“If I read this correctly, Michael Mallory from Ulster married Lorna MacKlenna, who was James Thomas MacKlenna’s two-times great-aunt.”
Meredith pulled back the sheets on her side of the bed and climbed under the covers. “Yes, and Charlotte and Jack are direct descendants of Michael Mallory, who immigrated to America in 1613 and founded Mallory Plantation.”
“How am I related to Michael Mallory?”
Meredith rolled over on her side and propped up on her elbow. “I haven’t counted the generations, but Lorna is probably your twelve- or fifteen-times great-aunt.”
Elliott gave a small grunt of amusement. “That’s pretty far removed.”
“Almost to Adam and Eve.”
Elliott put his glasses back on and thumped through the pages again. “Didn’t I see a letter from a law firm in Edinburgh?”
“Keep looking. It’s in there.”
He tossed the pages on the floor next to the bed. “I’ll look later. Give me a synopsis.”
“Their client hired them to deliver the brooch, a family heirloom, to Charlotte. They won’t reveal the client’s identity. Sorry.” She rolled over, turned off her bedside light, and then fluffed her pillow. “It makes me wonder, though, if the person knew of the stone’s magic and wanted to get rid of it just as much as Charlotte did.”
“That would make sense.”
Meredith yawned. “The research budget is in the stack, too. The team in Scotland is plugging into a database the names of all MacKlenna family members and the families MacKlennas married into all the way back to the fourteen-hundreds. It’s going to cost you.”
“I’ll sell more Apple stock.”
“I know for a fact you’ve never sold one share of your Apple stock.”
Elliott rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. “This time I might have to.” He patted Meredith’s hip affectionately. “I’m going to check on the boys.”
“They’re fine. They were so tired when they went to bed they shouldn’t wake up until late tomorrow morning. It was a big day for everybody.”
Elliott made a small sound of pleasure. “Especially Stormy’s Sun. The pressure will be on him now to win the Preakness and Belmont.”
“If he’s half the horse his sire is, there’s no doubt in my mind he’ll win it all.”
Elliott climbed out of bed and slipped on a pair of gym shorts. “Don’t fall asleep. I’ll be right back. I haven’t finished celebrating.”
Meredith yawned again. “I’ll be waiting. Oh, I forgot to ask. Did you talk to David? Is he okay with Braham’s sudden appearance?”
“David’s not the type to live with unrequited love. After Lincoln was born, he gave up hope.”
“I know he said it, but—”
“There’re few things in this world ye can believe without a doubt. One of them is the word of David McBain. He’s fine, Mer. Ye don’t have to worry.”
Elliott walked down the hall, smiling when he passed Charlotte’s bedroom and heard soft moans and the rhythmic squeak of the bed. She and Braham might not come up for air before the Preakness in two weeks. Braham had done well at the track earlier in the day. He knew horses. He had won a two-dollar Superfecta and the one-dollar Super High Five, but Jack had to collect the winnings of more than $165,000, since Braham had no identification. First thing Monday Elliott intended to create an identity for the lad, complete with college diplomas and a passport. Before they went to Baltimore for the Preakness, Braham would have all the documentation he needed to collect his winnings. And then there was a small matter of millions of dollars in buried gold needing to be converted into cash.
Elliott opened the door to the boys’ room and tiptoed in, sidestepping a Lego racetrack, but his bare foot landed squarely on one of a hundred Hot Wheels forming a long line around the track. Elliott cursed under his breath as he hobbled across the room.
Seven-year-old James Cullen and three-year-old Lincoln were sprawled on the bed crosswise, smelling of soap and freshly washed hair. Their pajama shirts were rucked up over their tummies. Elliott laughed silently. Careful not to wake them, he straightened the boys in the bed and pulled up the covers.
James Cullen shifted slightly and mumbled something, but then quickly lapsed into the deep breathing of sleep again. Elliott stood still for a moment, listening to the sounds of the night. Satisfied the boys were safe, he kissed their heads.
Stopping at the door on the way out, he glanced back into the room, remembering all the nights he had come up to check on Kit when she was small. He wouldn’t be kissing either of the boys if she hadn’t gone back in time. But her absence would always leave a hole in his heart.
“Wherever ye are, Kit,” Elliott whispered, “may God hold ye and these precious boys in the palm of His hand.”
The End
“The better part of one’s life consists of his friendships.”
—Abraham Lincoln
* * *
Author’s Notes
This book could not have been written without the input, support, and encouragement from Carol Parrot and Ken Muse. Thank you very much!
Notes about events in the story:
• A Confederate surgeon did tend to General Ramseur’s wounds at Belle Grove Plantation, and General Custer sat at his bedside off and on during the night. No one told the general, though, that he had a daughter named Mary. Most of the wounded were buried at Belle Grove temporarily until they were removed and interred in their final resting places.
• The sequence and times of events in Richmond were altered slightly to accommodate the story, as were the conditions at Castle Thunder. It was a brutal place but my muse took it a step further in creating the dungeon scenes.
• General Benjamin F. Butler, commander of the Union Army of the James, referred to Elizabeth Van Lew as his “correspondent in Richmond,”
