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Back A Penny for Your Thoughts Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. A PENNY
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgments
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Thirty-Four
  39. Thirty-Five
  40. Thirty-Six
  41. Thirty-Seven
  42. Thirty-Eight
  43. Thirty-Nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-One
  46. Forty-Two
  47. Forty-Three
  48. Forty-Four
  49. Forty-Five
  50. Forty-Six
  51. Forty-Seven
  52. Forty-Eight
  53. Forty-Nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-One
  56. Fifty-Two
  57. Fifty-Three
  58. Fifty-Four
  59. A Sample Chapter of Don’t Take Any Wooden Nickels
  60. About the Author
  61. Other Books by Mindy Starns Clark
  62. About the Publisher

I walked down the quiet hall to my bedroom, unbuttoning my blouse as I went. I was weary but in desperate need of some physical activity after the long drive home. Though it was too late to take the canoe out, it looked like there would be just enough light left for a quick jog to the post office, the dog sitter, and back.

Opening the drawers of my bureau, I pulled out sweatpants and a sweatshirt, sliding them on and exhaling deeply from comfort. What a pleasure to have my own clothes back again! I quickly slipped on my running shoes, did a few stretches, and headed out the front door.

In my rural area, I was safely able to leave the windows open and the door unlocked. I jogged down the front steps and hit the driveway, breathing in my precious Chesapeake air as I ran. There truly is no place like home, I thought to myself. The peculiar salt marshes and high river grasses weren’t for everyone, but to me they were like pieces of heaven. I reached the main road and then stepped off onto the bike path, enjoying the high grass surrounding me on both sides, insulating me from everyone and everything but the well-worn path under my feet and the setting sun ahead of me on the horizon.

As I ran, I thought of Bryan and how much he had loved it here, how he, too, saw it as our little haven of rest. Then I thought of Tom, and I wondered if he had ever been to a place like this, if he knew the difference between things like cattails and wild rice the way Bryan had.

I reached the post office and though the window was closed, I could still get into my box. It was completely full. I pulled everything out, flipped through it, found nothing important, and then tucked it all into the drawstring bag at my waist. On the way back, I circled around by Lindsey’s house and collected my dog Sal—short for La Salle, the French explorer who once traveled a journey of about 3000 miles by canoe.

“She missed you,” the teenager assured me, leaning against the front porch rail, watching as my little doggy trembled in excitement from head to toe. I put Sal on the ground and let her dance around, reaching out to collect her leash and her bowls from Lindsey. I paid the girl for all of the pet-sitting, plus a ten-dollar tip for washing the dog. I didn’t comment on the purple toenails peeking out from Sal’s fur. If Lindsey wanted to play beauty parlor with my dog, it was okay with me. She was a sweet girl, and she provided a good “second home” for my pup.