A Basket Brigade Christmas (11 page)

“You’ll stay for tea?” Portia looked pointedly at Lucy. “He
is
staying for tea. You must insist, Lucy.”

“There is no need to insist,” Oscar said with a gallant little bow. “As long as I am welcome, I can think of nowhere I would rather be than in such wonderful company.” He touched his sling. “You have no idea what a balm it is to someone like me to be in the presence of such gentility.” A shadow flitted across his handsome face. “You simply have no idea.”

Ina put her scissors down. “Please, Private Greene, come meet the others.” She led the way into the parlor, with an unhappy Lucy following.
He is here because of me. To see me. I should be the one introducing him.

“Ladies, we’ve a visitor. Private Greene came all the way from Chicago to thank us for our work on the hospital trains.” Ina looked up at him. “What was it you received?”

“Much-needed warmth,” the private said, beaming at the half-dozen women gathered in the parlor. “Patchwork that I shall treasure until the end of my days and a missive that spread nearly as much warmth as did the comforter.”

Ina introduced the knitters, and Oscar bowed deeply as each of the ladies in the parlor was named. Martha announced that tea was ready, and in the next few moments Oscar proved himself to be gallant, charming, thoughtful, and gracious. He was wonderful. His eyes glistened with unspilled tears when Portia asked about family and he said that he was not “so blessed.”

When Mrs. Pritchard inquired as to his regiment, it was discovered that Oscar and her Robert had probably met, although sadly, Oscar was unable to remember some of the details. He seemed embarrassed by the fact.

When Lucy saw him put his good hand to his wounded arm, she realized that he was gallantly trying to mask pain. She interrupted the talk of regiments and battles and insisted that he sit down in the parlor and allow her to serve him. He did so with a sigh of relief. Lucy hurried off to the kitchen, overwhelmed with joy. Oscar had come to meet her. He had stayed. He was seated in her parlor. And he was happy to be there.

She rejoiced.

Even though it caused him pain to see it, Silas could not simply slink away so that he didn’t have to watch Lucy’s lovely face aglow with happiness in the presence of Private Oscar Greene. After all, only an immature cad would sulk in the kitchen while the women he’d worked alongside for weeks now chatted with a visitor. Silas could not shake the suspicion that Private Greene bore watching. Why would a casual visitor take note of the number of banks in a town? And why that comment about the cost of the inventory at the mercantile? If he was wrong to feel that way, time would reveal his error. But Silas did not think he was wrong.

Apparently, Mrs. Jefferson had her own suspicions, for after she’d laid out tea in the dining room, she retreated to the kitchen and asked Silas several very pointed questions—in a tone of voice intended not to be overheard. “You said the private asked for Miss Maddox by name?”

Silas nodded.

“I don’t understand how he knew it. I was there when the subject of writing notes was first introduced, and everyone agreed. They would sign on behalf of the Basket Brigade of Decatur, Illinois. No individual names.”

It wasn’t Silas’s place to tell Mrs. Jefferson that he’d seen the letters. Lucy had not only signed her name, she’d been carrying on a personal correspondence with a man she’d never met. But he would not behave like a schoolboy tattling on a friend. “Perhaps you could ask Lucy about that later this evening. After everyone has departed for home.”

Mrs. Jefferson nodded. “Don’t think I won’t. Lucy is not my own child, but I care for her as if she were. No mother would be pleased to have a stranger appear at her door in this manner. There are rules, and Private Greene should have abided by them. At the very least, he should have asked permission to come.”

“I am under the impression that he did.”

Mrs. Jefferson frowned. “If what you say is true, the situation is more serious than I thought.”

Silas didn’t know what to say to that. He felt guilty, hiding out here in the kitchen, assuming the worst about the situation. Assuming that Lucy needed protecting. And yet, he could not ignore the odd things Greene had asked about. The look on his face when he realized that Lucy lived in a mansion far grander than the one he’d admired next door. The assumption that Lucy was lonely.

Mrs. Jefferson looked past Silas toward the dining room. “I should be seeing if anyone cares for more tea. Tell me this, though. Did I hear correctly? Did he say something about the depot hotel?”

“Yes. He told me he’d gotten a room there when I offered to wait and take him back in time for the five-thirty train.”

Mrs. Jefferson nodded. “If only he’d taken the hint.” She paused for a moment then said, “Might be I’ll have Henry see what he can find out—without letting the miss know, of course.” When laughter rang out from the front parlor, she sighed. “I do hope that we are wrong in our suspicions, Mr. Tait. Either way, it seems we have an interesting few days ahead of us.”

As time for the day’s hospital train to arrive approached, Silas offered to take Lucy to the depot and Oscar to the hotel. Oscar declined in favor of lingering with Lucy. The time was short, he said, and he wished to savor every moment. But then he looked down at her with those beautiful gray eyes and said quietly, “I do not wish to be the reason you abandon your post with the Basket Brigade. Perhaps I should go.”

“There are plenty of ladies to help,” Lucy said. “They won’t miss me just this once.” She bade Silas a fond good evening and then asked Martha to please set an extra place at the supper table for Private Greene. She felt as if she were in a dream, for not only did Oscar hang on her every word, he also expressed an interest in Father’s library.

