The Sapphire Brooch Read online

  Before turning onto the highway, she shot a quick glance over her shoulder for a police car hiding in the shadows. No policemen with grumpy faces were waiting in their usual hiding place. Good. If she got another moving violation, she’d have to go to traffic school.

  At least twice a week she stewed at intersections, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel, waiting on lights regulating traffic on empty streets in the middle of the night. Nine times out of ten she ran the red, and frequently a policeman pulled her over. She would then explain to the officer the minutes she lost sitting at traffic lights—when there were no other cars on the road—put her patients’ health in jeopardy. Unless she discovered a better alternative, she’d continue to violate traffic laws in those situations and pray a traffic court judge didn’t yank her license permanently, as the last one had threatened to do.

  Besides, every so often she needed a whiff of danger.

  Although she was often late, this morning’s delay was unavoidable. After rounds, the chief resident had called her in for a consult. The patient had been shot in the abdomen during a liquor store robbery and was about to go to surgery. Over the course of her residency and practice in general surgery, she had operated on hundreds of gunshot victims and had become the go-to person for difficult cases. Most of her department and the nursing staff had known she was in a hurry to get out of town for the weekend to attend the reenactment, but medicine still came first.

  During the two-hour trip to Middletown, she rehearsed the Civil War medical spiel she would give at the living history demonstration later in the day. She had given it many times but always added a new twist, some tidbit to entertain anyone in her audience who had heard her speak in prior years.

  For today’s talk, she added information on Mary Edwards Walker, a surgeon in the Union Army and the only woman to receive the Medal of Honor. The doctor had also been a spy and was imprisoned in Castle Thunder in Richmond for four months until she was released in a prisoner exchange. Charlotte was inspired by Walker’s bravery and humanitarianism, and she often wondered if she would have had the fortitude to risk her life as Mary had done.

  With fifteen minutes remaining before the battle began, she pulled into the battlefield parking lot. Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she drove up and down rows until she found a spot between a tree and a camper where she could squeeze in her SUV.

  Whether she would have enough room to open the door was debatable, but operating in tight spots was a regular occurrence in her life. She held her breath while she pulled in. When she didn’t scrape off paint, she let her breath out. If she scooted flat against the side of the car, she’d be able to exit the vehicle. Years of running had kept her long and lean, not skinny, in spite of what her brother and colleagues were fond of saying.

  So what? Skinny could be sexy, too, right? Although, judging by the dearth of men in her life, maybe not.

  The car’s cargo space was packed with all the supplies she would need for the weekend: coolers, change of clothes, makeup case, cot, blankets, and food.

  Before locking the car, she grabbed the package from Scotland and opened it. Inside was a Japanese puzzle box about six inches long. “Cool.” She loved puzzle boxes, and the challenge this box promised gave her a little surge of excitement. She flipped it around in her hands, twisting here and there like a Rubik’s cube.

  “Major Mallory.”

  She glanced up to see Ken, her medical school classmate and longtime friend, waving from the other side of the parking lot. It had been a couple of weeks since she had talked to him, and she was anxious to hear about the new woman in his life.

  She waved back, calling out, “General Ramseur.” She slipped the box into her haversack, slung the bag over her shoulder, and forged a path through the throng of reenactors and spectators.

  “I was worried,” he said. “You’re late. You okay?”

  “A consult slowed me down.” She gave him a hug before stepping back and giving him a once-over. “I like the new uniform.”

  He slipped his right hand inside his tunic, resting it over his heart, and placed his left hand on the hilt of his sword as if posing for the camera. “Worth every penny, don’t you think?”

  She straightened his collar. “You didn’t find this on eBay. It looks custom made.”

  “It is. Your tailor does good work.”

  Brushing crumbs from the power bar she’d eaten in the car off her own uniform, she mentally counted the handful of times she’d worn it, grimacing at the low number. “He keeps altering my uniform. As little action as these threads get, it’ll last a century.”

