“I don’t want your money, Eve. Just come back. I want you back in time for your 31st birthday on December 17th.”
Eve fixed Joni with a solemn gaze. “We’re leaving on Saturday afternoon, Joni, November 24th. I’ll call you that morning.”
Joni drew in a worried breath.
“I’ll be with Patrick, Joni. That’s all that matters.”
From the corner of Eve’s eye, she saw a splash of red. She turned to watch a cardinal fly by, riding the currents of the wind, dipping, banking and sailing off toward the Hudson River.
CHAPTER 5
Eve enjoyed her work as a nurse practitioner, working part-time in a doctor’s office on the Upper West Side, and part-time at a Women’s Free Clinic in Lower Manhattan. Just as she had before her time travel to 1885, she now worked with doctors giving routine GYN exams, Pap smears, and HPV testing. She also counseled women on family health, emergency contraception and STD testing and treatment.
Eve was sad to be leaving her work. She loved her profession, the doctors, and many of the patients, and she truly believed she was making a difference in the world.
For all these reasons, Patrick insisted she remain in the present and allow him to travel alone to 1885.
“It is too dangerous for you to go back there, Eve,” Patrick had said during one heated exchange. “I know that time well, and I have connections, and I can move faster and more efficiently if you’re not with me.”
“And what would have happened the last time if I wasn’t there, Patrick? You’d be dead.”
“It will be different this time.”
“We don’t know how it will be. I’m going. We’re married, and we’re in this together.”
“But Eve…”
She’d thrown up the flat of her hand, face hard and determined. “I’m going, Patrick. End of story.”
Patrick searched online and found a costume shop on West 44th Street, where he purchased the period clothes they’d need for 1885. Some of the garments were made of polyester, which means they did not look particularly authentic, but they’d serve their purpose until he could find more suitable clothes in 1885.
They’d also need money, and Patrick had a solution. When he left 1885, he had about sixty dollars in a savings account at the Seaboard National Bank of the City of New York. That should suffice. Based on his research, sixty dollars in 1885 was worth about fifteen hundred dollars in 2018. That would be enough to get them by. Patrick did not intend to hang around 1885 any longer than necessary.
But if the lantern didn’t travel with them to the past, and if they couldn’t find the original lantern in 1885, then they would have to grab Maggie and run for it. They’d book passage on a clipper ship bound for San Francisco. No one would dare follow them there, but the trip would be expensive and dangerous, especially as the ship navigated around Cape Horn.
The fare was about two hundred dollars each in 1885, but if they survived the trip, they’d be safe to live in San Francisco, as long as they left before the April, 1906 earthquake which devastated the city and killed hundreds. Being aware of that was one advantage to knowing the future. They would plan to be long gone before then.
The Tuesday before they planned to leave, Patrick suggested they drive to the antique shop in Pennsylvania, where Eve first saw the lantern with the Christmas Eve letter stuffed inside. Ever since his arrival to 2017 New York, he’d wanted to visit the shop where Eve’s adventure had started.
Eve hesitated; she’d have to take a day off from work and the thought of returning there somehow unnerved her. But when Patrick said again how much it would mean to him, she agreed to drive him. Patrick still didn’t have a driver’s license, since he’d received his legal identity papers from Eve’s FBI father only two months before.
They left early the next morning, on a day that was nearly an exact duplicate of the day she’d traveled there the year before. Under a crystal blue November sky, they drove along a quiet, two-lane Pennsylvania road that threaded its way past bare-limbed trees, gurgling streams and graceful farmland, spotted with grazing cattle, dairy farms and old weatherworn barns.
As they rattled across a wooden bridge leading to the town of Combs End, Eve felt herself tense up.
“Are you all right?” Patrick asked, noticing Eve’s sudden stress.
She sighed. “This just brings back weird memories.”
And then she saw it—the old antique shop. She craned her neck. “There it is,” she pointed.
Patrick removed his sunglasses for a better look. He saw a sun-bleached, sad looking little shop, nestled under stately elms and maples, with quiet homes behind. On the right, there was a large RV partially hidden behind a row of manicured hedges.
