Chapter 53 Mallory Plantation—Remy
Mallory Plantation—Remy
Forty-five minutes felt like both a lifetime and a heartbeat as Remy and Skye walked, hands entwined, into the clean room. Braham was the only one there, starkly outlined against the glow of the fluorescent bulbs as he inspected the new monitor on the wall.
“Where’s everybody?” Remy asked. “It’s five to four.”
Braham tapped the edges of a stiff folder against his palm, a subtle frown creasing his forehead. “We’re meeting in the new conference room, and five to four isn’t early, Remy. It’s late.” He gestured toward the corridor. “Come on. We’re not doing this in here.”
Skye’s posture crumpled, and her eyes narrowed in disbelief.
Remy couldn’t suppress a smile. “Major Abraham McCabe was a Union Cavalry officer, Skye, and when he says jump, you salute and ask how high.”
A charming wink flashed from Braham, directed solely at Skye. “I give special privileges to friends, and right now, ye’re firmly on my friends’ list. Remy recently fell off, but he can reclaim his position if he doesn’t teach ye bad habits.”
“Like being late?” she asked.
Braham tsk-tsked, the sound a low rumble of faux disapproval. “That’s the worst sin of all.”
“You might be a major in the United States Army,” Skye tossed back, lifting her chin, “but I earned honors as a Camp Fire Girl during the Great War.”
Braham’s puzzled look was genuine, his intense gaze softening. “Ye were only a child then.”
“I know. But we all had to do our part.”
A slow, appreciative grin spread across his face, a warmth that chased away the chill of the room. “I’m sure ye did it well, and because of that ye can stay on my friends’ list for the next twelve months.”
“Really?”
Remy rolled his eyes. “Skye, he’s jerking you around. Nobody cares if you come in late to a meeting or leave early. He just enjoys teasing gullible people.”
“So, he doesn’t have a friends list?”
Remy shook his head. “If Braham had said he had a favorites’ list, that’d be different. We’d all want to be on that.”
Skye’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, her glare fixed on Braham, a challenge in her eyes.
“Since I’m new here, I’ll have to put up with some hazing for a while, but just so you know, I love pranks.
They’re not always harmless, but they don’t make a big mess, destroy property, or cause injuries. I’ve given you notice, Major McCabe.”
Braham threw back his head, and a booming laugh erupted from deep within his chest. “Ye’re just what Remy needed,” he declared, his eyes twinkling with genuine pleasure. “Come on. Let’s go to Elliott’s meeting.”
Remy and Skye trailed behind Braham into the climate-controlled expansion area where the archaeologists spent their days studying the fragile artifacts unearthed on past adventures.
They bypassed the MRI/CT scanning room and turned into a spacious conference room directly across the hall.
Braham had transformed it into a functional hub, furnished with a twelve-person conference table and matching chairs, a large monitor mounted on the far wall, a credenza stocked with coffee and soft drinks, and half a dozen extra chairs neatly tucked against the wall, ready for overflow.
Inside, the room buzzed with muted conversation as Elliott, Rick, Penny, David, Kenzie, Bastien, Kaitlyn, Clay, and Marcelle mingled, sipping their coffee.
The moment Remy stepped over the threshold, the buzz died.
Everyone turned to face him, their collective concern hitting him in a single wave, tightening his throat and almost making him cry.
David must have told Kenzie—and once Kenzie knew, the circle closed ranks.
“Glad ye could come up for air, Benoit,” David said. Remy flipped his finger, and David chuckled.
“Do you want anything to drink?” Remy asked Skye.
“Coffee,” she said.
Remy stepped over to the credenza, poured two cups, and carried them to the table. He sat and whispered to Skye, “If it gets to be too much, walk out. I’ll be right behind you.”
Elliott rapped his knuckles on the wooden table, the thud cutting through the tension in the room. “Remy has news to share.”
Remy had earlier confided to Elliott that he wanted to tell those who had stayed in the rental in New Orleans about the lump. He sipped his coffee, letting the familiar warmth try to settle the churning in his gut. It didn’t.
His fingers intertwined with Skye’s. Their joined hands became a lifeline as he worked up his nerve to talk about an extremely personal subject.
“I’ll get right to it. You’ve probably heard the news that I have a mass in my right testicle.
Charlotte is accompanying Skye and me to Houston this afternoon.
I’m meeting with a team of doctors tomorrow.
They’ll run blood tests and do an ultrasound to determine if the mass is malignant. ”
He continued, “Charlotte and I believe I found it early enough to have a full recovery. If it’s malignant, I’ll lose my right testicle, but I intend to have reconstructive surgery at the same time.
