I thanked Claude profusely, wished everyone else a good evening, and signed out of the group. I made a quick detour over to Google the word Charente. It turned out to be a region near Limoges as well as the name of the river that ran through the area.
Charente was also the name of a small stationery shop in San Francisco. I stared at the screen, imagining Marie Benoit traveling into the city for the day and coming across the shop. For sentimental reasons, she would want to buy a little something in the store, and so she chose a pretty package of stationery.
My imagination could get carried away sometimes.
“You’re smiling,” Derek said.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were standing there.” I rubbed my eyes. I’d been staring at the computer for the past hour.
“I snuck up on you.”
“I’m glad. It was time to quit.” I shut down the computer. “And yes, I’m happy. I think I’ve worked out the stationery question, and the people in my chat room are the smartest people in the world. I’m lucky they let me play with them.”
“You’re not exactly a lightweight yourself,” Derek said with a laugh. “Are you ready for bed, love?”
I yawned. “I didn’t think I was, but all of a sudden I’m exhausted.”
He pulled me up from my chair, and I went willingly.
*
By Saturday morning, we had received a complete list of heirlooms from every family involved, including those still living in France. I had cross-checked their lists with my inventory and came across at least six discrepancies. Luckily, there were more treasures listed on my inventory than the families had claimed. I figured that some people had died before they’d informed their heirs that they’d given a valuable family keepsake to Anton for safekeeping. Each of the unclaimed items would have to be given extra attention by Noland Garrity.
There were also a few instances where I might’ve mislabeled something. For instance, one person had listed a set of hammered silver candelabra. I remembered seeing a set of hammered silver candlesticks that held two candles each. Would one of those be considered a candelabra? Technically, I didn’t think so, but maybe that was what they’d always called it. It was a small detail, but I wanted to return to the cave to make sure I wasn’t mistaken.
Once I’d worked out that inconsistency, I walked over to Mom’s house to see how she was coming along with the job of tracking down everyone who’d been inside the cave and getting their personal stories recorded for the upcoming exhibit. She was compiling the stories at that very moment and would be printing them out on heavy card stock. Later, the cards would be mounted on the walls of the exhibit.
She had also lined up volunteers to work in the exhibit room and outside with crowd control. Mom had been putting together events in Dharma for years, and it was pretty obvious from whom I’d inherited my organizational gene.
After talking to Mom, I drove over to the caves to meet Robin, who had agreed to take photographs of some of the most interesting items I’d inventoried inside the cave.
I considered myself the art director and presented my ideas and concepts to Robin, and I expected her to transfer my creative vision to film.
Robin laughed a lot, mostly at me as I tried to give her advice on how to take a picture. She basically considered me a nuisance, but to my credit, I handled the lighting, a piece of cake since Derek and Gabriel had set up the light trees. I borrowed two clamp lights from Austin’s garage and readjusted them strategically for each shot. It was hard work, but worth it.
As we drove to her favorite printer in Santa Rosa, I gave Robin due credit. “Your photos are going to turn out absolutely fantastic.”
“Thanks. Wait till you see what a great job this printer does.”
The next day, we dashed back to Santa Rosa to pick up the poster-sized prints. Robin was right about the printer. The simple posters had been transformed into artwork. Now I was getting excited.
*
While Mom was herding the volunteers and Robin and I were racing back and forth from Santa Rosa, Derek led the group from Frenchman’s Hill into the caves. That night as we ate dinner, I tried to get Derek to share some crazy stories with me, but he insisted there was nothing to tell.
“They were on their best behavior,” he said, sounding almost disappointed. “Maybe Felix had a long talk with everyone, and they realized that Robson is not their enemy. They were all gracious and thankful and thrilled to see everything. I felt like a tour guide with a bunch of happy people.”
“I’m shocked. Even Henri was well behaved?”
“Perfectly,” he admitted after taking a sip of wine. “The most traumatic thing that happened was that some of them broke down in tears. I can’t blame them, since there is so much family history and pain involved in all of this.”
“And it’s all mixed up with the war.”
“Exactly. It was quite dramatic, but all good.”
“I’m especially glad Henri didn’t give you any trouble.”