The Amber Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 8)

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  They arrived at the barn and found the groom tending to the horses. “They’re ready to go, Mr. McBain. They’re fine animals. Are we keeping them?”

  “Probably,” David said.

  They stepped into their saddles, reined their horses in the direction of the lake, and lifted them into a trot. When they reached their destination, they dismounted.

  “If we get separated in the mountains, call out, but don’t waste time looking. Make yer way to the nearest town and wait for news of the others. There are maps and compasses in our saddlebags, along with MREs in case we’re forced to spend the night on the trail.”

  “Okay. I’m ready. Let’s do this,” Kenzie said.

  They held tightly to their reins and the horses pranced restlessly. After locking arms, David opened the diamond brooch. They focused on Amber while they recited the magic words.

  “Chan ann le tìm no àite a bhios sinn a’ tomhais a’ gaol ach ’s ann le neart anama.”

  An earthy-scented fog rose from the ground in thick tendrils, enveloping them, jerking them left, then right, then back again, tossing them all about like a ship in a tempest. Until finally it swept them away.

  15

  1878 Leadville, Colorado—Amber

  Amber woke before dawn, freezing, even though she was burrowed under a heavy woolen blanket with her knees pulled to her chest. She stuck out her toes, testing the air. It was several degrees colder. Outside the frosted mullioned window next to her bed, lights from Mrs. Garland’s neighbors flickered and reflected on the puddles in the street.

  Staying in bed wasn’t an option, no matter how cold she was.

  She shimmied out from the covers, hoping to keep what heat she had generated from dissipating, and hurried over to the warming stove in the corner. Hughes Cabin had identical stoves in the bedrooms, so she had grown up scraping out the ashes to bring sleeping coals to life. She rubbed her cold hands together, anticipating the heat that would soon fill the room. As quickly as she’d rushed over to the stove, she returned to bed to wait for the temperature in the room to climb above freezing.

  While she waited, she replayed the previous day in her mind, minute by minute. The people and events whirled about and created a dizzying storm in her brain. Her eyes felt as if sand had been ground into them, rocks and all. It wasn’t from a lack of sleep, but from the worries, questions, and fears that plagued her.

  The foremost being…could she ever go home? She squeezed the brooch in her palm. It was cold as ice. She wasn’t going home this morning.

  She rubbed her forehead to stop the spinning thoughts and tried to focus on what she needed to do now. A bath was at the top of the list, followed by organizing her play list for tonight’s performance. Then, if she had time left, she’d start a travel itinerary for next week. She would need transportation and lining that up was a priority. She was one of those people who booked flights six months in advance, and travel was going to be trickier in 1878.

  The stove warmed the room within minutes, and although she didn’t want to get up again, she had to. Since she hadn’t heard Mrs. Garland moving about, she might beat her landlady to the kitchen and get a head start on preparing breakfast for the household. It wasn’t that she thought she was a better cook, she just wanted to be helpful.

  She had hand-washed her underwear and spot cleaned her jeans before she went to bed. They were dry, but her socks were still damp. She moved them closer to the stove and rushed off for a quick bath. The washroom was a comfortable temperature and the water was hot. After a quick wash, she dressed, and padded to the kitchen barefoot while braiding her hair. The welcoming scent of fresh coffee and frying bacon reminded Amber of her granny and mornings at the cabin, and almost brought a tear to her eye.

  She hesitated in the doorway. “I thought I could start breakfast, but you’re already up. What can I do to help?”

  Mrs. Garland nodded toward the table. “The dress I mentioned last night is on the chair. Hold it up and let me see.”

  Amber was reluctant to even look, but she didn’t want to appear ungrateful after Mrs. Garland made such a generous offer. If the dress was hideous, she’d turn her act into a comedy. She shot a hopeful eye in the direction of the table, and for a moment her breath stopped.

  A white and gold silk brocade dress in a floral and vine motif was folded over the back of a straight-back chair. The fabric, glittering in the light of the coal oil lamp, all but melted in her hands when she touched it and breathed in the ethereal scent of violets. She held the heavy dress up with two-finger pinches and clasped it at her waist to check the length.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “It looks beautiful with the color of your hair,” Mrs. Garland said.

