Bartered Bride Romance Collection (4 page)

Mon Dieu, I submit to Papa and Mama LeBlanc. For the rest of our lives, Edouard and I will be together
.

“I wish it was my turn.” Jeanne’s wistful voice summoned Josée from her thoughts. “Papa and Josef have agreed to wait until spring. And Mama and I have yet to sew my new dress.”

“You’ll be happy to move into a new home, too.” Josée resisted the urge to suggest to Jeanne that she and Josef take her and Edouard’s place in front of the priest.

All too soon, the LeBlancs set out by wagon and across Breaux’s Bridge to the common house where the villagers gathered. Josée did not see Edouard; perhaps he had traveled alone. Her throat hurt. She wondered if she would find her voice once it was time to say her vows.

Two other young couples of La Manque also waited to be married, and Josée didn’t mind sharing the day with them.

She saw Edouard standing by himself outside the common house as they approached. She felt herself smile. He stood tall and broad in his suit coat, his ink-dark hair pulled back from his face and shoulders, his face clean shaven. He hadn’t seen them yet, and Josée’s throat constricted when she saw what had caught his attention.

Celine Hebert—no, Celine
Dupuis
—had arrived, her features evident even from a distance. Her husband’s back was to them as he helped Celine from their farm wagon.

And the closer Josée got to the common house, she wondered if she saw regret in Edouard’s eyes.

Chapter 4

T
he pounding drums matched the beat of Edouard’s heart. He and Josée led the
promenade
of newly married couples as the entire party performed the traditional wedding march around the edge of the grounds. The well-wishers’ cheering grew louder than the blare of horns and the wail of fiddles.

Edouard clutched Josée’s hand, whether to hold himself up or keep her from toppling over, he didn’t know. One thing he did know was they were now officially married.

He did not look at Celine, though he knew her to be there with her husband. He had glimpsed signs of a life growing inside her, and tonight as he whirled Josée into his arms at the dance, whatever he felt for Celine died inside him.

Surprise entered his wife’s eyes. Maybe he held her too tightly.
His wife
. Perhaps they would learn to love each other.

At that, he found himself stepping on her feet. “I’m sorry.”

Josée drew in a sharp breath but stayed in the circle of his arms. “I don’t dance so well, either.”

“Oh yes, you do. I’ve seen you.” He should have kept his mouth closed. Now she would know he sometimes used to watch her play with the others on the banks of the bayou. “Here. We’ll sit down to give your feet and my bad leg a rest.”

Edouard kept an arm around her as they headed to the edge of the crowd where the LeBlancs had spread blankets on the ground along with the other families of La Manque. The other two married couples continued to dance, and the villagers rejoiced with them.

He looked at Josée’s slippered feet. Where she’d found dancing slippers was a mystery to him. “Do your toes hurt?”

She smiled a slow smile at him and blushed. “The cow has done worse to them on milkin’ days.” Looking as delicate as a blossom as she took a place on the blanket, Josée had opened a door inside him he thought had been shut forever. With one smile. But he could ask nothing of her that a husband had a right to demand, not without having her heart first. He would not crush the sun-kissed flower that sat at his feet.

Edouard’s throat felt like the time he’d been out fishing for two days and his water jug ran dry. “I—I’ll get us somethin’ to drink.” He stalked off toward the family’s wagon to find the water cask and a cup.

Someone clapped him on the back along the way, and Edouard tried to make out the face in the shadows cast by firelight. Josef Landry.

“Edouard, mon ami, you are undone. No more eating what you will, no more sleeping and working when you want.
Quel dommage!”
Josef’s grin took the bite out of his words.

“Oui, it’s a pity.” Edouard shook his head.

“So where do you go with the long face?”

“To get water for us.”

“Ah, the hen is already pecking at the rooster!” Josef let out a whoop and slapped his knee. His gaze darted over to Jeanne. “Dance, ma’amselle?” With that, Edouard’s sister gave a toss of her black hair and entered the crowd with Josef.

Edouard reached the family wagon, found the cask, and fumbled for a tin cup. Papa waved at him from where he sat with Mama. They should have chosen a better husband for Josée. He did agree that Jacques was unsuitable—the boy would probably have broken her heart—but marry
him
? In truth, Edouard had not thought much beyond the actual idea of being married—past the ceremony—and on to life with a woman underfoot.

A pecking hen. Someone to tell him not to track dirt in the cabin, to work, to not sleep when he wanted. He had not shared a bed since he was a child and piled in with Jacques. Marriage was a different matter altogether. The hangman’s noose settled around Edouard’s neck once again.
Mon Dieu, why are You doing this to me?

The contents of the cup nearly sloshed over the sides. Edouard looked down to steady his hand and nearly collided with a figure in his path. Celine, with her husband looming beside her.

“Bon temps
ce soir
, non?” Jean-Luc Dupuis shook hands with Edouard.

Edouard shrugged.
“Je ne sais pas.”
He did not know if tonight was a good time, nor if the days to follow would be either. Celine looked like a startled
grosbek
about to flap its long wings and soar away over the bayou, instead of ending up as someone’s supper. Edouard hoped his expression read that she had nothing to fear from him.

“A’bien, Edouard, I wish you and your bride long life, happy years, and many children together.” With a nod, Jean-Luc whisked his wife away from Edouard and toward their wagon.

Many of La Manque stopped to speak with Edouard on his way back to Josée. He did not regret so much his decision to keep to himself and stay at the bayou.

