Pennies From Across the Veil

By Dennis Higgins

The seemingly paranormal phenomena recorded in this book are entirely based on actual events.

Pennies From Across the Veil is a love story... about death. Karl Himmel tells the story to an unknown presence, how he met, fell in love, and married the woman of his dreams, Jenny Engels. But at the time of the telling, Karl and Jenny find themselves on different sides of the veil. The separation we call death.

But not even death can stop true love. More often than not, powerful signs come to those left on Earth, from loved ones who have passed. These signs can be found anywhere and everywhere. We just need to look for them. One of the more significant signs for Karl and Jenny was the finding of numerous, wheat-back pennies. However, there were many others. Did these signs have a deeper meaning?

Note: A wheat-back penny is an American cent, minted between 1909 and 1958. They were struck from 98% pure copper.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis Higgins
• Release date: Sep 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005454869

Dennis Higgins

Award-winning author, Dennis Higgins is a distant relative of Davy Crockett, King of the wild frontier. He has traveled the world over, collecting story ideas. As a native of Chicago, Illinois, Dennis Higgins has a passion for things that are gone but not forgotten, a romance with the past. For him, time travel is the answer. If not for real, then in the pages of his books.He now lives in the Chicago suburbs with his lovely wife, and their Lhasa Poo dog, Dom Perignon.Among his influences are Richard Matheson, Jack Finny, Dean Koontz, Joan Wester Anderson, Peter S. Beagle, and Audrey Niffenegger.Author of Pennies From Across the Veil, Parallel Roads (Lost on Route 66), the Time Pilgrim series: (Katya and Cyrus, Almost Yesterday, and Tomorrow's Borrowed Trouble), Steampunk Alice, The Old Scrapbook, The Writer’s Apprentice, Christmas Returns to Pottersville, Confessions of an Internet Scammer, Goes to Eleven, and The Automated Wife.*****Quote:I once had a passionate affair with an Irish lass back in 1871 Chicago. I broke her heart. It just wasn't our time.

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Copyright © 2019 by Dennis Higgins

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First addition: WCP 2015

Second addition:

Publisher: Time Pilgrims Publishing 2020

http://www.timepilgrims.com/

Printed in the United States of America

Cover art by: Kellie Dennis

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Dedication

To all my dearly departed, especially my mom, Betty, of whom this book was influenced with her sending of coins, my sister, Trish, my dad, Jack, and my dear sister in-law, Vic. Also, for my family still with me- my darling wife, Trina, my Brother, David, my children, Jessica (Jon), Matthew, and Aaron, along with my grandson, Henry. Never forget to tell the people in your life that you love them.

The seemingly paranormal phenomena recorded in this book are entirely based on true events.

Chapter 1

Birds of Dissimilar Feathers

She had a knack for finding those old wheat-back pennies I loved to collect. That was how I knew we were meant to be together.

Her name was Jennifer Penelope, but I liked calling her Jenny Penny. Not only because of the pennies that seemed to find their way to her, but also because her hair was the color of a newly minted cent.

* * * *

Why is it so dark in here? I can barely see you. How am I feeling, you ask? Sure, I’ll tell you. I’m feeling incredibly lonely. I miss her. God, how I miss her. I wonder why I can no longer hear her voice or feel her near me. Can you move closer, so I can see you when I talk? Let me tell you about her. Like I said, her affluent parents named her Jennifer Penelope Engels. Who would name a baby that? Yeah, she was rich, but cut off from the family fortune when she took up with the likes of me. That’s how they put it in their smug, no-holds-barred way. I would describe her face as simply pretty. Her green eyes sparkled with love whenever she looked at me. God, I miss her. Where the hell is she? This loneliness is crippling.

I did her wrong once, you know. I cheated on her. It was a bad time in my life. Jenny and I were going through a lot of crap. I know, it’s no excuse. But do you know what my darling Jenny did? She forgave me. That’s right. How could she do that? Not only that, she ended up befriending Cindy, the girl in which I had my indiscretion. Cindy was nice…an old, old friend, but I wasn’t in love with her. I loved Jenny. It was always her. Karl and Jenny, true love forever. I ask you, what happened to forever? What happened to love? I feel none of that here.

