The Lincoln Penny

by Barbara Best

  There’s a light tap on the door. “It’s Maple, Miss Jane. I’se come ta see if you be needin’ sumpin before I turn in for da night?”

  “No, Maple. I’m just fine. Thank you for checking on me.” Jane gets up and opens the door a crack. Maple steps back. “The boys are fine for now and you are doing a great job helping me keep their mother away so she doesn’t get sick too. Susan’s doing okay, right?”

  “Yes, Miss Jane. She doin’ jess fine. But she be worried sumpin awful bout her boys.”

  “Please tell her the twins are resting peacefully. They had a good day, but they will probably be sick a few more days. Edward’s case is worse than David’s, but his fever is manageable. He’s drinking what we give him without a fight, and keeping it down now. I think they are both going to be fine, really. Ezra is watching them now while I rest a bit. Then I’ll be back at it. We are not going to let anything happen. I promise.”

  “I know, Miss Jane. You be-a angel and answer to prayer. Maple won’t ever forget what you done.”

  “Well, it’s not over yet, but thank you Maple. Now, get back to Susan and we’ll let you know what’s going on in the morning. Hopefully we’ll see some improvement. If not tomorrow, then the next day.”

  Ezra and Maple have been a great support to Jane. Maple has spent a considerable amount of time preparing liquid concoctions made of carrots and greens, parsley, and who knows what, that seems to be working. The vitamins they are getting from this have worked wonders and will possibly help them avoid complications. The lemon juice and honey mixed in warm water has soothed their raw throats and helped with the painful coughing.

  Maple has made sure Jane and Ezra have plenty to eat and reports in to let Jane know how she and Susan are doing. Susan has a runny nose, but shows no other symptoms. Now that Jane is more familiar with measles firsthand, she knows what to look for. Maple says she doesn’t think Susan has fever and there is no rash or white specks in her mouth. She is making sure Susan rests and drinks plenty of fluids, just like the boys. So far, Susan, Maple and Ezra are virus-free and hopefully, it will stay that way.

  On the afternoon of the fifth day of Jane’s stay, a doctor visits the Caldwell family. And wouldn’t you know, it happens to be one of the men that approached Jane and Jimmy when they first came into town from Fort Jackson. The same doctor she mentioned, over tea, to Mrs. Hopkins.

  “Upon my soul! Miss Peterson! Aren’t we full of surprises? Nursing the boys single handedly, are we. Admirable! Mrs. Caldwell and this household are all a-buzz with stories about your skills. An angel from heaven, they say.” Doctor Arnold stands with his thumbs hooked under the lapels of his black wool frock coat, filling the room with good cheer.

  David on the left and Edward on the right are propped up on pillows, looking much recovered. Clean boys, lying in clean beds, well hydrated and nourished. And their rash, especially Edward’s, which was so angry at the beginning, is slowly clearing up. The room is still protected from light, but well ventilated.

  “I remember you. It’s Doctor Arnold, right?” The kinder and most sincere of the three gentlemen. “The boys are getting better every day and I think they are finally out of danger. I’ve managed to keep Susan away from them so she doesn’t catch the measles too. Which is hard for a mom.” Jane smoothes her apron and straightens her shoulders. “So far, so good,” she smiles.

  Doctor Arnold is stumped by the boys’ remarkable recovery. “Mrs. Caldwell is in good health and exceedingly grateful for what you have done for the twins. She made me wash my hands before I examined her. Where did you happen on such treatments?” Doctor Richard Arnold had gotten an earful about the frequent washings with soap and use of alcohol and boiling water to kill germs that cause illness. Why, the very idea of tiny, invisible animals spreading disease is fanciful gibberish. They also talked about the different types of drink concoctions Jane had inspired their slave, Maple, to make and the importance of the body staying hydrated. Strange indeed!

  “It’s just the way we do things where I come from.” Jane clamps her mouth shut and swears she’s not going to say another word about it.

  “Well, it appears you are most learned on the subject of measles, Miss Peterson. Are you a midwife, then?”

