A Basket Brigade Christmas by Judith Mccoy Miller Read Free Book Online

the other window.”
    “I’ll get Harker.” Silas hurried to fetch the driver. Together the men moved the settee and returned to the wagon for the machine. Silas had hoped that Henry Jefferson would be available to help haul the machine in. A wooden leg and carrying heavy equipment didn’t mix well. But Silas had no intention of looking like a weakling in Lucy’s presence. Fortunately, he had just positioned himself at the back of the wagon when Henry Jefferson came trotting around the back of the house. He’d been working on the cover for the dining table out in his workshop.
    “Mr. Maddox would have my head for letting the manager of one of his businesses do the work of a common laborer. No sir, he wouldn’t never want that and neither does Henry Jefferson. Stand aside and let me help.”
    Thank goodness for Henry Jefferson.

    “You said it was simple,” Lucy said, watching as Silas opened the cabinet and lifted the machine itself into view.
    “It is.” He pointed to the platform shaped like the soles of two shoes. “The operator places his or her feet there to pedal. That turns this wheel.” He touched the large wheel mounted on the right side of the cabinet, which was attached to the pedal with an iron bar. “This belt”—he indicated a leather belt that connected the large wheel to a smaller one—“transfers the power between wheels and from there to the finer mechanical parts that move the needle up and down. Meanwhile,” he said, removing a small plate near the needle, “the shuttle and bobbin work together to feed the thread in a way that produces a lock stitch.”
    “That may seem simple to you,” Lucy said, “but to me it’s a bit of wizardry.”
    Martha agreed about the “wizardry” involved, although she didn’t see it as a plus. “Wizardry from a monstrosity,” she said.
    Silas smiled. “I suppose it is a bit of a monstrosity on display here in the formal parlor. In most homes, it would be hidden in the servant’s quarters—perhaps even given its own room.”
    Martha snorted. “Over my lifeless body. I’ll have none of it. God gave me two good hands, and I can keep up with the mending just fine. Don’t have any use for a newfangled concoction of wheels and shuttles that could send a needle right through me at a moment’s notice. I’ll be back in the kitchen if you need me—doing what the good Lord intended a housekeeper to do.”
    After Martha had retreated, Lucy apologized for her outburst.
    “There’s no need to apologize,” Silas said. “A great many people are suspicious of machinery. Truly, though, there’s no wizardry involved. You could be running it efficiently in no time.”
    Lucy sounded doubtful as she peered at the machine. “So says the man who’s a professional tailor.”
    “Want to try it?”
    “No.” She folded her arms. “I don’t want to chance being blamed for breaking it before we’ve even had a chance to use it.”
    “The only thing you could break would be a needle.”
    “Exactly. Broken before we sew a stitch for the cause.”
    Silas reached into his pocket and produced a small wooden vial. “A good tailor always has a spare.”
    Lucy reconsidered. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
    “I’d be delighted.” Silas grinned. “And Mrs. Collins will be incensed to think she’s not the only woman in Decatur who can operate a sewing machine.”
    Lucy gave a low laugh. “If she does operate it.”
    Amusement shone in Silas’s dark eyes.
    Mrs. Collins aside, Lucy was surprised at just how much the idea of mastering a machine appealed to her. She nodded. “All right. Tell me what to do.” Silas carried the piano stool over. Lucy sat down, and in a matter of minutes, Silas had shown her how to fill the bobbin and thread the shuttle. Regulating the tension was a challenge.
    “Just remember that a very slight movement of the screw makes a considerable change in the tension,” Silas said as he handed Lucy a tiny screwdriver.
    She tried