  “Then use it more often. Go to Gettysburg or Perryville with me next year. Get out of the rut you’re in.”

  “I’m not in a rut, and besides, I can’t take the time off.”

  “The hospital will survive a few days without you,” he said.

  “Sure. The hospital would be fine, but what about my patients?”

  He threw his hands up in mock surrender. “There’re a dozen attending physicians in your department. You cover for them all the time.”

  “I can’t ask them.”

  Ken frowned, and the deep vee between his eyebrows made his disapproval obvious and also darned annoying. “What you’re really saying is you won’t.”

  This was a sore spot, and they both treaded its boundaries carefully. Ken accused her colleagues in Richmond of taking advantage of her. She didn’t think they did. The other surgeons had families and lived in the suburbs. She lived alone in a house a few blocks from the hospital. Plus she was happy to help her associates out.

  She made a tee with her hands. “Time out. Let’s change the subject.”

  “Okay. Who are you inviting to escort you to the reunion next month?”

  She fidgeted with the standup collar, which seemed to squeeze tighter at the mention of the soiree. “I don’t know.”

  “I have a lawyer friend in Winchester who would—”

  She shook her head, anxiety scoring the back of her throat. “You know the rules. I don’t try to fix you up and you don’t try to fix me up.”

  “Come on, Charlotte. You haven’t been on a date since medical school.”

  “I haven’t had a date lately, but I did have one this year. I’m too busy. I run early in the morning, I operate and lecture during the day, and I’m on call twice a week.”

  “You’re not any busier than I am, and I find time to socialize. So, what’s the real problem?”

  Her tension turned into exasperation. “Can you believe men find me intimidating? The few who don’t are egotistical workaholics who only want to get laid. I want more. I want to wake up next to a loving partner, and have breakfast with him, too. There aren’t any romantics left.”

  Ken gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding. You want to be romanced? What happened to friends with benefits? You said it fit your lifestyle.”

  “It doesn’t work for me anymore.”

  She looked away, through the trees and above the red-roofed barn, toward the northern end of the Massanutten Mountain range. Ridges etched by thousands of years of wind and rain snaked down its sides. In 1864, tears and bloodstains had soaked the ridges and gullies when so many died on a foggy October morning. Like the land, she too was etched with crevices, or at least it’s what her therapist had told her before she gave up counseling in favor of long-distance running. A rush of endorphins gave her more peace and satisfaction, involved far less hassle, and except for running shoes, cost almost nothing.

  “Now I want more,” Charlotte repeated. “And there’s no one around to make adjusting my schedule worthwhile.”

  “You aren’t looking in the right places.”

  “Oh yeah? Where should I be looking?” she asked in a voice heavy with sarcasm.

  “There’re thousands of men here today. There’s got to be one you might find interesting.”

  “I don’t need a real or pretend soldier in my life. Th
ey play with guns. Guns shoot people. And then I have more work to do.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “Because modern medicine started during the Civil War, and I find that piece of history fascinating. I don’t come for the women and guns.”

  He pressed his hands against his chest in fake humility. “I feel so shallow.”

  “You said it. I didn’t.” She fiddled with the twisted haversack’s strap, which reminded her of the puzzle box packed inside and the mysterious sender. If she mentioned the gift to Ken, he would tease her about having a secret admirer, and she wasn’t in the mood to be teased.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “You need to get laid, don’t you?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with me a ten-miler won’t cure.”

  “God, Charlotte. Running is a solo sport. Do something which forces you to interact with people. With men. Hell, with anyone.”

  “What do you think I’m doing here today?”

  “Lecturing. You talk at people. You don’t talk with them. There’s a difference. Borrow a horse. Ride with the cavalry.”

  “I have my own horse.”

  “But you didn’t bring him. Why not?”

  A trail of ants near her feet suddenly became more interesting than the conversation. “If you must know, I didn’t have time to get a current Coggins certificate, and they wouldn’t let my horse in without one.”

