Big Jim blew out air as he worked, punching and swinging, clouds of white vapor puffing from his mouth. Patrick managed to take the blows without taking on too much injury, and soon Big Jim’s punches began to lose their snap. He then went to jabs.
Half turning and crouching, Patrick retreated and slumped a little to let Big Jim think he had worn him down. Big Jim pulled back to gather some quick breaths and renew his strength. That was what Patrick was waiting for.
Patrick charged. He threw a blow that caught Big Jim in the side of his head. The blow startled him just enough for Patrick to come down hard on Big Jim’s instep. Big Jim yelled in pain. With his hands locked, Patrick jammed his right elbow up under Big Jim’s lower jaw. Stunned, Big Jim stumbled backward, his feet struggling to find the ground. Patrick pressed the attack, eyes blazing. He jabbed and punched, driving Big Jim back, attacking with all the rage, pain and fury he’d held in for days.
Patrick danced in and gave Big Jim a thunderclap slap on both ears and Big Jim growled, wounded and reeling. Patrick slammed a rock-hard fist into Big Jim’s face, and a solid punch to his nose. Big Jim’s head snapped back, and Patrick hooked him deeply under the belt buckle. Big Jim doubled over, the air exploding from his lips. As he bent, Patrick snatched Big Jim’s wrist, turned it up between his shoulder blades and shoved him, four steps and head first, into the side of the Cadillac.
Big Jim bounced back, damaged. His wild eyes searched for reality, as he faltered and went loose. He turned to face Patrick, his face streaming blood. He tried to recover but wavered and stared with crazed, astonished eyes. Patrick glared as Big Jim strained to raise a defiant fist, but lost.
Big Jim wilted, dropping down to one knee. He wobbled, body swaying, and then like a great building, he tumbled over and hit the rocky ground, eyes closed, breathing labored.
Patrick bent over, the cold sapping his strength, his fists sore and throbbing. He gasped for breath, a pained exhaustion nearly overwhelming him. As he worked to recover, he saw Big Jim’s two bootlicks emerge into the light, their greatcoats flapping, hands shoved into their pockets, hats pulled low, eyes threatening.
Patrick got a good, clear look at the taller of the two men. He was the same man Patrick had fought in Duncan’s apartment when Patrick had posed as a priest.
Patrick frowned as he straightened, ready for another attack.
The taller man said, “You will die for what you did to Big Jim. You will die for what you did to me.”
Big Jim suddenly stirred, managing to sit up, unsteadily. In a great bear of a growl, he yelled, “Kill him. Kill him and I’ll rip his heart out!”
Patrick’s strength was ebbing, but he readied himself, knowing he might die fighting. His only prayer was that somehow Duncan and the ladies had made a clean escape.
Just then a gunshot exploded, shattering the night. It froze the men in the headlights, their eyes wide, searching, scared.
From the outer edge of darkness, Duncan emerged into the light, his young face set in a rigid, deadly purpose. The revolver that Patrick had given him only days ago, a .32 caliber revolver was pointed directly at the two men.
Duncan’s voice was shaky, but resolute. “I will shoot you men,” he said, the revolver steady and sure. “Run away now or so help me God, I will shoot you dead.”
“Kill him!” Big Jim shouted. “Kill them both!”
Big Jim’s men stood rigid, uncertain.
Duncan leveled the .32 at the tall man, the one who had beaten him in his Greenwich Village apartment. As the man lunged to attack, Duncan squeezed off a shot. A bullet rang out and struck the man just above the kneecap. He flinched, whirled, and screamed out in pain, crumbling to the ground.
Duncan fired another shot. The bullet whizzed over the stockier man’s head. In a full panic, the shorter man turned and galloped away, ignoring his injured buddy.
The man Duncan had shot raised a helpless hand. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot me. Please.”
“Run!” Duncan shouted as he squeezed off another explosive shot.
Terrified, the man struggled to his feet and went limping off into the darkness, grunting out curses.
Undaunted, Big Jim jabbed a hand into his tweed jacket pocket and whipped out a two-shot derringer. In a huffing effort, he swung it toward Patrick and fired. Two shots blasted.
