“Is the maid up for grabs, too?” shouted a man close to the stage.
Ruth crossed her arms and shook her head, silencing the man.
“I’m the only one seeking a husband,” Josie said.
“Well then, let’s get on with it!” another man yelled.
Josie turned to Ruth. “Where do I begin?”
Ruth looked uncertain. “I don’t know.”
“What’s all the fuss about?” A woman suddenly appeared at the ballroom doors, her deep voice sounding more like a man’s. She quickly scanned the room and locked eyes with Josie. Without another word, she pushed through the crowd and climbed onto the stage. “Are you the one responsible for this circus?”
Josie took a step back.
The woman stood with her hands on her ample hips and her dark hair puffed out at the sides. She stared at Josie. “Well?”
“I–I’ve come to answer the ad for brides.”
The lady threw her arms up. “Heaven help us. Until now, I thought I’d seen it all.” She shook her head. “When I heard someone had answered that ridiculous ad, I rushed right over here to see for myself.”
Would this lady try to stop Josie? Panic crept in at the thought. There wasn’t enough time to go somewhere else.
“It looks like you’re going to need some help, Miss …”
“LeBlanc,” Josie said. “And who are you?”
“I’m Mrs. Cordelia Foreman. My husband and I were the second settlers in this town, and we care a great deal about what happens here.” Mrs. Foreman turned to the men and they all stared at her, as if everyone knew exactly who she was … and maybe feared her, just a bit.
“First things first, gentlemen. Anyone over fifty years old—and under twenty—there’s the door. Use it. The rest of you separate yourselves into groups by age. We’ll do this thing up right, or we won’t do it at all.”
Josie could have collapsed in relief, but the sensation soon disappeared as she assessed the ragtag group of men. Was her husband among them?
Chapter 4
The savory scent of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes floated up the stairs to meet Alexandre Dugas as he descended the hotel staircase. A warm bath, haircut, and shave had done his body wonders, and soon his belly would be sated with a good meal. Tomorrow, he would go to Belle Prairie, his final destination on a yearlong pilgrimage up the Mississippi, and then his soul would be satisfied, too.
The agréable thought brought a smile to his face.
“Ah, Reverend Dugas.” Mr. Churchill spoke from behind the lobby counter. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Alexandre rubbed his smooth jaw. He almost didn’t recognize himself. It had been weeks since he’d had a good bath and clean clothes. He wanted to present himself to the directors at the Belle Prairie Mission as the clean-cut minister they were expecting.
“I’ve saved a place for you in the dining room.” Mr. Churchill pointed down the hallway. “My wife boasts the best meals in the territory.” He rubbed his protruding belly, as if to give his statement validity. “We’ll soon be adding on to the hotel, to make the dining room bigger. People are pouring into town, and we can’t keep up with the demand.”
Alexandre had only been in town for a few hours, but he could feel the excitement in the air. The founding fathers believed Little Falls would rival any city on the Mississippi.
“The lots here in town are selling for over a thousand dollars apiece.” Mr. Churchill rubbed his palms together. “If a man was smart, he’d buy one of the lots, build a store on it, and then sell it for a hefty profit to the settlers coming into town.”
Alexandre began to calculate the costs of building a store. He had some money reserved in his saving’s account. He could buy a lot, construct a building, and then sell it. With the profit, he could turn around and buy two more lots and build two more buildings. Within a year—
He brought his thoughts to a halt.
He’d left New Orleans to get away from business. After the mess Isobel had created, he had sought to give everything up and live a simple life. He’d had enough with investing—and love—to last a lifetime.
“What brings you to town?” Mr. Churchill asked.
“I will be taking over the church at the Belle Prairie Mission.” He couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. After a year of traveling, he was only four miles from his destination. “The church has grown and they are in need of a preacher.”
A group of men entered the front doors, their coarse laughter making them hard to miss. “Where can we find the gal?” one of them asked.
Mr. Churchill pointed his thumb behind him. “In the ballroom.”
The men moved toward the ballroom. “Now don’t forget,” said the tallest man in the bunch, his eyes glossed over and the stench of whiskey in his wake, “if she chooses one of us, we’ve agreed to share her.”
One of the other men slapped him on the back. “Not the first night!” They all laughed as they disappeared into the ballroom.
The crude comment made Alexandre’s skin crawl.
Mr. Churchill’s anxious eyes found Alexandre. “I’m sorry, Reverend—it’s not what it sounds like. I run a clean establishment here. If the men want something else, they take their business to the Dew’s place, near the river—” He stopped, his eyes widening. “Pardon me.”
Alexandre waved the apology away. He’d heard and seen things along the river that could make even the coarsest criminal blush.
“I’ll show you to the dining room.” Mr. Churchill started to move away from the counter.
