The Lincoln Penny

by Barbara Best

  Bryce studies the lines of Jane’s face and swears he can see a slight curve at the corner of her mouth as if she’s trying not to smile. If that’s not the case, it sure shows in her eyes. She looks happy. He smiles back at her with an ache in his heart. Bryce carefully latches the tiny frame shut, puts it in his pants pocket and seals the box without it.

  The next box is heavier and he can tell the minute he opens it, he’s hit the jackpot. “Not!” There’s a wooden box, but it isn’t the one he is looking for. Bryce spends the rest of the afternoon searching everything in storage. No box. “Zip. Nada. What’s up with that?” Bryce straights and scans the unit. He is sure he hadn’t missed anything and reaches into the inside zippered pocket of his jacket for his phone. Art answers on the first ring.

  “Hey Art, listen, I’m here at the storage unit and there’s no sign of the box you gave Jane for her birthday.”

  Art pulls his ball cap off his head, rubs the top of his forehead with the back of his wrist and tugs his hat back on. “Are you sure you checked everything? There were quite a few boxes.”

  “Yes, and the stuff over and under the table too. I’m sure. Jane’s jewelry box is nowhere to be found. It appears someone’s been in here rummaging around though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, some of the stuff, the boxes up front were okay, but someone has definitely been in here. I don’t think you left it like this. Things are moved around and not put back very carefully. Especially the stuff towards the back.”

  “Well, maybe her mother has been in there searching for something. The place has security so I’m not real concerned.

  “I know the box really meant something to Jane. So you think Kay might have been in here? Maybe she wanted a few of her things. I can understand that.”

  “Good possibility.” Art decides to leave it with that. Kay could have gone through Jane’s stuff. Who knows?

  Right now Art isn’t real happy with his wife, his ex-wife that is. Frankly, he thinks Kay has blown a gasket. Their house has been locked up and she is off gallivanting somewhere without a forwarding address. Since Jane’s disappearance they had become even more estranged. You would think after twenty-seven years, he would know her better. Just a few days ago, Kay sent him a text she had come into an inheritance and something about needing to get away for a while. She had left papers for an uncontested divorce with Larry at the shop, knowing Art would probably be in town in a few weeks. When Art called her, the number was out of order. He talked to Larry, who said she seemed fine. Art has known the end was inevitable, but he didn’t appreciate Kay putting Larry in the middle.

  “Well, if you talk to Kay, and I want you to know this too, Art . . . I found a small frame with pictures of Jane and me. It kind of means something to me and I would like to have it, if that’s okay. It’s an antique frame so it may have some value, I don’t know. I’ll put it back if you want.”

  “That won’t be necessary. You are welcome to it, son. Was there anything else you saw that you might want? Jane wouldn’t mind and I sure don’t.”

  “No. That was all. Thanks for being such a great guy, Art. Jane always said you were the best dad ever.” There’s a loud silence on the other end of the phone.

  Art finally speaks with some finality, “She was the best daughter a father could ever have. And that’s a fact. Sorry the jewelry box wasn’t in there, Bryce. I am pretty sure we got everything of hers, even the stuff from the fort. Maybe it will turn up.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  Jane writes the note to Mary telling her it’s okay to turn the box over to Matthew and not to worry, things will work out. Although Jane is not so sure she believes that. She took her evening meal in the quiet of her room and was condemned to toss and turn in her bed all night with little solace. The firm promise her meeting with Matthew is not finished looms before her.

  Tessie brings steaming hot tea and cakes in the morning and leaves the tray on the table by the fireplace. Jane crosses over to stoke the embers and watches the last log catch, lighting the room yellow. While Jane watches the flames curl over the wood, Tessie grabs Jane’s shawl off the back of the chair and reaches up to lay it gently over Jane’s shoulders. Taking her arm, Tessie silently leads Jane back over to the overstuffed chair. Longing for comfort and feeling a little better with the touch and kind gesture, Jane goes along. “I am so out of my element. What do I do now?” she says dryly.

