Mail Order Celeste

in the letters. I think she is half in love with him. “And,” she ended with a sigh, “I did not write her letters for her. I merely copied them out so they would look nice.”
“Perhaps I should read these letters,” said Chip thoughtfully.
“Well that would probably more be more prudent than racing off to the preacher with a total stranger with whom you have not been corresponding.”
“Ah, but I have! You said so yourself.”
“You are just trying to twist things to your own advantage.” huffed Celeste. “But really, it is ridiculous. I just need to find a job to take care of myself and my daughter. I don't need to marry again. From what your brother told my sister, this is a thriving town, so there should be work for a woman willing to do it.”
“I have a job for you,” Chip smiled. “First, I need a housekeeper. I can put my bed together in the morning and cook beans, but since my brother moved to town I have been unable to find anyone willing to clean up after me. And second, I really can use some help with the bookkeeping at the mill. I don't know how your ciphering is, but at least I'd be able to read the books if you were writing the numbers. And then, finally, there's me. I need someone to take care of me. I want a family and here you are bringing me one.”

Call Me Chip
“Mr. Hardwick!” Celeste snapped out in an exasperated tone.
“Oh, do call me Chip.”
“Chip? I thought your name was Charles Patrick. Is that how you got your nickname, from the first letters?”
“Well,” he drawled, “some folks say it's because I'm a chip off the old block, since I'm following in my father's footsteps at the sawmill, and others say it's because of the wood chips I used to run around with in my hair as a child trying to help with cleanup. But I rather like your explanation better. And what's your name? I don't know whether your sister ever mentioned you in her letters.”
“Did you even read them?”
“Well, one or two of them but they were kind of boring so generally I didn't bother.”
“So you basically know nothing whatsoever about my sister!”
“We weren't talking about me we were talking about you. What is your name, please?”
“Mrs. Clark!”
“It will be Mrs. Hardwick once we are married, but I will hardly want to call you Mrs. Hardwick for the rest of our lives.”
“Some people do,” she replied tersely, “but we will not be among them as we will not be married.”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
“I thought you said you weren't educated?”
“Well everyone knows that line,” he declared. Then he glanced sideways at her.
“Oh, okay. I admit it. I like to read. And Will Shakespeare has written some mighty funny plays!”


CHAPTER 2 – MirandaWhere Is Everyone?
The house was quiet when Miranda returned to home. With all the tension there of late, it had not been hard for her cousin to persuade her to stay an extra two days. She was returning refreshed in body and spirit, although just walking into the silent house had her stiffening. It was . . . too quiet. She shrugged her shoulders. Celeste must have taken Samantha to the park for some fresh air.
But that didn’t explain why none of the staff was about. She’d had to carry in her valise by herself, and had been embarrassed to have to ask the cab driver to bring her around to the kitchen when no one had responded to her ring at the front door. Fortunately she’d had enough in her reticule to pay the man! Henry normally handled that for her. And where was Mrs. Flowers? This wasn’t her normal day off.
She was gratified to find her bedroom door locked, as she had left it. She wouldn’t put it past her stepmother to break in and rifle through her belongings. Uncharitable as the thought might be, it was also quite true.
As soon as she walked into her bedroom, Miranda saw the note pinned to her pillow with a hat pin, addressed in her sister's distinctive hand. She shook her head, wondering what Celeste was up to now, and unfolded the missive. Within it was an opened envelope from her fiancé. With one letter in each hand she glanced back and forth, trying to decide which to read first. She finally chose her sister’s, since it was already open.
My dearest Miranda,
I hope you had a nice visit with Cousin Amy. I am sorry I am not there to greet you, but once you left the house things got really rough. In fact, I had stepped out to deliver the enclosed letter to your room and came back to find our stepmother striking my sweet Samantha for some alleged wrongdoing. The child is not even two and has never needed more than a mild scolding when she has misbehaved.
Her face was red and blotched where Harriet had struck her. I swear, the look of rage on her face made me feel fear for both of our lives! She was absolutely out of control, raging and screeching, and when she saw me come in, her face was utterly frightening.
I know that woman has been unhappy having us living in our own childhood home, but it is she who is the interloper!
After all you have given up to care for Mama until she died, and then looking after Papa, for him to turn around and marry such a woman is an insult to our dear mother's memory. And then the way she has treated you, instead of being grateful to you for taking care of the man she purports to love, has been beyond cruel. But now this creature has had the nerve to attack an infant