Chapter 13 #3
Wilson marked the studs and fastened narrow mounting strips where the displays would hang.
Mercy sorted the family collections into those that could be framed and those that still required table space.
Every so often one of them asked a practical question or pointed out a measurement, but the easy back-and-forth that had become as familiar as the sound of Wilson's hammer never quite returned.
When the schoolhouse clock struck noon, Mercy set aside the frame she'd been arranging. "I suppose that's our reminder to stop for lunch."
Normally Wilson would have already laid down his tools.
Instead, he drove another nail, stepped back to inspect the strip he'd just secured, then reached for another. "You go ahead," he said without looking around. "I'd like to finish this while I've got everything out. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes"
Mercy hesitated only a moment. "All right. I'll leave yours on the table."
"Thank you."
She spread their lunches as she always did, placing his across from her without giving the matter another thought. He'd only be a few minutes.
She settled into her chair and unfolded the napkin around her sandwich.
Mercy had nearly finished her sandwich before Wilson joined her. He pulled up his chair and reached for the sandwich she’d set out for him. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
"I went ahead and started."
"I figured you would."
He unwrapped his lunch while Mercy took another sip of tea.
For a few moments the only sounds were the rustle of paper and the faint clink of her cup against the saucer.
"I found enough room for four more family displays," she said at last. "Possibly five if I choose smaller frames."
Wilson nodded. "That ought to help."
"It will."
The silence settled again.
She reached into her satchel and pulled out a folded newspaper clipping.
"I also came across this article this morning. It's about a widow who turned her boarding house into a home for disabled veterans after the war. She wasn't from Hawthorn, but I thought perhaps I could mention her somewhere as an example of the sacrifices made by those who stayed behind."
Wilson looked at the clipping before returning his attention to his lunch.
"That seems reasonable."
She waited to see if he'd add anything more.
When he didn't, she folded the clipping and slipped it back into her satchel.
Before long Wilson pushed back from the desk. “I'd best get back to it."
"So soon?"
He looked almost surprised by the question. "We've still got a fair bit to accomplish."
"Of course."
He gathered his things and returned to the wall, leaving Mercy alone at the desk for another moment.
She glanced at the chair across from her.
Lunches had become one of the parts of her day she looked forward to the most.
Today it had scarcely felt like lunch at all.
She brushed the thought aside.
Yesterday had demanded more of Wilson than she'd ever imagined possible.
Perhaps he simply wasn't ready to be himself again.
She folded her napkin, stood, and carried their things to the wash basin before returning to work.
Wilson returned to his measurements while Mercy gathered several of the smaller family displays into a neat stack.
"I've been thinking about those wall displays."
He glanced over. "Mm?"
"I don't actually have anything ready to hang yet." She picked up one of the collections—a pair of letters, a mourning ribbon, and a photograph that belonged with the Kemp family. "Most of these pieces are too small to display well on their own. I think they need to be mounted together somehow."
Wilson crossed the room and studied the arrangement for a moment.
"A wooden frame would do it."
"I thought about looking for some ready-made ones, but I doubt I'll find enough that match."
"Be pricey too."
She chewed her lip.
"I can make them."
"You can?"
He shrugged. "Nothing fancy. Just simple frames with a backing to mount everything on." He glanced toward the meager stack of salvaged lumber near the door. "If Daniel has some scraps in his carpentry workshop he’s willing to part with, that ought to be enough."
A smile spread across her face. "That would solve a great many problems."
"I'll ask him."
She waited, half expecting the conversation to continue as it usually would. Ordinarily they’d already have been discussing sizes, deciding which family displays should go on the walls first, perhaps even sketching a rough design.
Instead, Wilson picked up his hammer once more. "I'll finish these mounting strips while you're sorting."
Mercy watched him return to his work before looking back at the Kemp collection in her hands.
She began arranging the pieces on the tabletop, trying different placements to see which told the family's story most clearly.
The afternoon settled into a steady pace.
Mercy sorted family collections into neat groupings, slipping each into a folder with a note describing the frame she'd eventually need.
One required enough depth for a baby's silver rattle.
Another held only a pair of letters and a pressed flower.
A third contained two military medals that would need careful mounting so they wouldn't shift once the frame was hung.
Whenever she finished another grouping, she carried it to Wilson.
He measured the arrangement, jotted the dimensions onto a scrap of paper, then set it neatly beside his tool bag.
"Twelve by sixteen."
She nodded and handed him another.
"Ten by fourteen."
He wrote that down as well.
"This ribbon should hang naturally instead of being stretched flat," she said.
"It can." He made another note.
On other days they would have been discussing the best way to arrange each collection, debating whether a photograph belonged above or beside a letter, wondering which stories visitors might notice first. Instead, Wilson measured, made his notes, and moved on to the next.
Mercy reminded herself that he was simply trying to make efficient use of his time.
Still...
By the time she carried over the fifth grouping, she found herself hesitating before setting it down.
"I wasn't sure about this one."
Wilson laid his rule across the arrangement. "Looks fine."
"You don't think I ought to move the tintype?"
He studied it for only a moment. "No." Then he wrote another measurement on his growing list without looking up.
Mercy lingered beside the table a heartbeat longer, waiting for his exclamation of why. It never came.
Eventually she gathered the folder and returned to her work.
Perhaps tomorrow would be easier.