Wings to the Kingdom (Eden Moore 2)

He needed more information.

Down the road within walking distance there was a library, but it wasn’t much of one—a little branch that consisted of one big room, two smaller ones, and a couple of reference desks. But the librarian was a helpful woman—a pretty, younger woman with long brown hair clipped back in a barrette. Her round face was all smiles when he showed her the old letters. She walked him over to the computers and helped him with a search engine.

“Genealogy is such a popular thing these days,” she said, pointing and clicking with dexterity that Pete could only dream about. He couldn’t even type beyond the two-finger hunt-and-peck method. “And that’s real interesting, about your family. Lots of people around here had family in the war, of course, but that you’ve still got record of this stuff, that’s neat. Do you know where the original documents came from?”

“No,” Pete admitted, watching her long white hands palm the mouse around the worn red pad. “Well, then again, I think my uncle said something about a museum. One for the battlefield. ”

“The one at the visitors’ center there? Out at Chickamauga?”

“I think so, but I don’t really know. That’s where my uncle thinks it went, anyhow. ”

“That could be. It’s a nice setup out there. ” She brushed her hair off her shoulders and squinted at the monitor, and Pete thought about how the library’s setup wasn’t half bad either.

“You’ve been out there?”

“Once or twice. Hasn’t everybody within a hundred miles?”

“Probably. But the museum there, it’s a good one?”

She shrugged. “It’s not bad. It’s not like something you’d find in Atlanta or anything, but there’s more there than you’d expect. And some old nut donated his antique gun collection, so the museum has a big wing dedicated to that, too. ”

Pete turned the photocopy over in his hands. “Do you think they’d have something like this out on display? So I could look at the original?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t see why not. And if it’s not out on display, there are rangers who work there that could tell you about it if you asked. A bunch of the collection objects are kept down in the basement, I hear. ”

“In the basement?”

“I guess they don’t have room for it all out in the open. I bet they switch it around from time to time, changing out the exhibits for people who come by regularly. So that way, it’s not the same thing every time they visit. You should take this out there. I bet the folks who work there would love to see it, and they’d know a whole lot more about it than I would. ”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Pete said, rising from the uncomfortable plastic chair. “I may just do that. I appreciate your time. ”

“That’s what I’m here for. ” She smiled up at him, and he almost blushed as he hurried his way out.

When Rudy got home from wherever he’d been, Pete asked if he could borrow the car. Rudy rubbed the keys between his thumb and forefinger, worrying them thoughtfully.

“What do you want it for?” he asked.

Pete already had his answer planned out. “Job hunting. ”

“Dressed like that?”

“Well, I didn’t mean right now. I was gonna clean up first. ” He wiped his hand self-consciously across his forehead and back through his hair. He was still wearing the same dirty clothes he had on when he’d walked to the library. “And besides,” he added, “I’m not trying out for a big insurance company or anything. I thought I’d drive down to St. Elmo and try my luck at the foundry. ”

“That’s not a bad idea. ”

“No sir, I didn’t think so either. ”

“Well, you take it, then. Just be real careful. It’s pulling to the right. I need to get it realigned, when I get the money. ”

And Pete went down the mountain and into the city; or rather, he went through the city and down into Rossville, just on the other side of the state line. According to the signs on the interstate, you could get to the battlefield by such a route.

Pete took the signs at their word, and about twelve miles south of Chattanooga, he found himself driving onto park property.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the rolling hills, tended grass, and paved bike trails felt anticlimactic somehow. My ancestors died here, he thought. And a whole lot of other people’s ancestors, too. It felt funny to putter through the lawns and see people with picnic gear seeking out patches of sun.

Off to the right of the main road there was a big, antebellum-house-shaped building with cannons in front of it. Pete took a guess that this was the visitors’ center and museum. He parked the loud old car in the lot, lining up the hood with a pyramid made of stacked cannonballs.

He got out of the car then, retrieving his yellow envelope from the passenger’s seat and tucking it under his arm.