All Time is Unredeemable

All time is unredeemable.

An old concept considered fact, but in reality is fiction.

Time is not linear; what happened years ago is happening somewhere today. All time is present. The past is happening right next to us, anything from yesteryear can be found right next to us.

This includes a mysterious sharp little black book in the middle of the vintage book shop found in Ava’s city. Any old book you find in a relative’s home or an old school’s library gets donated here. So when Ava stumbled upon this little black book, it seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary.

That was until she opened it.

This was no freshly typed book - this book was handwritten and aged. Something you would see in a museum full of historical artifacts.

Ava was mesmerized; Where could this book have come from? It seemed like an artifact living amongst the contemporary. Ava was mystified. She flashed out of the store with the book, placing money on the cashier’s table for the product.

As Ava skimmed the pages, she realized this was a diary—a diary belonged to a mistress connected to the infamous Esterhouse family. The Esterhouse family was started by William T. Esterhouse, the rail and oil tycoon from the early 20th century. Even today, they are one of the richest families in the world. Yet, for some reason, this memoir landed in a thrift book shop in the middle of Manhattan.

“June 8th, 1893.” The first words of the diary. The handwriting felt sharp and full of anger. Ava took a deep breath and prepared herself to enter the very personal, and completely secret, diary of a mistress named Lorette Cardingham.

The writer sounded like a woman scorned. As Ava read she uncovered passion, heartbreak, and betrayal. Lorette’s lover promised a future that fell apart. A common story Ava has heard before, she couldn’t help but think to herself. But what was not common was the next diary entry she read.

“October 11th, 1893: William finally did it, he sold some of the poppy tears to a local American vendor. They say that this can cause a huge advancement in the medical field. This could be the beginning of a life of infinite wealth and notoriety. I wonder how much room in that life there is for me. He claimed we were betrothed, but now tells me that he has to keep his family intact. Some part of me wonders whether he ever had plans to leave his wife. William is smart, resourceful, and powerful. He doesn’t need me, but I definitely need him. All the riches and jewelry in the world could not make up for the fact that William belongs to another. All I have is the memory of extravagant dates, hushed secrets, warm embraces, and slow dances in the middle of the night where no one could witness.”

Ava wondered how much of Mistress Cardingham’s life had been open to the public. Ava couldn’t help but feel remorse for the lonely mistress.

Enticed by the words in the diary jumping out at her, Ava continued to read. What were poppy tears? What was Lorette writing about?

Opium, Ava realized. William T. Esterhouse brought opium to American vendors. In all her history classes, she was taught that Eserhouse made his money in oil and the railroads, like Rockefeller. The opium crisis in America was undoubtedly linked to Esterhouse, a man only known for his work in the oil and railroad industries.

Ava wanted to engrave every word into her memory. She quickly summarized the writings until she read an entry that demanded her attention.

“May 27th, 1895: Everything is in shambles! The opium was supposed to be the medicinal cure-all. Instead, it is making people absolutely wacky. I never tried the horrid stuff, but seeing the way people will do anything to get their hands on even the smallest amount of it. Walking by them on the street, their glassy-eyed stares hover over me. Their bodies are simply an empty shell of who they used to be before the addiction. The thought makes me ill to my stomach. How can William continue to support this? Maybe he is not the man I thought he was.”

Ava’s stomach began to turn as well. This diary sheds light on the wrongdoings of a historically prominent business oligarch. Ava supposed that one needs to look underneath the underneath for a truth.

Ava couldn’t fathom imagining how different times were back then. She scanned her newly polished modern bedroom and wondered how her life would be different had she been born in a different century. She then flipped through the pages of the diary and realized there wasn’t much left. Had mistress Cardingham’s story been cut short? What had happened with the opium crisis? Had their affair been exposed?

These reeling questions swirled in Ava’s mind. She had to know what happened next. She served herself a warm cup of green tea, her favorite, and continued to read.

“December 10th, 1895: I sensed a storm coming. William has passed under mysterious circumstances. As I stare at his own flesh and blood, I see the striking resemblance. The bright blue eyes. The curly soft brown hair. I lay awake at night pondering how life could have been with William fathering his child with me on his arm. How can I ever be a parent to a child of tragedy?

December 12th, 1895: William left me $20,000. His lawyer sought me out to give me William’s parting gift. Filthy money. I cannot bear to spend it. This money is an insult to his memory, it is an insult to our love! How could that be all we were worth? I swear on my life I will never spend this money“

Remorsefully, the mistress continued.

“The air is crisp and cold as I stand rooted on these steps. They are making a memorial of him in the museum. As if one pathetic shrine could encompass all that he was. My bag is heavy with the weight of William’s money. Money that could start a new life for me. I am red with hate. This is what got William killed.

William lived for money like this so I shall return it to him. With this shrine, it shall lay. I only hope no one would ever endure the pain and agony I have.”

Deep in contemplation, Ava exited her small studio apartment to wander the bustling streets of Manhattan. She simply couldn’t break free from the diary she so simply found in her local vintage book shop. It haunted her.

In all her haste Ava dropped the diary. As she went to pick it up she noticed something odd. A sketch. Why does this sketch look exactly like her own twinkling city? Could it be that the story behind this diary took place right underneath her own feet? History was all around her, even in the small corner of the world she inhabited.

Dedicated to the legend of a tycoon and swayed by the pleas of a mourning woman, Ava hustled to the National History Museum. She could be walking the footsteps of these historical characters. What are the chances the memorial Lorette was writing about could be here, in New York’s own National History Museum?

As Ava entered the museum she noticed it was virtually empty, the silence was deafening. As she stumbled aimlessly through the museum, she imagined herself through the lens of the mourning mistress. She couldn’t imagine the emotions the poor woman had been going through.

Before she knew it, Ava was gaping at the shrine of William T. Esterhouse. A man she had only heard of through another woman’s words. Yet, she felt like she knew this man. Hesitantly, she approached the glistening shrine and something caught her eye. A loose floorboard. All previous fear she had was vacuumed out of her body and all that was left was excitement. She ripped aside the corner of the floorboard and caught a hint of green. $20,000 worth of green.