Michelle: Bride of Mississippi (American Mail-Order Bride 20) by Cindy Caldwell Page A

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
    “ 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.”