Chapter 9
Mercy studied the empty shelves for a long moment before picking up Nathan Miller’s family Bible. "I think the Miller display belongs on the second shelf."
Wilson looked where she was indicating, then glanced toward the keepsake box resting on the table beside it. "It's only those two pieces, right?"
She nodded. "Along with their story." Carrying the Bible to the shelving, she started to set it in place, then stopped. "No..." She stepped back, studying the placement again. "The keepsake box deserves a little more room than that."
Wilson followed her gaze. "You've got enough space on the shelf below."
"I was saving that for one of the larger collections."
"You've still got room beside it if another family brings in something substantial."
Mercy studied the empty shelves again. He was right. She'd been so intent on planning for every possibility she'd nearly overlooked the simplest solution. "I believe that'll work."
She stepped aside while Wilson carried over the keepsake box. After he set it beside the Bible, Mercy moved it slightly, adjusting the angle until the two pieces looked balanced together.
"There." She nodded with satisfaction. "That's much better."
She looked at the next grouping and frowned. “I’m worried that this chain of Miss Carlson’s is too delicate to show up well if it just lays flat on the shelf. I wish I had a better way to display it.”
She’d been speaking to herself, but Wilson moved up beside her and studied the dainty item. “Should be easy enough to create a simple stand with a piece of scrap. I’ll have you something before I leave today.”
Before she could respond, someone called out from the doorway. "Miss Owens?"
Mercy turned to find Colonel Briggs watching them with an approving smile. "Good morning, Colonel.”
"Morning." His gaze lingered on the Bible and keepsake box before moving to the new shelves. Finally, it settled on Wilson. "Porter, those shelves turned out mighty fine."
Wilson glanced over his shoulder as though seeing them for the first time. "They'll do."
"I expect they will." Colonel Briggs looked around the crowded room, taking in the stacks of labeled boxes still waiting their turn. "Looks like you've got your work cut out for you, Miss Owens. If it comes to it, perhaps the committee ought to find you a bit more help."
Mercy appreciated the offer. There was certainly enough work to keep several people busy. But until she'd worked out where everything belonged, adding more hands would likely create more confusion than progress.
Before she could say anything though, Wilson spoke first.
"She already has me."
Mercy looked at him.
His attention remained on the shelves, as though he'd merely stated the obvious. There'd been no announcement. No offer. No discussion. Somewhere along the way he'd simply decided this was his work now, too.
An unexpected warmth settled in her chest.
Other than a brief flash of surprise, Colonel Briggs apparently accepted the statement without another thought. "Well then, I'd say the project is in good hands."
Wilson's expression remained perfectly straight. "There's still plenty left to do."
"There certainly is," Mercy agreed, unable to keep a smile from her face.
Colonel Briggs smiled before shifting the packet beneath his arm. His expression grew more thoughtful. "I made a few inquiries about Fort Kearny, like you requested."
Mercy's attention shifted immediately from Wilson’s unexpected announcement to the colonel. "Have you heard something already?"
She searched his face, hoping for some sign he'd uncovered the answer she'd been looking for.
Instead, his expression turned apologetic. "I'm afraid the news isn't exactly encouraging. Fort Kearny closed several years ago."
The words settled over the room.
"Closed?" Mercy frowned. "Then the letter I sent..."
Briggs looked at her in surprise. "You sent a letter?"
She nodded. "Earlier this week. I addressed it to Fort Kearny in hopes someone there might know what became of Kate and Griffin Fletcher."
"I see." He gave a thoughtful nod. "Well, if you sent it care of Fort Kearny, it may still reach someone. But it won't be through the fort itself. Once the Army abandoned the post, the men stationed there would've been reassigned."
Mercy's hopes dimmed. She'd been so certain they'd found a trail worth following. Instead, it seemed that trail had disappeared years before she'd even begun looking.
Wilson stood quietly for a moment, one hand resting against the edge of the nearest shelf. "Wouldn’t the Army have kept track of where they were sent?"
"I expect so." Briggs shrugged. "Whether those records still exist—or how difficult they'd be to find—is another matter."
Silence settled over the room as Mercy considered that. The trail hadn't truly ended. It had simply become more complicated.
Wilson broke the silence. "Could someone write directly to the War Department?"
