The Christmas Eve Daughter - A Time Travel Novel: The Sequel to The Christmas Eve Letter

by Elyse Douglas

  Logan was obviously a craftsman, a musician and a reader of books. Ann had said he had been married, but his wife had run off one day, never to be heard from again. Eve had followed up with a few questions, but Ann had been evasive and reluctant.

  Ann said the police were called to investigate Logan’s wife’s disappearance, but they were never able to learn what had happened to her or where she’d gone. She had left no trace whatsoever.

  Months later, with no clues or witnesses, the police gave up the investigation. Some had suspected Logan of foul play, but since nobody was ever found, nothing came of it. Ann had told Eve the strange story in the cab as they were parting. Her final words were, “Goodbye and write when you can,” and then she added, “Logan can, at times, be somewhat remote.”

  Eve had removed her coat and was sitting in the comfy chair near the fire when Logan entered, closing the door, immediately removing his fur hat and coat and hanging them on a wooden peg. He moved stiffly toward the fireplace to warm himself, his downcast eyes avoiding Eve.

  “Thank you again, Logan, for picking me up and letting me stay.”

  “Only one night, Mrs. Gantly,” he said abruptly. “You can only stay one night.”

  Startled by his bluntness but being naturally forthright, Eve sat up straight, spine erect.

  “Logan, my husband and his companions may not arrive for a couple of days, depending on the snowstorm.”

  “It’s not right that you, a married woman, should be staying here with me. I have a good job with the railroad and I don’t want people to talk.”

  “You’re going into the Army, Logan.”

  “Nonetheless, I don’t want people talking. You can stay upstairs tonight, but tomorrow you have to leave.”

  Eve softened her voice, trying not to sound insulted. “All right. Fine. Is there someplace else I can stay while I wait for my husband?”

  “There’s a boarding house a few miles away. I can take you there.”

  Eve settled back down into the chair. She decided to be bolder. “Logan, did your mother tell you why I’m here?”

  He nodded, not speaking, his eyes still avoiding her.

  “Do you have the lantern, Logan?”

  His eyes shifted nervously.

  “Do you, Logan? It is very important. It literally could mean life or death for me and my companions.”

  Logan buttoned the top button on his red and black flannel shirt and then pocketed his hands in his brown work pants and looked down at his damp boots. He left the fireplace, roamed the room and then returned to the fireplace. He stared down at his boots again.

  “Did my mother tell you that my wife left me? Just up and left one day and was never heard from again?”

  “Yes… she did, but she didn’t go into any detail about it.”

  When Logan raised his eyes, they burned with anger. “My wife, Kady, did not leave me—at least not that way. She found that damned lantern of yours and when I was standing only a few feet away from her, she lit the devil of a thing. Do you know what happened then, Mrs. Gantly? She vanished. She just vanished into a misty blue fog and I have never seen her since. I couldn’t tell anyone what had really happened, could I? Not the police. Not my co-workers. Not my neighbors. They all would have thought I had gone stark raving mad. I couldn’t even tell my mother. I couldn’t tell anyone… until now.”

  Eve felt the cold rise in her. If Kady Tyler lit the lantern and vanished, then that meant the lantern possessed time travel power for somebody else—not just for Eve. Eve was too stunned to speak, so she just stared at nothing and saw nothing, and her mind reeled.

  Finally, she swallowed hard and found her voice. “Logan, do you still have the lantern?”

  CHAPTER 34

  In the Hoffman House living room, Patrick stood tall and resolute, his hands on his hips, hoping to convey strength and courage to his band of three as they sat together on the couch: Maggie, Irene and Duncan. His fixed stare took them in individually. Maggie was smiling with a forced facade of calm, picking lint from the navy blue woolen dress Eve had left behind.

  Irene’s face still bore the bruising around her startled eyes from the beating, and Duncan, a frigid introvert, appeared thin and fragile, as if a puff of wind might blow him away.

  Patrick thought, How am I ever going to get these three safely out of New York? Patrick did not show his nervous apprehension. He couldn’t let them see his trepidation and the crushing sense of responsibility he felt weighing on his shoulders. Right now, his job was to project courage and confidence.

