Read The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel Online

Authors: Elyse Douglas

Tags: #Christmas romance, #Christmas book, #Christmas story, #Christmas novel, #General Fiction

The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel (7 page)

BOOK: The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel
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Trembling, her eyes lowered on the opened letter.  For a long time, she listened to the ringing silence, her breathing shallow and staggered.  And then her gaze slid away into the shadows of the room. 

CHAPTER 6

Eve made her way to bed, feeling feverish and mildly disoriented.  Every time she closed her eyes, she saw images of dissolving walls; felt as if she were falling through the bed.  At midnight, she took her temperature.  98.4 degrees.  Normal.  Still, she could have a virus.  Her nurse’s brain mentally scanned the list of probable causes.  A reaction to the lamp oil?  A migraine?  She’d never had migraine headaches, but the visual distortions pointed to that. 

She found a bottle and shook out a sleeping pill, hoping that after six hours’ sleep, she’d feel better. 

When her eyes popped open at 5:34am, she still felt shaky.  Her restless dreams had been filled with images of John Allister in his top hat, and of that damned lantern expanding out and up until it was the size of a skyscraper, throwing its bright yellow light out across the entire city, and beyond.

She threw on some jeans and a coat and took Georgy Boy out to the sidewalk, hoping the morning air would clear her head.  It worked.  Back inside, she leaned over the bathroom counter and stared at herself in the mirror.  Her eyes were clear.  She took her pulse and her temperature.  Both were good.  She declared herself fine.  She was feeling fine.

But as she walked into the kitchen, she realized there was something—some emotional residue from last night’s incident—that still made her uneasy.  She was afraid to look in the living room, afraid to look at the lantern.

 
I have to get rid of that thing,
she thought, adding milk to a bowl of oatmeal. 
I’ll mail it back to Granny Gilbert. 
She stirred the oatmeal vigorously. 
The letter needs to go too. 
She’d find someone in the Harringshaw family and either deliver it in person or mail it to them. 

She didn’t want to think about the lantern, or the letter, or Evelyn, or John Allister Harringshaw anymore.  And she wasn’t going to speculate as to what had happened the night before.  It had all been too disconcerting and frightening. 

Eve considered herself to be a rational and courageous person, who didn’t scare easily.  She didn’t believe in ghosts, in the paranormal or in UFOs.  Whatever had happened probably had more to do with a small virus or a migraine or something she’d eaten.  Maybe it was stress.  She’d been seeing a lot of new patients, requiring a lot of time on the computer.  And she never got enough sleep. 

On her way out of the apartment, Eve kissed Georgy Boy goodbye, avoiding even a passing glance at the lantern and letter.  Once outside, Eve gazed up at her bay windows, as if she half-expected to see something or someone looking back at her.  She continued on with reluctant strides, finally hailing a cab.  She wasn’t in the mood for a bus today.

The office was boiling with activity at 8:15 and Eve was seeing patients by 8:30. She tried not to allow last night’s events to distract her in any way, but suddenly the words “Central Park” kept playing in her head, like the lyrics of a song you can’t shake.  Without realizing it, she started humming an old Frank Sinatra song her parents had liked, about autumn in New York.
 
How had it gone?

Lovers that bless the dark

On benches in Central Park

Autumn in New York…

Eve tried to be focused, pleasant and methodical, falling into the hectic rhythm of the work, but the song and the physical sensations of the night before would suddenly rush through her body again and she’d have to stop and take a deep breath.  She took medical histories and examined ears and throats and abdomens, and even removed stitches from the foot of a 12-year old girl who bantered on about some reality TV show Eve had never heard of, but she couldn’t shake the odd feelings of the night before.

Just before noon, she had a consult with the M.D. on staff, Richard Mandel, a thin, high-strung man in his early 40s with wild, grey hair and steady eyes.  They were in his office, discussing a new patient, when Eve paused. 

“Do I look okay to you?” she asked.

Eve was standing near his small, narrow desk.  He glanced up from a stack of papers he’d been sorting through and squinted at her.  Eve and Richard had gone out to dinner a couple times when she was going through her divorce, but they remained just colleagues and causal friends. 

“Now that you mention it, you do look a little pale.  Are you feeling okay?”