  Amber turned the dress around, letting the gold-colored satin train swirl about her feet. The top had a low, tight bodice. From the waist down, the skirt looped up to show a decorative underskirt. Three-quarter sleeves were trimmed with gold-colored satin and white satin piping with blond lace at the collar and cuffs.

  “This is the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen.” It was soft, luxurious, and expensive. If she had to bet, she’d put money on the gown coming from a couture house in Paris. “Where’d it come from?”

  “Paris,” Mrs. Garland said. “I wore it to a gala in New York City two years ago. Mr. Garland and I danced all night. He said to me, ‘Nettie,’—my given name is Annette, but he called me Nettie.” She paused to wipe her eyes, then added, “He said, ‘You look like a queen in that dress.’”

  Eyeballing the gown, Amber guessed it was at least one size too big. “Thank you for the offer, but I couldn’t accept. It’s too beautiful to alter.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll never wear it again. A few seams will have to be taken in, but with my new sewing machine, it won’t take long.”

  “You have a sewing machine?

  “I got it a few months ago.” She beamed with pride.

  “How do you plug it in?”

  “Plug?”

  “What’s the power source? How do you make it work?”

  Mrs. Garland wagged her hands up and down. “The foot pedals.”

  Amber smacked her forehead. “Oh, I knew that. The altitude sickness is getting to me. Not only is it affecting my breathing, but my thought process too.” She cast a glance in Mrs. Garland’s direction. “Are you sure you’ll never wear it again? Maybe you can just pin the sides.”

  Mrs. Garland blotted her eyes with a corner of her apron. “Mr. Garland died shortly after we returned from that trip. There are too many memories associated with the dress.”

  Amber teared up, too. She reached for the woman’s thickly veined hand. “My granny told me once, ‘We are truly alive in those moments when our hearts recognize our treasures.’ To you, this dress is a treasure. If I wear the gown, the night you and Mr. Garland danced at the gala will come alive again.” Amber placed her free hand across the woman’s shoulders and squeezed her gently. “In that case, I accept your offer, but only if you’ll let me help with the cooking.”

  Mrs. Garland smiled through her tears. “Daniel and Noah are very particular about what they eat.”

  Daniel’s boot heels announced his presence moments before he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “I heard that, and before Miss Kelly thinks poorly of us, Noah and I will eat whatever we’re served.”

  “Except for turnips,” Mrs. Garland said.

  “Maybe there is an exception.” He picked up the coffee pot, filled a cup, and sipped slowly as he eyed the dress folded over Amber’s arm. “Is that the dress for yer performance tonight?”

  “Mrs. Garland is insisting I wear it.”

  “Ye should. Ye’ll look bonny in it.” He stood there wordlessly after that, as if not believing what he had said to her.

  Amber’s face heated, and she quickly changed the subject. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Well enough.”

  His glance moved from her face to her sockless feet. When his eyes widened
, she knew exactly what he was responding to—blue nail polish.

  She redirected his attention asking, “How about Noah? Did he sleep okay?”

  “He woke up once whimpering. He must have rolled over on his sore arm, but he went right back to sleep, and is still sleeping.”

  “Good,” Amber said. “That’s what he needs to do right now.”

  “Sit down, Daniel, and I’ll fix your breakfast,” Mrs. Garland said.

  “What can I do?” Amber asked again. “I’ll be glad to make biscuits.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Biscuits are one of my specialties.”

  Mrs. Garland’s kitchen was a step or two up from the one at the cabin, but Amber had learned to cook anywhere and adjust accordingly. Moving easily around the room, she gathered the ingredients, mixed them together, and rolled out a sheet of dough. Next was the fun part, stamping out the biscuits in neat and systematic holes with the cutter. Within minutes she had a batch ready to go into the stove.

  Mrs. Garland watched, nodding with approval. Then she checked the time on her lapel watch. While Amber waited for the first batch to bake, she made another one.

