The Lincoln Penny

by Barbara Best

  Across the street, just up from Thomas Holcombe’s wholesale grocer, a straining crowd has gathered, standing on tiptoe before a makeshift stage. The sign in large letters reads, Professor Jewel’s Jubilant Elixir – a tonic that will make you dance. Just another one of those traveling medicine shows passing through. Matthew’s mother said Jane had explained these demonstrations to sell charms, tonics, and remedy cures were all bogus. Pure entertainment designed to swindle money out of foolish patrons who walked away with useless goods. He couldn’t agree more!

  In the minutes of quiet, Matthew takes time to assess his meeting with Captain Tucker thus far. Actually, he is quite surprised it is going as well as it is. Tucker appears by all accounts cooperative and willing to hear him out, although, Matthew has been given a warning of sorts. In so many words, this is not the end of it. The man is not the type to rest on his laurels. And clearly, Tucker believes there is a connection between Madame Néve and Miss Peterson. For now however, Matthew is satisfied with the outcome and feels confident a good level of trust has been established. It is a good start.

  “I assure you, sir, her time and whereabouts can be accounted for.” Matthew speaks in Miss Peterson’s defense when the matter is resumed. “I am willing to attest to her impeccable character,” he states adamantly, and further speaks to the importance of her work with Doctor Arnold at the hospital and her significant role in the war effort. “She is a woman of duty and honor. She has been a wonderful friend and companion to my mother and our family these past many months. She has proven her honesty and worthiness time and again. Her moral fiber is pristine and without blemish in our eyes.”

  Going forward, Matthew will accept responsibility for Miss Peterson as her appointed guardian. What Matthew does not tell Tucker is, if need be, he is prepared to use his family’s influence to pull some strings to address this misunderstanding. And if pressed, he will be forced to seek his father’s advice on employing legal counsel.

  “Well then,” Lou clears his throat and rises from his chair to signify their meeting is about to end. “I leave this to your own good conscience, sir. As a precaution, I suggest Miss Peterson be detained at home. It is for her welfare, of course. I hope you understand.” He is quite sure the adjutant gets his meaning. Miss Peterson is unofficially under house arrest and until further notice.

  “Your point is well taken, sir, and I will see that it is not forgotten. You will hear from me.” Matthew takes Tucker’s hand in a firm handshake and before departing, “I assure you, I personally intend to get to the bottom of this unpleasantness.”

  Standing just outside the door of his office, Lou watches Adjutant Hopkins make his way down the long hall to exit the building. He runs his tongue over the scum on his front teeth. His mouth tastes sour. Think it’s about time for another drink. With a sly grin, Lou positions his hat back on his head and taps it for good luck. He is satisfied he has revealed enough to make this case a heap more interesting and he’s not finished by any means. “Give ‘em enough rope . . .” he secretly scoffs under his breath. “Yep, this will be mighty interesting indeed.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  Matthew paces in his father’s library. He has instructed the household they are not to be disturbed for any reason. He has sent for Jane.

  Before long, Jane rustles into the library with Tessie hovering a few steps behind her. Tessie has a shawl in tow, which is gently lifted to Jane’s shoulders. Ah! She has dear ole Tessie clucking over her like a mother hen, I see. Why she could charm the skin off a snake. What phenomenal talent! Matthew is impressed. In just short of a year, Jane has in effect enchanted just about everyone within and close to his family.

  “Good day, Miss Peterson. Won’t you please have a seat?” Matthew smiles thoughtfully. “Tessie, we will speak alone.”

  Tessie gives her usual disgruntled, humph, “Can I gitcha sumpin, Mistah Matt?”

  “No. We are quite all right. Thank you Tessie. That will be all.”

  With another humph, Tessie mumbles something inaudible on her way out and pulls the pocket doors behind her.

  With the appropriate formalities quickly aside and Jane settled comfortably into one of the wingback chairs near the fireplace, Matthew says calmly and evenly, “The box must be turned over immediately.”

