The Lincoln Penny

by Barbara Best

  “Jane?” Anna whispers. “Jane.”

  Jane doesn’t hear Anna at first. At the moment, she is on overload trying to take everything in. So much is going on around her! The room is packed full of engaging activity.

  Anna cuddles Jane’s arm to get her full attention, “Miss Jane Peterson, I would like to present to you, Mr. Edwin Booth. Mr. Booth has surprised us all with his inspired presence this night.”

  Jane’s jaw drops unladylike and she snaps it shut, quickly forming a frozen smile on her face to try and hide her surprise. Did Anna say Booth? This couldn’t get any better!

  Anna proudly adds, “Mr. Booth is one of our finest classical artists. He is in town for a rare performance at the Athenaeum Theatre. You know, the building I pointed out to you in Chippewa Square.”

  Jane is jarred to her very core by this disclosure. She checks her smile. Still in place and hopefully not too fake looking.

  “A pleasure, Miss Peterson.” Edwin Booth bows over Jane’s hand most dramatically. Like the scene out of a play, of course. “I am touring where I can and am just here from some of the major capitals in Europe,” he boasts.

  “How very interesting. But regrettably I have not attended the theatre here in Savannah. What do you perform?” Jane thinks she is doing a good job in mimicking the tone and manner of her counterparts in the room.

  “Shakespearean plays, my dear. Tragedies to be exact. In a most rousing yet tragic of times, wouldn’t you agree? I am appearing now in Hamlet, but always seek perfection in my craft. Right now, my two brothers and I are preparing for even greater roles in, Julius Caesar,” the man speaks with great diction and affects a certain air of princely dignity.

  “Ahhh.” Anna sighs in admiration, taken by Booth’s magic charm.

  In Jane’s mind Edwin Booth is really full of himself. She wonders if he has intentionally lined his eyes for emphasis. “And what role would you play, Mr. Booth?” she asks, feeling a dark thrill ripple through her in saying the historic name. He’s a vain little man. Let’s hope he is more convincing on stage than he is in person.

  “I am indubitably flattered by your interest, Miss Peterson,” Booth nods elegantly. “Why, I would play Brutus.”

  Jane is thinking the role of Brutus would be more fitting for his infamous brother, John Wilkes. The man who will fatally shoot President Lincoln in the back of the head at Ford’s Theatre, five days after Lee surrenders his Confederate Army of Northern Virginia to Lieutenant General Ulysses S. Grant.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Won’t Clara be so proud! This is an extraordinary evening, and all Clara’s coaching has really paid off. Before Jane and Anna boarded their carriage to be off, Jane gave the sweet girl a warm hug and kiss on the cheek. She whispered a promise in Clara’s ear that she would share all the juicy details of Mrs. Marshall’s grand affair as soon as she got home.

  When Jane had received the formal invitation and privately confessed her ineptness at common customs, Clara was taken aback. When Jane complained she must be crazy to even think she could attend such an affair as Mrs. Marshall’s dinner party, Clara was determined to offer her assistance. She exclaimed brightly, “You have shown me so many new and interesting things, it is indeed a pleasure to return the favor.”

  Clara, who will not be introduced to society until next year, is well trained in codes of conduct. For Jane, Clara is a real lifesaver. The fifteen year old was delighted to assume the role of teacher and spent hours helping her learn the ropes. She even taught Jane how to play a simple version of Home Sweet Home on the family’s pianoforte.

  After practicing a while, Jane finally finished the piece perfectly to her instructor’s enthusiastic ovation.

  When Clara added, “This tune is most appropriate to perform on such an occasion,” the absurd suggestion threw Jane into fits of giggles. “OMG, Clara!” Jane teased, “I will be lucky enough to survive Mary’s party unscathed, much less add another opportunity to fall flat on my face!”

  The gala event at the Marshall estate in Savannah, Georgia — no movie, no picture or painting, no written description would do it justice. Even with their precious Savannah port shut down since last spring, Mary miraculously had pulled out all the stops. In her words, “It is about time we liven things up around here. We all need to show, in the face of adversity, we Southerners still know how to throw a good party.”

