The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (17 page)

Eve flushed with anger.  She was tired of being trapped, followed and patronized.  She was tired of being a woman in 1885, powerless and subjugated.  She knew Albert Harringshaw would be calling soon, maybe even that night, and he would expect something in return for his favors.  Who knows what he would say or do?  He would want to make a move sooner or later, and Eve didn’t want to be around when he did.  She had to take some action and get away from this place as soon as possible.

Millie returned with the folded morning paper and did not make eye contact when Eve thanked her.  She promptly left with another bob of a bow.

Eve snapped open
The New York Sun
for Tuesday October 27, 1885.  She skimmed the front page:  A policeman had hired a convict to kill his wife, but the attempt had failed.  There was yet another banking scandal.  A bald and bearded politician assured the readers that he was going to clean up the crime and graft in the city.

Nothing new under the sun, Eve thought, glancing at the paper’s name and then chuckling at her own pun. 

Shifting through the paper, she finally located the real estate section.  She perused it until she saw what she was looking for.  She jotted down the address and gulped down her last bit of tea, calculating her next move.  It was risky and it might backfire, but she was desperate. 

She reached into the folds of her ankle-length skirt and took out the draw string suede purse, the same purse Albert Harringshaw had placed the sixty dollars in.  She counted the contents.  Forty-two dollars.  Based on the ad she’d seen in the paper, that would be enough to hold her for a month. 

Eve glanced outside the window.  It was another clear blue day, with cool temperatures.  She slipped into her button up boots, put on a pill box hat and her long coat, picked up her gloves and left the room.

She glided down the stairs rapidly and moved to the front door, before Helen, wherever she might be, could see her.

Outside, Eve walked briskly in the bright morning sun until she spotted a Hansom cab.  She hailed it and climbed inside.

“Gramercy Park.”

CHAPTER 14

Eve’s cab bumped and bounced along 5
^th
Avenue through heavy traffic, cracking whips, aggressive carriages and clanging street cars.  Her lips were pressed tightly together, her face determined, her body tense.  She thought she was being followed—in fact she
hoped
she was being followed.  She was ready to confront the guy, even though she was not especially looking forward to it. 

When the carriage arrived at Gramercy Park, Eve tapped the roof and the cab edged to the curb.  She paid the driver and climbed out with one foot onto a concrete carriage step designed to help passengers down to the sidewalk.  How civilized, she thought.

She paused to look around, feeling a snap in the air.  Strangely enough, the Gramercy Park area was similar to the one in the 21st century, except it was more picturesque.  There was a quiet park with benches and trees, shimmering with autumn colors.  Four gas lamps still glowed around a curving walkway that led into a peaceful, circular area.  Surrounding the park were stylish brownstones; cast iron, horse-topped hitching posts; and cobbled streets. 

Eve watched as a chic, deep olive-green, enclosed carriage drifted by, pulled by two magnificent, prancing white horses.  There was a woman passenger inside, sitting very erect, wearing a midnight purple coat and a flamboyant feathered hat.  The liveried driver wore a top hat and deep olive uniform, with a woolen blanket draped across his lap.

Eve turned to orient herself and locate her destination.  A second carriage passed, canary yellow with shiny black fenders, its black horses proud and fine, their harnesses shining.  Behind the glittering glass window, a man in a silk top hat looked her way, a cigar protruding from his white mustached mouth. 

Eve became aware of her surroundings, certain that she was being followed, even though she couldn’t yet spot the familiar shoulders of the man. 

In front of the 4-story brownstone at 4 Gramercy Park West, Eve saw a sign in the window:

ROOM AND BOARD 1 VACANCY

After climbing the six steps, Eve lifted the gold knocker and let it fall.  She waited.  The door opened gently and a young girl stood looking back at her.  She wore a pale cotton dress and a long blue apron.  A white dust cloth, folded into a turban, covered her upswept, ash blonde hair.

“Hello,” Eve said, cordially.  “I’m here to look at the room.”

The young woman’s voice was feathery soft.  “We only have the one on the second floor back.”

“That’s fine.  May I see it?” Eve asked.

The girl stepped back and allowed Eve to enter the foyer, with emerald green and white tiles, polished cherry wood walls and a small gas chandelier.

