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

back quickly as the cold pierced her skin. Maybe it was more like snow. Did it snow in Corinth?
    Michelle smiled as she neared the top of the stairs, pausing for a moment to listen to the giggles of Mattie and Missy in the kitchen.
    “Michelle,” Missy said as she pulled her thumb from her mouth and ran to Michelle, burying her face in her skirts. She’d put on an extra petticoat under her wool dress, the warmest she’d brought.
    “Missy, you’re going to get syrup on her dress,” Mattie said as she dug her fork into the pancake on her plate as Mable cleaned the pans from making breakfast.
    “You two mind your own,” Mable said as she pointed to a plate at the end of the kitchen table, steaming with flapjacks that smelled like buttermilk to Michelle.
    Missy pulled her head up and took Michelle’s hand, pulling her to the table and pointing to a chair.
    “Thank you very much. This smells delicious,” she said as she reached for a fork.
    Mattie held out a small pitcher and scooted a plate of butter in her direction. “They’re better with these.”
    The butter melted quickly and trickled down the sides of the flapjacks as Michelle slathered it on and poured what smelled like maple syrup on top of them.
    “These are delicious,” she said as she took her first bite. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had flapjacks, and she closed her eyes, savoring every bite.
    “They’re Uncle Anthony’s favorite,” Mattie said as she took the last bite from her own plate, scrambled down from her chair and handed Mable her dishes.
    “Thank you, young lady. I’m glad you like them. But Mr. Anthony only got porridge this morning.” Mable leaned over the sink and peered out the window. “Wish I’d given him a little more coffee before he set out. It was barely dawn and so cold.”
    Michelle’s ears perked up and she looked over toward Mable as Missy got down and handed her plate to Mable. “Here, Mable. He can have mine. They’re his favorite ,” she said as she grabbed Missy’s hand. “We’ll be upstairs getting ready to go.”
    “Go?” Michelle said, her eyebrows raised as she took a sip of the warm coffee Mable had set out for her.
    “Mr. Anthony thought you might like to take the girls out in the buggy, maybe to the park. He got up before the sun to take care of the horses and hitch the buggy up for you. Only had time for porridge before he had to get dressed and set out for work.”
    “Oh,” Michelle said as she looked out the window of the back door toward the barn. Dry leaves spiraled in the howling wind and the horses stamped their feet. It seemed awfully cold to her for a buggy ride, but he’d gone to an awful lot of trouble.
    “You don’t have to go. I can light a fire in the parlor and you can stay in and read, if you’d like. The girls are pretty good at entertaining themselves.” Mable placed the last dish on a towel on the counter and wiped her hands, nodding at the clean kitchen.
    Michelle tapped her finger on her chin as she rested her forehead on the window of the back door. “I think maybe there’s something we could do that would be equally fun, and wouldn’t require us going out until the weather changes, maybe.”
    She turned and pointed toward the basket of mending. “You may not be aware, but I worked as a seamstress before I came here to Mississippi.”
    Her face heated as Mable lifted one of her eyebrows, her hands folded across her chest as she leaned against the counter. “Did you, now? I hadn’t heard that.”
    Michelle walked to the basket and held up what was at the top of the pile. “Yes, and I could make quick work of this if you’d let me.”
    She couldn’t help but smile at Mable’s rich laugh. “Mrs. Michelle, I can find my way around a kitchen blindfolded, but I can’t thread a needle to save my life. I’d be ever so happy to let you take on that chore--if you’re certain. It wasn’t Mr. Anthony’s intention that you’d do anything but take care