Michelle: Bride of Mississippi (American Mail-Order Bride 20) (7 page)

A
nthony took
his scarf that Mable held out for him and wrapped it tightly around his neck. He peered out the window at the dark clouds gathering in the sky and reached for an umbrella at the last moment.

“Gonna be a cold one today, Mr. Anthony. Good idea,” Mable said as she handed him his warmest gloves. He shrugged on his overcoat and reached out for them, smiling at Mable. She always took such good care of him and he sighed with gratitude.

Mable handed him a cloth bag which he assumed was his lunch. He’d long ago stopped closing the shop for an hour and heading down the street to get something to eat. It was more expensive--much more--than having Mable pack some small leftovers from the previous evening’s meal.

The porridge she’d made for breakfast for him warmed his stomach and he opened the front door, again frowning as the sky threatened above. Judging from the bite of chill on his nose, he guessed it might be snow rather than rain when the time came.

“It was mighty nice of you to let Mrs. Michelle have the buggy today with the girls and offering to walk.”

He looked over his shoulder at Mable. “Hm? Oh, yes. She said she wanted to go to the park. But please tell her what the weather might hold. She’s not used to Mississippi weather. We all know how unpredictable it can be.”

“Yes, I certainly will, Mr. Anthony. But from what I can tell of Miss Michelle so far, she can handle herself.”

He looked up at her and was greeted with a wink. She and Michelle hadn’t spent any time together as far as he knew, and he shrugged his shoulders and stepped outside, Mable closing the door behind him.

He clapped his hands together as he headed down the drive, glancing at the barn. His hands hadn’t warmed up since he’d come out before dawn to feed the horses and muck the stalls. He rubbed his eyes, wishing he’d had time for another cup of coffee. Between the nanny leaving and having to let the yard boy go, he’d had to do everything himself, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep.

He sighed as he walked. Last night, with Michelle by the fire when she’d told him she’d grown up in poverty would have been the perfect time to inform her of his predicament. He kicked himself that he’d not had the courage to do it. She had a right to know, after all. She was his wife now, and he’d never imagined he’d have a wife, let alone a wife he instantly kept secrets from.

Shaking his head as he inhaled the crisp autumn air, he thought of his conversation with Mr. Banks the day before, and his heart lifted a bit at the possibility of what he’d mentioned. Maybe everything would work out and he wouldn’t have to tell Michelle. No reason to worry her if things turned about as he hoped they would.

He warmed as he walked as quickly as he could down Taylor Street. A distant train whistle blew and he glanced quickly at his pocket watch. The arrival of the trains was surprisingly consistent, and he quickened his pace even more as he realized he would be late to open the shop and at the same time saw the first raindrop of the day.

He hurried past the courthouse, its bricks darkening with the increasing rain and glanced up as a woman, herding three children down the steps, moved quickly toward the street. He stopped and watched her pick up her gray skirts, holding onto two of the children’s hands while the oldest held the hand of a toddler.

She looked up at the sky and crouched down beside the toddler, buttoning his coat up to the top and pulling his cap down more securely on his head. “Button your coats now, boys. It’s a bit of a walk and the rain will be coming hard soon.”

“Mama, I’m cold,” the toddler said, stamping his worn boots on the ground.

Anthony couldn’t move--none of the children had gloves, nor did the mother. He thought of the twins’ warm coats, scarves and gloves tucked in their wardrobe.

The mother stood, startled as she ran into Anthony. Her cheeks flushed as she said, “Oh, excuse me, sir. Didn’t see you there,” and started down the street, her brood in tow.

He looked down at the brass handle of the umbrella he held over his head, his hat nice and dry. The brass handle would have been cool in his hand had he not been wearing gloves, and he remembered when his father had given it to him when he was a young boy. He hesitated for a moment, but Adelaide popped into his head. Even as a young girl, she’d always said, “There are so many less fortunate than we are, Anthony. We must help. It is our responsibility.”

“Excuse me, madame. Please, take this. It should begin pouring soon,” he said as he caught up to the mother in two long strides.

Her eyes wide and her mouth open, she looked from Anthony to her children and back up again, both gratitude and embarrassment radiating from her shy smile. “Thank you, sir. It’s mighty cold today. Wasn’t near as cold yesterday.” She reached for the umbrella and nodded as she looked down at her boys.