Alexandre lifted his hand and smiled. “Don’t bother. I’ll follow my nose.”
The hotel proprietor gave an uncomfortable laugh and then wiped at the sweat on his brow.
Alexandre turned down the hallway and was immediately met by three or four dozen men leaving the ballroom.
“Out of my way,” a man with white whiskers grumbled as he walked past. “Turned down, just because I’m seventy-one years old. I still got some vigor in me.”
Alexandre moved out of the way, his curiosity mounting. What was happening in the ballroom?
He peeked in the room and found at least a hundred men standing in three separate groups. A robust woman was in the midst of them, calling out orders.
She turned, and her eyes narrowed on Alexandre. “How old are you?”
Alexandre pointed at his chest. “Me?”
The lady rolled her eyes. “Yes, you.”
Why did she care? “I’m thirty.”
“Then join that group.” She pointed to a group of men near the mirrors.
“I don’t think you understand—”
“I don’t have time to understand anyone in this room. Join the group.” She turned to the next man standing alone.
Alexandre’s curiosity was even stronger now. He joined the group the lady had indicated, if only to discover what was happening.
That’s when he looked at the stage and saw the other two ladies present. They were the young women he’d escorted to the hotel after the incident at the company store. He crossed his arms as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Who were these women, and why were they creating such a stir?
The little one with blond hair stood at the back of the stage, her eyes roaming the room like a sentinel on duty. The other one stood in the center of the stage, in a stunning rose-colored gown, which shimmered under the light of the chandeliers. Her black hair looked glossy and soft, and her beautiful brown eyes were wide in her pretty face. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her slender waist as she watched the older woman divide the men into groups.
“The rest of you might as well leave,” boasted a man with bright red hair and freckles in Alexandre’s group. He had been at the company store earlier. “The lady is all mine. Once she finds out I’m gonna be rich someday, she’ll fall at my feet.”
A man with a dimpled chin cuffed him on the head. “Don’t be an idiot, Clayton. She’s mine. I already
reserved a room here in the hotel for our wedding night—and what a night it’s gonna be!” He let out a low whistle.
Alexandre had heard enough. He planted his feet and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think the lady would appreciate the way she’s being talked about.”
At least thirty men turned to Alexandre. The one with the dimpled chin crossed his arms, his voice low. “Then she shouldn’t have answered the ad.”
“Ad?”
Clayton shook his head. “Don’t you know nothin’, mister? Some men in town were lonely last winter and put out an advertisement for brides.” Clayton’s red hair stood straight on his head. “Miss LeBlanc is the first one to answer the ad. She’s lookin’ for a husband—but to tell ya the truth, I kinda like the maid a mite better.”
Alexandre looked toward the stage. “Is Miss LeBlanc the one in pink?”
“That’s the one.”
She was here to find a husband? What kind of a woman would put herself on display like this?
But before the question fully formed, he knew the answer. A desperate one.
Chapter 5
Josie swallowed the lump of apprehension growing in her throat. There were so many men, and all of them were staring at her. Some looked lonely, while others looked ravenous.
Surely, there had to be a handful of decent men in the room.
Mrs. Foreman came to the stage and looked up at Josie. “They’re separated by age. What’s the next criteria?”
“Criteria?” Josie asked.
“Yes.” Mrs. Foreman crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “What’s the most important thing you would value in your spouse?”
Josie looked over the sea of men and her eyes locked on a towering man in the group of thirty-year-olds. His kind eyes looked familiar.
She pulled her attention back to Mrs. Foreman. “The most important thing is faith. I couldn’t marry a man who didn’t share my belief in Jesus.”
Mrs. Foreman’s face softened, and she nodded her head. “Good girl.” Then she turned to the group. “You hear that, boys? If you’re not a Bible-believing man, there’s the door.”
A handful of men mumbled under their breath, and then at least two dozen exited the ballroom.
“Now, Miss LeBlanc,” said Mrs. Foreman. “What’s next? There are about seventy men left.”
Josie thought through her girlish hopes and dreams. She’d imagined her future husband a hundred times, but she had thought she’d get to know him on her parlor couch, or at a church picnic, or some other conventional way. How could she tell a group of men that she valued honesty and courage? Or that she’d always hoped to find a Frenchman, just like her papa?
Her eyes went back to the gentleman in the thirty-year-old group, and suddenly she remembered who he was. He was the Frenchman who had escorted her and Ruth earlier—only now he had a clean-shaven face and fresh clothing. He stood tall above the others, with broad shoulders and powerful arms. She had thought of him all afternoon, wishing she knew his name.
He stared back at her, his expression so different than the rest.
“Miss LeBlanc?” Mrs. Foreman lifted a brow.
“I—” She opened her mouth to speak, but the Frenchman broke away from his group and strode to the stage, confidence and compassion mingling in his dark eyes.
