Chapter 34 New York City, 1928—Clay
The first light of morning found Clay awake and alone.
Sitting up, the mattress shifted beneath him, and he tried to remember exactly what had kept him awake.
It wasn’t his usual battle for covers like the one he fought nightly with Rory.
It was Bastien’s private war playing out in his sleep.
His gasps and groans spoke of unhealed wounds.
Was it losing his leg, his parents, or gnawing anxiety over his sister’s safety?
Marcelle might know, but if Clay mentioned Bastien’s sleepless night, she’d worry.
A growl from his gut demanded attention. He pushed himself from the bed, needing a lifeline. A single cup of coffee wouldn’t cut it today. He needed the whole damn pot.
Bastien’s shirt, underwear, and socks puddled on the hardwood floor in a crumpled heap.
Leaving clothes on the floor for someone else to pick up was inexcusable.
He didn’t want the staff to think it was him, so he gathered Bastien’s clothes and dropped them in a basket.
Whatever empathy Clay was feeling toward Bastien because of his restless night’s sleep just evaporated.
Before leaving the room, Clay shaved his pencils to fine points, tucked them and his journal into his pockets, followed by the leather pouch with a few remaining diamonds and gold nuggets.
Then, spit-shined and polished, he trailed the enticing aromas drifting from the dining room.
Sean sat at the head of the table, engrossed in The New York Times.
“Good morning. Anything interesting in the Times?” Clay asked as he poured a cup of coffee from the carafe on the buffet table.
“There’s an article about an extraordinary performance at McSorley’s last night by three musicians who could give Louis Armstrong and his Hot Five a run for their money.”
Clay carried his coffee to the table. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Sean smiled and rustled the newspaper as he turned the page. “If I’m telling a joke, you should be laughing.”
“I’m not laughing, but we did rock the Lower East Side.”
Sean turned in his chair and crossed his legs. “Aren’t you afraid of changing history?”
“We only played songs from the 1920s, but I admit we added a few embellishments that no one else is using right now.” Clay watched Sean closely, planning to sketch him later, and emphasizing how similar Sean and Elliott’s mannerisms were. It was almost like sitting at the table with Elliott.
“If you’re playing there tonight, I might have to go.” Luna wandered into the dining room, announcing herself as she pranced over to Sean and rubbed against his leg. Sean put down the paper, picked up the cat, and stroked its back while it purred.
“Our plans changed last night. Tony told us he’s selling the saloon today and would be ready to leave this afternoon.”
Sean blinked, brows knitting. “What about Kaitlyn’s law practice? Surely it will take her some time to dissolve it.”
“She’s leaving everything to the woman who shares her office. She’s just walking away, and that takes guts.”
“Or love,” Sean interjected.
“Guts, love, or living a dream. Take your pick. For most of Kaitlyn’s life, she’s envisioned the future, and it’s finally becoming a reality.”
“Would she go if Bastien weren’t in the picture?”
Clay sipped from the cup, thinking about Sean’s question. “She might, but only if she knew she could return.”
Sean raised his eyebrows. “It appears the brooch carried Bastien here to meet his soulmate?”
“They must be soulmates. They’ve only known each other for three days, and their relationship is progressing at an astonishing speed.”
“How long have you known Marcelle?”
Clay’s face heated. “Touché! I was attracted to Marcelle the moment I saw her on Capone’s arm.”
“And Remy? Does he feel the same way about Skye?”
“He’s crazy about her, but I don’t think Skye will pack up and leave. She has plenty of reasons to stay in Chicago.”
“More than Kaitlyn?”
“On the surface, probably not, but Kaitlyn has known about people from the future for most of her life. Time travel isn’t a foreign concept to her, as it would be for Skye.”
Luna jumped off Sean’s lap and moseyed out of the room. “I’m sorry you’re leaving,” he said, casually brushing cat hair off his pants. “We’ve enjoyed the visit.”
“Come with us.”
Sean’s smile played tug-of-war with his sad eyes. “Ellie and I talked way into the night about doing that. But honestly, we’re afraid we might not want to return, and that could change the family’s history.”
Clay leaned forward and folded his arms on top of the table. “You wouldn’t have to stay. Elliott would bring you back.”
Sean nodded as if weighing the realities. “Why don’t you come back after the war and ask again?”
Clay held up his coffee cup. “Here’s to your visit in fifteen or twenty years.”
