The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (11 page)

In this world of 1885, she didn’t know anyone, didn’t know the culture, didn’t know the city and had no idea how she was going to survive.  As she sat there, each thought straining, each emotion aching, she felt that nauseating rise of panic again, just as she had last night when she’d realized she was not hallucinating. 

Eve had fallen asleep hoping and praying that she’d wake up and the entire fantastical nightmare would be over.  But it wasn’t over.  She’d pinched herself, touched the walls to make sure they were solid; she’d felt her skin.  She was here.  However it had happened, she had to face the fact that it had happened and she was now living in 1885.

At least she had slept well in the 4-poster bed, in this rose-colored room.  Luckily, the sleep had revived her physically and given her some clarity of mind.

She closed the gold velvet drapes and crossed the room to the oak writing desk.  She stared down at it.  There was no one to write to, and that gave her a sad, empty feeling.  She sat on the stylish settee, upholstered with deep diamond-tufting in white silk, and she felt like a queen on her throne.  Such elegance.  Even if Helen had money, Albert Harringshaw was surely footing the bill.  If Eve had to guess, she’d bet it was the latter.  Even in 1885, a New York brownstone had to cost a lot of money.  And Eve was surprised by the room’s warmth.  The fireplace was now only smoldering embers, but the room was still warm because of a cast iron sectional radiator, similar to the one she had in her apartment on West 107
^th
Street, over 130 years into the future. 

Eve sat on the settee massaging her forehead, listening to the tick of the mantel clock.  Her mind suddenly filled with images of her parents and friends; of her colleagues and her patients.  What about Georgy Boy?  Had Joni received Eve’s message?  Would she realize something was wrong and take care of him?  Surely somebody would.  But wait a minute, none of those people existed.  Georgy Boy wasn’t even alive!  Her parents weren’t alive.  Eve hadn’t been born yet!  So who the heck was she then?   

Eve put her head in her hands.  But they
were
alive somewhere, in the future, wherever the heck that was.  She was proof of that, wasn’t she?  She shook her head, fighting back tears.

Yes, her parents had to be alive somewhere.  So what were they doing on this early Saturday morning so far into the future?  Having brunch?  Going to the movies?  Was Joni having a latte at Starbucks while Georgy Boy waited anxiously on the sidewalk? 

Had Eve been missed?  Had the police found her cell phone and purse?  Had someone filed a missing person’s report?  What if she never returned?  Would anyone ever know what had happened to her?  No, of course not.  How could they?  She had just disappeared—been erased from the day and the year and the rollcall of the 21st century.  Eve sighed, audibly, pushing fear and anxiety from her mind. 

She lifted her head and wiped her tears.  Enough of that.  No more indulging in what happened, what ifs and what could be.  She had to pull herself together and focus on goals and action.  She had to come up with a plan.  She had to find a way to survive in this time first, and then she’d set about making plans on how to return to her own time.

First things first.  She needed money and a place to stay.  Helen Price had already made it obvious that she wanted Eve out.  Eve had seen the dark suspicion in Helen’s eyes, and whenever Eve noticed Helen watching her, Eve saw jealous calculations going on behind those eyes.  They were the eyes of a cold predator—an adversary, a competitor.

Albert Harringshaw had also eyed Eve with peculiar suspicion, as had Dr. Eckland.  These were not stupid people.  They were educated and worldly wise.  They knew Eve was different from them in some profound and mysterious way, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on it.  How long would it be before they acted on their suspicions?  Eve didn’t fit into any known social or cultural slot in a time when everybody fit into a social category or slot. 

It was surely Eve’s aura of mystery that had captured Albert’s attention right from the start.  He’d been noticeably infatuated by the ambiguity of her behavior and her clothes.  Dr. Eckland had tried to match Eve up with some image of reality, some familiar pattern from his vast life experience, but he couldn’t, and he’d remained puzzled, curious and cautiously aloof. 

He must have thought something like “Here is a specimen I have never seen the likes of before.  What exotic island has she arrived from?”

But what troubled Eve the most was Helen.  Eve had met and treated many patients in her time: sane, crazy and everything in between.  She was certain that Helen was a very dangerous woman.  After all, her entire image and survival depended on holding on to Albert Harringshaw.  And Helen surely knew how to play any game she needed to play in her world and in her time.  Eve had just been born into this world and she was a baby who hadn’t even learned how to crawl yet.  Helen was a runner—perhaps even a sprinter.

