The Christmas Eve Daughter - A Time Travel Novel: The Sequel to The Christmas Eve Letter

by Elyse Douglas

  Patrick descended the stairs. “I don’t think he should know. The fewer who know, the better.”

  “I’ll send him to the General Store for supplies,” Logan said.

  “When he comes back, won’t he be curious as to where we’ve gone?” Eve asked.

  Maggie spoke up. “We’ll tell him friends came for you. Don’t worry. I’m an actress, I’ll convince him. Anyway, we’re all going to be leaving today, right? Duncan and I talked about it last night. We’ve decided to travel together.”

  “To where?” Patrick asked.

  “Somewhere west. Perhaps to Winnipeg or Saskatchewan, or even Alberta. Just like all of you are about to do, Duncan and I will be off on a journey to begin our new lives. Isn’t it exciting?”

  Duncan joined them for a breakfast of bread and butter, tea and oatmeal. The conversation was muted. Duncan noticed and asked why everyone had lost their good cheer from the previous night.

  Eve answered, “Maybe we all had a little too much spirit, Duncan.”

  After breakfast, Logan and Duncan prepared the horse for the ride to the General Store, and as Duncan was about to jump into the sleigh, Eve rushed out, gave him a hug and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye, Duncan,” she whispered. “Be careful.”

  Duncan was surprised by her gesture. “No need to worry about me,” he said. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’ve driven many a sleigh in our Massachusetts winters.”

  Eve stood outside on the porch, watching the sleigh dwindle in size and slowly disappear into the glare of snow. When she returned inside, Patrick and Maggie were in a father/daughter embrace.

  An hour later, Eve and Patrick were ready to go. Maggie and Logan were waiting, tentative and nervous. Logan lifted the lantern by its wire handle and turned to face the others.

  “We should proceed before Duncan returns. Of course, I don’t know where you will arrive in 2018, but I suggest we walk back into the trees and light the lantern there. Chances are, in a hundred years or so, the trees will still be there.”

  Eve wore a woolen dress and a trim winter coat, Patrick a dark suit, minus the tie, with his greatcoat. They hoped their wardrobes would not be conspicuous in 2018.

  The four left the cabin and tramped off through virgin snow to a level area just outside a grove of trees. It overlooked a meadow and a distant lake skimmed with ice, flashing under the bright morning sun.

  Logan handed the lantern to Patrick.

  “This is as good a place as any.”

  “Give it to Eve, Logan. I trust her luck better than mine.”

  Logan nodded, and Maggie came forward, crunching through the eight inches of snow to bid her father farewell.

  “Safe journey,” she said.

  “And you, my dear Maggie. I will wait for you in the future.”

  She stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. Then she embraced Eve and thanked her.

  Maggie and Logan backed away thirty feet, according to Eve’s instructions.

  Eve turned to Patrick. “All right, Detective Sargent Gantly. After I light this thing, we are going to embrace, and hold that embrace. This time, we’re not going to be separated.”

  Patrick grinned. “Yes, Miss Kennedy. Whatever you say.”

  The first match fizzled. The second was blown out in the fast wind. The third reached the lantern’s wick and caught. Patrick pulled Eve into his arms and they embraced in the lantern’s swelling radiance.

  There was a whirring sound, like a small motor. Golden light expanded into a cone of brilliance, and Maggie and Logan looked on in amazed wonder. Logan stepped back further. Maggie took a step forward, hypnotized by the rich, buttery light.

  Her eyes widened in shock as the light engulfed Eve and Patrick, swirling around them in a storm of rainbow colors. Enthralled, Maggie moved closer as the couple, still in an embrace, dissolved into a towering blaze of blue and gold that shot high into the sky.

  And then they were gone, and the light extinguished as if snuffed out, golden smoke curling, rising high up into the trees, vanishing into the rich blue sky.

  Logan was frozen, trapped in disbelief and utter terror.