Patrick ducked and felt the breath of a bullet whizz by his left ear. At the same moment, he heard another pistol blast to his left. Duncan had fired.
Patrick whirled to see a bloody mist splatter Big Jim’s face as Duncan’s bullet struck Big Jim between the eyes. Big Jim jolted back and slammed into the ground, his dead eyes blank and staring.
The world went silent for a time, and then gusts of wind whistled by, sending snowflakes into a scattering panic, making the world seem blurry and confused.
Patrick turned to Duncan. The boy was shaking from head to toe, the gun still poised at Big Jim.
“Is he dead?” Duncan said. “Is that terrible, devil of a man dead?”
Patrick swallowed. “Yes,” he said, staggering over to him. “Yes, Big Jim is dead. You can lower the gun now, Duncan.”
Duncan didn’t move or respond. His eyes were wide, spooked. “Are you sure he’s dead?”
“Yes, Duncan. It’s over. He’s dead. I’m going to take the gun from you now, all right? Relax.”
Patrick gently and carefully reached and removed the revolver from Duncan’s shivering hand. Patrick looked softly at the thin, fragile kid, who maybe wasn’t so fragile anymore. Duncan kept his wide eyes fixed on Big Jim’s dead body, his mouth firm and tight.
“It’s all over, Duncan. Thank you for saving my life.”
Duncan seemed lost in a dream. “What? What did you say?” he asked, his eyes twitching.
“I said, thank you for saving my life. Big Jim’s next shot would have hit me.”
Duncan still couldn’t move. “I’m glad I did it. God forgive me, but I’m glad I shot him dead. He deserved it, didn’t he, for what he did to poor Irene? He beat her up so badly, and she said he laughed while he punched her about that hotel room where they took her. He just laughed and kept hitting her. He deserved it, didn’t he?” he said, turning to Patrick, his eyes pleading, filling with tears.
Patrick nodded. “Yes, Duncan. He was an evil man.”
The emotion took over and Duncan doubled over and wept, his shoulders rolling.
“It’s all right, Duncan. It’s going to be all right.”
Patrick gazed out into the darkness to see Maggie and Irene standing by, neither moving. They were two quiet silhouettes.
“We have to go,” he said, loud enough for all to hear.
Patrick placed a soft hand on Duncan’s shoulders. “We have to get out of here. Duncan, can you drive?”
Duncan slowly straightened, eyes wet with tears. He nodded. “Yes… I can drive. I have to get the ladies away from here. Yes… let’s go.”
CHAPTER 36
Eve and Logan sat at the wooden table opposite each other, bowls of moose stew, plates filled with sliced bread and butter, and hot mugs of tea between them. Eve could hear the groaning wind circle the house and was grateful for the comforting warmth of the cozy room.
But she felt a heaviness of heart, and her mind was absorbed in thoughts about Patrick and Maggie. She was worried they wouldn’t escape New York alive; worried about the snowstorm they would run into; worried about Patrick telling Maggie the truth of who he was and where they had come from. She was also uneasy about what she and Patrick had done in this time—they had no doubt changed the past and, at this very moment, the future was surely rearranging itself.
How would the changes affect their world in 2018? How would it affect the world at large? And if they did return home, would it be the same home? Previously, when she’d time traveled back from 1885 to 2017, there had been subtle changes. Would Georgy Boy be changed again? Would Eve’s parents be her parents? Would she still be a nurse practitioner? Would Joni still b
e there, waiting for them?
Logan’s voice snapped Eve out of her misty dream and forced her back to the moment.
“I had to face the truth after Kady was gone,” he said. “I suppose she wasn’t so happy with me. I thought she was, but after a lot of thought and reflection, I don’t think she liked her life here with me. I guess she felt too confined.”
Eve shifted her focus. “What did your mother say when she first brought you the lantern?”
Logan lowered his spoon, staring down at the table. “She told me the story… your story. Everything she’d learned from some old man who’d brought her the lantern just before he died. She told me about you, and about the hospital where you both worked. She said that from the first time she’d met you, she felt there was something about you that was different; something she couldn’t quite grasp.”
“Did Kady hear your mother’s story?”
