ON FRIDAY, EMMA decided to give Sophie another dance lesson. Gwen, Hattie, and Christine watched and tried to help, but without success. Emma spent the majority of the time dodging Sophie’s feet.
Sophie pushed Emma away. “This is a stupid dance!”
Gwen smiled. “Sophie, you’re doing fine.”
“Yes. You can’t learn it in one lesson, you just have to practice,” Christine said.
Sophie waved her hand in the air. “I’ll show you where you can shove—”
“Sophie!” Emma cut her off before she could finish the sentence.
Christine laughed. “Remember the ballroom incident when she nearly broke your toes, Emma?”
“Yes, the self-sabotaging session.” Emma grinned. “You’re doing it again, Sophie. You’re over-thinking it.”
“Can we please try a waltz?” Sophie whined.
“Would you like some cheese with that whine?” Emma quipped.
Sophie stuck her tongue out at her.
“Sure we can,” Emma said. “Christine, would you please play a waltz?”
“I’d be happy to.” Christine sat down at the piano and began to play.
Sophie and Emma began to dance and Sophie did well, for about ten seconds, and then stepped on Emma’s toes. “Ow!”
“Sorry, Em.” Sophie threw her arms in the air. “This is lame. I’m never going to get it.”
“You were getting it the other day, what’s different now?”
“Probably the music,” Sophie said.
“You need to forget about the tune, sis, and think about the timing. It’s easy.”
Sophie scowled. “It is not easy! It’s stupid.”
“Think of the song we practiced to,” Emma suggested.
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re a freaking dancer, Emma. I’m not. I never was one, never will be one, and I suck at this.”
Emma stepped closer and whispered, “Okay, but you’re a singer, so hum “Nothing Else Matters” over whatever Christine is playing.”
Christine laid her hands on her lap. “Perhaps we should take a break.”
Sophie grimaced. “Or just quit. Quitting would be good.”
Emma shook her head. “No, you’re going to get this. We’ll have Clayton help after dinner. It will be better dancing with someone who is an actual lead.”
Sophie rubbed her stomach. “Well, right now, Peanut wants lunch, so can we start with lunch?”
“Fine. Let’s start with lunch.” Emma sighed. “First, though, I need to grab something from Clayton’s office. I’ll meet you in the dining room.”
Emma made her way into the small room and pushed the curtain aside for light. She’d left a design for a new gown on his desk the night before, but it seemed to have disappeared. A quick shuffle of papers revealed something she’d not expected. A modern-day driver’s license.
“What the—?” A chill raced up her spine as she read the name and studied the picture.
“Em?” Sophie knocked on the door and stepped inside. “Are you going to eat with us?”
“Hm?”
“What’s wrong?” Emma handed her the license. Sophie glanced at it and nodded. “Victor Cary’s license.”
Emma shook her head. “That’s not Victor Cary.”
Sophie dropped it back on the desk. “Of course it is.”
“No, it’s not.”
Sophie snorted. “Em, it’s right there in black and white.”
Emma slapped her hand on top of the desk. “Sophie, that is not Victor Cary. I know who Victor Cary is, because he was all over the news. Standing next to his criminal of an uncle when they tried to steal the senate seat from Robin Wade!”
Sophie gasped. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Oh, my—” Sophie sank into one of the chairs facing the desk and dropped her face into her hands. “No, no, no, no.”
“What’s going on?”
“He’s the man who tried to kill me. The man that Andrew and Clayton interrogated, and the one who took some kind of suicide pill.” Sophie stood and started to pace. “If that’s not Victor Cary, then who was the man who tried to kill me?”
Emma grabbed her arm. “Sophie, stop.”
“We need to talk to the guys.”
“Sophie? Emma?” Christine pushed the door open. “Anything amiss?”
Emma slid the license into her pocket and shook her head. “Nope, we just got sidetracked.” She squeezed Sophie’s arm. “Let’s eat.”
Emma followed Sophie and Christine into the dining room and sat down with Hattie. Emma and Sophie handled stress differently. Sophie starved and Emma ate. Voraciously. She’d finished off two sandwiches and was on her third by the time Jamie and Clayton walked through the front door.
Emma heard their voices as the front door closed. She pushed her crumb-filled plate away and stood. “Excuse me for a moment, please.”
“Me, too. Sorry.” Sophie followed.
Clayton and Jamie were chuckling as they handed their coats and hats to Walter, but as soon as Jamie saw Sophie, he stalled. “What’s wrong?”
“Emma?”
Emma grimaced at her husband’s low voice. “We should go to your office.”
Clayton nodded and led them to the back of the house. He waited for the threesome to cross the threshold and then closed the door. “What’s amiss?”
Emma pulled the license from her pocket and handed it to him. “This.”
Jamie snatched it from his hand. “Where the hell did you get this?” Clayton stepped to the window and Jamie advanced on him. “Clay?”
“Andrew.”
“Goddammit,” Jamie snapped.
Emma cleared her throat. “Okay, people, can we focus? The issue is not that he has it, or how he got it, but the fact that the information on it is incorrect—actually, more like a blatant lie.”
Jamie’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, incorrect?”