  From his practice in commanding men, Matthew has found it most effective to get directly to the point. By proclaiming a statement of fact, rather than posing a question he already knows the answer to, Matthew has the upper ground and can make a quick judgment depending on the type of reaction it gains him.

  Matthew quietly observes Jane’s elbow slip on the arm of the chair. Her pretty mouth forms the shape of a perfect O. Blindsided. Caught unaware and vulnerable. Then, defenses heightened to shield the blow. He is quite sorry for her, but this must be addressed.

  “How did you find out about that? Who?” Jane’s mind races to her own conclusions. Surely Mary hasn’t said anything. She’s the one who made such a big deal about keeping it a secret. Could it be someone in Mary’s household?

  So she does have this article they speak of. Matthew can literally see the wheels in Jane’s head turning like the gears of a watch. Disappointing. He had hoped Captain Tucker was wrong. Rigid and with his hands locked behind his back, he presses on. “What I know is of no matter at this point. What YOU tell me now is of grave importance. A simple yes will do.”

  “Okay. Yes then. It’s at Mary’s, but I don’t want her involved in any of this.” Jane stands abruptly, watching Matthew tilt his head as if unaffected by her aggressive posture.

  “I thought as much,” Matthew lies, and orders just above a whisper, “We will send for it directly. Be prepared to write a note to Mrs. Marshall giving her your permission for its release. There should be nothing to hide.”

  “Okay by me. But I’m not leaving this room until you tell me what’s going on.” Jane is about ready to take out all her pent up frustrations on the man standing before her. She’s had it with this place, and this time. No one has said more than a few words to her since she arrived yesterday. Her reception has been nothing but chilly. Anna is as kind and polite as she has ever been, but the atmosphere is suddenly forced, awkward.

  Jane is sure Anna is unwilling to express her opinion. That would be much too difficult for her. Tessie has been hanging around, but she is totally closed-mouthed and avoiding conversation. Young Clara is subdued and knows better than to say anything. “I feel like I’m an outcast around here all of a sudden. Like I have the plague or something. No one’s talking . . . at least, not to me anyway. Honestly, how can I take care of this or make decisions on what to do if I am kept in the dark.” Jane puts her hands on her hips. Unladylike.

  Matthew ignores Jane’s outburst and strikes again with severe directness, “Madam Néve’s house slave . . . I believe she goes by the name Angel, was caught a couple of days ago. She had no papers on her. A runaway. They found her with two other slaves huddled in the hollow of a tree several miles north of here on the old Indian trail. Inclement weather must have prevented them from making good progress. Authorities highly suspect the runaway and the disappearance of her owner must be components of some grand conspiracy. They speak of treason. And your name, my dear, is written all over it.”

  Jane flops down in her chair and puffs a sprig of hair from last year’s bangs that has fallen over one eye, “Holy crap. So, that’s how you know. Well, that shouldn’t mean anything. What’s the big deal about an old box anyway?” This is getting more complicated by the minute. A profound feeling of being trapped like an insect in an intricately designed web takes hold of Jane. She wants to run out to the curb, hop into her Ford Fiesta and hit the gas. Out of here! Vamoose!

  Matthew reaches down and takes Jane’s hand.

  The warm pressure of his touch ignites an undeniable charge that tingles up Jane’s arm and catches her breath. What’s up with that? She frowns. Until this moment Jane thought she had done a pretty decent job of making light
of any suggestion there might be more between them. Was she wrong? She would never want to lead Matthew on. Heck, they’ve only spoken a few times and always in someone’s company, which Jane was secretly thankful for. How could she have failed in giving the proper cold shoulder?

  Perhaps Matthew is the kind of man who doesn’t take a proverbial, ‘No, not interested’, for an answer. After all, women in this era are considered property for the taking. They are totally helpless without a man to guide them. Whatever the reason, the feel of him now, this simple gesture without words, reads loud and clear. Much too familiar! The effects of it on Jane are unsettling.

