Josephine: Bride of Louisiana (American Mail-Order Bride 18) (8 page)

J
osephine held
her hand over her belly as it roiled, not helped much by the swaying of the buggy. Cow’s tongue? Goose liver? The thought of it sent her back into the moment, how she’d felt.

Pierre had been kind to give her small portions, and she’d thought them delicious. Well, almost all of them. She hadn’t cared for sandwiches that Pierre had described as ‘normal’. Normal to her was braised brisket and potatoes. They’d rarely had vegetables, and if they had, it was mostly cabbage, carrots and onions besides the potatoes.

She had to admit, the cafe au lait was delicious. Coffee with just a hint of warmed milk. She could get used to that every day but the rest? She thought that if she stayed, she might starve. She shivered at the thought of having eaten calf brains and thought she might never eat again no matter what.

Josephine looked up at Pierre who was peering down at her, a smile hidden beneath his hand. She narrowed her eyes at him and tapped him lightly on the elbow. She’d been surprised that he’d had sort of an equal mix of a sense of humor and kindness toward her, but could be aloof as well and completely absorbed in his business, as he had been on the ride out around the plantation.

And although she knew he’d brought the basket to help her--help both of them, actually--his sympathy for her had been plain on his face as she’d paled and thought she might become ill when he’d actually told her what they’d eaten.

“I suppose that
was
fairly amusing,” she said. Her stomach had started to settle and she thought back on grabbing her cafe au lait when he’d told her she’d just eaten cow stomach--tripe, he’d called it--and burned her mouth on top of everything else from the hot coffee. Between the mess she’d made last night and her reaction to these--delicacies--she actually had to laugh. Honestly, what had she been thinking? Even Michelle would be laughing by this time.

Pierre’s grin spread to full-blown laughter as well, so much so that he’d stopped the buggy for a moment while they caught their breath.

Josephine pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes as Pierre held his stomach, his breath returning.

“It was very funny, Josephine. I wish I could describe the look on your face...”

“Oh, goodness. That’s not something that I would like to see. And I suppose that it’s better that my first reaction was in a little cabin with just the two of us, and not in front of your father and lots of other French people happily enjoying their dinner of calf brains.”

She caught her breath and looked toward Pierre. She tilted her head as she regarded him--his wide smile, his hearty laughter, his twinkling eyes. His broad shoulders hadn’t escaped her notice, but she’d done her best to remember that this was all for a purpose. All for his inheritance and she’d best not get any ideas of anything else.

Still, she’d loved the way his laughter rang through the buggy--even if it was slightly at her expense--and she wished she could hear more of it. She shook her head and sighed. Heck, if they tried to teach her anything else, there would surely be more opportunity to laugh.

“And I have to thank you for trying so hard to help me. I imagine it feels like a lot to go through,” Pierre said.

He turned to her, his brows furrowed as he reached for her hand. She looked up at him, her hand warming more quickly at his touch.

“Josephine, please know that I am not mocking you in any way. I am so grateful to you for your assistance, and I really wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”

Her heart thudded in her chest at his kind words, his warm touch, but she knew it wasn’t true. “Pierre, you could have asked any number of ladies to do this. Why me? Why didn’t you court someone here in town?”

His eyes hardened a bit and he pulled his hand away. He flicked the reins and the buggy started again along the long, muddy plantation road. They’d been riding for a bit and Josephine noticed the plantation house in the distance, seeming larger as they grew closer.

She waited patiently for him to speak, her hands folded in her lap. She hadn’t known him long, and events since they’d met had happened so fast that she really didn’t know him that well at all, she realized. She did know that he was kind--she’d seen that when he’d swung the young girl around--and she knew he was a very hard worker. Bernadette had told her so when they were cooking--that he only had eyes for the plantation and had been focused on it alone since his mother died, learning everything he could to one day take over.

Josephine lowered her head as Pierre’s eyes clouded and he stared at the plantation house as they neared.

“I may as well tell you the truth, Josephine.”

She held her breath at his words. Did she not already know the truth? What could possibly be worse than she’d already experienced--or at least more embarrassing?

“My mother died when I was very young,” he began. “She and I were very close. I loved her very much and it felt as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest when we lost her.”

She looked over at Pierre, pain etched in his face. She, too, had lost her parents but she’d been much older, and had frequently said a prayer of thanks for having known them as long as she had.

“Oh, Pierre, Bernadette did share that with me. I am so sorry for your loss.”

He turned quickly to her, his eyes meeting hers. She felt his pain through his gaze and her heart lurched.

“Of course she would have told you. She was very close to my mother as well.” He shook his head and turned his eyes back to the path. “My father was devastated, also. Although I was quite young, I spent most of my time from that point forward, when I wasn’t in school, following him everywhere, learning about the plantation.”