  “No. I just know a few things that have come in handy. With that, and a little luck, thankfully no one else has gotten sick here.”

  “I must say luck has little to do with it, my dear. Mrs. Caldwell also tells me about your success in caring for her brother’s injuries as well. We must talk more on your medicinal theories and practices some time. Where did you say you were from?”

  “I didn’t say.” Jane bats her eyes and turns the corners of her mouth up to form a most amiable expression, southern-bell style. He’s a nice man, but she’s not going there.

  Jane is still undecided about how she is going to do the big reveal and unveil her plethora of knowledge about the advancement of mankind over the next one hundred and fifty years. From horse and buggy to breaking the sound barrier and putting a man on the moon; from wars with rifle and cannon to semi-automatics, drones and nuclear weapons. What about all the thousands of advancements in medicine and science like the development of disease-specific vaccines, antibiotics and all the surgeries that improve upon the quality of life? And how do you begin to tell someone about electricity, phones, cable TV, Wi-Fi, satellites, and computers. Or, that in her time there will be the first black President in the White House. To even begin to think about all she knows at her ripe old age of twenty-four, makes Jane’s head spin.

  “Ahem,” Richard clears his throat. He is not one to be brushed off by an angelic smile. He will let this go for now but this young woman’s practices are extraordinary and surprisingly effective.

  Three children, who attended church with the Caldwell family, had also contracted measles and their heartbroken parents now mourn three fresh little mounds in the cemetery. He is thankful Edward and David fared well, but from his experience, measles is deadly.

  Richard takes a hanky out of his pocket and slowly wipes his glasses, “Well then. Let’s have a look at your patients, shall we?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Their lives had come to a screeching halt. But slowly the wheels of perpetual motion, working as if without change, propel them forward again. Like a minute hand rounding a clock without expending energy or ever winding down. There’s no logical barrier, just some unknown force constantly providing a power source to move their lives along.

  Art, shattered and suddenly old, left for Texas yesterday. Bryce drove him to Savannah/Hilton Head International and they had talked more about the private investigator they hired. With some luck, maybe he will be able to shed light on the mystery of Jane’s disappearance.

  Bryce and Art had signed the contract with Detective Pollard, a retired cop and ex-marine, who had impressive credentials and a decent reputation around town. Although not being in a position to contribute much, Bryce insisted on helping pay for a smaller portion of the fee. He has to feel like he’s doing something.

  Like Art, Bryce is being forced to flee the scene as well. There is no way he can stay in Savannah a minute longer. It’s a matter of survival at this point. His parents, who were terribly upset by the news about Jane’s disappearance, had sent some money to help out. However, it’s not enough to pay for everything. He has to get back to work and school.

  Before heading back to Athens, Bryce swings by Copperfield and Brine to say goodbye to Sophie. Against Ben’s better judgment she’s back in the office, trying to pull herself together after the senseless loss of her friend.

  “It’s better at work,” Sophie gives Bryce a hug as they head a block down the street to the corner coffee shop in downtown Savannah. “Keeping busy so there’s no time to dwell.”

  “I know what you mean. What’ll you have?”

  “Tall Mocha. Thanks.”

  The two sit down at a small table by the window. Spring is in the air and the trees are greening up ni
cely. “I’m headed home.” Bryce takes a sip of his espresso. Good and strong. “There’s nothing left for me to do here. I think it’s best for us all to get back to our routines.”

  “It was so good you were here. Jane told me how special you are. The best friend a person could ask for. She never did anything without mentioning you, you know. The only man in her life as far as I can tell.”

  “Yeah, well.”

  “I’m so sorry, Bryce. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Sure.” Bryce puts on his best face. No use telling her about the sleepless nights. No use telling her he’s an idiot for letting Jane go. No use saying that it’s somehow his fault. “But I’m not ready to give up yet. Just keep thinking I’ve missed something. Can’t explain it.”

  “I know what you mean. There’s no closure. It’s hard to let go.”

  “How’s Ben?”

