Chapter 7 #3
She tossed her head. "I merely intended to examine the lumber."
"Which would have led to moving a board."
"Possibly." Her grin was cheerfully unabashed.
Wilson almost laughed at her shameless admission.
Miss Owens sighed dramatically. "You are a remarkably suspicious man."
"Comes from experience. And you are shockingly inventive in your responses."
That earned him a smile.
The sight was unexpectedly satisfying.
"Very well," she said. "If you're determined to deprive me of useful work, I suppose I'll settle for delivering news."
Wilson picked up another board and carried it to the stack.
"The committee approved the shelving."
"Never doubted they would. After all, they were getting both materials and labor for free.
Her smile widened. "They also approved the display arrangement."
Now that was something. He set the board in place and turned back toward her. "Without argument?"
Miss Owens gave him a look.
Wilson felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "I'll take that as a no."
"There was discussion." The dry tone suggested a considerable amount of discussion.
"First, when I mentioned we hadn't gotten enough lumber to do everything needed, there were renewed suggestions that perhaps the simplest solution would be to reduce the number of displays."
His expression hardened. He knew she'd fought that battle once before. Then he noted her expression. "You obviously changed their minds."
She nodded, a spark lighting her eyes. "I showed them the archive room."
Wilson laughed. The sound surprised them both.
Miss Owens looked absurdly pleased with herself. "They became much more receptive after I explained some of the contributions and asked them to identify which families ought to be informed their contributions weren't sufficiently important to include."
Wilson shook his head. "That was a masterful approach."
"It was a fair question."
"It was both."
To his amusement, she accepted that without argument.
"And that's not all. I also convinced them to agree to my proposed method of organizing the family displays."
"Another hard-won victory I take it?" He was enjoying this side of her—confident, happy, playful.
"There were some who wanted to see something other than strict family displays and some who wanted placement based on so-called prominence rather than the practical considerations you and I discussed.
But ultimately I was able to convince them.
" She grinned. "It helped when I suggested elaborate recognition boards for the Revolutionary War era descendants, the veterans, and the founding family descendants and asked if the Ladies Auxiliary to take charge of them. "
Reading between the lines he figured Abigail Whitaker was one member she'd had to appease. "Sounds like you got everything you wanted."
"I did."
Something in her tone seemed off. He picked up another board and carried it to the stack. "Don't sound as happy about that as I would have figured."
"It's true I did get agreement to do it the way I wanted." She grimaced. "But that means now I've got to figure out exactly how to get it all done."
He kept his expression solemn. "That is quite a pickle you've gotten yourself into," he said dryly.
Her eyes narrowed as she eyed him suspiciously.
"But I've never seen you back down from a challenge yet."
Her tension eased at that and she changed the subject. "Mayor Caldwell asked me to pass along the committee's thanks for all your volunteer efforts."
"Not necessary."
A moment of companionable silence settled between them as Wilson secured the last of the lumber.
At length Miss Owens glanced toward the schoolhouse. "Are you still available to finish going through your trunk this afternoon?"
The trunk. It was waiting inside along with whatever other forgotten pieces of Porter family history his mother had tucked away over the years.
He nodded. "Just give me a minute to get Jupiter settled."
A few moments later they crossed the yard toward the schoolhouse. Inside, the trunk sat exactly where they'd left it. He carried the trunk to the teacher's desk and stepped back.
Strange. It felt as though weeks had passed since they'd first opened it together. Had it really been only three days?
Miss Owens stepped forward and, after a quick glance his way seeking permission, opened it. All traces of their teasing of a few moments ago seemed forgotten.
The transformation was familiar by now. Mention archives, records, or family history and the schoolteacher emerged. Place an old artifact in front of her and something else appeared entirely—something brighter, more animated.
Wilson wasn't entirely certain when he'd begun looking forward to seeing it.
Miss Owens settled onto the chair beside the teacher's desk and opened the trunk once more. Setting aside the items they had already examined, she paused with the leather presentation box in her hands.
"I stopped by the post office on my way to the committee meeting this morning and mailed the letter to the Fletchers."
Wilson nodded.
