Chapter 15
The Fourth of July dawned clear beneath a sky already washed with summer blue.
Mercy paused at the edge of the schoolyard and let herself take it in.
Flags fluttered from storefronts all along Main Street.
Fresh bunting draped porches and railings.
Wagons rattled toward the square carrying families dressed in their Sunday best despite the early hour, while excited children darted ahead of their parents, waving little paper flags and talking over one another as though the celebration had already begun.
After weeks of planning, collecting, arranging, and worrying over a thousand small details, Centennial Day had finally arrived.
A quiet satisfaction settled over her.
Not because everything was perfect. She doubted any event of this size ever could be. But Hawthorn had come together. Every committee member, every family who had loaned an heirloom, every veteran who had agreed to be recognized—they had all contributed something of themselves.
She offered a silent prayer that the day would honor them all well.
Adjusting the strap of her satchel, she headed toward the schoolhouse. She wanted one last look through the exhibits before the crowds arrived after the parade, just to be certain everything remained exactly as she'd left it.
Halfway to the door, she reached automatically into her satchel.
Her hand stopped.
The key.
Wilson still had it.
She stood for a moment, scanning the growing crowd.
He'd said he would see the exhibit yesterday. Had he? Or had he changed his mind?
Her gaze drifted toward the schoolhouse door.
Had he walked through the rooms? Had he paused before his family's display? Had he understood what she'd been trying to tell him?
"Morning, Mercy."
She turned to find Daniel crossing the yard toward her. "Good morning, Daniel." She smiled. "Do you happen to have your key with you? Mr. Porter still has mine."
Daniel gave his pockets a quick pat before a sheepish look crossed his face. "I left it in my coat."
"Oh."
"I'll fetch it in a little while." He glanced toward the schoolhouse, then back at her. "Everything was ready yesterday, wasn't it?"
"I believe so."
"Then it'll keep another hour." A grin spread across his face. "You've spent weeks making certain every ribbon, display card, and artifact is exactly where it ought to be. I think you've earned the chance to enjoy the parade."
Before Mercy could answer, Colonel Briggs waved from across the square.
"Miss Owens! If you've a moment, I'd appreciate your opinion on something."
Daniel chuckled. "See? Folks aren't about to let you stand still this morning."
Mercy laughed softly despite herself. "It would seem not."
She cast one last glance toward the schoolhouse door before turning to join Colonel Briggs. Somewhere in the back of her mind lingered the unanswered question of whether Wilson had come the afternoon before.
For the moment, however, Centennial Day—and all the people depending upon her—demanded her full attention.
The next half hour disappeared in a blur of last-minute details. Mercy scarcely had time to catch her breath before someone announced it was time for everyone to take their places for the parade.
She found Mama among the crowd lining Main Street and took her place beside her. Almost without thinking, her gaze searched the gathering one last time.
Wilson was nowhere to be seen.
Surely, he wasn't spending the morning shut away at the livery.
He deserved to be part of the celebration as much as anyone.
The first strains of patriotic music drifted through the morning air, followed by the steady cadence of marching feet.
"The parade's begun," Mama said softly.
Mercy nodded.
Children waved their flags enthusiastically as the color guard came into view, followed by town officials, members of the Ladies Auxiliary, and representatives of Hawthorn's oldest families.
Smiles and greetings passed freely between those marching and those watching, the excitement of the day evident on every face.
A smile found its way to Mercy's lips. For all the months of planning, she'd never truly been able to picture the celebration.
Now she could.
The procession continued, each group giving way to the next.
Then Colonel Briggs appeared at the head of the veterans.
Mercy's smile softened.
One by one, the men she'd interviewed, whose stories she'd helped preserve, came into view.
Her gaze moved slowly down the line...
...and stopped.
Wilson.
Her heart lurched.
He rode with the others, his posture straight, his expression solemn beneath the brim of his hat. For one stunned moment, she could do nothing but stare.
He'd changed his mind.
But why?
The procession drew nearer, the measured cadence of hoofbeats growing louder as the line of riders approached.
Wilson's gaze remained fixed ahead.
Then he came abreast of where she stood.
Beside her, Mama inhaled sharply and caught her arm. "Mercy."
Mercy turned toward her.
Mama nodded toward Wilson. "Look at the saddle."
Her gaze dropped from Wilson to the saddle beneath him.
