The Lincoln Penny

by Barbara Best

  Tessie smiles inwardly as she watches the girl’s eyelids droop. Good Lord only knows why she is moved to share this particular story this night. It has always been one of her favorites.

  Tessie was awakened to the faith and teachings of the Good Book as a small child. While growing up, most of her spiritual needs were met in secret. The slaves at the plantation she was born to, and those of neighboring plantations, would gather at meeting places they called hush arbors or praying grounds where they could safely and freely express their faith in good preaching and song. Even in the face of oppression.

  With satisfaction in the spirit that moves her, Tessie continues, “Well ole Moses. Now, he is wantin’ to see more o’ dat burnin’ bush so he gets a lot closer. And God, he warns Moses, do not come any closer cause you be on Holy ground. Then God say he is the Father.

  “At this, poor ole Moses covers his face. He is mighty scared ta look on da Lord. God tells Moses he heard his people cryin’ out. And he had come to bring dem to the Promised Land . . . da land o’ milk and honey. He wants Moses to help him free his people.

  “Now Moses hears God and can hardly believe his ears. He ask God, who am I ta do this thing? And God say he will be with Moses. Then Moses ask God, what do I call you? And almighty God say, from now on call me The Lord, God of your fathers. I am sendin’ you to bring my people outta misery.”

  Tessie grows silent. Her heart swells with a deep conviction, and unwavering belief in her Lord’s promise. Freedom. She pauses to let the moment pass and give her eyes and mind a chance to refocus on Jane, “Mighty fine.” She runs her hands gently over the soft damp waves of red, “mighty fine,” and slips the brush and comb back into the drawer.

  “Now how bout sumpin good? Come on over here and lets see what Cook rustle up for you.”

  Jane had been so totally relaxed and captivated by Tessie’s storytelling that someone had actually slipped into the room and left a tray of food without her knowing it. This experience is so surreal. She’s living a fairy tale, a historical scenario that reenactors, much less historians and scientists, would give their eyeteeth for. She wishes she could get into it more. Yet any pleasure she gains is short-lived and replaced with apprehension. Jane is petrified she will be stuck somewhere she doesn’t belong, and possibly forever. Jane reluctantly slides off her bench in front of the marble topped vanity that reeks of upper class and crosses the room to sit in a soft wingback chair.

  “You takes ya time now chile. Eat as much as you can, ya hear. No one is gonna say Tessie ain’t done right by you. Eat up. And den, when you is done, you gonna climb into dat soft bed there an’ sleep like a baby.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Tessie winds her way down a dark narrow stairwell. The candle casts a dim flickering glow and long moving shadow on steep worn steps. She has traveled these steps so many times she could make her way with her eyes closed. Tessie is not a small woman, but she is light on her feet and still agile for her years. In the candlelight, her complexion is the color of creamy milk chocolate. Something she is proud of. With a face as round as a saucer and skin as smooth as silk, the few noticeable lines and light sprinkle of gray at her temples make her appear ageless. Truth be told, Tessie has served the Hopkins household for over twenty-eight years being given as a wedding present to the Missus by her family. Tessie, in her mid-fifties now, has been devoted to Anna Hopkins since her baby-child was four years old.

  The heavy wooden door creaks as Tessie lets herself into the kitchen, a wing built onto the back of the house on the ground floor. James Isaac jumps up to grab Tessie a chair. Tessie rolls into a sitting position, arms resting heavily on the worn table that is stained and blemished from years of use. Cook reaches for a small kettle heating on the back of the wood burning stove and pours Tessie a cup of steaming hot liquid.

  Tessie sniffs and takes a sip as her two companions wait patiently for her account of their curious houseguest.

  “Dat chile is worn completely out. She’s sleepin’ now like death come on her. Where she been and what she be doin’ here?” Tessie takes another swallow and cradles the cup, enjoying the warmth on her aching hands. “Now ole Tessie, she know a lot of white women in her time but dis girl, she is different. Oh, I spect she got the accent of a Georgia girl, sho-nuff. But I know as sure as eggs is eggs, she not from roun’ here.”