  They all had passports. They all said they would take the risk. They were all trying so hard to be brave.

  He had to take them all. Maggie was his daughter. Irene had been beaten nearly to death because she knew Eve. And Duncan? Well, if Duncan stayed in New York, Big Jim’s men would eventually find him and kill him.

  Patrick’s soft eyes settled on Irene. “Irene, are you sure you want to leave your mother at a time like this? Pardon me for being frank, but it will be a difficult time for her.”

  “Addison was a beast,” Irene said, coldly. “He has scandalized our name in this City. I will be ostracized by every club and charity. And Addison allowed that brute of a man to beat me unmercifully, and then he hid me away in that uptown hospital on West 110th Street. He might as well have sent me off to Alaska. If I stay in this town, Mr. Gantly, now that my brother is dead, no doubt those terrible men will come after me again, if they know you and Duncan have left. No, I must leave. I will contact mother when I’m in Canada. She blamed me for what happened, and all she does is weep for Addison, calling him her little angel boy. No, I must leave. I can’t stay here, and I can’t let Duncan leave without me.”

  “All right, Irene. I just want to make sure you’re committed to this. The journey won’t be easy,” he said, calmly, “especially if we hit that snowstorm. Four hours could turn into seven or eight hours. You all must do everything I tell you, without any argument, without any hesitation. Is that understood?”

  They nodded.

  “All right. I’ve already described the car to you. It is waiting on the south side of Broadway. You can’t miss it. It’s a Cadillac Model 30. Duncan will be driving. I’ll sit next to him in the front and ride shotgun, and you two ladies will sit in the back. You’ll be better hidden back there. Irene and Duncan will take their bags and leave the hotel first, then Maggie and I a few minutes later. Walk leisurely, as if you are out for a Sunday stroll. Don’t worry. I haven’t seen anyone outside watching the hotel, and to the best of my knowledge, no one has been shadowing us. Is everything clear?”

  They nodded.

  Patrick glanced down at his watch. “All right, it’s nearly seven o’clock. Let’s hope the snowstorm doesn’t hit until we’re well out of the City. Ladies, put on your wigs and glasses. It may not help, but you never know.”

  Patrick took a deep breath and blew it out all at once. He smiled warmly. “All right, then, let’s go.”

  When they were all seated in the car, snow flurries were already falling. Duncan engaged the electric starter and the copper water-jacketed engine came to life. Patrick sat alert, his eyes carefully scanning the sidewalks and streets. Everything appeared quiet and safe.

  Duncan craned his neck, checked the traffic and nudged the car away from the curb. They moved into a steady traffic flow, passing horse carriages and pushcarts, bumping along streetcar tracks, working uptown toward the Bronx.

  As they entered the Bronx, a sparsely populated place in 1914, Patrick began to feel uneasy. He had that same tickle he’d always felt whenever danger was close. Casually, he looked sideways and then twisted around to look out the back window. A hot electric shock jolted his spine and he sat up.

  Duncan glanced in his rearview mirror. His nervous expression confirmed Patrick’s fear.

  “Are we being followed?” Duncan asked, his voice trembling.

  Maggie and Irene glanced around, swiftly alarmed.

  “Don’t l
ook,” Patrick barked.

  “Are we being followed?” Maggie asked, her voice tight with nerves.

  “Listen to me, all of you,” Patrick said. “Stay calm. Do not panic. If we are being followed, we’ll know soon enough.”

  “Oh, my gracious God,” Irene said, about to hyperventilate.

  Maggie wrapped a comforting arm around her. “We’ll be okay, Irene,” she said, also fighting for calm.

  Patrick lowered his window and ventured a backward look. He suppressed a curse. He saw two headlights looming out of the darkness, gaining on them. Yes, they were definitely being followed.

  Patrick had planned for this. He reached into his coat pocket for the smooth cold metal of his .32 caliber Smith & Wesson. He gently wrapped a palm around the grip. If the car overtook them and came alongside, he’d fire at the driver and then at the tires. But they won’t be that stupid, he thought. They’ll creep up from behind and fire. And there was no way to know how many cars were back there, and whether Big Jim himself was in the car following them.

