Copper Penny

I was a nosy little girl.

Curiosity overcame me one day, and I started sifting through Mamma’s jewelry box. There, hanging from a thin chain and looking like treasure, I found a tiny heart-shaped locket. The piece was no bigger than Daddy’s thumbnail.

I quickly ascertained that there was a way to open it up. Inside was a tiny photograph of a baby.

“What are you doing in here?”

Caught!

Of course I was caught. Mothers always get suspicious and go looking for you if you’re not making any noise for too long.

I didn’t bother to answer her question; clearly I was in her room, going through her personal belongings—anyone could see that. Instead, I asked a question of my own. “Who is this? Is that baby me?”

Mamma held out her hand. Reluctantly, I placed the locket in her palm. She looked at the picture before snapping it closed. “No,” she replied. “That is your grandma; my mom.”

She sat on the bed, and I joined her. “My grandmother gave this to me when I was about twelve, I think. She said I would find a special picture to put inside someday. But I always believed this picture was as special as any other I could find. More special, probably.”

“Why don’t you wear it? It’s pretty!”

“The clasp broke. I don’t want to lose it.” She stood, replaced the locket and other trinkets into their proper places, and turned to face me. Hands on her hips, she gave me a stern look and said, “Now, you scoot your little butt out of my room, before I lose my temper. You know better than to be in here going through my things.”

“Yes, Mamma.”

**~**

There are things we really don’t want to do, and so we put them off—sometimes indefinitely.

I stood just inside the doorway of Daddy’s section. Boxes stood in one corner, stacked neatly. There was an item in one or the other—at least, I hoped there was. But I couldn’t make myself go further into the room.

I miss Mamma.

I had asked permission; I wasn’t being the nosy little girl I’d been in the past; Daddy knew I was here, and that I preferred to do this alone.

Poor Daddy.

It had been hard for me to work up the nerve and ask him. I don’t know why I’m so mean to him sometimes; nothing that happened was his fault, and yet…there’s this horrible “other Penny” who won’t let go of her anger with him.

He should have been there, this Penny insists. None of this would have happened if he wasn’t in the military and gone all the time.

This “other Penny” should realize that the same military—and country—that Daddy worked so hard for was to blame for everything. Dad understood this too late; he believed in service to country; he tried to change things, but all he could do, finally, was leave.

I—the Real Penny—understand this. But…yeah, I am still so pissed off.

He came for us, but he was too late to save her.

When we first arrived at the compound, Daddy went through all the things Mamma had packed into the van. Most of it was food; that was number one in importance. The books he gave to me right away. Certain special clothing had been saved, and the rest went into a community closet.

The boxes were personal things.

I was hoping to find the jewelry box.

I forced myself into the room and took the first box down.

**~**

We salvaged last week with Morty. There’s a bicycle in the garage that he and Sid are working on for me. The tires were rotted and it needs a new chain, but Sid insists we have what is needed to get it in working condition, and I believe him.

The thing that got me thinking, though, was the heart-shaped locket that we found in a house there. It didn’t have any photographs inside—it’s a watch, and Gramps fixed it right away. There isn’t any real reason to know what time it is—no one has any need to be anywhere at a specific time of day or night. It doesn’t even matter what day it is—we all have work to do; meals to prepare, things like that—no matter what a calendar says.

Even so, a lot of people find comfort in knowing that it is December, or Sunday, or 10:35 a.m. Mae is one of those people, and she loves that locket.

When I first set eyes on it, I remembered the one in Mamma’s jewelry box.

I fretted about it for a while. I didn’t want to ask Daddy. I also didn’t want to go looking for it without asking—people deserve their privacy, and they deserve to have their personal things left alone.

I told myself they weren’t actually his things—they were Mamma’s.

That didn’t work. I could clearly recall her disappointment in me when she discovered me in her room.

Asking Daddy was anticlimactic; I had psyched myself up, expecting a protest or a demand for an explanation. All he said was, “Sure. I don’t remember seeing it, but it’s fine if you want to look. Please put things away when you’re done.”

“I will.”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

**~**

There’s no way to adequately psyche yourself up to doing something like this.

Opening that first box was like ripping the bandage off a wound that hasn’t quite healed. I turned and left Daddy’s space and went to my own. I returned with a black marker and wrote in bold letters: Wedding.

Of course, I had to pull out the simple white dress and delicate veil, the guest book and the remaining announcements and thank-you cards. And, naturally, the wedding photo album. “Vance and Ariela, Forever More”, the cover announced, and I leafed through the pages. Daddy in his uniform; Mamma in a simple A-line with three-quarter length sleeves. It featured a square neckline and a beaded belt with tiny pink roses interwoven among beads of multicolored rosy hues. White slippers with pink roses adorned her tiny feet.

I looked closer—at her throat, the tiny locket sparkled.

Oh, Mamma! You were so beautiful. You were so young, too young to die!