  He shook his head, giving her a sigh with more than a hint of frustration. This bantering happened every time they got together, which was why they’d never dated. He loved her and wanted her to be happy. She understood his concern, and no one else had the courage to get in her face the way he did. He knew he could tell her the truth. Whether she listened to him or not, well, it was up to her.

  Occasionally, though, she did want to smack him. She yanked at his arm. “Come on. Let’s stop arguing. Hang out at the medical tent today.”

  “And do what I do every day but without the medical advances of the past century? Would you really like to go back and practice medicine the way they did then?”

  “We’ve had this debate before.”

  “And we’ll continue to have it.” He focused on something in the distance. Probably a beautiful woman in the crowd. “You’re coming over to spend the night, aren’t you?”

  “I brought my cot, but I’d rather stay in your guest room.”

  He gave her a brief, distracted glance. “We’ll talk tonight over a good steak and a bottle of wine. I’ve got some ideas.”

  “Now, Ken—”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do. Just listen.”

  She compared two uncomfortable situations: listening to Ken pitch the virtues of a few single men, or sleeping on a hard cot in the chilly night air. If she went to Ken’s, she’d get a nice dinner with wine and she’d sleep in a comfortable bed.

  “What kind of steak?” she asked.

  “Ribeye and wine.”

  “Since you went to all that trouble, I’ll listen, but I won’t commit to anything more. The last time you fixed me up, the evening was a disaster from the get-go. Then it took weeks to get rid of the guy.”

  “I’m not saying another word until you’ve had a couple of glasses of wine.”

  “So I’ll be what? More amenable?”

  He grinned as if he had her cornered already. She would never again go out with a guy he recommended, but she was willing to listen. Halfheartedly.

  When they reached the field hospital, he ducked inside the tent and brought out a small valise. “I have a surprise for you.” He opened the valise, lifted out an envelope, and handed it to her.

  “Greenbacks?”

  “Your tailor gave me a lead. Turned out to be a good one.”

  She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Did I pay you enough?”

  “To the dollar.”

  She opened the envelope and fanned the neat pile of bills with her thumb. “There’s a lot of money here.”

  He rolled his eyes. “They’re greenbacks, Charlotte. You can’t spend them.”

  “Oh, shush. You know what I mean.” She stuffed the envelope inside the haversack with the mysterious box. “This is Jack’s birthday present. He’ll be thrilled. Thank you.”

  Ken pulled up two folding chairs and straddled one with his arms crossed on the back. “And how is Castle?”

  “Argh.” She plopped down in the other chair and leaned forward with her forearms on her thighs, her hands clasped. “The more popular the TV show gets, the bigger his head gets. He thinks he’s the real life Richard Castle.”

  “He looks and acts like the character.”

  “He thinks he’s invincible like the character, too. One of these days his research is going to get him killed.”

  Ken smoothed his mustache with a fingertip. “Why isn’t he here today?”

  “He’s in the mountains finishing up his edits. Then he’ll probably go to Washington to meet with his agent. He spends more time with her than he does in Richmond. He should move there.” Of course, if Jack ever moved, Charlotte would be devastated. He was the only family she had, and she depended on him. They talked or texted every day, and had dinner one night a week. Most weekends, unless she was on call or he was out of town, she hung out with him at the plantation.

  “He won’t give up living at Mallory Plantation,” Ken said. “It’s part of his author brand. When’s the next book coming out?”

  “Early summer, I think. Now he’s looking for his next project.” She got to her feet, gesturing toward a group of men approaching the battlefield. “There go the safety marshals.”

  “Good. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  A conversation on her right caught her attention. Although the voice was familiar, the long-jawed private wasn’t anyone she recognized. He was marching with a group of schoolchildren around the battlefield’s perimeter, toward Belle Grove Plantation, as part of the day-long living history activities.

  “This was the most dramatic battle reversal in the entire Civil War,” the soldier said, “and ultimately ended the Confederate presence in the Shenandoah Valley.”

