Redivivus

Lincoln was also growing taller and stronger each day. His legendary height could have been problematic, but Isabella was handy at lengthening pants and shirts as necessary. We were careful to get rough-home-spun fabric for his clothing, including his underclothing (aka skivvies). We didn’t bother with shoes for Abe. He would have outgrown them every day. Besides, boys in rural Kentucky and Indiana did not have shoes. Frequent bathing was unknown. In fact, had there been bumper stickers in those days, his would have read ‘The barn is my aroma therapy’. He truly enjoyed our morning dip in the Sangamon. It was still quite cold, but that didn’t bother either of us. A quick swim from shore to shore and we were out and quickly sitting next to the fire in his room. He loved to chat. And chat. And chat. And argue. I knew enough about him that his arguing was not just adolescent rebellion, but a genuine skill he was already honing. After lunch he would read and then go to the forest around the estate and chop wood. His skill at this was legendary and it was a marvel to watch him work at it. Any task he was asked to perform, he did obediently. I suspect his strict father had instilled that virtue in him and now it was playing out in a new time and place. He loved the invention of the airplane and said he would like to ride in one. He was disappointed to learn that they no longer existed. Ever since the outlawing of fossil fuels in all but the most backward parts of the world, airplanes weren’t flying. The hover industry, using vector power, had taken over. I showed him those early films of the Wright Brothers adventure at Kitty Hawk, then the development of passenger planes, jets, and finally spacecraft. He watched the famous film of Neil Armstrong exiting his spaceship and setting foot on the moon. He asked to see it several times. I told him about the recent return of the Mars crew. He was slack-jawed, marveling at what had been accomplished. I had Darius bring the manual typewriter out and then showed him how computers developed. I then asked him to touch the top of his head, slightly on the side. He winced. I explained to him, this is the spot where the bullet entered you on 14 April 1865. It is sore now because a few nights ago I implanted in your skull one of the microchips that every child receives now at birth. I have controlled the type and amount of information available to you, but soon you will be caught up. I didn’t want to give you everything too quickly. “Abe,” I explained, “first, you will be pleased to know that on the centennial of your birth the United States mint issued a penny coin with your image on it as a way to honor you. The penny stopped being used in 2020, its value was so immaterial, but collectors keep them. Let me show you one.” I went into the armoire in the ‘Women’s Parlor’, opened the middle drawer, pulled out a framed set of the now-useless coins, and extracted a shiny Lincoln penny and handed it to him. It was a 2009 issue, two hundred years since his birth and one hundred years since the first Lincoln penny. He held it like it might explode. Then he turned it over in his large hand several times, his head tilting to catch the image of his face from every angle. A great smile broke out and he chortled, “Well, at least this ugly face of mine was good for something! And you said that the penny was worthless!” And he laughed up a storm.