The Lincoln Penny

by Barbara Best

  Only two hours and fifteen minutes!

  The movie at the tourist center said it all goes down at two o’clock. Olmstead will resolve himself to the inevitable. He would signal surrender to save his men from being blown to perdition by their own powder. About twenty tons if Jane recalls correctly. The details play over and over in her mind.

  Yes. She knows well what is going to happen to Fort Pulaski, but it is ironic she has no earthly idea what this will mean for her. They don’t ship women off to prison, do they? Whatever happens, it won’t be long now. All Jane can do is wait for the damn shelling to stop.

  “Ya need anything, ma’am? Somethin’ to eat?” Jimmy looks at Jane with bright eyes, a little too bright and glassy. He must be really scared and possibly feeling anxious for missing out on the action. Maybe he isn’t so much scared for himself, but for his friends outside and for their fate. She could hear Ole Pa saying things to Jimmy every now and then to try and ease the boy’s mind.

  “No, I’m fine, really. It’s not a good idea for any of us to go outside right now. We need to stay put until someone tells us otherwise.” She doesn’t want the boy taking more chances than necessary. Just her luck he would fly out of here and right into the path of an incoming cannon ball. She would never forgive herself.

  Jimmy brought Jane a boiled egg and small bit of cold, dry cornbread early in the day, which she swallowed down without tasting. Right now she frankly has no appetite. Her stomach is in knots. Besides, if she eats or drinks too much, she’ll have to use the chamber pot again. Mortifying. The tinkling sound is amplified with the high ceilings and room’s acoustics. She has already had to send Jimmy and Ole Pa outside once to slip behind the folding screen to go. Luckily Hopkins was sleeping at the time.

  “Miss Peterson,” Matthew struggles to right himself.

  Jane turns toward the crunching sound of a straw mattress. Her patient has pushed up into a sitting position and promptly turned the recognizable shade of pea green, which can only mean if he doesn’t lie back down he’s going to puke all over everything. He’s not going anywhere. That’s for sure. Jane quickly scoops more water into a cup and helps him drink, “I think you’re out of commission, Mr. Hopkins.”

  The door bangs open and ragged men, coal black with dirt and grime from head to toe help another bleeding soldier into the room. “Colonel Olmstead said you would take care of him. The infirmary is all full-up.”

  The two men heave the boy onto the other bed in the room and Jimmy jumps up and runs over. “Nate! Oh, Nate! Are ya bad hurt?”

  “It’s just a scratch, Jimmy-boy.” Nate Kennedy gives a spirited wink and sort of a twisted simper. He is definitely favoring one arm.

  Jane’s wondering what kind of army enlists kids, “I suppose I should have a look at you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Sir!” Matthew tries with all the energy he can muster to sit up. His body is not cooperating.

  “At ease, Adjutant.” Olmstead looks over at Jane and back to his officer. “I see Miss Peterson has provided you remarkably good care.” He looks across at the young woman again and makes an effort to smile. The muscles in his face are reluctant to form lines of joyfulness at this dire hour, yet his effort he hopes implies he is pleased.

  He turns his attention back to his officer, “Captain Guilmartin reports your observations this morning were correct. The magazine.” He hesitates. In mixed company, he chooses his words carefully. “I have ordered the men to run up the white. Our position will not hold.”

  “I need to be with you, sir!” Matthew is extremely alarmed. His head is swimming already from his injuries and further impacted by yet this second blow. What unfortunate news!

  “You will remain right where you are. That is an order, sir!” Olmstead commands and then softens a fraction, “Matt. You are in no shape for duty. Our job is done here. We have reached the end.” There is a great amount of pain and regret in these final words.

  Olmstead is stoic under the great weight of his duties. “I have sent one of the men down to meet the boat from Tybee. Conditions will need to be discussed.”

  “Private Kennedy.” Olmstead walks the few steps and respectfully returns an awkward left-handed salute presented by the young man. “I see that you have also responded well to good care. How do you feel son?”

  “Right pert, Kunnel sir.” He snaps to attention, his right arm wrapped in clean bandages and resting gingerly in a makeshift sling.

