The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (52 page)

Hancock touched Braham’s shoulder. “Friend, we don’t need a fight. Lean on me.”

The guard shoved Braham again, but this time the shoving hand landed smack in the middle of Braham’s injured back. He let out a cry of pain.

The guard laughed. “Move out, or you can stay behind permanently, if you get my meaning.”

There were three things Highlanders were raised to cherish: their home, a woman, and a good fight. Braham itched to give back what he’d been subjected to, but Hancock wrapped Braham’s arm over his shoulder and urged him forward and up the stairs. Out in the enclosed yard the area teemed with hundreds of recalcitrant prisoners flashing belligerent attitudes and bellowing about a forced march late at night.

A sentry handed Braham and Hancock each a hunk of cornbread. “Eat slow. It’s got to last three days.”

Braham took a bite, spit out a worm, took another bite. He needed nourishment. If he remained in captivity three more days, he’d most likely need a casket.

Sentries with rifles and bayonets herded them into a long formation. Others took positions along the sides to guard the prisoners as they marched out of the prison environs and into the crowded street.

“Stay to the rear,” Lohmann said. “We’re breaking away soon as there’s an opening.”

“And go where?” Hancock asked.

“Miss Van Lew’s,” White said.

Braham had decided to escape at the first opportunity, whether Jack was there or not.

The guards herded uneven columns of weary and tattered prisoners into the city at bayonet point, shouting orders and clearing a path. The prisoners at the front of the lines taunted the crowd, yelling angry slurs. A bystander threw a rock in response and violence flared immediately.

“Now,” Lowmann said.

While the guards were distracted, trying to restore order, Braham and his cohorts slipped out of line and mingled with the agitated throng. He nervously scanned the crowd for Jack. “Scatter,” he told the men. Then he paused, drawing a long breath which seemed to take forever to fill his battered body. “We’ll meet up at Van Lew’s. Be careful.”

Good things are rare. They’re to be cherished, and freedom most of all. Even if someone put a gun to his brain and pulled the trigger right now, he’d had a chance to taste liberty once again, and it tasted sweet on his tongue.

A tap on Braham’s shoulder startled him, and he jerked, flinging his fists up quickly. “
Jack
.” Instead of throwing a punch, Braham’s squeezed his buddy’s shoulder. Then they embraced fiercely. “God, I’m glad to see you.”

Jack gave Braham a wry smile, but his eyes remained sober. “You don’t look so good.”

Braham swept his fingers through his hair in a quick, cursory gesture. “I didn’t have time to bathe, sorry.”

Jack handed him the jacket and boots. “Put these on so you won’t look so bedraggled.”

Braham slipped on the jacket, then shoved on a boot while hopping on one foot, then did the same with the other boot. Without socks, the leather rubbed his raw ankle, but nothing could be done about it right now.

“Give me your hat. Most men in the crowd look as scraggily as I do, but they have on hats.”

Jack plopped the hat on top of Braham’s head. “You want my pants, too? Yours smell pretty ripe.”

Braham settled the slouch hat low over his forehead. “Stay upwind.”

Jack held out his hand, palm open. “Charlotte said to take these pills.”

Braham popped them into his mouth and swallowed. “Got any whiskey?”

“Can’t you smell it? The city government ordered all the whiskey destroyed. It was poured out into the street. The mob’s getting drunk.” Jack pulled a flask from his jacket pocket and handed it over.

Braham took a mouthful, then spit it out. “Damn it’s hot.” He looked at the flask as if it personally had betrayed him. “I can’t believe you put coffee in here.”

“You don’t need whiskey with pain pills and an empty stomach. You’d pass out on me before I got you back to Van Lew’s.”

He lifted the flask to his mouth again, but drank cautiously. “I can’t go back there yet. There’s something I have to do. You go, though. I’ll meet you later.” Braham pulled his chunk of cornbread out of his shirt and took a bite.

“What the devil are you eating? It’s got worms in it.”

Braham took another swig to wash down the bread. “You said I needed food in my stomach.”

“Elizabeth has food waiting for you. Eat something decent first, then go do whatever you have to do.”

