Bartered Bride Romance Collection Read online

  Joie De Vivre © 2006 by Lynette Sowell

  Button String Bride © 2001 by Cathy Marie Hake

  The Wedding Wagon © 2002 by Cathy Marie Hake

  From Halter to Altar © 2003 by Cathy Marie Hake

  From Carriage to Marriage © 2003 by Janelle Burnham Schneider

  From Pride to Bride © 2003 by JoAnn A. Grote

  From Alarming to Charming © 2003 by Pamela Kaye Tracy

  A Vow Unbroken © 2000 by Amy Rognlie

  Finishing Touches © 2007 by Kelly Eileen Hake

  Print ISBN 978-1-62029-155-9

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62029-564-9

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62029-563-2

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683,

  www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  CONTENTS

  Joie De Vivre by Lynette Sowell

  Button String Bride by Cathy Marie Hake

  The Wedding Wagon by Cathy Marie Hake

  From Halter to Altar by Cathy Marie Hake

  From Carriage to Marriage by Janelle Burnham Schneider

  From Pride to Bride by JoAnn A. Grote

  From Alarming to Charming by Pamela Kaye Tracy

  A Vow Unbroken by Amy Rognlie

  Finishing Touches by Kelly Eileen Hake

  JOIE DE VIVRE

  by Lynette Sowell

  Dedication

  To Kathleen Miller Y’Barbo.

  You have truly blessed me with your friendship

  and mentoring moments over the past few years.

  It’s been a joy to see this brainstorm of ours come to life. Merci!

  To Lisa Harris.

  Thanks for your critique,

  and for all the critiques we exchanged during those early days

  when I was in my first critique group ever.

  I’m glad our paths have crossed again in “Writing World.”

  As always, to Zach and Hannah.

  You add to my joie de vivre.

  Thank you for letting me take the time to follow a dream.

  Follow the dream God gives you.

  And to CJ.

  I love our life together.

  Thanks for always believing in me

  and encouraging me to never give up.

  Chapter 1

  La Manque, Louisiana—July 1819

  Hurry!” Jacques LeBlanc shouted over his shoulder. “We’ll be late!”

  If Papa LeBlanc is angry, it’ll be your fault.” Josée Broussard held her skirt high enough with one hand to keep from tripping on the hem. “You’re the one…who let Philippe…fall into the bayou.”

  She gasped for breath. Little Philippe bounced on her hip while she trotted along the path through the tall grass. The boy was too small to keep up with their hurried pace yet heavier than a sack of flour. Josée tried not to think he might not settle down to sleep tonight after Jacques telling him the legend of the great snake of Bayou Teche.

  Jacques paused and faced her. He grabbed her hand, and the touch made her stomach turn like the curving dark waters behind them. Jacques has been my friend for so long, why should his hand make me feel …? Josée’s skirt swirled down around her ankles.

  He smiled, and his black eyes sparkled with a secret. “Ma’amselle Josée, it’s your birthday, and Papa will be in a good mood. Bon temps tonight!”

  She tried to smile but bit her lip instead. Couldn’t Jacques carry his younger brother?

  Prickly heat surrounded them like a heavy blanket. Josée longed for the cool bayou, thick with moist air but cooler than where the larger LeBlanc house stood, farther away from the banks of Bayou Teche. Papa had turned from the bayou to farming.

  Philippe wriggled from her hip and ran. Not through the garden! Jeanne and Marie scolded him where they stood by the house, their arms reminding Josée of flapping hens’ wings. She waved at them.

  “Happy birthday, Josée!” they called.

  “Merci. I’m sorry Philippe ran through your garden.”

  Jeanne, six months older than Josée, ruffled her littlest brother’s hair. “Why so wet, then?”

  “He thought he was a fish,” Jacques said. The sisters both laughed then fell silent and stared at Josée’s and Jacques’s hands clasped together.

  Josée pulled free and wiped her palm on her skirt. “It’s hot today.”