  “Good to hear, sir. You have orders from Sergeant Murphy to report to the infirmary for observation. Take this with you.” The colonel hands the boy a sheet of paper. “Well done, Private. You are dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir, thank you sir.” Private Kennedy turns to Jane and nods. “Thank you again, ma’am,” a second nod to Jimmy and he departs the room.

  Olmstead is dressed in his finest uniform and wearing the three stars of a Confederate colonel at his collar. He is all spit and polish from his boots up to the black ostrich plume in his hat, which he is now sweeping off in an elegant bow, “I am indebted to you for your service to my men and to this garrison, Miss Peterson. You have nothing to fear. I will secure your safety along with the safety of my men.” Colonel Olmstead positions his hat with great care and purpose on his head, pulls on his white gloves, straightens his lapel and rest his right hand on his saber. “The four of you are to remain in these quarters until further notice.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Time drags on. Their time, not hers. Jane kicks at the plaster that litters the floor with the tip of her black, fake boot and paces the oppressive, still space within the Colonel’s Quarters. It’s not their fault, but the smell is atrocious. A pungent blend of body odor, unwashed wool, stale tobacco, blood, and smoke from the fireplace. With no shower, no shampoo, she is sure she stinks too. None of the others seem to notice or to mind it. It makes Jane want to barf.

  The uncomfortable sensation of being trapped rears its head again, the walls closing in. Their walls, not hers. She remembers the time when she was in third grade and stayed after school with some of her classmates to help the teacher with a project. She had asked Mrs. Davis to go to the little girl’s room. It felt grown-up to walk the halls without a hall pass, void of chattering students, bells and elementary school chaos. As she rounded a corner, three older boys from Mrs. Finley’s fifth grade class decided it would be hilarious to callously drag her into the hall supply closet and lock her in.

  At first Jane thought she would play along. After all, the boys were laughing and teasing. But her actions soon turned to banging and kicking the heavy metal door in humiliation and protest. They left her! She was trapped in complete darkness, not even a crack of light to help her locate a switch.

  Bryce was the first to find Jane frantically pounding and calling for help. He had watched her leave the classroom. For some reason, he was able to sense when she was in a jam and needed help. Bryce has always been like that with her.

  From that point on, the two became inseparable friends. Like two peas in a pod, as Forrest Gump would say. It is a special bond, a distinct closeness they share. Bryce is her hero, her protector, and her confidant. Jane wishes he were here to rescue her now. Instead, he’s a pre-med student at the University of Georgia in Athens, almost one hundred and fifty years into the future. Out of reach, out of touch. Maybe forever.

  Jane eyes the two really large windows facing the parade ground. The fort is on lock-down, but perhaps fresh air through the space between the slats will help. Jane reaches down to give the sash a tug to raise it.

  “Feels a bit claustrophobic in here,” she justifies. “If I can just . . . get . . . this . . . open!” Jane yanks with all her might, two, three more times, suddenly overcome by intense anxiety, which leads to a foolish need to let go and frantically pound on the glass. Something deep within tells her to scream for help. “Aaugh!” she shakes her head in dismay, lips pursed. Stop it! This is not the time to freak out. She rests her hand on one of the panes
of cool wavy glass and keeps her back to the room until she can pull herself together. Embarrassing.

  Jane organizes her thoughts and reasons that these behaviors of desperation are normal under the circumstances. She’s only human, and who wouldn’t freak! Okay. So I’m safe, we all are. The shelling has stopped completely. In fact, not another cannon will ever fire on this fort again, ever. Everything’s good for now, Jane coaches. Loosing it isn’t going to solve anything. Save your energy. You may need it later.

  Jane glances over at Hopkins and is glad he hadn’t witnessed her weird outburst. Good, totally out of it.

  “What is claus-o-bic?” Jimmy asks, doing his best to pronounce the word.