Anthony crouched down, unwrapping his scarf and wrapping it around the toddler’s neck. He placed his hat on the head of the middle boy, and shrugged off his gloves, handing them to the tallest.

“You’re welcome. Have a safe trip home.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his overcoat and watched as the family walked quickly toward the heart of town and he turned toward his shop.

His hands were almost frozen by the time he reached it, and he fumbled getting the key in the lock. He opened the door and stepped inside, closing it quickly behind him.

He leaned against the door and turned the sign on the door to “open” just as the heavens opened and the rain poured. He shivered, hoping that the young family had reached their destination safely and warmly before now.

Looking around the shop, he wondered if there would be many customers today with this weather, and he walked slowly behind the counter. He looked around at the merchandise--formal clothing for both men and women. He’d worked in the store with his father for many years, and watched the sales--and the clientele--dwindle year after year.

“Father, people just don’t want fancy clothes as much as they used to. Besides, the train can bring all of this in much cheaper, and we’re not selling near as many items as we used to.” Anthony couldn’t count how many times he and his father had had that very conversation before his parents died.

“Poppycock, son. Things like this never go out of style.”

Anthony shook his head slowly as he walked around the store, fingering the velvet dresses and wiping the dust off a black top hat.

His father had remained steadfast. He’d been a social bastion of the community his whole life, and after the war ended, he’d maintained that things were as they always had been. Anthony couldn’t remember how many grand, southern houses he’d been to where silver tea sets were placed on nearly every table in the winter, and porcelain pitchers filled with sweet tea in the summer--while everyone had worn clothes like these.

He peered out the window of the store. If his father had been there, he would have said, “Maybe they’ll never go out of style, Father, but the people who mostly want them--and will pay for them--are not in Corinth. And the people who
are
here need something different.”

M
ichelle sat in her room
, watching the stars out the window as the moon rose. While she sat, she couldn’t stop thinking about Anthony, certain that he’d wanted to tell her something but hadn’t. It was early, though--she’d only arrived the day before last, and she imagined that it took a while to learn to trust each other, even if the two had married for love.

She’d eventually stretched and changed into her nightdress, falling in to a deep sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. So deep, in fact, that when she woke, she wondered if it had all been a dream. As she looked around the room and pulled the warm comforter up around her ears for a moment before she hopped out of bed, she realized that it all was, in fact, real. Very real.

She’d gotten dressed in a hurry, splashed her face and brushed her red ringlets as best she could. She twirled them on her finger, pinning most of them in a chignon at the nape of her neck with a few left out to frame her face. She frowned at her freckles for the thousandth time and sighed. She didn’t have time any longer to worry about things she couldn’t change--freckles and red hair being two of them.

She stepped out of her room and ran her hand along the gleaming banister as she paused to look out the window on the landing. Branches danced in the wind and it seemed as if overnight, all of the leaves had fallen, the bare branches reaching into the dark sky which, if she had been in Lawrence, she would be sure held rain. She reached out and placed her hand on the window, drawing it back quickly as the cold pierced her skin. Maybe it was more like snow. Did it snow in Corinth?

Michelle smiled as she neared the top of the stairs, pausing for a moment to listen to the giggles of Mattie and Missy in the kitchen.

“Michelle,” Missy said as she pulled her thumb from her mouth and ran to Michelle, burying her face in her skirts. She’d put on an extra petticoat under her wool dress, the warmest she’d brought.

“Missy, you’re going to get syrup on her dress,” Mattie said as she dug her fork into the pancake on her plate as Mable cleaned the pans from making breakfast.

“You two mind your own,” Mable said as she pointed to a plate at the end of the kitchen table, steaming with flapjacks that smelled like buttermilk to Michelle.

Missy pulled her head up and took Michelle’s hand, pulling her to the table and pointing to a chair.

“Thank you very much. This smells delicious,” she said as she reached for a fork.

Mattie held out a small pitcher and scooted a plate of butter in her direction. “They’re better with these.”

The butter melted quickly and trickled down the sides of the flapjacks as Michelle slathered it on and poured what smelled like maple syrup on top of them.

