Chapter 8 #4
She refused to be intimidated by his tone. "It needed moving."
"It also weighs more than it looks."
Mercy crossed her arms. "It wasn't that bad."
Judging by the look he gave her, he wasn't convinced.
She merely smiled.
He sighed. "Miss Owens..."
"I managed.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “And it's done, so there's no point dwelling on it."
"I can see that." He shook his head and turned toward the annex. "Next time, wait for me."
She made no promises. There was work to be done, and she wasn't about to leave it unfinished simply because no one happened to be nearby.
The morning passed in steady work. Mercy decided what else could safely be moved into the schoolroom and made certain every family's belongings stayed together while Wilson shifted boxes, moved tables, and gradually reclaimed one wall of the annex along with enough open space to begin constructing the shelves.
It wasn't fast work, but by midday the room no longer felt quite so overwhelming.
They paused only long enough to eat the sandwiches Mercy's mother had tucked into her hamper.
Wilson glanced at the second sandwich before looking at Mercy. "Your ma packed enough for me again."
"She did."
"I'll have to thank her come Sunday."
"You can try. She'll probably just tell you to eat."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Then who am I to disobey?” He reached for one of the sandwiches then nodded toward the annex. "I think I can get the uprights in before I head back to the livery."
Mercy followed his gaze. She couldn’t wat for the whole thing to come together. "It's finally starting to feel real."
Thursday morning followed much the same pattern.
Mrs. Rawlins and her daughter arrived carrying a sampler her mother had made, along with a promise to search for the old frame that had protected it in years past.
After the interview, Wilson examined the needlework before handing it back. "If they find the frame, use it," he said. "It'll display better."
Mercy made one more note in the Rawlins family file before setting it aside.
After their simple shared midday meal, Wilson returned to the shelving while Mercy spent the afternoon turning the Rawlins interview into a permanent record.
By the time she'd finished, he'd already gone back to the livery.
She still had several hours of work ahead of her, so she tackled a couple of jobs that would've been easier with his help.
She had no doubt he'd notice them the next morning. Oddly enough, the thought brought a small smile to her lips.
By Friday morning, the routine already felt familiar to Mercy.
She was halfway through the Weber interview when she heard footsteps on the porch—not that she’d been listening for them. A moment later Wilson stepped inside, tipped his hat to her and the Webers, and quietly disappeared into the annex to begin his day's work.
As Mr. Weber described his parents' arrival in Hawthorn and the youngest daughter proudly produced a tiny china doll no one else had thought to mention, the familiar sounds of Wilson's work drifted through the open doorway.
The rasp of a saw, the measured tap of a hammer—somewhere over the past few days, they'd become as much a part of her mornings as the scratch of her own pen.
When the interview ended, Mrs. Weber carefully unfolded a bundle of faded letters she'd brought with her. "I wasn't sure they'd be of any use."
It was a familiar refrain. "I've learned better than to decide that before hearing the story," Mercy said as she accepted them.
After the Webers left, Wilson looked over the family's keepsakes one by one before setting a small picture frame aside. "Loose corner," he said. "I'll have it mended before I leave." The rest he handed back without comment.
They spread their lunch across one end of the teacher's desk as they had the previous two days, talking between bites about shelf spacing, the height of the remaining shelves, where the dividers ought to go, and how best to accommodate some of the larger family displays once everything was ready to be moved.
Somewhere along the way they'd stopped discussing who would do which task. Now they simply did what needed doing.
Mercy finished labeling another family file before setting it aside. The steady hammering from the annex had become so familiar she scarcely noticed it anymore until, at last, it ceased.
"There."
Curious, she laid down her pen and joined Wilson in the annex.
He stood looking over the row of newly finished shelves with an air of quiet satisfaction before turning to her. "That ought to do it."
Mercy let her gaze travel slowly from one end of the shelving to the other. "Thank you. What you’ve done here is going to make all the difference in the world."
He dismissed the compliment with a small shake of his head. "Building the shelves was the easy part."
His words took her aback. "Easy?"
He nodded toward the boxes and crates still filling the room. "Easier than deciding what goes where."
Mercy's attention returned to the waiting family collections.
The Miller keepsake box. Miz Scruggs's school records.
The Norton photograph. The Smith family's silver teaspoon. Wilson’s trunk and dozens upon dozens of other collections.
Every collection had its own requirements.
Some needed more room. Others belonged on the sturdier shelves.
A few would have to be protected from direct sunlight.
She'd spent weeks thinking about how to preserve the town's history. Now she had to decide where that history belonged.
She swallowed a grimace. Perhaps Wilson had had the right of it.
Maybe the hard part was only just beginning.