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“Nonsense. The library runs smoothly on its own; my assistant will handle anything that comes up.” Severson turned up a marble stairway, and Sam and Remi followed. “How much do you know about the library?”
“We’ve visited several times, but never as researchers, believe it or not,” Remi replied.
The tour alone was a breathtaking experience, Sam and Remi knew. The oldest federal institution in the country, the Library of Congress was founded in 1800 and located in the Capitol Building until 1814, when British troops lit the building on fire and destroyed the library’s core collection of three thousand volumes. A year later, Congress voted to reestablish the LOC and purchased Thomas Jefferson’s personal library of some six thousand books.
The library’s collection had since grown significantly: 33,000,000 books and printed materials, 3,000,000 recordings, 12,500,000 photographs, 5,300,000 maps, 6,000,000 pieces of sheet music, and 63,000,000 manuscripts—in all representing almost 500 languages—some 145,000,000 items altogether on 745 miles of bookshelves.
“It almost seems more a cathedral than a library,” Remi said. “The architecture is . . .”
“Awe-inspiring?” Severson finished.
“Exactly. The marble floors and columns, the arches, the vaulted ceilings, the artwork.”
Severson smiled. “I think Selma once referred to this place as ‘part cathedral, part museum, part gallery, with a little bit of library thrown in for good measure.’ I suspect grandeur was foremost on the Congress’s collective mind in 1815. After the British sacked everything, I imagine there was a ‘we’ll show them’ mentality during the reconstruction.”
“Bigger, better, more ostentatious. Architectural nose-thumbing, if you will,” Remi said.
Severson laughed.
“Are we going to the Main Reading Room?” Sam asked.
“No, we’re going to the second floor—Rare Book and Special Collections. The Main Room is hosting a tour for local elementary schools. It’s going to be a bit wild in there today.”
They reached a door numbered 239 and walked through. “If you want to take a seat at the worktable, I’ll man the workstation. While our catalogue has gotten more user-friendly over the years, it might be easier if I do the legwork.
“Okay, Selma e-mailed me some of the documents and gave me a little bit of background: Winston Lloyd Blaylock, wife named Ophelia, believed to be in the United States prior to March 1872. Anything else?”
“We have a rough physical description,” said Remi.
“Everything helps.”
“Six feet four inches tall, around two hundred fifty pounds probably.”
“Also, he carried a .44 caliber Henry rifle,” Sam added. “As I understand it, those weren’t very common.”
“Certainly not as common as Winchesters, Remingtons, or Spring-fields. The Henry wasn’t standard-issue during the Civil War, but many Union soldiers used their own money to buy one. The government did, however, issue them to scouts, raiding parties, and Special Forces units. The Confederate soldiers hated the Henry. It could hold sixteen rounds, and a trained soldier could fire off twenty-eight in a minute. Back then, that was as close to a hand-carried machine gun as you could get. Do we know if Blaylock was adept with it?”
“According to our source, he was a crack shot.”
Severson nodded. She started typing, and for t
he next five minutes there was silence save for the clacking of the keyboard’s keys and the murmur of “Fascinating” or “Interesting” from Severson. Finally she looked up.
“I have a service record here, a microfiche copy from the National Archives. Two sources, actually: the CMSR, or Compiled Military Service Record; and Publications M594 and M861, which are the ‘Service of Military Units in Volunteer Union Organizations’ for both the Union and the Confederacy.”
“Any mention of Blaylock?”
“I’ve got fifty-nine entries, in fact. Since Blaylock carried a Henry rifle, let’s start with the Union list first.” Severson started typing again. “The problem is, many of the abstract entries list only the first name, middle initial, and last name. I’ve got several W. Blaylocks, and two W. L. Blaylocks. The first one has an attachment, a medical record. Did your Blaylock have any wounds?”
“Not that we know of.”
Smiling, Severson tapped the screen, clearly excited by what she’d found. “Right leg amputated at field hospital during the battle of Antietam. Guess that rules him out, huh? Oh, sorry, that sounded morbid, didn’t it?”
“It’s okay,” Sam said. “You and Selma share the same love of research. We’re used to it.”
“Okay, here’s the other entry. Well, this is interesting. This Blaylock was detached from the Union Army in September 1863, but there’s no reason listed. He wasn’t transferred or wounded. Just detached.”
“What does that mean?” Remi asked.
