The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (24 page)

He snatched his beer and drank it half empty, his eyes burning.

Eve let it all settle for a time.  It was not what she’d expected.  Nothing was working out as she’d thought it would.  Now, she felt as though
she
was in a trap and she had no idea how to get out of it.

When their food came, they merely picked at it, their eyes wandering the room.  Eve watched men in silk bowler hats jabbing fingers into chests, laughing and shouting opinions, their cigars curling blue-gray smoke.  The packed bar held mugs of beer, jars of pretzels and shot glasses.  Eve saw only two women, who were richly and stylishly dressed, standing with a distinguished man, who had the sheen of wealth all about him. 

What an odd place, she thought, her mind a tangled mess.  What was she going to tell Detective Gantly?  She couldn’t tell him the truth; if she did, he’d think she was out of her mind.  More minutes passed, as she watched him eat the ham, bread and pickles.  Still, she had to say something.

“I am related to Evelyn Sharland,” Eve blurted out.

Gantly stopped chewing and lifted his head, waiting for more, his eyes hard and focused.

“My meeting with Albert Harringshaw was entirely accidental, and that is the truth.  He found me sitting on a park bench in Central Park when I was in great distress.  I had had some kind of breakdown and, even now, I am not sure what caused it—although I am sure some of it had to do with hearing that Evelyn was not only involved with John Allister Harringshaw, but that she was sick with tuberculosis.  I am a nurse, Detective Gantly.  I am a very good nurse and I came here to find her and help her.  I still have some memory lapses, but I know for certain that I must go to Evelyn and see if I can help her in some way.”

Detective Sergeant Gantly studied her closely, alert to her every gesture and tone of voice.  He was trained to know if people were telling the truth.  He drained his beer mug, watching her.  He ate beef and onions and he watched her. 

Eve ate a little and turned from his harsh gaze.

“How did you hear that she was sick?  Did she or someone else in the family write to you?  Why haven’t I been able to find even one person who knows who you are?”

Eve couldn’t compete with his practiced, experienced, skillful and suspicious mind. 

“Take my word for it, Detective Gantly.  I heard about Evelyn and I came.  That is the honest truth.”

He ate, pensively.  “Miss Kennedy, what perplexes me the most is why you insist on being vague and evasive.  How can I take your word for anything when you will not reveal the factual truth about yourself?”

Eve leaned forward.  “If you tell me where Evelyn Sharland is and if I can somehow help her, perhaps then I can tell you the whole truth.”

He sighed and then shook his head.  “No… Not this time, Miss Kennedy.  It is your turn now.  It is your turn to give something back.  I have gone the extra mile for you every time, and every time you keep putting me off.”

She sat stiff-shouldered.  “Please… I may be able to save her life.  Every day that passes she gets worse.  Please tell me where she is, for her sake, not for mine.  Please.”

“And what can you possibly do for her?” he asked. 

“I don’t know unless I see her.  Please tell me.”

They sat in silence, loud conversation all around them.

Outside, they walked aimlessly for a time, neither talking.  Finally, Detective Gantly hailed a Hansom.  Eve looked at him, inquiringly, but he ignored her.  He said something to the driver, helped Eve in and then slid in next to her.

They still didn’t speak as the cab trotted uptown.  They came to the theatrical section of Broadway.  The area was packed with shiny carriages, the sidewalks alive with theatre-goers in evening dress, excitement all about them.

As the cab moved on to 4
^th
Avenue and 24
^th
Street, Eve saw a theatre sign under glowing yellow globes.  It was the Lyceum, a three-story building.  She saw easel posters near the entrance. 
Annie Russel!
was
printed in large block letters.

Eve stole a glance at Patrick, but he refused to look at her.

Detective Gantly had wanted to separate from Eve back at Fulton’s Market.  In fact, he’d been wanting to separate from her ever since he’d met her.  He knew she was lying to him and he despised lies and liars.  He dealt with them every day of his life.  And yet, he couldn’t stay away from her.  There was a sexy allure and mystery about the woman that absolutely enthralled him, almost as if he had drunk some magic love potion.  He thought about her during the day and had dreams about her at night.  He could not drive her out of his thoughts, and that disturbed and irritated him.

