by Cathy Elliot
But to Annie, everything appeared small scale. The Great Room seemed like a cathedral when she was a girl. Now it was simply a large, lovely room. Like a two-page spread out of an old Architectural Digest. Though, to her way of thinking, the picture wouldn’t include the constant tapping on keyboards. Or the steady snores from a young man asleep in a comfy chair across the room, his leg draped over its arm.
As Annie approached the Circulation Desk, someone pushed a book truck down an aisle and disappeared into the stacks with the load. Could that have been Josephine? Maybe. Hard to tell from the back view.
Annie noticed several informational signs posted around the area: “We have wireless!” “Don’t forget story time every Friday from 10 to 11 a.m.” and, “It’s not too late to take a vacation with us. A new Armchair Traveler Tour begins next week.” She remembered how Gram always used to call her library card a “Passport to Adventure.”
Behind the desk, a petite woman with a boyish figure set aside a bunch of books to check in. She seemed young, her brown hair streaked with blond highlights and cut in a short style. But as Annie drew nearer, she could see the woman’s lined face and quick hint of a smile that, while friendly, didn’t quite light up the wide, blue eyes. The only sparkle in her expression came from her diamond earring studs.
“How may I help you?” She widened her smile and gave Annie her attention. A name badge identified the woman as Grace Emory, Reference Librarian.
“I actually do need some help, Miss … ah …” Annie eyed the wedding band on the librarian’s left hand. “I mean, Mrs. Emory.”
“Call me Grace,” she said, speaking in a brisk, no-nonsense tone. As if either very anxious to help Annie, or equally eager to help her right out of the building.
Annie decided to go with the first option.
But maybe she needed to try an ice-breaker question.
“Grace,” Annie started, “was that Josephine I saw pushing a cart full of books up and down the rows?”
A pleased look flashed across Grace’s face, almost extending to her eyes. “You know Josephine?”
“Well, I don’t really know her, except from the picture in the foyer. But I thought it sweet that you honored her with that spot out there, where everybody can see. She must feel appreciated.”
“She is appreciated. One-hundred-percent and then some.” Grace gave a quick nod. “So what are you looking for?”
To Annie, the woman still seemed stiff. Inhibited.
Time for icebreaker number two.
“My goodness. I can’t help but notice those beautiful diamond earrings. They are just exquisite,” Annie said.
Grace’s eyes misted. “Thanks. A gift from my husband for our thirty-fifth.” She touched the earrings, as if to check and be sure they were still in place.
“He sounds like a keeper to me,” Annie said, grinning. “Just imagine what he’ll get you for your fortieth!”
“I do imagine it. All the time.” Grace blinked away mounting tears. “Won’t happen though. Don passed away. Cancer.”
Annie caught her breath. “I’m so sorry! Please forgive me. I had no idea …”
“Of course not.” Grace returned to her professional brisk self. “It hasn’t been very long.”
“No wonder you are so sensitive. I do understand. How long has it been?”
“Five years.”
Five years? And Grace still so overcome with grief? It had been a year since Wayne passed. The hardest year of Annie’s life. But she clung to the hope that the black cloud of sorrow would continue to fade day by day--like a fog turning into mist, then vanishing into a memory. Was she fooling herself?
The conversation Annie initiated almost made her forget why she’d come. But the file served to bring her back on course. To find any written record of Grandpa’s military service beyond the forms she had discovered in his desk.
She showed Grace the file, pointing to the separation paper in particular and explained finding some medals in her grandmother’s attic and wondering if they belonged to her grandfather. It occurred to Annie then, she had spilled more of the mystery in the attic than Alice. Would that make a problem with the Hook and Needle Club? What if one of them found out she had given Grace the information Annie had not trusted them with? Her friends who so wanted to know the details? Not that she was worried about Grace. She was a professional.
But still …
This may have been a big mistake.
Hindsight. And that twenty-twenty vision thing.
