The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (14 page)

“Not unless I drank too much Irish at Grand’s Saloon on Saturday night, and lost my mind and five years.  Miss, where did you get this?”

Eve’s mind was racing.  Why hadn’t she noticed the date on it?  How could she have missed that?  Okay, she hadn’t looked very carefully.  She thought fast.

“It was a gift.  A gift from a good friend.”

She reached for it, but the pawnbroker was faster.  He snatched it away and held it tightly in his palm.  He grinned, darkly.  “Somebody is playing a joke on you, Miss, or maybe you’re trying to play a joke on me.”

“Give it back!” Eve demanded.

He threw a glance at his partner.  “Imagine.  1890.”

The partner laughed, blowing a plume of cigar smoke toward the ceiling.  “Maybe the engraver can’t see so good there, Colin.  Maybe his old woman hit him on the head with a pan and he don’t know where he is anymore.”

Both men laughed, while Eve licked her dry lips.

Mr. Bushy Mustache held the pendant up, twirling the chain, watching the pendant spin and catch the light.  “I’ll tell you what.  I’ll give you three dollars for it.  Now, that’s a good price.”

Right on cue, the other said, “That’s a damn good price.  Don’t let that one get by you, madam.”

Bushy Mustache said, “I like a good joke as much as the next sucker.  1890.  Imagine that.  I’ll keep it as a good luck charm and give it to my first born.”

Both men laughed again.

Eve considered.  She didn’t know if that was a good price or not, but she needed money and she needed to get out of there.  “Okay, fine.  I’ll take it.”

On the way out of the shop, Eve heard the men laughing rowdily.  She didn’t turn around as she left, with Millie swift on her heels.

Eve stood on the street, trembling.

“Are you all right, Miss Kennedy?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I’m fine.  Those guys gave me the creeps.”

Millie gave Eve an inquisitive squint.  “Did the engraving really say 1890?”

“Of course not, Millie.  They were just being the irritating assholes that they are.”

Millie flinched at the curse word, looking down and away.

Eve shut her eyes, realizing her mistake.  “Sorry, Millie.  It’s been a stressful few days.  Forget I said that.”

Millie eyed her, searchingly.  “Where to now, Miss?”

Eve opened her eyes.  “The Western Union building on 195 Broadway.  There’s a woman there I want to meet.  She may be my ticket back home.”

“And where is your home?” Millie asked.

“Never mind, Millie.  I’ll tell you some day.  Let’s go.”

Just as Eve was about to swing up into the carriage, she caught a glimpse of a man turning away.  He wore a long great coat and derby hat, but it was his build that caught her eye.  He was a tall, well-built man, just like the man she’d seen in Helen Price’s parlor.  Was Helen having Eve followed?

CHAPTER 12

The Broadway commercial district was overrun with telegraph and electrical lines strung across streets and the tops of buildings.  To Eve it looked like a chaotic mess, designed by a madman.  The cab moved through the snarling, tangled traffic and Eve wondered why there were no signal lights—or at least some policemen directing traffic.  They arrived at Broadway and Dey Street and Eve looked out to see a massive turreted building topped by a clock tower. 

“Impressive,” Eve said, nodding her head.  “It has ten floors.”

“A girlfriend of mine applied to work here but she didn’t get the job,” Millie said.  “She said they don’t hire many women.  It has a passenger elevator and a hundred operators that work in shifts 24 hours a day.”

“Look how it dwarfs the Goodyear Rubber Goods building,” Eve said.  “Wish I could take a picture of this thing.  Wouldn’t that be something, Millie?  You and me in a Selfie in front of this building.  Now that would be something to post on
Facebook
.”

Once again, Millie looked confused. 

“Oh, never mind, Millie,” Eve said, lightly.  “I’m just blabbing on about nothing.”

They left the cab and ascended wide cement steps, passing between monumental columns as they approached the heavy glass doors.  Millie paused.

“Miss Kennedy?”

Eve stopped and turned.  “Yes?”

“Maybe I should stay out here,” Millie said, her eyes lowered.

“Why?”

“I am not as bold as you are, Miss Kennedy.  I feel uneasy.”

“But why?”

“Who is it you are looking for?” Millie asked.  “May I be so bold as to ask?”

Eve stepped over to her.  “Yes, Millie.  Of course.  The woman who works here is a sort of acquaintance.  She might even be a distant cousin.”

