She stepped back out into the parlor, but still, no Evie. She rang for breakfast, and ordered eggs, ham, and rolls for them each, then gently knocked on Evie’s door. There was no answer. She knocked again. Nothing. She opened the door a crack.
“Evie?”
There was no response. Cassandra saw that the bed had been hastily made. She knocked at the door of the water closet and then the bathing room. A panic rose in her chest. Was she sick? Had she passed out? Finally she looked inside both; the girl was not there.
Cassandra ran back out into the parlor, her heart pounding. Was it possible that Evie had woken up so early that she decided to go out exploring herself? That was not the plan. In the moment, she cursed the decision that had been made by Elton Carver so long ago when he first started experimenting with time travel, that as few modern devices as possible be brought back into the past, including transmits. Cassandra felt she would kill for one right now. To be able to contact Evie and find out where she was would solve her dilemma immediately. This is why we never travel with a partner, Cassandra thought angrily.
She decided to wait and eat breakfast. Surely, Evie had just stepped out to look around and would be right back. It would be hasty to run after her without knowing which direction. Then it hit her. She must have gone to All Angels.
The maid knocked on the door, and Cassandra opened it and grabbed the tray from her, vowing to tip her later. She wolfed down the breakfast, noting that it tasted much better than the food had the night before, and left Evie’s plate sitting there covered. She then grabbed her things, tied on her bonnet, and ran down the stairs of the hotel.
She asked the doorman to order her a hack coach and within minutes one had arrived and Cassandra was on her way to the church at Second Avenue and Tenth Street. She scrambled out and paid the driver as they pulled up in front of the solid stone structure, topped with a clock tower and spire, its portico supported by thick columns in the popular colonial style, exactly the same, Cassandra thought, as it appeared the more than two hundred and sixty years in the future when she attended concerts and other events there.
The church clock said ten. She walked to the front entrance and carefully pulled the door open. Church was still in service, and it appeared it would not be over for some time. A wild-haired, gray-bearded man was speaking from the pulpit, holding forth on the evils of slavery. Momentarily mesmerized, Cassandra realized this must be Reverend Jeremiah Williams, Evie’s ancestor. But scanning the backs of the heads in the sparsely attended congregation, she did not see Evie. She quietly closed the door, then went and peered through the gates of both the east and west church yards, struck again by how little they would have changed in the future. Not seeing anyone about, she stepped back onto the sidewalk.
She looked up and down Second Avenue, her historian sensibilities fascinated by the look of the cobbled street and the small shops and tenement buildings lining it. People dressed in fine Sunday clothing were beginning to stroll about in the May sunshine, although most of the stores appeared to be closed. People openly stared at her as they passed. She must stand out more than she’d imagined. But where to find Evie? It didn’t make sense to wander around the huge city looking for her, and wasn’t safe for her to be out alone. The girl would surely go back to the hotel; perhaps she was there now. Cassandra hailed a coach and climbed in. She slowed her breathing and calmed her mind. It was ridiculous to panic. Evie obviously had not countermanded her decision that they wait to go to All Angels until Monday. She must have simply gone for an early walk. But even this fact was enough to make Cassandra fear for her. The young woman was not prepared to face the city by herself.
Chapter Five
That night we went on by foot, supplied with some fresh victuals to keep us fed on our way. The woman said to keep the North Star in front and a little to the right. She said we would cross a big marsh and to keep low. We did as she said, looking for a road that would come in from the west after we got through the marsh. She said to follow the road north but keep in the bushes. It took us half the night to find the road, walking up and down along the west side of the marsh and we thought for sure we were lost. Finally, with the help of the moon that had come up, we found it, and followed alongside. It was bitter cold and Lill was catching a cough.
From Caleb Stone’s narrative, as remembered by Dr. Cassandra Reilly
*****
Evie managed to get a hack coach on Sixth Avenue, just a half a block from the hotel. She asked the driver to take her to All Angels.
“Uptown or the mission?” he asked her.
“Uptown?”
“There’s an All Angels Church on up in Seneca Village, but that’ll cost a dollar to take you all the way up there. Then there’s the mission down around the Bowery.”
Evie racked her brain for what she knew of the history of New York City, from the little she’d taken the time to study. She remembered that Seneca Village was an African American settlement where Central Park would one day be. It had ultimately been destroyed to build the park.
The driver was rattling on. “But I don’t know what a white lady would want goin’ up there. That’s all black folk. On the other hand, the Bowery is no place—”
“Yes! The Bowery, that’s it.”
“Whatever you say, lady.”
She got in and thought about the word Bowery. She knew that it referred to Peter Stuyvesant’s farm, that of the first governor of New York, and it occurred to her that it must have been about where All Angels stood, so that made sense. She’d had no idea there was more than one All Angels in New York. On the other hand, she thought, the street called Bowery, at least in her future world of 2122, was much further south than Tenth Street. Confusion washed over her. Could there be some mistake? Could All Angels not actually exist yet? No, of course it did. She’d seen the dates on the grave markers of her ancestors with her own eyes. She knew the church’s history—the building had existed since 1799. But now where was the driver taking her? He was continuing south on Sixth Avenue, when she was sure he should have turned east long ago. They were already crossing Houston Street. Something was wrong. How did she communicate with the driver? She didn’t remember going over that information. She stuck her head out the window and yelled but the clatter of the wheels on the streets was deafening and the other vehicles passing by added to the noise. Very well. She took a breath. She would wait until he stopped and then see where they were and ask him to take her back to Tenth Street and Second Avenue.
