Chapter 11 #5
A few moments later she came across an obituary that made her smile. "Listen to this."
Wilson set down the piece of trim he'd been fitting and looked over.
She scanned the clipping again. "It says Sergeant Wilkes insisted on planting pecan trees every place he lived because he was convinced no one should have to grow up without climbing one."
A grin spread across Wilson's face. "Did it say whether they ever bore pecans?"
She scanned the article again. "No." She smiled. "But it does mention his grandchildren arguing over who inherited the orchard."
Wilson laughed. "I suppose that answers the question."
"It would seem so." She slipped the clipping into its proper place and reached for another.
The room fell comfortably quiet again.
Every so often Wilson's plane whispered across another length of trim or a hammer tapped lightly as he secured a finishing nail.
The sounds had become so familiar they scarcely registered as separate noises anymore.
They had become part of the schoolhouse itself, as much as the creak of the floorboards or the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.
And somehow, the familiar sounds warmed something deep inside her.
Another obituary. Another name checked against the honor board. Another small piece of Hawthorn's history safely accounted for.
Across the room Wilson stepped back to study his work, then made one last adjustment before giving a satisfied nod.
Mercy watched him for just a moment. There was something deeply satisfying about the way he worked. He never hurried, never settled for "good enough," and somehow always managed to leave things better than he'd found them.
Perhaps that was what she admired most about him. Not simply what he built, but the quiet care he poured into everything his hands touched.
As though sensing her gaze, Wilson looked up. Their eyes met.
He smiled. Not a broad grin. Just the warm, easy smile that seemed reserved for moments when it was only the two of them.
Without thinking, Mercy smiled back before lowering her eyes to the clipping she'd been reading.
For just the briefest moment, she'd lost her place.
Gathering her scattered thoughts, she found it again and methodically finished processing the obituary before reaching for the next. Another clipping followed, then another, restoring her familiar working rhythm, each confirming names and dates she'd already recorded.
It wasn't until Wilson's tools fell silent that she looked up.
Wilson was brushing the fine wood shavings from his hands. "I believe that's enough for one morning."
Mercy looked up at the clock and blinked. "Already?"
He followed her gaze. "I've noticed noon has a habit of arriving when neither of us is paying attention."
A smile came easily. "It would seem so."
Together they gathered the lunches they'd brought from home and settled across from each other at the teacher’s desk. The June breeze slipped through the open windows, stirring the papers on her desk, offering welcome relief from the growing warmth of the day.
For a little while they simply enjoyed the meal.
Conversation drifted as easily as it always did, touching on Centennial, town happenings, and the latest exploits of Davey Hensley's hound, who apparently considered every picnic basket in town his personal invitation.
Mercy laughed as Wilson finished the tale with that dry humor she’d come to appreciate.
"I'm beginning to think that dog has a better social calendar than either of us."
"I expect he eats better too."
She shook her head, still smiling.
It struck her that somewhere along the way, sharing the noon hour with Wilson had become one of the things she looked forward to most. An hour spent with him always seemed to pass much too quickly.
Wilson took a sip of his coffee. "Did you find a good place to keep the locket?"
Mercy's smile softened. He'd notice her slip the leather box into her satchel the day before and, true to form, had merely nodded in approval. "I tucked it away in the desk in my room. But first I showed it to Mama and told her its story."
"The whole story?"
"The whole story." She toyed with her cup. “I don’t think I violated any trust. I thought Mama deserved to know. And if I ever wore it, she would have questions.”
“That makes sense to me. I told my ma.”
She smiled. They both knew it wasn't quite the same thing—neither of them had known the locket's secrets. But his attempt to reassure her made her feel better all the same.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. "That must've taken a while."
She laughed. "It did. I don't believe either of us realized how much there was to tell until I started at the beginning."
"What'd she think?"
Mercy set her cup down and sliced herself a piece of cheese. "She was astonished. Not just by the locket itself, but by everything it had carried with it." She smiled at the memory. "She kept saying she never would've imagined something so small could hold so many lives."
Wilson nodded thoughtfully. "Seems she understands what it’s about then." He tilted his head slightly. “Did you show her Mrs. Fletcher’s letter as well?”
