The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (33 page)

Dr. Long looked long and hard at Eve, readjusting her spectacles.

 “Miss Kennedy, I understand how you feel, but harsh words won’t help.  Anger won’t work.  It is a poison that will only eat you up inside.  It will only harm you, not those arrogant and ignorant men out there in the world who want to protect their power and authority, and who think all women belong where they want us to belong, bowing meekly to their every command and obeying their every wish.  They believe we are weak and frail, and just a little bit stupid.  Over the years, I have endured every insult possible, directed toward my family, my character, my abilities and my profession.  I have been called an old spinster, a silly woman, a man-hater and much, much worse.  I no longer get angry, Miss Kennedy, because I know in my heart of hearts that who I am and what I offer has value both to me and to my patients, who are poor and sick and the outcasts of society.”

Eve saw Dr. Long was weary, but her expression was resolute; her speech strong, filled with conviction.  Her graying hair was pulled back tightly into her characteristic bun and when she removed her spectacles, she looked younger than her 44 years.

“We must, of course, fight on for our equal rights, voting being one of them.  And we shall fight on, as long as we have breath in our bodies; but let us not give these misguided men the satisfaction of seeing us angry.  Instead, let them see our calm resolve and our fervent passion for truth, equality and justice for all.  Let us be resolved to continue our fight with dignity and patience, Miss Kennedy.  Mr. Albert Harringshaw is a poor, wretched man who has the power to pay off any newspaper reporter, any politician and any policeman in this city.  These are the times we live in, Miss Kennedy, and we must face it and be resolute and persistent in our attempts to change the balance of power.  But in the end, Mr. Harringshaw cannot pay off his own guilty conscience.  I believe that will be the final death blow to him and to all those who subjugate women and who abuse their power and authority.”

Eve stared at Dr. Long in admiration.  Eve knew from her history that it would be 1920 before the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution granted American women the right to vote, and decades longer before they could have credit cards, or be educated at the best colleges, or receive anything like equal pay with men.  Dr. Long would never live to see these advances in women’s rights and that made Eve sad—but also extremely grateful for Dr. Long and all the women who helped lay the foundation for the women’s rights movement.  It was only because of them that Eve was able to live as a free and independent woman in the 21
^st
century. 

When John Allister Harringshaw II arrived at Gouverneur Hospital at 11am, his presence created a flurry of gossip and activity.  No one of his class had ever visited the hospital before, causing many of the nurses to step from rooms, hoping to catch a glimpse of him at the admission desk. 

Minutes later, Eve walked briskly down the hallway to meet him.  He faced her with anxious eyes and a gentle sorrow, as he removed his silk hat and gloves and took Eve’s hand.

“It is so pleasant to see you again, Miss Kennedy.  I would have been here sooner, but the snow made traveling difficult.  We have more than seven inches so far.”

Eve stared at him carefully, unsure about him.  Perhaps it was the lack of sleep and the emotions of the last 24 hours that made her suspicious and cautious. 

“I’m sure you’re here to see Evelyn,” Eve said.

He nodded, nervously twisted the brim of his hat.  Eve watched him swallow. 

“Yes…And how is Detective Sergeant Gantly?”

“He’s resting.  Only time will tell.  The operation was successful.  We can only hope infection doesn’t set in.”

“He was terribly brave, Miss Kennedy.  Only one newspaper mentioned his gallantry, I am afraid.  The family lawyers saw to that, hoping to avoid a scandal.”

Eve stayed mute.

“Miss Kennedy, will you please take me to see Evelyn?”

As they walked past two tall windows, Eve saw big flakes of snow striking the glass and heard the moan of the wind as it circled the building.

Eve stopped outside the hospital room and turned to John Allister.  “Where is your brother?”

“He’s on a train to Chicago.”

“Did he say when he’d be back?”

“I do not know.  We did not converse, Miss Kennedy.  May I see Evelyn now?”

Eve pushed the door open and stepped aside to let John Allister enter.  He did so, meekly, his mouth twitching nervously.  He saw seven hospital beds on the far left and then he followed Eve’s gaze to the far right of the room, where a curtain surrounded a single bed.

“How is she, Miss Kennedy?”

“Her fever has broken, but she’s still very weak.  She’s not completely out of danger.”