Finally the driver turned east. She sighed. He must have decided to take a different route. However, soon after, he turned south again. They continued downtown, street after street. Evie noticed that the neighborhoods were deteriorating, becoming more densely populated. She saw two men fighting just outside a tavern, a small crowd of street urchins cheering them on. Prostitutes leaned out of the upstairs windows of a ramshackle building. Even on a Sunday morning, Evie thought.
She noticed a street sign that said Chatham—they were very near where her New York gallery would be centuries later, but the neighborhood was unrecognizable. The carriage jolted to a stop and the driver got out to open the door.
“Where are we?” Evie asked as she stepped down into a puddle.
“All Angels Mission, just like you wanted.” He pointed across the street to a ramshackle, wood-frame building with a cross nailed on the top. “All you do-gooder ladies think you can help this scum. Well all I can say is good luck. That’ll be thirty cents.”
Evie fished the money out and handed it to him. “But wait a minute—”
Something whizzed by her head. She turned to see a group of boys, around nine or ten years of age, picking up rotten vegetables from a pile of trash, she and the driver in their sights.
The driver leapt up onto his seat and urged his horses to a gallop. As they sped off, Evie ducked a flying potato, then ran across the street to the mission and pounded on the door. There was no answer. A crowd of dirty, ragged people, some black, some
white, gathered to see what the well-dressed woman was going to do next.
A skinny black woman called to her. “What are you doin’ down here puttin’ on airs? You gonna try to reform us like all them church ladies do?”
Evie didn’t understand what she meant. Pretending to ignore her, she pushed through the crowd, and headed in the direction that she supposed was north. Suddenly, a small boy chasing a pig came running toward her, causing her to leap out of the way. On a nearby front porch, a flock of chickens in a make-shift coop squawked at the ruckus, as their keeper, an old, toothless hag, looked on in amusement. Evie tried to run, but was hindered by the people out meandering through the streets, taking advantage of the fine morning, and the more she pushed through them, the more she attracted attention. The streets were not cobbled here, but mud, and from the smell of them, Evie knew they were also used as the sewer. There were no sidewalks; she had no choice but to try and pick her way along the middle of the road, which was narrow, lined with three and four-story wooden buildings that looked to her as though they’d topple over at any minute. An old woman cursed her as she passed; a younger one, wearing a revealing bodice and soiled skirt, spat in her direction. A goat, dragged along by a barefoot boy, nipped at her dress, and as she moved to avoid it, a man with a badly scarred face grabbed at her. She lurched out of the way to prevent his hand coming in contact with her breast. The man’s friend laughed and offered an indecent proposition.
Terrified, she looked around for another street sign and saw one that said Earl Street. It seemed to veer west, so she turned onto it and continued running. Vendors selling dented pots and pans, rags, and greasy-looking meat pies harangued her. Someone threw the contents of a chamber pot out a window, hitting a man in a rabbit-skin hat who erupted in anger within just a few feet of where she struggled to make her way. The scene grabbed the attention of the passers-by, who gathered around to see if there would be an altercation between the man and the Irish prostitute who’d thrown the liquid. Her black customer made a rude gesture from the window, and the man on the street let flow a string of curses. The mob egged them on to a fight.
Evie ducked around them and continued on her route, seeing that the crowed was growing sparser. For two blocks, she ran without stopping until she found herself upon Broadway, where it suddenly seemed a different world. People of the upper class were out promenading in a grand display of finery. Ladies paraded by in brightly colored gowns and feathered hats, accompanied by their stylish beaux or their families.
A man in a long, narrowly cut frock coat stopped in front of her, a little girl clutching his hand. He was clean shaven, but with long side-burns. He sported a bow tie and a brocade vest with a watch chain; his trousers were pencil thin and his black boots shined. The girl was wearing a sparkling clean dress in a fashion that mimicked that of the grown ladies, but it was short and she had on pantalettes that showed beneath her frock, white stockings, and pink leather shoes.
“Miss, do you need assistance?” he asked Evie.
“I…don’t know…I—” She hesitated, remembering to correct her speech. “I do not know…I think I need a cab.”
“Please, let me help you.” The man whistled for a passing coach that immediately stopped. “Where are you going, miss?” The man asked.
“Waverly Place, the Dylan Hotel.”
The driver nodded, and the man helped her in. “Do you have money?” he asked.
“Yes.” She checked in her purse, although she knew she was equipped with plenty. “Yes, I will be fine. Thank you so much for your help.”
“My pleasure.” He tipped his hat to her, and the little girl smiled. He closed the cab door and the driver clucked the horses forward.
