“Oh, I never would have thought he could do something like this!” Cassandra sobbed.
“I swear to God, I’d like to get a hold of him!” growled James.
Cassandra put her hands to her face. Evie returned to her side. “Cassandra, I’m so sorry.”
“Mom, are you all right? Did you have feelings for this Evans guy?”
Evie’s arm went around Cassandra’s shoulder. “Don’t question her right now, James.”
“No, it’s all right,” Cassandra said, wiping away tears. “Let’s continue. I want to know what else happened.” She ordered the computer to resume reading the letter.
In the end, it made no difference and the scoundrel was sentenced to hang. I fear I will never know who, besides the Vanderhoffs, wanted our brother dead, but I suppose he’d made himself some enemies along the way, what with his radical ideas. I do know, however, that he was also very much loved. The people who came to stay with us last June, the details of which I cannot reveal, certainly saw him as a hero, so we can be comforted knowing that he did great good in the world.
I do feel it is safe to mention a woman that he had fallen in love with; he told me so himself. She was among those who stayed here with us those few days, and I found her most fetching. Her name was Cassandra Reilly, a great beauty, I must say, and a genuine lady, except for the fact that she was mixed up with our brother (I speak in jest). She did not exactly uphold my own personal moral standards, in that I believe they had a physical relationship, but otherwise, she is just the kind of woman I would have wanted Thad to be with. Sadly, after she left, she never communicated with him, probably out of fear of giving away his whereabouts, and, for the same reason, he did not write to her before his death, though I found her address among his things. Perhaps I will try to contact her and tell her the sad news, though she’s probably read about it in the papers.
James looked as his mother; the computer read on.
Speaking of his effects, Thad did not leave many behind. He had a satchel of clothing and some books, including a lovely signed copy of Moby Dick. He had a bank account with $427.00 in it, $105.00 of which I am enclosing here to you, dividing it up pretty much equally between you and me, brother Charles, and Mother and Father.
Well, that is all. I just wanted to let you know, in case it might give you any peace, that our brother died with love in his heart. You and I both know that he didn’t die in vain, for his work lives, and he helped the cause of abolition considerably—helped many to freedom as well. I hope you are as proud of him as I am.
Your loving brother,
Cecil
*****
The exhibition of paintings by Caleb Stone, accompanied by his narrative, opened in an exhibition hall on the MIT campus, built especially for that purpose with funds supplied by Evie in the early spring of 2123. It was free to the public, but tickets were impossible to obtain for the first several months. The name of Caleb Stone saturated the media and bowled over the art world. For a while, Evie was considered the only expert on his work and was pressed into myriad interviews and lectures on the subject. One afternoon in May, nearly a year after Cassandra and Evie had embarked on their time journey, Cassandra received a call from her. She was breathless and sounded agitated.
“I need your help, Cassie,” the young woman gasped.
“What’s going on?”
“I was contacted by a woman who says she has one of Caleb’s paintings.”
“What do you mean? One that you didn’t bring back?”
“Yes.”
“How can that be?”
“I don’t know, but I want you to meet her with me. I feel shaky. She’s here in Boston. She came especially to see the exhibit. She said she wanted me to authenticate the painting. It’s supposedly signed with his name.”
“Whew.” Cassandra breathed. “Okay, let’s meet her.”
“She asked if she could bring the painting to us. Can we meet at your place?"
“Sure. Whenever you like.”
Two hours later, Evie knocked at Cassandra’s door, and in another fifteen minutes the visitor arrived. Cassandra ushered the sedate older woman into her living room where Evie was poised nervously on the edge of the sofa. She sprang up as the woman entered with a large, framed canvas wrapped in brown paper.
Introductions were briefly made, while the woman, an Ingrid Klein, stared at Evie. She then ceremoniously removed the paper from the painting. Cassandra and Evie gasped. It was a portrait of Evie, sitting demurely on a wooden chair. Her clothing reflected the style of the late 1850s—a subtle evolution in fashion from the clothing the two women had worn in 1853. There was a slim streak of white in the front of her hair. If one looked closely, a delicate ruby ring could be detected on the fourth finger of her right hand, a slim gold band on the left. She was smiling at a reflection of the artist in a mirror. It was Caleb.
