The Lincoln Penny

by Barbara Best

  “Easy.” Jimmy follows the lead of the soldiers and steers the mule to a halt in front of the most perfect example of Victorian era architecture.

  “So this is The Hopkins’ residence.” Jane admires the beautiful Italianate style home that is fashioned after the villas of Renaissance Italy and a popular style during this era. Her eyes follow its lines from the nearly flat roof, wide eaves and arched windows to the intricately crafted gingerbread scrollwork on the wrought iron second floor balcony. The firm Jane works for has restored a number of these in Georgia. A framed photo of one such example is hanging on the wall in the hallway outside her office.

  “Well, wonder what happens now?” With Jimmy’s help, Jane climbs down out of the wagon and works her way up the walk, lifting her skirt to take the five steps up onto the front porch. She has a firm grip on Matthew’s letter and prays for courage and the right words.

  “Pardon me, Miss. I’ll take that.” One of the soldiers, a nice looking Corporal, who hasn’t said more than two words since they left Fort Jackson, holds his hand out.

  Jane pulls the letter close to her chest. He’s probably being polite in making a gesture to speak for her. Nervous as she is, she’s in no mood to turn control of her situation over to someone else. Jane can certainly speak for herself. “Thanks, but really I’m okay doing this.”

  The soldier moves to turn the crank-like doorbell and steps aside.

  Clang, clang . . . clang, clang. In a matter of seconds the massive door with beautiful leaded glass panes creaks open. An elderly black man with white hair answers, “May I help you?”

  “Hi. Is Mrs. Hopkins home? I have a letter for her from her son . . . Adjutant Matthew Hopkins . . . from Fort Pulaski.”

  After a thorough inspection of Jane from head to toe, then over to the soldiers and then back again, “Please come in.”

  Jane is surprised. Really. The man invites complete strangers into the house. Now that wouldn’t happen in her time. Especially the way they look and probably smell.

  The two soldiers make excuses to remain outside. Jimmy looks down at his shoes, “Do you mind, ma’am, if I was to wait out here?”

  “Bailing, huh?” Jane makes a funny face at Jimmy, crossing her eyes, which makes Jimmy grin with pleasure. She can’t blame him. She’s not the type to do this sort of thing either.

  The dim entrance, minus the brightness of electric interior lighting, is at the foot of a mahogany staircase leading up to the second floor. The balusters at the bottom are adorned with decorative finials. Jane catches household scents concentrated by years of no air conditioning. The hall, dripping in ornate wallpaper reflects red that is coming through a doorway to her right.

  Jane hands the letter over that she has managed to keep dry and in one piece. She is asked to wait in the parlor. The parlor is formal, yet warm. All shades of red, crimson and cranberry with one exception. A striking royal blue velvet and mahogany air chair with squat legs that sits near the window. There are personal touches, family portraits hanging on the walls and personal items scattered about. It shows someone has very good taste and the money to obtain these things.

  Victorians do adore their embellishments! When Jane and her dad explored old homes and plantations, they observed rooms packed with furnishing like this, ornate, warm, inviting.

  Jane admires all the finishes down to the rich velvet flocked wallpaper, gold tassels, fringe, and dozens of layers of beautiful fabrics. The tufted settee with angular lines and elaborate cherry-wood carvings is upholstered in a large burgundy floral pattern that accents a plain cream background. Jane makes her way to the window and only source of good light. The carpet with a colorful leafy pattern is plush under her feet. Every detail of the room exudes privilege and class. It makes her terribly self-conscious about her boots and the soiled hem of her dress. Embarrassing!

  It is about the time Jane makes up her mind she should head back outside when a tiny black woman in a solid brown dress with wide-set eyes, a full mouth and beautiful skin crosses the room, quiet as a mouse. She pulls down a paraffin lamp over a table to light, which immediately intensifies the rich colors in the room.

  “Hi.” Jane smiles. The girl flinches and turns to curtsey before she scurries out. Jane wonders if she is a slave. It is going to be difficult for her to accept the whole slavery thing and the idea of being thrust into a part of American/European history that had made it a normal way of life.