The car turned right, tires popping across the gravel lot, and came to a stop. Eve killed the engine and she and Patrick sat staring at the place. They saw a faded sign in the filmy, 12-pane vintage farmhouse windows:
CLOSED
FOR SALE OR LEASE
CALL NUMBER BELOW FOR DETAILS
Eve climbed out into the crisp cool air, with Patrick behind her. In silence, they walked to the windows, shaded their eyes, and peered in. In the dim shadows, they saw a wide empty room—just a shell where dust danced in spears of sunlight. A crow fluttered down to the peaked roof and glanced about, as a motor scooter growled off in the distance.
Patrick drew back. “It’s not quite what I’d pictured.”
Eve pressed her nose against the glass, remembering the first time she’d come, feeling once again the shock and turbulent emotions she’d experienced when she first discovered her name written on the old envelope.
“The room was filled with wonderful old things…a fun little shop. And the woman who ran it, Granny Gilbert, was a character right out of a Hollywood movie.”
Patrick stuffed his hands into his denim coat pockets and stared, trying to imagine Eve finding the lantern. And then his thoughts drifted like the hawk circling overhead against the brilliant blue, cloudless sky.
“How do you think it works?” he asked, as Eve drew back from the window.
“You mean the lantern?”
“Yes… How could something like that draw you back in time?”
“I don’t know, Patrick. I consider myself a scientist, and the whole time travel thing makes no sense to me, except that I experienced it. I traveled back in time to 1885 and met you. And, here you are.”
Wearing white sneakers, Patrick kicked at the gravel. “I’ve been reading about wormholes, black holes, parallel universes and string theory,” Patrick said.
“Oh, wow, Patrick. That’s a black hole in itself. All that stuff just blows my mind. I can’t get my head around any of it.”
“It is all so strange and fantastic, Eve. I’ve had difficulty understanding Einstein and quantum mechanics, but I keep thinking that if space-time bends, much like a fabric, and then somehow inflicts gravity, perhaps the lantern is an energy doorway or a conduit, a kind of tool, like a pair of scissors, that tears a hole into space-time and allows us to travel, to slip inside, so to speak, and time travel. But if there are parallel universes, then which universe are we traveling to or from?”
Eve zipped up her brown leather jacket, stepped over to Patrick and took his hand.
“Welcome to the 21st century, where there are so many theories and opinions about everything that your head explodes if you think about them too much.”
He shook his head. “This time is so mind-bending to me, Eve. There are always so many things coming at you all the time: all those electronic devices, and things flying in the sky, and there are so many cars and people, and so much local and world news. How can we get out from under it all and understand what is truly going on around us?”
“I have no idea. I guess you just adjust to it. I mean we have to adjust to it, don’t we? And you adapt. I don’t think a human being can ever understand it all.”
“But we must try, Eve. We must.”
Eve looked up. “Look at
the hawk,” she said pointing. “He can fly and glide all over this land, and yet he will never know how vast the entire Earth truly is, or what lives in the oceans or how deep they are, or that an airplane is flying above him, right over there. In many ways, I think we’re like that hawk. We lack a broader vision—a greater perspective.”
Patrick kissed her nose. “Well… my love, I just hope that lantern takes me back, so I can save my Maggie.”
Eve fixed him with a sharp eye. “Takes us back, remember? You and me, married and together, always.”
“Yes, of course. Takes us back.”
“Well, the lantern brought us together, and whatever energy or consciousness or intelligence that was, it did a good thing, didn’t it?”
He smiled warmly at her. “Yes,” he said, pulling her into an embrace and kissing her hair. “By the grace of all goodness, the God of all things did indeed bring us together.”
As Saturday approached, Eve grew quiet and Patrick moody. They’d seen to all the practical details, and all that was left was to pull the lantern from the back closet and ensure it was in good shape.
On Friday night, Eve found the closet light switch, brushed aside a rack of summer clothes and reached down for the lantern. She was again surprised by the weight of it, and by its handsome style. Patrick stood behind her waiting, impatience making him edgy.