It’s cold in here. Aren’t you cold? You’re not much of a talker, are you? Yeah, I used to be that way. Jenny would talk and talk, and I just loved listening to her. Well, I have to admit…sometimes I tuned her out. Most guys do that, I think.

What do you mean, did I ever think about dying? Hell no, not at first. I mistakenly thought I’d live forever. I believe Jen did too. We never discussed death. Imagine my surprise. I never thought it would be like this. I feel like the room is full of people, yet how is it, I feel such loneliness? Even with you here asking me questions. How long have we been here? I don’t seem to have any perception of time. It’s like I’ve just arrived, yet have been here talking to you for years.

Alright, let me start from the beginning. I met Jenny on a camping trip, near Mount St. Helen in Washington. I was with a group of friends. Back then I was younger by nine years and in great shape. I had left the group to hike on my own and take some photos. That’s when I came upon a girl sitting on a rock. She was overlooking a clearing and peering through the largest set of binoculars I had ever seen. They literally dwarfed her face.

Hi, I said.

Shhhh, she shushed, waving her hand behind her.

I crept up closer, trying to see what it was she was looking at. I pointed my camera and tried to look through the viewfinder. What is it? I whispered.

SHHHH! Oh, look, now you’ve frightened him away. Why did you do that?

I…I don’t know. Now I was embarrassed. What was it?

He was the very rare and illusive Red-Winged Blackbird, she answered with a serious look on her face.

I grimaced. I’m so sorry,

Well, you should be. This was a once in a lifetime chance for a birdwatcher.

Like I said, I’m really sorry…but wait a minute. Isn’t that the bird that can be seen along every American highway, on any given day?

She smiled at me, and this was the first time I noticed those sparkling green eyes.

Okay, so they’re not rare and elusive, she said. "But I like them. It’s only the males who have the color on their wings and give them their name, although they have a yellow band as well as red. Their real name is Agelaius phoeniceus, but that’s a mouthful. They can be found all the way from Alaska to Central America."

So you’re a birdwatcher, I noted.

I belong to the Seattle Audubon Society, she answered. I’m more than a birdwatcher; I’m a bird conservationist. I work with the society and even teach classes. My name’s Jenny.

Hi, Jenny. It’s nice to meet someone with such convictions. My name is Karl Himmel. That’s Karl with a K. My parents were born in Germany.

It’s nice to meet you as well. Do you like birds, Mister Himmel?

Please, call me Karl. Birds, well, yeah, I guess I do. I never thought much about them. My grandmother had a parakeet I sort of liked.

Well, Karl with a K, you don’t hunt them, or anything like that do you?

People hunt parakeets? I asked.

"I mean, do you hunt wild birds or any other animals for that matter?

Nope, I like nature; I’m a camper. Did you notice the backpack?

She looked deeply into my eyes with a serious expression. Would you take a vow to never molest a bird or any living creature?

Molest a bird? Why would anyone want to molest a bird?

That is the early wording of the society’s vow, she answered. But I’ll take your reaction as a firm, no.

Damn right you will.

Please, no swearing in the presence of the fowl, she said, smiling.

Oh, I’m sorry, may I take you to dinner to make up for my infringement on the sensitivity of birds?

Are you making light of this, Karl?

No, not at all, I answered. I’d just like to take you to dinner."

She smiled and pulled out a notebook. I watched as she scrawled something on it. She tore out the page and handed it to me. On it she wrote in large letters, Jenny Jenny, who can I turn to? 867-5309. I frowned, thinking I’d been snubbed. But then noticed, written really small at the bottom of the page was her name, Jenny Engels and a real number. I immediately entered it into my phone and returning the backpack to my back, I continued on with my hike feeling much lighter than I had before this chance meeting.

