The Lincoln Penny

by Barbara Best

Your humble servant,

  Matthew H. Hopkins,

  Adjutant,

  1st Vol. Reg. of Georgia

  Jane had tried her best to be witty and genuine in her scratchy cursive, her letter to Matthew painfully written by dipping pen into ink. No easy task and not much paper for a redo if she made a mistake or the ink ran or smudged, which it frequently did. When she finally signed her name and sprinkled a powdery substance on the surface to help it dry, her fingers were literally black.

  Jane is struck by Matthew’s apprehension and the fact he chose her to share it with. In reality, he could very well get sick and die. Matthew had also mentioned her family. Hopefully, being miles away from here, he will be less apt to question her past. Jane knows it can’t make sense to any of them. And she also knows the ax will likely fall one day and she will be confronted, probably when she least expects it.

  As it is, Jane still has no plan of action. Who on earth would? Instead, she prefers to get by as long as she can. Things have been pretty stable. Things have been pretty darn good, actually. And there’s still her strong hope she’ll make it back home to 2012.

  Jane reads through Matthew’s letter a second time. Quinine! She had seen that nasty stuff at the hospital and on labels attached to empty little brown bottles in some of her dad’s antique doctor bags. To the people here quinine is a treatment for just about anything. It’s the miracle cure all from headaches to leg cramps to stomach disorders to something as serious as typhoid fever . . . and a good chance, malaria too.

  It’s summer now and Matthew has certainly been eaten up with mosquitoes at that New York prison. He doesn’t know that insects are the carriers. No one knows yet. Even if they did, what could they do about mosquitoes anyhow, call the Orkin Man?

  In the 1800s, medicines like quinine and others just as toxic are being administered by trial and error. What technology has been developed is in its crudest form. Bloodletting is surprisingly still around, along with strong and violent concoctions to cleanse the stomach and bowels of their poison. If the sickness didn’t kill you, the treatment most likely would.

  Thanks to her dad’s nineteenth century collection of cracked leather bags and medical kits that contained bottles, jars and tins, Jane has some exposure to what remedies were used during this time. If she was lucky, preserved labels or embossed letters on some of the bottles with brittle corks and funny smells might reveal their contents. With a bit of research it was fairly easy to find out how these primitive cure-alls were used. Plus, it would allow Jane to come up with more motivating descriptions that might appeal to potential buyers on eBay. Medical-related items up for sale were never kept long because doctors, who had a fascination and collected that sort of thing, almost always snapped them up.

  Jane hopes Matthew doesn’t come down with whatever diseases he and his men are exposed to. And for her sake, she hopes she never has to come up with the right words to break news to a doting family that he’s sick. Or worse, he has expired.

  While folding the letter to carefully slip it back inside the envelope, Jane notices another sheet, or half a sheet, slipped just under a flap in the back. Hidden. “What’s this?”

  I write in haste and bear news that is worthy of sharing. We have just this hour learned our sick and wounded detained at Fort P remain in captivity and are now transported north. Several of them have died as prisoners of war. Colonel O is livid over the matter and has immediately addressed it in writing. It is clear Federal Authorities flagrantly violated the surrender terms. He holds B. Gen. Gillmore personally accountable and insists the wrong be made right.

  Jane stares at the small slip of paper in disbelief. “Holy cow! So, that’s what happened.” She wants to feel compassion for the men, yet she is selfishly disappointed for herself. There goes any prospect of getting help to the ill-treated Confederate prisoners. There goes her secret motive to somehow see her way to the storeroom at Fort Pulaski. There won’t be another chance! Probably not until sometime after the war. If she’s still here, if she’s still alive, if she even cares any more. “OMG, I’m stuck,” Jane groans and feels sick to her stomach. She doesn’t even want to think about it. It’s all just a crazy pipe dream anyway. It’s over! Jane puts fingertips to her temple and rubs hard to relieve the throbbing ache of her disappointment. Damn you Matthew Hopkins!