“I can see that you love the plantation very much, and it appears that it’s doing very well.”

He frowned and flicked the reins. “That’s the problem.” He turned to Josephine, her stomach tightening. He wasn’t answering her question about not courting any of the ladies in town, and she worried that whatever she was going to learn would be worse than anything she knew so far.

Pierre waved his hand out toward the acres and acres of farm land. “This plantation has been profitable for many, many years. I’ve learned everything my father could possibly teach me. I’ve done everything as he has. Nothing has changed.”

“But something
has
changed,” she said, watching his eyes turn dark, confusion as well as concern in them.

He hung his head and then looked up at her. “I am ashamed to say that I don’t know. I have done nothing differently. In fact, for the past few months, Jerome has been here to help me. We should be doing even better with two of us.”

The pain in his voice tugged at her heart. She looked out at the workers in the fields, the finely kept plantation house and the friendly people in the village, and couldn’t even imagine what it must feel like to have things change.

She pulled her wrap around her. “Is it bad, Pierre? Things are not going well?”

He stopped the buggy and turned to her. “You may as well know the truth. I certainly don’t want to put any more pressure on you, Josephine, but if I can’t claim my inheritance, there is a risk that we may lose the plantation. Father has turned it over to me and enjoys his new life in France. I can’t bear to tell him what’s happened.”

Josephine let out her breath and patted her chest with her hand. She’d wondered if he would ever tell her what she’d overheard earlier. She didn’t think she could handle anything more at this point. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm.

He looked up at the large white house in front of them. He looked out toward the smaller plantation cottages and the people busily working, all for the sake of the plantation. His eyes rested on the small cottage that housed the young woman she’d seen him with and her daughter.

“If we can’t keep the plantation, there will be other casualties besides myself,” he said as he turned and looked back up at the big house. “This is all I have ever known, but it is the same for many here. Not just me.”

She followed his gaze toward the house and her heart tugged at his kindness toward the people who worked the plantation.

While he still hadn’t answered her question about courting, she could clearly see what the plantation meant to him, and she vowed once more to help in any way she could.

J
osephine shivered
as she took off her clothes and stepped her foot into the warm water that Bernadette had insisted be brought up after Pierre had explained they’d been caught in a storm.

She sighed as she sunk all the way in to her neck. She’d been cold on the way back but there was nothing to be done about it. Pierre had pulled his coat tight around her on the return, even though she’d insisted he take it.

Thoughts of his kindness warmed her along with the water, and her heart tugged once more as she remembered how he’d looked lovingly at the plantation and his pained expression as he talked about his mother. She shook her head and sat up, water dripping off her warmed skin as she reached for the towel Bernadette had set nearby.

Her stomach fluttered--actually, it hadn’t stopped fluttering since Pierre had asked her if she’d dine with him this evening. She couldn’t seem to forget about all of her mistakes the previous night, and he eventually did confess that he’d like the opportunity to show her what all of those forks, spoons and dishes were for. She cringed at the memory of how she’d been such a novice and hoped that he would be as kind to her with this learning as he had been with the picnic.

She stopped in front of the mirror as she passed by. He hadn’t answered her question about courting, and she blinked hard, trying to see herself as one of the elegant, French ladies that she’d seen in town--the ones who’d stolen sideways glances at her and Bernadette as they’d shopped for clothes. They were so elegant...long, velvet dresses, beautiful gloves and fans--always fans.

A conversation with her mother tugged at her memory and she crossed to the wardrobe. She stood on tiptoes and reached up for her dingy, green bag. She’d transferred the things that she needed into the wardrobe when she’d first arrived, stowing away several other items she thought were useless, but that her parents had given her.

She sat on the bed and opened the bag, reaching inside. Her fingers closed around the item she’d been looking for and she grinned as she pulled it out.

Her mother’s fan. Well, her fan, now. She opened the clasp and flipped it open as her mother had taught her to. She’d always loved the beautiful colors--the red flowers, the bronze, shiny outline, the poem.

She stood and held it in front of her, looking at it in the mirror. Her mother had told her that there was some sort of fan language, a way to communicate with things you did with fans, but she’d never understood it. Either way, she loved the bright colors, and if she was trying to appear as an elegant French lady, she may as well do as they did--and bring the fan.

Opening her wardrobe, she held the fan up to the dresses she’d brought home yesterday and ran it alongside them, searching for a perfect match.

“That’s it,” she said as she rested the fan next to the beautiful, caramel-colored dress, its velvet incredibly soft to her touch. The white lace lining the sleeves and covering her décolleté was dainty, quite lovely, and she pulled it out and placed it on the bed.

