A Basket Brigade Christmas (13 page)

Oscar stepped in the front door. The broken needle was forgotten when Lucy looked at his smiling face. He motioned for her to come to him. She went, her heart pounding. He led her to the library. One look at the two of them and the ladies who’d been gathered about Father’s desk rose and left the room. They were alone.

“May I close the door?” he asked.

Lucy nodded.

“Let us sit together for a moment.”

She sat.

He pulled a telegram out of his coat pocket and, with a flourish, read. “‘Change in orders. Stop. Report to Jefferson Barracks, St. Louis, Tuesday, December 2, 1700 hours. Stop. Acknowledge receipt.’” He folded the piece of paper and put it back in his coat pocket. Then he leaned forward and held out his good hand, palm up.

Lucy took it.

“Sweet Lucy Maddox, would it be presumptuous of me to remain in Decatur for a few extra days? I know we’ve just met. I’ve told myself I’m a fool to hope. But—if only you’ll tell me I have a chance.” He looked away. “Perhaps I presume too much,” he murmured. “If you send me away, I will understand.”

Lucy felt herself blush. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I could never send you away.”

Church was supposed to be a place of comfort. At least Silas had always found it to be so. He loved congregational singing. He wondered at the wealth hidden in the scriptures. He appreciated the idea that people greeted him with honest warmth. More often than not, he received more than one invitation to join a family for dinner. He had always loved the Sabbath, and when Lucy showed up at the early service on Oscar Greene’s arm, Silas determined that he would not let the vision ruin his day. He was there to worship. To sing to God. To join others in the contemplation of the eternal. To be fed God’s Word. And he tried with all that was in him to do those things, in spite of the fact that Oscar Greene gave every indication of being there for the sole purpose of being seen in the company of Miss Lucy Maddox. Greene did not sing. He sat, looking straight ahead, expressionless during the homily. Silas suspected the man was bored. How was it possible to be bored in God’s house on Sabbath?

Silas was not the only parishioner who was shocked. He knew this because at the close of the service, as he was helping Mrs. Tompkins gather up hymnals to return to the shelf at the back of the sanctuary, he overheard someone say, “What on earth could someone as handsome as that private see in Lucy Maddox?”

The reply, spoken in a low voice that Silas did not recognize, made him long to interrupt in Lucy’s defense. But he could not, for whoever it was had merely put words to his own unspoken fear.

“Her money, of course.”

Lucy woke before dawn on December 1st, and her first thought was that today they would learn who had won the Golden Needle Award. Her second thought was of Oscar. When the two thoughts intersected, Lucy had a wonderful idea. She shared it with Martha over breakfast.

“I’ve been remiss in making plans in regards to the award, but everything fell into place for me the moment I woke this morning.”

“That’s good to know,” Martha said, “because I’ve heard more than one of the ladies comment on the lack of ‘fanfare.’ It isn’t like you to let something go until the last minute.”

“I know. But I’ll make up for it.” Lucy smiled with confidence. “First, I’m going to ask Oscar to present the award to the winner. He’s the perfect person to do it. He’s personally benefited from what we’re doing, and the ladies all love him. I can’t think of a better person.”

“You can’t?” Martha stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

Lucy went on. “We’ll have the name announced in the
Magnet
—I think if I rush the news over to the office this afternoon, it’ll be just in time to make tomorrow’s edition. Then Oscar and I will personally call on the winner and give her the news. I’ll make sure the newspaper includes an invitation to a social hour at the auditorium for the official presentation and ask Miss Evans’s choral group to sing. Voilà. A respectable celebration.” She sat back with a satisfied smile—until she realized that Martha still had that same look of disapproval on her face.

“I know I should have planned further ahead, but you don’t have to lift a finger. I’ll order all the refreshments from McHenry’s bakery.”

“Have I ever complained about the cooking?”

“No, but perhaps you should have,” Lucy said. “Oscar noticed that you’ve seemed tired the last couple of days, and once he mentioned it, I felt guilty that I hadn’t noticed. You do seem short-tempered. I hope you haven’t driven yourself to the point of illness. In fact,” Lucy said quickly, “let me send Jimmy Kincaid to McHenry’s today and see if they might be able to give you a respite from all the cooking for the ladies. We could ask for volunteers to supply the soup, as well. You’ve earned a rest, Martha.”