“These are delicious,” she said as she took her first bite. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had flapjacks, and she closed her eyes, savoring every bite.

“They’re Uncle Anthony’s favorite,” Mattie said as she took the last bite from her own plate, scrambled down from her chair and handed Mable her dishes.

“Thank you, young lady. I’m glad you like them. But Mr. Anthony only got porridge this morning.” Mable leaned over the sink and peered out the window. “Wish I’d given him a little more coffee before he set out. It was barely dawn and so cold.”

Michelle’s ears perked up and she looked over toward Mable as Missy got down and handed her plate to Mable. “Here, Mable. He can have mine. They’re his
favorite
,” she said as she grabbed Missy’s hand. “We’ll be upstairs getting ready to go.”

“Go?” Michelle said, her eyebrows raised as she took a sip of the warm coffee Mable had set out for her.

“Mr. Anthony thought you might like to take the girls out in the buggy, maybe to the park. He got up before the sun to take care of the horses and hitch the buggy up for you. Only had time for porridge before he had to get dressed and set out for work.”

“Oh,” Michelle said as she looked out the window of the back door toward the barn. Dry leaves spiraled in the howling wind and the horses stamped their feet. It seemed awfully cold to her for a buggy ride, but he’d gone to an awful lot of trouble.

“You don’t have to go. I can light a fire in the parlor and you can stay in and read, if you’d like. The girls are pretty good at entertaining themselves.” Mable placed the last dish on a towel on the counter and wiped her hands, nodding at the clean kitchen.

Michelle tapped her finger on her chin as she rested her forehead on the window of the back door. “I think maybe there’s something we could do that would be equally fun, and wouldn’t require us going out until the weather changes, maybe.”

She turned and pointed toward the basket of mending. “You may not be aware, but I worked as a seamstress before I came here to Mississippi.”

Her face heated as Mable lifted one of her eyebrows, her hands folded across her chest as she leaned against the counter. “Did you, now? I hadn’t heard that.”

Michelle walked to the basket and held up what was at the top of the pile. “Yes, and I could make quick work of this if you’d let me.”

She couldn’t help but smile at Mable’s rich laugh. “Mrs. Michelle, I can find my way around a kitchen blindfolded, but I can’t thread a needle to save my life. I’d be ever so happy to let you take on that chore--if you’re certain. It wasn’t Mr. Anthony’s intention that you’d do anything but take care of and teach the girls.”

The corners of Michelle’s mouth twitched up into a grin and she lifted an eyebrow of her own. “Well, what better thing could I teach them than to make use of their hands, thread a needle and make sure that the things they have last as long as possible. Even with all the money in the world, it makes no sense to throw away perfectly good clothing--or curtains or furniture, for that matter.”

Mable smiled and shook her head. “I like the way you look at things. And I think Mr. Anthony will, too.”

Michelle smiled as she picked up the basket full of clothes and other things that needed mending, and she nodded as she headed out into the parlor.

M
ichelle stamped
her feet as she threw open the back door of the Robbins’ Nest. She clapped her hands together, blowing into her laced fingers to warm them. When blood began to return to her nose, she unwrapped her scarf and hung it next to Mable’s apron.

“I’ve never seen anybody unhitch a buggy so fast, or put horses in the barn in such a hurry,” Mable said from behind her.

She laughed and turned around. “It isn’t exactly weather I want to spend a great deal of time in. I did it as fast as I could.”

Mable reached for a pan over her head and placed it on the stove, opening the side and shoving in an extra piece of wood. “I think that act of heroism calls for some hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate?” the twins asked in unison as they skidded through the door, their pigtails flying behind them.

Michelle held up her hands and braced herself as they plowed into her skirts, hugging her legs. She laughed and looked up at Mable, who winked in return.

She pried their hands from her skirts and bent down. “Hot chocolate, yes, thanks to Mable. That’s the good news.”

“What’s the bad news?” Missy asked as she stuck her thumb in her mouth.

Mattie frowned. “There’s always bad news when grown-ups say that.”

“It’s actually all good news. It’s so very cold outside that we’ve decided it’s best to stay home. It will definitely rain--maybe even snow--and my experience is that it’s much nicer to stay inside, warm and cozy. With hot chocolate.”

