The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (3 page)

Eve reached for one of the shop’s business cards.  She smiled.  “I promise I’ll let you know everything.”

“All right then.  I suppose you’ll be paying by credit card?”

“Yes.”  Eve fumbled in her purse for her wallet.

Granny Gilbert gave the envelope one last, longing look and then handed it back to Eve.

“Did you see any other letters back there?” Granny asked, her voice filled with hope.

“No, just this one.”

Granny took off her glasses and gently wiped her eyes.  “I wonder where it came from and how long it’s been here.  I should know that.  I should have known it was here.  Well, I am time grown old and that’s what happens.”

Granny pushed herself up.  “Okay, let me run your card.”

Granny stood in the doorway and waved as Eve drove away in the bright autumn sunshine.  After Eve’s car had drifted away under the distant red and yellow leaves, Granny Gilbert strolled out into the parking lot, turned, placed her hands behind her back and took in
The Time Past Antique Shop
.  Her eyes misted as she recalled old conversations, old transactions and old memories.  It would be gone soon, just like she would. 

That young lady had taken a piece of the shop with her and that was a good thing.  She knew Eve appreciated the items and would make good use of them.  Perhaps the items she’d purchased, the heart-shape pendant watch, the lantern and the letter, would live on for many more years.  Perhaps that mysterious letter would even wind up in a museum someday.  Who knows?

Granny Gilbert turned to face the empty road.  She hoped the young woman would call and tell her what was in the letter.  Granny laughed.  She felt girlish again.  Maybe it was a love letter?

Then something struck Granny.  Something that had been gnawing away at her for several minutes.  What was it?  When the realization struck, Granny stood bolt erect.  She arched an eyebrow, feeling her breath catch in her throat.

“It was the name,” she mumbled to herself in astonishment.  “The name on the credit card.  Evelyn Sharland, the same name as the name on the old envelope.  Evelyn Sharland.”

Granny shivered.  It had taken her old brain too long to realize the coincidence, and now the woman was gone forever.  No wonder Eve had felt so strongly about owning that letter and opening the envelope in secret. 

Granny turned back to face the shop and focused on it, as if she’d awakened from a nap. 

“Imagine that,” she said into the cool autumn wind.  “The same name.  How could that be?  My word, what a wonder this world is.”

CHAPTER 3

Eve arrived back in New York a little before 6pm, seeing the great city rise up in glass, steel and stone.  After returning the car to the rental drop-off garage, she started for home, which was only two blocks away.  She propped a bag with her purchases on top of her brown leather overnight case, whose wheels growled across the sidewalk, and walked briskly, anxious to get home to open the letter and read its contents.  All day long, she’d stopped herself from tearing the thing open and reading it, wrestling with curiosity and apprehension as she drove the back roads of Pennsylvania and then onto the highway.  She constantly threw darting glances at the letter that lay on the seat next to her, like it was a living, breathing thing.  But she’d disciplined herself.  She had waited—even as she ate a late lunch at a pancake house—and it had been pure agony. 

Eve pressed ahead, dodging families and dogs and people leaving restaurants.  She felt feverish with expectation as she marched toward her apartment, the envelope pushed deeply into her purse. 

As soon as she’d driven away from Granny’s shop, Eve had decided she wanted to have a kind of ceremonial letter opening.  Some kind of ritual, although she wasn’t sure why.  It was just a feeling.  After all, the letter was a hundred and thirty-one years old.  It might have historical significance.  All the more reason to open the envelope carefully.  She had an antique letter opener that she loved, a birthday gift from her mother.  That would be the perfect tool.  Eve would patiently and lovingly open the letter with it.

Eve arrived home and swung through the heavy, wrought iron gate that led up the six steps to the heavy oak front door.  The 20-foot wide brownstone, built in 1895, was on West 107
^th
Street, a quiet, tree-lined street.  Eve’s second floor, one-bedroom apartment had polished wood floors, a modern kitchen, a large bedroom, a small dining room and bay windows that looked out on 107
^th
Street through lacey yellow curtains. 

Once inside, Eve parked the lantern and her suitcase in the living room near the marble fireplace, swung out of her jacket and tossed it on the burgundy leather, winged chair.  She made a call to her friend Joni and left a message.

