April 14, 1865, 8:30pm

Ford’s Theater

CHRISTOPHER ESCORTED THE president and friends to the theater, Clayton close at hand, ready to give his life in protection of the group. They arrived later than planned to find the play already in progress. Unable to divert the President to Aladdin, Christopher and his team adjusted.

When the group entered the theater, Our American Cousin was stopped and the Lincolns and their guests pushed their way through the crowd to the Presidential Box. Christopher watched as the audience stood and applauded. He found Clayton, who had separated from him and headed into the crowd, just as the orchestra started playing Hail to the Chief.

Clayton glanced to his left. Jamie stood next to the entrance to the Presidential Box.

The president nodded toward Jamie. “Captain Ford.”

“Mr. President,” Jamie said, and led the group to their box, with Christopher still in the rear.

Christopher noticed that John Parker was waiting to guard the box. He shook his head. He’d told the policeman he wouldn’t be needed, but John was never particularly good at following directions.

Christopher raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Parker. You are relieved of your duties.”

Parker opened his mouth to make comment, but then wisely closed it, nodded, and left. Jamie held the door open and waited while the foursome entered the box. He closed and secured the door and then picked up a wooden music stand. “Booth was obviously here today,” Jamie said. “Damn, my wife’s memory is impressive.”

Christopher nodded. “That it is.”

“All right, you do your thing and I’ll back you up.”

Christopher closed the door, leaving Jamie in the “lobby” area to the private boxes, and sat on a chair in the mezzanine, replacing Lincoln’s valet for the evening.

At just about ten, Booth arrived and handed his card to Christopher. Chris took the card and after a short rap on the door to the boxes, pulled it open. Jamie stood, his gun cocked and at the ready.

“What the hell?” Booth snapped.

He made a move for his inside pocket, but Christopher tackled him to the ground before he could get to his gun. “Get your grubby hands off me, you bastard.”

“Not today, Mr. Booth,” Christopher said, and shackled Booth’s hands behind his back.

Clayton crested the stairs just as Christopher and Jamie dragged Booth to his feet.

“All is secure downstairs,” Clayton said.

“Excellent.” Christopher gripped Booth’s arms as Jamie patted him down.

Jamie retrieved Booth’s gun and a knife and handed them to Clayton. “He’s all clear.”

“We’ll get him back to the offices. Make sure Sam and Andrew have Powell, and find out if Mark and Travis were able to round up the others,” Christopher said.

“I’ll stay here, if you have no objection,” Jamie said. “I’m dead meat if I let anyone else guard the man.”

Christopher nodded. “I’ll let the men know you’ll be joining them later.”

“Thanks.”

Before anyone could move, a shot rang out and the screams of the crowd sounded.

“What the hell was that?” Jamie snapped, and pulled open the door to the private boxes, rushing inside, followed by Clayton.

Christopher held Booth firmly and watched with a sinking stomach as Jamie and Clayton tackled a man to the ground, divesting him of his gun.

“Let’s get them away from the President,” Clayton yelled, shackling his prisoner and dragging him, with Jamie’s help away from the box.

“The President has been shot!” someone yelled out.

“Damn it!” Clayton snapped. “We had this place secure!”

“You take care of them,” Christopher said, shoving Booth toward Jamie. “I’ll assist with the President.”

* * *

Jamie and Clayton managed to get the men out of sight of the gathering crowd, and Jamie’s heart dropped, knowing even though they may have altered history, it wasn’t entirely changed.

“Got ’im?” Jamie asked.

Clayton nodded, his knee firmly between his man’s shoulder blades. He’d struggled, and Clayton was forced to knock him out. “Yes.”

“Search his hands,” Jamie directed.

“What am I looking for?” Clayton asked.

“You’re looking for a ring.”

“Why?” Clayton frowned.

“Because that is Victor Cary.”

“How the hell did he get here?”

Jamie shook his head. “If we can’t find a ring, then I have no idea.”

Clayton shifted so he could get a better look at his man’s hands in shackles. “Nothing.”

“Damn it.”

“I thought we knew where they all were. You confiscated the missing one from August.”

August Jones was a confederate soldier they’d captured when he raided the soldiers’ camp. They discovered he’d been sent back in time by the Cary family to make changes to history.

Jamie nodded. “We did. So, how did he get here?”

“And what do we do now?”

Jamie reached into his pocket and pulled out the key to the shackles. He shoved Booth’s gun back into the waistband of his trousers and then unlocked Booth’s hands and pushed him forward, into the door at the back of the box. The doctors were milling around the president and didn’t notice Jamie or Booth.

“You better run,” Jamie whispered.

“What?” Booth scowled.

“Run.” Jamie shoved him again. “That’s him, that’s the man,” he yelled. “He has a gun!”

Booth was quick on his feet, Jamie had to give him that. He made a run for the railing and jumped onto the stage. “Sic semper tyrannis!” Booth yelled, but Jamie figured he was talking to him and Clayton, rather than to his original audience.

