to be pursued. However, if there ever were going to
be any pursuing, he’d be the one to do it, not her.
Two more blocks down, the schoolhouse came into
view. It was a charming two-story structure with Victorian architecture. Painted
white, a bell tower protruded from the roof and a wide bank of stairs led to
the front door, with a sign above it reading: Historical Society and Museum .
A curly-headed woman wearing wire-rimmed glasses, a
lavender blouse, a long denim skirt and stodgy looking shoes greeted her once
she was inside. The lady looked to be of retirement age and was eager to be of
assistance.
“Welcome. My name is Doris Rockwood. Are you here to
visit the museum, or can I help you with something else?”
Shaking her extended hand, Shay introduced herself. “Hello.
My name’s Shay Brennan. I’m new in town. I just purchased the Buckhorn Saloon
and I’ve come to see what kind of information I can find on the history of it.”
“The saloon, you say?” The woman seemed intrigued. “Follow
me, dear. I can steer you in the right direction.”
“Wonderful. Thank you, Mrs. Rockwood.”
“Please, call me Doris.”
Shay had hoped finding some history on the saloon
would be a fairly straightforward project, but this might be even easier than
she’d expected. Her ribcage inflated with eagerness. But when Doris led her
into a large back room, her lungs deflated. Stacks and stacks of books filled
floor-to-ceiling shelves. How would she ever find what she was looking for in
here?
Doris chuckled, evidently noticing Shay’s dropped
jaw. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you track down what you’re looking for. Believe
it or not, there’s a method to the madness in here, and I’m one of the few
people who knows how to decipher it.” She moved to a wooden cabinet that was
sitting under a stained glass window and began pulling out small drawers.
“Is that a card catalog?” Shay asked, stepping to
her side.
“It sure is. There aren’t many card catalogs in use
anymore these days. Not since computers came on the scene. But this is a small
town, and our organization is a non-profit, so we don’t have a lot of money to
work with. We’re supposed to be updating to computers within the next year or two,
but for now, this is what we have to work with.”
Shaking her head, Shay thought her desire to learn
the history of the Buckhorn was a lost cause, but Doris started thumbing
through cards and setting them on the table top next to her in quick order. “I was
a librarian for forty-three years in Springfield, Illinois before retiring here
five years ago. I know what I’m doing.”
“I grew up in Illinois, too,” Shay said. “In a
suburb near Chicago.”
Doris stopped and cocked her head. “You don’t say? Isn’t
that a coincidence?”
Guess it didn’t matter much to Doris how Shay had
come to reside in this town or why she’d wanted to buy the saloon, because she
asked no questions and offered no further details on her own life in the
Midwest. Her eyeglasses were perched on the tip of her nose, which was buried
deep in the drawers of cards.
A half-dozen cards later, Doris slammed the drawers
shut, snatched the cards off the table and said, “Come with me.”
Shay was amazed when Doris started pulling material
off the shelves and filling her arms. “You can sit at one of these work
tables.” She referred to two long wooden tables. “There’s a lot of light in
this room, and the chairs are fairly comfortable.”
Books about the history and early residents of the
town were unloaded onto the table where Shay had dropped her purse.
“Be right back,” Doris chirped, trotting into an
adjoining room. A few minutes later, she returned carrying a large binder in
her hands. “This is full of newspapers dating back to the late 1880s. Eighteen
eighty-five was the year the Buckhorn was built, if memory serves.”
“That’s correct.” Shay was thrilled with Doris’s
efficiency and helpfulness,
be any pursuing, he’d be the one to do it, not her.
Two more blocks down, the schoolhouse came into
view. It was a charming two-story structure with Victorian architecture. Painted
white, a bell tower protruded from the roof and a wide bank of stairs led to
the front door, with a sign above it reading: Historical Society and Museum .
A curly-headed woman wearing wire-rimmed glasses, a
lavender blouse, a long denim skirt and stodgy looking shoes greeted her once
she was inside. The lady looked to be of retirement age and was eager to be of
assistance.
“Welcome. My name is Doris Rockwood. Are you here to
visit the museum, or can I help you with something else?”
Shaking her extended hand, Shay introduced herself. “Hello.
My name’s Shay Brennan. I’m new in town. I just purchased the Buckhorn Saloon
and I’ve come to see what kind of information I can find on the history of it.”
“The saloon, you say?” The woman seemed intrigued. “Follow
me, dear. I can steer you in the right direction.”
“Wonderful. Thank you, Mrs. Rockwood.”
“Please, call me Doris.”
Shay had hoped finding some history on the saloon
would be a fairly straightforward project, but this might be even easier than
she’d expected. Her ribcage inflated with eagerness. But when Doris led her
into a large back room, her lungs deflated. Stacks and stacks of books filled
floor-to-ceiling shelves. How would she ever find what she was looking for in
here?
Doris chuckled, evidently noticing Shay’s dropped
jaw. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you track down what you’re looking for. Believe
it or not, there’s a method to the madness in here, and I’m one of the few
people who knows how to decipher it.” She moved to a wooden cabinet that was
sitting under a stained glass window and began pulling out small drawers.
“Is that a card catalog?” Shay asked, stepping to
her side.
“It sure is. There aren’t many card catalogs in use
anymore these days. Not since computers came on the scene. But this is a small
town, and our organization is a non-profit, so we don’t have a lot of money to
work with. We’re supposed to be updating to computers within the next year or two,
but for now, this is what we have to work with.”
Shaking her head, Shay thought her desire to learn
the history of the Buckhorn was a lost cause, but Doris started thumbing
through cards and setting them on the table top next to her in quick order. “I was
a librarian for forty-three years in Springfield, Illinois before retiring here
five years ago. I know what I’m doing.”
“I grew up in Illinois, too,” Shay said. “In a
suburb near Chicago.”
Doris stopped and cocked her head. “You don’t say? Isn’t
that a coincidence?”
Guess it didn’t matter much to Doris how Shay had
come to reside in this town or why she’d wanted to buy the saloon, because she
asked no questions and offered no further details on her own life in the
Midwest. Her eyeglasses were perched on the tip of her nose, which was buried
deep in the drawers of cards.
A half-dozen cards later, Doris slammed the drawers
shut, snatched the cards off the table and said, “Come with me.”
Shay was amazed when Doris started pulling material
off the shelves and filling her arms. “You can sit at one of these work
tables.” She referred to two long wooden tables. “There’s a lot of light in
this room, and the chairs are fairly comfortable.”
Books about the history and early residents of the
town were unloaded onto the table where Shay had dropped her purse.
“Be right back,” Doris chirped, trotting into an
adjoining room. A few minutes later, she returned carrying a large binder in
her hands. “This is full of newspapers dating back to the late 1880s. Eighteen
eighty-five was the year the Buckhorn was built, if memory serves.”
“That’s correct.” Shay was thrilled with Doris’s
efficiency and helpfulness,
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