The girl closed the door, turning to Eve.  “My name’s Marie Putney.”

“I’m Eve.  Eve Kennedy.”

Eve followed Marie up the carpeted stairs.  At the second floor landing, Marie turned right, gesturing, and Eve followed.  Marie opened the door to a room that was larger and cleaner than Eve had expected.  It had two large windows, covered by lacy, starched curtains that looked out on a courtyard.  Under one window was a window seat, cushioned in maroon velvet.  There was a double bed, a rocking chair and a dark wood dresser with a white marble top that held a pitcher and a bowl.

The blue and tan carpet wasn’t new, but it was by no means thread-bare.  The wallpaper was light green with a pattern of exotic parrots and rosy floral bouquets, and on the wall hung an oil painting in a gilded frame depicting young maidens in bonnets picking flowers in a lush, sun-drenched meadow. 

“It’s nice,” Eve said. 

“You’ll share a bathroom with the other boarders.  It’s just down the hall.” 

“How much?” Eve asked.

“It’s eight dollars a week.  That includes breakfast and supper.  Breakfast is from seven to eight and supper is at six.”

It felt right.  Eve could already feel herself beginning to relax.  “I’ll take it,” she said, passing one last glance around the room.  “I like it.  It seems quiet.”

“It
is
quiet here and we keep it clean.  We do require references,” the young woman said.  “At least two.”

Eve stiffened, forcing a reassuring smile.  “Yes, of course… I’ve just arrived from out of town, here on family business, and I’m afraid my original accommodations didn’t work out.  I am, as they say, at my wit’s end.  Would it be possible for me to move in now and then provide you with the references in, say, a week or so… maybe sooner?”  

Eve thought about Dr. Eckland.  Surely, he would help. 

Marie folded her hands, her expression conflicted.

“I can pay for two weeks right now,” Eve said, quickly.  “I assure you I am quiet, respectable and dependable.  I would be grateful to you, Miss Putney.”

“Well, it is highly unusual, Miss Kennedy.  The house belongs to my grandfather and he is quite resolute about such matters.”

“I could speak with him, if you think it would help,” Eve said, swallowing away a dry throat.

  “Grandfather suffers from occasional bouts of indigestion, gout and rheumatism, so he’s not around much, and he doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

The silence stretched out as Eve stared down at the floor and Marie pondered her decision.

“All right, Miss Kennedy.  I won’t say anything to grandfather, but please provide the references as soon as you can.”

Eve took a little breath.  “Thank you, Miss Putney.  Yes, I will.”

“Grandfather often has supper downstairs if he feels up to it and, if you meet him, please, let’s keep this little secret between the two of us.  Will you have many bags, Miss Kennedy?”

“No, not many.  I traveled lightly.”

“Will you be staying long?”

“I’m not sure.  It depends…well, it depends on my family.  As I said, I can pay for two weeks in advance.”

“That won’t be necessary, Miss Kennedy.  One week will suffice.”

Outside, Eve strolled easily along the sidewalk, feeling she’d taken a giant step toward achieving independence.  Still, there were many obstacles.  The key was to conserve the money she had left and get a job as fast as possible so she could sustain herself and look for Evelyn Sharland. 

She walked purposely slow to see if her shadow was around, but there was still no sign of him.  As she strolled, her mind worked with eager restlessness.  If she did find Evelyn, could she help her survive, or at least help prolong her life?  And if she prolonged her life, would that change history?  Was it even possible to change history?  Did it matter?

Had Eve somehow, in some small way, already changed history?  She was, after all, a wildcard—an extraterrestrial in this time and place who was not born here and was never meant to be here.  She was not originally a piece of this 1885 puzzle.  She was a separate piece from another puzzle in the 21st century. 

So why was she here?  Why had the lantern—its mesmerizing light—brought her here?  Was there a reason?  Was it by chance?  By accident?  Did it happen because of some kind of quantum anomaly, not that she had a clue as to what that really was.  Was there any logical explanation for it? 

Perhaps the lantern had somehow absorbed and held the lovers’ tragic feelings of love, loss and frustrated psychic energy.  Is it true that even inanimate objects have some form of existence on the energetic level and in their own energy body?

