Short of calling her studio, there was no way to know if she truly died, or it meant she’d returned home.

  “Where are you?” Jack asked the missing woman.

  Elliott strolled into the office. “Who are ye looking for?”

  Jack hesitated, not sure he wanted anyone to know what he just discovered.

  “Who?” Elliott repeated.

  Jack went over to the door and closed it. “This has to stay on the Q.T. until we figure out what it means.”

  “Shoot.” Elliott sat in one of the wingbacks in front of the desk.

  Instead of returning to his desk chair, Jack sat in a matching wingback next to Elliott. “I don’t know where Sophia is. Her initials disappeared from the window. I searched General Mallory’s journal and found an entry describing her drowning in the James River. Following her service, the initials were removed. It was considered bad luck to keep them.”

  “Goddamn it,” Elliott said. “Can ye go back to get her before it happens?”

  “Maybe.” Jack stretched out his long legs and tapped on the leather arms of the chair. “Two bits of information make this suspicious. First, James MacKlenna and Seamus Digby were witnesses to the accidental drowning. And second, her body was never recovered.”

  “It wouldn’t be unheard of for a woman’s clothing to drag her under the water and sweep her away. But having a MacKlenna and a Digby as witnesses, I agree, makes the drowning suspicious. Why don’t ye call her?”

  “If she’s home and wants to see Pete, she’ll call him. If she doesn’t, I don’t want Pete to know. At least not today.”

  “Why not? The lad feels like crap.”

  “Sophia needs her space to recover. If she and Pete are going to have a future, she needs time to settle the past before she moves into the future. When she’s ready, she’ll let us know.”

  “If ye weren’t the one saying this, I might not believe it, but after what ye went through with Carolina Rose, who am I to second guess ye? But ye’re opening yerself up for another problem.”

  Jack spread his hands. “What am I not seeing?”

  Elliott crossed his legs and fingered the knife-edged pleat in his khakis. “When Kit, Cullen, and Braham were on the Oregon Trail, Braham received a letter from his father. The letter informed him that the lawyer in San Francisco who had hired Braham and Cullen to practice in his law firm had lost his daughter in a tragic accident. The reason it mattered was because Cullen planned to marry her. If Braham revealed the news to Cullen, he was certain Cullen would leave the wagon train and hurry to California to comfort the man who would have been his father-in-law. Braham reasoned that if Cullen left the wagon train, he and Kit would never have a future. So Braham didn’t reveal the tragedy.”

  “Okay, so what?” Jack said.

  “Cullen was so angry that Braham, feeling guilty, left the wagon train. Soon after, Cullen was attacked, thrown off a cliff, and presumed dead. Kit returned to the future. If Braham had stayed on the wagon train, the attack wouldn’t have happened, or if it had, Kit wouldn’t have given up and gone home.”

  “What’s your point? We know Kit and Cullen eventually found each other.”

  “If ye intend to keep this a secret from Pete, ye have to be aware ye might make a bigger mess of the situation. Lies of omission never work out. Just ask David and Kenzie. David’s lie of omission nearly got Kenzie killed.”

  “It’s not our decision, Elliott. And revealing what we know or don’t know isn’t going to get anyone killed.”

  “Ye’re probably right. Why not let Gabe keep an eye out for her? He can find some excuse to talk to her. If she just got home after five weeks, she’ll need to go out for groceries. Gabe is an enterprising sort. He’ll figure it out, but we need eyes on her before we say anything to anyone else.”

  “Pete told me if things didn’t work out with Sophia, he was going to Australia to work on a project with Shane. What do we do then?” Jack asked.

  “Stay in touch with Shane. If Pete starts dating someone and it looks like it could get serious, we’ll need to bring him home. He doesn’t need to marry someone on the rebound.”

  “You want to break up a potential relationship because you hope Pete and Sophia will get together now when they obviously couldn’t work it out before. That doesn’t make much sense.”

  “None of this does. We work with what we have. Right now, we don’t have anything. Let’s wait for Gabe’s report. If she is home, and she doesn’t call ye or Matt or Pete, then ye’ll have to go see her.”

  “Amy can’t make the trip. Sitting so long while pregnant will drive her nuts.”

  “Then don’t tell her why ye’re going.”

  “Of course I’ll tell her,” Jack said.

  “Amy will tell JL. JL will tell Kit. Kit will tell Maria. And on and on and on until everyone knows but Pete. Not gonna happen. So keep it to yerself.”

  “You’ll tell Meredith.”

  “I’ll make ye a deal. Neither one of us will tell our brides. We’ll both catch hell, but we can blame it on the other guy.”

  Jack considered the ramifications. Amy might understand. He wasn’t so sure about Meredith. “Okay. Deal. But if you tell Meredith and force me to lie to Amy, it will really piss me off.”

  “Consider it payback.”

  “For what?”

