Bartered Bride Romance Collection Page 4

  “Josée! We’re hungry!” chorused the voices outside.

  “Un momente!” she called back. Mon Père, merci for the book. But she would appreciate help in learning to make gumbo. As for Mama’s suggestion to know Edouard, that would wait … for another time.

  Chapter 6

  As if in answer to Edouard’s prayers for help, rain poured from the heavens upon La Manque. He stood on the tiny porch he had built overlooking the bayou, which swelled with freshwater. After three days of rain, the tiny garden which Josée had lovingly tilled now looked like stripes of mud and water. He did not understand le bon Dieu’s joke. Since the wedding two weeks ago, he had spoken to God more than he had in a long time. And he did not remember asking Him for rain.

  This morning the melody that Josée sang lilted above the drumming on the roof. Edouard’s stomach growled. He had thought his cooking was bad. After two bites of her gumbo last night—the first to be polite and the second out of hunger—breakfast arrived after a long night. He had not meant to cause her tears. He ended up listening to her sniffle as they fell asleep. The rain would not allow him to sleep in his hammock or on the porch, so he had claimed one side of the bed. An invisible line seemed carved between them. Edouard did not mind that so much. He did mind waking up cold in the hours before first light with no quilt. Josée slept, wrapped like a moth in its cocoon.

  “Edouard, this journal, it’s so beautiful. Her words, after going through so much …” Josée’s voice rang out inside the cabin. He heard her feet grow louder on the wooden floor.

  Ever since Josée had found that journal, she trotted behind Edouard, reading parts of it. He did not mind stories so much, but the fact that Josée understood the writing—he shook his head. After three days of rain and her chatter about the journal, he didn’t know which noise grated more to his ears.

  “What is that?” Edouard turned to face her where she stood in the doorway. She looked like a spot of brightness in the gray day. Of course, she had slept well the night before. In other circumstances, he might want to steal a kiss. That is, if she would keep quiet long enough. What had happened to her demure attitude on that hot day she brought him a slice of pie?

  “Listen. Capucine writes, ‘As I look back upon the years of sadness in my darkest days, I see how my heavenly Father watched and worked on my behalf. Even though I did not believe for a time, my questioning did not banish the truth, that my God is still there. I wish I knew then that joy is not based on people, places, and things. Those change. My God does not.’ ”

  In spite of his growling stomach, Edouard almost believed the words. Then his bad knee twinged. “But my knee, my heart.” He touched his chest.

  Josée placed her warm hand over his, and his heartbeat kept pace with a woodpecker. “I am sorry, so sorry, that these things happened to you. Will you let your heart heal?”

  “I don’t know how.” Edouard moved from her touch and looked out at the bayou. Where had his quiet life gone? “I was fine here by myself. I did not have you askin’ me questions and reading from that—that book!”

  Edouard glanced back to see Josée whirl on grubby feet and enter the cabin. He turned again to face the water. Joie de vivre—oui, Josée had plenty of that. He had not intended his words to hurt, but there it was. So he was not used to having someone around all the time. He had himself and the water’s inhabitants for company.

  Her approaching footsteps made him turn yet another time. Josée blazed through the open doorway and came so close he could see dark flames in her eyes.

  “You are not the only one who has suffered loss.” Josée’s face reminded him of a storm on the gulf with its clouds rolling in before the full fury broke.

  “You are not the center of the world! That family”—Josée pointed toward the LeBlanc home—“loves you. They wept and prayed and begged for God to return you to them. But nooo! No one has suffered like the great Edouard Philippe LeBlanc. You act as if you have had no one to help you. You act as if no one’s love is enough. Not your family’s, not God’s, not—” Josée clamped her hand over her mouth and hiccupped. Tears streamed down her face. She ran inside the cabin.

  Edouard curled his fists. His eyes stung and his breath came in short gasps. This was a new pain, to be sure. Josée had no right to come at him with the vengeance of a mama gator. She did not know him or his pain at all.