  Hypnotized, Maggie started toward the lantern, now dark and silent. She hovered over it for a time, staring in rapt wonder. Finally, she gathered the courage to reach for it. She touched it and drew back. She reached again, took the handle and lifted it. It was heavy in her hand and she could still feel the warmth.

  She turned back to Logan, who trembled.

  “I hope they made it back home, Logan.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Eve awoke with a start, her eyes flipping open when she heard the female flight attendant’s voice over the intercom, announcing the final approach into New York’s LaGuardia Airport. Was Eve dreaming?

  She blinked around in dazed astonishment. The seat next to her was empty. Where was Patrick? What time was she in? She was about to spring out of her seat in panic when Patrick appeared, dropped into the seat beside her and refastened his seatbelt, looking at her.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Where were you?”

  “The bathroom. You sure you’re okay?”

  Eve swallowed, readjusted herself in the chair and slowly eased back into her seat.

  She took Patrick’s hand. “Yes… I’m okay.”

  She gazed outside the window to see the magnificent Manhattan skyline slide by.

  “Bad dream?” Patrick asked.

  “Yeah… I was back in 1914, and we were being chased by four very ugly men down dark alleys.”

  “It’s going to take a while for our bodies to adjust, just like the last time. I’m feeling a bit shaky myself, like part of me is still lingering somewhere in 1914.”

  They held hands as the airplane descended and Eve closed her eyes, replaying yet again the events of the day before—her birthday—December 17, 2018.

  After she’d lit the lantern, they were seized and then flung into tunnels of blue light. They sailed and tumbled through currents of cold and heat and streams of golden light. Through all the turbulence, they’d clung to each other, holding tight and never letting go.

  Eventually, they’d burst through a flash of white light to find themselves standing in snow on the edge of a grove of trees. As they recovered, Patrick pointed toward a three-bedroom bungalow about 40 feet away.

  Disoriented and weak, they’d stumbled down an incline to a car that sat in the driveway. They needed confirmation about time and place. The license plate told them they were back in 2018. Relieved, Eve turned away, while Patrick gave cover. She unfastened her dress, reached into her security belt and retrieved her credit card and bank card. After placing them in her small leather purse, Patrick took her hand and led her to the bungalow’s front door.

  The doorbell “bonged.” A minute later, a heavyset man in his 30s cautiously opened the door and peered out, looking them up and down, his eyes wary.

  Patrick smiled and said, “Sorry to bother you. Would you mind calling us a taxi? We seem to have lost our way and our cellphones.”

  Although the man pulled his cell phone out and placed the call, he didn’t converse or invite them in. Eve and Patrick waited at the end of the walkway until the taxi arrived, aware that the man was watching from behind his brown living room curtains.

  The taxi driver recommended the Quality Inn, and he drove them there through a dancing snowfall. Eve and Patrick spent the rest of the day buying clothes, a suitcase and toiletries at the local mall, and then burrowing themselves in their hotel room, resting and making travel plans to fly from Toronto to New York.

  When Eve called Joni from the hotel phone, it jumped into voicemail. Eve left a message, relieved that Joni’s number was the same and that she was still around.

  That night they hardly slept, both feeling loopy, weak and worried about what they might find when they returned to their New York apartment.

  The hydraulic sound of the landing gear lowering brought Eve back to the present. The airpl
ane descended from low clouds and drifted over the flat gray East River, hovering for seconds above the runway before touching down.

  Eve and Patrick exchanged relieved glances.

  “We made it, Eve. We’re home.”

  As the taxi drove along West 125th Street, Eve noticed holiday flavor was in the air, from Christmas decorations on street lamps to blinking lights in store windows, to sidewalk Christmas tree stands.

  “Let’s get a Christmas tree tonight,” she said to Patrick.

  As they approached West 107th Street, Eve could feel her muscles tense up. Patrick’s jaw was set, and she knew that meant he too was nervous.

  The taxi drew up to the curb and Eve stared out apprehensively. The last time she had arrived home from time travel, the location of her apartment had disturbingly been altered from the second floor to the third floor. Her dog, Georgy Boy, had changed from being white with black spots to being white with large brown spots, and his ears were totally brown. Had anything changed this time?

