Chapter 7
After stopping at the post office to send off the letter to the Fletchers, Mercy made her way to the schoolhouse for the weekly committee meeting.
She arrived a few minutes early and found Colonel Briggs seated near the teacher's desk, speaking quietly with Mayor Caldwell while Reverend Fields was shuffling through a handful of papers. Abigail Whitaker and Daniel still hadn't arrived, which gave her the opportunity she'd hoped for.
"Colonel Briggs, may I trouble you with a question before we begin?"
The older man turned toward her. "Of course."
"I'm trying to locate information about someone who was stationed at Fort Kearny right after the war. I wondered if you might know where military records of that sort are kept or whether there is someone I could contact."
Colonel Briggs wrinkled his brow. "I can't say I know offhand, but I may know someone who does. Let me make a few inquiries."
Relief stirred. "I'd appreciate that very much." It wouldn't hurt to have a backup to talk to in case the Fletchers had moved on.
Before either of them could say more, the door opened and Mrs. Whitaker entered carrying a folder thick with papers.
Daniel Carter followed close behind her with a rolled chart tucked beneath one arm.
Mercy exchanged greetings with them both before taking her seat, settling her notebook on the desk in front of her, and flexing her gloved fingers once beneath the table.
Wilson's salve seemed to be doing exactly what he'd promised.
Her hands remained tender in a few spots, but the worst of the soreness and redness had faded considerably since yesterday.
Mayor Caldwell called the meeting to order a few minutes later.
The discussion began with parade preparations.
The question of whether veterans, Revolutionary War era descendants, or founding family descendants should lead the procession remained unresolved despite another round of spirited debate.
After several minutes, Mayor Caldwell finally rubbed a hand along his jaw and suggested they allow Reverend Fields to make the final determination.
"I'll second that," Daniel said.
"If anyone can make the choice without offending half the town, it's you," the mayor told the minister.
Reverend Fields looked up from the notes he'd been making. "Well then, I'll endeavor to offend as few people as possible."
The dry remark eased some of the tension around the table.
A few people chuckled, and after another minute of discussion, the matter was placed in the reverend's hands.
Mrs. Whitaker then gave a brief report on behalf of the Ladies Auxiliary, updating the committee on plans for decorations, refreshments, and the table arrangements for the Independence Day picnic.
Mercy listened attentively while making a few notes of her own, mentally reviewing the points she wished to cover when her turn arrived.
Finally, Mayor Caldwell looked in her direction. "Miss Owens, how fares our archive project?"
Mercy opened her notebook. "We're making good progress.
The final three family interviews have now been scheduled and should be complete by the next meeting.
That means we will have received information from every family in Hawthorn.
The number of donated and loaned items for the display continues to grow as well.
In fact, we've reached the point where display space has become a significant concern. "
Several committee members shifted as if preparing for the discussion they all knew must come.
"As you'll recall, shelving was discussed earlier in the planning process but set aside because of the anticipated cost. Fortunately, I believe we've found a solution.
" She explained Daniel's suggestion regarding the abandoned outbuilding and the resulting salvage effort she and Mr. Porter had undertaken.
"Of course, Mr. Porter did most of the heavy work. "
That last comment earned her several chuckles from the group, though Mercy found herself thinking of the way Wilson had steadily worked through the heat, the dust, and the splinter in his palm without complaint.
"The structure yielded a considerable amount of usable lumber," she continued. "And Mr. Porter has also generously volunteered to build the shelving."
A murmur of approval moved around the room.
"So, there will be little expense to the committee?" Mayor Caldwell asked.
She nodded. "That's correct. Very little, if any."
"Excellent." The mayor turned toward Daniel. "Mr. Carter, that was a fine suggestion."
Daniel nodded, looking faintly embarrassed by the attention.
The mayor turned back to Mercy. "And please extend our thanks to Mr. Porter as well."
"I will." Mercy sat up straighter. "Unfortunately, while we recovered enough lumber to help quite a bit, we weren't able to salvage enough to fully solve our space concerns. The displays will still require careful planning if we're to fit everything."