  Jimmy and Ole Pa are still at their cards, probably used to sitting idle for hours and hours, waiting. Jimmy is gnawing on what Jane thinks is a piece of unappetizing hardtack Ole Pa had pulled out of his pocket for the boy. Jane had been shown a sample of hardtack Ben had packed away in his haversack. It is a thin brick-like wafer of tasteless nothing, a common ration of soldiers during the Civil War. There is no nutritional value to it, Ben had pointed out, just something to keep a man from starving.

  “Claustrophobic,” Jane reiterates with a chuckle and glad for the interruption. “Where I come from it means, when someone has a feeling of being closed in. People get it sometimes.”

  “Most curious word, Miss Peterson.” All three of them turn to Matthew, who is trying his best to sit up.

  From the man’s expression, Jane is pretty sure he either is not familiar with the word or, knowing men in his era, surprised a lady would have such a broad vocabulary. One way or the other, she probably should try to be more careful. She has already gotten her share of suspicious looks from about everyone she has come into contact with.

  “Well, your color is a little better.” Jane notices a nasty reddish bruise has formed on his scraped cheek under the injured eye. She walks over to the bucket. “You need to stay hydrated . . . uh . . . you should drink some water. How do you feel?”

  “Like my head has been trampled by a herd of cattle. How long have I slept?”

  “A couple of hours. It’s four-thirty.” Jane had Ole Pa leave his timepiece on the table so she could watch its delicate hands carry her systematically away from her life and home. It’s hard to say why the hands with its tiny arrow-shaped points continue to turn clockwise? It is like her life has been reset and is moving forward again with the same seemingly constant tempo. The same familiar tick, tick, ticks, acting as if oblivious to the terrible flaw in its mechanism. It has betrayed her. Time is a fraud. So is she for that matter.

  Jane looks up. The man is watching her every move. She wonders what is going through his mind. She sits on the side of the bed and lifts his head, “You haven’t missed anything. We are all still waiting.”

  Matthew tips the cup and takes several deep swallows of water. His good eye never leaving the compassionate green gaze of the lady who offers it, “You are much too kind. If I could but rest a moment longer,” are his only words, barely above a whisper.

  Out like a light. Jane takes a moment to study this unexpected patient of hers. Matthew Hopkins is almost beatific in slumber. The pain and stress lines are scarcely noticeable now. He has nice even features, a nice face, almost child-like in some ways. His dark, neatly groomed mustache framing his mouth and little wisp of a beard make him look older. But Jane is pretty sure he’s not much older than she is. Even tattered and torn as he is from his accident, he looks quite the gentleman. A man from the past. Jane wonders if he has ever had a bad thought in his life.

  Jane takes the cup over to the table and finds a chair to wait. Well, he needs to rest as much as he can. Who knows what lies ahead?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The sun has set leaving weak and uncertain light without a glimmer of hope. Jane had thrown more wood onto glowing embers to catch. She has lit candles and her single oil lamp to still the creepy feeling brought on by silence and solitude.

  Surely he won’t be much longer. Jimmy had left almost an hour ago to scrounge up something for them to eat and maybe return with a bit of news.

  Earlier, Mr. Hopkins and Ole Pa had been removed unceremoniously from the room without explanation, after which a thorough search ensued. Trunks were pulled apart, tables and cabinets gone over, chairs, beds, and bedding examined. Just about everything was striped clean, leaving only a few necessities for her benefit. Two men wearing Union blue warned Jane to keep to her quarters. Once again she is left alone to her own devices.

  With every passing hour Jane is more firmly planted to this time. She’s still breathing, her lungs perpetually moving in and out on their own accord, her heart stubbornly beating its same familiar rhythm. She’s very much alive. The numbing effects of shock in her unexplainable displacement have slowly receded, leaving her more herself.

  Yes, the clear-headed Jane that is left to worry about everything. Left with all the daunting “what ifs” playing repetitiously through her mind like a broken record.

  The pill. OMG! Totally absurd and trivial, yet she has fixated on that for the past few minutes. She’s going into night two without, and she can just imagine her hormones gearing up. She has never been regular so hopefully there’s time before she is faced with what . . . the 1860’s treatments for PMS. Opium instead of Motrin! Now, that’s a scary thought.

