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

thinking of the children who’d come to Corinth right after the Civil War and still lived nearby in very, very small shacks. He’d visited with his mother and sister, taking food, clothing and anything else they’d collected as donations at the shop in town.
    “I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
    Adelaide sat down beside him and placed her hand on his arm. “Anthony, we are so fortunate. Others are not so lucky, and it’s our duty to share what we have. Even if we don’t get anything ourselves for Christmas, think of the joy of the other children who will.”
    And that had been the beginning of the tradition. He chuckled as he realized that he and Adelaide had been about the same age as the twins when they’d started, and they hadn’t missed a year, ever.
    Except this year.
    His head fell into his hands. He’d sold everything that he could without cutting into the last of his mother’s heirlooms, things he’d wanted to save for the girls.
    He’d just have to tell them that it wasn’t possible this year. That--what would he tell them? He still held out hope that Mr. Banks would come through and buy the inventory in the store. It was worth quite a bit of money--unfortunately, the people of Corinth weren’t buying. He’d thought of taking it all to New York or Chicago on his own to find a buyer, but when the girls came that became impossible.
    He stood and paced in front of the embers, his hands behind his back.
    “Mr. Anthony, I know how you’re feeling,” Mable said as she walked quietly in from the kitchen, taking a glance up the staircase. “I know Mrs. Michelle and the twins would give just about anything to keep up Adelaide’s tradition.”
    He shook his head slowly and stopped, gazing into the fire. “Mable, I don’t know how. You know I’ve sold everything I can. There’s just nothing left.”
    “I’ve got a few more things down in the cellar we could sell. If there are any takers.”
    He stiffened and frowned, turning to Mable. “Those things were Mama’s favorites. I can’t--I won’t...”
    “I just don’t see any other way, Mr. Anthony.”
    He turned to Mable, his eyes misting. “I can’t, Mable. It won’t help, anyway. This will just have to be the year that the tradition ends.”

Chapter 21
    M ichelle lay in her warm bed as the frost in the room bit at her nose, thinking about what Anthony had said last night. Was he really unwilling to carry on the tradition? How could he be so unkind?
    She gazed up at the chandelier over her head, and what looked like a crystal bowl on the table beside her bed. Certainly someone with so much money would be eager to help others in need.
    She threw the covers back and sat up, walking as quickly as she could to her wardrobe. Pulling out what she thought would be her warmest dress, she dressed as quickly as she could.
    As she sat at the vanity and began to brush her hair, she paused for a moment, looking down at her dress. Maybe Anthony had wanted her to have nice dresses because he had been worried that she might turn up and embarrass him. He did seem concerned about his social standing in town.
    He was awfully upset that she’d given the rest of the money to the young lady. And she’d had children! How could he not want her to have food?
    She squinted at herself in the mirror as she remembered their quick wedding and their supper afterward--at the drugstore. He’d passed right by the fancy restaurant where his friends were and they’d had their wedding supper at the drugstore.
    Apparently, he wasn’t the man she thought he was after all. Her mother’s years of darning and taking repaired clothes to the needy flashed through her memory, and her heart sank. She’d thought that she’d died and gone to heaven, married to a handsome man who made her blood thrum in her veins. She lived in a beautiful house, wore lovely clothes and had charming children to help raise.
    But it was all empty if it was with a man with a cold heart.