  “Now what dat mean?” James Isaac thinks ole Tessie is talking in circles. He glances over at Cook for her reaction. “You bein’ daft, gal.”

  Tessie lifts her chin, and squints her eyes like she’s trying to see something she can’t quite make out, “She like a canary in a cage. Like she be trapped where she not spose ta be.”

  “Now ole woman, you has da sight an all, but come now, you makin’ no sense. Dat girl, Missus say, come from Fort Pulaski. Dat fort dem Yankees took. She has a note sayin’ we is to take care o’ her. Mistah Hopkins, he say to.”

  Tessie takes another sip of the spiced brew and grunts. “All in time. Da good Lord, he reveal to ole Tessie what he know. All in good time.”

  Cook sets out slices of bread and a crock of butter for the three to share. The house is quiet and for a few brief minutes this is their time. The clock rings ten o’clock. The household usually stirs around six in the morning. But the servants will be at their work long before sun up.

  “Well, it be time ole James lay his head. That ornery ole roosta’ out in da yard will take ta crowin’ soon nuff.” James pushes his stool away from the table and bids the two women a good night.

  Tessie sits quiet in thought for a while. She is puzzled by what she’s seen. “Dat child’s skin is sun touched in places where da sun don’t shine none. Her arms, shoulders, her back and legs are brown as can be. An’ what dat tiny lace thing she wearin under her drawers?” There is another long pause, “Then, she be askin’ what ta do when it her flow time. Like she don’t know.”

  Cook’s eyes grow big. Then she scowls as she swallows a bite of bread she’s been chewing on, “Dat nonsense if ever I heard. Now she be too old for dat kind o’ question.”

  “Well, she say she don’t know. And she ain’t bout to pull ole Tessie’s leg. She ask me, good and serious, to help her make up sumpin dey call a sanitary napkin where she come from. I told her, proper ladies use rags when it dat time. Now dat made her laugh outright.” Tessie pauses to spread butter on the last slice, “When I ask her what made her laugh so, she say she heard da words, on the rag, before and dat must be where it come from. Dat chile has some mighty strange ways bout her, sho-nuff.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  A bustling New York City street in downtown Manhattan. It is exactly like Jane imagined. Exciting, energetic, intoxicating.

  Why am I by myself? If this is my senior trip, then where are all the seniors? Where are my friends?

  Just ahead she catches a glimpse of Bryce who turns and descends down into the subway system. Before he disappears out of sight, he looks back frantically and then down at a map he is carrying. By his movements, Jane knows Bryce is searching for something. Jane rushes down the stairs after him. If she hurries, maybe she can catch up. The sign above the stairs reads Uptown Key Plaza. She has no idea where she’s going, but she has to get to Bryce.

  Jane presses through a sea of people, down the escalator to a lower platform. She can’t move fast enough. It’s like swimming upstream. Where is he! Jane glances down and realizes she’s wearing her Civil War dress. Thinking how weird she must look, she peers around to see if anyone notices. Not a single soul is paying attention to her. That’s New York for you.

  Jane sees Bryce on the ramp across from her on the other side of the tracks. How did he get over there? He’s bobbing and weaving, moving quickly through the crowd. She calls for Bryce as loud as she can. There’s a rush of air. A train is coming. The train comes to a stop in front of her with a high-pitched screech and she frantically pushes ahead to board. She has to get to a window.

  Jane screams for Bryce in a panic and bangs on t
he glass waving and calling again and again. Bryce can’t hear her. He’s looking and he can’t hear her! I’m here. I’m here! Please, I’m HERE! The train starts pulling away. In alarm, she suddenly realizes all seats are empty; she’s riding by herself. Jane cries out helplessly . . .

  “BRYCE!”

  The sound of Jane’s own voice wakes her with a start. She holds back a heart-wrenching sob and buries her face deeply into her pillow to keep from being heard in the early morning silence of the house. She can’t believe the pain and loss she feels. It seemed so real. Why this dream? Why now?

  In the small recesses of Jane’s mind sparks an idea. Because Bryce is looking for me! Her heart sings out. How does she know this? She just knows, sure as she lives and breathes. He’s trying to figure out what happened. Maybe Bryce has talked to Sophie and knows about the key. Jane feels a surge of hope, a connection. Even if it was a dream, it’s something to hold on to.

