The Lincoln Penny

by Barbara Best

  THE

  LINCOLN PENNY

  A Time Travel Series, Book 1

  BARBARA BEST

  THE LINCOLN PENNY

  A Time Travel Series, Book 1

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2014 by Barbara Best

  ISBN-13: 978-1508631712

  ISBN-10: 1508631719

  Published: December 16, 2014

  United States of America

  To my lovely daughter Theresa and dear friend Robin, for their tremendous support and confidence in my work.

  A special thank you to my husband Bob for the hundreds of hours he has unselfishly allowed me for this project.

  The Lincoln Penny: A Time Travel Series, Book 1, is not, nor is it intended to be a historical reference. This is a work of fiction and although many of the people and places did exist and the facts and dates may represent a particular time in American history, they are left to the author’s interpretation only and embellished or altered to conform to the author’s story line. Any resemblance to actual living persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  * * * * *

  “To all of us, (marching into Fort Pulaski) was the actual dividing line that separated from peaceful antebellum days, the beginning of a new and unknown era in life.”

  — Charles Olmstead

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I don’t get it. Sometimes you’re such a geek, Jane Peterson! Hey . . . wait up,” Bryce quickly throws his backpack over his shoulder and hugs Jane close as they maneuver past the rows of shabby gray lockers and into another crowded hallway. He can’t believe his best friend since third grade is willing to give up their homecoming game for a bunch of dusty old junk.

  Now Bryce will be the first to defend Jane. He admires her commitment and self-determination. However, even he is beginning to weird-out over this relentless obsession that keeps her slightly off balance with her friends, and shunned as a social outcast by those who don’t understand her.

  Jane has been acting a bit too intense lately and apparently he’s not the only one who thinks so. Just a few days ago Bryce overheard some kids talking trash about her. In their small hometown high school this can easily make the list of worst-case scenarios.

  Last Wednesday after gym, students from the National History Club were having a regular gripe-session, which abruptly ended when they caught his eye. A couple of the members were positively aggravated. One complaining, “It’s not like we don’t all have other activities too!” And another interjecting sarcastically, “You know Jane . . . she always thinks her shit is way more important.” The expletive added to the conversation made it sound particularly sinister.

  Jane is so unlike other girls he knows. Like for instance, Brittany and Jessica down the street, who thrive on popularity, wear Abercrombie and overindulge in Sephora. Or flirty Megan Clarke and her clique of boy-crazy girls. Or like his weird cousin with piercings and colored hair in neighboring Montgomery County. Jane is different, warmly even-tempered and levelheaded. Nobody could ask for a more honest or supportive friend. Imaginative and funny too. A side of Jane’s personality not everyone has the pleasure of knowing.

  It is only in those times she sets her sights on something, when Jane’s obstinate nature presents itself. She will latch on like a regular Georgia bulldog. About as stubborn as a redhead can be and as hot as chili peppers if you try to interfere with whatever she has her heart set on.

  But that’s not what is bothering Bryce at the moment. What bothers him more is the fact Jane doesn’t seem to care much about nurturing a social life. She has so much to give yet she is either oblivious or totally not interested.

  “You know, geeks can have a life too. There’s a balance,” Bryce says more seriously as they dart through an opening in a mob of scrambling students and into their Chemistry lab. Just in the nick of time as the bell rings in the next class.

  “You can call me a geek all you want, Bryce McKenzie. It’s what I do,” Jane pouts prettily as they jockey for seats together. “It’s my passion! Besides . . . I promised my dad.” Lame excuse, and she instantly wishes she could take back the passion part. Drama is not her norm, although in this case, passionate is probably the best description for what ails her.

  “I wonder if Mr. Peterson knows you are using him as a cop out?” At which Bryce promptly gets piercing green darts from Jane’s chilly stare. “Okay. Okay. All right, already! Uncle,” he laughs and throws up his hands.

  “Well? Lighten up, will you!” Jane scoots up to the stainless steel counter, her right shoulder turned slightly away from her friend, and makes busy. Yanking a massive book out from under a prized Vera Bradley satchel that does a great job of concealing her iPad, she noisily thumbs through to page 178. The dry-erase board at the front of the room confirms Chapter 16. She is on the right assignment. Jane takes a deep breath and grabs up her silly pink flamingo pen, a souvenir Bryce brought back from the Keys.

  “Pressure is measured in units: 1 atm = 101300 Pa = 101.3 kPa = 760 mm Hg = 14.7 psi.” Jane blinks a couple of times, as the words and symbols blur on the page and her mind wanders.

  It’s bad timing, that’s all. Jane hates letting Bryce down and worries about taking their friendship too much for granted. But homecoming! What’s the big deal! Like, the whole affair is entirely overrated. It’s just a huge, rowdy friend-fest on steroids. Been there, done that. And anyway, her Bryce has lots of friends he can hang out with. They’ll all be there.

