The Time Heiress by Georgina Young- Ellis Page A

dabbed at her lips with the napkin.
    “Yes, why not?” Cassandra replied. “Let’s give it a try.” She signed the bill and left a few coins for a tip.
    “I am nervous,” said Evie.
    “Me too, a little.”
    They gathered their things, nodded politely to their small audience, walked out of the hotel, and turned toward the square. From there, they headed north on Fifth Avenue, then turned east on Tenth Street and continued through the quiet neighborhood of stately brownstones until they reached the point where Stuyvesant Place, the only true east/west positioned street in the city, met up with Tenth. Just beyond that intersection was the church.
    Evie stopped. She took Cassandra’s arm and held her back.
    “Wait! Let me look at it for a minute.” She tried to control her breathing. “It is amazing!”
    “What is?”
    “Just that, I mean, I just cannot get over how you can walk down these streets where almost everything has changed over the past nearly three hundred years, and then you come upon a building like this that literally has not been altered one single bit in all that time. Possibly the paint on the molding is a different color, but that is all. It just…suddenly makes you feel like you are home.”
    Cassandra smiled, nodded and moved on to cross the street. She stepped up to the tall front gates and pushed them open. Evie followed and noticed that the front doors were ajar. Taking a deep breath, she darted up the steps past Cassandra and looked inside. The dimly lit interior was indeed more changed in the future than the exterior would be. The two women walked all the way through the vestibule and into the sanctuary, taking in the quiet space. Around the rear three-quarters of the second-level perimeter was a balcony. Stained-glass windows, mostly depicting saints, lined the walls of both levels, and dark wood pews stretched up toward the simple altar, behind which hung a great cross. The floor of the sanctuary was brick-colored tile, and there were candle holders at the ends of each pew and situated around the altar. On the dais, where the altar stood, were carved wooden chairs for the clergy, and against the back wall under the cross, a large pipe-organ dominated.
    Evie looked around for the painting. It was not where she expected it to be, on the west wall, between the windows that depicted Peter Stuyvesant and St. Mark. She had returned over and over to see it, week after week for the past five or so years since she’d first seen it hanging there in what seemed like a place of honor. It was seared into her memory: a portrayal of a wide river, darkly churning, figures standing on the far bank, dark-skinned and humbly clad, one wearing a straw hat, all blurred by fog rising from the water. Their faces were indistinguishable, but the attitudes of their bodies exuded fear. On the near bank, a black man stood, wearing coveralls, only visible from behind, holding a rope attached to a broad raft. The painting was set into a homemade frame that was much like those she made for her own work, with nothing more than a simple plaque beneath it: CALEB STONE, 1853 .
    She heard a noise and noticed two women far at the front of the church, polishing the backs of the pews with rags. They were deep in conversation as they worked and did not see the visitors until Cassandra managed a small cough to get their attention. They started with surprise, then immediately moved apart. One of them set down her rag and quickly walked toward the guests.
    “Hello?” she called out when she was about halfway down the aisle.
    “Good morning,” they both replied.
    “How can I help you?” the woman asked.
    Evie quickly studied the woman’s face, expecting Cassandra to speak first. When she didn’t, Evie offered, “My name is Evelyn Bay.”
    “And I am Cassandra Reilly.” Evie heard a quaver in her voice.
    “Really? My name is Cassandra as well! Miss Cassandra Johnston. So nice to meet you.” She put out her hand to Evie,