* * *

April 20, 1865

The White House, East Room

Sophie stood in the viewing room and sobbed as Jamie held her tightly, well, tried to anyway. He wasn’t convinced he’d be able to keep her from falling to the floor. Her legs unsteady and her grief palpable as she gripped the sides of Lincoln’s casket. They’d been offered an incredible opportunity to view him before anyone else, but now Jamie was rethinking that choice. Especially considering the masses were beginning to trickle in.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I failed you.”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” Jamie whispered.

“He looks like he’s sleeping. Do you think he’s just sleeping?”

“No, baby.”

“It’s all my fault,” she sobbed.

Christopher gently grasped her arm. “Sophie, please. Watch your words.”

“If you don’t remove your hand from my wife, Chris, I will cut it off,” Jamie warned.

Christopher dropped his hand.

“I should have been there,” she rasped.

Christopher sent Jamie a pleading look. Jamie knew he had to get his wife out of the room, or she’d cause a scene.

“We need to go now, sweetheart,” Jamie said.

She shook her head.

“Yes, baby. Come on.”

“I should have done more.” She faced him and grasped his jacket. “How could I let it happen? How could I not have known?”

“No one could have, baby. We did the best we could. Come with me.” Jamie wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her just enough to move her away from the coffin. Christopher ushered them through a door and into a private room, where Jamie set Sophie on her feet, but kept a firm hold on her. She buried her face in his chest and completely broke down.

Jamie raised his head when he heard a door and smiled in relief to see Christine, followed by Emma and Hannah.

“We’ll take her,” Christine offered.

The ladies were all teary-eyed, but not nearly as grief-stricken as Sophie.

Jamie kissed Sophie’s temple and whispered, “Do you need me to stay?”

She nodded and then shook her head. “No. It’s okay. I know you have stuff to do.”

He lifted her chin. “Are you sure?”

“No.”

“I’ll stay, then.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “No. Go. I’ll find you if I need you.”

“Are you sure?”

She shook her head and then nodded.

Jamie handed his wife off to his sister-in-law, confident that Emma would give Sophie the freedom to grieve, but would also keep her from making a scene.

* * *

“Sophie, we’re going to head back to the house,” Emma said. “We don’t want to get caught in the crowds.”

“What about our husbands?”

“They’re coming too,” she promised.

Sophie nodded and rose to her feet. “Maybe I should just see him one more time.”

Hannah grabbed her arm. “No, lovey, we’re going home.”

Sophie glanced back at the door once more, but let her friends lead her from the room and out of the White House. Jamie and Stephen found them as they headed toward where their carriages awaited them.

Sophie fell against her husband, grateful he was with her. The thought of going through this without him was not something she wanted to entertain.

He kissed her temple and lifted her into the carriage. Once the group was away from the masses, Sophie leaned forward to where Stephen sat with Christine. “Did you find anything? Anything at all?”

Stephen faced her and shook his head. “No. Cary used a derringer, so there would have been no way to help him, Sophie. I’m sorry.”

Stephen had examined the body before it was laid out in the coffin. They wanted to make sure no one could question that Lincoln had been killed by Booth and with a gun of their time. Christopher worked closely with Clayton to ensure the evidence supported Booth’s guilt.

Arriving back at the Butlers’ townhouse, Mrs. Putnam informed Sophie that Madame had arrived.

“What is she doing here?” Stephen asked.

“I would imagine she heard we failed,” Sophie said.

“I’m going to lie down, if no one objects,” Christine said.

“I’ll come with you, sweetheart,” Stephen said, and followed her up the stairs.

Jamie gave Sophie a gentle squeeze and led her into the parlor. Hannah and Emma followed just as Mark and Gabrielle arrived and joined the group in the parlor.

“Oh, Sophie,” Madame crooned. “I came to see how you are, cherie.”

Sophie hugged her. “Thank you.”

“You must be devastated.”

“As we all are,” Hannah said.

“Oui, oui.” She turned to Jamie. “And you took care of the man who shot him, oui?”

“Yes.” Despite her grief, a shiver stole up Sophie’s spine. “Madame? What do you know?”

“Non, cherie. Nothing. Booth shot him. I read the paper.”

“Madame?” Sophie pressed.

“I assumed Jamie would be there. I was hoping to get good news.” She sighed. “I just wish you could have stopped it.”

“You sound as though you’re hiding something,” Sophie accused.

“Damn it!” Jamie snapped.

Madame jumped.

“You! You were the one who brought Cary back. When?” He closed the distance between them. “When did you bring him back?”

“I did no such thing.”

“You’re lying!” Hannah reached for her with a speed no one was expecting. She grabbed for the chain around Madame’s neck, yanking it from her body. At the same time, she grasped Madame’s hand and secured it behind her back. “Em, catch.” She chucked the chain with the ring on it at her friend and then forced Madame to her knees. “Jamie, grab the other ring—on her hand.”