  After the taxi drove away, the couple stared up at the brownstone to the bay windows of their third-floor apartment.

  “Ready?” Eve asked, inhaling a breath.

  Patrick lifted the carry-on bag and they started up the cement stairs. Inside, they mounted the stairs to the third floor. Eve took in another quick breath before she inserted the key and turned the knob. The door swung open into an apartment that was just as they had left it.

  They wandered the rooms, searching for any clues of change. There were none. Everything was exactly as they’d left it.

  Eve met Patrick’s eyes. “Nothing has changed.”

  “Except us,” Patrick said.

  “Now all we need is Georgy Boy, and everything will be back to normal. Joni will probably bring him over in a couple of hours.”

  And then they fell into each other’s arms and stayed there for a long time, just happy to be safe and home again.

  Two hours later, when Eve opened the door to see Georgy Boy and Joni, she was shaken to her very core. Georgy Boy burst into the room, charging into Patrick’s arms. He barked and leaped and circled, his tongue wild and wagging. He swam about Eve’s legs, the same dog as when they’d left.

  But there was something that had changed—and changed dramatically.

  Eve stared hard at Joni, who stared back, perplexed. When Joni entered the room and shut the door behind her, Patrick slowly rose from his crouched position rubbing Georgy Boy’s head. His big eyes were riveted on Joni. He tried to swallow, but he couldn’t.

  “What’s the matter with you two?” she asked. “You’re looking at me as if I’d just dropped in from another planet.”

  Patrick and Eve exchanged worried glances.

  Joni had always been tall, with jet-black hair, snow-white skin, and dark blue eyes. Her voice had always been rather low and resonate.

  This Joni—the one she and Patrick were looking at now—was changed. She was shorter, with wide hips and long, shockingly beautiful red hair, styled in a flip. She had sharp green eyes and cute freckles. This Joni’s voice was rather high in pitch, definitely a soprano, and not the contralto she’d always been. Eve had heard the difference on the phone, but she hadn’t given it any thought.

  Eve couldn’t find her voice. Joni was a different person: her expression, the set of her mouth, and yet, there was also something familiar. It was weird and disconcerting.

  Joni lifted her hands and then dropped them. “So, what’s going on? Why are you both looking at me like that? I’m the one who should be looking at you. Patrick has lost weight and you, Eve, have cut your hair and dyed it. Not the best color for you. It washes you out. Anyway, don’t just stand there gawking at me, give me a hug.”

  Eve staggered forward mechanically and hugged her old and now-new friend.

  After Joni hugged Patrick, she slipped out of her coat and surveyed the apartment. “Well, has anything changed like the last time? Is Georgy Boy a different color? Is the apartment the same?”

  Joni draped her coat on the back of the couch and waited. Eve managed a nod.

  “Everything is… well, basically the same,” Eve said, woodenly.

  Patrick struggled for words. “So how is the acting business, Joni?”

  Joni folded her arms, cocked her head left and studied him. “Acting? What acting?”

  “You know, acting? Auditions. Any new shows coming up?” Patrick asked.

  Joni shrugged. “Patrick, I haven’t been to an audition in four years.”

  Eve controlled the urge to scream. What was going on? She forced herself to stay calm. “Well, then, Joni, what are you doing?”

  Joni dropped her arms. “Okay, you two are really starting to freak me out here. I’m a massage therapist, and I have been a massage therapist for three years, okay? I gave you both massages before you left, remember? You were both all stressed out about the time travel thing. What’s happened to you two? You look, I don’t know, different somehow.”

  Eve absorbed a wave of dread. “Joni… Something has happened. I don’t know how to say this but…you’re not the same as when we left. You look different. Your voice is different, and you were never a massage therapist. You were an actress who worked part-time at some camera rental house that rented cameras and lenses to Indie filmmakers.”

  All three stood as still as statues. Georgy Boy, feeling the stress, barked.

  Long, painful minutes later, Joni gathered up her coat and slipped it on. At the door she turned back to them, her expression sad.

