Bartered Bride Romance Collection (10 page)

Edouard had been gone for three days on a gator hunt. Josée touched her growing stomach. Another bébé to feed soon, but le bon Dieu would take care of everything. That, and help Edouard get a good gator to trade for more lumber. The bayou cabin seemed to be shrinking.

She hoisted herself to her feet, not as easily as a few weeks ago. “Children, let’s eat dinner, and then I will tell you stories.”

They clapped again then grabbed each other’s hands and ran ahead of her to the cabin.

Josée made them wash their hands before they ate. A familiar journal lay on the table. She would teach her children to read and write and love the language of their people. For now, her time of writing in this book was over. Josée no longer needed the recipes to help her remember. Edouard was starting to get a bit round like Papa from her cooking.

She touched the book’s cover. One day, another LeBlanc might read these pages and learn from her as well as Capucine.

“Bon soir,
journale
,” she whispered. Josée rose and placed the journal with the other books in the trunk to keep until her children were old enough.

The sound of a pirogue moving over the waters made Josée look toward the doorway. The children scrambled to their feet and ran.

“Papa, it’s Papa! He’s home!”

Josée moved as quickly as her feet would let her. The familiar face and form she knew and loved so well came into view. “Oui, he’s home.”

Lynette Sowell is an award-winning author with New England roots, but she makes her home in Central Texas with her husband and a herd of five cats. When she’s not writing, she edits medical reports and chases down stories for the local newspaper.

BUTTON STRING BRIDE

by Cathy Marie Hake

Dedication

Dedicated to two of my greatest joys,
Kelly Eileen and Colin James.
May you each wait on the Lord
and seek His choice for you—in life and in love.
Whatever joys or trials lie ahead on the path,
walk with the Lord and let Him light the way.

Love,
Mom

Chapter 1

M
iss Davis, the trail master ordered us to combine wagons if we want to continue on to Oregon. Otherwise, they’ll leave us behind when we reach Fort Laramie.” Ethan Cole shifted his weight more firmly into the heels of his scuffed cowhide boots as he broke the news. “We’ll try to make the best of it. A single lady like you shouldn’t be stranded among all of the soldiers, and to be perfectly frank, I need help with my young’uns.”

Miss Davis wet her lips and whispered, “I’m willing to watch your children, sir. I just don’t see how you can do more …”

From the way her voice trailed off, Ethan knew she didn’t understand exactly what the order entailed. He cast a quick look to the side. Banner Laswell had come along to lend the soothing support of her presence. She stayed silent, so he softened his voice and strove to break the news gently. “The plan is for you to put your essentials in my wagon. We’re to leave your rig behind.” Every speck of color seeped out of Miss Davis’s cheeks, and he feared she might keel over from the revelation. Ethan cupped her elbow and coaxed her to sit on a nearby log.

Other than knowing her ma was the first to die on their trek due to a snakebite and her pa’s heart gave out a few nights ago, Ethan knew virtually nothing about Charity Davis. He’d been too busy with his own troubles to mind anyone else’s business. For a few moments, he silently studied her and tried to take her measure. Most of the women set out on the trip in simple, full gowns made from calico feed sacks; but quality bolt goods draped artistically over Miss Davis’s hoops, and her outfit boasted more frills and doodads than any gown he’d ever seen. Small and fine-boned, she looked hopelessly out of place in this wilderness. All it took was a bit of bad news, and she was nigh unto swooning. Ethan barely disguised his grimace. He feared he’d been saddled with a temperamental, helpless female.

“I’ll mind your children.” She wrapped a fancy shawl about herself more tightly. “If you hunt for us, I’ll do all of the cooking and still keep my own wagon. Wouldn’t that suffice?”

Something in her voice tugged at him.
Poor gal. She’s lost her folks, and now she’s losing everything else
. Sympathy replaced his concerns. It felt wrong to hover over a vulnerable woman, so Ethan hunkered down to stay at eye level. “Miss Davis, we set out knowing each wagon had to be self-sufficient. Betwixt the two of us, we can’t drive both wagons, care for all of our beasts, do our fair share of guard duty, and mind the kids. By leaving behind one wagon, we’d halve several obligations. We’re both in a fix, and the council ruled we either join up or fall out. I can’t go on without your help.”

Though he paused to allow her an opportunity to speak, she said nothing. Ethan cleared his throat and added, “I know it’s an awkward situation, but I’ll bedroll beneath the wagon, and you can sleep inside with the kids.”

Tears glossed her wide blue eyes, but she didn’t shed a single one. He had to hand it to her. Though both shocked and embarrassed, she didn’t indulge in an emotional show. Instead, she looked at Banner and quavered, “I can’t pack tonight. It’s my turn to stand guard.”

Banner quietly offered, “One of the other men is covering for you tonight. I know you’re heartsore, but Mr. Cole is a fine man. The council felt it was for the best. For what it’s worth, I agree.”

“I see.” Charity smoothed back a strand of fiery hair with an unsteady hand. “Please let me know who took my guard shift. I don’t want to be beholden to anyone.”