  Jane is agonizing over her parents and her friends, who might think she’s dead. Jane morbidly imagines a funeral, a casket. Or maybe they refuse to give up on her. Spending every waking hour distraught and anxious for her safety and welfare. Missing. Either way, they are left without knowledge of what happened or where she is. How horrible for them! Dad would take it hard and figure out some way to blame himself. And Mom! This could be her ruin.

  How will she make it without Bryce? Jane misses their weekly Skype already and being able to make a call or shoot a text anytime to chat. They had just talked Thursday before Jane left for Fort Pulaski. He had wished her a happy birthday and made a promise to celebrate at their next opportunity. Did Sophie survive unharmed? What if she was pulled through too, but ended up somewhere else, or worse. Maybe she wasn’t so lucky and somehow was caught within a wall or under the flooring, or . . . it’s just terrible not knowing.

  “Jimmy! Thank God you made it back.”

  Jimmy heads for the table, “Bud . . . Bud Crow does some of the best cookin’, ma’am. He said this here is all they got, but he is glad to give it.” He hands Jane a three-prong fork and sets a metal plate, probably laced with lead, down on the table. It looks like cornbread, rice and some kind of beans piled high.

  What were you expecting filet mignon topped with crabmeat and a loaded baked potato? Jane mildly scolds. Her first reaction is to turn her pretty freckled nose up. But hunger is getting the best of her and common sense rules. She makes up her mind not to look too closely at what is in front of her for fear of finding weevils or thinking about the unwashed hands that prepared it. Well, she didn’t get sick on what she had this morning. She has to eat something. She’s starving!

  “So what did you find out?” Jane sits down at the table with her fork in hand, determined to survive.

  Jimmy pulls up a chair and hunches over all serious-like, “Them Yanks are all but actin’ like they own us, taking everything of value . . . and ready to shoot at one wrong move,” he spits, his young voice full of venom. “Kunnel Olmstead and the other officers gave up their swords to that foul bunch of blues.”

  Gaining Jimmy’s trust allows Jane to see the open hostility this boy has towards ‘the enemy’. She hadn’t had the privilege of picking sides, but she supposes, circumstances being, they are her enemy too. Thank goodness the Federal Army thinks she, a mere woman, and Jimmy, a child, pose no threat to them. At least not for the moment.

  “What about Mr. Hopkins and Ole Pa?”

  “Ole Pa is with the rest of our garrison down at the north end. Adjutant Hopkins is getting fair treatment, I spect. They say he is
under guard in the infirmary with the other sick and wounded. Heard Doc McFarland is making right mean comments about the fine work you did, ma’am. Saying there’s no room for women in the medical field. Now, Adjutant Hopkins, he won’t even let Doc look nor touch a thing you done, saying he has had the best of care,” Jimmy grins.

  This makes Jane smile too, “So what do you think will happen next?”

  “I don’t rightly know, but the Kunnel, he’s done the best he can for all of us. Never been a prisoner before. I reckon most of us will be on a steamer headed north soon.” Jimmy looks around the room, swallows hard and lowers his voice that hasn’t finished changing from boy to man. “They told me I was ta stay in this here room tonight. Seein’ it’s just me and you I will drag one of those mattresses over to the other side right near the door and keep watch. As long as I’m round you have nothing to fear.”

  Jane is touched by the boy’s allegiance. “Who told you to stay here with me?”

  “A Yank officer named Porter. He’s part of the 7th Connecticut Regiment that marched their sorry souls into this place.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A bugle blasts Reveille before the crack of dawn slicing through Jane’s consciousness and dragging her unwillingly out of a dead sleep. It seems like she had just dozed off. She cracks one eye. No change.

  First call to face a new day in 1862. She sits up in her crumpled clothes that smell of smoke, sweat and who knows what. Jimmy is already up and tending the fire. He kept it burning for them all night.

  “Private!” There is a call from the doorway. Jimmy hustles over and disappears, though not for long.

  When he returns, Jimmy’s worried expression goes through Jane like a burst of frigid air. “What happened?”