Brooklyn, New York—Dear Santa Claus: Please send me a toy cannon, train, magic lantern and a small boat, some candy, nuts of all kinds, apples, oranges and some fireworks. I am a little boy 6 years old. Your little friend, Tommy Webber.
Patrick thought the request for a magic lantern particularly coincidental and poignant since he and Eve wanted one as well. Enjoying himself, Patrick read on.
29 East 23rd Street—Dearest Santa: Though I look older, I am only 5 years old. I don’t want a doll, but I want a watering pot and a carpet sweeper, and some ginger-snaps and jaw-breakers. My Mommy said you may not come this year because your reindeer are sick. If they get better, my sister Almira also wishes for a coat, hair ribbon, dress, cap, shoes, fruit and nuts, and some other items, including a little piano. Is that too much? Please help your reindeer get better.
Yours lovingly, Brooksie T. Penn.
Patrick smiled, touched by the letters and eagerly read on.
West Sixtieth Street
Dear Santa,
Would you please give me something for Christmas, as we are very poor and have no papa? My mamma works downtown in offices and sometimes she takes in washing and does the best she can. You see, Santa, it is very hard for me also, for I get up very early and have to send my sister and brothers to school. I don’t care for much so long as my mamma and sister and brothers have a happy Christmas. Thank you, Santa.
Your true friend, Lizzie Parsons
Patrick was noting the name and address where he could mail a financial contribution when something caught his eye. It was Addison Casterbury himself walking purposefully, head held arrogantly high, as he drew up to the lobby desk. The front desk clerk crisply and efficiently handed Addison a key. Without a word or applying his signature, Addison started for the elevator.
As Patrick arose from his chair, he noted a broad, blunt-faced man following Addison. This would be the house detective, Patrick thought as he sauntered toward the elevators, newspaper at his side, his nonchalant expression pleasant.
Addison stood at Elevator One. Patrick stood leisurely behind, about five feet back, the house detective measuring him and the couple beside him, as well as the very tailored man behind them, nervously fingering his waxed mustache.
As the elevator’s black dial descended to four, three, two and one, Patrick stepped back behind the waiting guests.
When the elevator slid open, Addison stepped in, turning about, facing the waiting guests with the lift of an arrogant nose. The house detective held up a meaty hand and spoke in a blunt, raspy voice, “Take Elevator Two. This one’s private.”
The couple voiced disapproval, and the waxed mustache was annoyed. But they obeyed and moved away.
The detective stepped in next to Addison, the elevator operator pressed the button, and the doors whispered closed.
Patrick watched the elevator dial climb clockwise until it stopped at the twelfth floor. When a second elevator arrived at the lobby, all but Patrick climbed aboard. He faded back and returned to his chair and to the Santa Claus letters.
Minutes later, Patrick glanced over the top of his newspaper to see a very striking woman of about thirty years old walk aggressively through the lobby and approach the lobby desk. She wore a slim, fashionable coat, complete with hat, fur muffs and a stole. Having a near photographic memory for faces, Patrick appraised her from head to toe, her full breasts, pink lips, and mass of honey blonde hair, crowned with a purple hat. She possessed a proud, severe, wealthy countenance. She smelled of money and privileged. She looked angry.
A quick and well-dressed front desk manager appeared from around the desk, all silent bowing and gestures, indicating toward the elevators. Again, Patrick arose and positioned himself behind, keeping at a safe distance.
When the next elevator doors opened, the lady was ushered inside by the effusive manager, who kindly instructed the other waiting guests to take the next elevator. They voiced displeasure.
The doors closed, and Patrick watched the dial ascend to the twelfth floor and stop. Considering his next move, Patrick turned back toward the lobby and noticed a man standing near the Christmas tree. Only minutes before, Patrick hadn’t seen him there. He was staring at Patrick with mild curiosity.
He wore a gray overcoat, scuffed boots, and a bowler hat pushed back from his broad forehead. He held a pipe in one hand, his other hand stuffed easily into his pants pocket, his dark handlebar mustache needing a trim. He stood relaxed, with a sinister smile. His eyes narrowed on Patrick as he puffed on his pipe and blew a feather of smoke toward the ceiling.