  “He’s giving me a hard time for going back to work so soon. He’s okay, though. Just worried about me. What do you mean you’re not giving up?”

  “I just keep thinking about the key. Maybe it’s there somewhere. I’m headed out to Pulaski after this. Hopefully the ranger, if he’s there, will let me look around.”

  “Jane always said you had her back. I wish you the best, Bryce.” Sophie had promised Ben she would take a break from all the craziness. So she has turned it off like a faucet. What happened, well it happened and that’s that. Sophie stands, “I have to get back. Thanks for the coffee. You have our number to call if you’re ever in town. You’re welcome at our place any time. You know that.” She has a feeling they’ll see him again. Sophie and Ben both like Bryce. He’s a great guy. He’s Jane’s guy.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Almost three months and there are still no answers. Police have left the case open at the insistence of the Peterson family but there are no leads. Nothing. Jane Peterson has simply vanished.

  “Wish I could tell you more. I’m satisfied the police and the FBI did a thorough investigation. Her car, the little Fiesta, was left at the scene right where she parked it. I’ve been over it myself. There was nothing inside that looked unusual. Nothing was found in her apartment. We don’t have a motive. Mrs. Downing, Sophie Downing, our only real witness has been interviewed and there’s nothing. No evidence of foul play. No one who was there that night saw anything suspicious.

  “I did some checking around and everything about your Miss Peterson checks out. She’s clean as a whistle. Nothing out of the norm. No boyfriend or relationship gone bad. Nothing else going on that might make her take off for some reason. No issues where she works. No money problems. No peculiar messages with her phone service. Nothing on her computer. Nothing strange on Facebook or Twitter.”

  The private investigator Art and Bryce hired shakes his head and throws a file with a couple of good solid months’ worth of work onto his desk. “Things like this . . . tough on families. It’s hard to let go. Who knows, maybe she’ll show one day.” Detective Pollard’s phone goes off and he checks the screen, seeming all too indifferent.

  “Yeah, maybe she will, maybe she won’t.” Bryce says in a level tone when actually he wants to punch the guy out. The thought of giving up makes him madder than hell. Bryce is beginning to think they have wasted their money and time on this guy. Give me a break! He’s still messing with his phone! “Guess there’s nothing else then.” Bryce raises his voice a notch to get the man’s attention.

  This whole affair has put Bryce on edge and kept him up most nights. He can’t focus on his life — the one he thought was all sewn up. He should have never gone off to college and left Jane to eventually make her way to Savannah by herself. They had never made promises, hell they hadn’t even had sex. Damn him for not making more out of their relationship.

  What was I thinking! He just couldn’t see putting anything before his lifelong dream to become a doctor and paving the way to make a comfortable life for his one-day wife, and would-be family. Jane, of course, was on board with his aspirations. Always encouraging, always patient, always wanting what made him happy. The best friend he’s ever had.

  Pollard snaps his phone back onto his belt. “Like I told Mr. Peterson, the Bureau poked their nose around here for a couple of weeks but they’ve moved on. And the locals? Well, Savannah ain’t Atlanta you know. Their resources here are stretched to the max, especially with the economy screwed six ways ‘til Sunday. Pardon my French. But everything checks out up to the time Miss Peterson disappeared. It wasn’t that hard to get the whole story. I can’t see taking any more of you nice folk’s money by stretching this thing out. I don’t have answers. For whatever reason, she’s just gone.”

  “Well, that’s it then. We appreciate what you’ve done Detective. We’ll have the final check to you in a few days.” Bryce and Art had already decided earlier in the week to wrap things up with this guy.

  When they talked over the phone, Art sounded a little better, though things would never be the same. ‘A parent should never outlive their child,’ were his exact words. Bryce felt like yelling at the poor man for being a quitter. Yet, in all fairness, where do they go from here? It’s a dead end. The well has run dry.

  Bryce had had to get a cash advance from his credit card, insisting on helping pay for some of this stuff. He’s already up to his eyeballs in student loans, what’s a little more, right. His job at the hospital is not bringing in enough to make a dent in his debt. So much for putting money aside for an emergency! What money!

