Michelle: Bride of Mississippi (American Mail-Order Bride 20) (6 page)

“
W
ould 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.

“I have to get up early tomorrow and it’s been a very long day. You must be exhausted.”

Michelle took in a deep breath as she looked at the fire. “Actually, I’m not tired at all. I think I’ll just take this back in the kitchen,” she said and gestured to the tea set.

“As you wish.” Anthony cleared his throat as he stood and nodded. “Sleep well, Mrs. Chandler.”

The flicker of the flames cast shadows on his face, and she noticed once again the sadness in his eyes. She imagined his heart was heavy--but she was Mrs. Chandler now, and she wanted to help make his heart lighter.

Mrs. Chandler. She liked the sound of that.

S
he watched
as Anthony walked up the stairs and turned at the landing. Her eyes fell on the portrait in the stairwell of the young Anthony and Adelaide.

The wooden clock on the mantle ticked slowly as she watched the flames die out, the embers glow and beginning to fade. She brushed her hand over the smooth, dark wood of the coffee table, inhaling deeply of the lemon scent the hung in the air as the fire died.

She picked up the tea tray, the silver cool in her hand as she walked slowly toward the kitchen. Anthony had said that it was his mother’s favorite, and she stopped to glance up at the portrait in the stair well as she heard Anthony’s door click shut in the hallway upstairs.

Her eyes fell on the portrait in the stairwell of the young Anthony and Adelaide. She set the tray down on the small table in the foyer and took two steps up to look at the portrait more closely.

Whoever had painted the portrait must have known the children quite well. From what Anthony had told her so far, Adelaide was a bit of a pistol, and Mattie took after her--and in the portrait, Adelaide had the same mischievous look in her eye that her daughter had.

In the largest portrait, Adelaide sat on some steps, a puppy in her lap and a pink ribbon in her hair. Anthony stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder as he held a puppy of his own. The lush, green grass was surrounded by brightly colored flowers, the trees overhead heavy with green leaves.

Her eyes fell on Anthony. She gazed into his eyes in the portrait and saw a much different Anthony than the one she’d married earlier. The Anthony she’d met at the train station was kind and seemed genuinely concerned for his nieces and his family home.

But the Anthony in the portrait had a twinkle in his eye, too, just as his sister did. Maybe not the mischievous look, but definitely a twinkle. A much happier Anthony.

“She was a wonderful artist, Mrs. Chandler.”

Michelle jumped as she heard Mable’s voice behind her. She turned, her hand at her throat, tugging her eyes away from the portrait--and Anthony’s eyes. “You startled me. I thought you’d retired for the evening.”

Mable sighed. “Not quite ready.”

Michelle squinted at the portrait. “Their mother painted this?”

Mable walked over to the portrait and pointed to the signature in the bottom. “She sure did. Signed and everything.”

Michelle stepped back and took in the steps that the children sat on and the huge white columns on each side of them. On each side of the brick stairs were azalea bushes, ablaze in pinks and whites, and she recognized the front of the Robbins’ Nest.

“Oh, goodness. It’s right out front where they were sitting.”

Mable reached for the tray and turned toward the kitchen, shaking her head as she walked slowly. “They sure did love this house. Everything about it.”

Michelle turned and followed Mable into the kitchen, the door swinging behind her. She’d not been in it yet as Mable had insisted on serving her, and she looked around with wide eyes.

The large, white enamel stove in the kitchen was at least three times bigger than any she’d ever seen, with six places for pots on top. Copper pots hung from a rack attached to the ceiling, and a large ice box stood next to a pantry big enough to walk inside.

“Careful. You’re gonna get flies in your mouth if you leave it hanging open like that,” Mable said, laughing as she set the tray down on the long, wooden counter and began to put things back in their places.

Michelle flushed as she reached out for the sugar bowl on the silver tray. “I’m sure I appear silly. I’ve never seen anything like this before.” She looked down at the silver bowl in her hand, gleaming in the low light. “The silver or the house.”

Mable looked around the room and up at the pots and pans. “It sure is a fine kitchen. Not surprised you think so. Most folks don’t have houses quite like this here in Corinth, but we have our fair share of fine ones.”

“I think most people in most cities don’t have houses like this. At least they didn’t where I came from.”

Mable leaned against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed over her ample bosom. “No, I don’t suppose so.”

“Where should I put this sugar bowl?”

Mable reached for the bowl. “Here, I’ll set it back to rest. You don’t need to be worrying about things like that.”

Michelle frowned as she handed the bowl to Mable. “I do want to help, Mable. May I, please? I need something to do while Anthony goes to work every day.”

Mable smiled. “You don’t think you’ll have enough to do with Missy and Mattie? I have a feeling you’ll wonder where all your time went here shortly. But follow me. I’ll show you around.”

She opened a narrow door on the side of the kitchen and grabbed the tray, nodding for Michelle to follow her. Michelle peeked down dark stairs as Mable disappeared down them, the scent of moisture tickling her nose.

“Grab that candle and follow me, Mrs. Michelle,” Mable said from somewhere lower, maybe the bottom of the stairs.

Michelle grabbed the candle and followed, lifting her skirts as she felt with her foot for the next short, narrow stair of the winding staircase.

As she reached the bottom, she glanced around the small room--more like a root cellar than a room, really, with shelves on all sides. Sacks and boxes were marked with things like
potatoes
or
onions
. Some of the other shelves had writing on them, things like
Christmas ornaments
,
Grandmother’s china
or
Great-grandmother’s silver.

Mable carefully wiped off the silver tea set, gently placing it on one of the shelves--the one marked Great-grandmother’s silver--and wiped her hands on her apron.

“It’s really a beautiful set of silver, Mable. Thank you for getting it out for us,” Michelle said as Mable set the last piece on the tray and covered it gently with a piece of black velvet, tucking the sides of it under the tray.

She stepped back and nodded, turning to Michelle. “It is. Like I said, it was Mrs. Chandler’s favorite, and it’s the last...”

Michelle cocked her head to one side, waiting for Mable to finish. Instead, she gestured around the small room and said, “This is the root cellar, and a bit of storage. I’ve been canning for months, and we should be good all winter.” She pointed to the shelves of clear, glass jars holding all sorts of different fruits and vegetables, from what Michelle could see.

“You certainly are prepared,” Michelle said as she crossed to one of the jars and picked it up, squinting at the contents. “What is this?”

“Oh, that’s okra. One of Mr. Anthony’s favorites.”

She laughed as Michelle licked her lips. “I like everything. I’ve never met a vegetable I didn’t like. I look forward to trying it.”

Mable grabbed her hand and pulled her back upstairs. “Not only can you try it, but I’ll teach you how to make all of Mr. Anthony’s favorites later, if you like. Right now, it would be a load off of Mr. Anthony if you could take care of the twins.”

“Oh, I’m anxious to.” Michelle dropped her skirts as she reached the top of the narrow stairs and turned to close the door behind her.

Mable sighed. “I’m grateful. I been with the family a long, long time, Mrs. Michelle, and there never was a time where they needed help more than now.”

“It must be so difficult for all of you, losing Mr. And Mrs. Chandler and the twins’ parents so close together.”

“Oh, yes. That, too.” Mable looked up at Michelle after untying her apron and hanging it on a hook by the back door.

Michelle’s stomach flipped. What could possibly be worse than such loss in a family?