“So you must be Betsy’s granddaughter! I have something to show you later,” Grace said. “But about your grandfather. We have wonderful archives of The Point, our local newspaper, going back to the first issue. All on microfiche. I think that’s where we should start.”
Since Grace and Josephine were covering all the public desks while the other two employees were at lunch, the librarian put out a sign alerting patrons to push a red button for service. Then Grace grabbed the beeper and led Annie through an archway and into the Reference Room.
The area was the opposite of the gracious Great Room. On one side stood the reference collection in printed format--books. On the other, computer stations backed one another in two rows of ten each. Most were filled with youngsters, engaged in their emails or games and focusing hard on their monitors. A few other patrons seemed to be doing serious research.
Annie thought any activity attempted must have a better outcome here with help from this knowledgeable staff. Excited that the mystery had brought her here today, she wondered what stories and facts waited to be discovered. Maybe about her own family. She couldn’t wait to get started.
“We have access to millions of magazine and newspaper articles through our library databases. Great resources,” Grace said. She seemed to have warmed to the subject of her beloved library. “Unfortunately, what you’re seeking isn’t online. Or indexed.”
“Oh-oh. That sounds like more work for me,” Annie said, sitting down in front of a large microfiche/microfilm reader-printer. She remembered using one of these in college, but goodness, that had been a long time ago.
“Sorry. One day, we hope to have all these materials indexed. The Historical Society’s been considering the project. That won’t help you now.” Grace had grown animated, talkative. “Sometimes, you just have to start at the beginning.”
She flipped the “on” switch, and the machine’s inner workings fired up with a thunk, sounding like a faulty automatic transmission slipping into gear. But in spite of the noise, the unit didn’t move or shudder and didn’t resist when Grace threaded the fiche through the mechanisms, giving Annie a quick demo. Soon, a special edition of The Point from August 14, 1945, appeared on the screen. “War Over! Victory Declared!” accompanied by a picture of President Harry Truman making the official announcement to a large gathering of reporters in the White House.
“We have an original copy of this issue in the Stony Point Museum. Under glass.”
“Wow. I’d like to see it sometime,” Annie said, looking up at Grace. “But this is almost as good.” Turning back to the page display, she saw several front-page stories about the end of the war. Annie worked the knobs, manipulating the image on the screen and going on to the next.
“Work backward. See if there’s any mention of your grandfather. I did notice he’s originally from … where?” Grace referred to the separation paper. “Right, High Falls, Connecticut. Shall I initiate an interlibrary loan for you? It’s more likely that his hometown paper would have the information you want.”
Annie was pretty sure that Grace’s eyes twinkled a bit from interest in the subject and not just a reflection of those diamond earrings.
“Thanks so much.” She watched Grace move off to the reference desk and work on the staff computer, busying herself with the request.
After examining a roll of fiche, Annie realized this would be a long process. There were years of newspapers to peruse, an impossible task to rush. It was simply too interesting.
All the stories, the history of the town, the names she recognized.
And the ads. She especially enjoyed all the sales advertised for Bascom’s Department Store. Annie had often visited Bascom’s with Gram during her summer visits. Those were cherished times, especially since the store had gone out of business years ago.
She would need a lot more time than a couple hours one afternoon at the Stony Point Library. The wall clock said it was getting close to 3:00 p.m. Annie reversed the fiche and, when it stopped spinning, placed the roll into its proper box. Not sure what to do with all the boxed rolls still unsearched, she piled them together by date and left them on top of the machine.
Josephine would have to clean up the mess, poor thing.
Annie decided to explore more of the library on her way out, so she wandered through the reference stacks, looking at the titles of various encyclopedias, directories, and analogs. A person could really lose herself in all this information. She rounded one of the rows and came face-to-face with a familiar, yet shocking sight.
One of Gram’s lovely cross-stitches.
