All in all, November of 1862 provided some of the happiest days of Silas Tait’s life. Until, that is, a square-jawed, flinty-eyed man in uniform stepped into the mercantile to inquire after “Miss Lucy A. Maddox.”
“Mr. Slade over at the depot sent me here,” the man said, grimacing as he reached into the sling supporting his left hand. He produced several envelopes tied together with a bit of string. “I didn’t realize I was asking after someone quite so prominent in the community. I hope it doesn’t cause her any trouble.” When Silas did not offer to take the letters, the soldier laid them on the counter. He tapped the addressee’s name. “That’s me.”
Silas looked down. His heart sank. After years of working with Lucy, he’d recognize her handwriting anywhere.
“I’m Oscar Greene,” the soldier said. “I told her I’d come as soon as I was given leave.”
Silas’s heart sank. Oh, Lucy. He was suddenly aware of Mrs. Tompkins standing in the doorway to the storeroom, looking his way.
“If you could just point the way to the house,” the soldier said. “Unless—I hope it isn’t too far.” He put his hand to the sling. “I’m healing up just fine, but cold air seems to make things worse.”
Silas glanced over at Mrs. Tompkins. He was not about to send some stranger to Lucy’s front door. He did not like it one bit that the man had flashed private correspondence from a lady in such a cavalier manner. Letters he claimed to treasure. Didn’t the man have any sense of propriety at all?
“As it happens,” Silas said, “I have a small delivery to make to Miss Maddox’s residence. I can show you the way. If you’ll just give me a few moments.”
Mrs. Tompkins spoke up. “I’ve got those things collected right back here in the storeroom. If you’ll just lend me a hand?”
Silas excused himself and went into the storeroom. Mrs. Tompkins pulled the door closed and whispered, “You are quite right to offer to drive the man over. I can mind the store for the rest of the day. You help the ladies of the Golden Needle—and keep an eye on the stranger.” She put an arthritic hand on his shoulder and gave it a light pat. “Don’t despair, Mr. Tait. Miss Maddox is a sensible young woman. I’m sure it’s all very innocent.”
Mrs. Tompkins might think the man’s appearance in Decatur innocent, but Silas did not. His suspicions had already been aroused by the man’s casual attitude in plopping those letters on the counter. Where was the man’s sense of propriety? And what did his reference to her being “prominent in the community” mean, anyway? Did he know that about Lucy, or was he trying to find out?
As they pulled away from the mercantile in the light delivery wagon, Greene looked back with an admiring glance. “Maddox Mercantile is an impressive place.”
“We take pride in serving the community as best we can,” Silas said.
“The largest mercantile in Decatur?”
Silas said yes.
“It seems a growing concern—the town, I mean.” Greene gave a casual laugh. “I only mention it because on my way here from the depot I think I noticed four banks. Bankers can be trusted not to invest in a losing concern, can’t they?”
“I wouldn’t know. I am a tailor by trade and a merchant, thanks to Miss Maddox’s good graces. I know nothing of banking.”
“But you have to deal with them, don’t you? For the business, I mean. Someone’s money has to back all that inventory.”
“I make it my business not to know that part of Miss Maddox’s business,” Silas said firmly. “It is not my place.”
“It’s not my place, either,” Greene said quickly. “I was merely trying to make conversation.” They rounded the corner of Main and moved past the Kincaid house. Greene gave a low whistle as he stared at the well-groomed lawns and formal gardens. Colorful foliage still clung to many of the old trees. When they came to the corner of Lucy’s property, Greene pointed at the low stone wall. “Don’t tell me. Bank president or judge. Am I right?”
Silas reined the mare pulling the wagon into the front drive.
“No,” Greene protested, then looked over at Silas. “She lives here?” As they approached the mansion, he spoke again. “How lonely she must be, rattling around in a place like that all by herself.”
Silas frowned. “Miss Maddox hardly ‘rattles around.’ Dozens of women depend upon her leadership. Hundreds of brave men have benefited from her kindness. She is a tireless servant and one of the more important citizens of Decatur.”
Greene looked over at him with an odd expression. “You obviously think very highly of her.”
“I do. I am honored to be in her employ.”
Greene gave a low grunt. He spoke sotto voce—just loud enough for Silas to hear the comment. “You sure that’s all it is?” Then he said in a normal tone, “I am indebted to you for showing me the way.”
As he pulled the wagon up at Lucy’s front door, Silas cleared his throat. “I shall also be happy to drive you back to the depot for the five-thirty train.” He supposed that sounded rude, but he didn’t care.
Greene looked at him with a knowing smile. “Thank you kindly. If you’re still here when I take my leave, I’ll be happy to accept a ride. There’s no hurry, though. I’ve a few days before I have to report back, so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to meet my faithful correspondent. I’m staying at the depot hotel.”
