Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set by Jillian Hart, Janet Tronstad Page A

wraparound porch, light gray siding and sparkling windows surrounded by a sea of white. This was their house? She stared, not quite able to believe. Cole had described his home as modest. But it was nothing like the modest cabins and shanties they’d passed on the half-mile ride from town. It was like a dream, like nothing she’d ever thought she’d live in.
    “Where’s the shanty?” George asked, confused. His face scrunched up, his forehead furrowed. “Is it around back? Is that where we’re gonna live?”
    “No, George,” Amelia said warmly, as if she already thought of him as her own little brother. “There’s no shanty. You are going to live in the house with me and Pa. That’s why we’re having a wedding. So we can all be a family.”
    A family. Amelia’s words moved her heart. Mercy swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. Her eyes stung, and she tried to blink away the unexpected tears. The girl clearly didn’t know everything Cole had written in his letters, that he’d been so adamantly clear this was a formal arrangement, not a personal union.
    “That sounds mighty nice to me.” Mercy cleared her throat, slipping one arm around the girl to draw her closer. She did the same with George. It felt pretty fine to be seated between the children, knowing that she already had what mattered, what she’d traveled so far to find.
    Well,
almost,
she thought, remembering the churchyard scene earlier and those fathers with their sons.
    “Keep in mind we moved some of the furniture into town,” Eberta explained as she urged Frosty along the circular drive curving in front of the steps. “The front room is a little empty, but that’ll fix itself after the wedding.”
    “In three days,” Amelia reminded them. “Don’t worry, I have everything planned out.”
    “Your father showed me your slate.”
    The sleigh squeaked to a stop in front of the house. My, it was larger than she’d first thought. More impressive. The windows and porch gave it a smiling, welcoming look. Her pulse kicked up, and she tried to let it sink in. This house—a real house, not a tiny cottage like the one she and Timothy had shared during their marriage, not a shanty like the ones she’d lived in growing up and after she’d been widowed. Not in her wildest dreams had she imagined this much.
    “It’s not a mansion.” Eberta hopped off the front seat. “But it’s cozy and well-made. Cole built it himself. Did a fine job, too.”
    “I’ve never lived in a place with so many windows,” she said, dazed, as she tumbled out of the sled behind Amelia. Looking up, she counted at least three bedrooms. And that was only on this side of the house.
    “Ma, is this really where we’re gonna live?” George tumbled from the sleigh, head tipped back, staring intently up at the second story, taking in the windows. “It’s enough for lots of families.”
    “Oh, it’s not that big,” Eberta laughed kindly, patting the boy on the shoulder. “It’s a nice-size family house. Don’t know what you’re used to, though.”
    “A rented shanty on the outskirts of town.” Her shoes tapped on the steps as she trailed Amelia onto the porch. “This will be perfect come summer. I can plant flowers in the border beds and think how pleasant it will be to sit right here and watch the sun set.”
    “That’s how I like to pass a summer evening.” The front door opened and Cole stepped into the slant of sunshine, dressed in a dark wool coat, his Stetson hiding his eyes, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Sounds like we are compatible on that front.”
    “Yes.” The sight of him made her breath catch. A lump lodged in her throat. Her stomach fluttered nervously, because she didn’t know how this would turn out after he’d heard what she had to say. “Amelia, I’d be most grateful if you could take George inside and show him around the house.”
    “Sure. C’mon, George.” Amelia tromped across the porch, tossing a grin at her father