  After a few deep breaths to steady her frazzled nerves, Jane finally unwinds her legs that are discreetly crossed, Indian-style under the ample fabric of her dress. She slides her feet back into her new handmade kid leather slippers and rises out of her favorite blue chair by the window in the Hopkins’ parlor where she sought a moment to herself. Anna will know what to do with Matthew’s news about the soldiers. And I guess I will need to get on with life. Somehow.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Tessie stands by Jane’s bed. “You is dreamin’ again Miss Jane.” She gently touches Jane’s shoulder so as not to frighten her out of a restless sleep. “Who be dis Bryce fella. And why you callin’ for him so?”

  Jane, not quite awake yet, mumbles, “He’s looking for me and can help find the key.”

  “What key you be talkin’ bout, Miss Jane.”

  Jane’s eyes snap open and she looks over at Tessie. “Oh! I must have been dreaming.”

  “Somethin’ tell ole Tessie, it ain’t no dream. What trouble you in, girl?”

  “Why Tessie, what are you talking about?” Jane brushes her eyes with her fingertips, trying to wake up.

  “I jess know you can’t go on dis way, chile. You need ta talk. And ole Tessie, she here.”

  Jane hadn’t seen Tessie quite this serious before. Like she’s had about a gut full of Jane’s shenanigans. “Okay. So what do you want to know? And what time is it anyway?”

  “You slept in, Miss Jane. You be up most nights worryin’ bout sumpin. Seems to me you is carryin’ a heavy load.”

  “I’m sorry, you’re right, something is bothering me. And yes, sometimes I can’t sleep. The nights are terribly long around here. I’m not used to sleeping such a long stretch.” Jane can feel her defenses beginning to break down. Tessie’s right, but she has no idea just how heavy her load really is. Jane bites her bottom lip, suddenly apprehensive.

  “You want ta know what ole Tessie say?” Tessie crosses her arms over her heavy chest for emphasis. “I say you be like a canary in a cage. Trapped, Miss Jane. Like you is somewhere you not spose ta be. Dat’s what ole Tessie say. An’ those dreams dat make you whimper and cry out?” Tessie purses her lips in determination, “Now don’t you be denyin’ it, girl! I hears ya. An’ you be havin’ em pretty regular.”

  Tessie looks around as if she’s double-checking to make sure no one is listening in. “An’ Miss Jane, ya words sometime be mighty strange. Like it not o’ dis place. No-um, you can’t keep goin’ on like this.”

  “Okay. Okay. I get it.” Jane takes a deep breath to clear her head and succumbs to the inevitable. Who knows where this will take her now.

  Tessie changes positions and stands with her hands on her sturdy hips. Waiting. Subtly barring Jane from even getting out of her bed until she talks.

  Yep. She’s had it. “Well, I am of this place. You can believe me I am just as American and apple pie as anyone else around here. But . . . well . . . what would you say if I told you I am not of this time.” Jane, in a split second, had decided this was it. The big moment, unplanned and scary. Evidently, Tessie has been on to her from the very first. Jane trusts her, so who better to tell. Right?

  “Not o’ dis time.” Tessie moans, spinning around and plopping down on the bed next to Jane. Something she has never done before.

  “Are y’all right?” Jane throws back the blanket, scoots over and puts her hand on her friends back.

  “Lawdy chile! One o’ dem critters . . . dem germs you calls it, mussa got into your head at dat bad hospital!”

  “I’m perfectly fine, Tessie. Honestly! You said you wanted to know what was troubling me.” Jane doesn’t shove any more i
nformation at poor Tessie. If she wanted to walk out of this room right now and never talk about it again, that would be okay too.

  “No. I saw dis comin’, sho-nuff. Jus hard on ole Tessie’s ears.” Tessie cups both her knees with her hands, arms locked, leaning forward as if bracing for bad news. “Where you be from Miss Jane?” Staring straight ahead.

  Jane hops off the bed and opens a small fabric covered box on her nightstand as Tessie’s eyes follow her. She pulls out her chatelaine with the mini mesh purse at the end of one link that Anna had given her. “Well, I live in Savannah, just like you. Only thing is, I live . . . or lived in the future. One hundred and fifty years from now.”

  “Lawd-a-mighty!” Tessie exclaims with emotion looking up into the heavens. “An’ what year dat be, Miss Jane?” she whispers.