  And it’s probably been a might unsettling to Anna too, Jane thinks. She might suspect her precious one and only son, who carries all the family’s hopes and dreams, and is surely destined for great things, could be falling for her . . . Jane Peterson, the Mystifying Ghost Lady. The girl with no past, who stands accused of being in cahoots with a suspected traitor . . . boy oh boy, nice catch!

  Jane can feel Matthew’s eyes on her, intense, beckoning and she is forced to look up into two dark golden brown pools, serious with purpose, strong with self-assurance. They are experienced eyes with the hardness of a soldier, yet they are soft, probing, even quietly teasing.

  Matthew turns Jane’s hand palm up and gently raises it. His touch is warm, confident. His maturity, an advantage. She is caught in it and can’t bring herself to look away. She just sits there like an idiot, her mind completely blank on what to do next.

  Matthew is all too aware of Jane’s shortness in breath and sees the tiny vein on her temple that surfaces when she is upset. Her eyes hold the light of deep forest green, tinged with the shiny darkness of beetle’s wings, flashing with uncertainty and unsteady emotion. She is amazing! His gaze travels slowly down to Jane’s bare wrist, where her sleeve has fallen away to expose the erratic flutter of her pulse. Matthew reaches into his vest pocket and carefully deposits something small and cool into the palm of Jane’s hand. Ever so gently he folds her fingers, one at a time around it. Then, he holds still. Waiting, watching.

  The room is suddenly like a furnace. Jane’s face becomes flushed with embarrassment at the undeniable effects of a crackling tension crammed between two bodies. Her inner voice is frantically trying to force her to utter something stupid or dismissive to break the spell. What kind of weird Victorian game is this? Geez, get a grip!

  Jane slowly draws her fist free, twisting out of Matthew’s pliable caress. He releases her easily. Jane drops her hand, still burning with sensation, onto the soft cool wool fabric of her skirt and detects the hard cording of her hoop underneath. There is no sound. Like a vacuum, suspended in space where there’s no air, no movement.

  Jane takes a second or two to get her wits and finally opens her hand to reveal its contents. OMG! It’s a ring? She holds it up and blinks hard to clear her vision. This time there’s no escape into darkness. No place to run and hide. No way to negate or disclaim. The rose gold reflects the light as the perfectly shaped man’s eye set among split pearls — her lover’s eye — stares innocently up at her. No, not innocent at all. There is evil at play here. And it has found me!

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  Just like it was with his wife during their marriage, Art has discovered being out on the road picking is the best way to escape his troubles and, in this case, the loss of his daughter. Oh, Jane visits his thoughts almost daily, but the bitter pill goes down a little easier when he is occupied with his favorite pastime. As a matter of fact, he has to admit things have gotten a little better.

  Texas up until now has been pretty flat, in more ways than one. Art can’t understand what his brother Billy sees in the place. Picking at first was crawling along, but he’s in a new, expansive territory and getting acquainted with the lay of the land takes some getting use to. With a little patience, however, business has actually picked up lately and he’s found some great items.

  Art has also been pretty lucky with the shop at home. Larry is doing a great job in his absence, and things are humming along in Vidalia. No complaints.

  After his separation, Art had only planned a short stay with his brother to sort things out. Then, Jane went missing and ever since he has been frozen in place. It wasn’t until recently that he has thought more about getting home, finding a place to settle down and diving back into his business. Art must admit he does miss his shop and the people he works with. He doesn’t, however, miss his wife sorry to say. The separation from Kay is permanent.

  Art walks into the front kitchen of Billy’s condo, throws his keys on the harvest gold Formica counter and sees the green light flashing on his old model Blackberry when he pulls it from his pocket. He doesn’t have one of the new fandangled Androids with all the bells and whistles. Much too complicated. Besides, who would show him how to use it? Jane was always the one to help him with new technology.

  A text message from Bryce! Art hadn’t talked to Bryce in a while which is probably a good sign. He hopes the boy is able to get on with his life. As a parent, he would want the best for the young man, who was so close to his daughter. He punches Bryce’s number in and the phone switches over to a recorded message.

