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. Mart
ha 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?
Chapter 11
Oscar 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.”
Lucy sighed. “At the very least, she’ll demand a recount.”
“If it will save you any difficulty at all,” Silas said, “we can certainly do one.”
The door swung open and in rushed Mrs. Collins. “I’ve three more pair,” she said, and plopped them on the counter. She looked from Lucy to Silas and then over at Oscar. “I told my husband you’d be here,” she said. “I’m glad to see I was correct. He wanted me to ask that you stop in the bank at your earliest convenience. Something about an account you wanted to establish?”
Oscar nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to do that.”
“I’d be happy to show you the way.”
“I know the way,” Oscar said, and looked over at Lucy with a sweet smile. “But I was hoping that Miss Maddox and I might have time for a cup of tea at the café as part of our morning together.”
Lucy tried to hide her surprise. They hadn’t made any such plans. It was nice of him to surprise her, but surely he knew that her morning was more than full already. They must congratulate the winner, submit the announcement to the newspaper, and stop in McHenry’s bakery to consult with Mr. McHenry in regards to the celebration. And Oscar wanted to take tea? Just the two of them? A glimmer of hope made her wonder if he was possibly going to declare himself, but it was merely a glimmer and it flickered out when it became obvious that Mrs. Collins was not to be denied.
“I would say that now is your earliest convenience, Private Greene. Mr. Collins does not like to be kept waiting.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Lucy said. “I can stop at the bakery and make the order for our celebration while you meet with your banker.” His banker. How fortuitous that he had selected Father’s bank to be his own. Again, hope flickered. If a man established a banking relationship, that meant that he intended residency, didn’t it?
“If there is one thing I know about ladies,” Oscar said with an odd laugh, “it’s that they despise business meetings. I hate to leave you alone to make all those calls, dear Lucy, but—”
“Actually,” Mrs. Collins interrupted, “I have a private matter to discuss with Miss Maddox. We can all walk down together.” She nodded at Lucy. “You and I can speak while the gentlemen have their little meeting. How does that suit?” She smiled brightly at Oscar. “I’m sure it’s nothing to be too concerned about, Private Greene. My husband knows that you’ve become a favorite of the Basket Brigade.”
Oscar offered his arm to Lucy. “I do apologize, Mrs. Collins. If it weren’t for the infernal Rebels, I’d be able to offer you my other arm.”
Mrs. Collins brushed past him. “Now, now, Private Greene. There’s no need for gallantry today. Come along.”
Something was wrong. That was quite clear. Whatever Mr. Collins’s business with Oscar might be, Lucy couldn’t imagine that it was so urgent as to merit being nearly dragged out of the mercantile. As Mrs. Collins led the way to the bank, Lucy could not quite shake the feeling that she and Oscar were naughty children being herded into the schoolmaster’s office for a scolding. And whatever Mrs. Collins had to say to her could certainly be said in the presence of Silas and Mrs. Tompkins. It was likely some petty complaint about the way the contest had been run. She’d probably gotten wind of the fact that she wasn’t the winner.
Lucy glanced up at Oscar as they hurried along. His expression told her that he was upset, too. A shadow flitted across his face when, as they entered the bank, they nearly collided with Mr. Slade of the depot hotel. Something passed between Oscar and Mr. Slade. Something unpleasant. Lucy told herself that it was only the natural animosity between a man who’d been wounded in the war and a civilian who was doing everything in his power to avoid service. Mr. Slade’s mother had insisted that giving one son to the cause was enough, and apparently, Mr. Slade agreed. Lucy supposed that a brave man like Oscar would dislike someone like that. That must be what it was.
The moment the three of them entered the bank, Mr. Collins’s assistant rose from a desk and hurried over to greet them. “Right this way.” He led them toward Mr. Collins’s office. Apparently, whatever Mrs. Collins needed to discuss with Lucy could wait.
“We’ll just see what my husband has to say first, dear,” Mrs. Collins said, and motioned for Lucy and Oscar to go ahead of her.
Oscar stopped abruptly just inside the bank president’s office door. He almost took a step back, but Mrs. Collins and Mr. Collins’s assistant were standing right behind them, effectively blocking the door. Why were soldiers in the office? What was happening?
A lanky private looked to his superior and nodded. “That’s him. That’s ‘Gamblin’ Greene.’” He smirked as he said to Oscar, “Guess they’ll be calling you ‘Deserter Greene’ from now on.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oscar protested.
When a third soldier stepped forward with a pair of handcuffs, Lucy released Oscar’s arm and took a step away from him.
“You’ve got the wrong man.” He appealed to Lucy. “It’s not—they’re lying. I’ve never—”
“Come on, Greene,” the man with the handcuffs said. “I lost half a month’s pay to you not two weeks before you went missing.”
“This is all a misunderstanding,” Oscar insisted. He looked over at Lucy. “On my honor, my dear. I did not desert. I was given leave.”
“One week,” the officer snapped. “Long enough to return to your regiment. But you failed to report for duty.” He glanced at Lucy and then back at Oscar. “It would appear you decided to seek out the charms of Decatur instead. And now,” he said, “Private Oscar Greene, it is my duty to place you under arrest.”
> Oscar paled. For a moment, Lucy thought he might try to flee. But then, his shoulders slumped and he submitted to the handcuffs.
“But, Oscar,” Lucy croaked. “You said—” She broke off. Handcuffed, he would not even look at her.
Mrs. Collins reached over to support Lucy’s arm. “I imagine you’d like to sit down, dear.”
Lucy resisted. “I’d like an explanation. Oscar?”
Still, he would not meet her gaze as he muttered, “I’m sorry. You’re a nice girl. I—I honestly did grow fond of you.”
Fond. That word again. Turning her back to him, she allowed Mrs. Collins to lead her to a chair. The soldiers left with Oscar in tow. Her head swam. I’ve been a fool. Again. First there was Jonah, and now—this. How would she ever show her face in public again? She’d be a laughingstock.
Mrs. Collins sat next to her, patting her arm. “There, there, now, my dear. It will be all right. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Mr. Collins dismissed his assistant. Once the office door was closed, he said quietly, “You have Mrs. Collins to thank for this rescue, by the way.” Lucy looked up just in time to see the banker beaming at his wife with affection. “She was very concerned when Private Greene appeared at your door. In the end, however, Greene’s own hubris gave him away. He talked his way into a hotel room and an account at your store, but—”
“Wait.” Lucy held up a hand, frowning. “Who gave him an account at the mercantile?”
“Mr. Tait didn’t want to say anything to anyone,” Mr. Collins explained. “But once I told him I was already looking into the man, he said that Greene had come in and asked to have credit extended so that he might purchase a gift for you—just until he could receive a transfer from another bank.” Mr. Collins grimaced. “The problem was with the other bank. There wasn’t one. No money ever arrived, and when I checked with the one he named, they’d never heard of an Oscar Greene.” He sat back and folded his hands across his expansive midsection. “Next came a concern about the hotel bill. Mr. Slade came to me about that after overhearing one of the men on the hospital train call out to Oscar from the car. ‘Gambling Greene,’ he called him.”
A Basket Brigade Christmas Page 9