Emma pointed at the license. “That is not Victor Cary.”
Sophie sat down with a groan. Jamie stood next to her. “Who is it, then?”
Emma shrugged. “He looks kind of familiar, but I can’t quite place him. All I know for certain is that he is not Victor Cary. Not even close.”
Clayton rolled his eyes. “Emma, the man is dead. It doesn’t matter who he is.”
Jamie dragged his hands down his face. “If what Emma’s saying is true, Clayton, Topper wasn’t delusional.”
Emma frowned. “Delusional about what?”
Jamie groaned.
“Start talkin’, Jamie,” Sophie ordered. “What did Topper say?”
“When the men were torturing him, he passed out—”
“Tortured?” Emma snapped. “You didn’t tell me he was tortured.”
Clayton leaned against his desk. “I didn’t think you needed to know that, Emma.”
“You should have told me.”
“I told him not to tell you everything.” Jamie reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “I just didn’t think you needed to hear all the specifics.”
Emma crossed her arms. “Well, I’d prefer the big-brother act to stop going forward. Especially, when it comes to what is discussed between myself and my husband.”
Jamie sighed. “Fair enough.”
“Thank you.” Emma gave a curt nod. “What happened after he passed out?”
“When he came to, he pretended to still be out cold and heard one of the men say the Wade family were a threat to the Cary family, and that Travis and Christopher Wade had to be killed. Since Travis had already been killed in battle, they were sent to take care of Topper.”
Sophie gasped. “But why?”
“He said something about family allegiance and that if they weren’t successful, the Cary family would lose.”
Sophie started to pace. “Lose what?”
Emma squealed. “Oh, my… all that could be true.”
Sophie stalled. “What do you mean?”
“In the future, the Cary family maneuvered Senator Wade out of office.” Emma waved her hands in the air. “What if Topper had been killed? The name wouldn’t continue. Michael and Nona don’t have any children so Topper would be the last alive, right?”
Jamie nodded. “In theory, yes.”
“So, if they got rid of the last of the line, so to speak, the Cary family could continue to take over politics.”
Clayton raised an eyebrow. “How?”
“They travel back in time and get rid of their opposition.”
“Emma.” Clayton chuckled.
She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t use that tone. It’s all possible. Think about it. How did Topper learn a code used in a war eighty years in the future? Someone from the future would have had to teach it to him.”
Jamie glanced at Clayton. “She’s right, you know. As impossible as all of this seems, the fact is that it could have all happened exactly as she said.”
Clayton shrugged. “It doesn’t make a difference now.”
Emma’s head whipped up. “Why?”
“We’ve caught the men who tortured Topper, we have Rose in custody. It’s done.”
Sophie cocked her head and stared up at Jamie. “How do you know they are the men who tortured him?”
Jamie and Clayton shared a private glance, but stayed quiet.
Sophie rose to her feet. “Jamie? How do you know?”
“Topper confirmed it.”
“You made him confront the men who tried to kill him?” she snapped.
Jamie cupped her face and forced her to look at him. “Ten-Cow, they didn’t know he was there. He was hidden.”
“But won’t the men guess it’s him ratting him out?”
Jamie shook his head. “They don’t know that Topper’s the reason they were caught.”
Emma stood. “How could they not know?”
“These are bad men, Squirt,” Jamie explained. “They have a lot of sins to account for.”
“Do they know that?”
Clayton nodded. “Yes, sweetheart. They believe they have been brought up on war crimes, and since we’re certain they have committed more than even we have named, they will more than likely be hanged.”
“What about the man that followed Emma… the one with the scar?” Sophie asked. “He must have been the one who taught Topper the code. Can he just ‘poof’ his way back to the future?”
“He can’t now,” Jamie said.
Sophie raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”
Clayton sighed. “He’s dead.”
“What about this Victor Cary person?” Sophie asked.
Emma waved a hand dismissively. “He’s in the future… or at least he was when I was. I’ll know him if he ever shows up.”
Sophie shuddered. “I still say we keep Topper close. Someone should be with him at all times.”
Jamie wrapped an arm around her back. “We can do that, love. In fact, it’s already in place.”
A knock at the door brought Walter with a note. Clayton read it quickly and then threw it into the fire. “I need to meet with Chris for a few hours.”
Emma slipped her hand into his arm. “Problem?”
He kissed her cheek. “Not at all. Just a logistical issue with the trip.”
“Wait.” Sophie groaned. “There’s something you should know.”
“What?”
“The President is sick, Clayton,” Sophie whispered. “He has smallpox.”
Clayton’s head whipped up. “Excuse me?”
Sophie grimaced. “It’s being kept quiet right now, but it’ll be announced a week after the Gettysburg Address.”
“No, that can’t be right.” Clayton shook his head. “Are you confusing the fact that Tad is sick?”
“No. Tad has something different. They think it’s complications from typhoid, but many people come to believe he may have some form of cancer.” Sophie waved her hand dismissively. “However, the President definitely has smallpox. It will take several weeks for him to get better.”
“He’s the picture of health,” Clayton argued.
Sophie stared at him for several seconds. “Is he, Clay? Think about it.”