“To our visit.” Sean tapped his cup against Clay’s, letting out a heavy breath as if he already carried the weight of his decision. He picked up the newspaper and continued reading. After a moment, he asked, “What are your plans when you return to Chicago?”
“We have to find the Robertsons.”
“What if you can’t?”
“We’ll go home and put Meredith’s genealogy team to work. They’ve always been able to find a trail.” Clay returned to the buffet to fix a plate, filling it with ham, sausage, poached eggs, fruit, two biscuits, and slices of butter. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.”
Clay carried his plate and the coffee carafe to the table. “One more thing. I’ll leave my car here. We have five people and luggage, and Tony’s car is bigger. Use it or sell it.”
“We’ll use it.” Sean set the newspaper aside. “Marcus said someone else was here last night and that he went through the secret entrance to the foyer.”
Clay picked up The New York Times and scanned the front page. “I’m surprised they didn’t stop him.”
“They watched him closely. He knew where the key was and walked in as if he owned the mansion. Did you see him?”
“It was Erik Fraser.”
“The man who built this house? Interesting. There’s a web of tunnels and secret rooms from the basement to the attic. He could be staying here, and no one would know.”
“I think he just wanted to talk to me. He answered my questions, or as many as I could think to ask.”
“About the brooches?”
“And what he’s done to find the source.”
Sean reached for the carafe and topped off his coffee, watching the dark stream fill the cup. “Where does he think they came from?”
“Silver in a moon rock,” Clay said, ticking it off on his finger, “a love spell written in the eleventh century, and gemstones from Rome.”
“And the magic?”
Clay turned the page of the newspaper to the financial section, scanning it as he shrugged. “Erik was non-committal.”
“So the magic will remain a mystery.”
“For now.” Clay folded the paper. His stomach chose that moment to betray him, a low rumble loud enough to carry.
“You’d better eat before your stomach wakes up the women.”
“We forgot to eat last night.” Clay buttered a biscuit, took a bite, and licked his lips.
While they weren’t as good as the ones Charlotte’s cook made, they were close enough.
He finished all the food on his plate and went back for seconds while Sean read The Wall Street Journal.
Returning to his seat, Clay asked, “Did Elliott tell your father about next year’s stock market crash? ”
“If he did, my father didn’t tell me. How bad is it?”
“As bad as it gets. The Depression will start next year and end in 1938. There will be massive unemployment, poverty, bank failures, and a severe global economic downturn.”
“What about banks in Lexington?”
“Would you believe Archibald gave me a book to read about the bank failures and even made a point of mentioning the bank closures in Kentucky? He must’ve known that one day I’d have a connection with the Commonwealth,” Clay said.
“Do you remember what you read?”
“Most of it, and it’s not good news. The Depression will have a consequential impact on Kentucky banks.
Many of them will fail, and the governor will close the rest of them in 1933.
You have a year to prepare. Start converting assets into cash and get a secure safe for the farm.
If there ever comes a time when you need money, put a note in the bookcase.
” Clay pulled a leather pouch from his vest pocket and pushed it toward Sean.
“This is from Elliott. There are diamonds and nuggets in here that you can exchange for cash. Hopefully, it will cover the expenses for this house and the farm.”
Sean shook his head and pushed the pouch back toward Clay. “Elliott didn’t know you were going to see me. Those are for your expenses.”
“I should’ve said, Elliott would want you to have this. The stock market crash and the Depression are coming. These diamonds and nuggets aren’t handouts. They’re an investment in the MacKlennas and their properties.”
“Looking at it that way, I agree with you. Tell Elliott I’ll do all I can to save the farm and this house. If I’m unable to manage, I’ll leave a message.”
“I mentioned World War II the other night. The Depression will officially end at the onset of that war, which starts in 1939 when Nazi Germany invades Poland. America will join the fight when Japan attacks us in 1941. The war will end in 1945. It’s brutal.
I haven’t heard of any MacKlennas dying in the war, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. It only means I don’t know.”
“I’ll write those dates down and will buy a safe as soon as I get home.”
Kaitlyn entered the dining room, carrying a pencil and a notebook. “Good morning.”
Sean pushed back from the table, and both he and Clay stood. “I don’t believe we’ve met. You must be Miss McSorley.”
Kaitlyn glided across the room to shake his hand. “I am, and you must be Mr. MacKlenna. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“I’ve heard from several people that you are one of the best lawyers in New York City.”
“That’s an exaggeration. I admit to being a good one, but not one of the best.”