Evie swayed and Cassandra led her back to the sofa.
“Cassandra, what does this mean?” the young woman whispered.
“Is this you, Ms. Johnston?” asked Ingrid Klein.
“Yes,” Evie uttered.
Cassandra said slowly, “I think it means you went back.”
*****
Evie stood at the entrance of the portal exit, one suitcase in hand, dressed in the clothing style of the mid-1850s. Gathered in the lab in St. Catherines, Ontario were Cassandra, Jake and Professor Carver. The temporary set-up was cramped, with only the bare necessities required for Evie’s one-way trip. All her affairs had been put in order, her farewells to her family made, the final good-byes to friends said.
“Evie,” said Professor Carver, his voice strained. She turned to look at him. “Are you sure? Only six months? You really only want us to leave the portal here six more months? You’ve donated so much money to the MIT Chronology Department. There’s plenty of money available for us to leave it open a year, even two.”
“No, Elton. If I’m not back in six months, I’m never coming back. And according to Ms. Klein’s painting, I’m not.”
“It’s just so…final.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
She kissed him on the cheek, hugged Jake, and said good-bye. She took a step toward Cassandra, feeling the weight of the many gold coins sewn into the lining of her petticoats. She thought of it as the dowry she’d bring to Caleb to ensure a comfortable life for their future. She’d tell him it was her inheritance.
She looked into Cassandra’s eyes and squeezed her hand, taking a moment to memorize her friend’s face, and felt Cassandra press something into her palm. Opening it, she found a ruby ring in a gold filigree setting. She raised her eyebrows in question.
“Ben gave it to me in England. I thought that if I ever met one of his descendents, I’d give it to them. That time has come,” Cassandra said, tears in her eyes.
“Good-bye,” Evie whispered.
She stepped inside the booth. Moments later, she was gone.
*****
On a mild October evening, Cassandra wandered through the gallery in Soho where the newly discovered paintings of a nineteenth century artist named Evelyn Bay were on display. She stopped in front of one—it was a depiction of a dance, a ball, and was painted mostly in shades of black and white, except for a few splashes of color: accents on the dresses of the women who seemed to be spinning in motion on the static canvas. Most of the people in the painting were dark-skinned, and the women’s white dresses were in the antebellum fashion. The men wore black. No faces were distinguishable. The impressionistic haze made everything seem to blend together until you took a step back, then the party came suddenly into focus. One couple stood out, a young man and woman, the man dark complexioned, the woman much lighter. They were the focus of the swirling textures and the eye could not help but be drawn to them.
Cassandra marveled that although you could not see the expressions on their faces, their presence exuded love. Her eye wandered to the edge of the canvas where a pale man and woman clung together i
n the dance. The man was tall, the woman auburn haired. They were the only people in the picture with white skin. The longer Cassandra stood and took in it in, the happier she felt. The artist had captured it all so beautifully. Cassandra felt that the torch had now been passed, that Evie had become the ultimate traveler, going farther and deeper into history than she herself ever would.
Cassandra felt a slight melancholy nagging at the corner of her mind. When she focused on it, she realized it stemmed from the great disappointment she felt in Nick, that he had turned out to be so different from the man she’d first met in England. He had eluded all attempts to locate him, essentially disappearing from society. But Professor Carver had made sure that his crime was exposed within the scientific community. He would be ostracized for good.
She sought to shake off the unpleasant thoughts. She did not want to be sad tonight. She had grieved for Thaddeus Evans, but finally came to terms with the fact that, however he died, by now he would have been dead for more than two centuries. There was no use in continuing to mourn for him.
As a great comfort, she had her work, her family, and her friends. She looked around the room to see that each of the scientists of the team was now there, including James. They had plans to all go to Delmonico’s to celebrate the opening of the show together. They gathered near the exit, commenting and exclaiming on the ten beautiful works of art that were there on display. Cassandra flung open the gallery doors, took in the bustling sight of Broadway, and stepped out into the brisk, New York City night.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
The Time Heiress Page 28