Patrick’s pulse quickened. From his dress and manner, Patrick was almost positive that this man was a reporter. But why was he staring at him? Normally, Patrick would have ignored the man, but time was running out and so were his options. Perhaps this staring fellow had information Patrick needed, so he hesitated for only a moment before venturing over.
CHAPTER 30
In Chicago, Eve had caught the Montreal Express, her destination being the village of Coldwater, Ontario. As the train went thundering along the tracks, the haunting moan of a whistle echoed across the vast snowy landscape, where deer emerged from evergreen forests, their heads alert, their noses sniffing at the cold air.
Eve settled back in her seat and tried to read a novel, but her mind wandered and then stalled and then raced.
She glanced at her watch. She’d left Chicago on Monday at 1:30pm, and if the Grand Trunk Western Railroad schedule was correct, she’d arrive in Toronto in about eighteen hours, around seven o’clock on Tuesday morning. She wasn’t sure about the distance from there to Coldwater.
Her thoughts circled around Patrick. She hadn’t been able to reach him by phone. In Detroit, she’d tried to call, but once again, he wasn’t in his room. She needed to know what was going on, and she needed to tell him why she was traveling to Canada.
Now that she was only hours from her destination, she was second-guessing her decision. Should she have returned to New York instead? Did Patrick need her help? Was he okay? Had he found Maggie? In Detroit, she’d sent Patrick yet another telegram.
WILL CALL WHEN ARRIVE IN CANADA
Eve sat opposite an elderly woman and her daughter. To Eve’s relief, both women seemed to be introverts and were not interested in communication. That was fine with Eve.
She rested her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. An image of Ann Long’s gloomy face cut into her inner vision, and Eve played back the revealing conversation she’d had with her on Sunday night. After dinner, they’d climbed into a taxi and taken a tour of Chicago while Ann began her story. Eve was nearly sitting on the edge of her seat, wanting to know what had happened to the lantern, and why Ann didn’t have it with her in Chicago.
“I was in love once, Eve,” Ann began, as the taxi roamed through light traffic.
Ann folded her hands in her lap and struggled for words. Then her hands became fidgety. Then she folded them again. She turned her head away and, when she spoke, her voice was so soft that Eve had to lean in to hear her.
“He was a doctor, in his early forties, and he was married. Well… you see, I was a young doctor—and a female doctor, which meant that all the male doctors ignored me. They thought I was incompetent and presumptuous and, therefore, I was not considered a true or equal professional. I shouldn’t say that all the male doctors ignored me. There was one doctor, a very gifted doctor, who did not ignore me. He genuinely wanted to help me be the best doctor I could be.”
Ann paused as the memories came flooding back.
“Yes… Dr. Ogden Bennett did not ignore me. He was quiet, kind and patient. He allowed me to attend his surgeries. He instructed me on surgical technique and eventually allowed me to perform certain procedures along with him. In those days, that was unheard of, and he received several reprimands from his superiors for doing so. He ignored the gossip about me, and he ignored the other male doctors, some of whom worked in vain to try to get him removed from the hospital.”
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Ann finally turned to face Eve, her eyes solemn and sad. “You must understand that Dr. Bennett took all the criticism and the threats against him with grace. When he was forced to defend his decision to educate me, he did so with a firm conviction that it was not only good for the hospital and the education of all, but it was also good for his female patients, many of whom felt more comfortable with a female surgeon than a male one. Yes, Dr. Bennett defended me, and he educated me. Without his help and support, I would never have obtained the position of the first female ambulance surgeon at New York’s Gouverneur Hospital.”
Ann’s head lowered. “I was 35 years old when I first met Dr. Bennett. I have never been an attractive woman, Eve. The smallpox took care of that. But beyond that, I was not blessed with the beauty that men are attracted to.”
Eve spoke up. “Did you know, Ann, that there were men—attractive men at the Gouverneur Hospital back in 1885—who not only admired you but also found you attractive? Had they not been laborers or immigrants or poor, they would have invited you out.”