Millie didn’t lift her eyes.  “Miss Kennedy, has your memory returned?  Do you recall now where you came from and how you chanced to be on that park bench in Central Park?”

A gust of wind nearly blew Eve’s hat from her head.  She grabbed it and held it down firmly with a heavy hand.   Eve narrowed her eyes, assessing the words, the problems, and the issues.  “Millie, do you trust me?”

Millie raised her eyes.  “Yes, Miss Kennedy.  I do trust you.”

“Okay then.  I am not going to tell you where I came from or how I got here.  At least not now.  Maybe I will, some day.  We’ll just have to see.  You’ll just have to trust me.  Can you do that?”

Millie considered Eve’s words.  She nodded.

“Good.  All right.  You can stay out here if you like.  This shouldn’t take more than a half hour.  If you get cold, just come inside.  Okay?”

Millie nodded again.

Just as Eve turned toward the entrance, she spotted the man again, standing down on the sidewalk about 40 feet away, leaning back against the base of a streetlight, a newspaper covering his face.  His build was the same.  Hair the same.  Hat the same.  Clothes the same.  Eve frowned and sighed.  So Helen
was
having Eve followed.  Had it been Helen’s idea or Albert’s?  Did it matter?  Should Eve confront him?  Maybe in time.  Not now.

Eve pivoted and entered the building through the heavy wood and glass doors.  The Western Union Lobby had an impressive domed ceiling, with large display windows and hanging bronze gaslamp chandeliers.  Eve walked briskly across the shiny black and white stone tiles to the polished oak lobby desk.  Standing behind the desk, elevated above her like a judge, was a man in his late 40’s, dressed in a black suit, a tie and a very stiff, high collar white shirt.  His frame was narrow; his face angular and somber.  He reminded Eve of an undertaker in some old movie.  He leaned, looked her over and sniffed, pompously.

“Yes, madam?”

“I believe you have an employee by the name of Evelyn Sharland working here.  If possible, I would like to speak with her.”

“Employees receive a half hour lunch break between the hours of 12pm and 1pm, depending on the work flow and that, of course, is also at the discretion of the manager on the floor.  Employees may or may not receive a lunch break.”

Eve glanced at the wall clock.  It was 10:35.  “I see.  Is there any way you can tell me if Evelyn Sharland is actually employed here?”

“You just told me she is employed here,” he said, coolly. 

“No, I said I believe you have an employee by that name.”

He sniffed again, looking away from her.  “That information would be ascertained through the Personnel Department, but they do not give out that information to the general public.”

“Okay, can I wait for her?”

“If in fact she does work here, she will not come this way or leave the building until her shift is over.  Employees have lunch on the premises.”

“What time does she get off work?”

“I wouldn’t know.  Some work later than their required shifts.”

Eve summoned patience.  This guy was being purposely difficult.  “Okay, if she were to work a normal shift, what time would she get off?”

He shuffled through some papers.  “This building runs 24 hours, madam.  I do not know if the woman works the day or the night shift.”

Eve stood up a little straighter, ready for a fight.  “What time did you begin work today, sir?

The question startled him.  He glanced up and kinked his neck.  “I begin at 8am.”

“And what time do you finish?”

He sniffed again.  “At 8pm.”

“And your replacement will begin his shift at 8pm?”

Now he was annoyed.  “Yesss,” he said, clipping the word off sharply.

“So if Evelyn Sharland began her shift at 8am, she’d most likely leave at 8pm?  Is that correct?”

His gaze was cold and direct.  “I would presume so, madam.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to attend to.”

Eve felt heat rush to her face.  “Well, haven’t you been gracious and helpful, sir.  Where I come from, we would call you a royal pain in the ass.  Good day, sir.”

His lips tightened and he scowled at her.  Eve whirled and walked away.

Outside, Eve breathed out her irritation and saw Millie coming toward her. 

“Did you speak with her, Miss Kennedy?”

“No.  I don’t even know if she works here.  You know what, let’s grab a cab and go to…” Eve shut her eyes, allowing her annoyed brain to clear so she could recall the address.  “Let’s go to 232 East 9th Street.  Do you know where that is?”

“Yes,” Millie said.  “It’s not too far away.”