  “My dad’s in the Second Corps, Army of Northern Virginia,” a boy in the group said, standing taller as he spoke.

  “Mine, too,” another boy said.

  “My dad’s in the cavalry,” a little girl added.

  Charlotte whispered to Ken, “Those kids probably know more Civil War history than most adults.”

  Another little girl looked up at Ken. “Are you a general?”

  He stood and doffed his hat. “Yes, ma’am. Major General Stephen Dodson Ramseur.”

  “He got killed,” the first little boy said. “My dad said the general got two horses shot out from under him. Then he got killed riding the third. My dad said he was a sitting target.”

  The group moved on, leaving Charlotte laughing and shaking her head. “Precocious kids.”

  “Glad I don’t have any,” Ken said.

  “Doesn’t the new woman in your life have a child?”

  His grin tilted to one side. “And that’s why she’s no longer the new woman in my life.”

  “If you rule out women with children, the dating field will get smaller and smaller, especially at your age.” She slapped her forehead. “Oh, silly me. Your field is ten years younger than mine.”

  His grin was at odds with his hard, penetrating stare. “I haven’t seen you go out with a man who had children.”

  She widened her eyes for emphasis. “Well, I might if I was asked. I like children. I want one of my own someday.”

  He rolled his eyes, sighing. “You’re thirty-eight. Unless you’ve frozen eggs, it might not happen.”

  “Well, thanks.” It wasn’t a topic she had ignored. In fact, she’d recently spoken to the chief of fertility at VMC about freezing her eggs, which she should have done ten years ago. She had decided to wait until the first of the year before scheduling egg retrieval. Then if her soul mate di
dn’t show up by the time she turned forty, she’d use donor sperm. She already had a list of physical, personality, and interest attributes, along with health and educational requirements.

  “And don’t forget, I’ll be your ‘Mr. Goodsperm’ any day, merely say the word. After all, I’m your fallback guy.”

  “I changed my mind since we had that discussion. You don’t fit my new requirements. You have red hair, you’re not an athlete, and you can’t sing a note.”

  “At least you didn’t say little dick or some other derogatory identifier.”

  “You call me skinny and flat-chested. I don’t fit on your list either.”

  His eyes brightened, and he rubbed his hands gleefully. “But I can fatten you up and a plastic surgeon can add some nice big boobs.”

  She took a hefty swig from her canteen then wiped drops of water from her lips with the back of her hand. “I don’t want boobs the size of the women you date. They’d get in my way when I operate.”

  He straightened his double-breasted frock coat and reclaimed his valise. “They wouldn’t get in mine.”

  She puffed out her cheeks then slowly expelled the air. “Go meet your troops. This conversation is degrading fast.”

  “It always does.” He wiggled a pretend cigar while bobbing his eyebrows Groucho Marx-style. “I’ll see you at dinner unless you find someone interesting on the battlefield.”

  She wiggled a pretend cigar in return and chuckled. “That’s not going to happen either.”

  3

  Battle of Cedar Creek, Virginia, Present Day

  During a lull in the afternoon battle, she grabbed her haversack and canteen and settled in the shade of a tree to study the puzzle box, determined to unlock its secrets. She discovered two sliding parts in one end. When she moved one end piece, the opposite end moved slightly, unlocking a side panel and allowing a new piece to be shifted. The top partially unlocked. She closed it and started over by reversing her moves. On the sixth try, the top panel slid open. After a moment to savor her victory over the box, she opened the lid completely. “Wow.”

  Inside was an antique brooch, which looked Celtic in design, with the bluest sapphire—as clear as ice—embedded in the center. She studied both sides of the brooch, awed by the intricate metalwork. It appeared older than jewelry designed in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries. She wasn’t an expert, but her great-grandmother had been, and had given Charlotte several exquisite pieces. Since then she had developed an appreciation for antique jewelry.