Mercy whistled when she entered the salvage yard’s maze of sharp turns. She had found such wondrous objects with which to decorate her camper on only the outskirts of the yard, and her imagination raced to dream what might be waiting for her eye once deeper into the stacks. Brandon did his best to frown such enthusiasm from Mercy’s face. For he had spent a lifetime navigating the inner yard’s perils, and a layer of scarred skin covered his skeleton and muscle to attest for his efforts.
Brandon did his best to hold on to a faith that the salvage yard might hold something worth the risk, or something that would justify Mercy’s yelps as the salvage first scraped her. His uncles had possessed a faith that the salvage yard’s heart possessed a pull capable of bringing back their brother. But Brandon’s fingers kept feeling for the pack of sandwiches carried from his shoulder. Those uncles who had believed had also become lost.
“Careful, Mercy!”
Mercy’s eyes focused too intently on the awning map spread in her arms, and her feet nearly tripped upon the pile of bones that waited around a corner. Brandon didn’t breathe as Mercy stumbled several paces. He had never fallen into a pile. But Mercy corrected herself without having to extend a hand for support.
“What tripped me?”
Mercy caught her breath and looked at her feet. Her sunburned skin paled at a skull covered in dust.
“Who is it?” Mercy closed her eyes and refused to faint onto a sharp edge.
“The remains of another one of my uncles.” Brandon supported Mercy’s weight on his shoulder.
“Which one?”
“I don’t know,” Brandon sighed. “I haven’t been able to tell them apart for years.”
“How many have died out here?”
“I never knew how many I had to begin with.” Brandon rubbed at the scars along a forearm. “They used to be teeming in the yard. I used to hand each one his breakfast in the morning before they taught me how to operate the crane. But they’ve all seemed to have disappeared by now. Like you, they believed there was something worthwhile in all the salvage. Whether they fell to the elements or to starvation, the search just burned them all up. I come across their bones occasionally. I used to gather them up and send them to a cemetery beyond the salvage yard’s gate. But then I realized that for a Tuggle brother the salvage ground was as hallow as any other acre.”
“We’ll leave something to mark his grave,” Mercy knelt and bravely met the skull’s empty gaze before unwinding the pink scarf from her neck. She could not think of a better offering to one of Brandon’s fallen uncles. Her fingers trembled as she wound the scarf around the skeleton’s spine.
Mercy blushed as she turned to see Brandon smiling at her. Her hand went to cover her exposed neck. In paying respect to the dead, she had for an instant forgotten the intimacy she shared with Brandon.
“It’s a scar,” Brandon almost pointed at the welted patch of flesh on Mercy’s throat before remembering better manners.
Mercy felt unsure how to read Brandon’s gaze. “A hive of hornets in my family’s gardens attacked me when I was a girl. My throat swelled so I could not breathe. I had almost as many aunts as you had uncles, and my Aunt Cynthia knew how to save me. She cut a hole in my throat and placed a straw into the cut so I could breathe. I’ve never shown the scar to anybody.”
Brandon’s eyes watered. He needed no more proof that the salvage held something to make all the searching worthwhile.
“It’s lovely,” Brandon wished he sounded braver. “It’s beautiful.”
Mercy’s skin flushed. “You’re about to risk making my knees knock around all these sharp piles of salvage, Brandon Tuggle. Keep that flattery to yourself, but don’t you forget it. I’d like to hear more once we get out of all this iron.”
Brandon grinned. He didn’t think he would ever forget such words to tell Mercy.