The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (22 page)

Then all at once, she was angry at him, irrational as that seemed.  After all, hadn’t he flirted with her the last time?  Wasn’t he supposed to be following her and watching out for her?

The detective neatly folded his paper and stood up.  He started toward her and, as Eve examined his face, she thought she saw a stormy mood.  This confused and worried her.  Had he somehow found out about her—learned the truth about where she’d come from?  Did he think something romantic had happened between her and Albert Harringshaw?  One thought chased another as she noticed white clouds of vapor leaving his partially open mouth.

When he was within fifteen feet of her, a little smile formed on his lips.  She relaxed her tight shoulders and, as he drew up to her, he rested his eyes on her face.

“Good afternoon, Miss Kennedy.”

“Good afternoon, Detective Sergeant Gantly.  I suppose since you were waiting for me, you weren’t following me?”

He knew what she was really saying and so did Eve.

“I have been on other assignments, but…” He paused and looked up into the gray rolling clouds.  “I have also been around.”

Eve wondered if he was telling her the truth, but then decided he was.  That pleased her.

“Shall we take a walk, Miss Kennedy?”

Eve nodded and they started off along East 20
^th
Street, neither speaking for minutes.  A delivery wagon rattled by, led by a sturdy horse which advanced in an easy rhythm, an unlighted kerosene lantern swaying under the rear axil.  Eve paused when she saw the lantern, her mind flashing back to her own time and the lighted lantern that had brought her here.

“Anything wrong?” he asked.

“No… Nothing.”

A policeman with a walrus mustache, dressed in a knee-length blue coat with brass buttons and tall felt helmet, was walking his beat.  Detective Sergeant Gantly acknowledged him with a nod and the policeman tapped his cap with his baton.  They walked on, hearing the vendors hawking their wares, and the newsboys shouting out the latest editions. 

A woman in a feathered black hat and a cape over her shoulders walked by and around the corner, holding her long skirt an inch above her ankle as she climbed into a carriage.

“Where do you work?” Eve asked.

“I work out of the fifteenth precinct station house on Mercer Street.” 

“And what were some of your other assignments?”

“You would probably find it boring.”

“Try me,” Eve challenged.

“All right.  I’ve been looking at mug shots.”

“Hmm… I didn’t know there were mug shots in…” She caught herself.  “So you’ve been looking at photos of criminals?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Yes, Miss Kennedy, and some of us have been assigned to explore the relationship between appearance and criminal behavior.  We have compiled a record of, let’s say forgers, to see if all forgers look alike, or if all murderers look alike, or if all burglars have the same facial features.”

“And what have you found?”

He smiled.  “I find it particularly fascinating, Miss Kennedy, that you find this conversation both proper and interesting.”

“I do,” Eve said.  “I find it very proper and very interesting.”

“Frankly, I am skeptical about the whole thing, but some of my superiors are excited by the research, as are members of the press and many Americans.  You have probably read about it in the newspapers.”

“No, I haven’t, but I would think that criminals are much too clever to get themselves categorized by appearance or by face and head type.”

“And you would be right, Miss Kennedy, at least according to my experience.”

Snow flurries suddenly appeared and Eve held her hand out to catch some.

“How do you like your new accommodations?” Detective Gantly asked.

“The boarding house is very comfortable and pleasant.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Detective Sergeant, are you married?”

Eve looked at him.  The skin tightened around his eyes, and his mouth firmed up.  “You can be direct, Miss Kennedy.”

Eve hadn’t planned to ask.  The question had just jumped out of her mouth.  Now that it was out, she waited for his answer. 

“I was married.  She and my little girl passed away a little over a year ago, during child birth.”

Eve lowered her eyes.  “I am sorry.  Truly sorry.”

“Thank you, Miss Kennedy.  It is kind of you to say so.” 

They continued on and, even though there was a small breeze and a gentle snowfall, Eve was comfortable in her flower pot-shaped hat tied under her chin, her woolen coat and her hands tucked into a muff, a gift from sweet Millie.

“Why do you want to locate Evelyn Sharland?” Detective Gantly asked, mildly.

Eve’s neck tightened.  Okay, so he
had
been following her, and he knew what she was up to. 