Eve stole a glance toward the street.  She didn’t see the man.  He wasn’t at the lamppost, and he wasn’t hanging around on the sidewalk, but Eve had the feeling he was around, and he was watching her.

In the cab, Eve laid her head back on the hard, tufted leather upholstery and shut her eyes for a while.  They rode in silence, while Eve listened to the trot of the horse.  When she opened her eyes, she stared out the window, deep in thought.  She watched a gray-bearded man dodging through the traffic; she saw two women in long dresses and big hats walking so gracefully and elegantly, as if they were in a dance.  How did they move so easily in those dresses?  Eve watched carriage wheels revolving, the spokes catching the sunlight; she saw horses trotting by, heads held high, their coats burnished brown and golden in the light. 

Eve sat preoccupied with her own survival; with finding Evelyn and the lantern so she could return to her own time.  She felt clumsy, startled and out of sync in this time and place.  Her body was still trying to adjust to the pace and rhythm, to the language and mode of speech, to the sharp earthy smells and the strange clothes, and to a thousand other things that seemed to assault her and throw her off-balance. 

Her brain was not wired to this time.  She had not been born for this time, and she felt a big empty hole in her heart.  She missed her family and friends.  She missed Georgy Boy and her work.  She missed her life in the 21st century.  It had been a good life—except for her marriage and divorce—but that was all over, and she had been looking forward to a new and richer life.  She’d hoped to meet a guy and fall in love again, get married and begin a family.

That was all gone now, the possibility of it seeming more remote every hour.  Her life—the trajectory of her life—was over, at least in that time.  She had to face the fact that she might never be able to return home, and that singular thought both depressed her and terrified her.

“Are you okay, Miss Kennedy?” Millie asked, seeing the anxiety in Eve’s face.

Eve lifted her chin a little, hoping to show courage. “Yes, Millie, I’m fine.  Just fine.  I’m hoping Evelyn works the night shift.  She might be home now.”

“What happens if she is not home?” Millie asked.

Eve sighed.  “Then you can take me on a tour of the city.”

Millie brightened.  “Oh, I would like that.  There are so many things to see.”

The cab drew up to the curb, Eve paid the driver, and the two ladies climbed out, lifting their hems to avoid trash, litter and manure.  Eve’s heart sank as she looked around at the shady, unfortunate neighborhood.  She saw block after block of desolate, five-story row houses, neglected and shabby.  Dirty children in tattered clothes sat on steps, or hid in the shadows of doorways, staring with the distant, emotionless eyes of the old and forgotten.  Boys were playing ball in the street, their voices sharp, their fists ready.  They looked rough and threatening.

Eve looked at Millie’s downcast face.

“I don’t like the looks of this, Millie.”

“These are five story walkups, with four apartments on each floor,” Millie said.  “I have been in buildings like them.  There is not much sunlight and the air doesn’t circulate very well.”

Millie folded her hands, staring down at the craggy pavement.  “My brother and I used to live just down the block.  When he began making more money and I got my job with Miss Price, we moved to a nicer place uptown.”

Eve tried to project an impression of strength, but she looked about bleakly, flattened by the heavy, depressing mood of the place.

Eve lifted her shoulders and then dropped them.  “Well, okay, Millie, let’s see if Evelyn is home.”

At the broken, leaning wooden stairs, a little girl of about 10-years old sat staring warily, with a proud, defiant expression. 

“Hi there.  My name is Eve.”

The little girl didn’t respond.

“Do you know if Evelyn Sharland lives here?”

The little girl searched Eve’s eyes, and then she looked at Millie.

“Gone,” the girl said.

Eve swallowed away disappointment.  “You mean she doesn’t live here anymore?”

“Gone.  Moved,” the girl repeated.

“How long ago?”

She shook her head.

“Do you know where she moved to?”

The girl shook her head again. 

“Did someone help her move?  I mean did she leave with somebody?”

“She’s gone.”

Eve wilted.  No Evelyn.  No lantern.  No chance to get back home.

Eve stood staring at the little girl, hoping for some different answer that she knew would never come.

“Thank you,” Eve said, softly.

Eve stared up into the sky, watching a stringy white cloud drift over.  Pigeons wheeled and darted over chimneys and sloped rooftops.  She was about to walk away when it suddenly struck her.  This was the address John Allister Harringshaw had written on the envelope in December—addressed to Evelyn Sharland.