“What time is it?”

Jack checked the time on his pocket watch. “Ten-thirty.”

Braham took more bites of cornbread, and finished the coffee in the flask before handing it back to Jack. “There’s not much time. I’ve got to go.”

Jack grabbed his arm. “Uh, I don’t think so. If I don’t come back with you, Charlotte will kill me. Either you’re going with me, or I’m going with you.”

“Come on, then.” Braham took off at a fast walk down Cary Street, weaving in and out of the crowd with Jack all but stepping on his heels. In a low, gravelly voice, Braham said, “The train carrying Jeff Davis and the Confederacy’s gold leaves in thirty minutes. I intend to stop it. I don’t care about Davis, but I have orders to capture the gold.”

“
What
? Without weapons and back up? Are you crazy?”

Braham stopped and looked Jack in the eye. “Go home. You’re not part of this fight.”

The statement brought a little shadow creeping in on the edge of Jack’s jaw and the muscle twitched. “Maybe not, but I’m not leaving you alone. Whatever you have planned can’t be worse than Charlotte’s ire if I go back without you.”

Braham chuckled at the image, but it was raw and shaky.

“The major’s not alone,” a familiar voice said.

Braham jerked his head. “Gaylord. Good to see you.” He slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Hope you’ve kept an eye on things.”

He nodded and fell silent as a group of men marched past them, rifles slung over their shoulders. “I followed Davis to the depot. He’s sitting in the railroad president’s office with Secretary of War Breckinridge.”

Braham stared off into the distance, his eyes unfocused. A ripple of tension went through him. “What are they waiting for, then?”

“He’s waiting until the very last minute, hoping to hear better news from Lee so he won’t have to leave town,” Jack said.

“The cabinet members are already on board with what’s left of the treasury,” Gaylord said.

Braham straightened quickly. His mission had been scattered into the wind like a dandelion, leaving only a bare stem of impossibility, but the wind had changed. He had been spoiling for a fight. Now here it was. “How well is the train guarded?”

“Half of a small regiment, but most of them are busy keeping people who don’t have passes from the Secretary of War away from the trains.”

Braham raised his eyebrows with a questioning look. “Tell me you’ve got a couple of those passes in your pocket.”

Gaylord held out empty hands. “I tried.”

Braham pursed his lips tightly, contemplating his next move. “We need explosives.”

“The arsenal will have blasting powder, but we’ll run out of time,” Gaylord said.

Braham took off in another fast walk. “Then we’ll blow the bridge.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Jack sputtered. “You couldn’t even stand up this afternoon, and now you’re running down the street to go blow up a bridge.”

A fist came out of nowhere and crashed into Braham’s chin. He landed hard on his butt. He stared at Jack, shaking himself hard. “What the hell?”

Jack put his fists on his hips and planted his feet. “Because you’re acting crazy. Tell him Gaylord. You can’t go blow up a bridge. You don’t have time. You don’t have the stamina. You’re not Superman, and someone had to knock some sense into you.”

Braham got to his feet, growling at Jack with steely green eyes. “I’ll forgive you this time. But don’t ever do it again. I don’t claim to be a super man. I have a job to do. Go home.”

“Not a super
man
, Super…Oh, damn it. I told you I’m not leaving you.”

“If you try to stop me again, Gaylord will tie you to a tree.”

Gaylord pulled a length of rope from his pocket, strung it between his hands, wrapped the ends around his palms, and yanked.

Jack waved Gaylord off with an elaborate shoulder shrug. “Put it away.”

The wind shifted out of the south. An odor struck Braham’s nostrils and made his throat knot. “Fire. We don’t have much time. “Let’s get out of here.”

When they reached the commercial center of town, they found the streets lit by bonfires and torches, and an angry mob carrying off sacks of coffee, sugar and bacon from the commissary.

“What’s happening here?” Braham asked a man loaded down with sacks.

“The army took what they could carry off. Told us to get what we needed ’fore the Yankees took it.”

“Come on,” Braham said. “Let’s go.”