“Personal reasons.”

“Would those personal reasons have anything to do with the Harringshaw family?”

“She’s a friend.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Miss Kennedy.”

“I don’t have to answer your question, Detective,” Eve said, more sharply than she’d wanted.  She softened her voice.  “She’s sick.  I just want to help her.”

“Is that why you came to New York?”

Eve thought about that.  “I suppose so.  Yes, you could say that.”

It occurred to her again, although more deeply each time she considered it, that this must be precisely why she was propelled to this time:  to somehow help Evelyn or help change the outcome of Evelyn’s and John Allister’s relationship.  What other reason could there be?  But how could she change the outcome when she couldn’t even find the woman and, if she did, this world of 1885 had no effective medical way to save her from her disease?

“Are you related to Miss Sharland?” Patrick asked.

Eve started to speak and then stopped.  “Why are you asking me these questions?  Because you work for Mr. Harringshaw?”

“Because, Miss Kennedy, I do not know who you are, where you came from or what you want.  If your intention is to somehow embarrass the Harringshaw family because of Evelyn Sharland’s relationship with John Allister, or to seek money from them, I will have to prevent you from doing that.”

Eve stopped short, turning sharply to face him.  “Do you really believe I want money from them?  Do you really believe that?”

He searched her eyes.  “Then why this charade, Miss Kennedy?  Why won’t you tell me who you are—and don’t tell me you’re Eve Kennedy.”

She shook her head.  “I’m disappointed in you, Detective Sergeant Gantly.”

The world became still and quiet.  Snow landed on his shoulders and melted.  A carriage drifted by, the horse’s hooves clopping along the cobblestones.

He inventoried her face with calm eyes, expressionless.  “Whether you believe me or not, I am trying to protect you, Miss Kennedy.  You seem to have dropped in from some other world, and you have no idea about the power of the Harringshaws.”

“I don’t give a damn about the Harringshaws or their power.”

He lifted an eyebrow.  “Is that so?”

“Have you told Albert that I have been searching for Evelyn Sharland?”

He was quiet.  When spoke, his voice was small with regret.  “Albert?  So you call him Albert, his Christian name?”

She waved his comment away.  “It’s not what you think.  Where I come from, we call people by their first names.”

He blinked slowly.  “Where you come from?”

“So you
have
told Mr. Harringshaw then,” she said, resigned.

He stared at her, his eyes growing progressively cold.  “You greatly disappoint me, Miss Kennedy.”

Eve felt the cut of his remark.  She lifted her chin in defiance.  “Well, it seems we disappoint each other, don’t we?”

He gave a sharp nod.  “So it would seem.”

“Okay, fine then.”

He sighed and reached into his inside coat pocket.  He drew out a robin egg blue envelope and handed it to her. 

“What’s this?” Eve said, taking it, blinking fast and feeling the flush of anger.

“Until you trust me, Miss Kennedy, I have done all that I can for you.”  He touched the brim of his hat.  “Good day.”

Eve watched him walk away in the now blowing snow.  He paused to buy a paper from a corner newsboy, touched the boy’s cap affectionately, said a few words that made the boy grin, and then moved away with the paper tucked under his arm.  Detective Gantly already had one newspaper under his arm.  He probably bought a newspaper from that boy every day, and probably from many more boys.

Eve turned cold, shivering in regret and irritation.  Turning her attention to the envelope, she slid open the flap, drew out the heavy bond paper and unfolded it.

It was a diploma.

City of New York

Department of Hospitals

Blessing Hospital

School of Nursing

THIS IS TO CERTIFY THAT

Evelyn Kennedy has completed the established course of instruction and practice in the School of Nursing in this Hospital and has satisfactorily passed all the required clinics and examinations.

This 12 day of February 1884

Superintendent: J. Paxton Edwards          Superintendent of Nurses: Ellen M. McManus

Staring dumbly, Eve saw there was also a handwritten note clipped to the diploma.

Miss Kennedy: 

Do not be concerned about the Superintendent or the Superintendent of Nurses in the event a potential employer contacts them.  They will corroborate any inquiries regarding your credentials.  I trust this will aide you in gaining satisfactory employment.