“Hey, Joni, I’m home.  You can bring Georgy over whenever.  See you soon.”

Georgy was her half-beagle, half-springer spaniel, but he looked more like a Dalmatian, with white hair and black spots on his coat, paws and face.

At the oak dining table, Eve paused, reached into her purse and drew out the letter.  She stared at it with new wonder and speculation playing across her face.  What a find.  What a treasure.

The letter had obviously never been opened.  But it was postmarked, so John Allister Harringshaw had mailed it.  Did Evelyn Sharland ever receive it?  Perhaps she had, but why had she decided not to open it?  Perhaps the letter was kept from her.  By whom and, again, why?  Maybe Evelyn never even knew that Mr. Harringshaw had sent it.  Again, why?

On the other hand, maybe the letter had simply been misplaced.  But how did it wind up in an old lantern?  That made no sense at all, unless someone wanted to hide it.  The glass panes were smudgy.  Perhaps that would have been the perfect place to hide it.

Maybe Evelyn had received the letter but was forced to hide it in the lantern and then, for some reason, she never had the chance to retrieve it.  So how did that lantern wind up at
The Time Past Antique Shop
?

So many questions.  So many wonderful possibilities.

Eve glanced down at her phone and frowned.  She had many texts she hadn’t answered; a lot of emails she hadn’t responded to.  No doubt, most were from work.  Even though her clinic calls had been forwarded to a colleague, there were always questions only she could answer.  With a deep sigh, she laid the letter aside on the table and reached for her phone.

A half hour later, Joni, a perky, coppery red head who reminded many people of a young Liza Minnelli, arrived with a barking Georgy, straining on his leash.  Joni released him and he charged into Eve’s open arms.  She kissed his head and hugged him to her chest while he whimpered and licked her face, happy to be home with his best friend.

As Eve fed Georgy, she briefly summarized her trip for Joni, not mentioning the letter because she knew Joni would get intrigued and insist on seeing the contents.  She wasn’t ready to share it with anyone else just yet.  Joni quickly told her about the two Broadway auditions she’d had, but didn’t get cast for, and then dashed away to meet her boyfriend at the movies.

When Georgy was finally settled in his checkered bed near the fireplace, Eve reached for her cell phone and called her mother.  She described the B&B she’d stayed in, told her about the heart-shaped pendant watch, and then shifted the conversation to a new direction.

“Mom, has there ever been another Evelyn Sharland in the family?”

“I don’t know.  Your father was into all that when he did our family tree a couple years ago.  And I’m still pushing him to see if my side of the family is related to Jane Austen.  You remember my great grandmother was an Austen?”

“Yes, Mom, of course I remember.”

“Well, I wish your father would finish his search, but then you know your father.  I don’t know how he ever got to be an FBI agent.  He never finishes anything.  He still hasn’t finished painting the second floor bathroom that he started two months ago.  We got into this big argument about it the other day and he told me he was going to disappear and go into the witness protection plan if I didn’t stop nagging him about it.”

Eve tried to break in but her mother kept on going.

“But, anyway, I’m sure we’re related to the Austens.  I just feel it.  I’m reading
Mansfield Park
again. You read that one, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, probably three times.  Mom, is Dad there?  Can I talk to him?”

“He’s watching football, Eve, and you know he doesn’t like it when I disturb him during a game.”

“Please, Mom.  Tell him I need to talk to him.  It’s important.”

Eve’s mother heard the tension in Eve’s voice.  “Are you all right?  You sound stressed.”

“I’m fine.  Please, Mom, just ask Dad to come to the phone.”

Eve heard her mother sigh into the phone.  “All right…Just a minute.”

Moments later, Eve’s father was on the phone, his voice sounding impatient.

“Eve, how are you?  What’s so important?  I’ve got the game on, the Steelers and Raiders.  It’s a helluva game.  What do you need to know?”

“Dad, when you were doing our family tree research, did you find another Evelyn Sharland?”

There was a pause.  Eve could hear the TV in the background and her mother’s Pug dog, Jasper, barking his head off, and her mother yelling at him to shut up.