  Typical of most parties and as the evening progresses, the gentlemen have subtly migrated to small clusters around the fireplace to discuss business and war. There is no such thing as football, or Jane is sure they’d be pumped up on ‘the game’ and their favorite team about now too. October is football season, after all. The elderly ladies have been seated, and the women as well have formed their own small groupings. Jane finds the topics of their conversations are not much different from her time. She listens to the women chatter on about their mutual friends and children, the latest fashion, how difficult it is to find good servants these days, the illness of someone they know, and of course, the weather.

  While she is enjoying all the talk, Jane notices, with interest, the men are making numerous trips back and forth to refill their glasses with a special punch, which is being generously served up. After sampling the beverage herself, Jane comments, “Tastes like sweet tea that is flavored with different fruits. And I think there’s rum in this.” She grins, “Yum. It really is very good.”

  “Yes . . . rum . . . among other things,” one of gentle ladies giggles waving her frilly ivory and black lace fan to and fro. To which Mrs. Screven leans over to Jane, conspiratorially, “The apéritif is our very own Chatham’s Artillery Punch, my dear. One must never over indulge, for it is a suave and deceitful brew.” Then she adds, raising an eyebrow, “It is a jealously guarded Savannahian recipe . . . and surely not for the faint of heart.” This, of course, quits any thoughts Jane had of going back for seconds her damn self.

  As the vibrancy of the evening crescendos and only moments before their guest of honor, the illustrious General Lee, arrives, Jane also notices how much everyone holds their hostess in high esteem. The people openly express admiration for the fine dining experience one always expects at Mrs. Marshall’s parties. Within conversations rounding their assembly, one of the men steps forward and projects with fervor, “Ladies and gentlemen, please . . . I assure you! A feast of reason and the flow of soul,” and another man speaks up from across the room “there mingles with my friendly bowl!” to which erupts a vigorous response from the crowd, “Hear-hear . . . Hear-hear!” Jane has no idea what it means, but it sounds good and everyone seems to be having a wonderful time.

  Mary’s home has always been the center of parties and social gatherings where she and her dear Colonel had entertained the elite of Savannah’s society for decades. The colors around Jane in dress, adornment and decor are astounding. Her own gown is in French blue silk taffeta with wide gray stripes. It was poor Karen’s once. To make it her own, the bodice has been modified into a slightly different style and, of course for her height, the hem has been let out and a wide band of like fabric attached. Jane has no idea what she would have done without Karen’s things and the incredible generosity of Anna and her family.

  Finally, everyone’s attention is drawn to the sound of commotion from the entrance hall. He must be here! Jane’s heart is pounding. In the doorway appears General Robert E. Lee in real life. At first sight, he is unmistakably tall and handsome with broad shoulders that carry the weight of their world. Yet Lee’s eyes, clear and kind, appear untouched by the death and destruction he has witnessed. A distinguished and dignified figure; he is every bit of a soldier and a gentleman. Everyone immediately rises in his honor and there is a round of genial applause. Lee bows his head in humble acknowledgement, and thoughtfully sweeps the crowd of admirers. Then, with grace in form, he shifts to one side and there from the shadows steps Matthew Hopkins.

  Matthew Hopkins. Really? Jane looks to her left where Anna, with her gloved fist at her mouth to s
tifle a desperate squeal, quickly moves to her son’s side. At this, Mary gives her most flattering smile, cutting ten years off her age and taking care not to show her missing tooth. She expertly draws the General into the room to begin greetings and introductions, while considerately giving Anna and her son a moment in private.

  The room is bursting with enthusiasm. Thomas Screven in their company commences to chanting, “Huzzah, Huzzah” as some of the other gentlemen join in. Much joy and laughter fall onto a room filled to the brim with celebration.

  “It appears our great General draws people to him like bees to honey,” Maria Nichols whispers to Jane as she brushes away a peacock feather that strayed from her elaborate headdress. Jane and Maria are waiting their turn to be formally introduced. Mr. Nichols has excused himself briefly, for a moment with Adjutant Hopkins. This could make a good story for his newspaper.

