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“This is your office,” Dana said.
“Really?” Ruby asked, turning a circle, aware that she looked a little bit like an overeager golden retriever.
“Yes,” Dana said. “There’s a microfiche, for records that haven’t been fully digitized. There are some that are digitized.”
“Do you have thePear Blossom Gazette?”
“Some,” she said. “Notable events. Announcements about World Wars I and II, the paper from 9/11. But the majority of the archive is housed in their offices.”
“Mmm. Dahlia showed me yesterday. I might want to use some. I love old newspapers,” Ruby said. “I like to find the smallest local paper wherever I go and go back through different articles. It gives you such a picture of the place.”
“Well, better you than me,” said Dana. “I don’t have the patience to read newsprint.”
“I have infinite patience for it,” Ruby said.
“There are clothes,” Dana said. “They’re in a wardrobe over there in the corner.”
“Clothes?” Ruby asked. “Well, we have to do a clothing display.”
“I thought you might like that. I remember you were very into the costuming when you did living history.”
“The costumes, in my opinion, are sort of the point.”
“The education is the point,” Dana said.
Ruby smiled.
“Either way,” Ruby said. “I’m... I’m glad to be back.”
“It’s yours,” Dana said. “We still do a manual time card. Make sure you fill it out with your hours for the day before you leave.”
“I don’t start till Monday,” Ruby said.
“You can fill out hours for today, Ruby,” Dana said.
And then she turned around and walked out of the room, leaving Ruby alone in her dusty sanctuary. She was feeling... Well, like she had made a very good decision. She had just been left alone in a room filled with records. Archives. Journals. Records. Historical clothing. And it was her job. She was getting paid to spend the day going through all these things. Meticulously combing through and putting them in order. Building stories from them that would make them accessible to the public. Giving other people the insight into history that Ruby had.
She walked over to the bookshelves, and she didn’t know where to begin.
December 23, 2000.
The date seemed to hit her brain and stick.
Her day.
Not her birthday. Her Found Day.
She never celebrated her birthday in December. They didn’t know the exact date and they’d arbitrarily assigned her December 21, but it was too close to Christmas, and since it was an estimated birthdate anyway, she’d always preferred to take a half birthday. So she could have a whole week of celebrations and free birthday coffee and cookies at the store that did it, when she was not already stuffed full of Christmas cookies.
But the day she was found...
That always resonated. No matter what.
No. She did not need to look at her day. Anyway, she’d read that newspaper article. A hundred times. Her mother had saved all of them.
Maybe. But what about other records? Other information?
What if there was more? She might have saved the article, but she didn’t have the entire newspaper. What else had happened that day?