  “Do ye want me to list all yer sins, or just the top three?”

  Jack reached for his coffee cup, sipped, and made a face. “This is barely drinkable, hot or cold. I don’t know why you don’t drink tea.”

  “It’s a sissy drink.”

  “It’s eleven o’clock in Italy,” Jack said. “I’ll call Gabe. He’ll still be up. I’ll explain the situation, make sure he understands this is strictly confidential, and get him over there tonight to see if there’s any movement, lights, anything. You do know, don’t you, that David could break into her security system and we’d know immediately.”

  “Absolutely not,” Elliott said. “Pete’s already violated her privacy once. We’re not going to do it again unless it’s an emergency. And we’re not there.”

  “Elliott!” Meredith called from the hallway.

  “In here. Jack and I are catching up.”

  Meredith pushed open the door and waltzed in. “Jack, you’re wanted on the baseball field, and I’m taking JL to the hospital. Everything is fine with Lawrence, but she’s ready to go. Kevin’s had too many beers and can’t drive.”

  “Is she pissed?”

  Meredith shook her head. “I think she encouraged it. Charlotte locked up the keys to the boats. Nobody needs to
be out on the water tonight. One of those drunk Scotsmen might fall into the river and drown and no one will ever find his body.”

  Jack set his cup aside, removed his glasses, and cleaned them with his handkerchief, avoiding Meredith’s penetrating gaze.

  Elliott turned to look directly at his wife. “I’ll drive Kevin to the hotel later. Are ye driving JL’s rental car?”

  “That makes the most sense. Don’t you think?”

  Elliott stood and pulled his wife into his arms. “I think everything ye do makes sense.” He kissed her. “I’ll be up there in a couple of hours.”

  Meredith gave Jack a hard look. “I don’t believe for a moment that you two are catching up. Something is going on, and you think you can keep it to yourselves. You two are the worst ones in the family about keeping a secret. I’ll find out, and so will Amy.”

  At the door, Meredith stopped and turned. “By the way, the early American look you’ve got going on with that costume is the best time-traveling look you’ve ever had. You’re quite a macaroni, Jack Mallory.” She laughed and whirled out of the room.

  “Good luck with keeping this to yourself,” Jack muttered.

  46

  Florence, Italy—Sophia

  When the fog lifted, Sophia was standing in her dark living room sobbing.

  Too brokenhearted to stand, she dropped to her knees while a fresh surge of tears flowed down her face.

  Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

  She tried swiping them away with shaking fingers, but they came too fast, too thick, too many.

  Blessed art thou amongst women…

  Bereft of Thomas’s arms, she clutched her own around her and collapsed into a ball of flesh and blood and heartache.

  …and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

  The rest of her life had been planned out in her mind. She and Thomas would have spent the next ten years in Philadelphia while he served as secretary of state and vice president. Then eight years in Washington while he served as president, followed by retirement at Monticello surrounded by Polly and Patsy’s children. She would have had a front row seat to paint American political life as the country entered the nineteenth century.

  It was all gone now. Thomas was gone. The girls were gone.

  Her mind painted a block of ice slammed by a pick, over and over and over, chips flying dart-like in all directions, puncturing walls and ceilings and floors. Her soul was shattered.

  Now what? Teach art. Paint. Watch the world from the sidelines. She had depended on her two-week holiday each year to keep her inspired. Now the brooch was unstable, she could never trust it again. Her inspiration was shattered.

  He shouldn’t have let MacKlenna and Digby send her away. Why had Thomas allowed it? If she’d had more time to talk to him, he wouldn’t have been afraid of her. They could have found a solution.

  “Oh. God!” She pounded the floor. “If only I’d had more time. If only…”

  Sleep rescued her from the agony, but it didn’t come easily, and didn’t last long enough. And worse, it was filled with angry voices and twisting and turning that wrung out her insides until they were on the outside, leaving her heart dangling by an artery over an abyss. Then dead bodies everywhere. Severed heads. A burning mattress. Cannon fire. Sailing ships. Sickness. Rain. Rain. Rain.

  You can’t stay here. I don’t want to know when I die.

  “Stop!”

  She awoke screaming, her body aching from sleeping on the hardwood floor. “Make it all go away. I can’t bear it.”

  She dragged herself to the shower and stayed there, unable to find any joy in the shampoo and soap and hot, hot water. Only when she was left with icy water did she shut off the faucet, wrap one towel around her body, another around her head, and fall into bed, wet and shivering.

  Sun shining in her eyes woke her up. She closed the blinds, rolled over, and went back to sleep. The next time she woke there was total darkness. She ignored the rumbling in her stomach and fell asleep again. The next time she woke, sunlight seeped through the gaps between the slats in the blinds. Her stomach wouldn’t let her sleep another minute. She had to eat. How long had it been? Days? Centuries?

  Did it even matter?