  “Dat ain’t for Tessie ta say, but you done a lot of good things for dis here family. And Mistah Hopkins, he not guan ta let anyone harm ya chile.” Tessie drops a crisp white napkin embellished with a pretty ivory embroidered monogram into Jane’s lap. “Cook made dem cakes special, honey.”

  “Won’t you have one? I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  “Now, ya needs ta eat Miss Jane ta keep your strength. You one strong girl, but ya needs food in ya belly. An you jess sick and all.” When she gets no response from Jane, Tessie reaches over and tips her mistress’ chin up with the side of her finger. Wise brown eyes meet the most remarkable green Tessie is sure she’s ever seen. “Who know what dis here world is bout Miss Jane. When ya told me you was from some other time, it changed the way ole Tessie think. It took a while to set in. Now I be thinkin . . . maybe all dis suppose ta be. You are meant ta be here jess as much as me or anybody else. Dey is a purpose. Lawd put ya here and He only know. But He have a plan for you child. He have a plan, so don’t you fret none.”

  Jane feels moisture on her cheek and swipes at a hopeless tear warmed by the fire. “Well, if there’s a purpose, I sure wish I knew what it is. When I was home, my real home, I knew what I was and where I was going. I had a past, a nice job to get up to every morning, a cute little apartment, freedom to move about, go anywhere and do anything. I had people I loved and who loved me. I had a future.

  “Here? Well, my past is totally wiped out as if it didn’t exist. I don’t know what I am or where I’m going.” Jane takes Tessie’s hand into both of hers for a few seconds and gently rubs her thumb across the calluses on Tessie’s knuckles before letting go. It was so nice to be real with someone and Jane is grateful to Tessie for allowing this moment where she can be herself.

  “Mmm-mm. Dey nothin’ ole Tessie can say or do ta makes you feel better bout dat. No-um. Not one thing.” Tessie subconsciously wipes her hands on her apron, uncomfortable with the intimacy, and takes the poker over by the fire to turn the big oak log to allow it to burn some on the other side. “Humph . . . I sees ya done away wit dat book of yourn.” A charred corner of the cover was still evident among the ashes. “Good. Ain’t no way to face ya future straight-on when da past be eaten at ya.”

  Jane grins brightly. “My Mama always said you got to put the past behind you before you can move on. That’s Forrest Gump. In a movie I saw. A movie is a bunch of pictures run together to create motion. I believe someone in this time has already come up with the concept. In 2012, movies are very popular. They tell stories about people, places and things. Moving images, that look real when you watch it . . . as if you are seeing the real thing with your own eyes . . .”

  The firelight dances on Tessie’s perplexed expression.

  “Sorry, I’m babbling aren’t I?” Jane adds contritely.

  Tessie props the poker on the whitewashed brick, grunts as she straightens her tired back and faces Jane fully. “Well, Miss Jane, I knows nothin’ bout dis man Gump, but he have one wise mama. No use fillin’ your head with grief an’ regret, chile. You best cast off dose chains and move on.”

  Staring down at the glowing embers, Tessie’s eyes grow distant, filled with deep, shrouded emotion, “Ole Tessie, she buried two sweet babies, Miss Jane. Died before dey even had a chance in dis world. Dey little bones rest in the ground at a place far nawth o’ here. My third chile, a strong, fine son, was ripped from my arms and sold off when he be jess a tiny babe. Sold him to a farm up the road in Maryland.”

  Yes, she knows grief and regret. T
essie remembers hard times. The long days of backbreaking work in the fields, filled with the misery of a mother’s longing. How she would risk everything, traveling the ten-mile distance on foot, and without permission, to visit her precious baby boy in the dead of night. In those few brief moments, when she cradled his warm sweet body in her arms and showered him with wet kisses, she would pray the Lord would help her baby remember her and in some small way keep a piece of her with him always. Tessie had only seen that child three times before she herself was sold to the Georgia plantation of Miss Anna’s family in 1818.