Ann turned, smiling. “Thank you for that. You were always kind and strong. You were always confident and so very attractive. When you left me all those years ago, I was depressed for days. I missed your professionalism and friendship. But let us not travel into fantasy. I was never attractive to men—except to Mr. Bennett. Dare I say it? We fell in love—at least I fell in love with him, a man I admired for his dedication, skill and independence. I don’t know why he loved me, but he did. He told me so several times, to my utter girlish delight.”
The taxi was driving past the University of Chicago when Eve saw Ann’s eyes mist over.
She heaved in a breath and seemed to hold it, as if she didn’t want to release the words, those prisoned words she had kept locked up for so many years.
Ann let her breath out slowly. “We had a son, Eve. Mr. Bennett and I… yes, we had a son. We named him John Logan Bennett, although we finally just came to call him Logan.”
Ann brightened and wiped away a tear. “Oh, he was the sun and the moon to me, Eve. So smart and so very handsome, like his father. Thank God he did not look like me, except maybe he had my eyes. My eyes are not so bad to look at, I think. Whenever I looked into Logan’s bright little eyes, I felt the swelling of a love I had never thought possible. Where did it come from? As a scientist, I wanted to know. I wanted to see it under a microscope or cut open my chest and find it inside.”
Ann laughed a little. “Oh, what a silly woman I was, but I loved our little Logan with such a pure and simple heart, Eve. I loved him more than my own life. But then, I suppose that is how love is supposed to be, is it not, because I loved Mr. Bennett just as deeply. Yes, just as much. We were a family, and I had always wanted a family.”
Eve was deeply touched. She had the impulse to take Ann’s hand to comfort her, but Ann was not the type. She was formal and guarded, so Eve respected that and simply listened.
Ann’s head lowered by degrees. “As I said, Dr. Bennett was a married man, and it was not right what we did. It was not what I wanted for him. I wanted only happiness for him. Anyway, I gave birth to Logan at a private hospital that Dr. Bennett had arranged. I was 36 years old, and I lived alone in a New York apartment for a time. Money was not an issue, as Dr. Bennett had come from wealth and he was a respected doctor who had many wealthy patients in addition to the poor ones he often treated but did not charge.”
The taxi driver stopped and twisted around, revealing a scar on his right cheek. Eve saw hardness in his old, wrinkled face.
“Do you want me to keep driving?” he asked, in an accent that Eve couldn’t place.Ann nodded kindly. “Yes, driver, thank you. Perhaps my friend should see the Field Museum and the Ryerson Mansion. Would you mind driving by those?”
The driver shrugged, turned, and shifted the taxi into gear. It shuddered ahead and gathered speed.
“I will make this brief, Eve. It is still quite painful for me to recount. Dr. Bennett came to me one night, and I saw a heavy sorrow on his face. He looked so forlorn. He had aged so much in such a short time, with gray at his temples and new lines etched into his face. He told me that Logan would have to be sent away to a home in Canada. As you can imagine, at that moment my heart seemed to explode. For the first time, we argued. It was a terrible scene as I fought to keep our baby. I told Mr. Bennett I would never give up my baby… our baby. Mr. Bennett dropped into a chair and was silent for a long time.”
Ann massaged her forehead while she spoke, as if she’d developed a headache.
“Dr. Bennett had a career and a family to protect. One of Dr. Bennett’s enemies learned about Logan and me and he threatened to tell his wife, as well as the president and the chief surgeon of the hospital, if Dr. Bennett didn’t agree to break off the relationship. This same doctor also threatened to go to the press. Dr. Bennett’s career would not have survived the scandal. Not in those days. I dare say, not even in these.”
Ann’s gaze was direct for a moment, and then it drifted away.
“Dr. Bennett had a younger sister living in Ottawa, Canada, and she was married to a country doctor. They could not have children, for whatever the reason. Anyway, his sister agreed to take Logan, but only if she and her husband were given legal custody, and only if Logan was never told who his biological parents were. Logan was to grow up thinking that she and her husband were his birth parents.”
Eve shut her eyes, feeling a wave of emotional pain. Ann sat up straighter, her chin lifted in a fragile pride, as if to bolster herself—to brace herself against the words to come.