Clayton paced the room and Emma frowned at her sister. Sophie gave her an apologetic shrug. “Have you ever had smallpox, Clayton?”
He paused. “No, I don’t believe so.”
Emma put her hand to her throat. “Oh, God, I didn’t think about this part of the past. What does that mean, Sophie? Will Clayton get it? What will that mean for him?”
Sophie grasped her sister’s hand. “Don’t borrow trouble, Em.” She turned back to Clayton. “Clayton, I remember Richard saying you had dairy cows at one point in your life, is that correct?”
“Yes, for years, we had several and we would get milk for both of our families.”
“Do you remember any childhood illnesses, specifically with spots?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, Tim and I both got this itchy, feverish rash when we were boys. They called it cowpox or something like that.”
Sophie’s shoulder’s sagged. “You should be fine.”
“What?” Emma hissed. “That’s it? ‘You should be fine’?”
“Emma, a doctor in England has discovered that milkmaids who got cowpox seemed to be immune to smallpox. They have been making immunizations from cowpox in England for a little while now. America isn’t far behind, it’s just not widely used,” Sophie said.
“What about the President?” Clayton frowned. “Is he in danger?”
Sophie glanced at Emma and Emma nodded her head. “You should tell him.”
“He dies?” Clayton scowled.
“No, no, not now.” Emma laid her hand on his knee.
“Not now? But, soon?”
“Clayton. The President will be assassinated in 1865,” Sophie said.
Clayton whipped around. “You’re speaking treason!”
Jamie stepped slightly in front of Sophie, but she pushed him away. “Clayton, I know this is really difficult, and if I could keep you in the dark and keep my conscience clear, I would. Lee surrenders to Grant on April 9, 1865. Lincoln will be assassinated on April 15, 1865.”
“By whom?”
“John Wilkes Booth.”
“The actor?” Clayton exclaimed. “That’s what Rose said.”
“It’s true.” Sophie sighed. “It’s not single-handed, but he’s the one who delivers the shot that kills him.”
“He’s shot?”
“Yes. He’s shot while at a play at Ford’s Theatre on April 14. He dies the next day.”
Emma linked her hand with his. “I know this is a lot to take in, Clay. There is so much information about all of this and now might not be the right time to go into it. You and I can sit down some time over the next few weeks and I’ll fill you in.”
Clayton cleared his throat and absently kissed Emma’s hand. “I must meet with Christopher. Excuse me.”
Once he’d left the room, Sophie wrapped her arms around her sister. “He’ll be fine, Em. Just give him time.”
* * *
Clayton didn’t return to the townhouse for several hours. When dinner came and went, Emma paced the parlor, worry growing rapidly by the minute.
“Em?”
She turned to the sound of her sister’s voice and her stomach growled at the tray Sophie held. “I don’t think that’ll be enough food.”
Sophie set the tray down on the sideboard and slid her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “Jamie went to find him.”
Tears slipped down Emma’s cheeks as she nodded and piled a plate full of food.
“He probably just got caught up in the plans, Em. You know how guys are.”
Emma pulled away from Sophie and shoved a piece of meat in her mouth, then resumed her pacing—and her nail biting. “Ouch!”
Sophie glanced at her. “What did you do?”
“I bit my nail too low.” Emma shook her hand out. “Damn it! Where is he?”
Emma heard the front door slam and then heavy footsteps on the stairs. She hurried out into the foyer to see Jamie handing his hat to Walter. “Where is he?”
Jamie nodded toward the stairs.
Emma lifted her skirts and rushed up the stairs. She let herself into their room and quietly closed the door. Clayton sat at the edge of their bed and stared off into space.
“Are you all right, honey?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know.”
Emma removed her clothing and pulled a nightgown on. She made her way to Clayton and silently began to unbutton his shirt. She slipped it from his shoulders and kissed his forehead. He wrapped his arms around her and laid his head on her chest. “I don’t know what to do with this information.”
“Shh. I know.”
“How do I stop it? I can’t let him die, Emma. I can’t.”
“I know.” Emma stroked the back of his neck. “It took a lot for Sophie to tell you. She didn’t know whether she should do anything to change history.”
Clayton nodded.
Emma lifted his chin. “Let’s go to bed.”
* * *
Emma woke while it was still dark and reached for Clayton. He wasn’t in bed. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Clay?”
“I’m here, sweet.” He stood by the window, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
She climbed out of bed and shivered as she walked over to him. He held the blanket open and she slid into his arms. “Are you okay?”
“Just a lot to think about.” He wrapped his arms around her. “You’re freezing. You should climb back into bed.”
“Only if you come with me.”
He kissed her. “Let me start a fire and then I’ll come back to bed.”
She ran and jumped back under the covers. “If you hadn’t ruined my warm nightgown, perhaps a fire wouldn’t be necessary.”
“If you’d sleep naked, perhaps I wouldn’t have ruined your warm nightgown.”
Emma giggled. “Hurry with that fire. I want you back in bed.”
He finished lighting the kindling and added a log. “What will you do to me in bed, sweetheart?”
“Mmmm, come over here and find out.”
By the time she was ready to sleep, the fire was somewhat unnecessary.