The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (2 page)

Eve moved to the back of the room, drawn by an art deco-style side table.  “This is nice,” Eve said, hoping to distract the woman from her 100 questions.

“Yep, that is nice.  You can have it for a good price.”

Eve found a chest of drawers.  She opened the top drawer and gently rummaged through old newspapers and a stack of
Look Magazines
from the 1950s.

“Where are you from?” Granny Gilbert continued, her voice louder, as Eve searched the rear of the shop.

“New York.  I live in Manhattan.”

“Lord have mercy, that’s a big place, with so many people.  I was there once or twice, but it was just too busy, with too many people going every which way.  It just made my head spin.”

“Yes, it’s busy all right.”

“Do you work?”

“Yes.  I’m a Nurse Practitioner.”

“Oh, a nurse.”

Eve turned, so she could be heard.  “A Nurse Practitioner is a little different from a nurse.”

“What’s the difference?”

“It takes more education.”

Granny cleared her throat.  “Do you have to have some kind of big degree?”

Eve breathed in her impatience.  “Yes, a master’s degree and advanced training in diagnosing and treating disease.”

“My word!  Do you work in a hospital?”

“No, I work part-time in a doctor’s office and part-time at a women’s clinic.”

Eve paused to look at a row of pocket watches.  One caught her eye.  Her grandfather had always dressed so smartly and he always carried a pocket watch.  Eve picked it up and examined it.  She held it up to her ear to see if it was running.  It wasn’t, of course, but before she could study it more, her eyes settled on a lady’s gold, heart-shaped pendant watch with gold filigree and pearls on the front.  She’d never owned a pendant watch.  It might be fun.  She opened it gently and took the manual wind between two fingers, wondering if the watch was in working order.

“Granny Gilbert, does this watch work?”

Granny Gilbert looked up over her glasses.  “Bring it here and let me see.”

Eve did so.

Granny narrowed her eyes on it.  “Yes, I think so, and it’s a beautiful piece of jewelry.  We got this watch from an estate auction about six months ago.  It’s of 1880 or 1890 vintage, and it’s solid 14K gold.  It’s attractive, isn’t it?  I know all this because I almost sold it to a dealer a month or so ago.  But he didn’t want to pay the price.”  She paused, studying it again.  “Look at the intricate filigree design, and the pearls.  And there are no dents in it, and the hinged covers are tight.  My daughter did some research on this watch.  The heart shape is rare.” 

Eve ran her fingers along the edge.  It was a beautiful watch.  She’d never seen anything like it.  “How much?” Eve asked.

Granny Gilbert’s eyes shifted in calculation.  She pursed up her lips in thought.  “Give me four hundred bucks and it’s yours.  Now that’s a bargain.  I’m selling it cheap because I think you’d appreciate it.  Now that’s three hundred dollars less than I proposed to that dealer.”

Eve stared at the watch.  She turned it over.  That was a lot of money and Eve didn’t really know anything about watches.  But it spoke to her somehow.  It seemed special.  Eve wasn’t rich, but she wasn’t poor either.

“I’ll think about it,” Eve said.

Granny frowned.  “All right, you can have it for three hundred.”

“I’ll take it,” Eve said.

“You got it for a steal,” Granny Gilbert said, with some irritation.

Minutes later, Eve drifted to the rear of the shop, exploring the shadows, moving wicker chairs and a 1950s style end table, stepping over a pile of old magazines.  She sneezed, wiped her nose with a tissue, and then noticed the faint outline of something on a nearby shelf.   

She stepped gingerly toward it.  Standing next to an old typewriter was a lantern.  Why Eve was drawn to it, she didn’t know.  She angled toward it, reached, grabbed the ring handle and lifted it, surprised by its weight.  She stepped back and blew off a layer of dust, holding the lantern away from her as she examined it.  It was 12 inches high and made of iron, with a tarnished green/brown patina.  It had four glass window panes with wire guards, and an anchor design on each side of the roof.

Eve stared in rapt fascination.  She liked the sturdy feel of it and she liked the design.  It was elegant and old—wonderfully old.  Where had it come from?  Who had owned it?  How did it get to Granny Gilbert’s little broken-down shop?