  After several minutes, Mrs. Garland said, “The biscuits should be done.”

  Armed with protective towels around her hand, Amber opened the maw of the iron stove, which belched with heat and the aroma of buttermilk biscuits. With her usual efficiency, she shoveled the finished biscuits onto a plate then put the next batch into the pan and popped it into the oven. She dusted flour from her hands and when she turned, she was surprised to find Daniel watching her.

  She faced him, arms akimbo. “What? Are you afraid I’ll poison you?”

  He quickly glanced down at the contents of his cup as if trying to read the coffee grounds. His cheeks turned pink. “No. I’m sure they’ll be quite tasty.” His suspicion was now tempered with amusement.

  She returned to the dough and made another batch, wishing she had eyes in the back of her head. Was he watching her? If so, how did she look from the rear in tight jeans? She needed an apron. “I’m getting flour all over myself. Do you have an apron I can use?”

  Mrs. Garland was turning the bacon in the skillet. “On the hook by the door.”

  Amber grabbed the gingham pinner apron and wrapped it around her, covering as much of her butt as she could. If she did nothing else today, she had to buy a dress or a skirt to cover her jeans. While she stood in front of the window overlooking the yard, she looped back the dark blue hangings, allowing the first light of morning to seep in through the sheer lace. It was the first look she’d had of the adjoining houses and a small neatly penned henhouse in the backyard. Her granny had kept hens at the cabin during the summer when they were there for long stretches of time, but it had been years since Amber had collected fresh eggs from a coop.

  “Noah is probably staying home from school today,” Daniel said. “I’ll drop off his completed assignments at the schoolhouse and pick up today’s lessons.”

  “I can do that.” Amber opened the imposing iron stove and using her apron for a pot holder, pulled out another pan of biscuits, golden brown and flaky.

  “You need proper clothes to visit Noah’s school.” Mrs. Garland filled a platter with cooked bacon and placed it on the table in front of Daniel. “You can’t go around town dressed as you are now. A woman in trousers isn’t appropriate.”

  “Aren’t there exceptions for eccentric women and suffragettes?”

  Daniel forked a couple pieces of crispy bacon onto his plate. “Aye, but I don’t think ye want the reputation that goes with it.”

  Mrs. Garland picked out a handful of large brown eggs from a basket and cracked them over the skillet. “If you’re going to the general store to buy a dress, I’ll pin up one of mine for you to wear shopping. It will cut down on stares and gossiping.”

  “That’s not necessary—”

  “I believe it is,” Daniel interrupted. “Ye were new in town yesterday. News of ye will have spread by now. More attention will be paid to ye, and ye want to sell tickets to yer show tonight.”

  “I guess you’re right. Okay then. My first stop will be Hughes Store to buy a dress. Then I need to go to the theatre and spend a few hours rehearsing. If you want me to go by the schoolhouse or to the doctor, I can do either or both.”

  “I can manage, but thank ye,” Daniel said.

  When the rest of the biscuits and eggs were done, Mrs. Garland and Amber joined Daniel at the table. He eyed the baked circles of dough as Mrs. Garland deposited two biscuits on his plate. He split one and covered it with jam before hesitantly biting into it. He smiled before taking another bite. “No offense, Mrs. Garland, but these are the best biscuits I’ve ever tasted.”

  “None taken.” Mrs. Garland looked at Amber from under her fine dark brows. “I hope you’ll share your recipe.”

  “I’ll be glad to.”

  “They remind me of Mrs. Hughes’ biscuits. She had a plate of them, warm from the oven, in the store recently. Your biscuits are very similar.”

  Daniel ate four in rapid succession. The last one he gobbled up without butter or jam. “I look forward to breakfast tomorrow. Now, I’m off. I’ll be back at noon to check on Noah, and if there are any biscuits left over—”

  “I’ll save some for you,” Mrs. Garland said.

  He had a flake from his last biscuit on the side of his mouth and Amber had the strangest sensation to lick it off. She gulped back the desire and instead tapped the identical place on her face, indicating to him that he needed to wipe his mouth.