Ethan grabbed her wrist and turned her palm toward the flickering campfire. No calluses dared mar her dainty hand, but a prime crop of new blisters showed she’d done hard work—man’s work—in the past few days. “Do you have salve for these?”

“Yes, sir.” She slowly pulled her hand free and rose. “Please pardon me. I have a lot to do before morning.”

“Best thing you could do right now is turn in for the night, Miss Davis. The train is staying put tomorrow so some of the men can go hunting. We’ll have a full day to do what needs doing.” He paused then softly added, “Come morning, you’ll see the wisdom of this.”

She gave him a woeful smile and shrugged. Tired, aghast, and heartbroken as she was, he figured he ought to be glad Miss Davis wasn’t sobbing or pitching a fit.
Poor thing’s so shaken, she probably can’t react
, he thought. He offered her his arm. “I’ll walk you to your wagon.”

“I thank you for the offer, but I need to be alone.” After whispering those timid words, she fleetingly squeezed Banner’s hand then walked toward the edge of the campfire’s light to reach her wagon. This would be the last night she’d spend in it.

Ethan watched her go. Banner Laswell filled a chipped enamel cup with scorched coffee and handed it to him. “Don’t fret. She’s got a lot of polish, but that gal is pure hickory straight through.”

“No one told me her age,” he said grimly. “She looks young.”

“Small but not young,” Banner corrected. “Charity’s nineteen. Don’t be fooled by appearances. She’s shouldering heavy grief, but she still managed to keep up with us all. Give her the night to let this news settle. Come mornin’, things will be better.”

Banner’s words echoed in his ears the next morning.
Things will be better…
. It was going to be a rough day. Wagons measured all of forty inches across and ten to fourteen feet long at the base. The sides flared upward to permit ease of movement and make them float boat-style if fording a river became necessary. He’d built his to the maximum specifications, so he had a bit of room in his for Miss Davis’s things. Still, he reckoned she might be unreasonable about wanting to haul too much. He whispered a prayer for wisdom then rapped on the side of her wagon.

She peered down at him. The moisture in her eyes didn’t bode well at all, but he acted like he didn’t notice. “Good morning, Miss Davis.”

“I’ve started sorting through things.” She gingerly handed him a brand-spanking-new Colt patent rifle. “Careful. It’s loaded. Banner said you’re a crack shot, so I presume you’ll want all of the ammunition and arms.”

“I’ll bag you some fine meals with this, miss. Before you start handing more down to me, it might be best if you come look at my wagon. It’ll help us decide what to take and what to leave.” He added on, “Gracie Adams said she’d watch the kids for us today, but they’re hoping to meet you first.”

A timid smile lit her face. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

Ethan set aside the rifle and reached up to help her out. The tentative way she set her hands on his shoulders told him this gal wasn’t accustomed to a man’s touch. He braced her tiny waist and swept her earthward. Yards of petticoats whispered—a sound he’d just about forgotten after three years of being widowed. She’d left off her hoops and donned an apron today. Did that indicate she possessed a streak of practicality? He sure hoped so. A hint of flowers swirled in the air, and since she barely came to his chin, he realized the fragrance came from her hair. In daylight, the red and gold strands blended together like a fine piece of carved cedar. Half a dozen faint freckles sprinkled across her finely chiseled nose. A fetching pink suffused her cheeks, and she shyly dropped her lashes. “Thank you kindly, sir.”

He picked up the rifle and fought the urge to caress the sleek walnut stock. He’d seen fine Colts like this in a mercantile, but they were far too costly for a simple carpenter to own. “I’ll pull my wagon alongside yours in a while. It’ll make transferring things easier.”

She gave him a perplexed look. “I thought I was just to bring essentials. Food, clothing, my Bible, and a quilt.”

Ethan settled his free hand on a wheel spoke and looked into eyes bluer than the sky. Her unwavering acceptance of the necessary sacrifices came as a complete surprise. “Miss Davis, I’ll do my best to help you take as much as possible. You’re going to need more than that to set up a home once we reach Oregon. We’ll work on it.”

Charity thanked him, but she tried to quell her hope. She hadn’t yet seen his wagon and didn’t know if he had any space at all. She walked beside him to his rig. Two bedraggled children sat on the seat. Both had their daddy’s deep brown hair and eyes. From the way the little girl wiggled, Charity knew she was excited. Charity opened her arms, and the tike leaped at once. After all of her grief, an armful of love felt heaven-sent. She cuddled the waif and looked up at the boy. “Hello.”

“This is Tad.” Mr. Cole set the rifle under the wagon seat and lifted down his son. “He’s eight. This is Catherine, but we call her Cricket. She’s three. Kids, this is Miss Davis. You are to obey her at all times.”

“Yes, Pa,” they said in unison.

“We’ll get along just fine,” Charity declared. She shifted Cricket onto one hip and touched the button string around the girl’s neck. “You sure have a pretty collection of charmglass started. My gracious, what a big girl you are!”

Mr. Cole took his daughter and unlooped the string over her head. “She has thirty-one buttons already. Cricket, I told you you’re not to wear this ‘cept for Sunday worship. If you lose the buttons, you’ll never collect enough to be a married lady when you grow up!”