“How does it look? Is it all right?”
Eve brought it out into the light and held it up. They stared at it with fear and awe.
“Well, it looks harmless enough,” Patrick said. “Does it have enough oil? How’s the wick?”
Eve handed it to him. Reluctantly, he took it from her and walked into the kitchen and set it down on the table. He checked the oil lamp font and saw that it was at about five-eighths capacity, up to the side filler. He examined the four glass window panes with wire guards, and the anchor design on each side of the roof. The wick was also in good shape. To him, it looked like any number of lanterns he’d seen during his life back in the 19th century.
Eve ambled in, her arms crossed tightly against her chest, her face drawn, eyes tired.
Patrick ventured a look at her. “I guess I can’t test this thing to make sure it lights.”
Eve shook her head. “I wouldn’t advise it.”
“All right then. We should both get some sleep. Tomorrow is the day.”
Eve looked directly at him. “We’re going to need a lot of luck, Patrick.”
Patrick stepped to her, pulling her into his arms. He dropped a kiss to her forehead.
“It’s going to be all right, Eve. We’ll move in quick, get Maggie and get out. I’ve been thinking about it, and I bet you that Danial or Jacob will have the other lantern. I’m sure of it. I’ll find them. I was a detective, you know?”
Eve’s eyes lowered. “Yes, I know…”
On Saturday morning, Eve went to the Women’s Clinic to see a few favorite patients, knowing she might be away for a long time, or even indefinitely.
Patrick took Georgy Boy for a short walk and then left the apartment, ambling up Broadway through Columbia University, crossing the campus, and then strolling south on Amsterdam Avenue to the entrance to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine.
Inside the quiet and cavernous cathedral, he sat staring at the grand altar, lost in prayer and contemplation. He felt at home in this large, Gothic structure, whose cornerstone had been placed on December 27, 1892, only seven years after 1885, the year he’d time traveled.
Again, he prayed for God’s and Pauline’s forgiveness. He prayed for Maggie’s soul, and begged God to allow him the opportunity to right the wrong he had committed.
Finally, he asked God to protect Eve, the woman he loved with all his heart, and then he prayed that she’d forgive him for what he was about to do.
Patrick had decided to take the lantern to the park without her, light it and time travel back in time by himself. He couldn’t, in good conscience, risk Eve’s life for a wrong he had committed; risk her life in the off-chance that they could survive the travel, much less save Maggie’s life and return safely to 2018. No, he loved Eve too much for that. He knew the chances were slim-to-none that things would go as planned. There were no assurances. There were no guarantees. He would not risk Eve’s life because of his sins.
He left the Cathedral, taking long determined strides. Back at the apartment, he dressed in his 1885 dark suit, high collar shirt and blue tie. He slipped into his overcoat, slapped on his black bowler hat, checked himself in the mirror and nodded in solemn resignation.
He took the note he’d written earlier that day and left it on the table.
Dearest Eve:
Please forgive me for what I am about to do. But in all good conscience, I cannot risk your dear and precious life on this tenuous and improbable venture. We both know that my chances of successfully accomplishing what I am setting out to do are dubious, and yet, it is what I must strive to do with all my heart. You mean too much to me, my love, for me to jeopardize your life, your work and your long fruitful years of life ahead, for this personal and impossible journey.
So, forgive me for leaving you behind. With a heart that swells with love for you, rest assured I will return just as soon as God allows it. If I do not return, it is because I have failed, and can find no practical way to get back to you. Please do not try to follow me, Eve. It will just make things more difficult for the both of us, and chances are we’ll be lost to each other for all time.
My dearest Eve, thank you for your warm love and support, and I will always love you, through all eternity.
Your devoted and loving husband,
Patrick
Patrick grabbed the lantern, bent to stroke and say goodbye to Georgy Boy, and then stood up, giving a last glance around the apartment before leaving.