  While Mary skillfully guides General Lee around the room, there is no missing the certain antique glamour about the man. A bigger than life, can’t take your eyes off of him kind of persona. Flawlessly patient and polite, he has shown a personal interest in everyone there. Even Jane. “I have just learned of your good works at the hospital, Miss Peterson. Doctor Arnold speaks highly and is an old acquaintance of mine,” Lee’s eyes twinkle.

  Dammit, I missed his visit to the hospital! Richard had insisted Jane take the day to prepare for her evening out, even when she explained it was no big deal to work and go to a party on the same day. Quickly concealing those thoughts, Jane carefully forms her response, “Nursing is a worthy profession. It is good to do something useful for our men in uniform and to serve a purpose, however small,” she smiles with satisfaction and interjects, “You have made Mrs. Hopkins very happy.” Lee follows Jane’s gaze in the direction of Anna and her son, who are now encircled by their friends. She has remembered Clara’s advice. Never point.

  When all is made ready and the guests can hardly wait another minute, the gong sounds and an announcement is made. Dinner will be served. With that, a grand procession is formed to flow easily into the large dining room. Ladies, on the arms of their gentlemen, are seated at the most elaborately set table Jane has ever seen. Once her cleverly appointed escort, Seth Tulley, an English cotton merchant who is absolutely gorgeous and indisputably gay, assists Jane into her chair on his right she is able to take in the ornate details. The marvelous fresh cuttings from Mary’s renowned garden are arranged in colorful centerpieces with draping branches of scented cedar and vines of ivy. She is mesmerized by sparkling silver candelabras whose twinkling lights reflect on beautiful crystal goblets, elaborately engraved silverware, and fine china. Picture perfect.

  “Their impressive menu for the evening,” Anna had pointed out to Jane, “will be raw oysters and terrapin soup, served with a spicy Madeira and claret, followed by calf’s head stew, veal cutlets, and pate de foie gras. The latter is influenced by Mrs. Marshall’s travels abroad. Dessert I hear tell is ice pine nuts and olives.” A Victorian-style ice cream, Jane decided.

  There are two icehouses in Savannah. Anna said homes, like Mary’s, and the one inherited by wealthy lawyer, John Owens, who is currently immersed in a lively debate at the end of the table, keep ice. It can be preserved in sawdust for as much as three or four months at a time, depending on the weather. The privileged, basically the millionaires of the 1800s, benefit from food that is kept cool and served fresh, even in hot summer months. Anna also mentioned Mr. Owens’ cistern that supplied heat and heated water to the residence, and how his slaves had their own privy. Such modern luxuries for this era!

  Dinner is entertaining, to put it mildly, and Jane’s first taste of turtle soup is tolerable. It is a strong blend of flavors that is hard to describe. Jane made a mental note before she came to taste everything, as good manners would prescribe. So far she had, with great difficulty, been able to ignore thoughts of green turtle skin from the endangered species floating to the surface or some poor cow’s brains boiled as ingredients in the rich spicy brews being served up. Everyone around her seems to be enjoying the appetizing dishes immensely.

  General Lee, of course, is a real celebrity and the highlight of their evening. Upon his arrival Lee made the appropriate excuses for President Jefferson Davis, who was unable to attend. Lee said he is instructed to give his regrets to their beautiful hostess and his very best regards to Mrs. Marshall and all her fine guests.

  As it is, everyone is elated they have the pleasure of Lee’s company for a few brief hours before he, himself, is off to endure the responsibilities of his profession and the unfortunate consequence of war. If Lee is nervous about crowds, he never shows it. If the guests are deeply troubled by the recent loss of thousands of Americans in one fatal sweep at the bloody Battle of Sharpsburg, or Lincoln’s emancipation declaration described by the South as a recipe for slave insurrection, no one lets on.

  However, it is virtually impossible to keep the War, or as some say The Late Unpleasantness from dominating the party at some level and especially now, having a famous General among them. Everyone is awestruck by Lee and he is kind enough to share his accounts of this conflict in the most tasteful and positive manner. Considering ladies are present, he prefers to tell funny stories about his experiences and the soldiers in his service.