  For Jane, spending crunch-time on her dad’s latest enterprise is far more important. They are on a tight schedule to catalog those antiques they wish to post for auction on eBay and sell to the highest bidder. Since she is the official techie in the family, Jane was also given her dad’s approval to design her own website; something she has never done before. Jane wants to call it Artsy Oldies & Cozy Keepsakes for a particular line she has set aside just for this purpose. There are tons of research, descriptions to write, photos to take and a lot of other details to wrap up. Jane took on this project over the summer and is absolutely not willing to brush it aside. Not for anything . . . or anyone.

  Well, maybe a geek in denial, Jane regresses. While tossing that thought around a bit, Bryce suddenly reaches over, flips a few pages in her book and points at an illustration. Zoned out, Jane is missing Mr. Applegate’s droning lecture on potential energy. Not her favorite subject. She gives Bryce a sideways glance and smiles. He is such a good friend and an expert at reading her. In fact, Bryce knows more about Jane than anyone else in the world, even her dad.

  How do you describe a geek anyway? If it means a hobby enthusiast who enjoys laser-beam focus and binging on infinitesimal details, you can count her in. If it means a potential outcast, destined for the no-friend zone and life of a celibate monk, well then, she’s your girl. “Besides,” Jane would always say in her defense when anyone questioned her odd occupation, “what else would you have me do in Vidalia? That’s Toombs County Georgia, home of the sweet onion, y’all!”

  To her, she is simply doing what comes natural. It’s the warm fuzzy feeling, the desire to have an intimate connection to history that feeds her hunger. Jane has always had this craving to be acquainted with people through the things they left behind. It is a window, a glimpse into their private world. She is captivated by their possessions, the things that traveled with them through time, only to survive beyond the grave and carry the very essence of humanity. These precious objects that others would perceive and discard as junk. Vessels touched by human hands, which have shared life experiences and are privy to another world and another place. They never cease to rouse Jane’s desire to know more.

  This industry more than likely
began in the Peterson household as a means of escape more than anything else. Although Jane’s dad is a kind and patient man, and tremendous influence in his daughter’s life, he spent a considerable amount of time away from the house. Jane realized early on it is sadly because of her mom.

  “You say you love me, but you sure as heck don’t act like it.” To which Jane might promptly feel the sting of her mother’s hand across her cheek. She knows better than to smart off, but her mom can be a real case sometimes. One minute she is caring, giving, and everyone’s best buddy. The next minute she can be distant, agitated and disappointed with the world. It’s like turning a switch on and off. Call it hormones, call it bipolar, call it whatever you like, her mood swings were difficult and could be a real problem for anyone within range. Unfortunately, most of the time that someone is Jane.

  Although Jane’s complex relationship with her mom became a clash between neurotic and calm, the relationship with her dad totally differs. Jane can’t believe how fortunate she is to have a dad who, for all purposes, is a history geek too. Over her lifetime, he has taught Jane everything he knows about the wide world of antiquing.

  Actually, it was an antique that had given Jane’s parents the idea for her name. The letters J - A - N - E, worn down with time, are engraved on the rose gold band of a rare eighteenth century lover’s eye ring that her dad brought home one day to his then, very pregnant wife. The ring would be given to Jane on her sixteenth birthday, with her dad’s special blessing, “A real treasure has come into your life, Janie. You must handle it with care, but I want you to wear it and enjoy it. Use your ring as it was intended. Then, one day it will carry your spirit with it to another place.”

  Jane loves every aspect of her ring. The tiny impression of a gentleman’s eye skillfully painted in miniature on ivory and encircled with tiny split pearls. An eye the color of dark brown molasses, framed in black lashes, sensitive, staring. She had learned the ring was unique because many like it were painted in watercolors and regrettably damaged through careless handling over the centuries. In the back of her mind, Jane keeps thinking she will find a match to it in an artist’s rendering or an old photograph. Who is he, this eye of the past? What was his life like? Was he gazing with adoration upon his one true love or did he die an untimely death and this tiny resemblance was someone’s poignant gesture of unfathomable loss? What might his joys and sorrows have been? What hardships did he bear? Did he have hopes and dreams the same as she?

  Her lover’s eye, in a great sense, would be a promise. It is the catalyst that set Jane’s own hopes and dreams into motion long before she gained clarity of purpose and came into her own.

  As soon as she was old enough, Jane willingly took over her dad’s large inventory of antiques and vintage items. She spent countless hours investigating their history and honing her skills with a remarkable aptitude for identifying features, finding significant snippets of weight, and assessing true values. In her pursuit to grow her knowledge, she had learned the art of research. The Internet provided a vast wealth of information. Jane admitted she also liked getting her hands dirty. At the public library in town, one employee referred to Jane as “the girl with the voracious appetite for anything historical.” She was a frequent visitor, sifting through the library’s plethora of old books, records, catalogs, clippings, and prints.

  From the start Jane’s dad understood his daughter’s passion and encouraged it. When everyone argued Jane was way too young, she was given full access to everything her dad collected over the years and crammed into the expansive third floor attic he had claimed as his man cave. When she turned thirteen, a corner of the attic was partitioned off and officially set up as “Jane’s Office.” The space was equipped with a fine roll top desk and Jane’s first Apple computer, printer and scanner. Her dad bought her the best on the market, along with the fastest Internet connection available, which she immediately put to good use.

