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

to hand it back. “You should do it.”
    “No, you’ve a talent for machines. I can see it. You’ll be fine.”
    She
was
fine, but there was a great deal more to learn. Threading the needle required guiding thread through half a dozen precise places on the machine head.
    “If you miss a single one,” Silas said, “you won’t get a good result. There can be no shortcuts.”
    Martha had returned from the kitchen and was standing in the doorway, her arms folded, her expression still wary. Yet, when Silas mentioned no shortcuts, Martha spoke up. “That’s just like with baking. Sloppy measurements or a missed ingredient and you’ve got yourself a failure.”
    “Just so,” Silas said, nodding as he handed Lucy two squares of cloth. “Right sides together,” he said. “Just as you do when you’re hand stitching a seam.”
    With trembling hands, Lucy lifted the presser foot on the machine and slid the fabric into place.
    “Remember not to pull on the work,” Silas said. “That’s a good way to break a needle. All you need to do is guide the fabric. Let the machine do the work for you. That is, after all, the point. Now, you begin by placing your hand on the flywheel and moving it—gently. Once the motion is begun, keep it going by pedaling. The more evenly you can pedal, the more even will be your stitches.”
    Lucy put her hand to the flywheel. Her heart thumped from nerves—and then thumped again when, as she barely moved the flywheel, Silas put his hand over hers.
    “Not that way,” he said. “This way.” He corrected the movement.
    For a fraction of a moment there was … something. Lucy didn’t quite know what, but it made her catch her breath.
    Silas snatched his hand away. “I beg your pardon, Miss Maddox.” He took a step back.
    Tentatively, Lucy moved the flywheel and then, placing both hands on the fabric, guided it beneath the presser foot while she pedaled. The result was a long line of stitches in a fraction of the time it would have taken her with needle and thread. Lifting the presser foot, she pulled the fabric away, snipped the threads, and held the result up with a triumphant smile. “God bless you, Silas. The ladies will bless you, as well.” She hesitated. “Is it asking too much for you to come to the first workday—just in case I have trouble with the machine?” She glanced over at Martha, who was still standing in the doorway. “You may think it a monstrosity, but I think it’s nothing short of a miracle.”
    “And you’re to be the miracle worker, I suppose?” Martha asked.
    “No,” Lucy replied. “Silas is the miracle worker for suggesting it and for teaching me how to use it.” She looked up at him. “What do you say, Mr. Tait? Will you agree to ‘hover’ here at the house in case the monster breathes fire?”
    Silas bowed. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Maddox.”

Chapter 6

    O n Tuesday morning Silas arrived at the Maddox mansion fully one hour before the ten o’clock meeting. Even so, as he drove the light rig carrying everything Mrs. Tompkins had gathered for the sewing display atop Lucy’s dining room table, he was startled to see several carriages waiting at the front gate.
    Henry Jefferson had donned ancient livery for the occasion and was standing before those gates like a sentry. Which was a good idea, since the first carriage in line was Mrs. Collins’s flashy rig. Silas saluted Henry Jefferson as he drove by, bound for the back entrance. He was hitching the buggy when Mrs. Jefferson flung open the back door and called out, “Thank goodness you’re here.”
    “Is something wrong?”
    “Not yet, but if Miss Maddox doesn’t settle down, she’s going to have an apoplectic fit before her guests arrive.” She descended the porch steps, and Silas handed over a couple of baskets of props and then took up a larger box for himself. Mrs. Jefferson continued, “She rose before dawn and has been second-guessing everything from how the chairs are