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

by Cindy Caldwell

  “Melanie Davis and Penelope Benson, please allow me to introduce Michelle Blake. Er--Michelle Chandler. Michelle is my wife.”

  Anthony’s eyes followed the soda glass that slipped out of Melanie’s hands and clattered to the ground, shooting soda on the bottom of her dress.

  “Oh, my,” Michelle said as she picked up the glass and looked around, Anthony imagined for something to clean up the soda with.

  He looked up and met the frowning glare of Miss Benson as her friend fanned herself, her face flushed. Anthony knew that Melanie had had her sights on him for a long time, and even if he had been able to court in Corinth, she would not have been on his list of potential wives. All the better to get this over with and out in the open now.

  By the time Michelle stood up and set the empty soda glass on the counter, Miss Benson’s frown had turned into a forced smile. Miss Davis still looked as if she’d swallowed lemons, her lips puckered and her eyes cast downward.

  “Melanie, let’s congratulate the new couple and move on. We’re expected at the Archies’ for tea soon.” She extended her gloved hand to Michelle. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Chandler. Welcome to Corinth. I do hope you’ll enjoy it here.”

  Miss Davis squeaked a, “Nice to meet you,” before she glanced quickly up at Anthony and followed her friend out the door. Anthony shook his head as the ladies looked back once before the door closed behind her.

  Michelle lightly brushed at her skirts, swishing them a bit as some of the dropped soda had landed on her, too.

  Anthony took a towel from the counter and bent down, wiping the remaining root beer from her skirts. As he stood, Michelle looked up at him with twinkling, crystal blue eyes and a big, bright smile. “I do apologize for that,” he said as he set the towel down on the counter.

  Anthony’s heart tugged at her kind innocence. Had she not noticed that Melanie was shooting daggers at her from her eyes? Apparently not.

  Michelle looked down at her skirts and laughed. “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about. It’ll clean right up. Besides, I chose this fabric especially because I knew it would be easy to clean.”

  His ears perked up. That’s right, she’d been a seamstress. The thought had crossed his mind when he’d chosen her letter to respond to that she might be helpful in the shop, but with all the commotion with the girls, he’d quite forgotten.

  “Do you mean to tell me that you made the dress you’re wearing?”

  Her eyes grew wide and she looked down at her dress, lifting up the sides of her skirts with her hands. Color crept into her cheeks and she looked up at him. “I didn’t have much to do after I’d written to you. I love to sew, and thought my time would be well spent making a wedding dress. I suppose it was a little hopeful--and forward.”

  He turned and looked at her--almost as if for the first time. He looked down at the hem of her dress. He’d been running the shop with his father long enough to know good quality stitching when he saw it. He’d assumed that the dress she was wearing was one she’d bought but he looked at it with new eyes.

  As his eyes met her hopeful ones, he took a step back, struck by the red ringlets that fell over her shoulders and her wide, sincere eyes.

  He cleared his throat, took a step back and said, “It’s beautiful, Michelle. As are you.”

  “Thank you. I love to sew and I’m very pleased that you like it.”

  He frowned as he realized that this woman had placed great confidence in him, pulled up stakes and moved almost halfway across the country to help him, and that he’d not been quite honest with her. Heck, he hadn’t even told her what business he was in, let alone that it was sinking faster than he could bail.

  She looped his arm through his as they turned to the counter to place their orders. He looked up at the ceiling and over to the drug store counter, and his stomach clenched as his eyes lighted on his new bride. He could kick himself. After all she’d been through to even get to Corinth after agreeing to become his wife and help with the twins, she certainly deserved better than a soda on her wedding day.

  Chapter 11

  Michelle sighed as she folded her wedding dress on the chair. The root beer had dried on the bottom of her skirt, making it stiff and sticky, but she had no doubt that she’d be able to clean it. When she’d made it for her wedding, she’d taken time to make sure that it would be beautiful for her special day, but also something she could wear again--and she knew she would.