  After slipping on running shorts and a T-shirt, she padded to the kitchen. There was nothing in the refrigerator. She knew there wouldn’t be, because she tossed everything out before she left on her holiday. She looked anyway, then slammed the door on the cold, empty space.

  She walked in circles around the kitchen, then checked the refrigerator again. Maybe something was hidden in a drawer, on the door, or even in plain sight. Nothing except an open box of baking soda. She’d done a clean sweep. Then just for the heck of it, she closed the door and opened it one more time. Three times was a charm. Right?

  Not in this case, sister. Try the freezer.

  It was packed with nutritious meals. But she hated frozen food. Even good frozen food was bad. The meals were always a last resort for when she painted late into the night and nothing close by was open for takeout.

  She popped a lasagna dish into the microwave and set the timer according to the instructions on the package, as if cooking it correctly would improve the taste. Good luck with that.

  She needed a drink. Anything but wine. She’d never drink wine again without thinking of Thomas and wondering how he was doing. Which was dumb, because now he’d been dead for over two hundred years.

  While the microwave ticked away, she set the table and sat watching the timer count down to zero. When it was done, she forced herself to eat every bite.

  It wasn’t easy. Matter of fact, it was hell. For the past several months, she and Thomas had enjoyed dinner out almost every night, or they ate alone at his house.

  Alone. The word took on a new, gut-wrenching meaning tonight.

  She cleaned the dishes, threw away evidence of her frozen food sin, and went back to bed. When she woke hours later, she ventured down to the studio. Mona Lisa was gone thanks to…Pete. Her stomach spasmed at the thought of him. She couldn’t have him in her head right now. To him, she was dead. And that was the way it had to be.

  Junk mail and flyers shoved through the mail slot were piled on the floor. She scooped them up and returned to her bedroom. With her journal in one hand, the mail in the other, she crawled back into bed.

  She turned each journal page slowly, and each sketch triggered a fresh batch of tears. How many days could she go on like this? She needed to go to the market for fruit, milk, eggs, and cheese. But she didn’t want to go out. She didn’t even have the energy to dress.

  Before tossing the junk mail in the trash, she flipped through it just to be sure there was nothing important. A hot pink flyer caught her eye. It was a new delivery service. All she had to do was place an order online, pay for it with a credit card, and then send the service the pickup information. Sounded fishy. They could run off with her stuff.

  She booted up her computer to check their website and read several reviews. Looked legit. She could try it once. It wouldn’t be a huge loss if they never showed up with her order. But if they did, then they could also pick up her painting supplies. She was low on everything.

  With a bit of ambivalence, she filled out the information on the website and placed the orders. A few minutes later she received a confirmation number and an estimated time of delivery.

  “Not bad.”

  If this was a legitimate company, she’d never have to go out again. Never have to dress. Or shower. Never have to talk to anyone. All she had to do was breathe.

  No. Wait. She had students starting the middle of August. And she was in no condition to inspire anyone. Inspiring herself was going to be a challenge. But could she cancel an entire semester?

  She sent an email to an artist friend who also graduated from The Florence Academy of Art. A lie came easily, and she told him she contracted a blood disease while on holiday and spent two weeks in the hospital. Now she was home recovering bu
t was too weak to teach this fall. Could he handle her eight students?

  A few minutes later, she received a reply. Yes, he could. Then she sent out a group email and lied to her students and parents. And yes, even lied to Emma and Greta. With that guilt-inducing task completed, she sent her accountant a note with instructions to continue managing her finances until further notice.

  There was also an email from Lukas. He was in Naples. His mother was seriously ill, and he wouldn’t be back in Florence for three or four months, possibly longer. She sent a return email saying she would light a candle for his mother.

  With business out of the way, she could hibernate until art classes started up again in January. Maybe by then her soul would find its way back into her body.

  But there was one more thing she had to do. She opened the safe, removed the box, and returned the brooch to its spot on the tapestry. Then she removed her betrothal ring and placed it next to the brooch. She closed the box and clutched it to her breasts as tears tracked down her face. After a few tearful minutes, she returned the box to the safe.

  She crawled back into bed with her journal. If she was going to spend the next several months painting in seclusion, what was she going to paint? Did she even want to?

  She flipped pages and put a check mark in the lower right corner of every sketch she wanted to paint. Then she went back through the checks and double-checked the ones she had to paint. Then lastly she triple-checked the ones she would paint.

  Thirty-six paintings in all. A third of them were of Thomas, five were Thomas and the girls, both in Paris and arriving in America. The rest were of Washington, Adams, Madison, Jay, Hamilton, Burr, Trumbull, New York City in 1790, Federal Hall, the docks, sailing ships, the Mallorys, and two paintings of the famous dinner meeting. But those two she’d keep for herself.

  In the studio, she set up three easels. She would switch from one painting to another as inspiration moved her.

  It was midafternoon when someone knocked at her back door. Right on time.