  Ding, ding, ding breaks the silence. The bells of a clock from another room, Jane counts six. It’s six o’clock and her stomach remembers she hasn’t had anything to eat or drink in a while.

  The abundance of food in the twenty-first century is taken entirely for granted. Jimmy never said anything about being hungry. I guess they don’t make food their priority here. They have no idea what it’s like to have a refrigerator filled to the brim that can be plundered 24/7, or pizza delivery and restaurants, grocery stores, gas station quick stops or fast food on about every corner.

  Suddenly, coming from the back of the house, Jane hears the gentle sound of a woman’s voice as she gives direction and works her way toward the parlor. Too late now! Jane tips her chin up and opts to act as well mannered as she can despite her appearance.

  Matthew’s mother, Mrs. Hopkins, rustles into the room in a lovely blue silk gown with a repeat paisley pattern. Her hand extends out to take Jane’s arm. She intentionally ignores Jane’s shabby state and looks up kindly into the face of her special guest.

  “Oh my dear Miss Peterson, you are truly a Godsend. What joy you have bestowed on us.” She dabs the finely creased corners of her eyes with a lace handkerchief, and gently leads Jane over to the settee. “Please. Come sit.”

  Jane looks down, “I’m such a mess.”

  “Please. I insist, dear. We are preparing a room for you now where you can make yourself comfortable. You must be exhausted.”

  Jane arranges her pitiful dress and hides her boots as best she can. The sofa is noticeably lower to the floor and smaller, making her feel like a giant. “Thank you so much for inviting me into your home, Mrs. Hopkins. I hope I’m not asking too much . . . but is there any chance I could take a bath and wash my hair?”

  “Gracious me, of course! I’ll see to it directly. Your soldiers are being attended with food and drink. I have learned they must be off soon.”

  Why isn’t she wearing her bonnet? Exposure to the sun has darkened the freckles across the bridge of her nose and turned her complexion a lobster red. Unacceptable! “Should I send someone out to the wagon to get your things, Miss Peterson?”

  “Afraid all I have are the clothes on my back,” Jane shrugs. “But there is one more favor. Between the two of us, would you please just call me Jane? I’d feel a whole lot better.”

  Anna Hopkins is taken aback with this young woman’s directness, but much too polite to make her guest uncomfortable in any way. She will forego protocol under these circumstances. The good Lord only knows what Miss Peterson has been through. Why the poor child must be beside herself. Anna rests her hand gently on Jane’s, “It’s Jane then, my dear. I have so many questions . . . Jane, but I won’t trouble you now. Simply know I am forever grateful for your devotion to my son’s care. What you have done for my son, you have kindheartedly done for me, and this family. You are most welcome here.”

  Jane is so relieved she could just melt into a puddle onto the floor. All the tensions of the past few days have dissolved by the warmth of this beautiful woman with the soft brown eyes and sensitive child-like features so much like Matthew’s.

  “Before we get you settled, the young private has requested a moment with you.” Anna rises.

  “Please. That would be great.” Jane had feared Jimmy might leave without her getting to say goodbye. It’s been the way of things since she got here. She has been whooshed along on a stream of incredible scenes. From one to the next, like the chapters in a book. She would like to close this chapter properly.

  “As you wish my dear.
Please wait here. I’ll send for James Isaac.” Anna glides out of the room as gracefully as she came in.

  A few minutes later the man with the snow-white hair, bushy eyebrows and well-groomed beard appears at the entrance to the parlor, his hands locked behind his back.

  Why James Isaac favors the sweet old guy illustrated on the cover of her dad’s leather bound book, Uncle Tom’s Cabin! It is his prized, first illustrated edition kept among other valuable books he has collected over the years. Harriet Beecher Stowe, an active abolitionist, is a worldwide sensation in the 1800s. Warm pleasure courses through Jane’s veins, she’s right here, right now!

  With a slight bow from the waist, James Isaac informs, “The missus say the private be waitin’ to see you.”

  Jane is ushered out through the front door. Dusk has fallen over Savannah. The air is crisp and still as the sleepy sound of a dove coos to its mate in the last bit of gray light. Jane stands quietly as Jimmy takes the few steps up onto the porch.