“May I speak to her?”

“She may be asleep.”

“I won’t wake her.  If I may just sit for a time?”

Eve led him across the room, past the examination tables, to Evelyn’s bed.  Eve gently drew back the privacy curtain and watched as John Allister crept forward, apprehensive and eager.

When he saw Evelyn lying still, her red hair pooled about her head, the freckles on her cheeks and nose, and her small puckered mouth, tears glistened in his eyes.  He turned his head aside so Eve wouldn’t see him cry.

Eve left him to retrieve an old wooden schoolhouse chair.  She carried it over, placing it beside the bed.

“Please sit down, Mr. Harringshaw.”

He removed his overcoat and Eve took it, as well as his gloves and hat.  As he slowly lowered himself into the chair, Eve placed them in a nearby closet.  By the time she returned, John Allister had regained his stately composure.  He sat staring down at Evelyn with such loving tenderness that Eve was moved.  It was abundantly clear now that John did love Evelyn.  Watching his worshipful gaze, Eve could believe at last that this truly was the man who had composed that beautifully written Christmas Eve letter. 

They remained in silence, each watching Evelyn sleep.

“It was in a snow storm just like the one we’re having now that Evelyn and I met, Miss Kennedy.  It was last February, in the evening, as darkness had just settled in.  I was in my carriage moving up Broadway, watching the gusting snow cover the sidewalks and the streets.  It was already hanging heavily in the trees.  I saw men and women bent against the blowing snow, men touching the rims of their derbies, women’s hands snug in their muffs.  Horse hooves were sliding, staggering for a footing.  I was not in a particularly happy state, and I was lost in my own thoughts.”

John Allister leaned back and closed his eyes, as if watching an inner movie. 

“We were suddenly struck violently by an omnibus, and I was smashed hard into the left side of the carriage as it tipped and slammed hard into the Earth, nearly knocking me unconscious.  I heard screams, the cry and neighing of horses, and frantic footfalls on the cobblestones.  I was so stunned that I was paralyzed, unable to think or act.  And then suddenly, I saw a light, a soft light, and I heard a gentle voice—the voice of a woman that I thought was the voice of an angel.  I struggled to find the voice and the face of the creature who was calling to me.”

John Allister’s eyes opened on Evelyn and he smiled warmly.  “It was Evelyn.  She had managed to open the carriage door from the other side and light up the carriage with a lantern.  ‘Sir,’ she said, in the most soothing and gentle voice; ‘Sir, are you all right?  Can I be of help?’”

John nodded.  “It truly was the face of an angel.  I hope you will not think me a romantic fool, Miss Kennedy, but it was a face I’d seen in my dreams.  It was a face I knew so well.  It was the face of a girl I knew I’d fall in love with.  And then there was all that lovely red hair and the burning, chipped green eyes; the laughing freckles, the soft and pure white skin.”

John Allister leaned forward, reached out his hand and nearly touched Evelyn.  He stopped, his hand trembling. 

“Yes, Miss Kennedy, and now you know that I am a romantic fool and that I thought I had lost my dear girl, my dear love, my dearest Evelyn, forever.”

John Allister shifted his eyes to Eve, who was standing to his left.  “I am so grateful to you, Miss Kennedy, for bringing her back to me and for saving her life.”

Eve had never witnessed such a moving declaration of love—such an outpouring of honest feeling.  In her time, the 21st century, John Allister’s declaration would be considered gushing, cheesy and corny, but Eve felt the tender, passionate authenticity of his feeling, and she was touched by it.

“What will you do, Mr. Harringshaw?”

He knew what she meant.

He looked down at the floor.  “I did not sleep last night, Miss Kennedy, for thinking about our particular situation.  All I know for certain is that I will not let Evelyn get away from me again.  I love her too much.  If we stay in New York, the scandal will be a devastating one for my family.  Evelyn is poor, with no money and no social connections.  I have come to the conclusion that Miss Sharland and I will marry and move to London or Italy.  It doesn’t really matter as long as we are together.  We will discuss it together and come to a decision.”

“Have you thought about Evelyn’s mother?” Eve asked.  “She is so alone in that broken-down tenement.”

“Yes, I have thought about her, Miss Kennedy.  I will set up a trust so that Mrs. Sharland will have no financial worries for the rest of her life.  Evelyn would want that and I want only for Evelyn to be happy.”

