Free A Basket Brigade Christmas by Judith Mccoy Miller Page B

Maddox. Nothing would ever change that. And yet … perhaps Oscar was different. He wrote with such grace. Such intelligence. How he would adore Father’s library. Lucy pictured him there with her, the two of them reading in the golden glow of the lamps. Fond hopes kept Lucy awake for the better part of a night.
    She signed the next letter.
Lucy A. Maddox.
    November brought frigid air and cold winds. Silas barely noticed. He rose with newfound joy as he anticipated what he might do that day to help the ladies of the Golden Needle. To help
Lucy.
She might never love him, but she had befriended him, and Silas told himself that that was enough. He relished their time together, no matter what it entailed. He cut fabric, applied binding to comforters with his machine, and ran errands. All of it took on a new glow, because he was doing it for his friend. For
Lucy.
    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