  As her heartbeat slowly returns to normal, Jane becomes more aware of what comforts she’s enjoyed in a good bath, a decent bed made with fresh linen, and a cozy room. Jane rises to explore her new surroundings and is reminded by her first movements she really tapped out her energy yesterday. All her muscles are complaining and she feels that crampy sensation that can only mean she will pay the price for leaving her pills in another century. Man is she stiff, but oh she feels so much better. Her first good night’s sleep in a room to herself. All this may be temporary, but she’s not going to think any further ahead than today. One day at a time, Jane. “Now where’s that disgusting chamber pot.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  There’s a light knock at the door and Tessie waddles into the room with an armload of fabric. “Missus say to use some of Miss Karen’s things. Dey should fit, but we be needin’ ta let out dat hem some.” Tessie lays out a beautifully finished green gown and all the layers Jane is familiar with.

  “Who’s Miss Karen?” Jane runs her hand over the fabric that has a repeat pattern of brown squiggly lines like coral and lifts the corset to take a closer look at how it is made.

  “Miss Karen, she be Mistah Hopkins’ twin. She die of da fever, dat poor baby. It be three years now. Like ta thought dis family would never stop grievin’. Poor Miz Anna, she bout lost her mind.”

  “I’m so sorry. That’s so sad. Are you sure I should be wearing this?” Jane feels kind of creeped out about wearing a dead girl’s clothes.

  “Missus say it not be doin’ nobody no good tucked away outta sight. Now here, put dis on.” Tessie proceeds to help Jane with her layers of clothing. About forty pounds worth, when all is said and done.

  “This is just too nice, really. Jane catches her reflection in the mirror. The green goes fabulous with her red hair, which smells of roses and is softly curling around her shoulders and down her back. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what happened to my clothes?”

  “Day not be fit for wearing, Miss Jane,” Tessie says gently. She doesn’t tell her new charge what she had been wearing is not right somehow. The ill-fitted dress contains numerous fallacies in design. It is in cotton, perhaps imported, but the women had never seen a finer fabric or print. They marveled at perfect stitches and very little handwork. The Missus said she believed they were done on a sewing machine, but she’d never seen stitches so fine. Tessie reaches into her apron pocket and brings out Jane’s chatelaine. “You be wantin’ dis.”

  “Oh! Thank you so much, Tessie.” Jane pins the chatelaine to her waist and peers again at her image in the full-length mirror. “You’re right, my hem is shorter than it should be. Like by a good five or six inches! Do you think it will be okay for now? It doesn’t bother me, really.”

  “We’ll set ta work on dat hem tonight. Don’t you worry none, Miss Jane.”

  “Where’s Mrs. Hopkins this morning?”

  “She gone early to see Miz Susan. Susan, be her oldest. She live not too far from here. Gave her two fine grandchil’un. Her husband be a doctor an off fightin’ somewhere up north. Left her and da two boys ta fend. These are troubled times.” Tessie shakes her head and finishes arranging Jane’s skirt over her hoop. “Fits fine as fine can be. Now come on over here Miss Jane and sit. We’ll get dat hair done in no time.”

  Jane is surprised how easy it is to fall into the habit of being waited on. Tessie is pleasant, a natural at timing things, and gives the impression she knows exactly what she’s doing. And she doesn’t seem to be the type to take ‘no’ for an answer either. Last night Jane was too tired to resist being helped. Today it’s what Tessie wants, so Jane is pretty much doing what she’s told.

  “Da Missus say dey be back at dinna-time.”

  Oh great, this should be interesting! Jane hopes she can manage a one-on-one with the mistress of the house. She also hopes she can eat soon, she’s starved.

  With no alarm clock she had missed getting up early enough for breakfast. She remembers her dad saying the main meal of the day used to be around noon or early afternoon. This would change when more people began to work, traveling longer distances and staying gone all day. They would switch to having smaller meals, lunch at noon, and move their bigger dinners to the end of the day when family members were all home.