Mayor Caldwell leaned back in his chair. "That's unfortunate. But if this is as large a problem as it sounds, then perhaps we have no choice but to revisit the question of scope."
Mercy didn't care for the sound of that. "What do you mean?"
"You've gathered far more material than anyone anticipated. Perhaps the display would be stronger if we focused on the most significant contributions rather than attempting to include everything."
Colonel Briggs nodded thoughtfully. "There is some merit to that. A smaller display may allow the most important pieces to stand out more clearly."
Mrs. Whitaker folded her hands atop the table. "Visitors can only absorb so much. Too much material may become overwhelming."
Mercy's stomach tightened. She'd expected questions about organization. She hadn't expected to revisit this particular issue. "I have strong reservations against that."
Mayor Caldwell's expression remained kind, but his tone held the patience of a man attempting to steer a difficult matter toward practicality.
"I know this isn't the outcome you hoped for, Miss Owens, and I know you've had objections to the idea from the beginning.
But given our space and budget constraints, compromises may be unavoidable. "
Mercy resisted the urge to howl in frustration.
It felt like fighting the same battle all over again.
How could she make them see that these weren't simply objects taking up space on tables?
They were pieces of people's lives. Pieces of the town's story.
She looked around the room and realized no amount of argument was likely to change anyone's mind.
Then she clenched her jaw, closed her notebook and stood.
There was only one way to help them understand. "If you'd all come with me for a moment."
Startled curiosity replaced discussion as the committee rose and followed her into the archive room.
The space had seemed crowded for weeks, but with the full committee gathered inside, the problem became impossible to overlook.
Several members had to stand uncomfortably close together between the tables while others found themselves pressed near the walls.
Boxes occupied corners and spaces beneath the tables.
Family Bibles rested beside framed photographs, bundles of letters, military keepsakes, household items, certificates, journals, and small family treasures.
Everything was labeled and grouped as carefully as Mercy could manage, but even her neatest efforts could not disguise the simple truth.
The room was overfull.
Mercy moved to one of the nearest collections and lifted a small bundle of carefully preserved papers. "These belong to Miz Scruggs. Or I should say belonged. She's donating them to the town for its permanent collection. They're the records from Hawthorn's first school."
She set them down and picked up a framed photograph. "This is the only surviving photograph the Nortons have of their two sons. Both boys died during the war."
The room grew noticeably quieter.
Mercy crossed to another table and picked up a tarnished silver teaspoon. "The Smith family contributed this. It's the only piece remaining from a silver service their parents sold years ago to help raise funds for the bridge leading into town."
She carefully returned it to its place. "Every table in this room holds similar stories."
No one spoke.
Mercy looked around at the committee, aware of how little space stood between them and how many entrusted stories filled the room.
"If we decide there isn't room for everyone, then someone must decide which of these stories matters less than the others.
Which families will come to this exhibit to find that the precious mementos they offered to us were not considered important enough to include? "
Her gaze moved from one collection to the next. "Miz Scruggs's school records? The Norton boys' photograph? The Smiths' teaspoon?"
She shook her head. "I don't know how to make that decision."
For several moments, only silence answered her.
At last Reverend Fields stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I don't believe any of us do."
Colonel Briggs shifted his weight, his gaze lingering on the Norton photograph before he gave a slow nod. Mrs. Whitaker looked toward Mayor Caldwell, then back at the crowded tables, her expression no longer quite so certain.
The mayor drew a measured breath. "I take your point, Miss Owens. I don't believe any of us wishes to exclude these families. But that still leaves us with the practical problem of how to accommodate all of this."
Mercy nodded. "And I will do everything I can to see that each family's display has a place where it can be seen. Which brings me to the arrangement of the displays themselves."
The committee's attention returned to her.
"My intention is to keep each family's materials together rather than separating items by category. Family Bibles, photographs, letters, military artifacts, keepsakes, and family histories would remain part of a single-family display."