Finger
Temperance Brennan paused in the midst of her examination of the skeleton spread out before her on the lighted table in the Bone Room. It had been unearthed in a field near Belleau Woods, Verdun, France, and so presumably belonged to a World War I soldier she was trying to identify. She glanced at the metal tray of items near his feet. As she was adjusting the magnifying glass to focus on a deep cut in a rib, a glimmer of light caught her attention. There was something shiny among the dull uniform buttons, partial bullet casing and fragments of a trigger.
She stepped to the foot of the table and picked up the reflective item, a badly scratched and dented man's plain gold ring. Holding it under the magnifier, she peered closer. Along its interior curve she could make out the letters "Fr m Ida, fo ev r." Brennan stopped and smiled sadly. This man had been cherished by someone long ago. His fiancée or his wife? During the early 20th century, young women only gave young men rings when they were closely bonded, she knew. The ring also bore some initials, which eventually enabled the anthropologist to restore the skeleton's identity, as a Marine lieutenant from Hartford, Connecticut, Henry Wolcott.
Brennan finished writing her notes in his file, gently replaced Wolcott's bones in the clear plastic box, slid the papers back into a heavy protective sleeve, laid them atop the skeleton and closed the lid. The Wolcott family would soon have their brave relative returned to them. She pulled off her gloves and straightened the wedding ring on her finger. As always when she saw it, her thoughts turned to Booth, grateful they'd found their 30-50 years together, filled with love and children and family. Unlike poor Lieutenant Wolcott.