  Patrick mentally flipped through his options. Maybe they could outrun the car. The Cadillac did have 40-50 horsepower, which is why he laid down most of the money he had left to buy the thing. It wasn’t the 132 horsepower of Eve’s 2017 Toyota Corolla in 2018, but it would do.

  “They’re closing in,” Duncan said. “What should I do?”

  Patrick saw a turnoff ahead. “Turn off right,” he said, pointing. “There!”

  Duncan whipped the wheel left and they skidded into the turn. They bounced along a rutted road, past some dark, abandoned cottages and a bleak, leaning shack.

  “Stop the car, Duncan. It’s quiet here. No one around.”

  “What? Here? Now?”

  “Do it!”

  Duncan hit the brakes and the car jolted to a stop, pitching the girls forward, their arms bracing against the front seat. Patrick whipped around to the frightened ladies. “Get out. Hide behind that first cottage. Stay out of sight and don’t move.”

  Maggie didn’t protest. She threw open the door, snatched Irene by the arm and climbed out, tugging a weeping Irene along after her. They stumbled over rocks and gravel and clambered off behind a single-story cottage with a flat roof and dark windows.

  Patrick narrowed his eyes on the looming car headlights approaching. He faced Duncan, the boy’s face taut with fear.

  “Listen to me, Duncan, and don’t talk. Turn the car around and drive straight for those oncoming headlights. Understand?”

  Duncan opened his mouth to speak but Patrick stopped him. “Don’t think. Do it. Now. They will not be expecting us to attack. We’re going to charge them. Now, let’s go.”

  With a grimacing effort, Duncan muscled the big steering wheel and gunned the engine. As the tires fought for traction, Patrick braced himself and again felt in his pocket for his revolver.

  “Charge them, Duncan. They’ll turn away before we collide.”

  Duncan’s face was set, his hands sweaty, trembling on the steering wheel.

  The car gathered speed as the oncoming car’s headlights appeared like two white moons. Patrick hoped that Big Jim was in the car. He was ready to have it out once and for all with the man.

  The two cars drove in a collision course like two jousting knights, lances at the ready. Patrick gritted his teeth. Duncan’s eyes grew small, his arms braced against the steering wheel as the two advancing headlights bathed him in light.

  “They’re going to ram us,” Duncan shouted.

  “Hold fast, Duncan. Hold it!”

  At the last possible moment, the oncoming car swerved and shot away. It left the road, dropped, bounced into a ravine and crashed into the stump of a tree. The front hood buckled, releasing a geyser of steam. The Cadillac shot by and skidded to a stop.

  “Turn it around, Duncan. Hurry! We want the headlights on them.”

  Duncan slammed the gear in reverse, backed up, rammed the shift forward and gunned the accelerator. The car jumped ahead before coming to a skidding stop.

  The Cadillac’s headlights framed three men, one stumbling out onto the road, limping, one holding a handkerchief to his forehead to stop the bleeding, and the third one, a big man, stood tall and angry, shading his eyes from the glare of the Cadillac’s headlights.

  Patrick turned to Duncan. “All right, Duncan, get out of here. Run for it. No matter what happens, keep out of sight. Got it?”

  Duncan swallowed. “But what about you?”

  “Go!”

  Duncan shoved his door open, ducked and ran off into the darkness for a grove of trees.

  Patrick licked his lips, drew his revolver from his pocket and pushed open the door. He swiftly leveled the revolver on the big man’s body. It was Big Jim.

  CHAPTER 35

  Big Jim started to step away from the car’s bright headlights, but Patrick stopped him.

  “Don’t move, Big Jim. Stay right there.”

  Big Jim froze. When he spoke, his voice was packed with venom.

  “You could have killed all of us with a damned stunt like that. Are you daft?”

  Patrick ignored him. “Now tell your bootlicks to slowly pull their guns and toss them out into the light where I can see them.”

  Big Jim kept his hard, burning eyes on Patrick, but he made a motion with his arm, and the two men standing beside the car complied.

  “All the guns,” Patrick said. “Even the leg holsters.”

  “Do it!” Big Jim growled.