  He wiped his face. “If that was a biscuit crumb, I’m surprised there was one left.” He stood but didn’t move away from his chair, as if he had something else to say. “The only woman I’ve ever heard of who painted her toenails was Cleopatra.”

  Amber glanced down at her feet. “Oh…” The coffee cup in her hand trembled as she struggled to find a logical explanation. The motion created waves on the surface of the coffee. Black as hell, strong as death, and sweet as love. She set down the cup on the polished mahogany table, and after a moment to consider the truth, she told a lie.

  “I’ve been to Egypt and heard that story, too. Painting my toenails is fun. I like looking down and seeing spots of color.”

  One thing she had learned in her relationship madness was when telling a lie of omission, to always wrap a portion of it in a thin layer of the truth. The lie in this case was that she hadn’t been to Egypt. She got sick and had to cancel the trip. As for painting her toenails, that habit started when she and Olivia were teenagers and took turns painting each other’s toes. They still made time in their busy schedules for toe-painting nights, but now they coupled it with sushi and wine.

  “Look at it from my perspective, Miss Kelly. Blue toenails outside of Egypt would only enhance that reputation ye don’t want. My advice is to keep yer feet covered.”

  What would he say about the Stegosaurus tattoo on her hip? Nodding, she buttered a biscuit, and the warm scent, redolent of her grandmother’s kitchen, wafted over her. But instead of reminiscing further about her granny, she thought about Daniel, and she was tempted to show him the tattoo, just to mess with his nineteenth-century man brain.

  He left the kitchen, and within moments, his boots thudded on the stairs as he went up to check on Noah. Then they thudded back down again. Amber followed the sound with her gaze until the front door creaked opened and closed behind him.

  When Amber looked back at Mrs. Garland, the woman was pushing a wisp of hair from her forehead, smiling. “Daniel’s a handsome man, and a lonely one. The life of a Pinkerton’s wife is difficult.”

  Amber refilled her coffee, spooned in a bit of sugar, and stirred it around with her thoughts equally awhirl. Despite the warmth of the room and the hot china cup, her fingertips momentarily went cold. She set down the cup and twitched her hands to speed circulation and forced her mind to return to the present.

  “Are you speaking from experience?�
� she asked.

  “I have no family, but I do have a circle of friends. They kept me company when my husband was on an assignment with the agency. Now I have Noah and Daniel to care for.” Mrs. Garland finished her breakfast and set her plate aside. “It was different for Daniel’s late wife. She had family in Denver, so she coped fairly well.”

  “When did she die?” Amber asked.

  Daniel was on a long-term engagement when the baby came several weeks early. He rushed home and arrived shortly before she and his infant daughter passed. There were too many memories in Denver, so Daniel asked for a transfer and brought Noah with him to Leadville. He’s never forgiven himself for his wife’s death. He’s convinced if he’d been there sooner, she wouldn’t have died.”

  “What do you think?” Amber asked in a soft voice.

  “She got the best care available. There wasn’t anything he could have done to change the outcome.”

  “That’s a heavy load of grief and guilt to carry. It had to have been horrible for him yesterday to watch his son almost get run over and not be able to stop it.”

  “Daniel would not have survived Noah’s death.” Mrs. Garland sipped her coffee before continuing, “Before Noah came home last night, my neighbor had already told me what happened. Your bravery will make folks even more curious about you. That’s one reason you should dress appropriately when you go back to town. Don’t give them a reason to distrust you.”

  “Thank you for the advice.”

  “I’m doing it for Daniel and Noah. They don’t need any trouble after all they’ve been through. That’s why I allowed you to stay. Noah wanted to help you after what you did for him.”

  Mrs. Garland was right. If Amber intended to fill the house every night during her run, she needed to be accepted, not ostracized. She pushed back from the table. “Now, let me wash the dishes. I’ll set the leftovers aside for Noah to eat when he wakes up.”

  “I’ll get my sewing basket and we can fit the dress for you to wear tonight and something else to wear this morning.”