Love in Independence (Holiday Mail Order Brides) by Kit Morgan Page A

Winnie of an owl.
    “I’m Alice Peatman,” said the other woman. “My husband’s the town barber. He was in c harge of the fireworks last several years. I can’t imagine what he’s going to think when he finds out a woman was put in charge!”
    Winnie’s eyes widened. This was her chance! “Oh, well, I don’t see why he can’t handle the fireworks again this year. That would free me up to help out with other things.”
    Mrs. Peatman smiled. “Really? Why, that’s very generous of you. I thought perhaps you had your heart set on handling them. Why else would you be here?”
    Winnie let out a laugh. “Why else?” she said with a shrug. “But I have other reasons for coming to your lovely town. But Mrs. Smythe thought it best if I … help with your celebration first.”
    Mrs . Brock narrowed her eyes. “What other reason are you here? I don’t recall Maude saying anything about relatives coming to visit.”
    Winnie swallowed. “I’m not a relative, I’m …” Drat! What was she? She couldn’t lie;
she was havi ng a hard enough time with this fiasco! “I’m assisting the Smythes with their business.”
    The women all took a step back and stared at her, their faces etched with disbelief. “What do you do for them?” Mrs. Peatman asked.
    “I … I take care of people.”
    “Oh, I can’t imagine what that must be like!” Mrs. Caulder croaked. “I’d faint if I ever had to … take care of one.”
    Mrs. Gelsinger’s eyes were round as saucers. “Do you have to touch them?”
    Winnie’s face screwed up in confusion. “Touch them?”
    Mrs. Gelsinger nodded with a grimace. “The people, of course. Do you have to touch them?”
    What sort of a question was that? Winnie thought. “Well, naturally when one is ta king care of a person, you have to touch them. When they’re in a really bad way, they can’t change their clothes by themselves, or comb their own hair.”
    “ Ohhhhhh, I think I’m going to faint!” cried Mrs. Caulder.
    “Eunice!” barked Mrs. Peatman. “Get a hold of yourself! After all, more and more women are working these days!”
    “Yes, but to do such a job!”
    Winnie stared at them as she bit her lip. “It’s not so bad, once you get used to it. I took care of my mother for a long time.”
    Mrs. Caulder took one last look at her, before her eyes rolled back in her head. 
    “EEEKKK!” Mrs. Gelsinger cried. “She’s going down!”
    And she did, with a loud thud.
    “Mrs. Caulder!” Winnie exclaimed and ran to her side. “Someone help me get her up !” Mrs. Peatman got down and, together, they sat the woman up and began fanning her face with their hands. “Mrs. Brock, bring some water, please.”
    Mrs. Brock’s face was locked in indecision for a moment before she got moving and hurried to the short hall. Within moments, Pastor Luke came running out. “What happened?” he asked, shocked.
    “Miss Longfellow caused poor Eunice to faint with her tales of gore,” Mrs. Brock stated.
    “What?” Winnie snapped. “Tales of gore? What are you talking about?”
    “Any woman who handles dead bodies ou ght to be ashamed of herself; speaking about such things to those of us with a more delicate and sophisticated nature,” Mrs. Brock sneered. “I think you’re positively ghastly!”
    Eva, quiet all this time, cringed at her mother’s words but still said nothing.
    “Perhaps you shouldn’t speak of your work here, Miss Longfellow,” Pastor Luke suggested in a gentle tone.
    Winnie stared at him, mouth agape. “Dead bodies?”
    “There she goes again!” cried Mrs. Brock.
    “Oh , for Heaven’s sake!” said Winnie. “I do not handle dead bodies!”
    Pastor Luke furrowed his brow in confusion . “Then, what do you do for the Smythes? I know Mrs. Smythe takes care of the business’ bookkeeping, and arrangements, but Mr. Smythe handles the … ah … rest. Though, as he’s mentioned he needed help … I assumed …”
    “You assumed what?” asked Winnie,