“Yeah, there was an Evelyn Sharland.  Don’t you remember?  I told you about her.  If I remember right, she was your great grandmother’s younger sister.”

Eve felt goose bumps on the back of her neck.  “Is that who I’m named after?”

“No, we didn’t know about her when you were born.  Your mother just liked the name Eve.  I wanted to name you Sally or Karen or Efrem Zimbalist, Jr,” he said with a chuckle.

“Who?”

“You know, the actor who was in the FBI television series back in the 60s and 70s.  You gave me the DVDs for Christmas two years ago.  Remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eve said, dismissively.  “How long ago did Eve Sharland live?  What year?”

“Oh, I don’t remember that.  Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?”

Eve wasn’t ready to say.  And as much as she loved her parents, her mother was an Olympic gossiper. 

“I’m just curious.  Can you look it up?”

“Now!?” her father, exclaimed.  “Eve, the game’s on, for crying out loud.”

“Okay, okay.  Did she get married?  Have kids?”

“I don’t remember, Eve.  It was over a year ago.  I’ll look it up in the next couple of days and call you back.”

Disappointed, Eve agreed.

As the evening drew on and darkness filled the room, Eve still hesitated to open the letter.  Opening it would be like opening a present at Christmas.  Once the present has been opened, the magic is gone.  To Eve, the joy of Christmas had always been the anticipation, the waiting, the speculation and the surprise.  This letter was even more than that.  It was a vast, mysterious window into the past—perhaps even into her own past. 

She glanced over at Georgy, whose one attentive brown eye was watching her. 

“What do you think, Georgy?”

He shut both eyes, sighed and buried his head deep into the curve of his bed.

“Thanks, buddy.  I know, I know.  Don’t bother me.”

Eve took a shower, wrapped herself in a white terry robe and ordered seafood pasta from a restaurant nearby.  While waiting for it to be delivered, she set the scene for her ritual.  She washed the four glass panes on the lantern and placed it on the emerald green enameled hearth of her non-working fireplace.  She set it in front of a wrought iron candelabra that held 10 large candles.  After she lit them, she noticed that the lantern looked strangely mysterious and bewitchingly beautiful in candlelight. 

She opened a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, poured a glass, and placed it on the end table near a winged chair that she had placed in front of the fireplace.  She placed the letter next to the glass.  After her dinner arrived, she settled in the chair, tucking her legs beneath her and eating slowly, savoring the flavors and the wine, contemplating this odd day.  It had been just the kind of day she loved, filled with adventure, unpredictability and mystery.  And now there was this bizarre experience, this letter addressed to someone with her own name from a previous century.  She hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed; that the envelope didn’t contain just an invoice. 

What else should the letter ceremony include?
she thought, smiling at herself for creating such a dramatic scene.  Wine, candlelight… ah, she must have music. 

It was 9:30 when Eve finally got up, powered up her laptop and found the music she thought appropriate for the ceremony:  Baroque music, Handel.  She chose cello, piano and violins—those seemed right.  She lowered the volume and turned toward her chair.  The room seemed deliciously quiet and private, bathed in a soft, mellow, candlelight glow.

She returned to the chair and reached for the glass of wine.  She lifted her glass in a toast to the lantern and then to the letter.  She took another sip before reaching for the mother of pearl handle on her antique, sterling silver letter opener. 

She set her wine glass aside and haltingly picked up the envelope, looking at it with an entranced expression.  The music was soft and elegant; the room cast in a soft trembling glow; Eve’s pulse was strong in her ears.

With the greatest of care, Eve inserted the tip of the letter opener under the seam of the flap.  Gently, she nudged at it.  Surprisingly, after all the years, it did not release easily.  It seemed to resist, as if not wanting to give up its old secrets. 

She looked at Georgy.  He was sound asleep.  Joni had probably taken him jogging with her.  He’d be out for hours.

Eve inhaled a breath and again tried to open the letter by releasing the flap.  She did not want to open it from the top.  That might damage it.  In any case, if it had historical significance, it seemed better to open the flap.  Slowly, carefully, and persistently she worked, and the seam gradually began to release.  When she was halfway across, she paused.  She felt sweat beads on her under lip, felt her heart kicking in her chest.  Her hand trembled and the palm of her hand was clammy.