36. Chapter 36
Chapter 36
F irst thing the next morning, Brayden sent a wire to Lowe and waited in the Watchers’ offices. There was no news of a break-in yet—Henson either hadn’t discovered it or didn’t want to speak up. Brayden used this time to go through their records of watches, searching for one that matched the drawing in the notebook. Knowing to whom it belonged might give him another lead—but there was no mention of a watch with two engraved circles.
Lowe arrived in the late afternoon and rushed Brayden into his office. “Let’s get on with it, then. What’s so urgent?”
“You’ll want to read this.” Brayden slid the document over the desk.
As Lowe read, his eyebrows steadily rose, confusion changing to astonishment. “Where did you get this information?”
“It’s proof. Courtesy of our friend, Henson.”
“I assume he didn’t hand you this.”
Brayden wavered.
“Marshall, you know what I told you about gaining evidence. We’ll have a hard time presenting this as legitimate when it was not gained through the proper channels. In fact, there’s nothing here that implicates Henson.”
“You can search Henson’s office. I know exactly where to find the rest. But we need to hurry before he acts.”
Lowe stroked his chin. “This is a very delicate matter. I’ll have to talk to the right people to see how to continue.” He pushed his chair back and rose.
“No.”
Lowe turned sharply to face Brayden. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve had your chance to take this to the right people, and you didn’t.”
“You lacked proper proof.”
“And you lacked proper conviction. What does it say about us if we’re unwilling to act against our own offenses? You talk of the consequences of rash actions—have you considered those of actions not taken?”
Lowe’s jaw dropped.
“I would prefer a say in this matter,” Brayden tried more tactfully. “It’s my career on the line.”
“What could possibly put your career on the line?” Caldwell’s voice came from the doorway. The man could be surprisingly stealthy when he wanted to. “Lowe, get out of the seat, if you will.” He waved his stick.
Lowe moved to a different chair, frowning. “If you don’t mind, sir, this is a private discussion.”
“Private, hmm? And with careers on the line? Is someone embezzling funds again? Surely not you, Marshall. You didn’t even dare cheat on my Latin exam.”
Brayden looked from Lowe to Caldwell. The old man might be grumpy, but he needed an ally. “Actually, sir, we could use your help.” He shifted his attention to Lowe. “You said you needed proper people. Don’t you consider Mr. Caldwell one of them?”
Lowe pressed his mouth in a tight line. “Very well.” He handed the document to Caldwell, who squinted at it.
“This was taken from Henson’s office,” Brayden said. “It details the movements, resolution, and consequences of the Battle of Five Forks, to be fought on April 1.”
Caldwell raised his bushy white eyebrows. “To be?”
“Henson, or people he’s hired, have been traveling to the future.”
“And what’s so important about this Forky thing?” Caldwell squinted at the paper.
“Well, sir…” Brayden shifted his hands to his lap and back to the armrest. “It’s where the Union wins the war. Or not. It all depends on who has this information and who utilizes it.”
“You think Henson would use it against us?”
“He does have ties to the South,” Lowe said. “On his mother’s side of the family.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean—” Brayden started.
“Marshall, are you defending or indicting the man?” Caldwell asked. “In any way, we’ll have to link the proof to him first. Make a legal search of his office.” He looked at Brayden from under his eyebrows. “But you know it’ll put you in a bind, boy. You stole from him in the first place.”
“I know.” Brayden tried to remain calm, even though his hands started to sweat. The Watchers had creative ways of punishing people.
“Unless…” Lowe stood and nodded to Brayden. “We don’t use the document as proof. We use the information.” He paced the room. “We could surrender what we have to implicate Henson—rendering the information useless since acting on it would violate our rules. Or we stay quiet. Henson might figure it out, but he can’t accuse us without exposing himself. We use the movements of the troops, information on supply lines, all that, to win us the battle.”
“It could be put forward as strategic advice,” Brayden said. “Route it as if it came from scouting or spies. We can’t imply too much about the battle, but we could give our side enough to put them at an advantage.” He bent his head. “Of course, it would go against our rules.”
“We should inform the Council,” Lowe said.
“Henson could have accomplices all over,” Brayden said. “He has at least two in the Approval Committee.”
“Then we decide for ourselves,” Caldwell said.
Lowe came to a sudden stop. “Only the three of us?”
Brayden’s eyes lingered on the document. Finally, Henson would be exposed. All this time, he was right! But the alternative… The war had been going on for so long. To use the information for their gain would mean doing exactly what he’d accused Henson of doing, what he stood against. Breaking the rules.
He’d been saved—how many others weren’t? How many could still die in the months to follow if this didn’t end? All the men who sang and danced and laughed around the campfire with him—and the next day, they were gone.
“Not us. He will.” Caldwell said.
Brayden looked up, confused.