  She changed into a comfortable day dress, one she’d bought with the money Anthony had sent. She and Josephine had done what she thought was an admirable job of spending as little as possible to purchase what Anthony had listed, and she fingered the skirt of one of her favorites. She’d thought maybe it was a bit fancy at the time, but clearly Anthony had plenty of money and while she didn’t think she could ever give herself permission to freely spend money--she’d grown up poor and had never had enough--she did tingle with excitement that she might be in a position to help others less fortunate.

  She crossed to the window, her gaze falling on the tree-lined drive and the piles of fallen leaves. Mattie and Missy were still piling leaves up and jumping into them, sometimes spreading their arms wide and dropping straight, falling into a deep cushion of crimson and yellow, the other giggling as the leaves puffed into the air and settled back down, ready for another round.

  The cool glass felt good on her forehead. It hadn’t been a very long walk back, but long enough for her to be glad to remove her heavy coat when they’d reached the Robbins’ Nest.

  She laughed as the twins both leaped into a pile of leaves together and crashed to the ground, giggling. She hadn’t had anyone to play with when she’d been their age--well, actually hadn’t been able to play much at all. Her father died suddenly when she was about their age, and her mother had had to start working at the factory as a seamstress.

  She hadn’t seen much of her mother after that, but her heart warmed as she remembered the times that she did see her. Her mother had made it a point to make supper every night and afterward, she’d sit next to Michelle, quietly teaching her how to sew.

  “It’ll come in handy for you someday, my love,” she’d said as she smiled at Michelle’s little hands struggling with the needle and thread.

  On Sundays, she accompanied her mother to church and then later around to visit friends, sometimes in the poorest neighborhoods in Lawrence--poorer, even, than her own. As she got older, she noticed that her mother would leave every Sunday with full bags of mending and come home with them full of different clothing, all needing repair. It wasn’t until Michelle was almost a teenager that she put two and two together, and realized that the items of clothing she’d been sewing in the evening with her mother had been returned the following week to their owners--no longer with holes in the knees or elbows, and sometimes with a new bit of lace, her mother spending what little extra she had to help the people she knew needed it most.

  She’d been flooded with this memory as she and Anthony had walked home through a park in the middle of Corinth. As they’d strolled, her arm through his, a group of children caught her attention as they climbed one of the several trees in the park.

  She’d gasped as one of the young boys fell--granted, from the lowest branch and no harm was done. But she’d thought of her mother when he’d stood and looked down at his knee, his eyes wide.

  A younger boy hung by his arms then dropped to the ground, kneeling down to look at the offending hole in the other’s pants.

  “Uh-oh. Ma’s gonna have your hide, Jake,” he said, speeding off when Jake tried to swat him. She watched them until they reached the end of the park and turned a corner.

  “Did you see that?” she’d said to Anthony, who she thought had been watching the event unfold.

  He sighed as he looked over to the corner the boys had slipped around. “Yes, I did. Boys will get into trouble, won’t they?”

  “Trouble? A hole in your pants is trouble? They were just playing.”

>   He looked around her, looking up at the sycamore tree the boys had been playing in.

  “I wouldn’t say trouble, exactly. But I expect his mother won’t be particularly happy when she sees the result.”

  Michelle frowned as she looked up at Anthony. “It’s just a little hole. Easily repaired.”

  He laughed and looked down at her, his brown eyes clouded. “For you, maybe, as you’re an excellent seamstress. Many of the mothers of these kids work, and I imagine that they have little time for mending.”

  She looked up into the tall tree as they passed by. “That’s a shame. This town isn’t that small. Isn’t there a shop that can help?”

  Anthony tugged at his collar and looked away, clearing his throat. “No. There isn’t.”

  She glanced at him, the tone of his voice one she hadn’t heard before. She realized that she was a new arrival and she didn’t really expect him to tell her everything all at once. It was kind of him to allow her to acclimate at her own pace. She was sure there would be time for more questions later.