* * * *

So, my quiet friend, that’s how I met her. Wow, you really act out memories here, don’t you? I felt like I was up there on that hill with her. At that point, I didn’t really know much about her, but it’s amazing how much you can learn from a first meeting. For instance, I knew she was pretty, loved animals, especially birds and had a witty sense of humor. I also knew she lived in Seattle from her area code and liked bright colors. Did I mention that before? She wore an orange sweater. Reminded me of the color of the car in that TV show, Dukes of Hazard.

Damn, it’s uncomfortable here. What are we sitting on, anyway? I have this feeling of hopelessness. Like I’m waiting for something wonderful that might not ever come. How can I be waiting in a place that’s seemingly outside of time? Isn’t waiting the passing of time?

What’s that? Oh, you want to hear more about Jenny. Why not? I’ve got nothing better going on. Let’s see. I wasted no time before calling her. She requested we not go to the Del Rey which was my favorite eating and drinking spot. She wanted to go to some Italian joint on 35th because they offered a Vegan option. I didn’t mind, as long as she was willing to go out with me.

I drove my classic, yet rusty 1966 Mini-Cooper to her Broadmoor neighborhood to pick her up and this was the first time I realized, I was going out with a rich chick. I rang the doorbell which sounded like something out of an old movie. A butler answered and eyed me up and down with trepidation. That’s when I met her mother. She took a disliking to me from the first look. I could see I wasn’t good enough for her baby girl. But after first hearing a quote from Eleanor Roosevelt, I made it my motto: No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. So I pretended I was their equal. That my job at Microsoft as a video engineer paid more than it did. That my jeans were designer and my car was a rare, classic antique.

Then I spotted Jenny. She seemed nothing like her mother. She probably was in designer jeans, but she appeared down to earth and damn, she was cute. She looked good in those jeans too. When we met, I hadn’t even comprehended she had a figure to go along with that pretty face. I could have been blinded by hormonal infatuation, but to me, she was perfect.

Her mother never smiled. I would hope you’re home at a decent hour tonight, Jennifer. I want you up for breakfast in the morning. Your father and I have something to discuss with you.

Sure, mom, Jenny said, smiling. Maybe I’ll come home at breakfast time; that way I won’t be tempted to sleep in.

Her mother scowled. It was obvious she was a woman trying to come to terms with a daughter who had outgrown parental discipline. In fact, they only had one thing to use as leverage, and that was the family fortune. But it became apparent early on that Jenny didn’t care about money. That became evident at her choice of eating establishments. I mean, from the outside it looked nice in its own way, but certainly not something her parents would approve of.

I wanted to come around and open the door for her, but she beat me to it and popped out before I made it past the British flag on the hood of my Mini.

She immediately grabbed hold of my hand which delighted me, yet took me by surprise.

Thanks for bringing me here, Karl. I mean it. I didn’t want to step on your toes. It’s just not easy being a Vegan sometimes. I can’t just go everywhere and eat. Del Rey has some options, but not like this place.

I don’t mind, I answered, happy to be holding her hand. But you could have gotten the chicken, that’s not meat.

Don’t be stupid, she said. I know you’re kidding, but you would be surprised how many people say things like that and mean it. Or they say, have the fish or the mac and cheese. Actually, I know a place that does a killer vegan mac and cheese.

The waitress sat us, and we ordered a full carafe of a nice Lambrusco. Jenny raised her glass to me. Salute, she began and clinked my glass.

Are you Italian? I asked.

From my mom’s side. My dad’s German like you. I don’t really know where I get my hair and eye color. I must be a perfect collage of them both.

‘I would definitely say you’re perfect," I said, trying to be charming.

Ha, she laughed above her menu. Wait till you know me better. What are you going to order?

Usually I would have the veal parmesan, but I don’t think I can with you.

Nonsense, she answered. You may have anything you want. I am not judgmental. If you enjoy eating little calves that had been tied up in little dog houses for their entire life, unable to move so they remain tender to the consumer, it’s entirely your choice, and I won’t say a word about it. I may, however, give you dirty looks all throughout dinner, but pay no attention to it. It will be entirely involuntary movements of my face.