“No… at least I didn’t think she had. Mother told me the story late one night after Kady had gone off to bed. But she must have heard the story, right?”
“Did you believe your mother?”
Logan looked up. “No, of course not. I thought she was going a bit batty or something. I mean the whole thing sounded like some storybook fable or fairy tale. Who could believe such a thing? Magic lanterns? Time travel? No, I didn’t believe her, but I didn’t tell her I didn’t believe her. She was my mother. My birth mother. We had grown close, and I didn’t want to jeopardize that, so I just indulged her little fantasy.”
“Did Kady ever talk to you about the lantern?”
“No. Never. I just assumed she hadn’t heard and didn’t know anything about it. Mother asked me never to tell anyone. So, she pulled this old lantern from her canvas bag and set it here on the table. And then she said a strange thing. She stared at me somberly and said that perhaps one night, when I was alone, I should light it and see what happened.”
“And did you ever light it?” Eve asked eagerly.
“No, of course not. It looked old and dinged up. I told Mother I wouldn’t light the thing, and she just shrugged and asked me to put it in a safe place. She said the woman who owned it might come looking for it someday. Of course, I thought that was crazy too. I mean, what person in their right mind would travel here from America looking for an old lantern, when new ones are in every general store and catalog in the world? So, I took the lantern outside, placed it on a lower shelf in my tool shed and forgot about it.”
Logan stared ahead, his gaze more inner than outer. “I thought Kady was happy with me and our way of life. But after she vanished, I went through her private trunks. I found travel magazines and letters from her friends and sister. I could tell that she’d wanted to run off to some exotic island, or to Europe or New York. She felt like a prisoner in this place.”
Logan looked away. “And I guess she said some other things about me…well, I don’t think she really loved me.”
Eve sipped her tea, thoughtfully.
Logan’s eyes held questions. “Do you know where Kady is, Mrs. Gantly?”
“No, Logan. Of course not. I have no idea.”
He lowered his sad eyes and his voice. He stirred his stew absently, staring as if defeated. “I believe in that lantern now, don’t I? I have to, because I’ve seen its power.”
He slumped in his chair and pushed his bowl of stew away, his appetite gone. His somber eyes took Eve in.
“What time in the future do you come from, Mrs. Gantly?”
Eve set her mug of tea down. “My husband, Patrick, and I live in 2018, in New York City.”
It was a long moment before he spoke. “Do you think Kady went there, to that time and place? To 2018?”
“I don’t know, Logan.”
He pounded the table with his fist. “Well, you must know, if you use a lantern and you time travel to different places. You’ve got to know how it all works, and why it works, and why these things happen. You’ve got to know where my Kady is.”
Eve was startled by his unexpected outburst. “I don’t know how it all works, Logan. I found the lantern in an antique shop in 2017. There was a letter inside it, written by a man who had deep regrets about a woman with whom he was in love. She was lost to him and he’d learned that she was dying. When I lit the lantern, I found myself back in 1885. Through a series of difficult events, I was able to help bring the couple together. While there, I fell in love with my husband, Patrick.”
Logan squinted at her as if he was trying to understand.
Eve sat back in the chair. “Logan, there seems to be an intelligent energy contained in the lantern and in its light. I don’t know how or why it does what it does, but it seems to respond to an intention. It seems to support a person to do some good—to improve the world or save a life or, as romantic as it may sound, to bring two ill-fated lovers together.”
Logan kept his attention firmly fixed on Eve, waiting for more.
Eve continued. “After I returned to my time, I made a vow never to use the lantern again. I vowed to toss it into the river because I didn’t understand its power, and it scared me. I barely made it out of 1885 alive. I was nearly trapped.”
Eve pointed to the lantern. “But it was that lantern that sent me back to 2017.”
“But it didn’t travel with you?”
“No, Logan, that lantern remains fixed in its time. I don’t know why. The lantern in 2018 that brought me to 1914 is the same lantern that brought me to 1885, but it stays in the 21st century. Again, I don’t understand why or how it does what it does.”
Logan stared uncertainly. “So why didn’t you toss the lantern in the river?”