Eve decided to try to slide one of the panes open to look inside.  With a gentle push up, a panel opened.  Eve spotted something inside, blocking the wick.  She moved back toward the light to get a better look.  To her utter surprise, she saw what looked like an envelope wedged behind the pane.  Intrigued, she lifted the lantern, peered in and tugged at the edge of the envelope.  With a little effort, it slid out.  It was a cream-colored envelope, glazed with dust and soot. 

Eve found a tissue and wiped the dust away.  But why would an envelope be wedged into an old lantern?  Excited, she turned the envelope over to see the addressee.  When she read the name and address, she gasped.  It was impossible!  She narrowed her eyes and read again but the letters seemed to swim around on the page.  Eve drew back and dropped the envelope.

“Everything all right?” Granny Gilbert called. 

Eve stood in shadow, frozen, staring down at the letter, now illumined by a stray shaft of morning sun.  The minutes ticked by.  Reluctantly, slowly, carefully, as if it might bite her, Eve leaned and picked up the envelope and straightened.  With a pained expression, she read the address again.  It was hand addressed, written in a beautiful calligraphy script, to Evelyn Sharland in New York City. 

That was Eve’s name!  Sharland was her maiden name—she’d never taken Blake’s last name.  The letter was addressed to her!

A shiver ran up her spine.  She swallowed hard.  She saw a 3-cent stamp with a profile of George Washington she’d never seen before.  To her complete astonishment, she also saw that the postmark circle read New York, New York Main Post Office, December 24, 1885, 3PM.  

CHAPTER 2

Eve lowered herself into a wicker chair, her eyes fixed on the unopened 6 x 8 envelope, her heart racing, her hand trembling.  She stared at nothing for a time, and then her eyes traveled to the lantern that lay on the floor beside her, and then back to the envelope she held in her hand.

Coincidence?  Of course it was.  What else could it be?  But Sharland was not a common last name.  Shaken, she took a minute to gather herself.  Gradually, her pulse slowed, and her thoughts began to clear.  Of course the letter wasn’t addressed to
her.
  It was addressed to someone with her name. 

An electric thrill ran through Eve’s body as she pictured actually opening the letter and reading its contents.  What could it possibly say? 

“Are you okay?” Granny Gilbert called.

Eve turned her head.  “Yes… Yes, okay,” she said, distractedly.

Should Eve show Granny the letter?  Yes, of course she should.  She had found it in her shop.  Granny might have some idea where it came from and how it got there.  But what if Granny didn’t want to sell the letter?  What if she wanted it for herself?  Eve pondered this, focused again on the name and address:  Evelyn Sharland, 232 East 9
^th
Street, New York, New York.

As Eve held the envelope, it seemed to burn her fingers.  She had the sharp impulse to open it right then and there.  But she didn’t.  She lifted herself from the chair, picked up the lantern and walked over to Granny Gilbert, who was still in her rocker, reading an article in an old magazine.  Eve couldn’t see the cover, just the yellowed pages and the black and white photos.

“See anything you like?” Granny asked, looking up, noticing the lantern at Eve’s side.

Eve hesitated.  “Actually, I did find a couple of things.  Little things,” and Eve stressed the word
little
.

“Where did you get that lantern?” Granny asked, her eyes falling on it with shiny interest.

Eve pointed.  “Back there, behind some things.  It’s quaint, isn’t it?”

Granny scratched the end of her nose.  “I don’t remember ever seeing it and I thought I knew everything in this place.”

“How much?” Eve asked.

Granny reached for it.  Reluctantly, Eve handed it over.

“Good weight,” Granny said.  “Looks in good shape.  I suppose it’s about 100 years old.  Maybe older.”

“It uses kerosene, I guess,” Eve said.

“Yes, I’m sure it does.”

Granny scrutinized it.  “It’s a good piece.  I like it.  I could hang it on my back porch.  It would be comforting out there.”

Eve took in a sharp breath.  “I would like to buy it,” Eve said, more forcefully than she’d intended.

Granny glanced up at her.  “You would?”  Granny adjusted her glasses, speculating.  “Well, you did find it, after all.”

Granny looked first at the lantern and then back at Eve.  “I’ll just have to rummage around back there and see if I can find another one like it.”

Eve had the letter in her right hand, behind her back.  She was still fighting with herself whether she should show it to Granny.

“Anything else?” Granny asked.

Eve made a vague gesture toward the rear of the shop.  Her gaze was direct for a moment and then drifted away.  With a little sigh, she presented the letter.