As he sat there so close to her, his hands formed into fists so they wouldn’t reach for her and kiss her.  He was simply perplexed and bewitched by her.

He stared out the carriage window as they came to the city’s nightclub district.  He’d told the driver just to drive, it didn’t matter where, so he could think and spend time just sitting with her, inhaling her scent, inhaling her essence.  So here they were near 5
^th
Avenue and 32
^nd
Street, in the area known as
The Tenderloin
.  The name referred to the extortion payments the police extracted from both legitimate and illegitimate businesses in the area.  Every cop knew this area and many made a good living off it.  Reformers called it Satan’s Circus. 

They passed saloons, brothels, gambling parlors, dance halls, and clip joints.  The whole area was buzzing with life, “a carnival of the damned” the Detective often called it.  He’d seen too many drunks, thieves and whores to last a lifetime and yet, at 35 years old, he knew he would see a lot more before his career was over, if he lived long enough. 

He finally ventured a glance at Eve, but she didn’t seem fully present.  She was lost in her own thoughts, and he would have given a month’s salary to know what she was thinking.  So they moved on in silence.

“What was your wife like?” Eve finally said.

Her question threw him off guard.  He turned from her.  “She was a good, practical woman; a religious woman who prayed for my black heart every day and night.  Heaven is a better place for her being there.  I am the worse for it.”

Eve turned to him.  “That’s a kind and good thing to say.”

He looked at her, earnestly, his eyes settling on her lips.  “It’s the truth.”

“Did you always want to be a policeman?”

“It’s what was presented to me.  My father was a policeman.”

“Is he still alive?”

“No.  He passed five years ago.”

“Do you have any family living in New York?”

“No, my sister died of the fever a few months before my father.  She was a gentle soul and I believe that is what finally did him in.  The pain of her loss cut him deeply.”

Detective Gantly tapped the ceiling and told the driver to take them to Gramercy Park.  They returned to silence.

When the cab drew up to the curb on 4 Gramercy Park, Detective Gantly faced Eve.  She waited for him to speak, but he seemed to struggle. 

Eve felt a new rush of desire for him.  She wanted him to kiss her, to hold her.  As trite as it sounded, Detective Sergeant Gantly was the man she’d always fantasized about, even if unconsciously.  It was as if he’d been standing in the distant shadow of her mind, waiting for her, waiting for the right moment, beckoning to her, whispering for her to come in for a long, warm kiss.

“All right, Miss Kennedy.  I will take you to see Evelyn Sharland.”

Eve smiled, relieved.  “Okay,” she said, not knowing whether these people ever said “Okay” or not.  “Okay, you’ll come with me.  I’d like that.  I’m very grateful.”

Her answer melted some of his suspicion.

“All right then.  How about Sunday?  I will come for you at 10am, and the carriage will be parked at the end of the block, out of sight from Miss Price’s windows.  Will that be convenient?”

She nodded and they hovered next to each other, Eve willing him to kiss her.  He didn’t.  He left the cab, circled it and opened the door, offering her his hand.  After he helped her down from the cab, their hands stayed joined for a second longer than necessary, but neither dared look at the other.

She walked to the porch, turned and waved.  He tipped his hat, turned and re-entered the cab. 

Eve watched the cab move away, drifting in and out of the yellow cones of lamp light.  She released a long, restless, disappointed sigh.

His hand had been so strong, yet so gentle.

CHAPTER 21

Sunday morning was bright and cold, with a thin sugary glaze of snow in the crooks of trees, on park benches and on the roofs of parked carriages.  Detective Sergeant Gantly was right on time, waiting by the Hansom, watching Eve as she approached. 

She was wearing a plum colored bustle dress, a fitted wool coat, a hat and gloves.  She’d swept her hair up into a new style, with bangs frizzled over her forehead, in a style similar to the one Helen Price wore. 

As he watched the sunlight catch her, Detective Gantly felt a little catch of longing, but he hid it, as he always did when he was with her.

“Good morning,” Eve said, brightly. 

He tipped his hat and opened the cab door.