  I’m sorry, ma’am, it just didn’t seem fittin’ to come in. I’m headed back with Corporal Atkins.” Jimmy rocks from foot to foot, turning his cap around in his hands.

  Jane glances over at James Isaac, who patiently lingers, staring straight ahead, but not budging. She turns her attention to the young boy who has been by her side for a good part of the time in this century. Why almost from the minute she got here, “Oh Jimmy, I want to thank you so much for taking care of me. You’ve been a good friend and protector. The best ever! I’m going to miss you.” She wants to say she hopes to see him again, but somehow she knows that’s not happening. She wants to say she hopes he gets to go home, but thinks better of it. She has her doubts about that too. “You take care, okay?”

  “I will, ma’am. You take care too . . . Miss Jane.”

  Jane reaches out and gives Jimmy a warm hug, and kisses him on the cheek.

  Jimmy looks stunned at first, but lights up red as a beet with pleasure at Jane’s outward show of affection, “Bye, ma’am.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Jane cracks one eye. Yep, she’s still here. A woman, who uses the name Tessie, and most times ole Tessie, while talking in third person, is doing a fair amount of hovering. She has ignored Jane’s hints that she can take care of herself. Comments like, I got this . . . looks like everything’s under control . . . I can take it from here — they all seem to go right over her head.

  When Anna made plans to ensure her special guest received every comfort, Jane’s protests were overruled. Now, Jane is much relieved she gave in. She has discovered that just the simple act of keeping clean is going to be hard work. There is no chance she could have done this on her own. She’s going to miss the luxury days of heading for the nearest bathroom, grabbing a couple of towels and stepping into the shower.

  Too tired for words, Jane closes her eyes again and sinks lower into a hipbath that has been expertly prepared. It is filled with bucketfuls of heated water that send swirling steam up into the air. A jug is close by to top up the water as it cools. Until now, Jane has always pictured herself as a shower kind of girl. Though she has to admit, with the tenderness of her skin and sore aching muscles, this feels mighty good.

  Heavenly. Drifting on a wave of lavender moisture, warmth washing along her shoulders and curling around her legs. She presses down the fabric of her chemise, which has a way of bubbling up to the surface in places every time she moves.

  Wearing her chemise in the bath is a weird way of doing things, but Jane willingly went along with Tessie’s declaration, “it ain’t fittin’ for a lady to bathe with nothin’ on.” This couldn’t have been a better solution for Jane. Because there is no way she would strip down in front of a stranger.

  Apparently, there is an art to washing in an oversized pail of water and to preventing the hardwood floors and ceiling beneath from becoming saturated. Jane has scrubbed until she is squeaky-clean. After several attempts and with much humility, she finally had to ask her shadow to help rinse. The soap she used was especially difficult to get out of her hair. Fingers crossed she will be able to get the tangles out. Jane is missing the big gob of conditioner she always uses and hopes there will be some kind of product for unruly hair. Doesn’t matter anyhow, it’s clean. She’s clean! And it feels absolutely wonderful.

  “The missus say ta lay out some things for you. This here gown should fit, though it ain’t near long enough. You one tall girl! Phoebe, she be bringin’ up supper soon. Missus say you must eat sumpin and you needs ya rest.”

  “You don’t have to fuss over me so much, really, uh . . . can I call you Tessie, or . . .?”

  “It be Tessie. And dis minute ole Tessie say, wit dem wrinkled fingers, it bout time you be finishin’ up.”

  “Like prunes.” Jane inspects her fingers.

  “Prunes! Chile, I don’t know nothin’ bout no prunes. Now, get yourself outta dat tub and dry off.”

  “Oh sure. Okay.” Jane struggles to stand and takes the large square of fabric offered her. “I hope you will call me Jane,” she smiles happily. “And thank you so much for your help. I really needed you.”

  “Humph,” Tessie gives one of her more common responses as she looks about the room. “Hmmm. Where it be? You dry off now, Miss Jane. And I’se be back lickety-split.”

  As Tessie leaves the room in her search for something, Jane ditches the chemise. Quickly climbing out of her bath, she wraps the towel snug around her chest. She is pleased it is large enough to cover everything. Her Soma panties are soaking wet, of course, but she decides not to part with them. They’ll have to air dry.