  “Ole Tessie almost forgot. Found dis here down in da lining of ya skirt pocket. Mussa worked its way through a break in da stitchin.” Tessie hands Jane a small object, watching curiously.

  Jane is stunned. She looks down into the palm of her hand at a single new copper penny with the head of Lincoln and the year 2012 printed on it. OMG! She looks back up at Tessie. Tessie’s too smart and wise for her own good. She knows something’s up, sure as Jane is standing on this spot with her head spinning in confusion.

  If you don’t know what to say, don’t say anything at all. Jane can hear her mom’s voice ring in her ears clear as a bell. “Thank you, Tessie.” Jane closes her hand around the precious metal. The only concrete proof of another time, of her real life and existence.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  “You will have to forgive our sparsely set table. Most of our homes are stripped of brass and other useful metals we must donate for the cause. It is the patriotic thing to do. The people of Savannah are terribly in earnest in fighting our powerful enemy.” Anna swishes into the main hallway, shutting the pocket doors of a room behind her. She takes Jane’s arm, warm and reassuring, moving her to face a pretty young girl descending the stairs with honey brown hair and the same sensitive brown eyes of the Hopkins’ family. “This is my youngest daughter Clara. Clara, this is Miss Peterson. She is our guest and will be staying with us for a while.”

  “Please, call me Jane.”

  “So very nice to meet you.” Clara, dripping with perfectly shaped ringlets that frame her face, curtsies when she reaches the bottom landing and follows her mother and Miss Peterson into the dining room.

  “James.” Anna nods pleasantly.

  James Isaac steps forward and is quick to pull a chair at the head of the table for the lady of the house to take her seat. Anna motions for Jane to do the same, “Please, have a seat, dear.”

  Clara scrapes her chair on the hard wood floor and gets situated, eyes wide with curiosity and vibrating with excitement.

  Jane guesses Clara is around the same age as Jimmy and that she, Jane, has caused quite a stir in the Hopkins’ household. The charming young girl, a picture of innocence and miniature of her mother, can hardly contain herself.

  “Something smells wonderful.” Jane offers feeling her stomach rumble as Mrs. Hopkins lifts what looks like fried chicken off a platter held by the pretty young woman Jane had seen in the parlor. The same individual Tessie said brought her supper last night.

  “Thank you Phoebe.” Anna smiles in Jane’s direction. “Please, help yourself, Miss Peterson. I think you will agree our cook is one of the best,” she offers with great satisfaction.

  “Fried Chicken?” Jane is happy and relieved at the same time to see something familiar being served.

 
; “Yes and spoon bread.” Clara smiles at Jane. “Perhaps there is some cherry pie left. Is that right, Mother?”

  Anna smiles indulgently at her daughter, “I should hope so. And won’t it be good.”

  Jane didn’t exactly know what she was expecting, but is pleasantly surprised that their dinner is more like modern-day food than she thought. The chicken is not as meaty as Butterball but still flavorful, probably cooked in lard. The cherry pie is tasty although not as sweet as the pies of her day.

  The dinner conversation is casual and flows easily. Phoebe moves around the table making sure everyone is taken care of without a sound. Clara and her mother talk openly about their visit to see Clara’s older sister, Susan. Clara bubbles over with chatter about her day’s outing and her young nephews, Edward and David. Jane is included, but not pressed, which makes it possible for her to actually enjoy her food and the conversation. Eating hasn’t been very easy thus far, and Jane is sure she has dropped a few pounds because of it.

  When dinner is finished, Anna places her napkin on the table. To this her chair is immediately pulled for her to gracefully rise, “May I have a word with you please, Miss Peterson. Clara, don’t you have your needlepoint? It is coming along so nicely.”

  Clara smiles at her mother, nods politely at Jane and, without whining or complaining, she excuses herself from the room. Anna crosses the hallway to the pocket doors.

  Jane follows Mrs. Hopkins into a study. There is the smell of books that reach as high as the ceiling on one wall. At first glance, law books and an assortment of literature Jane would love to browse if given the chance. The room is done in good taste, very much like the parlor in the front of the house. Decorated fashionably, but not overdone. “What a lovely room. So many books.”