Framed in dark cherry wood with a navy-colored mat, the seascape pictured Butler’s Lighthouse soaring above the horizon at the end of the point, ready to guide weary sailors into safe harbor. Annie had watched Gram stitch this piece one summer after an incident involving a local fishing boat during a storm. One soul was lost that day, but many men were saved by the light from Stony Point’s only Lighthouse. Gram stitched her sadness and her gratitude right into the fabric, creating a masterpiece.
“I see you found it yourself.” Grace had come up behind Annie, startling her. “Superb, isn’t it?”
“I was visiting the summer she made it. I remember how moved she was by the tragedy, though it could have been much worse. See? In the corner? She stitched the name of the man lost at sea.”
Grace nodded. “We’re proud to have it in our art collection. It’s kept in the rare book case to protect it, to keep it from fading. And also, it just happens to be displayed right by the needlecraft section.”
“The perfect place for a Betsy Original.”
“Exactly.” Grace returned the file used to send Annie’s interlibrary loan request. “I’ve already turned over your ILL to Valerie Duffy, our circulation and interlibrary loan librarian. She’ll see it through. Though it might take a couple weeks to get an answer from Connecticut. Hope there’s no rush.”
“No. No rush.” Annie glimpsed the wall clock.
Except right now.
She waved her thanks to Grace. And with file in hand, Annie rushed toward the Town Square.
8
Breathless, Annie arrived at the Town Square with six minutes to spare. The wind had picked up a little, causing her to pull her sweater tighter as she hurried across Main Street. Not so easy when she was also speeding in sandals and trying to be sure Grandpa’s papers didn’t fly out to sea. Her tousled locks whipped around her face. Feeling a little light headed, as if someone had emptied all her energy into the morning and left none for the afternoon, she dropped down onto a bench.
The sound of Old Glory snapping in the wind gave her a patriotic jolt as she waited for Ian. Annie’s thoughts turned to how he had shepherded her through the Fourth of July fireworks after Alice had slipped away to find a friend. Ian made a clumsy situation seem quite natural with his offer of lawn chairs under the stars. Annie had been grateful to sit and watch the stunning display of lights exploding against the night sky.
Stony Point seemed to awaken her sleeping patriot within. All the historical points of interest and artifacts--and even watching the fishermen cast out to sea each day--made Annie feel connected to her nation’s roots. Maybe she’d crochet an Americana something--or develop a simple project for Mary Beth’s children’s table at next year’s Fourth festivities.
Next year? The thought gave her pause. One thing for sure, she’d better stay out of Gram’s attic or she would never get back to Texas.
“I brought sustenance,” Ian said, appearing suddenly and interrupting Annie’s thoughts. He handed her a tall paper cup with a lid. “Coffee, to start.”
“Mighty Mayor has come to save the day. Thank goodness!” Annie said, smiling. The hunger she had denied earlier returned at the first fragrance of coffee and …what else?
“Hope you don’t mind leftovers,” he held the bag in front of her. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up about now.”
“You must be a mind reader.” She peered into the bag. “Where did these come from?”
“A lunch meeting. My secretary ordered them from The Cup & Saucer.” The mayor sat beside Annie. “She knows how to pamper us. Apricot-pecan scones. Try one.”
Annie took a bite and chewed. “Mmm. Heaven!” She sipped her coffee, savoring the rich flavor. “Thanks.”
Between swigs of coffee, Ian made a few comments about the weather and tossed out pleasantries, giving Annie a chance to finish her scone. When she refused another, he folded the sack of scones and said, “So, tell me about the mystery in the attic.”
Energized by her mini-lunch, which did, after all, contain fruit and nuts, Annie explained about finding the medals. Drawing air pictures, she described each one and the patriotic carving on the case, as well.
“I’m pretty sure it’s Grandpa Holden’s handiwork. But what I can’t figure out is why he spent hours whittling the wooden case unless the medals were his. I mean, that doesn’t make sense, does it?”