  Minutes later, Tessie rustles in carrying a small bottle of something she sets on the dressing table. “Now come on over here chile and get dis gown on before you catch your death. Then I needs you ta sit on dat stool over there.”

  “Where do I change?” Jane looks around the room. There’s no privacy screen like there was at the fort.

  “Mmm-mm. Tessie been wit a lot of white women in her day and there be nothin’ I ain’t set eyes on before chile.” Shaking her head, Tessie lifts the lid of a large trunk at the foot of the bed and pulls out a blanket to hold up high in front of Jane. This allows Jane the solitude to finish wiping down and slip a nightgown over her head. The material feels light and soft against her skin.

  As instructed, Jane settles on a cushioned bench seat in front of a vanity and mirror. It is the first time she has had a chance to really look at her reflection since she landed on planet ‘62. The girl bathed in soft candlelight stares back at her. It’s still me! She worried that maybe traveling through time had changed her. That she wouldn’t be the same somehow.

  “Not too bad.” Jane runs her fingers across her tight cheeks, leans forward on her elbows and rests her chin on her fists. A bit tender from lack of a good sunblock to stave off the harmful UV rays. She presses a finger to her forehead and watched the white impression quickly disappear. Red, but maybe she won’t peel. Her complexion is more on the fair side, although her skin has always taken exposure to the sun extremely well. Jane’s mom says it comes with their southern roots. Her dad insists her bonnie complexion is from their ancestors in Scotland and centuries of living the good life in the highlands. Of course, the good life was brutally ended when a disaster of epic proportion struck. They called it the potato blight.

  During Scotland’s potato blight, the population suffered crippling financial hardship, and the threat of disease and starvation. Landlords, who resorted to eviction, forced thousands of families out of their homeland. Between 1846 and 1852, almost two million people left Scotland, bound for places like the United States, Canada and Australia.

  Jane’s ancestors ended up in Georgia around 1847, and it thrills her to think they must be here now. Matthew said he knew the name. Wonder what would happen if one of their kinfolk, Jane Peterson from the future, showed up? What would they do? Would they believe her story? Jane wrinkles her nose and turns her head from side to side. Yikes, more freckles! And there are
a couple of angry spots where those pesky no-see-ums left their mark. Well, at least she doesn’t have sunglass lines.

  “Lawdy chile, where’d you get such fine hair. As red as da burnin’ bush.”

  “Huh?”

  “Sit up straight, now.” Tessie opens the tiny bottle of something that smells like roses and smoothes it over the surface of Jane’s hair. She pulls a comb and boar bristle brush from a drawer and begins, methodically and practiced, to tend Jane’s hair.

  Jane tries hard not to flinch at all the attention or the gross thought that someone else’s brush and comb are being used on her hair. Definitely uncomfortable, but she can hardly tell the nice lady to stop. She doesn’t want to get off to a bad start or disrespect the people that live here. They have been more than kind. Their ways are just different and if she’s going to make it during the time she is here, she will have to adjust and adapt. There’s no way around it.

  “When I was a young’un, my elders talk about a holy man they call Moses,” Tessie softly begins as she sways with the tempo of her work, “One day, Moses was out in da field mindin’ his sheep when he come up on a mighty mountain. And there he see a strange sight. An angel in a bush o’ flames.” Tessie turns a lock of Jane’s hair gingerly in her fingers, “All afire like dis here hair of yourn.

  “Now dis bush, it be burnin’ bright as ever. And ole Moses starts ta wonderin’ why dis bush not burned up yet? So he decides to go over and take a long hard look. Now God, he seein’ all dis and he calls out ta Moses. Moses! Moses!”

  Jane is thinking this lady must have magic fingers. She hasn’t felt the first pull from her tangled mass of waves and stubborn curls cascading down to the middle of her back. Here hair is much heavier and looks even longer when wet. The gentle touch, the rhythm and hum of Tessie’s voice are hypnotic and put her in a state of mind that is almost trance-like. It gives Jane an irresistible peace and respite from her troubles.