Evie sat back in the seat and tears sprang to her eyes. She took in Broadway as they drove, regretting the action that had made her leave the hotel so hastily that morning. She knew Cassandra must be worried.
People seemed to be out walking simply to be seen. She watched them stop and greet one another, nodding and smiling, a stark contrast to where she had just been. She rode past photographers’ studios, clothing shops, milliners, tailors, shoemakers, booksellers, printers, and cabinet makers, all closed for Sunday. She saw signs for real estate and law offices, banks, tobacconists, clock and watch repair shops, candy stores, five and dimes, florists, restaurants, and entertainment halls. How could these totally different neighborhoods exist within just a few blocks of each other? Her New York of the future was nothing like this. The city was entirely civilized, quiet, and easy to get around in.
Eventually the coach pulled up in front of the Dylan Hotel. She got out, paid the driver and made her way upstairs. When she opened the door to the suite, Cassandra leapt up off the parlor sofa and ran to her.
“Evie, where have you been? You’ve been gone for at least two hours! What happened to you? You’re pale. Sit down.” She led her to the sofa.
Evie sat down and looked up at Cassandra, eyes brimming with tears. “I tried to go to All Angels.”
“But we decided—”
“No, you decided!” she cried, her frustration turning to anger.
She watched Cassandra’s face grown stern. “I am in charge of this trip, Evie. You need to listen to me or you could get yourself into serious trouble.”
Unable to control the tears, Evie let them flow.
Cassandra still stood over her, arms folded. “Tell me what happened,” she said with a cold edge to her voice.
“I tried to find the church. I took a cab, but he took me to some mission in the Bowery that was also called All Angels.”
“The Bowery? What do you mean the Bowery?”
“It’s way downtown where my gallery is in the future. Around Chatham Street. It was disgusting and filthy and full of really poor people—I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“Wait a minute, I will get a map.” Cassandra ran to her room and emerged a moment later with a small piece of thick paper on which was hand drawn a map of New York in 1853. “You have one of these too; why did you not take it?”
Evie noticed that though Cassandra also slipped with her use of contractions when she was emotional, she had now returned to the correct way of speaking and Evie was reminded to do the same.
“I forgot.”
“Very well, let us have a look.” She took a seat near Evie. “Here is the street called Bowery, and here is Chatham. Dear God, Evie!”
“What?”
“You were in Five Points!”
“I have heard about that.”
“Frankly, you should have done more than hear about it. You should have studied it. I spent many sessions reviewing the streets of preCivil War New York in the hologram program; you never came to any that I invited you to.”
Evie looked down. “I know.”
Cassandra sighed heavily. “Well, it would have done you good. You were in the most notorious slum that existed at this time.”
“What is a slum?” Evie had heard the word but had no context for it in her future reality.
“Where you were. A place where very poor people live, exploited by landlords and ignored by the government.”
“It was the most horrible thing I have ever seen.”
“Well, you are safe now, and I hope that from now on, you will not venture out on your own. We will go to All Angels tomorrow. I was there this morning looking for you.”
“You were?” Evie sat forward on the sofa, and wiped her face with her hand. “Who did you see? How was it?”
Cassandra extracted a lace handkerchief from her skirt pocket and handed it to her.
“Well, I believe I saw Jeremiah Williams preaching, but I did not introduce myself to anyone. They were in the middle of the service.”
“How did it look?”
“Pretty much the same as it looks today on the outside, but the inside is very different. So listen. It is such a beautiful day. Are you up for some more exploring? But just around this area where it is safe.”
“
Yes,” said Evie, “but let me freshen up first.” She stood.
“Have you eaten? There is still breakfast here for you, but I am afraid it is cold.”
“I am not hungry. Perhaps a little later.”
“Very well.”
Evie went into her room, used the water closet, then went to the mirror to fix her hair. As she looked into her own eyes she cursed herself for missing the chance to go to the church and possibly to find out something about Caleb Stone today.
Once the two women were back outside, Evie grasped Cassandra by the arm. They turned towards MacDougal Street heading in the direction of Washington Square Park.
“Why is everyone staring at us?”
“It occurs to me that we are somewhat better looking than average citizen of this day and age.”
“Really? That is why?”
“Well, look at everyone else.”
Evie returned the stares of the men and women walking by.
“Everyone is kind of…old looking.”
“They age so much faster. Also, the women are not wearing make-up like we are used to seeing. They have no really effective skin or cosmetic-adjustment treatments like we do, no sunblock, poor dental care, and they succumb to illness and disease much more readily. Some people are pockmarked, some have missing teeth. You just do not see that in our lifetime.”
“What do you suppose they are thinking about us?”
“Probably just that we are foreign.”
“I wonder if they can tell that I am black,” Evie whispered.
“People probably just think you look a little European. Anyway, they will believe what our attitude tells them to believe. You are well dressed and obviously educated; those things indicate ‘whiteness’ to people of this time.”
Cassandra smiled and nodded to the passersby. Evie began to relax and do the same. They walked past Washington Square Park where people were out strolling in the sunshine. Women with parasols were arm in arm with gentlemen in top hats.
The Time Heiress Page 6