When the knock on the front door echoed down the hall and into the kitchen where Lucy was indulging in a second Scotch cake, she didn’t pay it any mind. Stitchers had been coming at all hours of the day and evening for some time now, and Lucy had finally realized that they felt more welcome if she didn’t treat each arrival and departure like a formal event. Someone would answer the door. This time, though, Martha came for Lucy.
“It’s Mr. Tait—with another gentleman asking to see you.”
Lucy paused midbite and looked at Portia Dameron, who was sitting across from her at the kitchen table. Portia arched one eyebrow. “Do tell?”
“Someone who wants to see me?” Lucy asked.
With a glance behind her, Martha stepped into the kitchen and lowered her voice. “He came in on the train. Stopped at the mercantile asking about you. Mr. Tait said something about letters? Says the stranger’s name is Greene. Private Oscar Greene.”
Lucy dropped the piece of Scotch bread. It broke in half when it landed on her plate. Portia leaned forward and hissed, “You signed one? Why didn’t you say anything?” She scolded softly, “And I thought we were friends.”
For a moment, Lucy could not think. Finally, she spoke to Martha. “Give me a moment and then … show them into the library.” She was not about to have a half-dozen women witness what could be the most important meeting of her life. Or the most embarrassing, depending on Oscar’s reaction when he saw her. She would always be too thin, she would never be pretty, and she would never forget Jonah Kincaid’s determined ignorance regarding how she really felt. He’d made a point of telling her how much he appreciated their friendship. She told herself not to expect anything different from Private Greene, and to prove to herself that she meant it, she refused the impulse to hurry upstairs and try to do something—anything—to improve her appearance. She was plain Lucy Maddox—for better or worse, and it would probably be worse. Best to get it over with.
Chapter 9
Was it her imagination, or was the house suddenly quiet? As Lucy waited in the library for Martha to escort Oscar—Private Greene—in, she felt like she imagined a parent would feel with curious children lurking just outside the door, barely breathing as they tried to hear what was going on in the room where the grownups were speaking in low tones about something of the utmost importance.
She heard each step in the hall. She forced herself to relax her clenched hands and to fold one over the other in an attempt to at least appear relaxed. Still, it was necessary to lean against Father’s desk for extra support because she was trembling so. She knew she was blushing but hoped it would simply put a nice rosy tint to her sallo
w complexion. She smoothed her hair, straightened her collar, and started when Martha knocked lightly on the library door. She inwardly winced at the hoarse tone when she said, as calmly as possible, “Come in.”
“Mr. Tait with a Private Oscar Greene to see you, miss,” Martha said as she motioned the men into the library and closed the door firmly behind them. Behind them all, for Martha remained, presumably to guard the door.
“Miss Maddox.”
Private Oscar Greene was not handsome. The word didn’t do him justice. He was beautiful. Sun-washed curls tumbled to his shoulders. A perfectly trimmed mustache bordered full lips. Lucy had never been one to admire goatees, but Oscar’s only served to accent the strength of his jawline. And those eyes. The warmth in those gray eyes sent goosebumps chasing up the back of her neck, for nothing in his expression hinted at disappointment when he looked at Lucy.
“Private Greene.” Lucy held out her hand with all the dignity she could muster.
He took it, and for a moment she thought he might actually kiss it. But he did not, and with Martha and Silas watching his every move, Lucy was glad he didn’t.
“The ladies will be expecting tea,” Martha said, looking past Oscar to Lucy. “Shall I serve you and your guest here in the library?”
Smiling warmly, Oscar said, “It is very kind of you to offer.”
Martha arched one eyebrow. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I was speaking with Miss Maddox.” She directed her attention back to Lucy.
Lucy cleared her throat. “Yes, well. Other men who’ve benefited from our service have mentioned stopping in Decatur. We never dared to hope it would happen. I should think they would all like to meet Private Greene.”
“I can think of nothing I would enjoy more,” Oscar said.
Martha opened the door—rather abruptly. “I’ll be preparing tea, then, while Miss Maddox introduces you.”
When Martha departed, Silas followed her. Lucy was once again aware of the unnatural silence in the rest of the house. Oscar gestured toward the dining room and said in a low voice, “After you, dear one.”
Dear one. Just when she thought she could introduce him to the ladies without revealing any untoward emotion, two words transported this visit to an entirely new plane. And yet, as he stepped into the dining room with her, Oscar was the perfect gentleman in every way.
He met Portia Dameron and Ina Porter first. The two of them had been working in the dining room when he arrived. Now they stood, scissors in hand, a length of indigo calico spread out before them as Oscar said, “I hope you don’t mind my impromptu visit. When I realized I only had to get off the train for a chance to meet you all, I simply could not resist.” He beamed down at Lucy. “You are so good to welcome me.”
“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?”
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