For the first time, I could feel the heartbreak my father must have felt, watching as a stranger bludgeoned his wife and tossed her out the door. I could understand the rage that fueled his subsequent attack, and how it had given him the power to nearly decapitate a man using only a knife, and blow the head off another.

I felt a sudden perverse pride in Daddy.

I carefully went through the rest of the contents of the box, thinking perhaps the locket would be there, since she had worn it that day.

It was not.

By the time I had finished repacking the box, I was angry with Dad again. That should have surprised me, but it didn’t.

Nothing about me is simple, that’s for sure.

I kept the wedding album out. Mae and Dawn would love to see the pictures.

In the next box, I found old makeup and perfume that should probably have been given away when we got here. Well, the perfume, anyway. Who wants someone’s old makeup?

There were brushes and combs, hair ribbons and other hair accessories. I was going to confiscate this stuff! Why had Daddy kept it?

The third box yielded the jewelry box.

At last!

Mamma hadn’t been a woman who wore a lot of jewelry, but she had family who considered it the ultimate cool gift, and so there were quite a lot of different pieces inside.

It took a while to find the locket. I opened it, using my thumbnail to trigger the tiny latch. I stared at the picture of Grandma inside. She could have been my baby sister, Dawn—they looked so much alike! Of course, now Grandma is old…but the eyes—they’re the same.

I slipped the locket into my shirt pocket and put everything else away. I stacked the boxes neatly and took the photo album to my space and put it in my footlocker. I would ask Daddy before “confiscating” the hair accessories, but had no doubt he’d let me have them.

I’d also tell him up front that I had the album and would return it after showing my sisters.

Trust is earned. That’s a good lesson for anyone.

I went in search of Grandma.

I don’t seem to talk about Grandma much. Grandpa got this and the other compounds started before the end, along with several of his colleagues, and grandma just seemed content to come along for the ride.

After Mamma died, and we were all brought here, Grandma retreated for a while. It’s hard to retreat in an underground bunker—even a big one like ours—but Grandpa made sure no one disturbed her.

We were surprised by it, because when we first got here, she hugged and kissed us, cried over us and fed us. But once we moved underground, we didn’t get to see her for a while.

“Grandma is mourning,” Grandpa said. “This is her way. She wants to be alone, and we will respect her need to do things the way she sees fit.”

When she returned to whatever “normal” might be, most of her glorious white hair was gone. She had taken scissors to it and chopped it down to the scalp.

“Is that part of mourning?” I whispered to Grandpa, waiting as she slowly made her way to the dining area.

“I guess it was for her,” Grandpa replied quietly. “It will grow back.”

It has grown back, and when I found her in the cabin I ran my fingers through her snowy curls as I gave her a hug. “Your hair is so pretty,” I told her.

“Thank you.”

I showed her the locket. She smiled. “I was kind of a cute little stinker, wasn’t I?”

“Yes. Dawn looks just like you!”

“Oh, pooh. She looks like Dawn.”

“I thought you might like to have this, Grandma. When Mae found that watch, I thought of this. Maybe you have a picture of Mamma somewhere…”

“Oh, Penny. How thoughtful!” Her smile widened. “But I think you’d better hang on to this. I have one just like it that my mother gave to me when she gave this one to Ariela. Your mother. Wait.”

She left me and went to the big bedroom that she and Grandpa share. This cabin was built for them long before they added the rest of the compound, and she has many more things left from before The End than most people do, because they lived here for part of each year, and spent the rest of the time at their house in the city.

When she returned, she was carrying a locket. She opened it. Inside was a baby picture of my mother. Her red curls blazed and her blue eyes sparkled, and just for a second, I thought, Is that baby me?

“You look like your mother, Penny. So very much. The copper-color of your hair is darker than her carroty color, but—”

“Oh, Grandma!” I giggled. “Is that why I am Penny? Because my hair is copper?”

“Blame your Daddy for that,” Grandma laughed. “His ‘Copper Penny worth more than millions’, as he always said.”

“He said that?”

“He still does.”

I felt tears sting my eyes, and vowed to be nicer to my Dad.

“When my time comes to go, you will be given this locket,” Grandma said.

“No, you can’t go!”

“Everyone goes sometime.” Always pragmatic; except when she chopped off all her hair. “For now, it hangs on my mirror and I see my baby every day.”

“You should hang this one, too,” I said, and handed her the other. “Then you’ll be together.”

She studied me thoughtfully. Finally, she took the locket from my hand. We went to her room, where she transferred her own baby picture to the unbroken chain my mother’s picture hung from, and then she hung the chain on the corner of her dresser mirror and arranged the lockets side-by-side.

“Yes,” I said.

“Together,” she replied.

Daddy thinks I'm worth more than millions.

I look like my mother.

I find these are good things to know.

This story came about because I just didn't feel like the first one told enough of the story of Penny at this age. If you missed the first part, you can find it here:

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