  “Oui, and you’re brown already, just from being down by the water.” Jeanne linked arms with Josée. “We must get you ready for the party tonight. I think Mama has a surprise for you.”

  “Wait for me.” Marie followed behind.

  “How does it feel, being eighteen?” Jeanne leaned closer. “Now you’ve caught up with me.”

  “Eighteen’s not much differen’ from seventeen.”

  “Ah, t’is different. When you’re eighteen, you’re a woman. As soon as I turned eighteen, Josef Landry asked Papa for permission to marry me.” Jeanne sighed. “He already has a small farm next to his papa’s. Then once his house is built …” She sighed again.

  Josée laughed. “I can guarantee you that no one will be asking your papa’s permission to marry me.”

  They entered the LeBlanc farmhouse, and the three girls climbed the ladder to the loft where they shared half of the space with the boys. A curtain divided the long loft in two.

  Mama LeBlanc, the only mother Josée had ever known, had hung a new dress where they could see it. Mama turned as the girls entered the loft. “Beautiful, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Yes, it’s very beautiful.” Josée wanted to cry. She held scant memories of her own parents. The fact that the LeBlancs accepted her as one of their own comforted her, yet the same fact reminded her that they had taken her in when she had no one.

  “Merci, Mama.” She hugged the short, stout woman who stood beside the dress.

  Mama LeBlanc returned the hug then held Josée at arm’s length. “Your papa LeBlanc has another su’prise for you tonight.”

  “I wonder if he’s found a man for you, Josée!” Jeanne started brushing her own black tresses. Marie, sixteen, giggled and flopped onto the mattress so hard that a tuft of Spanish moss stuck out the side.

  Josée touched the soft cotton frock and almost shuddered. Marriage? A man? Yet if she were to marry anyone, it would probably be Jacques. At least he would make her laugh and listen to the songs she made up. But she, Josée Broussard, orphan, had nothing to offer a man. “I couldn’t imagine.”

  All afternoon, Edouard LeBlanc had endured the squeals and laughter that disrupted the tranquillity of his secluded LeBlanc bayou cabin. If he hadn’t caught enough fish for the day already, he’d have sent the brood back to the big house. To him, violating the quiet of the bayou was sacrilege.

  Edouard stared up at the canopy of cypress trees that blocked most of the late afternoon heat. He had time to shave before the party. No sense in hurrying. If it wasn’t that Papa had requested—no, demanded—his presence, Edouard would
be content to lie in his hammock and watch the fish jump from the bayou tonight. Or maybe not. A wayward mosquito found Edouard’s arm, and the sting spurred him to leave the hammock and enter the cabin.

  Today Josée Broussard turned eighteen years old. All grown up and always with a song on her lips and spring in her step, Josée’s ways needled him like pesky mosquitoes. Not that he’d been close enough to feel any bites. Listening and watching her from a distance was enough.

  Edouard prepared his shaving mixture and propped up the chunk of mirror, a remnant from an old looking glass. Careful of the long scar running from under his ear to the end of his chin, he used the long shaving blade to remove his scruff of beard.

  The scar made its appearance on his face. He would dare anyone to stare at him tonight, like Celine had done on his return from the war. Believing in a cause and following its course had made him follow Jean Lafitte to New Orleans five years before. If he had known his actions would cost him his only true love, he would have planted himself along the Bayou Teche and never have departed from La Manque.

  Satisfied he’d removed enough of the beard, Edouard put the glass away. After sunset, maybe the light of the bonfire and lanterns would give enough shadows to cover most of the scar. He found his comb and pulled it through his wet hair then secured the length in the back with a leather thong.

  Edouard limped to the bureau at the other end of the cabin and took out a clean but rumpled shirt. He could endure the fiddle music and the songs as long as he didn’t have to dance. Storms approached. His bad leg told him so.

  Out of respect for Papa and because of Josée’s birthday, Edouard resolved to go to the party and stay no longer than necessary. Then he could retreat to the cabin and try to forget the life that swirled around him persistently and tried to draw him in.

