The nurse nodded, then spun on his heel and hurried away.
She sat on the edge of the spindle-back side chair, scooted it closer, scraping wobbly legs against the floor, and took the major’s cold, long-fingered hand between both of hers. He would die soon if she didn’t help him. But to help him, she would have to take him to her time and operate on him. Did she really want to do this?
The major’s eyes were not quite closed and a sliver of white showed among the bruises. Was he trying to open them for one last glimpse of the world? If she took him to the future, this could be his one last glimpse of his world.
President Lincoln called him a friend. General Grant thought highly of him, too. Members of the Richmond underground risked their lives for him. All excellent character references.
Suddenly, her brain slammed against the question of the day, and she swallowed hard. Would the brooch take both of them to her time? Would the brooch even take her? And if the magic worked as she hoped it would, how would the major handle living in her time? What if he freaked out and told people he was from the nineteenth century?
She fought back a growing quiver of panic.
What if the major was married and had children? He’d never see them again. What if…
Stop it. Now.
Going through a litany of what-ifs didn’t help a damn bit. She was stalling while the life of the man whose hand she held slipped slowly away. This was a waiting-at-the-red-light moment. She could waste precious minutes, or she could do something. Why did surgical decisions come so easily and all others seemed to require in-depth analysis?
It was now decision time. Do it, or walk away.
She took a deep breath and saw her decision flow out in the spluttering flame of the candle. She glanced over her shoulder at the flickering shadows. No one was paying attention to them. If anyone was, the light was too low to see clearly.
She turned back to the patient, leaned in close, and whispered, “I’ve been sent to rescue you, Major. I’m getting you out of here.”
“Am I dead?” he whispered.
“No, and you won’t die today if I can help it.”
“My legs won’t carry me very far.”
Sweating profusely, as if she’d just run a race, she let go of his hand, reached into her waistband, and unpinned the brooch. The stone was hot, and not from the heat of her skin. Using the tweezers she’d stolen, she squeezed the clasp and sprung the latch.
“Hold on. We’re going for a ride.” I hope.
His mouth turned up in the faintest of grins. She imagined in his delirious state he was telling the Devil to go screw himself because he didn’t intend to die today.
Well, I don’t either.
Praying she’d been given a round-trip ticket which allowed two to fly for the price of one, she held his hand and haltingly sounded out the inscription on the stone, “Chan ann le tìm no àite a bhios sinn a’ tomhais an gaol ach’s ann le neart anama.”
8
Winchester Medical Center, Winchester, Virginia, Present Day
When the fog cleared, Charlotte was still sitting in the spindle-backed chair holding McCabe’s hand. He lay on the bed, moaning.
Street lights indicated she was no longer in the nineteenth century. But were they in Richmond? Washington? Cedar Creek? At least they weren’t in a Civil War hospital any longer. Any other place would be an improvement.
She’d made it back with a nineteenth-century spy, a bed, and a chair. How was she going to explain this? At least they were period appropriate.
She checked her patient. No change. The clock was ticking faster now, and he didn’t have much time. She had to figure out where she was, then get him to the closest medical center.
Once on her feet, she had a better view of her surroundings. Several hundred yards away sat Belle Grove Mansion. “Oh my God. I’m back.” Her first impulse was to jump up and down with overwhelming relief, but she forced her feelings under control. If her car was still in the parking lot, then she would allow herself a small shriek of joy.
She squatted next to the major. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”
When he didn’t answer or grin, she ran like she was approaching the finish line in a race, holding nothing back.
Her SUV was where she had left it, squashed next to a tree. She let out a loud sigh of relief, and said a quiet, “Thank you, God.” Her keys were in her haversack, and she had no idea where that was now. Of course, thanks to Jack, she had a spare key hidden in the front passenger-side wheel well.
Once under way, she turned on the high beams and drove across the field, stopping a few feet from her patient with the headlights aimed right at him. There was no way she could move him. She had to call 911.
She rummaged through her purse she’d left in the car, and extracted her cell phone…which still held a charge. But what really surprised her was the date. It was Sunday night. Only thirty-six hours had lapsed since she went into the fog.
She dialed, unsure of what her story would be, but well aware of time running out.
“What’s your emergency?” the 911 operator asked.
“I’m at Cedar Creek Battlefield. There’s a man in the parking lot who’s been shot. He needs an ambulance.”
“What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Charlotte Mallory. I just found him in the parking lot.” She almost choked on the lie but composed herself quickly. How many more would she have to tell before this situation righted itself? She shuddered. She couldn’t worry about that now, or she’d stay blanketed in a sheet of fear that had been suffocating her since she landed in the midst of the Battle of Cedar Creek.
“An ambulance has been dispatched. Is