  Josée paced the floor. That man was right outside, and if she wanted to race to Mama LeBlanc’s home, she would have to pass by him on the way. She had never thought one person could cause her so much fury. And she had almost admitted that she loved him. A one-sided love that would surely crush her heart. That man had to have been one of the most selfish creatures le bon Dieu had ever created. “My knee, my heart,” indeed. Yet here she was the one crying like a bébé.

  She dashed the tears from her cheeks then stoked the fire. After tossing more moss on the embers, she coaxed the flames back to life and added a fresh log. A cold spell with the rains brought a damp chill into the cabin, unexpected in this summer season.

  A smile tugged at her mouth. Poor, poor Edouard. He had eaten two bites of supper and no doubt had a long hungry night. She had also stolen the blanket, and by the time she realized it, Edouard had already risen and built the fire and made coffee. She did not admit she was as hungry as he after she tasted her gumbo. The burnt roux did not a savory gumbo base make. Edouard had pitched the mess into the rubbish pile outside then fished to no avail.

  “No rules here,” he’d assured her in their first few days together. “I get up when I want, eat when I want, sleep when I want.”

  Life must be very different than when there was only one person under the roof. Très different for both of them. At the large LeBlanc house, Josée knew her place. Here she did not know when to cook, or try to. She did not know when it was time to sleep, other than Edouard turning off the lamp on the table. He did not wake her most mornings. How could she learn her place when Edouard treated her as if she were not there?

  Enough! Josée snatched her shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders, and pulled a corner over her head. She would pass him and go up to the house, whether Edouard liked it or not.

  She moved for the doorway and was relieved to see Edouard leaning on the porch railing. He faced away from her.

  “I’m goin’ to see your mère.” Josée did not ask permission to go. Nor was he a child who could not be left alone. He could fend for himself quite well without her. She pushed past him and pounded down the wooden steps. She did not look his way but trotted through the rain and along the muddy path to the big house.

  By the time she reached the kitchen, her feet and ankles were covered with mud, her shawl soaked, the hem of her dress soiled. She knocked on the door.

  Mama LeBlanc answered. “Ma chéri, what brings you here?”

  “I needed to see you. May I come in?”

  “Of course. Let me bring you some water to cleanse your feet.”

  After Josée washed the dirt from her feet, she entered the warm home. By then her hands had stopped trembling and she no longer felt as angry. She’d also just made extra work for herself come wash day.

  Mama placed a steaming cup of coffee on the table. “I have not seen you for days.”

  “It’s the rain. I tried to start the garden, and now that is flooded and I am stuck indoors. Edouard can’t fish right at the moment either, so …”

  “I see. Well, Papa LeBlanc has remained inside, as well. I send him out to tend the animals, and he’s welcome to stay out there a while, also.” Mama stirred a bubbling pot over the fire.

  “I know Edouard is your son, and you love him, but now he’s worse than a mosquito bite on my back that I can’t scratch.” Josée frowned. “I do not know what he expects of me. I burned the gumbo last night. The roux smelled strange, and I should have known. And did you know? Edouard does what he pleases when he pleases.”

  The thoughts tumbled out. Josée did not know how to tell Mama about the extent o
f Edouard’s bitterness. She did not know how to admit that she loved the man, as well. How could you love someone you’d like to throw in the bayou?

  “You two have been like a hen and rooster cooped up with nowhere to go. The cabin is Edouard’s. But it is yours to run.” Mama pointed at Josée. “You decide when breakfast is served. You clean the floor. You tell him to clean his boots and not track mud, although, after twenty-five years Papa LeBlanc will leave a trail on the floor.”

  “Papa LeBlanc, still?”

  “Oui, even after I made him scrub his tracks.”

  Josée grinned at the thought and blinked back the rest of her tears. “I thought—”

  “You thought we never argued?” Mama shook her head. “I must forgive Nicolas daily, and he must forgive me. Would you like a bowl of gumbo?”

  “I am hungry,” Josée admitted. “Is Papa LeBlanc in the barn?”