  She pushed herself from the window, hoping that the time for questions would be sooner, rather than later.

  Everything had been so hectic since she’d arrived that she’d not had time to unpack all of her belongings. Thinking of her mother, she reached for her hat box where she’d stored her most prized possessions, tucked inside of one of the hats she’d bought.

  She reached for the small, satin bag, running her hand over the embroidery her mother had added to the front. It had been lovely to begin with and the silky purple and white flowers she’d lovingly embroidered were the perfect accent to the lavender satin.

  She unbuttoned the clasp and reached in for the small, silver thimble and the collection of needles that her mother had given her just before she died. The thimble had been her grandmother’s before it had been passed to her mother.

  Even though she’d worked most recently with sewing machines, she still loved the feel of needle and thread and she slowly placed the thimble in her index finger, its coolness inspiring her.

  She looked around her room, spinning slowly as she took in the high ceiling trimmed with beautiful crown molding, the wainscoting on the walls at the top of lovely wallpaper covered with tiny purple flowers and the satin coverlet on the high, four-poster bed. She’d never had such lovely surroundings and felt like a princess, just like the twins had said she looked. And a very fortunate princess, at that.

  She wished her mother could see her--her handsome husband and grand home, with two beautiful little girls to care for. And a housekeeper, too!

  But if her mother could see her, she’d have pointed out that there were many less fortunate. Her heart tugged at the thought of people having less than she did and her mind started to turn.

  What if she could help some of these ladies mend their children’s clothing? Jake couldn’t be the only boy in town who was rough on his knees--and his pants. Anthony hadn’t told her much about what she would be doing, and a jolt of excitement coursed through her at the thought that she might have the opportunity to spend some time helping people who needed it, just as she’d done with her mother.

  Chapter 12

  “Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Michelle?” Mable asked as Michelle sat down by the fire in the parlor.

  Michelle’s ears perked up, and she blushed, rolling around the idea of being Mrs. Michelle Chandler in her mind. It certainly made her smile. “Oh, that sounds lovely. Would you like some, too? I can make us both some, and for Anthony.” She stood and walked toward the door.

  Mable held her hands up and barred the entrance to the kitchen. “That’s my job, ma’am.” She smiled and backed through the doorway. “You sit down and relax by the fire. After all, it’s been a mighty big day for the two of you. I’ll be right back.”

  Michelle plopped down into the floral wing-backed chair and pulled it a bit closer to the fire, holding her hands out to warm them. The walk home had been lovely--leaves fluttering as they passed by--but the December air was chilly and now that dark had fallen, even more so. The coffee would be welcome.

  She sat back in the chair and sighed. Upstairs, a door closed and Michelle thought her husband would be down soon--her husband?

  The thought struck her as funny. Two months ago, as she and Josephine had run out of the Brown Textile Mill to the smell of smoke and the flash of flames, she would never have guessed that now she’d be sitting in a warm, beautiful parlor in Mississippi waiting for her husband, and for the housekeeper to bring coffee.

  She looked up as Anthony descended the stairs, taking a little hop on the last one and strode over to join her by the fire. The flicker of the fire outlined his strong jaw and nose, his dark hair and eyes seeming to glow in the light.

  Shaking her head, she watched as he held his hands out to the flames, his face hard as he frowned. Wasn’t he happy? Or at least content that his needs had been met with her arrival?

  She’d thought that the day had gone well, and she’d enjoyed meeting Mr. and Mrs. Banks--it had even been nice to meet the young ladies in the drug store. She didn’t even mind about her dress, and hoped the other young ladies didn’t, either. Now that she thought about it, Miss Davis had seemed awfully surprised at meeting Anthony’s new wife--surprised enough to drop her soda.

  “Anthony, it was a very nice day. Thank you.” She held her hands out once more as Anthony pulled the matching wing-backed chair closer to the fire and sat down.

  He looked at her and he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he held out his hands and sighed.