  Josée’s sides ached from laughter. She smoothed the skirt of her new dress and gave Mama LeBlanc another smile of gratitude. Jeanne had helped her put her hair up on her head, and she felt as fancy as any lady over in Lafayette. Merry fiddle music matched the bonfire’s roar, and Josée tapped her bare feet to the beat of the drum played by one of the village boys.

  Then she saw him at the edges of the crowd. A tall man with eyes as black as the murky bayou water at midnight. Jacques’s brother, Edouard, the eldest of the LeBlanc clan.

  “Looks like my brother made it to the party,” Jacques murmured into her ear.

  “I…I’m glad.” Although, Josée wasn’t sure how she felt. Dark. Brooding. His eyes spoke of a soul deeper than the waters that flowed through La Manque. She wondered if he ever laughed. The only time she ever saw him was when she and the other LeBlanc children would go to the bayou to fish and play by the water. If the children grew loud, Edouard would hop into his pirogue and drift away.

  Whenever Josée would ask Jeanne or Marie if they should be quieter, one of them might say, “Ah, pah. It’s just Edouard sticking his head from his shell like a tortue.”

  Tonight she could feel his gaze on her when Jacques gave her a bottle of ink as a gift and when Jeanne and Marie gave her their present, a writing pen. Where had they found such treasures?

  Josée was, as they called her, “the smart one” and could read and write. Perhaps the LeBlanc children admired her, even if they did not grasp the use of such activities. Tonight when she met Edouard’s gaze, she couldn’t tell how he regarded her. A’bien, she wouldn’t let his opinion bother her. She stuck her chin out and tried to stand like a lady.

  “My son, my eldest.” Papa clapped him on the back. His voice boomed loud enough to be heard over the crowd’s chatter. “You honored your papa and your family by comin’ tonight.”

  “I could do no less.” Edouard knew he should have left after the dances began. Yet the sight of Josée, her hair up, and flitting like a bird around the bonfire, her arms linked with his sisters’, had made him stay. Several times he caught her stare at him. Did she see the scar, or was she watching his limp? He dared her to say something.

  Here she was now, arm and arm with Mama LeBlanc, so close he could see the skin peeling from her sunburned nose. Her hair glowed almost blue black in the firelight. He wondered if she looked like her mère who had borne her. She gave him an uncertain smile.

  Then Papa bellowed again, “Mes amis de La Manque, tonight we celebrate! Josée Broussard, raised as my daughter since she was but six, is now eighteen years old!” He gave a great laugh. His belly shook and the buttons on his vest threatened to pop. A few whoops and hollers and cheers rose up from the merry group.

  Josée’s already bronze skin glowed with a deeper blush that crept to her neck, which curved gracefully to her shoulders. Edouard’s throat felt like he’d put on a tie tonight, except he had not.

  After the cheers gave way to silence, Papa continued. “Tonight, I have a special su’prise for Josée an’ another member of my family.”

  Edouard saw Josée dart a glance at Jacques, who jerked his head in their direction. Then he watched Josée’s gaze shift to him, and he saw her eyes dawn with a sudden, horrible recognition.

  “As is the custom of our people,” Papa shouted gleefully, “I announce the betrothal of Josée Monique Broussard to my eldest son—Edouard Philippe LeBlanc!”

  Chapter 2

  Like the tears coming from Josée’s eyes, rain fell on the LeBlanc’s farmhouse roof. The crowd had celebrated until late, but Josée found it hard to sleep after the family settled to bed for the night. Snores from various areas of the attic told her the LeBlanc siblings rested with as much vigor as they’d rejoiced at her betrothal to Edouard.

  In two weeks, the priest would meet them at the village common house. He would marry and bury, then move on and leave them until his next passage through.

