Chapter 13 #2
He kept the plane moving in slow, even strokes, his attention fixed on the wood beneath his hands, though he remained quietly aware of Mercy in the next room.
Neither of them spoke.
And with every passing minute, the distance he'd resolved to place between them became just a little harder to cross.
Wilson worked steadily across the shelf, checking each correction with his straightedge before taking another shaving.
By now Mercy would usually have called him over to look at something.
She might have called out some curious bit she'd uncovered in an old newspaper or asked whether a name sounded familiar.
More often than not, he'd wandered over to see for himself, and before either of them realized it, twenty minutes had slipped away over a story neither had intended to read.
Today only the rustle of paper drifted from the next room.
He found himself listening for her voice anyway. When none came, he tightened the clamp and reached for the plane again.
This was better.
The work would be finished sooner without the interruptions. Mercy could give her full attention to the articles. He could finish the repairs he'd promised.
Everything would proceed as it should.
Yet the quiet that had once seemed so comfortable settled over the annex with an unfamiliar weight.
Wilson kept his gaze on the shelf before him and drew the plane forward once more. The blade whispered across the wood.
From the next room came the faint scratch of Mercy's pencil against paper.
It was all they said to each other for the better part of an hour.
Some time later, footsteps crossed the floor behind him.
"Wilson?"
He looked up.
She held a caption card in one hand. "I'm having trouble deciding between two wordings." She gave him an apologetic smile. "Would you mind taking a look when you have a moment?"
For an instant he almost set the plane aside and crossed the room.
Instead, he remained right where he was. "I expect whichever you choose will be the right one."
She glanced toward him, then at the board beneath his hands. "If it's easier, I can bring them over."
His chest tightened. "I think you should trust your own judgment more."
She was quiet for a moment. "Very well." She turned and disappeared into the next room.
Wilson listened until the soft rustle of newspapers told him she'd settled back at her worktable.
Only then did he pick up the plane again.
The first stroke caught against the grain.
He closed his eyes briefly, adjusted the blade, and tried again.
Tuesday dawned bright and clear, the lingering dampness from last night's light rain already giving way beneath the warmth of the June sun.
Mercy walked toward the schoolhouse with a quicker step than she'd managed the day before, her satchel bumping lightly against her hip.
Sometime after supper, while she'd been sketching possible arrangements for the remaining newspaper articles, the answer had come so suddenly she'd laughed aloud at herself.
They'd been thinking almost entirely in terms of tables, shelves, and display stands.
Yet the schoolhouse offered something they had scarcely used at all.
Walls.
The realization had sent her back to her sketches with renewed purpose.
By bedtime she'd filled an entire page with possibilities.
Framed newspaper articles could be hung where they wouldn't compete for precious table space.
Smaller artifacts might fit beneath them.
Even the flow through the room would improve if visitors no longer had to crowd around every display.
She smiled to herself.
Wilson would see practical considerations she'd undoubtedly overlooked. He always did. Between the two of them, they'd likely improve the idea before the morning was over.
The thought carried her back to yesterday.
She'd never expected Wilson to entrust her with the story he'd carried for so many years, nor had she expected how weary he'd seemed afterward.
Looking back, it was little wonder he'd spoken so little once they returned to the annex.
Anyone would have needed time after laying bare a sorrow that deep.
Today would be different.
Not because such wounds healed overnight. They didn't.
But today there would be something new to occupy both their minds.
She mounted the schoolhouse steps, already picturing Wilson studying the room with that thoughtful, measuring look he wore whenever she presented him with another impossible notion.
More than once he'd gently explained why an idea couldn't work, only to offer another that was better than either of them had imagined at the outset.
She opened the schoolhouse door with renewed purpose. By the time Wilson arrived, she'd have the newspaper articles sorted and her ideas laid out for him.
She could already picture him studying the room with that thoughtful, measuring look he wore whenever she presented him with another impossible notion.
More than once he'd gently explained why an idea couldn't work, only to offer another that was better than either of them had imagined at the outset.