  The man with the handkerchief pressed to his wounded forehead glared hate at Patrick as he leaned over, rolled up his pant leg, withdrew the pistol from his leg holster and tossed it onto the road into the light.

  “You too, Big Jim. Unload the blaster…very slowly.” Then in sarcasm, Patrick said, “I’d hate to have to blow your head off.”

  Big Jim complied, dropping his revolver. “You fit the description,” Big Jim, said. “Did you slay my two men down on the Lower East Side? Alfie and Donny?”

  “They were going to kill two harmless young ladies, but then you know that, don’t you, Big Jimmy?”

  “Who the hell are you? Why did you take my Maggie?”

  “She’s not your Maggie anymore, Big Jim. She was never your Maggie to begin with. Anyway, that’s over now.”

  “Oh, so she’s yours now, is she? Who are you?”

  “I’m going to give you a choice, Big Jim. You can take your men, get back into your car and drive away, or you can die. It’s your choice.”

  Big Jim barked out a hoarse laugh. “You cheeky bastard. Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m Big Jim Clancy and nobody talks to me like that. I’ll kill you and rip your heart out.”

  Patrick stared coldly. “Threats are made by men who are afraid. Are you afraid, Big Jimmy?”

  A menacing delight flickered in Big Jim’s eyes. “I’m not afraid of the likes of you, whoever you are. Is that Eve woman your whore?”

  “Big Jim, you really are a very small, disagreeable man, aren’t you?”

  Big Jim squared his shoulders. His forehead lifted as a sudden realization struck.

  “Nah… I get you now,” Big Jim said. “I know what’s been going on now. You’ve been out with my Maggie, haven’t you? So, it’s just as I suspected. She has been out tramping around with you behind my back, hasn’t she?”

  “No, Big Jim. You’ve got it all wrong.”

  He shook his head, unconvinced. “Don’t lie to a liar. For what you’ve done to my Maggie I will kill you, and then I will kill her.”

  “Big Jim, you’re as stupid as you are ugly. My name’s Patrick Gantly, and I came a long way to get Maggie away from you. So you need to let go, and let her go so she can get on with her life. It’s all over.”

  “Gantly? Patrick Gantly? Are you her brother, then?”

  “No, Big Jim. I’m her father.”

  Big Jim stared hard, as if trying to understand. Finally, he broke into harsh laughter.

  “Her father?”

 
“Yes, that’s right, Big Jim. I’m Maggie’s father.”

  His laughter was cold and guttural, and there was no mirth in it. “Okay, Patrick, if that’s what your name is. You’re going to have to shoot me right here and now, because I’m coming after you, and I’m going to take you apart, piece by piece.”

  Patrick slowly lowered his revolver. “You toss your other pistol away, Big Jim, because I know you’ve got one. Then I’ll toss mine. Then it will be just you and me. Whoever wins walks away.”

  An ugly smile creased Big Jim’s lips. He slipped a hand into his greatcoat pocket, lifted the gun by the walnut grip and tossed it off to his left.

  Patrick dropped his. Both men shouldered out of their greatcoats and dropped them. They stood tall, poised for battle, determined, their dueling eyes already speculating advantage and position.

  Big Jim started forward. “This is going to be a real pleasure, Patrick Gantly,” he said, biting off the words and flinging them like shards of glass.

  Patrick set his chin, his breathing coming easy, the cold air already chilling his ears and his hands, now formed into ready fists.

  The two men met on the edge of light, the night surrounding them, snow flurries drifting, a dog’s growling bark echoing from across a field.

  Patrick and Big Jim circled for a time, measuring, feet scratching at the dirt. When Big Jim lunged at Patrick, it was cat quick. He had two hard punches into Patrick’s left stomach and jaw in the blink of an eye. Patrick stumbled back in surprise and pain. He had underestimated Big Jim’s reflexes, skill and speed.

  Big Jim glared at Patrick with an arrogant challenge. “You’re a dead man, Patrick. Nobody crosses Big Jim and lives.”

  Big Jim screwed his heels into the ground and charged again, throwing big hooks with each fist. Patrick backpedaled as Big Jim hammered away at Patrick’s arms, shoulders and elbows. He landed a good one over Patrick’s ear and another over his ribs.