Chapter 3 #6
Mercy lowered the pen and flexed her cramped fingers slightly. Somewhere along the way, she'd entirely forgotten the passage of time.
Her thoughts drifted once more toward Wilson Porter.
A man who handled broken things with patient hands. A man children admired. A man who had offered his own time to help preserve other people's histories while insisting he himself wanted no place among them.
No, she still believed he was wrong about that—perhaps more than ever.
Whatever burden he carried—and Mercy was becoming increasingly certain there was one—didn't erase the fact that he had served. Nor did it change the example his participation could offer to younger generations.
If anything, the glimpses she'd seen beneath his reserve only strengthened her conviction that he belonged among the honored veterans rather than apart from them.
But direct pressure clearly wouldn't move him. That much had become painfully obvious.
Mercy closed the notebook and rested her hand atop it thoughtfully.
If she hoped to convince him eventually, she would first have to understand what stood behind that refusal he guarded so fiercely. Until then, she suspected no amount of careful reasoning or gentle pushing would persuade him otherwise.
She reached absently for the small watch pinned at her bodice and blinked in surprise.
Half past two.
Mercy let out a quiet groan and leaned back in her chair. So much for stopping by Daniel Carter's workshop this afternoon. Between her archive work and her promise to help her mother pin the batting to her new quilt top, the rest of her day was spoken for.
The Miller interview notes still hadn't been formalized, and she had yet to find proper placement for their artifacts in the archive room.
With a sigh, Mercy gathered the loose papers into a neat stack before carefully lifting Miz Scruggs's keepsake box. She'd take her notes home with her so she could continue working on them there as time allowed.
Tomorrow she would speak with Daniel about the shelving problem.
And the day after that...
She took a deep breath. The day after that she would once again spend several hours alone in a buggy beside a man she now realized was far more complicated than she'd first imagined.
The thought lingered with her all the way out the schoolhouse door.
By the time Mercy stepped out of Daniel Carter's workshop, she wasn't sure if the situation had improved or grown more complicated.
The warm morning air carried the scent of fresh-cut lumber and sawdust behind her as she paused on the boardwalk outside the open workshop doors.
At first Daniel's answer had been exactly what she'd expected.
No spare lumber.
No room in the budget allocated to him for purchasing materials for archive shelves. She could check with Reverend Fields to see if he could cut funds elsewhere to cover this, which neither of them believed likely to happen.
Then, just as the conversation seemed finished, Daniel had paused and scratched his chin.
"Hold on now," he'd muttered. "There may be another possibility. It'll require some extra work, though."
An old outbuilding sat unused on property that had been donated to the church.
It was several miles outside town, and the structure itself had partially collapsed several years ago.
But according to Daniel, portions of the lumber might possibly be sound enough to salvage if someone was willing to take the time required to dismantle and transport it.
Reverend Fields already gave permission to use it if the committee found a use for it.
"To be honest," he'd said, "I didn't go take a look.
I didn't want to spend time dismantling the place to end up with what may or may not be usable lumber.
And I prefer working with new materials.
" He gave her an apologetic look. "I don't know if you'll think it worth pursuing but it's the best I can think of. "
Mercy made her way slowly down the boardwalk now, her notebook tucked beneath her arm.
Mr. Porter had very generously offered to build shelves. He had not offered to tear apart a half-fallen building to get it done.
Mercy worried at her lower lip as she stepped off the boardwalk to cross the street.
Perhaps she shouldn't trouble him with it at all.
He had enough responsibilities running the livery and he'd already volunteered a lot of his time to help her. She couldn't in good conscience take advantage of his generosity by asking for more.
Still...
The archive room couldn't continue as it was.
She'd already interviewed most of the families in town that she could reasonably reach on foot, and the archive room was crowded nearly to overflowing. More outlying visits still remained ahead of her. More stories. More keepsakes entrusted into her care.
And if she couldn't find a way to better organize and display everything, eventually some portion of those histories would end up boxed away unseen in the church attic.
Mercy tightened her grip slightly on the notebook and lifted her chin.
No. She owed Mr. Porter the opportunity to decide for himself. She'd simply need to make it clear she understood this was far beyond what he'd originally agreed to and that he was free to refuse.
The livery stood busy when she arrived.
A wagon team occupied the hitch rail while two horses shifted restlessly inside the shaded stable entrance. Somewhere deeper within the building came the hollow scrape of a shovel against packed earth followed by the muted sound of Davey Nelson whistling under his breath.
Mercy paused briefly near the doorway until her eyes adjusted to the dimmer interior.
She spotted Wilson near one of the rear stalls with his sleeves rolled back and one boot braced against the lower rail while he adjusted a leather trace.
Davey spotted her first.
"Morning Miss Owens," the boy called cheerfully.
Wilson glanced up.
Something in his expression altered briefly before settling back into its usual reserve. "Miss Owens," he said with a short nod.
Mercy suddenly became far too aware that this was the first time they'd spoken since yesterday. The memory of that brief startled pause beside the unstable crates threatened warmth back into her cheeks.
Determined not to think about that now, Mercy moved farther into the stable, stopping near the adjacent stall. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
Wilson lowered the leather strap into place before straightening. "You're not. What can I do for you?"
Right to the point, as always. Mercy drew a slow breath. "I spoke with Daniel Carter this morning about lumber for the archive room shelves."
Wilson waited quietly, wiping his hands on a rag he retrieved from the stall rail.
"Just as I expected, there isn't any money in the budget for the materials we'll need," she said. "But Daniel offered another possible solution."
He still didn't say anything but his brow went up in question.
"Daniel remembered an old outbuilding on church land west of town. It's dilapidated and falling down, but portions of the lumber might still be usable if someone were willing to salvage it."
"Might still be usable?"
She mentally winced. "Daniel wasn't sure of the exact state of the building since he hasn't seen it for himself in some time." Then she quickly added. "I simply wanted to let you know that I did try to locate the materials. I don't expect you to work for the materials on top of everything else."
Wilson seemed not to have heard the last part of her statement. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have a look."
Did that mean he was considering it?
"I know the place," he continued "We'll be passing near there Thursday. We'll take a quick detour on our way back and see what we've got to work with."
Just like that.
No hesitation. No indication he thought she was imposing. Mercy wasn't entirely certain why that surprised her so much.
"Of course," she said quickly. "And I will absolutely understand if, after inspecting it, you decide the work would be more trouble than it's worth."
Wilson's gaze settled on her fully then. "If the boards are sound," he said evenly, "I'll see to it."
Before she could think of a response, Davey approached carrying a dented bucket. "Mr. Porter, you still want me to?—"
The boy stopped abruptly upon noticing Mercy still standing there.
Wilson glanced toward him. "Go ahead and finish watering Rudy before you head home for lunch."
"Yes, sir."
Davey disappeared again, though not before casting Mercy one last curious look.
Silence settled briefly between her and Wilson after he left. Not uncomfortable exactly.
Simply... aware.
Wilson picked up the leather trace again, testing the repaired stitching between his fingers. "How many interviews you planning Thursday?"
"Hopefully two," Mercy answered. "The Nortons and the Halperns live near each other, so if we get finished at the Nortons soon enough we can talk to the Halperns after."
"Sounds like a good plan."
She wondered if anything ever unsettled that quiet steadiness of his. "Thank you. I realize this has turned into considerably more work than either of us expected."
His expression shifted almost imperceptibly. "Reckon most worthwhile things usually do."
The words followed Mercy all the way back out into the sunlight.