She smiled as she set her satchel on the worktable.
She looked forward to hearing what he'd think.
Mercy laid her satchel on the worktable and pulled out the rough sketches she'd made the evening before. She studied the room once more, then began gathering several of the framed newspaper articles she'd already set aside for Colonel Briggs’ Collection display.
One by one she leaned them against the wall where she'd imagined they might hang.
The more she experimented, the more convinced she became they had overlooked the most useful part of the room. The walls would free valuable table space for the larger artifacts while allowing visitors to step back and take in entire groups of related stories at a glance.
She shifted one frame farther to the left, then another a little higher.
No...
She stepped back again.
Perhaps if the military service articles remained on the right of the board and the articles related to groups of veterans occupied the left side...
A smile spread across her face.
Wilson would almost certainly rearrange half of it before the morning was over, but that had become part of the pleasure of working beside him.
She would bring an idea. He would see practical concerns she'd missed.
Somewhere between the two of them, they'd usually arrive at something better than either could have managed alone.
The sound of footsteps crossing the porch drew her attention toward the door.
She turned with an expectant smile.
The door opened a moment later, and Wilson stepped inside carrying his tools. He smiled when he saw the newspaper frames propped against the walls. "Looks like you've been busy already."
"I couldn't wait." Mercy laughed softly. "I believe I've found the answer to our space problem."
He set his bag on the floor and looked at the frames she’d arranged near the board.
"The walls."
She nodded, pleased he'd seen it so quickly. "We've been trying to fit everything onto tables and shelves when we've had all this unused space surrounding us." She waved a follow me as she moved to the annex. “There’s more in here.”
Wilson walked slowly around the room, pausing now and then to study the walls as though seeing them anew. He stepped back, looked again, then gave a thoughtful nod.
"I think you're onto something."
Warm satisfaction settled over her. She'd known he'd see possibilities she'd missed. "I haven't settled on the arrangement yet," she said, joining him. "I thought we'd work through that together."
He studied the nearest wall another moment. "We'll need to find the studs before we hang anything heavy."
"Of course."
"And perhaps fasten a narrow mounting strip across them rather than driving nails directly into the plaster."
Mercy smiled. "See? You've already improved it."
The corner of his mouth lifted. “It should work."
Mercy picked up the items from the Ellison family display and carried them toward the far wall. "These items are all flat and relatively flat. I thought I could find a frame to place them in and hang it here
He raised a brow. “Story journal?”
"It's what I've decided to call the notebooks I'm making for each family." She smiled. "What do you think?"
“Sounds fitting.”
“I meant, what do you think about organizing the family displays this way?”
Wilson walked over, studied it for a moment, then looked along the wall.
"It should work."
He reached into his tool bag for a tape measure and stretched it across the wall.
"If we're hanging several together, we'd best establish the spacing before we start."
"Good idea." Then she paused. “Do you think even spacing is best? Some displays will be larger than others.”
He rubbed his chin while he thought for a minute. “We’ll mark where the studs are. Then, based on display size, we’ll set one or two per stud.”
She watched him for a moment as he checked the wall for studs, tapping lightly across the plaster until the sound changed.
She decided to run something else by him. "I’ve been keeping the items I decide belong in an archive rather than on display in a couple of cardboard boxes. I’m wondering if I should have a better form of storage than that."
Wilson didn’t turn from his work. "Depends on how many items you have and how long you plan to keep them."
“Right now, it all fits in one large carboard box, but that could change. As for how long,” she spread her hands. “Forever?”
The answer would normally have earned one of his crooked smiles. But he just kept working.
After a pause, he said "You'll come up with something.”
She waited a heartbeat, expecting him to continue.
When he didn't, she nodded thoughtfully. "I'll keep considering it, then."
He continued working, measuring the distance to the next stud before making another pencil mark.
Mercy returned to deciding which of the family displays could fit into a frame for mounting on the wall.
The next hour passed in steady work.