Sophie watched in fascination as the two of them divested the seamstress of the time travel ring within seconds.

“Non, you don’t understand,” Madame screamed. “It had to happen. You could not change history.”

“You changed history just by sending all of us back, Bernadette,” Sophie argued.

“Little things. This was too big to let slide.”

“So, all your questions when you were altering my gown were to find out what we were planning,” Sophie guessed.

“If you weren’t a woman, I’d lay you flat, lady. I’m done with you and your damn meddling,” Jamie bellowed.

“What did you do to Monsieur Cary, Jamie?” Bernadette asked.

“He will hang with the rest of them.” Jamie sneered. “What did you think would happen, Bernadette? Did you think one of us would kill him, or you’d get to him fast enough to send him back?”

“I didn’t have a plan. I just needed to make sure history didn’t change.”

Sophie burst into angry tears. “Lincoln would have made the world better, Bernadette. He would have welcomed the South back to the nation with open arms and made sure it prospered. We wouldn’t be subjected to that bastard, Andrew Johnson, and equal rights could have happened long before Martin Luther King, Jr. We may have been able to prevent his death as well.”

The door to the parlor opened and Christopher and Clayton walked inside. “What is this all about?” Christopher asked.

Sophie angrily wiped her tears away. “She’s the reason Cary was able to stop us. She brought him here.”

Christopher swore and closed the door.

“What will you do with me?” Bernadette asked, obviously petrified at her fate.

“I suspect Sam will be able to answer that question,” Clayton said.

“Non,” she begged. “Please. I will go home. Don’t make me go to prison here. Philippe will die without me. Just give me the rings and I’ll never bother you again.”

“There’s no bloody way you’re getting these rings back,” Hannah said. “But I wouldn’t have a problem sending her back from whence she came.”

“How?” Emma asked. “We don’t know how they work.”

Sophie glanced at Jamie, who nodded. “That’s not entirely true,” she said as she opened her reticule and pulled out the pages Jamie had ripped from Bernadette’s notebook. She had carried them close ever since Jamie found them.

“What are those?” Christopher asked.

“Descriptions of the rings and instructions on how to use them.”

Bernadette gasped. “From my book! Where did you find them?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jamie scowled at her. “You can go home, but you’re never getting those rings back.”

“But you don’t understand.”

“What don’t we understand?” Sophie asked.

“If I return, you will be responsible for the rings. If you are given a vision, you must follow it.”

Sophie took a minute with that information. “What does that mean, exactly?”

Bernadette gave a triumphant smirk. “I would be happy to teach you. You just have to give me the rings.”

“Nice try,” Jamie said.

“What if she’s right?” Sophie asked.

Jamie pulled her to the farthest point of the room from Bernadette and leaned down. “I know where the notebook is,” he whispered. “She doesn’t need to show you. It’s written down.”

“Oh.” Sophie grasped his hand. “Should we do this?”

“I’ll destroy the rings, baby, before I let her near them. We can decide what to do when she’s gone and things have calmed down, okay?”

Sophie nodded. “Okay.”

They made their way back to the seamstress, and Hannah handed Sophie the rings. As Sophie read the instructions out loud, Jamie held the rings.

“Non, don’t do this. Please, Sophie,” Bernadette begged. Then, suddenly, she was gone.

“Whoa,” Hannah said, and moved toward where Bernadette had been, but Christopher grabbed her and pulled her against him. “I’m okay, Knight.”

“Wait, sweetheart. Just a minute.”

Jamie stepped onto the spot where Bernadette had been kneeling. “Ahhh!” he yelled, and swung his arms, causing Sophie to scream. He started laughing, earning a swift, hard punch to his arm by his wife.

“That was not funny!” she accused.

“Yeah, it kind of was,” he said, still laughing and rubbing his arm. He pulled her close and kissed her temple. “It’s done. Now we can figure out what to do from here.”

A knock at the parlor door brought the nannies with Junior, Penny, and Henry.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Sarah said. “But you said you wanted to see the children before their naps.”

“Yes, thank you, Sarah,” Sophie said. “Why don’t the three of you go and have a little break? Come back in half an hour?”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The nannies left the room and Jamie took Junior from Sophie’s arms. He kissed his son and smiled at Sophie. “This is who is going to make a difference, sweetheart. We’ll all raise our children to make a difference.”

“You’re right,” Sophie said and grinned at her baby, her hand covering her belly.

Hannah kissed Penny and handed her to Christopher, who sunk to his knees and laid the baby on the floor. Jamie and Clayton followed suit.

Sophie, Emma, and Hannah sat on the sofas surrounding their husbands and watched as the men entertained their children with pure joy on their faces.

Jamie’s right, Sophie thought. We will raise them to make a difference in the world. They will help pave a way to make things right.