“I also found this.  It’s just an old letter.”

Eve was not about to tell her she found the letter in the lantern, and that the lantern and the letter went together.  She just couldn’t bring herself to be that forthcoming. 

Granny’s face brightened again.  “An old letter?  Oh, let me see,” she said, with girlish excitement.

Grudgingly, Eve handed it over.

It was obvious that Granny Gilbert loved old things.  Her thin and peering face lost years as she brought the smudged envelope up to her eyes for close examination.  Her voice took on strength and emotion.  “Well, my stars, won’t you look at this.  It’s postmarked December 24, 1885.  I wonder where on Earth it came from?  I have never seen it.  No, not ever.”

“Probably just a laundry list of things to do or some boring business thing,” Eve said, already reaching for the envelope.

Granny raised her eyes.  “No, I don’t think so.  It’s addressed to a woman, a Miss Evelyn Sharland in New York, New York.  Well, how about that?  And look who it’s from:  John Allister Harringshaw II, on 5
^th
Avenue.  He sounds important, doesn’t he?”

The room was quiet for a time.  Eve heard a distant lawnmower and a dog barking.  The envelope claimed Granny’s complete attention for a good minute, as she turned it over and over, her eyes softening on it.  Eve saw a delicious gleam of curiosity forming in Granny’s eyes.

Eve had to act fast or Granny would never sell Eve the letter. 

“So how much for the lantern and the letter, Granny Gilbert?”

Granny lifted her eyes, staring at Eve’s outstretched hand.

Eve swallowed away a dry throat.

Granny’s attention left the letter and began to travel around the shop.

“I will miss this shop, you know.  It’s been in my life for nearly 85 years.  I played here when I was a girl.  I have so many good memories about this place.  So many.  Did you know that I kissed my first boy in this shop?  That was about 1938.  I was seven years old and Billy Tyler was nine.  The place was so much nicer then.  Clean and cared for, not so dusty and rickety as it is now.  I was hoping I wouldn’t be the last.  I was hoping I wouldn’t have to close it and sell off all the items to somebody I don’t know.  But life goes on and old things, like me and all the items in this shop, must go, mustn’t they?  It’s the way of things, I suppose.”

Eve liked Granny Gilbert, and part of her would have loved to sit and listen to her many stories about the shop; but the larger part of Eve wanted that letter, and she was worried that Granny wasn’t going to sell it to her.

Granny bantered on.  “All the items in this shop have so many stories to tell, you know.  People owned these things and put them in their homes and their pockets and passed them on to their wives and lovers and children.  Then, bang.  Life happens.  The world changes, somebody dies or gets divorced; someone loses all their money and their house, or their watch and their wedding ring and all their jewelry.  And then guess what?  Some of those items wind up here.  Right here in my little shop.  Isn’t that something?  All the energy—the love and the hope—gets stored up in these items and, if one could read the code locked inside them, well, what great epic stories they would tell.”

Granny’s eyes were staring off into distant worlds.  She took off her glasses, reached for a wrinkled handkerchief from her sweater pocket and wiped them absently.  “Yes… what great stories they could tell.”  She put her glasses back on.

Eve nodded.  “Yes, I’d love to hear those stories.  I love the feel of old things, and the smells.  I love the mystery and I love to speculate about the lives that owned a watch or a ring or a lantern or an old unopened letter.” 

Granny looked down at the letter again.  “I would love to know what is in this letter, young lady.  Yes, indeed I would.”

Eve’s eyes came to the letter.

“Maybe we should open it now?” Granny said, conspiratorially.  “Maybe we should read it together?”

Eve nibbled on her lower lip.  She slowly shook her head.  “I don’t think so.”  Eve struggled for words.  “It seems personal somehow.  I’d like to buy it and then open it alone.  Would you mind?”

Resigned, Granny bowed her head.  “All right then.  You found it and you want to buy it.  So you shall have it.”

Eve sighed, audibly.  “Thank you, Granny.  How much?”

Granny laughed a little.  “Give me $30 for the lantern.  The letter I’ll give you free, on one condition.  You must promise to call and tell me what’s in it.  Will you do that?”

Eve nodded.  “Of course.  Yes, of course I will.”

Granny pointed a stern finger at her.  “Be sure you do.  I want to hear everything and anything you might learn about these people, because I am sure you will try to find out who they were.  I think I can read that much in you.”