  Lee has high hopes for the South and is as optimistic as anyone can be. He says he has complete faith that God will guide him. Jane notices as Lee reached for his glass there is a slight flinch in his otherwise easy demeanor. There appears to be wrapping of some kind around his wrist that she can see just under the cuff of his uniform. Jane wants to ask him if he had been hurt somehow, but decides not to. It may be bad protocol and cause embarrassment. She would much rather be a fly on the wall, anyway. Content in listening to the steady hum of dialogue and watching exchanges between guests. Just kick back and live history.

  In the midst of their dinner, one of the ladies, Adelaide Screven, who is called Ade by her husband, speaks up. “Do any of your men need scarves or mittens, sir?”

  To this General Lee replies, “Many hundreds would be acceptable, madam. Winter is upon us.”

  In which Mary Marshall responds, “Our ladies will do everything we can, but it seems so little among so many.”

  In gentlemanly fashion, Lee resounds with gracious and humble attention. Nodding to the hostess, then to Ade, he raises his glass, “My dear ladies,” he pauses for emphasis, “we will be most thankful for anything you have to spare. And a many thanks to you all.”

  While the war drags on, conditions and views will become much more desperate. Jane has had a good long look at this General of theirs and can almost bet he is aware of the difficulties that lie ahead. She is also convinced, even if she didn’t have the scoop on future happenings, that he will never shirk his responsibilities no matter where it takes him for he is bound by duty and principle. A true southern superhero, stories of Lee abound as he had distinguished himself on the battlefield time and again.

  In May, shortly after Jane stepped foot into this century, Lee became commander of the Confederate army in northern Virginia and drove back the Union army in Richmond in what was called the Seven Days Battle. He had turned the tides of war in their favor some say. In August, he would give the Confederacy yet another big victory at Second Manassas. But before they had a chance to rest on their laurels, their mighty southern forces suffered an inconceivable ending at Antietam Creek in September, giving Lincoln the win he needed.

  Jane of course is cruelly aware how events will go. The longer she stays, the more disturbing this pretentious, imposturous and imposing part of her life in 1862 becomes. Isolated, she alone bears the brutal truth and like a coward she remains silent, letting precious lives around her amble on in blind oblivion. With each day her attachment and commitment to this time grows stronger. No longer a casual bystander, Jane is without reason or argument emotionally connected.

  By listening to the easy flow of conversation throughout the course of the evening, Jane
is amazed at how animated and brave these people are. Everyone had something to offer, each in his or her own way — a witty comment, a thought-provoking opinion, an intriguing question, an interesting narrative or attractive gesture.

  Matthew, who appears noticeably thinner, is at great ease among his peers and offers news that many in his regiment are released from prison in an exchange. Anna, looking radiant beside her son, is totally smitten and hanging on his every word.

  There were many quotes from Shakespeare, of course, as the company enjoyed the presence of the renowned Thespian. But even Booth has had the good sense not to overshadow or dominate the room, which Jane is sure he is quite capable of any other time.

  As their dining experience lulls and a cool and surprisingly flavorful dessert is served, there seems to be a subtle shift in the men’s disposition. Jane has even caught them exchanging private glances with each other over the heads of their dinner companions at the table. Why they are literally chomping at the bit for the ladies to leave! She imagines it is so they can pass the port, smoke their cigars and finally have General Lee all to themselves.

  Just as things are wrapping up, Jane’s attention becomes diverted to a conversation at the end of the table when she hears someone use the words Pulaski and Peterson in the same sentence. Too late, they have caught her eye and one tubby gentleman with ridiculous muttonchops and a visible stain on his cream colored cravat speaks clearly. “Are we to understand you were at Fort Pulaski during the siege, Miss Peterson?”

  Oh boy, she was warned something like this might come up. Anna said curiosity is human nature and although most rude and ill mannered, the flow of wine and liquors often loosens the tongue. So, the question is asked. All eyes turn to Jane, who with a slight raise of her chin gives her prepared, yet sincere, response, “Why yes I was, kind sir. And there could not have been a more noble bunch who fought so bravely for our cause.”