Chapter 10 #2
What possible explanation would she give if he discovered it hidden there?
Besides, hiding it wouldn't change the truth.
She had put on one of the archive's most remarkable artifacts simply because she'd wanted to know what it felt like.
The very thought made her cheeks burn. After all the care she'd taken to show Wilson she approached every family's keepsakes with respect, what was he going to think when he found her wearing this one?
She could scarcely imagine a less professional impression to make.
The footsteps came nearer.
Mercy worked the clasp one last time, more desperately now than carefully, but it remained firmly fastened. She let her hands fall.
There was no escaping this.
She was simply going to have to tell him the truth and ask for his help. A shadow crossed the doorway leading from the schoolroom.
Mercy's pulse stuttered.
Before she could turn, Wilson's familiar knock sounded against the open doorframe. "Morning, Mercy."
She closed her eyes for the briefest instant. There was no putting this off now. Turning to face him, she managed what she hoped resembled a composed smile. "Good morning."
His smile faded. Concern flickered across his face but he didn't say anything.
Her own smile faltered. He'd seen the locket.
What must he be thinking of her? "I can explain," she blurted out.
"I was trying to decide whether the locket ought to be included in the exhibit, and then I reread Martha Washington's note, and...
" She realized she was babbling but couldn't seem to stop.
"I wondered what it must have felt like for the women who wore it.
" She lifted a hand in an awkward gesture toward the locket.
"It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. "
She winced inwardly. What was he thinking? Why didn't he say something?
Something in his expression eased, though she was far too flustered to decide what it meant.
"But when I tried to take it off, the clasp seemed to have other ideas," she continued, forcing herself to slow down. She reached behind her neck once more, her fingers brushing the tiny mechanism. "I'm afraid it's stuck." She tried one last time. Nothing.
Looking back at him, she drew a quiet breath. "I was hoping you might be willing to help me."
Wilson didn't answer immediately. Instead, he nodded and took a step toward her.
Relief mingled with fresh embarrassment as Mercy turned, gathering her hair over one shoulder to expose the back of her neck.
She swallowed as he moved behind her. The back of her neck was exposed in a way that made her acutely aware of how close he stood.
"May I?" His voice gave nothing of what he was feeling away.
Mercy nodded, unable to trust her own voice. She heard the faint rustle of his shirt as he stepped closer. A moment later, the lightest brush of his fingertips touched the back of her neck before lifting away again as he found the chain.
The light brush of his fingertips against the back of her neck sent an unexpected flutter through her.
Several quiet seconds passed while she concentrated on keeping her breathing even.
"The catch twisted," he said at last. "It's turned sideways."
Mercy let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"So, it isn't ruined?"
"No. It just needs a little patience."
Mercy concentrated on the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing.
It helped.
A little.
Not nearly enough to quiet her awareness of Wilson standing just behind her. Every slight movement of his hands seemed magnified. She could hear the soft rasp of the chain sliding through his fingers and the quiet sound of his breathing only inches away.
Hold still. Don't do anything to make it more difficult for him.
She finally couldn't bear the charged silence any longer and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "I'm sorry. This wasn't exactly how I imagined our morning beginning."
"It wasn't how I imagined it either."
There was an unexpected hint of humor in his tone that caught her off guard. But there was something else as well—a huskiness she couldn't quite place that left her feeling even more off balance.
Before she could decide what to make of it, his fingertips brushed lightly against the back of her neck once more as he adjusted the clasp. Another small flutter swept through her.
She tried to fix her attention on the far wall and mentally inventory what she could see, determined not to think about how close he stood.
It didn't work.
He was so close. What was taking so long? Had she somehow broken it? What was he thinking?
A tiny metallic click broke the silence.
"There."
The tension she'd been carrying since he'd walked into the annex eased slightly. She should take a step away. But instead, she found herself turning to face him.
And realized too late just how close he was.
For one suspended moment neither of them moved.
Wilson still held the freed chain loosely between his fingers.
Mercy looked up and found he was watching her. Their gazes caught and held. The reserve she'd come to expect in his expression was replaced by something else, something more intense, something she had never seen there before.