Lowe narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Marshall figured this out. Last time I checked, he was of sound mind. Let’s be honest. We can drag five, ten, twenty more people into this and quarrel until we drop. In the process, we risk the information leaking out. So, you tell us, Marshall.” Caldwell’s pale eyes pierced him. “Which option is it going to be?”
***
Fabienne had a strange dream about stealing a vial of almonite during the nightly adventure. It had felt so real she searched through all the pockets in the morning, but as the sensible part of her brain expected, found nothing. Her worries over Brayden and her upcoming meeting with Robbins must have merged into a bizarre figment of imagination.
She spent the day helping Mrs. Beasley with management: new waxes and cleaning pastes to be purchased, more blocks of ice for the cellar, a new iron, canning jars for the cook’s new batch of jam… Late in the afternoon, Fabienne finally took a break and went outside for some fresh air.
Jim came around while she was leaning on a pillar at the front entry. “Hello, neighbor,” he greeted with a smile. “Is Brayden home?”
“Not yet.” It was getting late. Did he have trouble submitting the proof? “You can wait if you wish.”
Jim nodded and leaned against the other pillar, both of them looking out at the road.
“We can go inside, you know,” Fabienne spoke after a while.
“We could,” he said. “But think how funny this view will look to Bray when he gets home.”
She observed Jim while they laughed. How did he do it—lose so much and maintain his humor and optimism?
“Jim,” she said quietly, “when you lost your brother… how did you…” The words were heavy and clumsy on her tongue. “How did you reconcile yourself?”
He flashed her a sideways glance. Had she gone too far? How much had she known about Jim’s past before her memory loss? From what she’d gathered since, Jim had a brother, Jared, who died in the war.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine. I was merely surprised the question came from you.” He tilted his head. “Given you never knew Jared.”
“Were you two much alike?”
“Appearance-wise, quite.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m told it’s a thing twins do. Character-wise, not much at all. He always told me I didn’t take anything seriously. I guess that showed when he enlisted, and I didn’t.”
“My sister was the most serious of all of us, too,” Fabienne said before she could stop herself. “Funny, since she was the youngest.”
Jim watched her intently, then gave a small nod of encouragement.
“Why didn’t you enlist?” she asked.
“Like many at the time, I believed this would be a two, three-month thing. So much preparation for one fight, then everyone would pack their bags and go home. And unlike many others, I wasn’t zealous enough. It didn’t seem worth the effort.” He bowed his head. “But that’s not what you asked.”
She silently waited for him to continue.
“At first, I was angry at Brayden. He was there, and I wasn’t. Hell, I was angry at everyone and everything. So stupid. It wasn’t even a proper battle. Went on a skirmish, ran into some Rebs, both sides got trigger-happy. Depending on how philosophical you want to get, you can point the finger in many directions, from the very man who shot him to our dear President. But it wasn’t my fault, nor Brayden’s, not even that damn Reb’s. It was destiny, plain and simple.”
He turned to face her. “I haven’t forgotten him. To be honest, I was rather bad at dealing with the loss. But the passage of time made it easier. I used to think about him every minute, woke up in sweat from nightmares of him screaming for help and me not being there. I’d see someone who looked like him on the street and call after him. And seeing myself in the mirror…”
He let out a breath. “Then it lessened. I think about him still, but it’s more about the good times we had. The rest of them are moving on. So must I. It’s the same with Caddie. I still have a hard time looking at her house right now, but it’ll get better. I know it will.”
The words seemed to be more than just for his benefit. He thought she could do it, too. But could she? Unlike Jim, she had been there when her siblings died—well, just before that. She had been the culprit, or one of them.
Tentatively, she reached for the memories of her family, bracing herself for the sting of pain, the compression onto her chest. Antoine and Marion’s faces, not twin-like, but still quite similar, floated in her mind. The pain came, but it was duller, somehow, and almost comfortable. She could still hear Marion’s voice, but it was a happy peep, not the ghostly whisper, wondering why Fabienne hadn’t saved them.
Because they didn’t hold her at fault. They loved her. And she loved them.
She’d just never see them again. And that decision didn’t hurt, either—if anything, she felt lighter than before.
“He really is late, isn’t he?” Jim shook his head in pretend disapproval. “I’ll go check on what good old Gertie is doing. See you tomorrow. And tell your dawdling husband I found a new set of darts!”
Half an hour later, Brayden turned the corner.
Fabienne’s heart, already reeling from the emotions, jumped into another somersault. “How did it go?” She scoured his face for any emotional evidence, but he kept it expressionless.
“Well.” He exhaled. “It went well.”
“Does that mean you won’t get in trouble?”
“No. We found another way. You won’t have to live with a disgraced husband.”
She relaxed, and he welcomed her into a hug. He must’ve needed it—his fingers dug into her back, and he hid his face in her hair. Squeezing her eyes shut, she clung to him, hoping for courage, praying for forgiveness. It was time to let the ghosts go.
Tomorrow, Robbins would be waiting for her at the cabin, prepared to give her the mission.
And she’d tell him she wasn’t going to do it.