"For safekeeping," he said. "Now, let's meet the man who owned the carpetbag — Honest Abe." And, he thought, I'd hate to do it, but if you don't believe us, the population of the Land of Lincoln will increase by one.

Nate helped her to her feet and they started toward the train station. A cart carrying a mahogany table and cupboard rattled past and forced them off the road. Mrs. Houghnagle craned her neck to watch the cart as it navigated a bend.

"Do you know what that furniture's worth?" she said.

Nate smiled at her. "Like one big antique store," he said.

They continued down the dirt road. As they neared the train station, Henry grasped Nate's arm. "Something's wrong," he said. "Where's the train?"

Nate moved close to Henry, whispered in his ear.

"I adjusted the coordinates to get us here earlier than last time. That way, she sees Lincoln and his bag — but she doesn't see how we get it."

Henry looked at the sky. He frowned, but said nothing.

At the train station, the horse with the droopy eyelids skittered in the bright sunshine. They walked past and stepped onto the platform.

It was empty.

Nate turned round and round.

"I don't get it," he said. "Where's Lincoln?"

Henry looked at the sky again and pointed to the sun.

"Nate, buddy," he said. I didn't want to tell you - but I think you turned the dial the wrong way. It's later in the morning than the last time we were here. I think the train — and Lincoln — are gone."

Nate's body and clothes seemed to wilt.

Mrs. Houghnagle turned and wagged her cane at him.

"You mean," she said, her voice rising, "you brought me back in time to show me — nothing. Or, maybe there was nothing to see? Frauds!"

"Listen…" began Nate. Then his eyes widened and he raised his hands above his head. Henry did the same.

A weary voice spoke from behind Mrs. Houghnagle.

"These thieves bothering you ma'am?"

The marshal, shotgun held high.

"Been looking for the big one for an hour. Got away once. Won't happen again. Can't prove it yet, but I know in my bones that these two stole a bag from a most important man."

Lips tight, face hard, Mrs. Houghnagle said, "Stole a bag, you say?"

"From our very own and admired Mr. Abraham Lincoln," answered the marshal. "If these boys got his books and clothes, they're in a heap of trouble."

One side of Mrs. Houghnagle's mouth ticked upward. Her face softened.

"Marshal," she said. "I believe these thieves have a silver case belonging to me. Would you be so kind as to check the small one's pockets."

The marshal turned the shotgun on Nate.

Mrs. Houghnagle's right eyelid fluttered downward.

Nate furrowed his brow. Had she just winked? Well, he thought, no choice but to play it out.

"Lady's right, marshal," said Nate. "If you'll allow me...?" he nodded toward his inner pocket.

"Slow and easy," said the marshal.

Carefully, Nate withdrew the silver case — and the time pellet — and handed them to Mrs. Houghnagle.

"That's it," she said. She flipped the case open and three lights blinked at her.

"Hey," said the marshal. "What's…?"

Without hesitating, she pressed the buttons.

---

Eyes cast downward, Nate sat at the computer in the back of the store. Henry sat on the small wooden table, face red, hands folded in his lap.

"Thieves," said Mrs. Houghnagle.

Nate's teeth left impressions in his lower lip.

"No wonder those Lincoln items were never catalogued. No wonder they look brand new," she said. "You took them from the past so they never became part of his estate, never aged. You're nothing but common thieves."

She pounded the tip of her cane on the floor of the shop.

Nate hung his head. Henry's jowls quivered.

For several seconds, she stared in silence. Then, a smile spread across her face.

"But," she said, "you're also magnificent antique hunters."

Nate looked up.

"The Lincoln items," she said, "are unique. Priceless. With articles like that, no auction house in the world could compete with us."

"Us?" said Nate, sitting straighter. He glanced at Henry, whose jowls stopped quivering.

She extended her hand. "Partners," she said, "if you're willing. Another reason I'm successful is I know opportunity. This is the big one — and here's what I propose…."

---

Six months later, Nate sat in front of a digital, flat panel monitor in a newly constructed office in the back of the shop. In the front, black and silver script stenciled onto a gleaming display window proclaimed:

NH&E Limited — Purveyors of Rare Antiquities

Mahogany display cases encircled the room. Inside the cases, perfectly aged nineteen century writing instruments, fine leather books, and well-preserved timepieces beckoned the interested, the rich, and the sophisticated. On top of each case, photograph books of exquisitely designed period furniture invited collectors to, "Make an Appointment for a Private Showing."

Nate's cell phone was at his ear.

"Just checking the internet, Sweetie" he said. "Found a place you and the kids'll love. Horseback riding on the beach, luaus — and hammocks. The cost? Don't worry about it."

A silver tipped cane rapped at the front door.

"Gotta go sweetie," said Nate, "business calls."

Nate padded across luxurious carpet and tugged the door open. He pursed his lips and moved aside. A bonnet, day dress, reticule, and parasol stepped in, followed by a top hat, frockcoat, and satchel.

 

Mrs. Houghnagle and Henry

Henry reached into his coat pocket, extracted a map and spread it on a counter. Mrs. Houghnagle placed a finger on it.

"Found another," she said. "Bigger and better than the first."

"Still exist today?" asked Nate, peering at the map.

Mrs. Houghnagle nodded, "And, in great condition for a building over a hundred and fifty years old."

Nate slowly shook his head. "You think big, Edna," he said. "We never would've thought of buying buildings in the past, stuffing them with goods and furniture - and then just letting everything age."

"Like an easy-bake oven for antiques," said Henry. "Buy it in the past and shove it in; take it out in the future, aged to perfection."

Nate took Mrs. Houghnagle's hands in his. "Thank you," he said. Slowly, he looked around the shop. "For everything."

"You've got the tools," she said, "and, I've got the knowledge. This partnership will pass the test of time."

Henry patted his satchel. "And, I've got the stuff to barter. It's certainly easier to deal than steal. Let's go"

Nate slipped his arms into a great coat. With a steady hand, he flipped open the silver box and pressed the blinking lights.