The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (26 page)

If Evelyn survived her illness, what if she bore a child who became a U.S. President, or a spiritual leader, or some crazy dictator who started an entirely different kind of World War, or a war that destroyed the world?  There were so many “what if’s” swimming around in Eve’s mind that she couldn’t catch them all. 

Eve felt a tightening in her chest.  She was rigid with doubt, suddenly terrified about making a decision.  She glanced down at Evelyn once more, seeing the still, gray, thin body hardly breathing, and the damp, pallid face.  And then she knew what she had to do.  She could not leave Evelyn to this so called “doctor” who was slowly poisoning her to death with 19
^th
century medications, no matter what the outcome.  To move Evelyn in her present condition was a big risk.  To leave her would mean her certain death.

She turned to Patrick, her jaw set.  “Please, Patrick.  Please help me save Evelyn’s life.”

CHAPTER 22

The following Tuesday morning, Eve was on duty at the Gouverneur Hospital, dressed in her nursing uniform: an ankle-length, light gray dress with puffy sleeves, a long white apron and a heavily starched nursing cap.  She was working in a large rectangular room that was clean and surprisingly well lit by tall windows.  There were four occupied beds near the wall, and one isolated bed on the far side of the room surrounded by a privacy curtain.  Evelyn Sharland occupied that bed.

One wall held supply cabinets, a table to prepare medicines, and a glass fronted cabinet filled with instruments.  There was also a deep sink for washing hands and instruments.  An upper shelf held sterilization equipment.

In the middle of the room were two examination tables, each surrounded by a privacy curtain.  Eve was standing near them, studying Evelyn’s chart, waiting for Dr. Long to appear so they could give Evelyn her daily examination.

On Sunday night when Eve and Patrick arrived at the ER with the semiconscious Evelyn, Dr. Long had thoroughly examined Evelyn and diagnosed her as having typhoid fever, or bacillus eberthella typhi, with acute onset of pneumonia. 

Dr. Long had not minced words.  “Frankly, Eve, any number of factors can be contributing to Evelyn’s already serious condition: exhaustion, internal hemorrhaging, and ulceration of the intestines.”

Eve felt helpless.  If only this so-called Gilded Age had antibiotics at their disposal.

Not only was Dr. Long pessimistic about Evelyn’s chance of survival, but she had also chastised Eve for bundling her up and transporting her back to Manhattan, when Eve could have found a charitable hospital, infirmary or clinic in Hoboken.  The trip across the Hudson in the dead of winter did not show good judgment, Dr. Long had said.

Eve did not defend herself, but she still felt she’d done the right thing, the only thing she could think to do at the time.  Eve didn’t know anything about hospitals in Hoboken, but she did know Dr. Long and the nurses at Gouverneur Hospital.  If anyone could help save Evelyn’s life it would be Dr. Long and her dedicated staff of nurses and assistants. 

Detective Gantly hadn’t opposed Eve’s decision.  He had lifted Evelyn from her bed, and then carried Evelyn downstairs into the cab, and then onto the ferry.  He did not challenge Eve or complain.  He had simply been supportive and magnificent.

On the ferry traveling back to Manhattan, he sat with his arm around Evelyn’s thin body, holding her close to him for warmth as she shivered.  Eve had bundled her up in two woolen gowns, with heavy socks, boots and a woolen hat, and Patrick had wrapped her in his great coat. 

She and Patrick hadn’t spoken much during the trip back across the river to the hospital, but Eve stole glances at him.  When their eyes met, she smiled warmly and gratefully at him.  He smiled back and nodded, as if to say, “Don’t worry.  Everything’s going to be all right.”

Back at the hospital, when Eve told Dr. Long about Dr. Horace Begley, Dr. Long frowned and shook her head.

“Yes, I know about Dr. Begley,” she’d said, sourly.  “He was once the director of the Moore Charitable Hospital in Brooklyn, until many of his patients had great difficulty surviving what he called his
progressive
treatments and medications.  He did have an Astor as one of his patients a year or two ago who, surprisingly, survived an illness despite the good doctor’s bumbling treatment, and that helped establish Dr. Begley’s dubious reputation.  You did the right thing in getting Miss Sharland out of his care, Eve.”

Dr. Long looked troubled as she entered the room, accompanied by another nurse.  Eve looked up from the chart.

“Miss Kennedy, Evelyn Sharland’s brother, Mr. Clayton Sharland, is at the admitting desk.  He’s demanding to see you.”