Outside, the sun slid in and out of gray moving clouds. It was a chilly day, only 41 degrees, with a sharp wind. Patrick glanced down at his watch as he walked toward Broadway. It was three-thirty in the afternoon.
Patrick removed his hat to look less conspicuous, and at Broadway and 107th, he hailed a yellow cab.
Once inside, Patrick closed the door and sat back, as the red-turbaned driver with a snow-white beard swiveled around. “Where to, sir?”
“Central Park and East 66th Street.”
Now that it was time to go, Patrick was ready. A fire had been set in him and there was no turning back.
CHAPTER 6
Eve arrived home at a little after four, concerned that Patrick had not responded to any of her texts or calls. While Georgy Boy swam around her heels, she called to Patrick. When there was no answer, she grew even more concerned. She passed through the living room, searched the empty bedroom and entered the kitchen. Her eyes fell on the note, and she froze.
She snatched it up and, with a racing heart, read it. Disbelief surged, then hurt and angry tears. She slung the note away, cursing. How could he do this to her? She had trusted him. He had told her he wouldn’t go without her. He had lied, and he had never lied to her before.
Then came the hot panic—life without Patrick. For a few paralyzing minutes, Eve struggled to think. How long ago had he left?
Eve sprang into action, unbuttoning her shirt and flinging it away. She reached for her jeans’ zipper, tugged it down, dropped the jeans and kicked them away.
Minutes later, she was struggling into her security belt, her corset and her royal blue, two-piece bustle dress, with buttons up the front. Its low waist and low bust, supported by the corset, were already uncomfortable. She dressed the best she could, smoothing out the folds, drapes and pleats, twisting and adjusting the bulky, restricting thing.
Next, she pulled on her high button-up boots and then stumbled over to the mirror. She looked harried, her eyes bloodshot from tears, and her hair was all wrong for 1885. There was no time to style it. She had to run for a taxi and get to Central Park. If she was lucky, Patrick hadn’t had enough time to light the lantern.
&nb
sp; As she flopped down on the bed to call Joni, Georgy Boy whined for attention. She patted his head, absently, waiting anxiously for Joni to pick up.
“Come on, Joni. Come on… Pick up. Pick up the phone!”
“Eve?”
Eve spoke rapidly. “Joni, can you come to the park now?”
“Now?”
“Yes. Patrick left without me.”
Silence.
“Joni… Please, can you come?”
Joni sighed into the phone. “Yes, Eve. I’m leaving now. Should be there in twenty-five minutes or so.”
With no time to spare, Eve swung into her long burgundy Victorian coat, snatched her purse and cellphone, and boiled out of the apartment, turning abruptly to whisper a goodbye to Georgy Boy.
She hailed a green cab on Broadway, swung in and gave him her destination, asking him to drive as fast as possible. The young driver, wearing a Yankee’s baseball cap, accepted the challenge with a sharp nod. The cab jumped away from the curb and gathered speed, swerving out into slow traffic.
At East 66th Street, Eve paid the driver and exited, glancing about, unaware that her costume was drawing curious glances, even from New Yorkers, who’d seen it all and then some.
Just as she had done nearly a year ago, she entered Central Park, walking briskly west under a gray sky, against a pushing wind, oblivious to the steady stream of people entering and leaving the park.
Eve pressed on toward the beautiful Bethesda Terrace and the Central Park Mall that runs through the middle of the Park from 66th to 72nd Streets. She half walked, half ran, craning her neck, searching for Patrick, soon arriving at her destination—The Poet’s Walk, at the southern end of The Mall. She rushed past the four statues of renowned writers, Fitz-Greene Halleck, Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott and William Shakespeare.
Of course, Patrick knew where to go, and which bench to find. It was the same bench Eve had sat on when she first time traveled to 1885, and where she and Patrick had returned in December 2017.
The wind came in bursts; the sky threatened rain, and as tourists and joggers drifted by, many glanced skyward, their expressions darkening as they began making their way to the nearest park exits.
The Christmas Eve Daughter - A Time Travel Novel: The Sequel to The Christmas Eve Letter Page 4