The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (10 page)

“Miss Kennedy, how do you feel?”

Eve wanted to laugh out loud.  She felt crazy and freaked out.  “I’m tired.  I’m just very tired.”

“Miss Price’s housemaid will be along shortly with some refreshments.  They may help you regain some of your strength,” Albert Harringshaw said. 

“Do you recall striking your head when you fainted, Miss Kennedy?” Dr. Eckland asked.

“No, not really.”

“Does your head hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so.  No,” Eve said, looking about.  “Where am I?” she asked.

Albert Harringshaw broke in.  “You are on 24
^th
Street.  To be exact, you are at 16 West 24
^th
Street in the Madison Square neighborhood.  This is Miss Price’s brownstone.  Miss Price is a trusted friend.  I did not know where else to bring you after you fainted.”

Eve slowly sat up, removing the cover from her legs and swinging them to the floor.  She looked down at her white socks.  Everyone else did to.  She tried not to wiggle her toes, but she couldn’t stop an old habit. 

When she passed a glance at Albert Harringshaw, she saw a twinkle of desire in his eyes.  Immediate displeasure registered in Helen’s eyes.  Eve didn’t need or want this.

“Miss Kennedy,” Dr. Eckland said, “Mr. Harringshaw reports that he found you in Central Park, sitting on a park bench, obviously distressed and disoriented.  He said your manner of dress, your agitation and your confused demeanor compelled him, as a gentleman, to stop and offer his assistance.  Do you recall why you were in Central Park or what caused your troubled state of mind?”

Eve looked down.  She certainly couldn’t tell them the truth.  She needed time—time to think things through.  Time to gather her thoughts and come up with a fake story and a plan of action.  Too much had happened too fast.

“Frankly, Dr. Eckland, I don’t remember,” Eve said, slowly shaking her head.

He leaned back, in mild surprise.  “Do you have friends or family we can contact for you?”

Eve wrinkled her brow, dramatically, as if struggling to remember.  “I don’t know.  I just don’t recall.  My mind is a blank.”

“But you do recall your name,” Helen said, with an edge to her voice.

“Yes… thankfully, I do recall that.  My name is Eve Kennedy.”

Albert stepped forward, his reddish-gold hair burnished under the gas lamplight.  The ends of his waxed mustache were twirled up to gleaming perfection.  There was an attractive, roguish appeal about him, Eve thought.  No doubt about that.  He had a smooth, privileged confidence, just as she’d seen in that old black and white photograph on Wikipedia. 

“Were you involved in an accident, Miss Kennedy?” Albert asked.  “Did you suffer some trauma?”

“I just don’t know,” Eve said, wishing the food would arrive.  She was ravenous. 

“Miss Kennedy,” Albert Harringshaw continued, “You fainted at the sound of my name.  I have had many reactions to my name in the past, but I must confess, I have never had a lady faint from the sound of it.  Do you know who I am?”

Eve gave him a vacant grin.  “I have heard of you, sir.”

Albert beamed with splendid pride as he squared his shoulders.  “Well, I must say, I am greatly flattered that you do not know the names of your friends and family, but you do recall mine.  Quite flattered, Miss Kennedy.”

Eve looked at Helen, who was not happy. 
I just made a big mistake
, Eve thought.

Helen moved toward the center table, to a bouquet of flowers, the color in her face rising.  She leaned over and took in their scent.

“Where did you get your clothes, Miss Kennedy?” Helen asked, turning to reveal a suspicious eye.  “I must admit I have never seen anything quite like them.  They are, I am forced to say, somewhat indecent.  And your hair style fascinates me.  But a woman in pants seems, forgive me for saying so, rather radical and immodest.  Are you, by any chance, a member of some new suffrage movement?”

Eve knew enough history to know what Helen was talking about.  The Women’s Suffrage Movement was part of the Women’s Rights Movement.  They fought for women to gain the right to vote and run for office, among other things.  Eve had read that some suffragettes wore a kind of modified slacks.

Albert spoke up.  “Miss Kennedy says she does not recall where she came from or what has happened to her, Miss Price” he said, coming to Eve’s defense.  “I think it is rather unfair to suggest that Miss Kennedy is immodest and radical, under the circumstances.  We simply do not know the cause of her unfortunate situation.  And we must help her to find out.”