  “It’s the year twenty-twelve or we also say two thousand twelve.” Jane suppresses her urge to say more and waits for Tessie’s response.

  “Miss Jane! How dis happen to you!” Tessie peers through furled brows, searching Jane’s face for answers, trying hard to make sense out of it all. “Dat why you been dancin’ round da truth, not talkin’ bout where you from. Not wantin’ ta get back to ya family an all.” Her expression softens, “Dis must be a mighty sad time for you, Miss Jane. Mighty sad.”

  “Well, yes,” Jane’s eyes unexpectedly well up. She thought she was done with crying forever. Done filling her pillow with tears night after night. “It has been sad and of course, I’ve been terribly homesick,” her voice breaks with the pain of it. “But I try not to dwell. It wouldn’t do much good would it? Besides, my life has been good here too . . . although very different.” Jane brightens, “I couldn’t have landed in a better place than with you and this family.”

  “How you come ta be . . . in dis time, Miss Jane?”

  “I’m not quite sure, really. I unlocked an old door at the fort in 2012 and somehow I’m here.” She opens the purse and uses her finger to retrieve the copper penny Tessie had found in the lining of her dress pocket and places it into Tessie’s hand. “Beside all the things I say and know from the future, this is the only physical thing I have that might convince someone I’m telling the truth. That it is, you know, real. Tessie, I know so many things I am not even sure where to begin or worse, if I should even share it at all. I’m afraid it might change things somehow . . . have some terrible consequence.”

  Tessie holds the coin up close to her face, trying to make out the etchings. Carefully flipping it over in her fingers and then placing it in the palm of her hand for a good long look.

  The thought crosses Jane’s mind, the poor dear probably needs glasses. She makes a mental note to see if she can get some for her. A few men come in with glasses at the hospital and unfortunately some leave not needing them any longer.

  “Who dis man?” Tessie points at the raised profile on the coin.

  “That’s the President of the United States, right now, Abraham Lincoln. One of the best known Presidents in our history. Of course, in 2012, he’s been dead for a very long time. Some presidents are commemorated on our currency, our coins. This is our penny. One cent. In my time a penny doesn’t have much value. People drop or see them on the ground all the time and don’t even bother to pick them up. If you look right there,” Jane points to the date, “you can see the numbers 2-0-1-2 . . . twenty-twelve. It’s new and caught my eye so I picked it up and put it in my pocket.” Jane is not sure how literate Tessie is. She may not know how to read, but is extremely receptive whenever Jane spends time pointing out letters, words and numbers to her. “2-0-1-2 is the date when it was made, it was issued. It is the year I came from. I found it at Fort Pulaski, which is the same place I ended up when I arrived here. Does that make sense?”

  There was a disturbing silence. Tessie studies the coin for a good while, then stands up with a grunt and hands it back to Jane. “Well, you best get dressed now, Miss Jane. That doctor be lookin’ for you at dat hospital. Cooks been keepin’ ya breakfast warm.”

  Jane watches Tessie rustle around the room all business like.

  Tessie continues, “Miz Anna worry bout you wearin ya-self down now and told me ta let you sleep in. She be off first thing this mornin’ ta visit her lady friends and took Miss Clara with her. At the last minute she say it be one fine mornin’ for a stroll, so da horse and buggy be waitin’.”

  Oh boy, she’s zoned out on me. Not good. Maybe this isn’t going over so well. Jane frowns, returning her coin back to its purse. She walks over to the washstand to get freshened up. Tessie opens the wardrobe to get Jane’s clothes and lays some things out on the bed. The two move quietly about the room in an easy routine as Jane prepares for her work at the hospital. Nothing else is said on the matter until Tessie starts to help Jane with her hair.

  “So dats why ya clothes so strange. Oh, dey look like ours at first, but underneath dey not.” Tessie had had a good look at the dress and underpinnings Jane wore when she first came and noticed the small lacy thing she always wore under her drawers.