  “Sometime God don’ always give ya what you thinks you want, Miss Jane. An’ ole Tessie have faith, dey is light in dark places.” There is a thoughtful pause as Tessie searches for meaning, “Miss Jane . . . you is sumpin special in dis world. A great gift. An’ sumpin mighty special will come o’ dis. Sho-nuff. Sumpin mighty special. Now, eat up girl and wash it down wit dis here tea before it gets cold!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Captain Tucker will never regret his decision to leave the United States Army for service to the South. He is one of many who were stirred by the innermost depths of their conscience to swear allegiance to this new government of Confederate States. He follows his native state of Georgia by sword and sacrifice.

  Lou throws back the last taste of whiskey, swipes his mouth with the back of his hand and slams the glass down to get the attention of the bartender, who is polishing glasses at the other end of the counter. His left shoulder pains him something awful. He feels the annoying sensation of his physical arm that was blown clean off fighting with his regiment. The brave bunch of men they call the Bloody 8th Georgia under Colonel Lamar at Golding’s Farm back in June.

  The bitter spirits give him little relief, “One more.”

  The bartender fills Lou’s glass, lifts the change off the counter, and leaves the bottle behind.

  Lou is itching to be a hero, but has been dealt a dirty blow much too early in this war. He forever burns for the choking dust and blistering heat of a grueling twenty-mile march through tangled wilderness and up rocky trails to nowhere. He yearns for the good fight. The high-pitched yell of fury in battle as bodies clash in deadly dance and where blood and sweat mingle amongst the thunderous roar of artillery.

  He got his first taste of war in Mexico. A war fought by an untried army, far from home, far from lines of supply and against overwhelming numbers. It was there he gained his right of passage and his zeal for battle. It was there Lou had found his calling.

  Lou refuses to believe he is destined to finish out his days in this place, frustrated and left to brood over the morale of his sorry stronghold of regulars that make up the home guard headquartered at Savannah’s Armory. His raw recruits are made soft by constant idleness, and there is no end to civilian interference and the fuss and feathers among members of the community. If he could have but one advantage, one lucky break, surely he could get a foothold on his career again.

  This time he is convinced the wind blows in his favor. Now that Adjutant Hopkins is well in hand, he can focus his time on that runaway. Angel, they call her. She is as stubborn as a mule, but by-God’s wounds, she will talk. He is convinced the girl knows more than she is letting on and will not give up until he has satisfaction.

  Lou committed two of his toughest soldiers to obtain results. He doesn’t care how long it takes or what they have to do, as long as it is finished and he gets what he wants.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  Lou props his finely polished military-issue machine pegged boots up on his desk and chews on the last half of his second cigar of the day as he waits. It isn’t long before two men stomp noisily into his quarters, led by his orderly who salutes and silently exits the room. “Well, well.” The chair groans with Lou’s weight as he shifts from a sitting position to stand. He quickly returns their salutes.

  “We got it!” The new recruit blurts enthusiastically.

  At the outburst, First Sergeant Rufus Stone snaps his head around, giving the boy a nasty scowl and quick jab to the ribs, “That’s enough, Private!” He clears his throat. “We have something good to report is all, Cap’m.”

  “She talked then.”

  “Oh did she. Squealed like a pig. Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” Rufus lifts his chin. He keeps his arms rigid at his sides, his hands cupped against his legs.

  “At ease men,” Lou orders, waving his arm making hot ashes from his cigar fly. “Well, out with it. Out with it,” he clips.

  “Well you see sir, that slave girl, she weren’t goin’ to talk at first. But then, we found out she is mighty scare’t of drowning,” Rufus sneers malevolently. “After holdin’ her under a couple two-three times in that cold water barrel out back . . . well sir, she come up spillin’ her guts. Didn’t she, Private?”

  The private bobs his empty head in agreement, and with a grin, bares his badly stained teeth.

  “Please be seated.” Lou takes a puff of sweet smelling tobacco and motions the men to the two straight-back pine chairs in front of his desk. He settles into his own chair for the news he’s been waiting on. “Proceed.”

  “You know that old Church where all them darkies go? Well, it seems that old church is a stoppin’ off place for runaways travelin’ through these parts.