"I also spoke to Colonel Briggs and he promised to make a few inquiries through some of his contacts. He wasn't sure whether anything would come of it, but he offered."
"That was decent of him."
"I agree." She carefully added the box to the growing pile beside the trunk, then turned her attention to the layer beneath.
A folded linen cloth covered most of the remaining contents. As she lifted one corner, a small wrapped bundle rolled free. It was no larger than an apple and had been wrapped in a faded scrap of fabric.
"What do we have here?"
Wilson shrugged. "No idea."
Miss Owens untied the cloth and smiled. "Well now."
She turned the object over in her hands. "Is it a dog or maybe a pony?" She studied it another moment before her smile widened. "No. It's definitely a fawn." She met his gaze. "Was it one of your toys?"
Wilson mentally groaned. "No."
She frowned. "Then what?—"
He should have known she wouldn’t simply let it be. "It belonged to my ma."
Her eyes brightened. "Did you make this?"
Wilson nodded as he rubbed the back of his neck.
She studied the little carving that fit neatly in her palm. Wilson looked at it as well, curious whether his memory had exaggerated its imperfections. It had not. The legs were uneven, one ear slightly larger than the other, and the proportions left a great deal to be desired.
Yet to his surprise, Miss Owens appeared enchanted by it.
"I made that when I was a boy." Now why had he felt the need to blurt that out?
Her lips twitched. "I'd already guessed it wasn't the work of an experienced carver."
Wilson snorted despite himself.
She traced one fingertip lightly over the carved ears. "Why a fawn?"
The memory surfaced more easily than he expected. "Ma found one by the creek one spring. Something had happened to the doe. She brought it home and kept it in a small pen behind the house."
Miss Owens looked up. "Your father agreed to that?" "He complained about it daily."
"Yet somehow it remained."
"Funny how that happened."
The corner of her mouth twitched.
Wilson found himself telling her more than he'd intended. How the fawn followed Ma whenever she entered the pen. How she'd insisted on feeding it herself. How it eventually wandered off once it was old enough to survive on its own.
By the time he finished, Miss Owens was looking at the carving as though it were something precious. "So, you made this for her."
The simple observation caught him off guard. "It was for her birthday, right after Clover left."
"Clover?"
"It's what Ma named the fawn."
A warm smile spread across her face. "Wilson, this may be my favorite thing we've found yet."
As soon as the words left her mouth she stilled and her smile vanished. Then the red crawled up her neck into her cheeks. "I apologize. I didn't mean?—"
"No need to apologize." Wilson wasn't entirely sure where the words had come from, but now that they were spoken, he found he meant them.
"We've spent enough time together lately that it seems a bit foolish to keep standing on ceremony.
I think you should feel free to use my given name if you want to. "
Uncertainty, then relief flickered across her face.
"Only if you agree to call me Mercy."
"Agreed." Though he still planned to call her Miss Owens when they weren't alone.
The awkwardness, along with the red in her cheeks, dissolved almost immediately.
She rewrapped the carving and set it aside. Then she lifted out the Bible. The worn leather cover showed years of use. Inside, several pages contained family records written in different hands. Mercy examined each entry carefully, occasionally jotting notes into her notebook.
A pair of pressed flowers slipped from between the pages.
She caught them before they could fall to the floor. "I wonder who saved these."
Wilson studied them. "No idea." A part of him wished he'd asked his mother when he still had the chance. Is this what she'd meant about history disappearing?
Mercy gently turned one of the flowers over. "They've been there a very long time." Then she gently slipped the fragile blooms back into the bible.
After several more minutes she found a notation concerning his mother's family and their arrival from Ireland.
"Your mother's people came through New Orleans."
Wilson nodded. "So I've been told."
The Bible occupied them for several more minutes before she reluctantly closed it and set it aside.
Next came a handful of folded papers. Land records. Tax receipts. Church documents.
Nothing remarkable, yet she examined each one with the same care she'd given everything else.
Wilson answered her questions and offered explanations whenever he could. More than once, he caught himself lingering over details that ordinarily wouldn't have interested him at all.
They were near the bottom when she folded back another piece of linen. Beneath it lay a slim journal bound in faded blue cloth.
Wilson's attention settled on it immediately.
So. It was still there.