If she was going to make this work, she may as well try her best. She slipped on her knickers and reached for her corset, wondering how she could tighten it as much as she wanted to on her own.

As if in answer to her prayers, Bernadette knocked softly on the door before asking, “Josephine, I thought maybe you could use some assistance.”

She ran to the door, forgetting entirely that she was undressed. She threw the door open and pulled Bernadette in. She let out a sigh and said, “I was just wondering how I could do this on my own. I’ve never had a corset like this before.” She fumbled with the strings that laced down the back of the garment and couldn’t imagine how this was supposed to be worn.

“Ah, my dear, I assumed that might be the case. Here, let me show you.” She pulled Josephine over to the four-poster bed. “Hold onto this,” she said as she wrapped Josephine’s hands on the tall, mahogany post.

Josephine gasped as the corset closed tighter as Bernadette pulled. “I...how did you...” She tried to ask a question, but lost her breath every time the laces cinched tighter with each pull.

Bernadette laughed and gave another tight tug, tying the remaining laces in a small bow. “Hard to breathe?”

“Yes,” she said, almost unable to speak.

Bernadette walked over to the vanity and picked up a brush, patting the seat for Josephine to sit.

“I used to do this for Pierre’s mother. She always said the same thing, but I have to say, she may have used some different words at times.”

Josephine’s hand flew to her mouth, hiding her smile. “Oh, I can’t imagine any of the French society ladies would do such a thing.”

Bernadette removed the pins from Josephine’s hair and began to brush, long even strokes down her honey-colored locks.

“You’d be surprised, Mademoiselle,” Bernadette said, catching Josephine’s eye in the mirror as her eyes sparkled. “You know, you remind me a lot of her.”

Josephine stomach clenched. “I don’t use colorful language. Should I?” She still didn’t know much about Mrs. Bernard, and the curiosity was growing by the moment.

Bernadette twisted Josephine’s hair for her and wrapped it at the nape of her neck, leaving a few tendrils loose as she pulled them forward to frame her face. “No, my dear. That’s not what I was referring to,” she said as she fastened a tortoise-shell comb into the back of her chignon. “Do you like to dance?”

Josephine sighed as heat crept into her cheeks. Her mother had been a wonderful dancer, and she’d spent many evenings watching her parents dance around the parlor. Her father had tried to teach her, but she hadn’t done well at it. He’d stopped after she’d stepped on his feet a number of times, and she’d always been ashamed that she couldn’t share that with him.

“No, I’ve tried, but I’m afraid I’m a little clumsy at it.”

“Oh, goodness. Then Pierre will have his hands full this evening,” she said, laughing as she reached for the dress laid out on the bed.

Josephine swallowed as a lump formed in her throat. Surely, after all of the food, silverware and clothes she was to learn about, dancing could not be added. It was impossible--she’d tried.

“What do you mean? Please tell me that’s not something I need to learn. I can’t,” Josephine said as she watched Bernadette pick up and brush smooth the skirts of the dress she’d chosen.

Bernadette sighed as she gazed at the dress. “This is a perfect choice. It’s lovely,” she said, crossing over to Josephine. “Yes, Vivienne loved to dance, and she taught Pierre. They enjoyed spinning around the room after supper most nights, and his father joined them regularly. Something they did as a family.”

Her stomach dropped at the thought of adding the shame of stepping on Pierre’s feet to dropping her spoon and almost fainting when she’d learned what she’d eaten.

She caught Bernadette’s eye in the mirror, her eyes pleading. “Bernadette, I can’t. I’ve tried. I’ll do anything else but that.”

Bernadette rested her hand on Josephine’s shoulder. “My dear, are you feeling all right? You feel warm to me,” she said as she moved her hand to Josephine’s forehead. Her touch felt cool, but aside from shivering a bit in the bathtub--which was to be expected--she felt fine.

“Aside from being terrified about dancing, I believe I’m all right.”

Bernadette pulled Josephine up and took the dress off its hanger. “There is nothing to be terrified about, my dear. I’m sure Pierre will be a good teacher.” She unbuttoned the back of the dress and held it out for Josephine. “He is your future husband, after all.”

Josephine winced at the words. Her future
pretend
husband, she wanted to say, but she bit her tongue, stopping the words before they sprang out. She smiled at Bernadette as she reached her arms into the soft, warm velvet dress and turned for Bernadette to hook the buttons.

“There’s no telling that I’ll be able to do this well enough that we ever will get married,” she said, her heart tugging as she looked around the room and ran her hands down the smooth velvet of her bodice. No, she still had more to learn, more to prove. And if she stepped on Pierre’s feet too many times, she might lose this all in the blink of an eye. And he’d lose the one thing he truly loved. The plantation.