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?
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
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?
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
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