  Yes, history had captured Jane’s heart at the deepest level. It is her own secret world, tangible bond with her dad, and much needed break from her mother. It has given her a sense of exploration and discovery, of greatness and hope. It has taught her about people and places, stretched her perspective, given her ideas and created dreams to dream. It has set her free.

  CHAPTER TWO

  If you ask Art Peterson to choose, he will declare being a father first and picker second as the two things he secretly enjoys most in life. He is a collector of antiquities and Jane is his right hand, sharing his favorite pastime with equal parts of enthusiasm and satisfaction. A man couldn’t ask for anything better.

  How does the saying go? “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” Well, Art will be the first to admit that picking gets into your blood. When you spot something, it’s the kind of thing that makes the heart skip a beat. And the opportunities are endless. There’s always something out there just waiting to be had.

  Of course, picking is just his hobby. For more serious income and as he would always say, “to raise Jane up,” Art owns and operates a vintage motorcycle restoration and repair shop in Vidalia. He and his crew have made quite a name for themselves in bikers’ inner circles and with well-heeled motorcycle investors and enthusiasts all over the country. In fact, there is an autographed picture of Jay Leno astride his 1924 Ace four-cylinder Sport on the wall in his office. They once did a small job for the late night talk show host and comedian, who happened to pick up one of Art’s business cards at a motorcycle charity event in Atlanta.

  Although the shop keeps Art occupied a good part of the time, when he’s not at work or off on a business trip, he hits the road. Every chance Art gets and for as long as anyone can remember, he has scoured the countryside for old relics — every junkyard, every barn, and every old shed or trailer. Every now and then he might catch an estate sale or make a mad dash to some godforsaken place on a tip.

  Art once explained to Jane, “Think of it as getting hold of objects that have lost their way and finding new homes for them. It’s always a shame when things that were so special to someone are hidden away and never enjoyed or found useful again. There’s beauty in everything. Even when it’s aged, tarnished or rusting away.”

  You know the stories. The one about the lady who said she paid seven dollars at a flea market for a napkin-sized painting that turned out to be a Renoir. How about the scrap metal dealer who found a gold Fabergé egg in a box of old toasters and worn cutlery at a neighborhood yard sale? Well, Art will be the first to laugh good-naturedly about such nonsense. If you’re around him enough, though, he might tell you a few stories of his own.

  With a hunter’s instinct and an eagle eye, there was the time when he spotted a two-dollar bottle with a peculiar label that turned out to be a rare Coca-Cola relic. Art gets especially excited when he talks about the collection of late eighteenth century fishing lures picked out of a five-dollar box that was eventually valued at many hundreds of dollars. Or, when he uncovered a pair of rare Paris blue neoclassical porcelain vases at an estate sale and not but a week later found a first issue and printing of Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. The latter, he decided to keep in his private collection of books.

  There’s always that chance of striking it really big. But until such a day comes, Art has a pretty good knack for finding things that bring in an especially good price. Whenever this happens, he has made it a habit of calling out, “Janie! Let’s pack up the old truck and go get you some college. Savannah will want to do business with us.” And just like that he and his daughter set off on the eighty-two mile ride to one of the oldest cities in the United States and a place Jane is drawn to like a moth to a flame.

  Given Savannah’s rich history, it should come as no surprise the city is home to a surplus of antique shops. And most of their owners, these dealers in old things, are on a first-name basis with Art Peterson. They welcome him with open arms and high expectations, hoping beyond hope he has finally brought them the find of the century.

  Of
course, beyond the antique shops and Art’s modest hobby is Savannah. A magical place where the past clings to life and gently merges with the present and the living. Millions of visitors come to Savannah each year to enjoy its antebellum architecture, green spaces and famous riverfront. You can still hear the clop, clop, clop of horse drawn carriages to this day.

  “Close your eyes, Jane. Do you feel it? Do you feel the people that walked these very streets so many years ago? Can you feel their presence?” Art knew his daughter’s love of history and the effect Savannah had on her. He would tell her stories of Savannah as they explored its streets and passageways. For fun, they would pick up leaflets and flyers about the city’s history from tourist racks. Then on the drive home, father and daughter would have long animated debates on what was accurate, based on hard fact and logic and what might be fiction, as time has a way of altering truths and fabricating lies.

  Once, Art took Jane on one of the walking ghost tours in the heart of the historic district. Their guide, who was decked out in period garb, shared compelling stories and eyewitness accounts of ghost sightings. It is believed by some there are many lost souls haunting the historic mansions, squares and centuries-old cemeteries. Their pleasant stroll along ancient cobbled streets and through narrow alleys and byways led by lantern-light started out innocently enough. But the experience would soon progress into chilling tales of epidemics, massive fires, horrible injustices and unspeakable horrors. By the time the tour was over both Art and Jane were so spooked it had them looking over their shoulders, and then laughing hysterically at each other for being so silly.

  Yes. Savannah is a mesmerizing place that grows more intriguing and beautiful with the passage of time. With every visit, Art watched the seed of an idea grow in his Janie. She became more convinced that one day she would live in this remarkable place, steeped in history and calling her name. And that day would come soon enough.