“If ever I want a rest, I’ll let you know,” Martha said crisply. “And I’ll not be ordered to take one when I don’t need it, thank you very much. If you must know, I’m not tired. But I am sick to death of Private Oscar Greene.” She nodded. “There. I’ve said it. The man waltzed in here and took over a place that was rightly another’s.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Not.
What.
Who. And Silas Tait is the
who.
Mr. Tait came up with the idea for the award in the first place. He traveled to St. Louis to find just the right jeweler to make it. He has done nothing but support you in every way possible since the day your father died. But he’s been cast aside for the likes of a pretty face with a golden voice who you’ve known for exactly one week. And don’t tell me about the letters, because anyone can write a fancy letter. I’d wager Mr. Tait could write a pretty letter if he took a notion to. Come to think of it, the man has been writing you love letters almost since the day your father hired him. It’s a pity you haven’t had the eyes to read them.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Lucy said. “Oscar hasn’t taken anyone’s place. And Silas is still my friend. He has no interest—he doesn’t think of me in that way. I’d have known.”

“How?” Martha said. “You’ve been too busy writing letters to strangers to pay anyone else any mind at all.”

Martha had never spoken to her in such a manner. Lucy sat staring down at the eggs on her plate, speechless. She hadn’t thought that Silas might be hurt if Oscar presented the award.
No. You haven’t thought about Silas at all since the day he brought Oscar to your front door.
Of course she’d thought about Silas, hadn’t she? She’d missed him.
The only time you’ve missed Silas since Oscar came into town was the day you broke that needle and needed him to help you replace it.
She didn’t like thinking that about herself. Not one bit. Falling in love shouldn’t make you forget your friends. Should it?

“If you were … doubtful … about Oscar, why didn’t you say something?”

“I’ve said plenty,” Martha said. “To the good Lord and to Henry. All three of us have been waiting for the intelligent, sensible girl we love to open her eyes.”

“But—don’t you want me to be happy?”

“Oh, sweet girl, yes. Of course we do. And if Private Greene is meant to make you happy, then we won’t object. But, Lucy. You don’t
know
him. He’s swept you off your feet, and no one can blame you for that. But who is he? Where is he from? Who are his people?”

“His family is gone,” Lucy said. “His past is—painful. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

She didn’t want to admit it, but hearing herself say the words gave her pause. It did seem that he would have shared
something.
Especially when he was so interested in her stories. How the house was planned. Where the furniture came from. Father’s library. He’d wondered aloud at the success of the mercantile. He didn’t think a single store could ever be so successful as to provide so well for a family. It hadn’t, Lucy explained. Pride surged through her as she told Oscar about Father’s wise investments. The farm over in Sangamon County. The other two stores, one in Salem and one in Springfield. Oscar listened with enthusiasm. He loved hearing stories of success, he said. How good of God to bless a good man with abundance.

Thinking back on it now put a new kind of knot in Lucy’s stomach. She had unwittingly revealed a great deal of private information. A gentleman would have stopped her. Wouldn’t he?

“Something just doesn’t feel quite honest about the man,” Martha continued. “For instance, I don’t know about the military, but Henry does, and he’s never heard of a soldier being given a longer leave because of an injury without a doctor’s say. Did you actually see that telegram?”

“He read it to me.”

“But he could have just been holding any piece of paper.”

Lucy did not want to think about that. Not now, when she had to dress and meet Oscar at the mercantile. Martha was right about one thing, though. Silas should present the award, and Lucy said so. “He has most certainly earned the right.”

“Indeed he has,” Martha agreed. “But he would never seek it for himself. He’s a living example of ‘not seeking his own,’ as the Good Book recommends.”

Martha was right about that, too. Father had insisted that Lucy memorize the passage Martha was referencing. More of it came to mind now:
“Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”

The words described Silas, and that word
charity,
Lucy knew, could be substituted with the word
love. Agape
love, Father had told her—the kind of love that sacrificed self to do what was best for another. As she thought back over the weeks since she’d first had the idea to open her home on behalf of the cause, Lucy thought of the untold hours Silas had given to the project. To
her
project. It must have cost him dearly to be away from the store so often. Lucy hadn’t considered how many late nights he must have put in at the store after spending most of a day working here with the stitchers. After all, books still had to be kept, ledgers balanced, orders placed, and stock unpacked. Silas would never have allowed Mrs. Tompkins to shoulder the burden alone. He was too kind. Nor would he ever complain about the extra hours. He was too selfless. Too humble.

Why had she never thought of it until now?

O
scar was already at the mercantile when Lucy arrived. He’d promised to meet her there so they would hear the news of the Golden Needle Award winner together, and when she stepped into the store, his smile reassured her. Everything would be all right. Martha was right, though. It took time to know another person as well as she knew Silas.

Silas stood behind the counter with Mrs. Tompkins beside him. She was holding the ledger she’d used to keep track of the contest entries.

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Lucy said. “Just tell me. Is it Mrs. Collins?”

Silas shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

Lucy gulped. “Are you sure?”

Mrs. Tompkins spoke up. “I added the numbers twice and then asked Mr. Tait to check my work.”