He wondered if any of them whispered, “That’s the one who left our village to join with Lafitte. He should have left well enough alone.” Did they laugh at the hermit saddled with a lively wife? Or was she the object of their pity?

No matter how many well-wishers greeted him, cheered him, punched him good-naturedly in the arm, Edouard knew that their sincere efforts could not ensure him and Josée much of anything.

Josée let her feet tap to the sound of the merry dance. She longed to have someone whisk her out into the happy group of villagers. But she remained seated on the blanket and clapped along with a few of the others. Where was Edouard?

“He’s left you alone, has he?” Jacques’s lanky form blocked her view of the firelight.

“Edouard is getting us a drink.” Josée would not rise to her feet. Jacques, she knew, wanted to pull her to the dance. The band now played a mournful ballad of a lost love.

Jacques reached down for her hand.

“Non. I’m waiting for Edouard.”

“One dance?” Jacques’s voice took on a wheedling tone.

Josée shook her head. “I promised….” She did not think it would be difficult to refuse Jacques’s request.

“Find someone else to dance with.” Edouard stood next to Jacques. Josée had never seen such a look on her husband’s face. Like a gator prepared to attack, Edouard’s expression should have been enough to make Jacques leave them alone.

“Josée looked like she was not havin’ fun.”

“She is my responsibility, not yours.” Edouard used his free hand to point a finger at himself, then at Jacques’s chest.

Josée stood and took the cup from Edouard. She had to tug a little to get him to release it. Perhaps a distraction would soothe his irritation.

“I was resting, Jacques. Good night!” She sipped from the cup and returned it to Edouard. “Merci.”

“Yes, good night,” Edouard echoed. He slung the cup to the ground. It scudded across the grass. He grabbed Josée’s hand so hard that tears pricked her eyes. “Josée, we’ll go home.”

“But—”

He swung away from the party. Josée’s shoulder jolted, and she gasped.

“Edouard—” She flung a glance back at Jacques, who stood staring after them.

“I have had enough of people for one night, perhaps for a good many nights.” Even in the moonlight, Josée could see the pulsation of Edouard’s jaw. She trotted to keep up with him. Words seldom failed her except for now. Crickets clamored in the summer evening.

Edouard slowed his pace and grimaced. “I’m sorry I pulled your arm like that. I wasn’t tryin’ to hurt you. I did not think. Mon Dieu reminds me of my bad leg.”

“I do not think your pain was God’s doing. I think if you had remembered and walked more slowly—” Josée stopped and bit her lip. “Anyway, my arm is fine, no worse than a cow pulling on its rope, trying to get away. Jacques—”

“Jacques is an
idiote
. He does not listen, and it was not your fault.”

“Thank you. I did not speak to him first.” Josée squeezed his hand, but he did not return the gesture, and she blinked back tears. “Do you mean for us to walk all the way home?”

“Oui. Last I knew, I had no grosbek wings.”

Humor on the heels of his outburst spun in Josée’s head. “True.” The trees shadowed them along the road, and Josée shivered. She let go of Edouard’s hand and rubbed her gooseflesh-covered arms.

They approached Breaux’s Bridge, a recent boon to La Manque and the surrounding farms. A half-moon showed them the way to cross. One of Josée’s slippers skidded on the new planks.

Edouard took her hand. “Careful. I don’t want you to slip.” Josée wondered what had happened to his earlier tones, when they had danced. The only depth of feeling his touch held was protection. Bayou Teche drifted below them.

Once back on hard ground, Josée’s feet began to throb. She never should have accepted Jeanne’s loan of slippers a size too small. “You’ll wear them only for a few hours,” Jeanne had assured her.

Edouard stopped and looked at her slippers. “You can take those silly shoes off.” He shook his head. “Women!”

Josée straightened her shoulders after she found she could not wiggle her toes inside the slippers. “I’ll be fine.”

He fell silent the rest of the walk home. Josée never wanted to walk that far again. Between her feet and the thick silence, Josée was ready to explode. The bayou cabin waited in sight. Josée wished she had listened to Edouard and taken off the slippers, but she did not want to bend.

They moved around the side of the cabin and saw the bayou. A lump the size of an apple lodged in Josée’s throat. Her new home. A breeze tugged on the moss draped on the cypress trees, and their branches moved as if to wave her inside.

Edouard climbed the steps and flung open the door. “Er … I will rebuild the fire.”

Josée followed him. “No, I can.” At least she hoped she could. Around the LeBlanc family, most of them took turns. And most of the other females would end up helping Josée coax the smoldering embers to life.

Feeling Edouard’s gaze on her, Josée kicked off the slippers by the door and crossed the room. She fell to her knees and glanced at Edouard, who lit the lantern.

“Do you have moss?”

“There’s a box by the hearth.” Edouard sat on one of two stools at the table and took up a knife and a piece of wood.

Josée found the moss and placed it on the glowing embers. She wanted to beg the moss to catch fire but did not dare ask aloud.

“Burning a hole in the moss with your eyes won’t start the fire.”

Her face flamed. “I always had help with the fire. I thought I could do it.”

Edouard swung around and set his whittling down. “I’ll take care of it. You, you, just …”

Josée realized he did not know what to do with her. She was not a new cow or a chicken that could be fenced in or cooped up.

Her throat hurt. “Are you hungry?”

“No, no.” While she watched, Edouard soon had the moss aglow and piled some kindling on top of the flames. “I am fine.”

She stood back, feeling useless as a leaky cup. They were not the first couple wed because of a family’s wishes. No one was guaranteed love.