  Art waits for the beep, “Hey, Bryce, this is Art. I got your message. Glad to hear from you. Give me a call-back.”

  Right after he hangs up, Bryce’s number flashes onto the screen and Art answers, “I’m glad you called.” He smiles into the phone.

  “Hi Art. Something interesting has come up, I thought you might want to know about it.” Bryce is beelining it across the parking lot, “You caught me between classes. I’m at school.”

  “So, lay it on me. What’s the news?”

  “I think I’ve found Jane’s key or at least it turned up at Fort Pulaski. It’s in a cabinet at the Visitor Center.”

  “Well I’ll be darned! What do you plan to do?”

  “I’m not sure what’s next. It’s locked up for now.”

  “Does Jane’s friend know?”

  “Yes, Sophie does know. Which brings up a good question. Do you happen to know where Jane’s jewelry box is? Sophie says it was at Pulaski the weekend Jane was there. I’m sorry to bring this stuff up. If it causes you a problem . . .”

  “No. No. I’ve faced the fact . . . that she’s gone. We’ll probably never see her again. I have to let it rest like that. It’s the only way I can take it.” Art clears his throat. “But before we go any further, how are you doing, Bryce?”

  “Getting along okay. It helps me more to stay involved. You know. To try and solve the mystery as silly as that may seem. I think we have a piece of it now. The people at Pulaski said they found it in the casemate, the place where Jane was last seen. Casemate 8.” Bryce thinks this important piece of evidence helps validate Sophie’s claims. That was a pretty unbelievable story she told him about that night with Jane. Right up there with UFOs, Bigfoot, crop circles and the Loch Ness monster.

  One of Bryce’s classmates thumps him on the back before dashing into the campus’ Biological Sciences building. “Hey man, I’ll be there in a few.” Bryce puts the phone back up to his head, “So, I’m thinking, if I could see the box that would be cool too. The key and the box go together don’t you think? And I’d like to take a good look at it anyway.”

  “Well, yeah. I guess that makes sense. Are you sure you want to keep this thing going?”

  “Pretty sure. I keep thinking something will click . . . if I keep trying . . . well anyway, do you even know where it is? The box, I mean?” Bryce back peddles a little, “Art, do you mind talking about it?” He honestly doesn’t want to cause Jane’s dad more pain.

  "Last question first.” Art pauses and takes a deep breath. “Talking about it sort of keeps her alive don’t you think? I don’t want Jane to be forgotten like she didn’t exist, so I don’t mind at all. She is always with me you know. And secondly, the jewelry box is most likely with her things. Her mom and I put everything of hers in storage, even the stuff she ha
d at Pulaski, when the police released it. We were thinking she’d come back some day. It was the best way to handle it at the time. Right now, I don’t think Kay is ready to accept the fact we may never see her again so it just sits.”

  “Sure. I certainly get that. So, do you think it would be asking too much to take a look around for her jewelry box?”

  “Hell, you can have it if you can find it. For her twenty-something years my girl had a mess of things. It’s all in boxes now, just sitting there collecting dust.”

  Art gives Bryce the name and address of the storage facility in Savannah and the number of the storage unit. “I’ll give them a call so they will be expecting you. While you’re there take a look around. If there’s anything you see or have questions about, let me know. Jane certainly wouldn’t mind, and I sure don’t. Better let this be between you and me, okay? Kay can be a real pistol sometimes. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I always say, let sleeping dogs lie,” Art chuckles. “Besides I’m the one paying rent on the place anyhow.”

  Bryce feels a little uncomfortable about accessing Jane’s things without her mother’s knowledge, but decides Art knows her best. “How did you happen upon the jewelry box anyway?” Bryce remembers the box well. Jane said her dad gave it to her as an early birthday present before he left for Texas. He even had a picture she texted until he accidentally dropped his phone in the toilet and killed everything on it. Unfortunately, he hadn’t saved the image on the SIM Card.

  “Well, that’s a story,” Art begins. “How are you on time?”

  “I’m good . . . keep going.” Bryce looks at the time. He’ll just have to be late.