In the short term, Eve would have to disarm Albert’s attraction to her, and then get out of Helen’s house as soon as possible.  For that she’d need money and a way to make a living.

Finally, the most pressing problem was: how could she ever get back to her own time?  She didn’t have a clue.

Eve struggled to contain a yawn, and then she stopped trying.  Her attention turned back to the bed.  It seemed to beckon her, entice her to bury her worries into the pillows, cover her head with the comforter and escape once more into sleep.  Eve wanted to get back into that bed and sleep forever. 

Minutes later, she was under the soft, warm sheets, her hair deep in the pillow, sound asleep.

A rap on the door awakened her.  She sat up bolt erect.

She found her rusty voice. “Yes?”

“It’s Millie, Miss.  I have your breakfast.”

“Come in.”

The door opened and Millie entered, carrying a silver tray.  She crossed the room and gently placed it on the side table next to the bed.  It held a teapot, covered by a cozy, a white porcelain cup and saucer, a matching pitcher of milk and a silver plate cover. 

“Thank you, Millie.”

Millie gave a thin smile, her eyes lowered.

“What’s for breakfast?” Eve asked, looking at the tray.

“An omelet, kidneys and bacon, and fresh bread, Miss Kennedy.”

Eve’s eyebrow lifted, and she grimaced.  “Kidneys?”

“Miss Price ordered them for you.  She likes kidneys.”

Eve forced a smile.  “How nice of her,” she said, trying to hide her sarcasm.

“Will there be anything else, Miss Kennedy?”

Eve decided to seize the moment.  “How long have you been working for Miss Price, Millie?”

“A little over a year.”

“Do you like it here?”

Millie blinked fast, her eyes still lowered.  “Yes, Miss Kennedy.”

“How long has Miss Price lived here?”

“Over a year.”

“So you were employed here just after Miss Price moved in?”

“Yes, Miss Kennedy.”

“You can call me Eve when we’re alone, Millie.  It’s okay.”

Millie stared at her twisting hands.  “Will that be all, Miss… I mean…”

Eve saw that Millie was flustered.

Eve pressed on.  “Millie, has John Allister Harringshaw ever come to this house?”

Millie glanced up, her eyes moving.  She opened her mouth to speak, and then stopped.

“It’s okay, Millie.  I won’t tell anybody.  I promise.”

Millie lowered her voice.  “Mr. John Harringshaw wouldn’t come here.”

“Why?”

Millie shifted her weight.  “I am not supposed to talk about these things, Miss Kennedy.  Miss Price would be very angry with me.”

Eve leaned back against the headboard.  “Okay, Millie.  I don’t want that.  I wouldn’t want you to get in any trouble because of me.”

Millie leaned in and whispered.  “He came only once.”

Eve straightened.  “When?”

“Months ago.  He and his brother got into an argument.”

“Over what?”

Millie glanced about as if the walls had ears.  “Over Miss Price.”

“Why?”

Millie’s voice was barely audible.  “Mr. John Harringshaw wanted his brother to…” Millie searched for the right word.  “…To break off the relationship because of Mr. Albert’s engagement to Anne Fulton Hopkins.”

“But Albert refused?” Eve asked.

Millie nodded.

“Is Mr. Albert still engaged to Miss Hopkins?”

Millie nodded.

Eve let the thought settle. 

Just then, there was a hard knock on the door.

“Miss Kennedy, it’s Helen Price, may I come in?”

Millie seemed to turn to stone.  Her eyes registered terror.

Eve cleared her throat and nodded encouragement to Millie.  “Yes, Miss Price.  Please come in.”

When Helen swept in, like an opera diva making an entrance, Millie curtsied, bowed and turned to leave the room.  Helen’s stern voice stopped her in her tracks.

“You were in Miss Kennedy’s room much too long, Millie.  What took you so long?”

Eve spoke up.  “My apologies, Miss Price.  I was asking Millie too many questions about this delicious looking breakfast.”

Helen narrowed her eyes on the tray, noticing that neither the teapot cozy nor the silver plate cover had been removed.  Helen smiled, but there was no mirth in it. 