She smiled in a cute way that told me she was kidding, but also that she wasn’t. I’ll have the eggplant parmesan.

Do you like eggplant? She asked.

I hate it.

Then have the veal…or chicken, really, she said while touching my hand.

She really wasn’t judgmental either. Over the years, I limited my meat intake, but being a vegan seemed silly to me at times. I mean she wouldn’t eat honey. Bees are more than happy to make honey, aren’t they? But I always was the sort of guy who buried his head in the sand about such things. I never wanted to know how they treated cows or chickens or what hormone or chemical they were being fed. Maybe I should have, being this is where I ended up after losing the battle on the operating table. Is that what happened to me? Do you know? No, I didn’t think so. You’re just a wealth of information, aren’t you? Oh, I didn’t mean that. You’re probably in the same boat as me. Alright, I’ll tell you more. But when I’m done, it’ll be your turn.

That night when we left the restaurant, we took a walk to Discovery Park near the cemetery. As was my luck, or lack thereof, the rain started the moment our feet touched the sidewalk. I opened my big black umbrella, and she put her hand in the crook of my arm. She then thrilled me by snuggling in close.

We passed a homeless person, and as I always did, I looked the other way and sped up my pace. But Jenny stopped and walked back to him. She dug in her purse and handed him a twenty dollar bill. I was confused but impressed. She resumed snuggling under my umbrella, and we continued on.

Do you ever get depressed by the rain? she asked me, or by the lack of sunshine?

Why, because of living in Seattle?

Well, yeah, she answered. They do put a Starbucks on every corner just to keep us happy and awake here in the Emerald City.

I wasn’t born here, you know, I replied. I’m a transplant from the Jersey Shores. That was many years ago when I was just a lad. But to answer your question, I am one of those strange people who actually like overcast days and rain. They make me happy somehow. Otherwise, I may have moved to LA or Florida. You were born here?

Uh huh, but I live for sunbreaks. I love the sunshine. Oh, look, we’re at the cemetery. Let’s go in.

You want to walk through the cemetery at night? I asked. In the rain?

Sure, I love this place.

Cool!

I want to show you one grave I especially like, she said, then stopped dead in her tracks, bent down and dug her nail into the ground to pick something out of the mud. Check it out. Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you’ll have good luck. Wow, this one looks pretty old.

Let me see that, I said. She handed the coin over to me. I rubbed it between my rain-drenched fingers to remove years of caked-on dirt. It’s a wheat-back penny; I collect them. This one’s dated 1936 with an S mint. Look at the condition. I handed it back to her.

What does the S mean? she asked, looking the coin over.

It was struck in the San Francisco mint.

Well, I give this to you as a present…only, I’m going to hold onto it…something to remember you by. she slipped the coin into her pocket.

Thanks, we’ll share the good luck, I replied.

There it is. Jenny led me over to a lonely crooked gravestone next to an old abandoned shack. I read the engraving on the stone:

Albert Marquardt

German POW

Oct 1, 1945

I looked at her for an answer to who he was.

I believe nobody ever pays respect to this grave, she said sadly. From what I know, he was a prisoner of World War II, brought over here to Fort Lawton where he died from drinking cocktails mixed with wood alcohol. I have no idea whether he just didn’t know the drinks would kill him or he gave up and took his own life. They say he wasn’t even a Captain, but just a senior private…a nobody, really. Just some young man inducted into the German army during one of the most horrendous times in history. I imagine this grave sitting here for years and years without a single visitor. This was not his country, his war or possibly even his choice. In the forties, people here would have sneered at his grave. Over the next few decades, a great indifference would overshadow it. Nobody came to visit.

Until Jennifer Penelope Engels happened upon it, I said squeezing her hand.

She gave me a sad smile and paused. There’s also an unknown soldier here. I visit that one too, oh and an Italian POW who was killed in a riot. I never visit the ones with fresh flowers and well-kept graves. They’ve been remembered over the years.

You’re a good person, Jen.

She laughed. Only to the dead… Karl, where do you believe we go when we die?

*