  Bryce makes the drive to Fort Pulaski before it gets too late in the day. He wants plenty of time to spend there, unhurried and uninterrupted. Maybe get a chance to talk with the Ranger, who he must admit is a pretty great guy.

  The drive out on the raised highway through the Georgia marshland is relaxing. The place even has a different smell about it. The Savannah summer climate was thick and sticky, but Bryce had rolled down his windows anyway to clear his head. The still brackish air whooshing through his jeep windows lifts his spirits a bit. He wonders what Jane was thinking on her way to what was supposed to be a fun-filled weekend in her new hobby. The event was important enough for her to even sidestep their usual plans for April 10th. Instead, their time together would be postponed to the next couple of days he had off at the hospital. At the time, he didn’t think a thing of it. “There’s no rush,” Jane had said, “We have plenty of time to celebrate.”

  When Jane first told Bryce she was serious about reenacting and how much fun it was, it came as no surprise. It was the perfect hobby for her. And since Jane tended to be more of a loaner, Bryce was especially glad to hear she was breaking out, making friends and keeping busy. Jane had been living history, in her own way, all the years he had known her. Immersed in collectibles and antiques; soaking up historical facts like a sponge. Jane always had an interesting story to tell about what it was, when it was made, how it was used, where it had been, and who would have cared about it. She had learned so much from her dad and because Jane was so practiced on the subject, well, anyone who took the time to listen to her would agree she had become quite the expert.

  Bryce pulls into the parking area, on rows of freshly cut lawn. He turns off the ignition just like Jane had done and in the very spot she parked her car the weekend she disappeared. He’s walked it before, scouring the ground, every detail, as if per chance he’ll catch something they missed. Today, there’s nothing but fire ant mounds and a few piles of deer poop. He walks by a couple of parked vehicles. It’s mid-week, not many tourists out and about.

  He works his way up the walkway that runs along the right side of fort and turns left over a wooden bridge. Through a brick passage, he turns right to cross the drawbridge. It’s a pretty, peaceful place. Bryce stops for a minute, peering down at the dark grayish water and catches movement. A small alligator leisurely swims in his protected habitat. The moat runs the entire perimeter of the fort so this is the only way in and the only way out.

  “Hi there . . . it’s Bryce, right?”

&nb
sp; Bryce looks up to see Frank Granger . . . the Park Ranger. Funny and easy to remember. Bryce smiles in greeting, “Hey, how are things going with you, Frank.” The two men shake hands and head in.

  “Same ole, same ole. What brings you here?”

  “Oh, you know. Just looking around.”

  “Well, there’s nothing much changed here, but I know what you mean. If it were my girl, I’d be here too.”

  His girl. How come everyone seems to know he and Jane were, are a thing. Everybody but me, stupid! “I just keep thinking something has been missed. Maybe something will show up in that section over there where she was last seen.” He looks across the expansive parade ground, at the single symbolic cannon, and the old pecan and fig trees. Jane said they were planning to play croquet out on the lawn by that fig tree. She found an old antique croquet set her dad had picked up somewhere. Bryce tries to imagine her being here.

  “The casemates,” Frank helps. “Casemates are all those divided sections with the arched entrances along the back and sides. Miss Peterson was last seen in Casemate 8.” They start the walk in that direction. “The numbers are painted at each entrance.” He waits for a minute, seeing Bryce is not really listening. “Yeah, I know, this whole thing has gotta be tough. Hey, did you hear I’ve been transferred? Fort Jefferson, Dry Tortugas National Park. I hit the jackpot!”

  “That’s off the coast of Key West isn’t it?”

  “Yup. Down in the islands and only one of the more interesting transfers a guy can get in this business. You have to take a boat or seaplane to get there.”

  “That’s pretty cool. When’s your last day here?” Bryce is disappointed he’s losing his contact. And Frank’s been great to know, real understanding.

  “Two weeks and I’m outta here.”

  “That’s great news Frank. Though, it means the next time I come you won’t be here. That part really sucks.”