Glowing bonfires, fed by frantic people discarding papers and incriminating evidence, cast a brassy light over the roaming crowds.

“We can’t get through there. The street’s blocked,” Gaylord said.

Jack checked the time. “It’s ten-forty-five. We won’t make it.”

“We have to,” Braham said.

Gaylord led them down a narrow street, through dense smoke. Braham covered his mouth and ran as fast as he could. His heart pounded so fiercely he thought it would burst from his chest. When he reached the end of the street where the air was clearer, he stopped and took deep, heaving breaths.

“I’ll go ahead and find a way to enter the armory,” Gaylord said.

“Where’s all this smoke coming from?” Braham asked.

“They’re burning the cotton and tobacco warehouses,” Jack said.

Then, like a bomb blast, an explosion rocked the city, sending brick and glass flying in all directions. Doors ripped from houses and chimneys toppled. The impact lifted Braham several feet into the air and sent him sailing into the street. When he hit the ground, his breath left in an audible
oooof.
Pain ripped through him. Debris rained down on him, sparks burned his trousers, and he couldn’t move. He couldn’t roll over to brush away the fire. Since he was unable to breathe, a momentary panic erupted. He’d had his breath knocked out of him before. If he relaxed, in a minute or two, his breathing would return to normal.

“Braham, where are you?” Jack yelled.

Braham raised his arm, giving a slight wave, and forced out one word, “Here.”

Another explosion ripped the night, shaking the ground, and sending more flying debris into the street. Black smoke billowed up in the center of the flames.

Jack reached Braham’s side. “The arsenal’s blowing up. We’ve got to get out of here. Can you walk?”

Braham cursed the night. Without explosives, he couldn’t blow up the train or the bridge. Through the smoke, he saw Gaylord gimping toward him. Jack helped Braham to his feet and brushed shards of glass off his clothes.

“Give me a damn pistol. I’m going after the gold.”

Jack pointed toward the river. “Too late. The train’s reached the trestle and is crossing the James.”

Braham turned toward the river, kicking at a smoldering piece of wood. “Son of a bitch.”

Another explosion, this one on the water, sent shockwaves which shook the earth violently. Braham grabbed a lamppost for support. Flames shot high into the air as one explosion followed another.

“Now what’s going on out there?” he yelled.

Jack crawled to the stoop of a burned-out house. “Semmes is scuttling his ironclads in a dramatic finale.”

“Move over.” Braham dropped his sore, weary body dejectedly onto the stairs next to his buddy, and Gaylord joined them. Braham propped his chin on his hands. “They don’t want a damn thing left in Richmond the Yankees can use against them.”

The crack and crackling of splintering wood snapped all around them. Fires spit and sputtered, and falling bricks and glass peppered the area. Braham caught Jack’s eye and gave him a humorless grin. “Can’t anything be saved tonight?”

Jack snatched up the hat Braham had been wearing, slapped it against his thigh to knock off the accumulated dirt and broken glass, and tossed it to Braham. “Just you, I reckon. Let’s go back to Elizabeth’s. I know a doctor who’s standing at the door waiting to get her hands on you.”

Gaylord picked up a piece of broken stair railing and used it for a crutch.

“You better come, too, Gaylord. Let Charlotte look at your leg,” Jack said.

“It’s only my ankle. Nothing a shot of whiskey won’t cure.”

The pulse was throbbing at Braham’s temples. He wanted to get his hands on her, too. He clapped the hat on his head and seized Jack’s arm for support. “First things first, buddy—whiskey and a bath. Then I’ll be glad to surrender to her healing hands.”

60

Richmond, Virginia, April 1, 1865

C
harlotte reached the
depot, panting from her wild dash through town. She gulped in a smoke-laden breath and started coughing. Tears, from both the coughing and the smoke, tracked down her cheeks. She dropped, exhausted, on top of a crate, ready to rest, if only for a minute.

There were only a few dark and empty trains on the tracks. If one of them was earmarked for Jeff Davis and other government officials, there should be lights and people inside. Did this mean Davis and the treasury had already escaped Richmond?