“I’d have given anything to have access to so many books as a child.”

“This room has always been a sanctuary to me,” Lucy said.

“The house must have been a favorite of all your friends. It’s so grand.” He looked above them. “I can only imagine all the delightful haunts. And the grounds. The picnics you must have hosted! The games at sunset. Now be honest,” he said, and the candlelight danced in his beautiful eyes. “Did you climb every tree on the place? I hope you don’t mind that I see you that way—as an adventurous soul.”

She wished she had done every single thing he mentioned. But she hadn’t. Her childhood had consisted of reading and playing quietly in her room. Spending time with her mother and helping Martha in the garden. Hearing Oscar speak of other things made it seem that she had had a joyless childhood, indeed. He would think her so common. So boring. And so she tried to deflect the conversation back to him.

“I hate to disappoint you, but I was a very typical little girl.” She leaned forward and rested her chin in her palm. “But I suspect you had all kinds of adventures. Tell me about them. What were you like as a boy?”

He grimaced. “I am sorry, my dear, but I have no sweet stories to tell. I wish I did. I could certainly make one up, but I won’t have you look back on this evening and have it tainted by a lie—even a harmless one created to avoid a sad tale of profound loss.” He took a long, slow breath.

“I am sorry,” Lucy said quickly. “I didn’t mean to cause you unhappiness.”

“Please don’t think ill of me if I don’t wish to revisit a painful past.” He took a sip of water and settled back in his chair. “Let us live in the delightful present. Tell me the story of your Basket Brigade. How did you come to the moment of opening your home?”

Lucy told him the story. She shared how fearful she’d been that first day, how upset Mrs. Collins had been.

“Mrs. Collins,” Oscar murmured. “The matron who sits in the green chair?”

“You remembered.”

“Impossible to forget a woman of such … strength of character, shall I say?” His eyes twinkled with humor.

“I suppose you could put it that way.”

“I would
always
put it that way.” Oscar laughed. “I do not think Mrs. Collins a woman to be trifled with. You have won her over, though.”

“I think not.”

“Don’t be so self-deprecating, sweet Lucy. I could tell they all admire you greatly. You should take pride in what you’ve done.”

And so went the evening. It seemed that in a matter of moments the clock in the hall was striking nine o’clock. Lucy started as if waking from a dream. “Goodness!” She twisted about to look toward the kitchen. “Poor Martha. She must feel that the evening will never end.” She rose. “Shall I ask Henry to drive you to the station?”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking such a thing,” Oscar said. “Let Henry have his wife and Martha have her rest. I shall enjoy the walk.” He took his cloak off the hall tree. Tried but failed to drape it across the wounded arm.

“Here, let me help you,” Lucy said. When he bent down so that she could accomplish the matter, something in his gray eyes made her draw a quick breath.

He caught her hand. “Until tomorrow,” he whispered, and kissed her palm.

“Are you saying good night, then?” Martha’s voice sounded from the doorway to the kitchen. Lucy pulled away. “I am sorry, miss,” she said as she strode up the hall to where Lucy stood with Oscar. “I sat down at the kitchen table to have a cup of tea, and I’m afraid I nodded off.”

“I apologize for staying so late,” Oscar said.

Martha opened the door. “It’s a brisk night, Private Greene. I wouldn’t waste any time getting to the hotel if I were you. We wouldn’t want you to take ill, now, would we?”

Lucy longed to linger at the window, watching Oscar make his way up the drive to the street. Instead, she helped Martha clear the supper dishes and take them to the kitchen.

“Mind if I leave them until morning?” Martha asked.

“Not at all. I am sorry we lingered so long. I simply lost track of time.”

Martha said nothing.

Lucy took a deep breath. “He is a … handsome man, is he not?”

“He is. And I know it’s not my place to say it, but I’m saying it anyway. The only beauty that really matters is the beauty a body can’t see.”

“I suppose that means you’re suspicious of Oscar just because he’s handsome. After all, no one that beautiful could possibly be interested in plain Lucy Maddox.”

“I didn’t say that. I was merely reminding you to make certain about what’s beneath that handsome face before you give your heart.”

“I’m not a child.”

“And I didn’t say you were, miss.” Martha sighed. “I have prayed a long time for a man with a beautiful
soul
to see the beauty that lies inside of you. If Private Greene is the answer to those prayers, then I’ll thank the good Lord with all my heart. But I won’t lie to you. I don’t like the idea that he just turned up in Decatur. What do you know about him, really? And why in the name of heaven above did you sign your name to something that got sent off to a complete stranger?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “But I’m glad I did. Why can’t you be happy for me?”

“Perhaps in time, I will be.” Martha sighed and put her palm to her back. “At this hour, I just don’t know.”

Henry came lumbering in the back door. “Are you ready, then? It’s about time.” He hadn’t seen Lucy. When he did, he apologized. “Sorry, miss. I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s I who should be apologizing,” Lucy said. “I’m sorry for keeping you so long, Martha. Henry.” She wished them good night and retreated up the back stairs.

But when they were gone, she descended again. She sat in the dining chair Oscar had occupied. She put her hands where his had been. And she dreamed.