Eve inhaled through her nose.  “Yes, well, I expected this.  I thought he’d come yesterday.”

“Shall I go with you?” Dr. Long asked.  “He’s very upset.  I’ve asked two orderlies to stand by close, just in case.”

“No… I’ll be fine.”

“How is Miss Sharland this morning?” Dr. Long asked.

Eve looked nervously toward Evelyn’s bed, feeling helpless without antibiotics.  All she could do was feed her and try to make her warm and comfortable.  “The fever hasn’t broken.  She’s very weak.  I don’t know if she’s strong enough to fight it.”

Dr. Long took the chart from Eve.  When she smiled, it changed the shape of her face.  Dr. Long looked surprisingly pretty when she smiled, even with the old pocked scars from smallpox.

“Don’t worry so much, Eve.  If she wants to live, she’ll live.  Do you know her?  Does she have something to live for?”

Eve considered the question.  She thought of John Allister Harringshaw.  What would he do if he knew Evelyn was here?  Would he come?  Would seeing him again give Evelyn something to live for?  How could Eve get in touch with John Allister?

“There might be something,” Eve said, lost in thought.

Dr. Long gestured with her chin toward the door.  “You’d better go talk to Mr. Sharland before he comes bursting in here.  I told him his sister was much too ill to have any visitors and that she was still contagious.”

Eve walked toward the admission desk with her shoulders back and her head up, hoping it would give her the appearance of confidence, and not arrogance.

Clayton Sharland stood near the admission desk in a dark suit and coat, twirling his bowler hat, looking grave and irritable.  Behind the desk, Maggie, the admitting nurse, had her head so far down near the desk that she almost looked like she was dozing.  She was obviously frightened by Clayton Sharland, who was a big man, though not as big or as broad as Detective Sergeant Gantly.  He had craggy features, a full, black beard, and steady, angry eyes.  Those eyes were burning as Eve drew up to him, her hands locked behind her back.

“Good morning, Mr. Sharland, I was hoping to…”

He cut her off.  “You silly, stupid woman!  What have you done with my sister?”

Eve took a calming breath, smelling alcohol on his breath.  His eyes were clear, and directed at her like the muzzles of a gun.

“If my sister dies, I will personally break your neck, and it will be a great pleasure.”

The violence of his words and expression shocked and terrified her.  She stepped back as if stricken.  She wished Patrick Gantly were nearby. 

She swallowed and struggled for composure.  “Mr. Sharland, I just wanted…”

He cut her off again, taking a step forward, jabbing a finger at her face.  “And what is this business about you telling Dr. Begley that you are related to us?  What foul lies you have told!  What black and terrible lies!  Why have you lied and snatched my dying sister from the only man who could have possibly saved her dear, sweet life, and brought her here to be treated by a female doctor?  A woman doctor!?  Why have you done this, Miss Kennedy, or whoever you are?  Why have you done this to my poor sister Evelyn?  Why?!” he shouted, showing his crooked teeth.  “Tell me or so help me God I’ll strike you and not feel the worse for it!  I’ll break your neck and I promise you I will never feel one day of remorse while I rot in jail.”

Eve took another step back, her entire body trembling.  And then from some small place in her soul, she felt a flicker of courage, a small twinge of conviction.  When she heard the words escape her lips, she was stunned.

“Because I am going to save Evelyn’s life, Mr. Sharland.  And if I don’t save her life and she dies, I will gladly offer you my neck, Mr. Sharland, and you can break it in as many pieces as you like.”

Eve watched his shoulders relax and his expression change, from rage, to confusion, to suspicion.  His eyes became misty with pain as he struggled to comprehend.

They lapsed into silence.  Somewhere, they heard a ringing bell.  Was someone ringing for a nurse?  It finally faded.

Eve released her locked hands from behind her back, and relaxed them at her side. 

“Mr. Sharland, if I could have consulted you on Sunday, I would have.  But time was of the essence.  I had to make a difficult decision.  I ask you now for your forgiveness for acting so rashly, but I truly believed that the medications Dr. Begley was administering to Evelyn would have killed her faster than the typhoid fever would have.  Dr. Long is a female physician, yes, but she is a good and dedicated doctor who works tirelessly for all her patients.  She trained at the finest hospitals.  She studied in Vienna and Switzerland.  She is doing everything possible to help Evelyn.  I brought Evelyn here, Mr. Sharland, because I want her to live, and I believe she
will
live.”

