A Basket Brigade Christmas (12 page)

Lucy had always thought Silas Tait a unique man in his willingness to be part of an endeavor that required him to be in the company of women for hours at a time. She supposed it was at least in part due to his being a tailor. No one questioned his participation in the sewing project. He was the brother-son-cousin-friend that everyone appreciated for his dependability and his general good nature. She had never known another man like Silas.

She still didn’t. Oscar was different from Silas in myriad ways. None of the ladies treated Oscar like a brother-son-cousin-friend. Part of that was his striking appearance. One simply did not forget that Oscar Greene was in the room. He drew the eye of every woman in his presence. Even Mrs. Collins was not immune.

Oscar knew nothing of sewing or knitting or any other feminine pursuits, and yet, for the few days he remained in Decatur, he made himself useful in countless ways. He created pleasing arrangements of calico squares destined to be patchwork comforters. He marveled at Lucy’s skill with the sewing machine. He tried to assist Ina and Mrs. Rutherford in the tying of a comforter—but when he freed his arm from the sling to facilitate the process, pain quickly cut the effort short. Sinking into a chair with a regretful sigh, he came up with the idea of reading to the workers.

The ladies accepted his offer with a resounding yes, for Private Greene had a voice that resonated with warmth. Accompanying Lucy into the library, Oscar said that she must make the selection. “Some of these volumes are surely quite valuable. I don’t want to be responsible for anything like that. If I broke a binding or tore a page, I’d never forgive myself.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Lucy pointed across the room. “As long as we stay away from the ones over there—behind the glass.”

Oscar peered through the glass. “I don’t see any titles that are likely to appeal.”

“Indeed not,” Lucy said. “They’re all political essays. Father was a particular admirer of James Madison. And Jefferson, of course. I think there are one or two volumes printed by Benjamin Franklin himself.” She’d been perusing titles as she talked, and when she came to an old favorite, she pulled it off the shelf, then reached for a second book. Holding one in each hand, she said, “Chateaubriand or Dickens?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure of indulging in novels,” Oscar said. “I defer to your wisdom.”

Lucy laughed. “Well then, since Monsieur Chateaubriand is decidedly
not
a novelist, we shall proceed with the ever-popular Monsieur Dickens.
En anglais.
”

Oscar seemed confused. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Didn’t you tell me you studied French at university before the war?”

“Yes, but—I’m sorry. My memory has never fully recovered since my unfortunate encounter with an artillery shell.”

“Forgive me,” Lucy said. “I shouldn’t have teased.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Oscar said quickly. “I do remember a little,
chérie.
”

Lucy stepped closer. “You mustn’t make me blush today. The ladies will talk.”

“I don’t think you need worry today,” Oscar said. “Mrs. Collins hasn’t arrived yet. She’s the one who seems to watch us so closely. She and Mr. Tait.”

“I do hope Mrs. Collins isn’t ill. She is absolutely determined to win the Golden Needle Award.”

“The award in the window at your mercantile.”

“You saw it?”

“I did. On my way here this morning. And I was most impressed. No one would ever suspect that it isn’t real gold and gemstones.”

“Well, of course it’s real,” Lucy said with a low laugh. “Cheap metal and glass wouldn’t inspire competition. Silas carried the idea to a jeweler in St. Louis, and when he learned of the cause it would support, he donated it. Wasn’t that kind?”

“Very,” Oscar said. “May I say that you amaze me, Lucy Maddox?”

“Why? I’ve done nothing different from what dozens of women all over the state do—hundreds all over the country, for that matter.”

“I disagree,” Oscar said. “Others donate what they can. You’ve put your heart and soul into service, and you fairly glow with honest joy. It really is quite attractive.” He reached for the book in her hand. “To the parlor. Lest the ladies gossip.”

Lucy led the way into the parlor, thinking all the while that at the moment, she didn’t care two whits about gossip. Let them gossip. It was a small price to pay for another moment alone with Private Oscar Greene.

O
n the Friday when Private Oscar Greene was due to depart Decatur—please, God, let it be—Silas oversaw the unloading of an unusually large shipment of goods at the mercantile. He was concentrating on a rather complex bit of mathematics when Greene stepped into the store.

“I was wondering,” he said, looking about at the merchandise, “if you might assist me in a rather delicate matter. You’ve … um … you’ve known Lucy for a long time, yes?”

Silas gave a wary nod.

“I was hoping you might be able to advise me in a purchase. The thing is, though, I am in the embarrassing position of being short on cash. I’ve sent word home and asked that a transfer be initiated to Mr. Collins’s bank. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave Decatur before the cash arrives, and I’m loathe to leave without giving Lucy a token of my admiration. You understand, surely?”

“What is it, exactly, that you are asking, Private Greene?”

“Your advice. And help selecting a gift. A book, perhaps? But I want it to be something special.” Greene lingered at the jewelry counter.

“I believe the convention is to limit oneself to flowers or candy,” Silas said. Mrs. Tompkins was just coming in, and he called to her. “Am I right in that, Mrs. Tompkins? Appropriate gifts from a gentleman to a lady?”

“Married, courting, or”—Mrs. Tompkins stopped midsentence when she saw who was in the store—“merely an acquaintance?”

Greene made a show of considering his answer. “Something more than a mere acquaintance. From someone hoping for much more.” He gave a nervous little laugh. “You’ll keep that to yourself, now, won’t you, old man?”