Briggs nodded. "I don't see why not. In fact, if the letter to Fort Kearny doesn't find its way, that's exactly what I'd do. They may be able to tell you where the records went after the fort closed."
Wilson shrugged. "Why wait? Might be weeks before we know what became of that letter."
The first flicker of hope returned. It wasn't the straightforward path she'd hoped for. But it was a path. "I'll write that letter tonight."
"I'll make a few inquiries myself," Briggs continued. "There are men I served with who seem to know somebody in every corner of the country. If any of them have connections to the old Fort Kearny post, I'll let you know."
Mercy smiled. "I'd appreciate that very much."
He nodded acknowledgement. "Happy to do it. Would you mind writing those names down for me? I'd rather not trust my memory."
"Of course."
Mercy crossed to the table where she kept the blank cards and quickly wrote the names then handed it to him.
"Much obliged." Briggs slipped the card into his pocket. "And don't give up on that letter of yours just yet. Postmasters are resourceful fellows. If the person handling the mail knows where the records—or even the former garrison—were sent, there's a fair chance it'll be forwarded."
Mercy hadn't considered that. The hope she’d felt took firmer root.
Colonel Briggs rested one hand on the bulky packet he'd carried in with him, a smile returning to his face.
"Now then," he said, "that wasn't the only reason I came by today.
" He loosened the worn leather strap holding the packet together.
"I've been meaning to bring these by ever since Monday's committee meeting. "
He folded back the brown wrapping paper. Inside were several neat bundles of letters tied with faded ribbon, a stack of folded newspapers, a handful of memorial programs and reunion pamphlets, and a well-worn ledger.
Mercy stepped closer. "You've collected all of these?"
Briggs smiled, looking almost embarrassed by the attention.
"Keeps an old fellow occupied." He rested one hand on the bundle.
"After Martha passed, I found I had more quiet evenings than I cared for.
Every now and then one of Hawthorn's veterans would write, or I'd come across a newspaper account of a reunion or memorial service.
Before long I'd filled a drawer. Then another.
I reckoned these were documents worth saving.
But I wasn't sure what to do with them or how to organize them. "
Wilson looked over the collection. "You've been at it awhile."
"A fair number of years." Briggs lifted one bundle of letters. "I always figured I'd sort everything into some kind of order one day."
Mercy accepted the letters carefully, giving them the respect they deserved. "Colonel, why didn't you mention these when I interviewed you?"
He looked genuinely surprised.
"Because you were asking about my history." His gaze dropped to the packet spread across the table. "These never even occurred to me."
He was quiet for a moment before continuing.
"Then, at the committee meeting Monday, you started talking about preserving the stories attached to ordinary things.
" He smiled sheepishly. "I went home that afternoon and realized that while these weren’t part of my story, they were part of Hawthorn’s. "
A warm satisfaction settled over Mercy. "You're exactly right about that." She smiled back at him. "And you’ve already done the important part."
Briggs looked up.
"You saved them."
For a moment he simply regarded the bundle in her hands before a quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I suppose I did."
Mercy untied the faded ribbon and unfolded the first letter. She'd scarcely read more than a few lines before she realized Colonel Briggs hadn't brought her a handful of keepsakes. He'd brought her an entirely new collection.
She looked up. "Do you realize what you've just given the archive?"
His eyebrows lifted. "I thought you might find a few things worth keeping."
"Oh, I will." She couldn't keep the excitement from her voice. "These letters tell what happened after the war. Where Hawthorn's veterans settled. The families they raised and the lives they lived. Those are stories we might never have recovered any other way."
"You'll find not every page was meant for public reading." The old soldier locked his gaze on hers. "I leave it to your judgment what ought to be shared and what ought to be kept in confidence."
Mercy was both surprised and humbled. Colonel Briggs wasn't merely entrusting her with a collection of letters. He was placing in her care the confidence other veterans had placed in him. “I understand.”
Wilson leaned slightly closer, looking over the newspapers and bundles spread across the table. "'Pears you've got enough there to fill another shelf."
Mercy's smile lingered as her gaze traveled across the robust collection. Each piece belonged to someone's story. But together they told the story of several generations of Hawthorn's veterans.
She paused. That meant they really didn't belong to any single family display. Or perhaps some part of them did.