Read The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) for Free Online Page B

sponsored by the time travel gods, had granted her wish to meet Abraham Lincoln. She pressed down the sides of the borrowed, loose-fitting, and filthy jacket, wishing she could stop in the ladies’ room to make herself presentable.
    Nicolay led the way into Lincoln’s office.
    The President stood at the back of the room, holding a document and gazing forlornly out the window toward the Potomac and the encampments of Union soldiers, a shawl draped across his shoulders. Secretary of War Stanton, an identifiable, round-faced man with a graying beard, was absorbed in reading a document, standing next to an old mahogany writing desk with pigeonholes full of books and papers. This was a snapshot in time, a photo which would trend on every social media site, and she blinked rapidly as if taking multiple pictures, hoping her memory wouldn’t run out.
    While waiting for the President or Stanton to acknowledge her, she took a quick inventory of the room. Blink. Blink. Blink. Jack would ask her later to set the scene for him, and he would expect her to describe the room in detail. Blink. Blink. Blink.
    From her previous visits to the White House, she was familiar with the public rooms and the main rooms in the private residence. The room Lincoln used for his office, located in the southeast corner of the second floor, was referred to as the Lincoln Bedroom in the twenty-first century, and it was the same room in which she now awaited the President’s acknowledgement.
    The gas lamps’ dim, golden light provided spotty illumination of the green and gold wallpaper and dark green striped carpet covering the floor. There were no recognizable pieces of furniture. The only painting she could identify was the portrait of Andrew Jackson hanging over the fireplace. In her time, the painting hung over a doorway behind her. Folios of maps leaned against the wall next to the sofa. Blink. Blink. Blink.
    “How did you come to be captured, Major Mallory?”
    Lincoln’s question jolted her. She snapped to attention then took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I was tending General Ramseur when his ambulance was captured in Strasburg.”
    Lack of sleep showed in the President’s dark-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. He shuffled away from the window and sank into a chair at the end of a long walnut table piled high with maps and books. Directly in front of him was an eight-inch high pile of documents written on heavy parchment.
    “How’s the general now?”
    “He was mortally wounded, sir. There was little I could do. God was not on the Confederate side at Cedar Creek.”
    “My concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God’s side—”
    The Lincoln quote was one of many Charlotte had memorized. She finished it, saying, “For God is always right.”
    Lincoln nodded. “Indeed, He is.”
    “Please, Doctor Mallory, have a seat,” Stanton said.
    She hovered over a chair before sitting, studying Lincoln closely, as if he were one of her patients during morning rounds. Although lanky and plain-looking, his face radiated intelligence and kindness. The mole on his right cheek, the asymmetry of his face, large jaw, and drooping eyelid were all consistent with photographs and historical observations. He also appeared to be several pounds lighter than his reported one hundred eighty pounds. His hair was disheveled, but his clothes were neatly pressed. Blink. Blink. Blink.
    She eased into the proffered chair, sat near the edge, and leaned forward, never taking her eyes off of him.
    “You’re probably wondering why you’re here, Doctor Mallory,” Stanton said.
    “It has crossed my mind several times since General Sheridan threatened me,” she said with a thread of steel in her voice.
    “We need medical assistance which only you can provide.” Stanton impaled her with a fierce glare having nothing to do with her and everything to do with her allegiance. To have to ask the enemy for help must have riled him.
    “The