“Of course.” She shrugged. “It explained why I ended up with it.”
”And what did she think of Kate’s choice to hand it over to you—a stranger?”
Was he trying to embarrass her? "She agreed with Mrs. Fletcher's choice." The warmth climbed into her cheeks. "But she's my mother, so I don't know how much weight that carries."
Wilson didn't hesitate. "She's right."
Mercy ducked her head, suddenly uncomfortable meeting his gaze. "I told her I wasn't nearly so certain."
"I am." The quiet certainty in his voice left no room for argument.
She found herself wishing she could see herself through his eyes.
After a companionable silence, Mercy looked toward her worktable, ready for a new topic. "I’m glad I finally made a proper start on Colonel Briggs' papers this morning."
"Find anything interesting?"
"So far, mostly confirmation." She smiled. "Though I'm beginning to believe Colonel Briggs has never thrown away a single scrap of paper in his life."
Wilson chuckled. "I've known him a long time."
"And?"
"I've never seen any evidence to the contrary."
She laughed again. "I lost two full days before I could even get started on them."
"You didn't lose them."
"It feels as though I did."
Wilson shook his head. "You spent them getting the exhibit ready."
"I know." She sighed. "I just hope I can finish the rest before someone else needs me."
“Worried about more distractions?”
She nodded.
"I'll see what I can do about that." There was a note of determination under the matter-of-fact tone.
Mercy looked back at him. "What do you mean?"
"If folks come by this afternoon, I'll try to keep 'em occupied so you can keep working."
A smile spread across her face. "You make it sound like we're defending a fort."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Feels that way some days."
She laughed. "It does at that."
She watched him gather the remains of their lunch before returning to her own worktable. He resumed the finishing touches on the remaining display pieces while she drew the last of the obituaries toward her.
It took only another half hour to work through the remaining notices. One by one she compared names, dates, and regiments against the Honor Board before making a final notation in her ledger. When she reached the bottom of the stack, she leaned back with a quiet sense of satisfaction.
No omissions on the board.
She smiled to herself as she squared the papers into a neat pile. Every fallen Hawthorn veteran Colonel Briggs had preserved in his collection already had a place on the Honor Board. That knowledge alone made the morning well spent.
Sliding the obituaries aside for later placement in the archives, she drew the much larger bundle of newspaper clippings toward her.
Colonel Briggs had tied them together with faded blue ribbon.
She untied the ribbon and spread the first several clippings across the table.
While many came from the local Hawthorn Gazette, others came from newspapers large and small, some from neighboring Texas towns, others from places as distant as Kansas, Missouri, and Ohio.
Nearly every one carried a small penciled note identifying who had sent it to Colonel Briggs and, occasionally, when.
Received from Mrs. Talbot after George's passing.
Sent by Rev. Abbott of Chapel Rock, Texas. Thought Hawthorn should have this.
James Whitcomb enclosed this with his 1868 Christmas letter.
Mercy found herself lingering over the notes almost as much as the articles themselves. Each represented another letter written, another friendship maintained, another person who had known Colonel Briggs would value one more piece of Hawthorn's history and taken the time to send it to him.
The first clipping she picked up described a monument dedication in Ohio honoring the veterans of a Union regiment. Dozens of names appeared beneath the account of the ceremony, one of them familiar. Thomas Ellery.
Mercy carried the clipping to the annex, searched for the Ellery family display and carefully arranged the clipping among the other keepsakes. Then she made a notation in her logbook, making certain to mark the article as belonging to the archive.
Visitors studying the family's display would enjoy discovering that, years after the war, Thomas had stood shoulder to shoulder with men he'd once served beside. It was precisely the sort of detail that brought a life into clearer focus.
The next article came from Kansas, announcing the election of former Hawthorn resident James Whitcomb to a local office. Colonel Briggs' note explained that Whitcomb himself had mailed the clipping back to Texas.
Mercy smiled as she retrieved the James Whitcomb summary card and added this new information.
Of course Colonel Briggs had kept up with him.
Another article, another decision.
A brief mention of a Memorial Day observance in the Hawthorn Gazette belonged with the Veteran Board.