He leveled his hard eyes on her.  “Who are you?  Why did you tell Dr. Begley that you are a relation?”

Eve had an answer ready and, in this day and time, how would anyone ever know if she was lying or not?  “We
are
distant cousins, Mr. Sharland.  I am from Ohio.  I have a grandfather there, Amos Sharland, who told me that since I was moving to New York, I should look Evelyn up.  When I learned of her illness, well, of course as a nurse, I wanted to find her and help make her well again.”

That was it.  Eve didn’t want to say more.  Simple was good.  She waited while Clayton considered her words.

“I’ve never heard of Amos Sharland.”

“He did not mention you either,” Eve said, quickly.  “He only mentioned Evelyn.”

Clayton ran the flat of his hand across his thick heavy beard, his eyes looking at the floor and the walls, as if he was realizing for the first time where he was.  He’d been lost in a kind of wild, angry fever.

“So we are related then?” he said, gently.

Eve nodded.  “Yes, Mr. Sharland, we are related, and I am going to do all I possibly can to bring Evelyn back to health.”

His face softened and Eve was surprised to see that the man she’d thought was 40 years old was actually much younger, probably no more than 32.

“She is the dearest of women, Miss Kennedy.  Evelyn is the dearest and kindest person I have ever known.  Can you save her precious life?”

Eve honestly didn’t know, but she had to show confidence.  “I promise you, Mr. Sharland, I am going to do all I can to bring her fully back to us.”

That obviously touched him, because Eve saw his eyes well up.  He didn’t wipe them, and so a tear broke away and rolled down his cheek.

“Have you told your mother about Evelyn, where she is and that she does not have tuberculosis?” Eve asked.

His face hardened again.  “She has banished the both of us, Evelyn for her relationship with a certain gentleman, and me for supporting her.  Our mother is quite religious, Miss Kennedy, but in all her religious fervor, she seems to have forgotten charity and forgiveness.  Can I see Evelyn?”

“Not now, Mr. Sharland.  She is either unconscious or delirious.  She has had brief moments of lucidity and she has tried to speak but then she lapses back into unconsciousness.” 

He stared, sadly, with a bowed head.  “I understand.”  They stood silently for a few moments, and then he took out his pocket watch.  “I have to get back to work, Miss Kennedy, or I will lose my job.  It has taken nearly all I have in savings to pay Dr. Begley for his services.  How much will you charge me?”

Eve smiled.  “Nothing, Mr. Sharland.  We are related.  There will be no charge.”

His lips trembled and he looked away from her, fighting tears and emotion.  He nodded, not meeting her eyes.

“When do you think I will be able to see her?”

“It is not easy to predict.  You can try again in a few days, Mr. Sharland.”

Eve turned to the admitting desk and took a piece of paper and a pencil.  She wrote down her address and handed it to him.

“This is where I live.  You are always welcome to visit me.” 

She handed him a blank piece of paper.  “Please write down your address and, when Evelyn improves, I’ll send a messenger with the news.”

He took her address and then wrote down his own and handed it to her.  He started to speak, but then decided against it.  He gave a quick nod, turned and walked away.

Eve leaned back against the desk and sighed out tension.  She shut her eyes and, in a moment of blackness, Dr. Eckland’s face suddenly appeared.  Her eyes popped open.

“Yes!” she said aloud.  “Yes.  Of course.”

CHAPTER 23

After work on Wednesday evening, the day before Thanksgiving, Eve took a cab to Dr. Eckland’s home, composing what she was going to say to him on the way.  Dr. Eckland’s brownstone was just off 5
^th
Avenue, on a quiet, tree-lined street, north of the Albemarle Hotel, where Lily Langtry lived.  Eve had never heard of Miss Langtry, the famous actress, but everyone at the boarding house certainly had, and they were greatly impressed that Eve was going to visit the eminent doctor who had treated Albert Harringshaw.

Eve paid the driver and started toward the front stairs, hoping Dr. Eckland wasn’t entertaining and that he wouldn’t think her too bold.  She knew of no other way to contact John Allister.  She couldn’t just send him a note or a letter.  He didn’t know her or trust her.  No doubt her note would be ignored, if it ever even reached him.  Eve would have asked Dr. Eckland to contact John Allister, but since Albert and John were feuding, it was unlikely Dr. Eckland would risk crossing Albert in order to contact John Allister for her.  And if he did, John Allister would surely dismiss her as another one of Albert’s mistresses, or worse.