Mail Order Brides Books

“The stench of the pigpens made him take shallow breaths. Michael desperately wanted another drink to drown his sorrows…or, more aptly, his angers. He promised himself that once he found the source of the problem, he’d head to Rigsby’s and let alcohol smooth the edge off his ire. Maybe with a few drinks in him, he could better handle Prudence. Nothing else I’ve tried has worked.
“Michael!”
At the sound of his wife’s voice, he stiffened. Speak of the devil. Is there a word for female devil? He couldn’t think of one. He nodded good-bye to Hong and was stepping away when---
“Michael, I want to talk to you!” Her voice rose until the timbre was almost a shriek. She ploughed pell-mell for him, her face red with anger.
Hong ducked into his tent. Out of sight, maybe, but not out of earshot.
The Guans’ should stuff cotton in their ears to block out the worst of Prudence’s screeches.
“I need a drink,” he said, beginning to turn away.
“Oh, dear Lord. Don’t tell me you’re a drunkard like that Obadiah Kettering. Is that another thing you omitted to tell me about your character?”
He swung back.
She was inches away, arms flung wide.
“You omitted telling me I’d be marrying a shrew,” he said. “You should have written the word at the top of your fancy stationary in big block letters.” He sketched the word in the air and stated each letter. “S-H-R-E-W.”
“Why…why I never!” Her mouth opened and closed as if she sought just the right words to hurl at him.
“As for being a drunkard. Up until today, I only occasionally sought refuge in the bottle. But I think being married to you, my dear wife, will make me a frequent patron of Rigsbys Saloon. In fact, I might as well take up residence in the place.”
Stepping forward, she brought up her hand to slap him.
He leaped out of the way.
Prudence missed, and her hand sailed past, making her off balance.
Sure she was going to try again, Michael moved away, putting more space between them.
Prudence slipped on a slimy rock and lost her balance, rotating and stepping sideways only to catch her heel in the hem of her skirt. She teetered backward toward the pigpen. Her legs hit the low fence, catching her at knee-height.
Oh, no! Michael leaped to catch her.
With a horrified expression, Prudence windmilled her arms in an effort to right herself.
Michael missed, grabbing only a fold of her skirt. He yanked back, hoping to pull her upright, but instead, with a ripping sound, the fabric tore.
The momentum toppled Prudence backwards into the pigpen, where she landed on her rump in the mire. “Grrrrrr!” She scooped up two handfuls of mud and flung them at him.
Shocked, Michael didn’t dodge until the last minute, and the stinking mud went splat against his chest and face.”
― Debra Holland, Prudence