  Mama simply nodded, a twinkle in her eye. “And I have good news. The Landrys sent word that they are having a fai do do tomorrow night at the common house. We will dine together, play music, and dance if there is room enough. You must ask Edouard to bring you.”

  Oh, a fai do! Time to spend with the LeBlancs, the Landrys, and other families who decided to venture out. Josée’s heart leaped in anticipation.

  “Mama, please help me make a roux. Then I shall go home and try again.” Home. She realized she’d called the cabin home.

  “That I can do. You must feed well the man you love.”

  Josée touched her hot cheeks. “You can see that?”

  “I saw the moment I opened the door.”

  “I’m afraid he does not love me.” It hurt to speak the words.

  “Time, chéri. It will take time. Pray to le bon Dieu, and He will answer you and show you what to do.”

  Josée hoped so. Both her heart and her stomach were hungry.

  Edouard took the path up to the big house, passed it, and went to the barn instead. He saw the trail of Josée’s footprints to the kitchen door. Better he not go there. Instead, he sought out Papa, who had probably gone to check the animals.

  He entered the barn, and the scent of straw and horse pricked his nostrils. “Papa?”

  “Up here.” Papa’s voice came from above.

  Edouard looked to the hayloft and climbed the ladder. His Papa was lying on his side, whittling a lump of cypress wood.

  “Ah, so she drives you from your home, eh?” Papa chuckled.

  “She does not. I … I needed to get out. After three days of rain, I needed …” Edouard shrugged then found a comfortable spot to stretch out.

  “Remember, son, Josée is very young. She does not know how to run a house. My sweet Clothilde was a good mère to her after Josée’s parents died, but I’m afraid with all these children, she did not see to Josée’s trainin’ as well as she should.” Papa shook his head. “That, and Josée always wanted to read the books left by her own mère.”

  “Oui, I know. Josée found a journal written by your grand-mère, Capucine. She is always reading to me.” Edouard waved his arms. “It’s ‘Edouard, listen to this,’ and ‘Edouard, listen to that.’ The only time she ceases talking is when she sleeps.”

  Papa leaned back and laughed, his belly heaving up and down, his face red. “Bienvenue to marriage, Edouard. Women must talk. It’s their nature. Let her.”

  Edouard did not find this advice helpful or humorous. No one seemed to understand the quiet he craved had been denied him and would never come again.

  “And you, you treat her well. Teach her what you know of cooking, if you must. And let her do her job.” Papa shook his head. “I should have dragged you back to the house years ago instead of letting you take the cabin by yourself. It was not good for you—”

  “Papa, I was injured and broken—”

  “Listen to me. You have built strong walls that you no longer need. I see what Celine Dupuis did to you. I was sorry for your pain, but a faithless young woman was not fit for my son. You must go on, with Josée. She is full of faith and joie de vivre. She will share with you, willingly, I believe.”

  Edouard nodded. He had to agree with Papa. Wasn’t that what Josée had been trying to do? “I have not been so smart.”

  Papa chuckled again—Edouard had forgotten how much Papa loved to laugh. “My son, that is the first thing you’ve said in years that makes sense.”

  An hour or so later, Edouard left the barn and headed back to the cabin. It had felt good to talk to Papa, man-to-man. No longer was he an unmarried man but had to consider someone else in his home. He had no doubts that he and Josée would clash heads again, except he knew he must learn to build bridges between them.

  The rain had slowed to a gentle patter on the trees. As Edouard rounded the corner of the cabin, he heard a voice praying. “Notre Père qui est aux cieux! Que ton nom soit sanctifié …”

  He paused and whispered the words. “Our Father in heaven, holy is Your name …” Oui, he wanted to do God’s will, provide for Josée, and he needed to learn to forgive. One step at a time, he would.

  Chapter 7

  The fai do do, Edouard, it’s tomorrow night.” Josée served up steaming gumbo and freshly baked corn bread (a bit flat) for supper. Thanks to Mama LeBlanc, Josée had realized she needed to count to three hundred when stirring the roux. Stop stirring too soon, and the roux would not thicken. Stir too long, and the mess would burn. The thick soup smelled heavenly tonight. Josée determined she would write down how to make roux so she would not forget. She watched Edouard inhale the aroma.