Eve chose her words carefully.  “I feel a little odd.  Sometimes when I look around, things look a little fuzzy… a little out of focus.  This morning, when I was taking a history, the man’s voice seemed to echo—no, that’s not it—it seemed to sound hollow and far away.”

Richard sniffed.  “Could it be a migraine?  Or an ear infection?  Any dizziness?”

Eve shook her head.  “No…”  She hesitated.  How could she ever explain what had happened without sounding crazy?  “It’s probably just… well, I took a sleeping pill last night.  That’s probably it.”

Richard nodded.  “I can’t take those things.  They make me paranoid.  After I wake up, I feel like I’m being followed, and that every kid I pass is actually a big person hiding in a little body.  And they all want to mug me.”  He chuckled.  “Crazy, huh?”

Eve nodded, gently lifting her eyebrows and giving him an uncertain smile.  “Yeah…a little.” 

She started for the door. 

“Get some rest,” Richard said, more soberly.  “And let me know if you need anything.”

Eve turned back.  “Thanks, Richard, I will.  I’m heading off to the clinic now.  See you Monday.”

Late that afternoon, Eve cancelled dinner reservations with Joni and her boyfriend.  She still felt too shaky, and she had a strong compulsion to get rid of the lantern.  Once it was out of her life, maybe the words “Central Park” would stop playing in her mind like some incessant refrain.  And that song!  It had become a real distraction by the end of the day.

Before she left the Clinic, she called April to check on Granny Gilbert’s medical condition and to ask her if she could return the lantern to her. 

When April said hello, Eve knew from the sound of her voice that something had happened.  “Granny passed away early this morning,” she said softly.  “She died peacefully, with her family by her side.”

It was almost dark when Eve arrived home, feeling downcast and worried.  She collapsed her umbrella and brushed the beads of rain from her brown raincoat.  The weather people had said the temperature would probably drop, turning the rain into snow flurries.

She didn’t remove her coat or boots.  Instead, she took Georgy Boy out for a quick walk before feeding him.  He was happily gobbling his food when she wandered into the living room and lingered by the leather couch, deep in thought, her arms folded across her chest.  She stared into the dark fireplace—focusing on the lantern.  What should she do with it?  If Granny hadn’t died, she could have mailed it back to her.  She didn’t have the heart to just throw it out.  Maybe she should sell it to an antiques dealer or put it up for sale on eBay.  But Granny wouldn’t want that; she’d been fascinated by the lantern and the letter, and probably would have kept them both if Eve hadn’t been so persistent and aggressive.  And how Granny had loved hearing John Allister’s loving words!  Now that Granny was gone, only Eve knew the letter’s contents and, for some strange reason, she felt a responsibility to honor John’s privacy. 

In the silence of the living room, the lyrics to the song played louder and louder in her head, circling around in her brain like a mantra that wouldn’t let go. 

Lovers that bless the dark

On benches in Central Park

Autumn in New York…

Suddenly it hit her.  That’s where she should take the lantern!  She should take it to Central Park and leave it on a bench, and then whoever was meant to have it would find it.  Let fate decide.

Eve grabbed John Allister’s letter, her eyes falling on one particular sentence. 

If health permits, please light the lantern once more, the lantern that first brought us together on that snowy night in Central Park, and then read this letter, and think of me kindly. 

Eve stepped toward the hearth.  That’s exactly what she would do.  She put the letter and some matches in her coat pocket, pulled a deep breath and reached for the lantern, picking it up by the loop handle.  She stood rigid, holding it away from her, like it was some dangerous animal that might bite.  She waited to see if anything happened.  Nothing did.

In the kitchen, while Georgy Boy swarmed her ankles for attention, she found a plastic bag with handles and carefully lowered the lantern inside.  At the front door, she sat on her haunches and stroked Georgy’s head.  “I’ll be back in a little while, Georgy Boy,” she whispered.  “I won’t be gone long.”

On her way down the stairs, she reached for her phone and saw a text from Joni.

Hope you’re feeling better.

Eve texted back. 
Still not feeling great.  
She paused, her heart suddenly racing.  Should she tell someone what she was doing?  No.  It was too weird.  Still…

Her fingers seemed to move of their own volition. 
If you don’t hear from me by morning, please come over and check on Georgy. 