The girls’ eyes brightened as they hurried toward Mable. Mattie clapped her hands as Missy turned back to Michelle. “What are you going to do all day if we can’t go outside? Nanny was teaching us our letters, but it wasn’t very much fun.”

Michelle glanced at Mable, who shrugged her shoulders.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. Did Nanny leave any learning books with you? I could do that while we have our hot chocolate, and when we’re finished, we can do something--well, something more fun.”

Michelle had spent her fair share of time learning her letters, and reading and writing. She’d loved learning about the United States and always wanted to see all of it--and laughed at the thought that she was now in Mississippi.

“Okay, but do we have to do it all day? It’s boring,” Mattie said as she grabbed Missy’s hand and pulled her into the parlor, holding the door open as she waited for an answer.

“How about this? We can do letters until lunch time, and after that I have a surprise for you. Something I want to teach you.”

The girls burst into bright smiles and squealed as they raced upstairs to fetch the books their nanny had left, and Michelle’s stomach flipped for a moment at the thought she would be a real--well, what? Wife? Mother? No, none of those, really. She settled on the word nanny. That would do for now.

She nodded at Mable as she passed through to the parlor, glancing at the pile of mending and her purple embroidered bag sitting on top with her thimble, needles and thread. When she’d looked at it yesterday, she’d even found a small pair of scissors that she’d remembered from long ago--mother of pearl handles, a set her grandmother also had given her.

She rummaged through the basket as she waited for the girls, sitting in the wing-backed chair that had been hers the evening before--when Anthony had sat opposite her and the fire had outlined his handsome features. She shook her head and shoved the basket behind her as the girls almost tumbled down the stairs, both of them with a stack of books in their arms.

They set down to work, Michelle helping the girls in their primers and small chalkboards, holding their little hands and helping them form letters. She was pretty sure they were all ready for a break when Mable came in with the silver tea service and the smell of chocolate whooshed in behind her.

“Oh, cookies, too!” Mattie grabbed for one as Missy scowled at her. “What?” she said as she looked at her sister.

“It’s polite to at least wait until the tray is placed on the table.”

Mable and Michelle exchanged a glance, Michelle hiding her smile behind her hand.

“It’s all right, Mattie. I don’t mind.” Michele smiled gratefully at Mable and lifted the pitcher of hot chocolate, ready to pour into the beautiful cups set on the saucers she and Anthony had sipped from the previous evening.

“At least sit down before you have your hot chocolate,” Missy said as she tugged at her sister’s sleeve. “These are the special cups. Uncle Anthony’s favorite. He said they’re the last ones, and if we break these--”

“You two just sit down and don’t worry so much,” Mable cut in, shooting a glance at Michelle. “You know how to sip like ladies. Just do that, and everything will be fine.”

Mable smiled and nodded as she headed back into the kitchen, the door swinging behind her.

“The last ones?” Michelle couldn’t help but ask. Certainly a house of this size had many tea sets, and lots of china.

“Mama used to talk about all of the silver in the cabinet and the different kinds of beautiful cups that Grandmama had. But we haven’t seen any. When we came, the china cabinet in the corner, where she said they were, was empty.”

Michelle frowned and leaned forward, peering into the dining room. She remembered from earlier that the hutch had been empty but had not thought much of it. Maybe it was stored somewhere else--possibly in the root cellar and she just hadn’t seen it.

“I’m sure there’s more. We’ll just be careful with what we have. It never serves to think of things as just disposable, anyway. You never know when you might run out of something, or not have enough.”

Missy frowned and looked at Mattie, as if willing her to speak. Mattie looked down at her shoes and then back up at Michelle.

“That’s what Mama always said. That there were people everywhere who didn’t have enough, and it was something special that we could do to help them.”

Michelle’s heart swelled at her words, cupping Missy’s chin in her hand as her eyes misted. “That’s lovely, girls. Your mama must have been very, very special to want to help so many people.”

“Yes, she was very special. And everybody loved her,” Missy said before she shoved her thumb in her mouth.

Michelle thought again how hard it must be for this family. The two girls had lost not only their parents, but their grandparents, and still, they wanted to help other people. She silently admired Adelaide and her heart pinched at the thought that she’d never get to meet her. Her husband’s twin. The person who had created and loved these generous souls in front of her.