Inside the cab, they sat opposite each other and talked politely about the snowy weather, the chill in the air, and President Grover Cleveland’s recent Proclamation 273, which declared Thursday, November 26, 1885 to be a national holiday set aside for prayer and thanksgiving.

“And will
you
celebrate Thanksgiving Day this coming Thursday?” Eve asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Unfortunately, I must work that day, Miss Kennedy, so that others may celebrate.”  He spoke matter-of-factly, without resentment. 

Eve nodded, accepting his formality, wondering when he would allow her to see his playfulness and humor again.  She remained quiet as they made their way to the Christopher Street landing.  A great crowd had already gathered around the pier, as the ferry to Hoboken was almost ready to board. 

Eve and Detective Gantly left the cab silently and walked down the cobblestones toward the throng:  farm women holding baskets, their children clinging to their coats; workmen and draymen in floppy, wide-brimmed hats, huddled in groups, some smoking pipes; a priest staring out at the wide gray Hudson River; and Catholic nuns, heads down, speaking in whispers, as if in prayer.

There was a loud, shrill blast from the ferry whistle, and the children held their ears and made ugly faces as the crowd prepared to board. 

Soon they were strolling up the steep ramp, stepping onto the wide open deck.  Gantly steered Eve away from the cabin, knowing that the body odors, the cigar and pipe smoke, and the loud, vulgar conversations would not be appropriate for her.

Soon the ferry sputtered away from the dock, its deep-throated engines churning up the water, vibrating the floor beneath the passengers’ feet.  Eve and Gantly stood at the railing on the open deck, upwind of the wind and coal smoke, and stared out at the glittering Hudson River. 

Gantly looked at Eve.  Her eyes were a vivid light blue, her complexion white and smooth, her lush hair glowing in the sunlight.  She smiled at him and said “Hello,” although over the din of the engines and loud talk, he only saw her mouth form the word. 

He nodded and managed a small, tight smile.  What else could he do?  He couldn’t relax his controlled face and expression, for if he did, his desire for her would be obvious.  She’d know that as cold and direct as he could be, and as wounded as he’d been since his wife’s and baby’s deaths, he wanted to hold Eve, protect her, love her and cherish her.  The larger part of him held back, of course, because he still didn’t trust her.

Eve too projected a calm exterior to Patrick Gantly, though inside, Fourth of July fireworks were going off.  It was exhilarating.  Even standing among this mixed crowd, Eve felt a warm intimacy just being next to Patrick, as if they were already lovers, enjoying the new pleasure and the eager thrill of being in each other’s company. 

As the ferry churned ever closer to Hoboken, Eve now believed, without any doubt, that she was fulfilling her destiny in some inexplicable way.  Whatever crazy magic had brought her to this time, surely it must have had a purpose—to help Evelyn with her illness, as well as to bring her and John Allister Harringshaw together.  What else could it be? 

But Detective Sergeant Gantly was an entirely different matter.  Though she was still conflicted about him—confused, delighted and scared—she was falling for him in a big way.  Maybe she already had.  And what in the world was she going to do about it?

When the ferry rode a wave, Eve instinctively moved a little closer to Patrick.  She noticed he didn’t move away.  There was a quiet dignity about Patrick—in the line of his back and in the tilt of his head—and Eve wished she could tell him the truth about where she had come from.  Maybe he could help her make sense of it all!  But she didn’t have the courage, at least not yet.  Maybe someday soon. 

Patrick drew closer to her and, even though there was a cold wind racing across the river, Eve felt warm. 

They were only inches apart as Hoboken came into view.  When a bell rang, everyone around them began to gather their belongings and move toward the exit.  They were among the last to leave the ferry.

At the dock, Patrick found a cab and they started off, passing warehouses, lumber mills, factories and saloons.  Soon they were traveling along a tree-lined street away from the city, turning left away from the river, navigating a dirt road through open land and rickety-looking houses.

“This is not what I expected,” Eve said.

“What did you expect?”

Eve had never been to Hoboken in her own time, even though she knew it had had a renaissance of sorts, with renovated brownstones, condominiums and a thriving bar and restaurant scene.  She also knew that Frank Sinatra had been born there.