  “I don’t know what’s happened to you both but call me when you wake up from whatever weird freakin’ dream you’re having. I’ll be around.”

  Eve spoke up. “Joni… do you have the lantern?”

  Joni stared at her old friend, estimating the scene. “Yes, I have it. I assume you want it back?”

  “Yes, Joni…And I want us to meet to talk about all this.”

  Joni stared at them defiantly. “Hey, maybe I’ll go home and light the lantern and return to the world we were all living in before you left—before you got all crazy. I haven’t changed, okay? You two have. Well, whatever. I’m outta here.”

  After she was gone, Eve slowly and reluctantly went to the window and parted the curtains. As a light snow fell, she watched Joni march off down the street. Her energetic walk was the same walk as before; her shoulders back, her self-assured head held high. But it was not the same Joni. Eve shut her eyes, feeling nauseous. What else had changed?

  EPILOGUE

  On Christmas Eve morning, Eve and Patrick slept in until 10am. Patrick had been up late doing additional research about Duncan Beaumont. It had been an on-going project for days.

  Still in the pink silk pajamas that Patrick had bought her for her birthday, Eve padded off to the kitchen to make coffee. Patrick soon followed, in sweatpants and a red T-shirt. He sat on a counter stool and booted up the laptop, clearly an aspect of technology that he’d grown attached to.

  “So, did you find more info on Duncan last night?” Eve asked.

  “Yes, I wanted to fit all the pieces together before I told you.”

  Eve leaned back against the counter. “But in all your research, you still haven’t been able to find out anything about what happened to Maggie or Logan?”

  Patrick shook his head. “No… I may have to go to Canada for that. I can’t find anything on the internet. I’ve searched everywhere.”

  “So what have you found on Duncan?”

  Patrick clicked through the links until he came to the one he was looking for.

  “Okay, here it is,” he said, eagerly. “Do you want me to read or just sum it up for you?”

  “A little of both. Just don’t leave out anything important.”

  “All right,” Patrick said, pointing at the screen. “Duncan Beaumont ended up in Chicago, working as an illustrator, creating a vast portfolio of work for magazines and advertisers. He was also a landscape artist who, in later years, produced large canvasses revealing the
changing face of Chicago, from the stockyards and the Southside to the dawn of the skyscrapers. In 1962, he was commissioned to paint ‘Murals of Western Progress’ for the Los Angeles Public Library. As of 2015, his paintings were being sold for more than $500,000 each.”

  “Well, what do you know? Impressive.”

  “There’s more. His work was championed by none other than Irene Wilkes Casterbury Morgan.”

  Eve pushed away from the counter, leaning in toward the laptop screen.

  “Irene?”

  “Yes, our Irene. Irene was responsible for putting Duncan in contact with the influential art crowd in Chicago. She helped support him financially and through commissions until he made a name for himself.”

  Eve nosed in. “Irene married Morgan?”

  Patrick pointed. “Yes, Winston Capshaw Morgan, the man her mother wanted her to marry.”

  “Wow… So Irene did love Duncan.”

  “That was easy to see, wasn’t it?”

  “I wonder if they ever met in Chicago?”

  “I would assume so, since her husband had business interests in Chicago. Surely Irene traveled there from time to time.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He was a banker and land speculator. He was worth millions.”

  “So Irene married the money.”

  “Yes, but it seems her heart was always with Duncan.”

  “How long did she live, Patrick?”

  Patrick searched. “Yes, here it is. Irene Wilkes Casterbury Morgan died of cancer in 1943.”

  “She was so young.”

  “Yes, only 57.”

  “How sad. And what about Duncan? How long did he live?”

  “Duncan married, had two children, a girl and a boy, and lived to the ripe old age of 76, passing away peacefully in his sleep in 1967.”

  Eve stared thoughtfully. “He had a good long life then.”

  After the kettle whistled and hissed, Eve hurried over, switched off the gas flame and poured the steaming water into the red coffee filter cone.

  “Patrick, has anyone responded to our query about Kady Tyler?”