  “That so.” Lou’s spirit soars. He knew it!

  “Yes, sirree. That Angel, she also said she overheard talk about a white woman, who don’t belong to this world. Those were her exact words, don’t belong.” Rufus suddenly takes to wiggling his finger wildly in his ear and thumping his head with the palm of his hand, “This here ear’s been painin’ me somethin’ awful.”

  Lou doesn’t say anything to this. Damn man always has some infernal ailment. Trying to finagle his way to the infirmary and an excuse for a day’s rest is more like it. All last month he contrived a deprecating cough, which most took with great seriousness. Lou knows this kind well. He is not deceived, as the hacking halted straight away with one sharp threat from his superior.

  The first sergeant catches his captain’s hardhearted expression, and continues, “Yeah, the white woman. She said the name Peterson, plain. The woman she saw the night Madame Néve disappeared. The one she took the box to. She said the woman carries a piece of eight with the head of Lincoln stamped on it. She said it’s some kind of sign or somethin’. Now that part, it don’t make a spec of sense to me. If you won’t mind my saying so, sir, I think we got us a nest of traitors.”

  “Hold it, Stone. Just stick to the story. I’ll be the judge.”

  “Well sir, the funny thing is, that slave girl swore up one side and down the other she was set free. That fortune-teller gave her the ring, and she is gone for good. Sounds like a mighty convenient arrangement, don’t it. Anyhow, she wouldn’t talk no more about that Néve woman, just that she’s gone off. But the real kicker was listening to her blabber on about hidden tunnels. We had her really goin’ for a while there.”

  “Tunnels, you say?”

  “Yep. Seems like they been runnin’ slaves through here right under our stinkin’ feet.” Rufus rocks back in his chair on two legs, all cocky-like and belches openly.

  Lou grimaces at his first sergeant’s slipshod behavior, especially in front of the private. Embarrassing misconduct and a sure sign of the military’s eroding standards. I could ring his egotistical neck! Lou checks himself and decides to forego the infringement and get on with the interview. He is much too excited.

  Finally! At long last he has the break he needs. Could it be a link to the underground right here in Savannah? Fancy that! This could be his ace in the hole he’s been waiting for. “And where are these tunnels, First Sergeant?”

  “Well, sir, that’s the part I ain’t too proud of.” Rufus’ voice trails off and, quick like, the private beside him ducks his head.

  The boy’s a fervent and fidgety sort and Lou thinks it odd to see the private suddenly freeze in his seat, still as a statue. “Speak up, Stone. I don’t have
all day,” he says impatiently.

  “Well, I’m afraid we might-a gotten a little too keen with our interrogatin’ at that point. You see the girl clammed up just like them clams in the marsh. Not another peep out of her. So I reckon we held her under one too many times. And well sir, she just sucked water. Took it clean in without as much as a moan,” Rufus lets out an explosive guffaw of nerves. “Went limp like a fish.”

  “You killed her?” Lou roars, “You killed her!” Lou is out of his seat and on his feet. “Wipe that nasty simper off your face, Private!” he bellows, the veins popping out on his temples and neck, his face turning beet red. “What in damnation did you do that for? You blithering fools!”

  Both soldiers are startled almost out of their chairs, and straighten, stiff as a board, petrified. They could almost swear they see fire shooting out of the Captain’s ears and steam rising off the top of his head. The sleeve of his phantom arm has come loose and is flapping around as he jerks in thunderous rage, like some apparition of pending doom.

  Rufus holds out his hands defensively, “I am really sorry, Cap’m. What were we s’pose to do anyhow?” he complains whiningly, his voice cracking on every fourth word. “She got a mouth full. That’s all. It was like she decided to end it. She wouldn’t give over no more.”

  This complicates matters. Lou scowls at both men long and hard, swallowing down the fury boiling inside. “First Sergeant, I will have a full report on my desk in the morning. And not a word about this to anyone, do you hear?” He repeats through gritted teeth, “Not One Word! Or there will be hell to pay. Do you understand?”