Eve wished Albert hadn’t come to her defense.  Pink jealousy was written all over Helen’s face.  Eve would need friends in a world where she had no contacts, no family, no money and no acquaintances.  Being a woman, Helen could help in ways that Albert probably couldn’t or simply wouldn’t.  Albert was from a prominent and wealthy New York family.  He had surely brought Eve to Helen’s, probably against her wishes, because he could never have taken Eve to the Harringshaw mansion on 5
^th
Avenue.

The room went silent for chilly moments. 

That’s when Eve realized that her manner of speech and the way these people spoke were entirely different.  Their speech patterns, inflections, and choice of words were much more formal and yet filled with silent meaning.  Eve did not want to add more mystery to herself by speaking modern slang.  She would have to modify her speech. 

But how?  The first thing that came to mind was Jane Austen.  Eve had read all of Jane Austen’s novels and she loved them.  If Eve could replicate those speech patterns, it would help and, in time, she might be able to pass for a Victorian woman. 

Eve knew that Jane Austen was British and not American, and that Jane Austen did not live in the Victorian period.  Nonetheless, Jane Austen would have to do.  Think Jane Austen dialogue, she said to herself:  formal, last names, no profanity, no contractions and no slang. 

Eve faced Helen.  “I do apologize for my clothes, Miss Price,” Eve said, feigning contrition.  “I was shocked and dismayed when I saw myself in them.  I cannot imagine how I came to be dressed this way or what happened to me in Central Park.” 

Eve lowered her head and her eyes, trying for a humble expression.  “I am so grateful you have taken me in like this, Miss Price.  It is most generous and kind of you.”

To Eve’s ears, her words sounded a bit forced and awkward.  Was it too much?

Helen’s hard stare melted a little, but only a little.

“Never mind about the memory loss now, Miss Kennedy,” Dr. Eckland said.  “What you need is some nourishing food and a good night’s sleep.  Now, if you will permit me, I will take your temperature and your pulse and do a quick examination.”

Dr. Eckland reached into his black leather Gladstone medical bag, withdrew a stethoscope and went to work. 

Helen’s maidservant, Millie, entered the room from a side door, just as Dr. Eckland was concluding his brief examination.  Millie was in her early 20s, thin, shy and quiet.  She wore a white uniform, a light blue apron, and a cap bonnet that made her seem even younger.

She placed an oval silver tray on the center table near the flowers.  It held cheese, pickled fish, nuts, cider cake, ham, fruits and bread.  She gave a little bob and a bow and retreated, returning minutes later with a second tray holding a silver tea set. 

While she poured four cups of tea, Dr. Eckland replaced his stethoscope into his bag and pulled out a light blue bottle.  He extracted the cork, poured a teaspoon of reddish-brown liquid, and offered it to Eve.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Laudanum.  It will do you good.”

Eve’s dull mind struggled to recall what Laudanum was.  But before she could, the spoon was in her mouth and she swallowed, wincing at the extremely bitter taste.

“Miss Kennedy, your pulse and coloring are both a little high.  It is obvious you have been through some kind of unpleasant ordeal which your mind has chosen to forget, at least for the time being.  Before bed tonight, I want you to take another spoonful of Laudanum.  It will help you relax and sleep.  In the morning, if you do not feel better and if your memory has not returned to full capacity, Mr. Harringshaw will contact me and I will perform a more thorough examination.”

Eve spoke up quickly.  “I trust I will be much better by morning, Dr. Eckland.  Thank you for your advice and help.”

“Surely, I deserve some recognition,” Albert Harringshaw crowed, with a little twist of a flirtatious smile.  “After all, I am the gentleman who came to your assistance when you were in great distress.”

Eve feigned embarrassment, thinking,
He’s a smooth one. 

“Forgive me, Mr. Harringshaw,” Eve said.  “Yes, thank you for all you have done.  You have all been so kind to me.”

Helen took a cup of tea from Millie.  “If you are not improved by morning, Miss Kennedy, have you any plans as to what course of action you might take?”

Albert came to Eve’s rescue yet again.  “We shall not talk of plans just yet, Miss Price.  We must allow our guest to eat, rest and recover herself first.  These things cannot be rushed.  They take time.  Miss Kennedy has obviously had a very trying day.”

Helen moved away from the table, her hot gaze lingering on Albert’s face.  “Whatever you say, Mr. Harringshaw,” she said, with mild bitterness in her voice.