Recovery can take up to four weeks. It’s because of that, Skye and I woan be able to join the teams going back to find her parents and her father’s killer. ”
The room went stone quiet. “I don’t know about the rest of the people here, but if you have surgery, I intend to be in the waiting room,” Bastien said. “You went through a dozen surgeries with me. It’s payback time.”
“I won’t let you go through this by yourself,” Rick said. “Penny and I will be there.”
“Thanks, guys, but this is outpatient surgery. We have a suite at the St. Regis Houston, which is reasonably close to the hospital. We’ll stay in town for a few days before we fly home. It’s not major surgery, and I doan need a dozen people in the waiting room irritating the staff.”
“We’re still coming,” Bastien said.
“So are we,” Rick said.
“And so are we,” David said. “And ye can count Elliott and Meredith, too.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Remy said. “Charlotte can report back to you. But Skye and I want time together. If she gets bored, she can call the girls to come down for a day of shopping.”
“I don’t like that,” Elliott grumbled.
“This isn’t major surgery, and you doan have to donate a wing to get special treatment.” Remy huffed. “Let’s move on.”
“I want to go on the record that I think this is a lousy idea,” Kenzie said. “You’ve been there for all of us, but I’ll respect your wishes. Should you need us, Skye, we can fly to Houston immediately.”
“I’d like to be an exception,” Marcelle said, looking at Skye. “You saved my life in Chicago, and I want to hold your hand and share my flask of whisky while we wait for news.”
Skye’s eyes glistened. “I’d love to have you with me, Marcelle, but Kenzie, Kaitlyn, and Penny won’t let you come without them.”
Remy scrubbed his face. “What the fuck! I doan care.”
Skye snatched a tissue from the box on the table and wiped her eyes. “Thank you.”
Remy almost cried when he realized Skye wanted her new friends with her. “I’m sorry. I thought Charlotte would be enough.”
“Remy, you’re an asshat,” Kenzie said. “Did you even bother to ask Skye what she wanted, or was this all about you?”
“It is all about me!” Remy snapped. “I might lose one of my balls.” He lifted Skye’s hand and kissed it. “I’m really sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted.”
She snatched another tissue and blew her nose. “I learned from taking care of my mother that if I didn’t do it her way, she’d get upset. I assumed that’s the way you’d be.”
“Assume nothing,” Kenzie stated, her tone clipped enough to cut the heavy silence. “Around here, you fight for what you want. If you don’t get it through normal channels, you go straight to Elliott and demand it.”
Skye’s gaze shifted to Elliott. “Is that true?”
Elliott met her eyes with a steadfast nod. “Aye, lass. Ye can always come directly to me. And if Remy needs a kick in the arse,” a slow smirk spread as he added, “I’ll ask David to deliver it.”
That image drew a spontaneous burst of laughter, the sound instantly dissolving the tension in the room.
“Now,” Elliott said, “let’s discuss what Meredith’s genealogists found.”
“Before we get to the Robertsons,” Braham said, “I want to cover Remy’s line.
They discovered that James MacKlenna had another illegitimate son—Gilbert—with Elizabeth Digby.
After his mother’s death, a land dispute drove Gilbert to leave the country.
On the voyage to America, he met and married Anne Marie Benoit, then took her name.
They settled in Acadian Nova Scotia. That makes Remy James MacKlenna’s ten-times-great-nephew. ”
“So it’s true?” Remy asked.
“It is,” Braham said.
“For once, she told the truth.” Remy exhaled. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Braham opened his folder. “As for Alistair and Sheena—according to Meredith’s genealogists, Alistair first appeared on the New York City tax rolls in the spring of 1898.”
Skye gasped. “Are they sure?”
“They are,” Braham said. “Alistair found work as a songwriter for Willis Woodard and T. B. Harms on West Twenty-Eighth Street—one of Tin Pan Alley’s early sheet-music publishers and the first to specialize in popular music.”
“That sounds like a good job for him,” Skye said. “So how did they end up in Chicago?”
Braham didn’t look up. “The company was hit by a major theft, and Alistair was implicated. Before his court date—June fifteenth, 1898—he vanished. No records. No rumors.” He closed the folder. “Which means our rescue team needs to be in the city by early June, before he disappears.”
Rick pushed back his chair. “I’m volunteering to go. I pounded those streets as a New York City cop. I know every rat-run and shadowed alley. Pete and Connor can go with me.”
“Wait a minute!” Kenzie interjected, her voice cutting through the strategy. “We can’t just pluck Alistair and Sheena from New York City in 1898 and bring them home. Think about it. If Skye remains in this time, while Rick’s team pulls her parents into our future, what becomes of her?”