“And what will happen to Helen Price, Mr. Harringshaw?”

John Allister stood up and locked his hands behind his back.  “I do not know.  She is in police custody and will, no doubt, be tried for attempted murder.”

“Is there anything you can do to help her?”

“Not at this time, Miss Kennedy.  Perhaps later.”

Eve wondered how two brothers could be so entirely different in feeling and character. 

And then Evelyn stirred and John Allister shot her a hopeful glance.  He leaned over. 

“Evelyn…Evelyn…  It’s Allister, darling.  Allister.”

Evelyn’s eyes fluttered open and then squinted as she worked to focus.  She blinked several times and when she fully concentrated on John Allister’s smiling face, they opened wide with a startled confusion.

“Allister…” she said, in a breathy whisper.  “Is that you?”

John reached for her hand.  “Yes, Evelyn, it is.  It is your Allister.”

Evelyn made a sound of disbelief as she held his stare.  “But… how?”

Eve pulled open the curtains to let the morning light pour in.  Behind the windows was a mass of falling snow, circling and spinning patterns.

“You are my Christmas present, my darling girl,” Allister said, his voice filled with emotion. 

Evelyn looked at him, her eyes brimming.  “Allister… my dear Allister.  I thought you’d never find me.”

Eve left them alone.  At the nurses’ desk, she was startled to see a telegram addressed to her.  When she tore it open, she nearly gasped.  It was from Albert Harringshaw.

Nothing has changed. 

I will expect you to be moved into the house by Christmas Eve.

 A. Harringshaw

CHAPTER 29

Over the next week, Patrick’s condition continued to deteriorate.  He lay in his hospital bed either unconscious or delirious, with no signs of improvement.  There were brief moments of lucidity when he was aware of Eve talking to him, encouraging him to heal; he saw, through sticky, blurry eyes, Dr. Long and Dr. Eckland conversing, their faces heavy with concern, but when he tried to speak, he couldn’t find his tongue.

“Blood poisoning,” he heard Dr. Eckland say sorrowfully.  “Poor fellow.  Poor good fellow.”

Then Patrick would slip away again into delirious nightmares, where he was being chased by sharp-toothed green savages on massive black horses, sabers drawn, guns blazing.  They were coming toward him and he couldn’t run away fast enough.

Ahead, he saw his dear mother standing in a dark, foggy alley, under sickly yellow lamplight, calling his name, beckoning him with her hand. 

“Come home to me, Patrick.  I’ve been waiting for you.  Come back to me.  Hurry… Come back to me.”

In fevered dreams he was on a Clipper ship in a dark, angry storm, staring up at the three masts and the square rig.  The ship was being tossed about as towering, curling waves rolled toward them in great billows, crashing against the ship, breaking over the bow, drenching him.  He glanced toward the wheelhouse and was astonished to see Eve at the helm, fighting to keep the ship from spinning out of control and crashing into tall, jagged cliffs just off to the right. 

“We’re almost there, Patrick,” Eve yelled over the thrashing tempest.  “San Francisco is just ahead.  Hang on just a little longer, my love.  Hang on.  Don’t give up!”

Eve had hardly slept or eaten that week.  She was losing weight.  She knew Patrick would die if he didn’t receive antibiotics to kill the infection.  His body simply couldn’t fight off blood poisoning. 

On Sunday evening of December 13
^th
, Eve left Patrick’s room and climbed the stairs to the second floor, to the private room John Allister had arranged for Evelyn.  Evelyn’s warm pink color had returned, she had regained much of her strength, and she was scheduled to leave the hospital in a few days.

Over the past week, Eve’s and Evelyn’s relationship had developed into a sisterly one.  Although Eve had said little of her past, Evelyn had shared most of hers.  Inevitably, the conversation always veered from the present to the future, and Evelyn’s marriage to John Allister and where they would end up: London, Paris or Italy.  Evelyn didn’t care, as long as she and Allister were together.

On that Sunday, Eve paused as she approached Evelyn’s bed, seeing she was propped up reading a book.  To Eve’s surprise, it was
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
, by Mark Twain.

Evelyn lowered the book when she saw Eve. 

“Hello, Eve, come in.”