Eve stepped to the table and helped herself to cheese, ham, nuts and bread.  As she ate, she wondered if she’d survive the night.  Would Helen slip into her room with a knife and plunge it into her chest?  Watching Helen’s dark expression, she wouldn’t put it past her.  And what was Eve going to do with Albert?  He was obviously intrigued by her.  Eve had seen enough movies and read enough novels to know that in late 19
^th
century America, men held the power in industry, politics, real estate and the home.  Women had no power at all. 

Just then, Eve noticed Millie coyly looking her over, wonder in her eyes.  Did Millie detect something unique about her movements and overall demeanor?  What was she thinking?

Eve took a sip of her tea.  “This is very good,” she said with a smile, looking directly at Millie.  “Thank you.”

Millie blushed.

“That will be all, Millie,” Helen said, sharply.

Millie bobbed a bow and retreated.

After Millie’s exit, Eve gathered her courage.  “Forgive me for asking, but what is the date?”

Dr. Eckland looked startled, Helen suspicious, and Albert amused.  It was Albert who answered.

“It is Friday, October the 24
^th
.”

Eve cleared her voice, staring down at the carpet.  “And the year?” Eve asked, softly.

Dr. Eckland laid his tea cup aside, his eyebrows arching dramatically.  “Surely you know what year this is, my dear.  Surely.”

Helen straightened her back, and spoke coldly.  “Perhaps she belongs in a hospital, Dr. Eckland.”

Albert once again rose to Eve’s defense, obviously ready to assist her in any way. 

“It is 1885, Miss Kennedy.  October 24, 1885.” 

Eve lifted her eyes to meet his warm and engaging eyes. 

“I thought so,” Eve lied, feeling some of the life drain from her body.  “Just making sure.”

And to herself, she thought,
How am I ever going to get back home
?

CHAPTER 9

Eve was awake at rosy dawn, staring out her third floor bedroom window onto 24th Street and the thin dusting of snow that covered it.  As she lifted her eyes and searched the horizon, she saw, to her astonishment, church spires instead of skyscrapers.  The New York City skyline that rose up in massive towers of glass and steel—a skyline that people from all over the world loved and recognized—was simply gone, or, more accurately, it had not yet been conceived of, never mind built.  Stretched out before her were low storied brownstones, chimneys belching smoke, long gray warehouses and the spires of countless churches. 

Across the street was a double line of brownstone houses, all similar in style, that reminded Eve of her brownstone in the 21
^st
century.  She watched a Hansom cab trot across the cobblestones, while people strolled along the sidewalk, a man wearing a bowler hat, and two women in long coats and hats decorated with feathers.  The hats were worn perched at the front of their heads over elaborate hairstyles; their dress hems were swaying about their ankles.  A scruffily dressed newspaper boy no more than 7-years old came into view, a bundle of papers tucked under his arm.  He hurried downtown against a headwind. 

Eve stared transfixed as oxen pulled a huge dray loaded with lumber along the narrow street, the driver hunched over the reins, his wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead and a cigar clinched between his teeth.

She sat uneasily on the broad window sill, watching this foreign world unravel past her like a movie set, like something out of a dream.  She felt light-headed and a bit nauseous from the Laudanum.  Thank God she’d recalled what was in the stuff before she took the prescribed spoonful before bed.  She’d learned about it in nursing school.  It had been widely used in the Victorian Period for everything from menstrual cramps to tuberculosis.  If memory served her, it was 10% opium and 90% alcohol, flavored with cinnamon or saffron.  It was awful tasting and highly addictive.

Eve felt numb and resigned as she stared out at her new world, a world so foreign and so alien that she might as well be on another planet.  The white and blue cotton floral nightgown she wore was soft but large on her.  Helen had sent it up with Millie, along with two day dresses that Eve had barely looked at the night before.  Exhaustion and stress had taken over, and she’d fallen fast to sleep after pulling on the nightgown and flopping down onto the bed.

Eve’s attention slowly shifted from the outside to the inside.  She glanced about, feeling chilled, trapped, marooned and isolated.  Her family didn’t exist, her friends, her career, and dear sweet Georgy Boy, none of them existed now.  They had not even been born.  How crazy and strange was that?  Would they ever be born or would she be long dead before they were born?  The disorienting thought made her head spin.