“Yes, well, I lost my Logan, didn’t I?” she said, her voice filling with emotion. “What could I do, Eve? I couldn’t destroy one love to save another, could I? If I did that, I knew I would eventually destroy us all. I couldn’t ruin Dr. Bennett’s career, and yet a part of me didn’t care about anything else except keeping my baby. But then, what kind of life would Logan have had? He would have been ostracized. He wouldn’t have a father, and he would have been marked and called all sorts of unkind names by children and adults alike.”
Ann’s voice dropped into anger. “The day Logan was taken from me I went through every kind of madness. My father was a major in the Army. Did I ever tell you that?”
“No,” Eve said. “You never talked about your family.”
“When Dr. Bennett came to take Logan from me, I had planned to shoot Dr. Bennett, Logan and myself. Yes… I was that mad—a real crazy woman.”
Ann paused, her eyes shifting down and away. “But then, when I held Logan for the last time and looked into his dear, twinkling eyes, something changed in me. Instead of wanting destruction and death, I felt a sudden burst of hope and love. I suddenly wanted Logan to have the best life he could have, and I knew that he would be loved and cared for in ways that I could never give him. So when Dr. Bennett reached for him, I offered Logan with a full and generous heart, even though my father’s service revolver was lying on the kitchen table like a live thing.”
Ann inhaled a bracing breath, struggling to go on. “Dr. Bennett took Logan away, and I never saw Dr. Bennett again.”
Ann’s head slowly dropped to her chest. “A year later, he died from a heart attack.”
There was a long painful silence. Neither woman said a word until the car turned into the crowded Morrison Hotel parking lot and pulled up to the entrance.
Eve finally broke the silence. “Did you ever see Logan again?”
Ann smiled. “A few months after Dr. Bennett’s death, a letter arrived from his attorney. It contained a brief note Dr. Bennett had written shortly after he’d taken Logan away from me. It revealed where Logan was living and that his full name was John Logan Tyler. It concluded with a tender apology for all that had happened to me, and a declaration of love that he said would never die. He wrote, ‘I love you deeply, Ann, and I always will.’”
The driver waited. Eve waited.
Ann raised her head as a tear raced down her cheek. “Logan
is a fine man, Eve. A handsome man, like his father. He works as a conductor on the Canadian Northern Railroad. He and I were united when he was 28 years old, after his adopted mother died. Logan’s adopted father was a good and kind man. He sat Logan down one day and told him the truth about me and Dr. Bennett. To my great surprise and delight, Logan located me, and we finally had a tearful meeting in Canada in December of 1910. We have become close since then. I plan to visit him on Christmas Eve. We have spent every Christmas together since 1910.”
Ann’s eyes were now clear and direct. “Eve, I gave Logan the lantern.”
Eve stared, trying to understand. “Why? Why did you give it to him?”
“Because I am his mother and I wanted to give him something extraordinary. I wanted to make up for all the hard, weeping years, Eve. I wanted to give him something that could potentially change his life, if that is what he wished. I told him everything about you, and what Jacob Jackson had told me. I told him he should light it and travel to a new and better world. I told him that perhaps he could travel to the past and we could play out our lives all over again and, this time, we’d get it right as rain.”
“Why didn’t you light it, Ann?”
Ann sat in a placid dignity. “Because I am a scientist, Eve, and I don’t believe in that sort of superstition.”
Eve questioned her with her eyes.
Ann smiled. “…And because I didn’t have the courage.”
Eve swallowed. “Did Logan light it?”
“Not as of his last letter, which I received three days ago.”
Ann reached for Eve’s hand and squeezed it. “Eve, go meet Logan. Go to Canada and meet my son. Tell him who you are and why you have come. Go get your lantern, Eve, so you can return to your own time.”
CHAPTER 31
Patrick approached the presumed reporter with some caution. What if he wasn’t a reporter? What if he worked for Big Jim or Addison?
“Hello, friend,” the reporter said.
The Christmas Eve Daughter - A Time Travel Novel: The Sequel to The Christmas Eve Letter Page 21