Eve let out a long breath. “I don’t know. Something stopped me.”
Logan stood up, abruptly. “Well, I don’t understand any of it. I’m a simple man who just wanted a home, a wife and some children. I just wanted to live a good, clean and happy family life. I curse the day my mother brought me that lantern. I curse it and, God forgive me, I curse everyone connected with it.”
Eve turned away from his anger. She was so very tired, feeling a weary, dragging fatigue. She had not slept well in days.
Logan paced to the fireplace, stared into it for a time and then returned to the table, his face softening.
“I didn’t mean that, Mrs. Gantly. I’m sorry. I do not curse you. That was not a good Christian thing to say. Please forgive me.”
“I understand, Logan, and I am truly sorry for what happened.”
His restless eyes moved. “Well, you know what? Kady probably would have left me anyway, one way or the other, wouldn’t she? It was just a matter of time.”
“You will find another wife. You’re young, Logan.”
“Not now. No. There’s a war on. I must go and fight.”
He ran a hand along his jaw, thinking, and stood by his chair, his hands resting on the top rail.
“Logan…” Eve said in a soft tone. “You haven’t said if you still have the lantern. Do you have it?”
Logan stared down. “When I saw Kady vanish right before my eyes, as she stood over there by the fireplace, I screamed. I was so confused and scared that all I could do was just scream, and then go on screaming. I was helpless, you see, and I went a little mad for a time. I ran around the house searching for her, calling for her. I picked through closets, tossed her clothes aside, yanked out drawers and fell to my knees looking under the bed. And then still in a hot madness, I stumbled outside and circled the cabin, sure she was hiding from me. But she was nowhere to be found. Then I staggered out into the newly fallen snow, screaming up into the sky. I bolted for the trees and ran until my strength left me, and I fell into cold blowing snow. I don’t know how long I stayed there. I think I nearly froze to death.”
Logan slowly lowered himself back into the chair. “When I finally came to my senses, I staggered back inside the house, dropped before the fire and just stared at that lantern. I stared until my eyes burned and watered. I stared until late into the night and the fire went
out, and I shivered from cold and exhaustion.”
Logan continued, in a low, husky voice. “Finally, I gathered up the last of my dignity and stormed over to the damned thing. I grabbed it up, went to the back door, pushed it open and, with all my strength, I slung that lantern out into the darkness. I left it there for many days. I don’t know how long…maybe weeks.”
Logan pushed up again, turned and walked purposefully across the living room floor to the back door. He exited.
Eve waited, feeling a desperate anticipation.
Minutes later, Logan entered. He closed the door and stood for a time in a ringing silence. Only the fire crackled orange.
Eve rose to her feet, her eyes enlarging on the lantern that Logan held up by the wire handle. He held it cautiously and away from his body as if it were a bomb about to go off.
Eve started toward Logan, taking small steps.
“This is it,” Logan said. “Like I said, its pretty beat up.”
Eve stopped, first staring at Logan, and then at the lantern. It was not in the best of shape. Two of the four glass window panes were gone. One was cracked, the other intact. The wire guards were bent, but the anchor design on each side of the roof was still visible.
Eve felt a crashing relief. It was the lantern—the same lantern that had sent her home from 1885.
Logan handed it to Eve and she took it, reverently, lovingly, with a smile. Again, an odd and haunting feeling washed over her: how did this lantern finally find itself in Granny Gilbert’s The Time Past Antique Shop in Pennsylvania in 2017?
“Do you think it will work, Mrs. Gantly? Do you think it will light?”
And then the telephone rang, and they both pivoted toward the sound.
CHAPTER 37
The Cadillac battled on into the grinding teeth of the snowstorm. The miles flew by in a hazy vision of splattering snow, slapping wipers and the ghosts of towering trees.
Angry winds punched the car as it bucketed and ramped its way toward the Poughkeepsie train station. As a shuddering Irene and tense Maggie peered out of their back windows, they saw only blinding snow. Still in the front seat, Patrick watched snowflakes play across the headlights like fleeing insects.
The Christmas Eve Daughter - A Time Travel Novel: The Sequel to The Christmas Eve Letter Page 25