  Mon Père, I do not understand Your plan. Josée rolled onto her back and looked up into the darkness, as if to see through the ceiling above her and up to heaven. My mama—my real mère—always said You work Your will in our lives. How can this be Your will if I’m not happy? Edouard is moody and dark. Jacques is—

  Everything Edouard was not. Josée sighed. She should accept what Mama and Papa LeBlanc had decided for her—for them, she corrected herself. After all, her world wasn’t the only world that had been disrupted. Edouard looked as if he’d been sentenced to hang.

  She couldn’t picture any other unmarried man in the village being happy at the prospect of marrying an orphan without a dowry. She had nothing except herself to bring to the marriage. Josée shivered and pictured lonely years ahead.

  Forgive me, mon Père. I should be thankful You are providing for me for the rest of my life. Yet like a snake from the dark waters not far away, fear slithered around her heart. What if Edouard was a cruel man?

  Josée flung back the quilt and tried not to disturb Jeanne who slept next to her. She was destined to marry someone she cared for, and he for her. Tonight the soft mattress that smelled of moss did not comfort Josée. Her feet found the cool plank floor. Perhaps a cup of coffee, reheated on the coals, might do her good. She descended the loft’s ladder and entered the kitchen.

  Mama LeBlanc stood at the table in the warm glow of lamplight.

  “Mama?”

  A wooden trunk lay open before Mama LeBlanc. “I thought you might be down, chere.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” She hoped Mama did not see the traces of tears on her face. “What’s this?”

  “Some things from your family. Look.” Mama patted a yellowed paper wrapper.

  Josée pulled the paper away to find an old dress that pricked at the edges of her memory and hurt a little. Her real mère’s dress. A lump swelled in her throat. “Oh. It’s beautiful. I’d almost forgotten.”

  “We’ll have jus’ enough time for you to try it on and see if I need to sew the hem.” Mama’s rough fingers smoothed the lace. “Your mère would be proud to see you wear her dress. There’s more in here for you. You may take this trunk when you move to your new home.”

  Josée’s heart beat fas
ter, and she nodded. A new home. With Edouard.

  “The coffee should be ready. Would you like a cup?” Though her surroundings remained the same, for the first time Josée felt as if she’d changed merely by reaching her eighteenth birthday.

  “Of course.” Josée settled onto one of the wooden benches as if she were one of the local village women visiting Mama for a cup of coffee and a talk.

  Mama LeBlanc placed two mugs of coffee between them and rested her ample form on the bench across from Josée. “Marriage brings lots of changes.”

  One sip of the dark brew made Josée sit up straighter. “Oui, I am sure.” She clutched the mug with both hands.

  “Edouard is a good man. A hurt man, a disappointed man, but a good man.” The older woman exhaled deeply, as if unburdening herself. “I know, deep down in his heart, Edouard understands le bon Dieu carries his troubles and cares for him. But—”

  “Then why couldn’t I marry …” Josée made herself stop. She had no right to question the LeBlancs’ choice of husband for her. She had grown up with the knowledge that one day she’d likely marry one of the older LeBlanc brothers.

  “Why not Jacques?” Mama patted Josée’s hand. “Jacques is too young. He is impulsive. He would keep you laughing, oui. However, he cares more for himself than anyone else. He is a pourri, a spoiled young man. I am to blame, and his papa.”

  “I care for Jacques, and I think he cares for me, too.” Josée’s dismay at the words she spoke aloud caused her to touch her hot cheek.

  “Ah, but is his affection the kind of carin’ that would last? Chéri, I love my son, but Jacques is too young to marry and shoulder such responsibility. For when marriage comes, then come bébés.”

  Bébés. Josée’s mind spun like a top. She could scarcely breathe. If only she could have stayed seventeen forever.

  Edouard let the July sun soak into his bare shoulders. He spread more pitch on the cabin’s roof. In spite of his anger at his father’s decision, he wouldn’t dream of causing his family—or the innocent Josée—any dishonor. So he must prepare the cabin and make it fit for a young bride. A woman around would be like having a hen loose in the cabin all the time.