“I should think Mr. Tait’s advice was the best,” Mrs. Tompkins said. “Flowers or candy. A book is always appropriate, but Miss Maddox has the finest library in the region.”

“Candy, then,” Greene said. “But not something ordinary.” Again, he appealed to Silas. “And you’ll assist me in that … other matter? I’ll give Mr. Collins instructions to handle things for me.”

Silas opened the store ledger. At the top of a fresh page he wrote
Private Oscar Greene.

Greene nodded. “Thank you.” He spent the next half hour selecting an absurd amount of the most expensive imported chocolate in the store. He asked Mrs. Tompkins to see the “various wrapping papers” available and pretended great disappointment when she said that what they had was that roll of brown paper right there on the counter. “Well. If that’s the best you can do,” he said. “And you’ll deliver it on the same day of my departure?”

“That isn’t today?” Silas asked.

“I sincerely hope not,” Greene said. “I’m awaiting word from the regiment. I’ve made the case for a delay.” He grimaced as he made a show of trying to raise his arm. “It just isn’t healing as it ought.”

“What a shame,” Silas said. “Perhaps you’d want to have our Dr. Kirkland take a look at it. His office is just there.” Silas pointed across the street. “See the sign? He’s probably there right now. He’s an excellent physician.”

“You’re very kind to suggest it,” Greene said. “Perhaps I will consult the good doctor.” He looked up at the clock on the wall. “At the moment, though, I must check back at the telegraph office and then make my way to Lucy’s. I promised I’d be there by ten o’clock this morning, whether I had good news or not. She and the ladies have some idea that the work goes better when I’m reading to them. Will you be coming to help today?”

“You’ll have to carry on without me,” Silas said. He pointed to the crates and boxes lining the far wall. “What you see there is only about half the shipment. I expect it will take Mrs. Tompkins and me most of the day to check it all in.”

The moment Greene had exited the mercantile, Mrs. Tompkins exploded. “The nerve of the man! Who does he think he is? And what on earth is he thinking, trying to delay his return to his regiment? ‘Not healing’ indeed. How dare he saunter in here like some dandy, expecting to be waited on. Insinuating and prodding. And asking you to extend credit? I declare!” She sputtered for the next few minutes before finally calming down enough to notice that Silas hadn’t said anything.

“If he’s made a favorable impression on you, I apologize.”

“Quite the contrary,” Silas said. “I was hoping the illustrious Private Greene would be on the evening train the day he arrived. It was obvious he had designs on Lucy.” He bit his lower lip to keep from saying more and turned his attention to opening one of the crates.

Yarn.
Lucy would be pleased. If she noticed. She hadn’t been to the mercantile since Private Greene’s arrival.

“‘Designs on Miss Maddox,’ you say?” Mrs. Tompkins frowned. “Surely she hasn’t fallen for him.”

“Should we put this yarn in the contest window?” Silas held up a twist of red. “Red, white, and blue, perhaps?”

Mrs. Tompkins reached over and took the twist of yarn. Setting it aside, she took one of Silas’s hands between hers and held it fast. “Silas Tait. Are you really going to stand by and let that—interloper—steal your girl?”

Silas pulled free. “She is not ‘my girl.’”

“And why is that?”

“You and I have had this discussion before,” Silas said, “and I distinctly remember asking you not to raise the subject again.”

“And I have respected your wishes. But only because I thought that, given time, you’d come to your senses and speak your mind.”

“To you?”

“Heavens above, no. Not to me. I’m not important. To Lucy. Fight for her. Don’t let that—don’t let him win her over.”

The door opened and a gaggle of young women came tittering in. One asked about the new shipment, wondering if there was a fresh supply of winter gloves.

“Come back this afternoon,” Mrs. Tompkins said. “We’ll have checked in the new merchandise by then and you can try on gloves to your heart’s content.”

The girls started to leave, then retreated to the far side of the store, exclaiming over a selection of cameos in a display case before moving on to hair combs and lace collars.

Thankful for the distraction, Silas busied himself with the new stock.

Lucy had tried not to count days. She had done her best to cherish moments. Still, time had flown. It was Friday, and absent a miracle, Oscar would be leaving on the five-thirty train. She could barely control her tears. She thought back to that awful day in October when they’d received news of battles in Corinth, Mississippi, and Perryville, Kentucky. Between those two battles, the toll on Illinois had included more than 200 killed, more than 1,000 wounded, and 260 captured or missing. She had cried with the ladies over the news. And yet, apart from Jonah Kincaid, she hadn’t known anyone who died. Now, facing Oscar’s departure and his return to his regiment, a knot of fear clutched at her midsection. Every once in a while she had to remind herself to take a deep breath. She relaxed momentarily, but then, moments later, the fear returned.

Whatever would she do if something happened to Oscar? Would she even know? Unless he chose to tuck a note in a pocket that requested she be notified, Oscar Greene could simply disappear. She would never know what had happened to him. For the rest of her life, she would wonder. How would she ever bear that? It would break her heart. She looked down at the watch pinned to her blouse. It was after ten o’clock. He had promised to be here by ten o’clock.

She must be calm. And brave. She must not make a scene, for then surely Oscar would know—and he must not know just how dear he had become to her. Not yet. A lady must be certain of a man’s feelings before exposing her own. She had done so prematurely with Jonah Kincaid. She would not make that mistake again.

She pedaled away at the machine, telling herself to be calm. Suddenly, there was an odd click. She’d broken a needle. She sat back, exasperated. Where was Silas, anyway? He was supposed to do the binding. Didn’t he know that he was needed?