“I see.  Leave us, Millie.  You have a lot of work to do.”

Millie bowed.  “Yes, Miss Price.”

Millie fled the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Helen wore a light gray day dress, with a bodice, skirt and overskirt.  The corset must have been drawn tight, as her waist was quite slim compared to her shoulders and bust.  Eve had to admit the woman possessed a certain sexy allure that most men would find attractive, although by 21st century standards, she would have been considered plump.

“I do hope you had a comfortable rest,” Helen said, with the same indulgent smile she’d given Eve the night before.

“Yes.  The bed is very comfortable and the room is lovely.”

Helen gave a little lift of her chin.  “I have been hopeful and optimistic that with a good and restorative night’s sleep, Miss Kennedy, your impaired memory would return to you, either in whole or in part.”

Eve considered her words carefully.  “I have recalled certain events and faces,” Eve said, purposefully making her speech sound formal and vague.  “I feel certain I came to New York recently, and that I am originally from some other place.  But then again, there is so much more I simply cannot recall, no matter how hard I try.  But I am sure I will recall everything, given a little more time.”

Helen’s expression darkened.  “Yes, I see.  More time.”

“I promise not to be a burden, Miss Price.  I do have plans.”

There was a small silence between them.

“Plans?” Helen asked, her tone lighter.  “Plans are good things to have.  By the way, the dresses that Millie hung in your closet belonged to my sister.  She is about your size, so I am hopeful they will fit.  You will let me know if I can help you in any other way.”

“Thank you, Miss Price, you have been more than helpful.”

“All is well then.  Please enjoy your breakfast.”

Helen turned to leave, then recalled something.  She faced Eve, thoughtfully. 

Eve watched Helen reach into a flap pocket mounted onto a skirt panel and draw out a brown suede draw-string purse.  She stood there for a time in reflective anxiety.

“Mr. Harringshaw left this for you last night.  It is a sum of money.  Since you lost your possessions, as well as your memory, Miss Kennedy, Mr. Harringshaw felt it was his duty, as a gentleman and as your rescuer, to offer his assistance in this way.”

Helen pursed her lips as she grudgingly approached the silver tray.  She lowered the purse on the tray, next to the teapot, turned swiftly and withdrew to the door, waiting.

Eve stared at the purse, conflicted.  If she took the purse, she’d be obligated to Albert, and run the risk of further jealousy and hatred from Helen Price.  If she didn’t take the money, how would she get out of that house and try to find a way to make a living?

She was trapped.  She had to take it.

“Please tell Mr. Harringshaw how grateful I am for all his help.  And let him know I will repay him just as soon as I can.”

Helen kept her back to Eve as she opened the door.  She left the room without a response.

After Helen was gone, Eve turned her head left and stared hard out the window.  Her mind had completely cleared now.  The shattered pieces of the events of the night before had come together; the shock and the emotions had gradually begun to dissipate and a theory had begun to form in Eve’s head.  She began to take mental inventory.

The lantern.  Evelyn Sharland’s lantern.  John Allister Harringshaw and the letter.  She’d found them in Granny Gilbert’s shop.  The lovers had never been able to express their love.  Evelyn had died of fever.  John had never recovered from her death.  Was it possible that Eve could somehow find them and change the course of history?  Could Eve prevent Evelyn’s death?  Could she somehow meet John Allister and convince him that he should marry Evelyn?

And if she managed to bring Evelyn and John together, how would she get back home to her own time?

Eve teetered over on her side, gathered herself into a fetal position, and closed her eyes. 

“I’ve got to find that lantern,” she whispered.  If she had any chance at all, she would have to get that lantern.

CHAPTER 10

Eve sequestered herself in her room all day Saturday.  Although Dr. Eckland and Albert Harringshaw both came by to see her, she refused to see them, claiming she was still recovering from her ordeal and didn’t feel well enough to accept visitors.

Not to be put off, Dr. Eckland huffed about in Helen’s parlor, finally insisting that he would come by Monday evening to conduct a thorough examination, whether Eve consented or not. 

“I am afraid this Miss Kennedy is a typical, over-wrought female who can only be rightly healed by a strong and practical physician such as myself,” he’d blustered to Helen and Albert.  “And only by the stern application of my medicine,” he’d added, as he fumed out of the house.