She touched SEND and then continued on her strange mission.

Outside, the rain was replaced by drizzle, which shimmered in the streetlights, making the world appear like an impressionistic painting.  Eve had forgotten her umbrella, so she pulled her hood up, ran to Broadway and hailed a cab.  She slid in, closed the door and sat still and silent.

The driver, dressed in a white turban, with a gray beard, waited patiently for her to tell him the destination.  Finally, he turned slightly, his face in profile.

“Where to, Miss?”

What was she doing?  How could she ever explain her actions to anyone?  Even now, she was conflicted and puzzled, her back straight, her eyes fixed ahead, her plan of action suddenly seeming ridiculous.  She was going out in the rain to light a lantern, read a letter and then leave the lantern on the bench?  What if someone saw her?  What would they think?  Nuts!

“Central Park.  East 66
th
Street,” she said, in a small, tentative voice.

The cab jumped away from the curb and pulled into light traffic.  Eve shook her head at the absurdity of what she was doing, but felt certain that this was the right course of action.  She was grateful to see the rain turning to snow as the taxi crossed the park at West 96
th
Street and turned right on 5
th
Avenue.

At East 66
th
Street, Eve paid the driver and stepped outside, taking the lantern with her.  She entered Central Park and walked briskly west across the damp walkway, under the soft glow of the amber park lights.  The wind had shifted and there was a chill in the air, the kind of chill that signaled the cold breath of winter was finally moving in.  It was October 24
th
.  Eve buttoned the top button of her raincoat, wishing now she’d worn a heavy sweater underneath it, and trudged on. 

Despite the hour and the weather, lovers strolled hand and hand, and tourists with maps and cell phones sought direction and landmarks.  She took the walkway leading to the lovely Bethesda Terrace and the Central Park Mall that runs through the middle of the Park from 66th to 72nd Streets.

It was an area once referred to as an “open air hall of reception” by its creators, as the Mall was designed so that a carriage could dislodge its passengers at the south end, drive around and then collect them at Bethesda Terrace, where the view of the Lake and Ramble was a popular point of interest.

There was a soft moan of wind as Eve strolled along the broad path under a canopy of American elm trees, many of them having already shed their leaves.  The path was framed on either side by a wrought-iron fence.  It was the only straight line in Central Park, nicknamed the “Promenade.”  Minutes later, Eve arrived at her destination, The Poet’s Walk, also known as The Literary Walk, at the southern end of The Mall.  Here were four statues of renowned writers, Fitz-Greene Halleck, Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott and William Shakespeare.

Shaking off her nerves, Eve found an empty park bench near the comfortable, buttery glow of a park light.  She removed two tissues from her purse and wiped beads of water from the bench.  She sat, instantly feeling the chill on her buttocks and legs.

She watched a parade of people stroll by, some students with backpacks, their faces lit up by cell phones as they read or texted.  An elderly man with a cane stuttered along, his old dog on a slack leash, walking stiffly on his arthritic legs, his ears and head down, his tail inert.

Sweethearts drifted by, bodies close, chatting and laughing, their hands stuffed into their pockets as the snow flurries fell lazily across the park lights.  And there were tourists, pausing to study the statues.  When they noticed the snow flurries, their faces brightened and their hands jutted out to catch some of the fat flakes.

Eve let out a long breath.  What was she doing here?  Okay, she knew why she said she was here.  To leave the lantern.  But a part of her knew it was also to see if the strange events of last night would happen again, even though what she was about to do was so foreign and so blatantly uncharacteristic of her that she shook her head again in utter disbelief. 

She had once thought about becoming a doctor.  Becoming a nurse practitioner had been easier and less expensive.  She liked medicine and she prided herself on her rational, calm and reasoned thinking.  She made decisions quickly and she was logical.  All well and good.

So what she was about to do was not rational nor did it make any logical sense whatsoever.  Carrying an old lantern to Central Park in a snowfall made no sense at all.  But here she was.  She could rationalize it by saying she was a scientist and scientists conduct experiments, don’t they?  Scientists must be open-minded skeptics who are not afraid to try things—even outlandish things—if the result can help illuminate and educate.  Right? 

BOOK: The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel
6.51Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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