Her breath caught.
Papa's.
She forgot the cheering. Forgot the crowd. Forgot everything but the man who rode past her in the saddle her father had made with his own hands.
As though sensing her gaze, Wilson turned his head.
Their eyes met.
He didn't smile.
He simply held her gaze for the briefest moment before looking forward once more.
Her fingers tightened around Mama's hand.
He had gone back to the schoolhouse. He’d seen what she'd tried to tell him. And somehow...
Somehow, he'd answered.
Wilson rode on, the familiar tooling along the saddle skirts catching the morning sunlight as he passed. Every careful stitch, every graceful curve, every mark of Papa's skilled hands seemed suddenly, impossibly alive again.
Tears blurred Mercy's vision.
She made no effort to brush them away.
Wilson rode on, disappearing into the line of veterans as the parade continued down Main Street.
Mercy watched until he was lost among the riders.
Only then did she let out the breath she'd been holding.
Mama slipped an arm through hers. Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say.
The remainder of the parade passed in a blur. Mercy applauded with the crowd and smiled when neighbors greeted her, but her thoughts never strayed far from the image of Wilson riding past in Papa's saddle.
At last, the final wagon rolled by.
Almost immediately, the crowd began to shift, families turning toward the schoolhouse for the opening of the Centennial exhibit.
Mercy exchanged a glance with Mama.
"Ready?" Mama asked softly.
Mercy nodded. "As I'll ever be."
Together they joined the stream of townsfolk making their way toward the stage that had been erected in the churchyard.
Mayor Caldwell welcomed everyone to Hawthorn's Centennial celebration before yielding the platform to Reverend Fields for a prayer of thanksgiving. After the crowd joined in a patriotic hymn and a few closing remarks from the mayor, the celebration was officially declared underway.
Mercy joined in the final "Amen," but her thoughts remained fixed on Wilson.
Riding in Papa's saddle.
As the crowd began to disperse, her gaze searched almost of its own accord.
He was nowhere to be seen.
Some townsfolk headed toward the exhibit while others drifted toward the booths and demonstrations that had sprung to life along Main Street. Laughter rose from the square as children tugged eager parents toward the day's attractions.
Mercy and most of the committee gathered near the schoolhouse entrance. Daniel arrived a few moments later with the spare key. After unlocking the door, he stepped back with a satisfied smile.
"Well," he said, "I believe she's ready."
Mercy smiled in return but made no move to enter. The exhibits were as ready as they’d ever be. Now they belonged to the town.
As the first visitors began making their way inside, she welcomed them one by one, answering an occasional question and directing them toward displays they were especially eager to see.
Before long, the steady stream of visitors slowed to a trickle.
Fifteen minutes later, the last of the waiting visitors drifted inside, leaving only a handful of townsfolk lingering near the entrance.
Mercy watched an elderly couple disappear into the schoolroom before turning to answer a question from Mrs. Whitaker about the afternoon schedule. By the time they finished speaking, the doorway stood momentarily empty.
She was contemplating going inside herself when a familiar voice caught her attention
"Mercy."
Wilson stood a few paces away.
For just a moment, neither of them spoke.
Her thoughts flew once more to the parade...to him riding past in Papa's saddle. She wanted to say something to him but for the moment no words came.
His gaze searched hers as though trying to judge whether this was still the right thing to do.
Then he looked past her. "Looks like Colonel Briggs is headed this way."
She was just the tiniest bit annoyed not to have a chance to say what was on her mind. But she smiled and nodded "I’m glad. He's been looking forward to seeing his display."
Wilson nodded toward the door. "Would you like to step inside so you can see his reaction?"
She nodded, then straightened. "You deserve to see it too."
For a moment, Wilson simply looked at her.
She couldn’t read his expression or bear the silence “If you?—"
He interrupted her with a nod. “There’s nothing I’d like better.”
Relief loosened something inside her. She hadn't realized how much she'd wanted him to say yes.
He swept a hand, indicating she should precede him, and together they stepped inside.
The familiar sounds of quiet conversation and measured footsteps greeted them as visitors wandered among the displays. Here and there someone paused to study an article or read a handwritten card before moving on to the next display.
The two of them made their way through the schoolroom without hurry. Mercy watched the people there rather than the displays and couldn’t help releasing a satisfied sigh.