  It wasn’t long after she arrived that Jane begged Tessie if she would please help her fashion more of this thing she called panties. She said it was important to her, and personal. They would use soft cotton material, cut and sewn together with cording on all four corners. These were knotted together on the girl’s hips to form a triangle in front and back. Tessie had never seen anything like it. Jane laughed when they were done, saying it looked more like a bikini. And added happily, she felt more comfortable wearing this under her clothes.

  Jane is relieved Tessie is talking again, “In my time our clothes are completely different. Women only wear long dresses on occasion. We don’t have all the layers of clothing that cover you from head to toe. For girls my age, our preference is jeans . . . or pants. In summer months, we like shorts mostly, which are pants cut off up to here.” Jane draws an imaginary line with her fingers a couple of inches above the middle of her thigh and watches Tessie’s eyes widen, then squint.

  Was that disapproval or disbelief? Jane’s not sure of the reaction she’s getting, but continues on, “What I was wearing when I came here was like a costume. Some of us, who appreciate history, hold events at historical sites where we portray a time and the people that lived in that time. Other people, tourists who like history too, come to watch us.” Jane searches for an example. “It’s like a play where people dress up and act out parts. My part was the role of a lady during the war. This war between the north and south. And all this was conducted at Fort Pulaski, which has survived intact for a hundred and fifty years into the future. In fact, in my time we take good care of places like Fort Pulaski, and hundreds of others that have important historical value. We restore them and make them into beautiful parks.”

  Tessie thinks on this a while as she rolls Jane’s red hair into a perfectly shaped, braided chignon at the back of her neck and secures a hairnet made of fine silk thread. Most times, Tessie found that Miss Jane preferred to do these things herself but this morning is special. It is like no other morning Tessie has ever had. She adds, “And those funny pins in ya hair when you first got here, dey be from your time too.”

  Decidedly, there were a lot of other things Jane wished she could have brought with her that would have made life a heck of a lot easier. “They’re called bobby pins. It’s not much to show you. I wish I had more.” For the time being, Jane thinks it’s better just to answer Tessie’s questions and let her decide how far they should take this. Nothing more is said. Maybe that’s for the best.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The hospital is a hopeless, dreary place yet oddly stimulating. To Jane it is a place of purpose, where she can earn an honest day’s pay, as little as it may be, and perhaps make things better. And now, free of any ulterior motives to try and get to Fort Pulaski and the key, it has become in a sense much more rewarding. She can devote her time and make her contribution with a clear conscience. Jane has never been the manipulative type, so it is a relief to have that
part of her new life settled. Clearly, Fort Pulaski is a no go, Union occupied and off limits.

  Richard Arnold, both wise and patient, encourages Jane from the very beginning to talk about her practices in tending the Caldwell boys. He can’t say he agrees with it, but it does interest him greatly. He is also intrigued by a strange tale told to him by one of his patients. The soldier said some of the men at Fort Jackson talked openly about a Mystifying Ghost Lady that appeared out of thin air at Pulaski to only spell doom for the poor souls there. The woman is described as towering over most men, having flaming hair and a strange manner of speech. He suggested, very much like Miss Peterson. Richard assured the young fellow, men could be very superstitious during wartime and the tale is, of course, ungrounded. But the story, nevertheless, is a curious one. And Richard is as sure as rain it is linked to the woman who stands before him now.

  “You are an excellent aid and quick study, Miss Peterson. However, my dear, Rome was not built in a day.” Richard soothes, recognizing the nature of a woman of high spirit and intellect. She is a rare find and quite a handful at best for any man.

  “Yeah, well, the things I know will work. Why not at least try some of my ideas.” An excellent aid, my ass! Jane is flat out aggravated and has grown sensitive to the fact the limited knowledge she has from her time is way more advanced. Yet her pleas for change seem to fall on deaf ears. Time and again, the good Doctor refused to associate atrocious sanitary conditions with disease. He is totally unaware of germs and contagion, and dispels the validity of her claims.

  Jane is determined to have her opinion heard, but it is frustrating to learn she will not be treated equally no matter what her knowledge or how well she performs or how much she impresses those around her. This is no real surprise, because equal rights and the desire to treat all human beings equally and fairly, have not come to fruition.