That focused gaze lingered on hers a heartbeat longer.
Her pulse stumbled. She remained silent, unable to gather her thoughts, afraid she'd start babbling again.
Then, almost as though remembering himself, his expression shuttered and he shifted, putting slightly more distance between them.
She searched his face for some clue and found none. Whatever she'd glimpsed had vanished behind the familiar composure she'd come to associate with him.
"I..." The word escaped before she knew what she meant to say.
Wilson's hand lifted slightly, offering the locket back to her.
Mercy blinked and reached for it. For a moment she'd forgotten all about the locket.
Their fingers met for just an instant. Startled, Mercy adjusted her grip just as Wilson did the same, and the locket slipped from the chain, striking the wooden floor with a sharp crack.
Mercy's heart lurched. Had she damaged the precious heirloom? She dropped to her knees immediately, Wilson beside her a heartbeat later.
"It's my fault." The words tumbled out, "I should have been paying attention."
Wilson shook his head. "It was an accident."
For just a moment she studied the fallen locket before daring to touch it. The locket lay open, and the bezel had come free. The small lock of hair had slipped from the shallow recess where it had rested, but the silky curl itself appeared undamaged.
With fingers that shook slightly, she gathered the locket, delicate frame and pale curl with painstaking care, then rose and moved to a nearby table.
Wilson was already one step ahead of her. He cleared a space on the table and spread his handkerchief over it. "Here."
With a nod she set the soft curl and bezel on the cloth. Wilson added the chain. The locket case she held and examined closely. "There doesn't appear to be any damage," she said finally. "No dents or scratches."
Wilson had been studying the bezel. "This also seems fine. We should be able to just snap it back in place."
With her hands still not quite steady, Mercy started to hand the locket to Wilson to reassemble. Then she paused.
What was that?
Just inside the edge of the compartment, previously hidden by the lock of hair, was the tiniest sliver of metal.
"Wilson..."
She angled the locket toward him, her fingertip hovering just above the discovery.
"Look at this."
Wilson stepped closer, standing at her shoulder, looking where she pointed. He studied the tiny piece of metal only a moment before his brow lifted. "Looks like a latch."
She stared at the locket. "A latch?"
"For another compartment," he said.
The realization struck her almost before he'd finished speaking.
"Of course." Excitement stirred. Now that he said it out loud it was obvious. The thickness of the back section was perfect for hiding special keepsakes.
She met his gaze, anticipation bubbling inside. "What do you suppose is hidden there?"
A hint of a smile touched Wilson's face. "There's only one way to find out."
Mercy returned his smile. Then her excitement gave way to sudden caution. "We should open it carefully. There’s no telling how fragile the contents might be."
He nodded once.
She turned the locket slightly, studying the tiny latch. It yielded beneath her thumbnail with surprising ease. The back panel shifted and she nudged it the rest of the way open.
Nestled inside lay what at first appeared to be nothing more than a small piece of dark metal.
Wilson leaned a little closer. "Is that some kind of ornament?"
Mercy studied the tiny object. "It looks like part of a stickpin. But it's broken." The pin itself had snapped away before it was placed inside. "Someone chose to keep it anyway."
With the utmost care she lifted the tiny keepsake from its hiding place. Onyx. Had it been a mourning pin? What was the significance of it being broken? Which of the locket's many owners had put it there? This object had stories to tell, if only she could unlock them.
She glanced back at the locket, and only then notice an engraving on the left face. Her breath caught.
"Martha Washington."
The elegant script seemed almost impossibly crisp despite the years.
Wilson said nothing.
Mercy slowly turned the open locket, studying every surface.
Wilson leaned in closer and his next words seemed breathed into her ear. "There's something else."
It took her a moment to catch herself and look where he pointed. Near one edge on the right face a pair of initials had been stamped.
"P...R..." Wilson leaned back, giving her more space. "Looks like a maker's mark."
She traced it lightly with her fingertip. "It might be worth looking into later."
She turned her attention back to the stickpin, wondering again just what was the story behind it and if it had any connection to the lock of hair that was in the front section.
For several moments neither of them spoke.