Please destroy this note, promptly.

Best regards,

Detective Sergeant Gantly

Eve’s staring eyes searched for the Detective, but he had faded away.  She slowly turned and shambled back to the boarding house.  Would that be the last time she saw Detective Gantly?

She would go see Dr. Ann Long at the Gouverneur Hospital the first thing in the morning and ask for a job.

CHAPTER 19

Two weeks later, on November 16
^th
, Eve left her room at supper time and went downstairs to the large front parlor that opened off the hall.  There was a cozy fire in the fireplace and the room was furnished comfortably, with a large brocaded settee against the wall, an upright piano, a leather rocking chair and two upholstered chairs. 

Eve stepped over to the partially opened sliding wood doors, hearing the murmur of voices and the clink of dishes.  She gently rolled back the doors and was greeted by Marie Putney, who stood before a partially set, heavy, oak dining table.  On the windows were drawn blue velvet drapes, fringed with little gold balls.  A glass-fronted cabinet, displaying blue and white china, sat in the corner of the room.

“Good evening, Eve,” Marie said with a friendly smile.  “Mr. Putney is so much better today and he is joining us again for supper.”

Seated at the head of the table was Elijah Putney, Marie’s grandfather and the owner of the brownstone boarding house.  He was a thin, older gentleman who wore thick wire-rimmed spectacles, and had neatly combed silver hair, a white beard and a pale complexion.  With a grimace, he worked to heave himself up as Eve stepped over to meet him.

“Please don’t get up, Mr. Putney,” Eve said.

“Forgive me, Miss Kennedy,” he said, slowly returning to his seat, with a deep straining sigh.  “Forgive these old bones, but I am an old man whom Father Time likes to keep working on in a variety of ways.”

He patted the chair next to him.  “Please sit down next to me, Miss Kennedy.  I haven’t seen you in nearly a week.  Marie told me you are working as a nurse at the Gouverneur Hospital.”

Eve smiled.  “Yes, for almost two weeks now.”

“And how are you getting along then?”

“Very well, Mr. Putney.  Now, as to your gout, did you try the cold compresses?  Have they helped to lessen the inflammation and ease the pain?”

Mr. Putney smiled, broadly.  “Yes, Miss Kennedy, they have, as you can see by my presence here tonight.  Marie has insisted I follow your advice and so we have been placing ice on my toe joint for 20 to 30 minutes several times a day.  And I drink a lot of water.”

“Good,” Eve said.  “The water will help your body stabilize uric acid to a normal level.”

“Uric acid?” Marie asked, placing napkins at the five table settings.

“Yes.  A gout attack happens when there’s already higher than normal levels of uric acid in the body and it has built up around a joint.”

Cornelius Adams, seated at the other end of the table, looked at Eve carefully from over the top of his
New York Express
newspaper.  He wore a clean shirt with a high collar, a mother of pearl vest, a gold watch chain, a long black coat, black pants and wire-rimmed spectacles.  At 42 years old, he was neat, precise and measured with his words.  He worked as an accountant for an insurance company.

“I would think that cold would agitate such a condition, Mr. Putney.  Didn’t your doctor prescribe Laudanum?”

Eve leveled her cool eyes on him. “I assure you, Mr. Adams, I have treated gout many times in the past.  What I prescribed has been very effective.  Laudanum will do very little good.”

Mr. Adams wiggled his nose, like Samantha Stevens often did in the old TV show
Bewitched.
  Eve had loved watching it on HULU.  She nearly laughed out loud. 

Mr. Adams’ small eyes narrowed.  “So you know better than Dr. Hamilton, Miss Kennedy?  I recognize that you are a nurse, but I am dismayed that you have taken the liberty of overriding Dr. Hamilton’s treatment and prescribing your own.”

Mr. Putney cut in.  “Well, in any case, Mr. Adams, I have tried Miss Kennedy’s treatment and it works and I am the better for it.  Thank you, Miss Kennedy.”

Mr. Adams went back to reading his paper with an air of indifference.  On the back page of the paper, Eve saw an advertisement that caught her attention.

COCAINE

TOOTHACHE DROPS