Musings of herb gardening, interior decorating, vintage finds and just the beautiful things in life........

21 July 2010


“What? Another package from Avignon? Who can be sending these? I still haven’t found out who sent the one last month?! Shall I open it or stash it away in my trunk in the attic with the other one?”
These are the thoughts that ran through Mandy’s head as she fell asleep that hot July night. How could she ever open a package when she didn’t even know from whom it was sent? To whom would she thank for the mysterious gifts? Of course, first thing in the morning she would add this second delivery to that stored away trunk. Maybe the card got separated from the packages and soon she would have the answers.
When the third package arrived, then the fourth, and fifth, her trunk was so full she could not even close the top. Whatever shall she do? The gentleman on horseback who brought them each month was very tight-lipped. Working for The Pony Express did not mean he would know who actually sent these packages that always seemed to be scented of lavender. He would only smile and mumble a greeting in a whisper each time he came with one. He was no help in finding out where these were coming from.
 November came and Mandy went to school outside Paris. The very cold snowy winter prevented her letters from reaching her home in Provence. Have there been any more deliveries? Has that handsome man returned on horseback?
 She would write home weekly only for her letters to collect at the postal office. Oh what a long winter that year. She was still dying to know what those packages held!
School let out and she was so happy that after one more year she would graduate. She had always wanted to be an interior decorator and especially loved shabby chic style. One more year and her dreams would come true.
Upon returning home to Provence in May, Mandy’s little sister ran down the lane to greet her. “Mandy, after the snow melted in Paris, we got all of the letters you wrote. Guess what else came? You got six more packages…… delivered by that man on horseback," she giggled.

 Walking up the lane the two sisters held hands and shared stories of their time apart. Behind them they heard the sound of horses galloping. Turning around there was that man leading a white stallion with a package in his arms. “My, how handsome of a man!” Mandy whispered to her sister.
This time the man got off his horse, got down on his knee, and professed his love to Mandy.

“They’re from me……….all 10 of those packages.
You will get two more as my wedding gift to you……………..because I want to marry you!”

“Yes!” You are all I’ve thought about while I was away at school. I’ve had dreams that you were the one those packages were from. Tell me, what is in all these packages” as they made their way to that trunk in the attic to open them.
“Mandy Baker, that is what your name will be after you become my bride.” These are hand-embroidered chemises with the initials M. B.,” stated Mr. Baker. Once we get married you will have 12 so you can wear a different one
every month.....................

………..and they lived happily ever after!
Now go over to
and see what this silliness is all about.


  1. Oh my... what a wonderful love story.

    My heart is actually heaving! Bravo!

  2. Thank you so much for linking up to my story-telling party. I love your tale. I'm putting you on my blogroll.


    My French Country Home.

  3. What a sweet story - very imaginative and I love the photos you used to illustrate it.

  4. Oh, this is truly a wonderful story. I love how you illustrated your story and I love a happy ending.

    So lovely to meet you.


  5. I love it!!!!
    Happy Week!

  6. Beautiful story and great pictures! That was so fun to read!

    Thanks for the sweet comment you left on my blog. It sure brightened my day ;)


  7. What a fun read - at first I wasn't sure what it was all about, then you drew me in and I realized what you were up to! What amazing must get one with your initials monogrammed!

  8. those linens are mouthwatering...just up my line.


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