Serendipity and Research

Serendipity and research have been one of the most fun aspects of being a writer.

One year, I spent two weeks traveling through Tennessee and Kentucky.

I did research in the library for six of those days and spent the rest of the time visiting sites related to my historical characters.

I wrote about the first surprise–involving a calendar of paintings– which came on day three here.

Serendipity and research plus a county museum

I drove through the gloriously green rolling farmlands of middle Tennessee, passing horses grazing in the sunshine and brick houses standing square amid seas of grass.

Birds flit across the pasturelands: a flash of red cardinal here, a sparkling of swooping sparrows there.

My destination was a moderate-sized town reputed to have my heroine’s wedding dress on display in the county museum. Unfortunately, my GPS did not recognize the town hall’s address.  I got lost pretty quickly.

I ended up at the public library where the kind librarian suggested I examine their genealogy section.

She directed me to turn left out of the driveway and continue another mile down the road to reach the town hall. I wouldn’t be able to miss it.  Look at that photo at the start of this post–imposing building on a hill, you bet!

Hidden in the dark basement, the county museum was a small affair that did not include our heroine’s wedding dress.

It did, however, have the wedding portrait on the wall and in a glass case, a ring made for her while her husband languished in prison.

A ring he had held, with a stone chipped from his cell, which she wore on her finger, resting on her handkerchief. Oh, my!

But where in this town had she lived?

The county clerk called the county archives, and the archivist invited me to visit.  He’d help me with local information.

Serendipity and Research at the Archives

So I headed to the archives. Tom was a pleasant and helpful man, and to my shock, is one of those sainted folks who transcribe public records into books.

He waved over his shoulder to an entire wall full of his work!

He couldn’t help me from his archival material, but as a fellow genealogist, I saluted him and took his photo.

Tom found my heroine’s great-grandson. Unfortunately, WP was traveling, so that research serendipity didn’t work.

But my archivist had another card up his sleeve: “You need to stop in and see Jack.”

Why?

“He knows all the stories about your general.”

More vague directions, but I was off on an adventure!

The directions were a little vague: “Turn right at the light, go down two blocks, turn left, heading toward the cemetery, you’ll pass by the monuments. Jack’ll be across the street next to the Mexican food store.”

I’m from California, the only part of the directions that made sense was the Mexican food store.

“Is this Jack’s house? What sort of monument?”

“You’ll see. Stop in to see Jack.”

I wasn’t going to do it, but when I drove down the street toward the cemetery, I saw a yard of headstones. Glancing across the street, I spied a Mexican grocery store.

Why not?

I parked and found a glass door with Jack’s name in white lettering.

It was like walking back into my childhood–odd furniture, chairs, an elderly woman behind the desk, an 81-year-old man peering through cataracts while sitting upright in a chair.

The only difference was that my father’s office did not include three walls of Civil War tomes.

Suspicious, but curious

Jack was suspicious at first, but then started in with the stories.

His great-grandmother had led my general to safe haven during a battle. I knew that story, didn’t I?

Ur, um, I suggested he tell them all to me.

And thus began a fun hour of Jack reminiscing, me taking notes, and quiet chuckling from his elderly wife.

He ended with, “Let me drive you down to the cemetery and I’ll show you the graves.”

I demurred–I didn’t want to take up his time.

He was insulted; Southern hospitality demanded it.

I gave in and we got into his Cadillac for a drive down the street.

Research and Serendipity, or foolhardiness for a story?

Even as I climbed into his “caddy” and tightened the seat belt, I wondered what in the world I was doing. Should I text someone to tell them where I was and who I was with?

No time.

Jack got behind the steering wheel, and we took off.

He regaled me with stories of that famous battle as we drove down the very road where it took place.

Private Whitlaw was the hero that day, and we paused to pay respects at his grave. We admired the Confederate headstones, and then he took me to my heroine and her daughter.

Blue sky stretched overhead, dabbed with white clouds. Springs birds trilled in the trees and a slight wind rustled the grass.

I’d been following my heroine’s story all week; I knew how it ended 125 years ago.

Yet there before her headstone.

I felt a poignancy that put its arm around my shoulders for a squeeze of tears.

Jack didn’t say much as we drove back to his office. He had me on the lookout like Private Whitlaw as we inched through the rock-pillared cemetery exit.

Back in his office, his wife gave me a sweet smile, and we shook hands goodbye.

Joy and the richness

The serendipity of research is what makes it rich.

The fanatics who still follow the details of stories lived 150 years ago make the tales come alive with a richness you can’t always find in books.

The unsung heroes for historians are the archivists like Tom, the county clerks like Jean, the librarians, and the history lovers like Jack.

The only way to pay them back is to write the story well enough to satisfy them.