Eve recalled a course she’d taken in college—an elective—about energy and objects.  The idea was that material objects have energy dimensions that can be changed by accident or on purpose.  Her professor, a psychologist with eccentric ideas and wardrobe, had said that objects carry energy—and they can have a spiritual interaction with the person who owns them, especially if they are particularly treasured objects.  She used the example of a guitar.  If a person plays a certain guitar all his life, when he dies, that guitar could have some sort of link to the owner.  In another instance, she used the example of a lover imbuing a dried rose bud with spiritual significance, or magicians and witches making charms and amulets.

Eve never gave the idea much weight at the time.  She thought it was rather silly.  Now she wasn’t so sure.

Maybe Evelyn’s and John’s tragic love energy had somehow become trapped in the lantern and the letter, and somehow, Eve was the instrument by which that energy was released, allowing the lovers a second chance. 

Right now, all she could do was keep moving forward, try to find the lantern, and hope that when she found it, it would take her back home. 

At 20
^th
Street, Eve glanced over her shoulder and she saw him!  Yes, there he was.  He swiftly ducked away toward a parked carriage, where a horse was drinking from a quaint-looking water trough near the curb.  Her follower snapped out a newspaper and began to read, or at least he pretended to read. 

Eve looked about at the trees and the lovely brownstones.  Nearby was the open campus of the Theological Seminary and a home for retired nuns.  In this neighborhood, she felt safe enough to approach him.  She lowered her chin, fortified herself with breath, pivoted and started toward the man in the dark suit, black overcoat and bowler hat.

When she was ten feet away, he lifted the newspaper higher to cover his face and shoulders.  Eve advanced, nerves beating away at her.

“Excuse me, sir.”

He didn’t stir.

“Sir, excuse me.”

The paper slid down slowly, and he straightened to his full height.  Eve was startled by him.  He was taller than she’d expected, clearly five inches taller than she.  He had vivid, intelligent blue eyes, a fine handsome face with a heavy shadow of a beard, a prominent nose, a solid, determined jaw and full lips—fantastic lips—that she had difficulty pulling her eyes away from.  He had a broad chest, a muscular neck and good athletic shoulders. 

He stared at her as though he were about to smile, and that made him appear affable, cocky and sexy.   

“Are you addressing me, madam?” he asked.

Eve detected an accent.  Irish?  He did look Irish, with his dark, curly hair sticking out from beneath his hat.

Eve swallowed, stepping back a little.  “Yes, I am addressing you.”

He shrugged and looked resigned.  “Okay, then, what can I do for you?  Are you lost?  Looking for a place of business or a shop?”

She liked his voice.  It had a sing-song baritone quality to it.  It was a confident voice, a resonant, masculine voice.

Eve stood there, confused now.  Was this the same guy she’d seen from the back in Helen Price’s parlor? 

She stammered.  “Well, I… Well I just thought that maybe you…” She stopped, hearing her shaky voice and suddenly feeling foolish.

“Yes, madam?  You thought?”

Eve lifted her chin and decided to go for it.  “Have you been following me?”

The left corner of his mouth lifted.  Was that a grin or a sneer?  Eve couldn’t tell. 

“You are a bold woman,” he said.

“Bold or not, that doesn’t answer my question.”

“And a direct one.  My grandfather used to say, ‘It is better to be a coward for a minute than dead the rest of your life.’”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means you’re not a coward, but maybe you should be sometimes.  Walking up to a stranger on a public street to ask him whether he’s following you may not be the best course of action.”

Eve looked deeply into his eyes.  She didn’t see a threat.  She saw playfulness and she saw attraction.

“Is that a threat?” she asked.

He met her eyes and held them.  When Eve felt the power of his gaze, she was seized by a sudden and remarkable attraction.  It flamed in her like a lit torch.  She blinked and looked away across the street at a Coffee House with the name
Zarcone’s Tea & Coffee House
printed in gilded letters on the plate glass window.  Beneath that was written
Dealer in Coffee, Teas and Spices
.

“My grandmother used to say, ‘What fills the eye fills the heart,’” he said lightly.