A Basket Brigade Christmas Read Free Page B

dousing the lanterns. “I can carry a couple of those,” Lucy said, and grabbed two. Henry carried two more with one hand, raising a third before them to illuminate the way home. A fine mist had blown in early in the evening. Now, as Lucy and Henry made their way past Mrs. Kincaid’s dormant rose garden, the grass crunched softly as their footsteps broke through a thin sheen of frosted mist.
    Martha was waiting for them in the kitchen. She’d just taken another tray of cakes out of the oven, and while Henry and Lucy removed their wraps, Martha poured cups of tea. When Lucy thanked her for the evening of baking and the regular deliveries to the Kincaids’, Martha only shrugged. “That’s what neighbors do.”
    The three sat around the kitchen table for a few moments until Henry gave a soft grunt and said, “Time for these old bones to say good night.”
    “Thank you for taking the lanterns over,” Lucy said. “They probably saved a few necks.”
    “Necks that should have had sense not to linger so long,” Henry grumbled. He shook his head. “That poor family.”
    Wishing Martha and Henry a good night, Lucy ascended the back stairs to the second floor. She undressed quickly, but instead of going to bed, she waited for the sound of the back door closing and the faint click of the lock. Certain that Martha and Henry were gone, she pulled on her wrapper and tiptoed into the wide upstairs hall and, from there, down the front stairs toward the foyer. Instead of going all the way down, though, she perched on the fifth step from the top, staring down at the patch of moonlight shining on the polished floor. Thinking. She’d promised Mrs. Kincaid that she would “take care” of the situation with the Ladies Aid. They would need a new place to meet. Almost as if to protest the logical solution to that dilemma, the house creaked. Lucy looked about her. Nodded.
Yes, I know. Father would not approve. He’d never have allowed it.
    Robert Maddox had insisted on calling the house a “cottage,” but with its broad veranda and two-story central gable, the ten-room Gothic Revival mansion made the use of that word ridiculous. Even though she’d been only a child when the house was built, Lucy remembered the stir it had caused. But the curious were to suffer their curiosity unsatisfied, for Father declared the new home a sanctuary, not a showcase. Only close friends would ever be invited in. Only the kind of people who would appreciate nice things but never gossip about them.
    As the only child of middle-aged parents, Lucy eventually learned that one could be alone without being lonely. She grew up in solitude, spending hours at a time entertaining herself, her imagination transforming this nook or that cranny into a castle tower or a pirate ship as the need arose. Father’s expansive library offered unending delights in the form of cherished books.
    After her parents died, Lucy faithfully continued her mother’s legacy of doing good—elsewhere. The house remained as it had always been, private and protected from the curious. Tonight, though, the intersection of two obvious needs was challenging the way things had always been. First was Mrs. Kincaid’s need for someone to step into her place of leadership for the Ladies Aid. The organization had done a superb job of helping the war effort in recent months. They’d shipped barrels of bandages west to Rolla, Missouri, and south to Cairo and Paducah. After the Battle of Fort Donelson this past February, they’d collected dozens of shirts, sheets, and pillowcases and sent them to St. Louis. They’d also supported the Basket Brigade. Lucy had done her part at every turn, but as she sat alone on the stairs, listening to the house creak, she pondered a new possibility. The men on the daily train needed so much more than food. If Lucy provided a place to work, what more might the ladies accomplish?
With help from Maddox Mercantile.
She had unique access to an abundant supply of