  “My mama helped you.”

  “She did. I am going to try to do better.”

  He surprised her by clasping her hand. “I know.” His thumb rubbed her palm. “Me, too.”

  Josée’s head swam, and she pulled her hand away to cut the corn bread. “Like I was saying, your mère told me the Landrys are having a fai do do, and we must go. Oh, I mean, I would really like to. I think it would be good to get out of the cabin.” She sat down across from him.

  Edouard nodded. He said the blessing, and Josée waited for him to continue talking about the fai do do. She ate, although she was not too hungry after two bowls of Mama’s gumbo.

  “I suppose we can ride in the wagon with Papa and Mama and the others.” Edouard sounded reluctant.

  “It’s been so long since we’ve spent time with anyone besides your family, and—” Josée heard herself starting to talk up a stream and fell silent. She took another bite. Edouard had managed to net enough fine sweet shrimp that blended with the broth.

  “You should wear the dress from when we married.” Was that a smile she saw tugging at the corners of his mouth?

  “I think I will.” She didn’t mention she would change dresses because what she wore had mud caked at the hem. Even if she washed the dress tonight, it might not dry come tomorrow. Worse, what if the stains were permanent?

  Edouard apparently did not see the need for further conversation, so Josée figured now was as good a time as any to follow Mama’s suggestions.

  “I will be sure to make breakfast in the morning.” Her voice sounded unnaturally high to her ears. “I’m your wife, and I have responsibilities, too. I will cook for you. Mama’s been helping me, and I will keep improving, I’m sure.”

  Josée did not miss the expression on his face.

  She continued in spite of it. “If you are going to fish and will be away, I will send something with you to eat. I don’t know what you have that you can trade, but I want to buy more seed and replant the garden. I will sew and hang curtains, too. Also, I will be moving the line where you hang the wash to another place where the shirts don’t get in my way. Wash day will be Mondays.” She hoped he would remember everything. The clunk of a spoon in a bowl surprised her.

  “You’re goin’ to make me scrape my boots before I come in, too, I suppose?”

  “It will save scrubbing the floor so much.” She smiled at him, thinking of the way he’d touched her hand earlier. He did
look handsome by firelight, now that her anger had burned off. She prayed his heart would soften.

  Edouard tugged at his suspenders and pushed back from the table. “I left one mère to gain yet un autre.” He had spoken as if she were a thorn in his foot. A mosquito on his neck. Josée kept eating and did not break his gaze.

  Josée thought her anger had burned off, but a few embers reignited. “I am not your mère. I am your wife.”

  “And I am finished.” Edouard stood up and left the table and tromped to the porch. She heard nothing except the dripping trees and the crickets singing their nightly songs. Josée did not touch the rest of her gumbo. She poured it back in the pot over the fire. Her appetite had left her. She scrubbed their bowls and spoons and heard the sound of Edouard whittling outside.

  The rain had stopped, though clouds hung in the sky. Edouard looked westward down the bayou. The sun was trying to peek at them on its descent into night. Josée hummed again inside the cabin. After their words the night before, Edouard had apologized. He had not acted as if he were trying to build a bridge. Change did not happen quickly, either, and he asked if Josée could make one change at a time. She responded with a breakfast of couche-couche that almost rivaled his mama’s. But then a body couldn’t easily ruin fried cornmeal drizzled with cane syrup. She must have gotten the milk from Mama, besides the recipe.

  Now Josée bustled from pantry to table as she packed a basket to take to the fai do do tonight. Her capable hands folded a cloth to cover the bread. Her hands. Edouard wanted to touch them again, as he had when he woke up that morning to find one of them clasped to his chest in both of his. They were small yet very strong, and one finger of the right hand had a spot of ink from writing in the book she had found. He remembered touching the ink stain. She had a burn on another finger, which he also caressed. It must have hurt, for she murmured in her sleep. He had not known what it felt like to protect someone, to have someone so close …