“No, not at this point,” Ian agreed. “Let me see if I have the facts straight. You found two medals. One is a Purple Heart, right?”
Annie nodded. “I don’t know what else it could be.”
“And the other is gold and looks like a sheriff’s badge?”
“Sounds silly, doesn’t it? But that’s what I thought when I first saw it.” She shrugged. “Or like the toy badge kids wear when they play cowboys.”
Downing more coffee, the mayor looked off into the distance, as if he was searching through a mental database. “Do you remember seeing any printing on the medal? Like maybe the word “valor”?
“Not that I remember. It’s a five-pointed star hanging on a blue ribbon. The clasp part is decorated with white stars.”
“Were the stars lined up in a chevron pattern?”
Annie gave him an exasperated look. “I don’t know … maybe.” She sipped her coffee and eyed the folded sack, thinking about the other scone inside.
“Are you warm enough? Want my jacket?” Ian indicated his lightweight navy blazer, apparently ready to pull it off if Annie was chilled.
She smiled. “I’m fine, thanks, Mayor. The coffee warmed me right up.”
“Good.” He sat back on the bench. “OK, we have one identified medal and one mystery medal. Anything else?”
“This.” Annie opened her grandfather’s file, taking out the Notice of Separation from the U.S. Naval Service. “This form shows some of the medals he received, and a Purple Heart wasn’t among them.”
“You’re right.” Ian scanned the paper. “Interesting. I haven’t seen one of these before.”
“Really?” Annie leaned over to look again. “I would think every serviceman would be given one when he--or she--gets out of the military.”
“Right again. But this particular form wasn’t used when I was discharged. We used a DD 214. This is a NAVPERS-553. But it’s similar.”
“Do you think that has some significance?” Annie asked.
“Probably not. Just proves it’s old.” Ian said, a grin lighting up his blue eyes. “But we knew that already, right? It’s your grandpa’s.”
Annie showed him the rest of the file containing the evaluations, dental records, and certificates. Ian didn’t look all that impressed.
“It looks like he was a hospital apprentice and then later a pharmacist’s mate. Though,” his bland expression turned to one of interest, “that second rating would put him aboard a ship.” He scanned the page. “Yep. Right here. Your grandpa served aboard a hospi
tal ship, the USS Beneficent. Right near the action too.”
“Grandpa had already taken some college science classes when he enlisted. He was preparing to become a veterinarian. I like the idea he was taking care of other soldiers and sailors on the ship. It sounds just like him.”
Ian nodded. “He was a great vet. Saved our old spaniel once. We almost lost him, but thanks to Dr. Holden, Brutus was with us several more years. Your grandpa was a hero in our family.”
“Thanks for telling me that.” Annie’s eyes misted. “He was a great man. Sure wish I’d paid more attention when he talked about his military service.” She sighed. “Of course, he didn’t talk about it much. Maybe it was a guy thing.”
The mayor glanced at her. “Possibly. Or he figured it wasn’t a kid thing.”
The explanation made sense to Annie. Grandpa Holden had always been more compelled to converse about her cares than dwell on his own.
“Sorry, but the rest of this information, while memorable, doesn’t seem to hold any clues to your mystery. Except to affirm the medals you found are not your grandfather’s.”
“That’s what I thought.” Annie’s face fell for a moment. Then she remembered her library visit. “I just talked to Grace Emory, and she got me started searching The Point on microfiche from the day World War II ended and going backward.”
“That sounds positive. Grace knows her stuff. What did you find?”
“Well … nothing that would help the hunt. So far, anyway. I got lost in the personal stories. And in the ads!” Her face brightened. “I could scroll through those for hours.”
“What did you find?”
“There was one about making sure your stocking seams are straight to keep your husband happy. And it was an ad for Lux detergent!” Annie laughed. “Oh, and Reese’s peanut butter cups: a pack of twenty-four for five cents.”