  “I--I do hope that you enjoyed the day, Michelle. I would have liked it to be much more grand, but on short notice...”

  She waved her hand, turning to him and smiling. “It was lovely. The church was beautiful, and I’ll keep the bouquet to press once the flowers dry. And meeting your friends was an extra treat.”

  Anthony leaned back in his chair, his head cocked to one side as she looked at him. She gave him the biggest smile she could muster. He seemed to have quite a bit on his mind, and even more so after he’d spoken with Mr. Banks. He’d been quiet at supper, and she hoped that he felt that the day had gone well. She certainly didn’t want to add to his burden--only lighten it.

  He steepled his fingers and crossed his legs, his heel on his knee. “You’re a very special young lady, Michelle. I appreciate your kindness, and acceptance of Corinth--and of us.”

  She sat back and turned toward the fire. She hadn’t told Anthony much in her letter and if they were going to be married--even just for the girls--she may as well tell him the truth. He deserved to know, and she wanted no secrets between them.

  Her hand to her stomach to calm her nerves, she tugged at an escaped ringlet that hung on her shoulder. She’d given up trying to keep them pinned up, at least for today.

  “I didn’t mention this in my correspondence, Anthony, and I’m sorry I didn’t. I grew up very differently than you and your sister.” She paused as she glanced around the room, taking in the heavy, velvet curtains and the lace doilies on the table.

  She smiled as Mable entered the room, carrying an ornate, silver tea set. She couldn’t help but take in a breath as her hand flew to her chest.

  “Oh, my. That’s lovely.” She sighed as soon as the words came out of her mouth. It was the most elaborate tea set she’d ever seen, shiny with beautiful, scrolled feet holding up the pitcher. She guessed she’d have to get used to such lovely things and her face flushed with embarrassment. Anthony was used to all of this luxury, and she vowed not to behave like a wide-eyed street urchin.

  Anthony smiled up at Mable as she set down the tea service and poured two cups of coffee, handing one to each of them. He looked at the cup and saucer in his hand and back to the tray she’d brought in. His eyes met Mable’s and she looked down.

  “It is lovely, ma’am, isn’t it? It was Mr. Anthony’s mother’s favorite. I keep it nice and shiny, all the time, so whenever you want tea or coffee, you just
let me know.” She shot a glance at Anthony out of the corner of her eye before she turned and headed back into the kitchen. “I’m off to bed. Congratulations, you two.”

  Michelle looked up from her steaming cup of coffee, just in time to see a shadow flit across Anthony’s face. Sadness? She hoped not, but maybe it was because his mother’s favorite tea set was here on his wedding day but she was not. Nor his father or sister. That must be why.

  She took a sip from her cup, wishing that she could ask him--after all, he was her husband--but she’d only known him a day and couldn’t find the right words.

  Anthony cleared his throat and she looked up at him. “You said you grew up very differently. How so?”

  She set her cup and saucer on the gleaming table next to her chair and looked up at him. “I feel I need to be honest. I’ve never even been in a house this lovely, let alone lived in one. My father died when I was very young, and my mother left to work as a seamstress shortly afterward. And after she died, I went to work there, too.”

  Anthony set his cup down and reached for her hand. As he took her hand in his, she flinched at the jolt of warmth that shot through her. She’d shaken hands with men before, but had never had that happen. She knew she was tired, and maybe that was why. She felt his kindness, though, through his touch and reluctantly drew her hand back. Sympathy was not what she wanted--she’d loved her mother and enjoyed her life so far. She’d never once felt sorry for herself, and she certainly didn’t want that from her new husband. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him. To him, it likely sounded quite sordid after having grown up in the lap of luxury as he had.

  “Michelle, I know I’ve thanked you, and I am truly grateful that you’ve decided to come. Thank you for sharing that about your childhood.”

  She was glad she’d told him the truth. There was no room for secrets in a marriage, no matter how it began or what kind of was. She wasn’t willing to withhold anything, and was glad she’d told him.