“Mademoiselle.” He bowed. “My name is Alexandre Dugas.”
Alexandre.
Josie felt awkward standing on the stage above him. She walked to the steps and descended to the dance floor, the whole room watching her every move.
She extended her hand to Mr. Dugas. “It’s so nice to see you again. I’m Josette LeBlanc.”
His brown eyes lit with recognition. “Ah, française?”
“Oui.”
“Are you from France?”
Josie shook her head. “No. St. Louis. My father came from France. And you?”
“New Orleans, but my parents also immigrated from France.”
Josie felt warmth curl through her belly, and it gave her courage to continue. “Mr. Dugas, I have a sitting room available to interview …” She paused, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “Prospective husbands. Would you like to join me? My maid will act as chaperone.”
His earlier familiarity disappeared, and a look of reservation filled his handsome face.
Had she said something wrong?
“Miss LeBlanc, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding—”
“What are you waiting for?” Mrs. Foreman asked. “There’s a whole ballroom of men waiting to talk to this lady.”
Ruth left the stage and joined Josie. “This way.” She pointed toward a side door.
“But—” Mr. Dugas looked a bit panicked. “I didn’t come here to get married.”
Mrs. Foreman acted as if she didn’t hear him. “You have five minutes.”
“Five minutes?” Josie’s eyes grew wide. “How will I know in five minutes?”
“Do you see how many men are waiting?” Mrs. Foreman swept her hand in an arc. “If you take any longer, you’ll be here until next week.”
“I don’t have that much time. I need to get married as soon as possible.”
Mrs. Foreman indicated the door. “Then get a move on.”
Josie wished she had thought to bring a paper and pen with her to keep notes during her interviews. If she was going to interview seventy men, surely she’d need to keep notes.
Mr. Dugas followed her and Ruth out of the ballroom and into the cozy sitting room. A floral brocade sofa sat against the outside wall, where a window looked out onto the darkening street. Two chairs faced the sofa, and a colorful rug sat on the pine plank floor under their feet.
“Won’t you have a seat, Mr. Dugas?” Josie took a seat next to Ruth on the sofa, wishing she had a glass of water, or punch—anything to ease the dryness in her throat.
Mr. Dugas stood by the door. “There really has been a mistake. I didn’t come to find a wife.”
“Then why are you here?” she asked.
“I just stopped here for the night to make myself presentable. My real destination is the mission church at Belle Prairie, about four miles north of here.”
The mission? Josie sat up straighter. “An Indian Mission?”
He nodded, his face lighting up with excitement. “About a year ago, a missionary came to New Orleans from the Indian Mission at Belle Prairie, looking for a preacher to take over the church this summer. It took me all year to work my way up the Mississippi, finding odd jobs and learning to live as simply as I could. It was a pilgrimage I needed to make after leaving my old life in New Orleans. Tomorrow I’ll arrive at my final destination.”
“So you’re going to work with the Chippewa?” Josie’s arms tingled as she waited for his answer.
“Yes, though I’ve heard the congregation now includes many settlers as well. I’m very eager to work with all of them.”
Josie glanced at Ruth. Here stood a man she would be honored to marry. He was handsome, but more than that, he loved the Lord, was French, and wasn’t prejudiced against the Chippewa.
How could she convince him to marry her?
Chapter 6
Alexandre loved the smile that bloomed on Miss LeBlanc’s face when he spoke of his mission work. He often received mixed responses when he told people he was going to work with the Indians.
“Are you familiar with the Chippewa, Miss LeBlanc?” he asked.
She nodded, and her glossy black hair caught the light from the wall lantern and shone. Her dark brown eyes were even more beautiful close up, but especially now, when they glowed with warmth, and they drew him in.
“I’m very familiar with the Chippewa.” She paused for a moment and then continued a bit hesitantly. “My father was a fur trader in northern Minnesota Territory when I was young. He spoke of the Chippewa at length.”
She paused again, so he took a chair, hoping she would share more. He was eager to learn all he could about the people he would serve. “Continuer.”
&
nbsp; “Papa would have stayed in Minnesota Territory, if my mother hadn’t died.”
“Was your mother French?”
She shook her head, and sadness permeated her dark eyes. “My mother was Chippewa. She was killed during a raid by the Dakota. I was only four years old.”
Alexandre couldn’t imagine losing his mother. She had been so much a part of his childhood and had shaped him in ways no other person had. “I’m so sorry. Have you been back to see your mother’s people?”
“No, but I’ve helped to raise funds for the missions here in Minnesota Territory. It’s the very least I could do.”
“But doesn’t Jesus say ‘inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me’? Your work, no matter how small, is valuable to God.”
Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink.
“Your time is almost up,” the maid said quietly.
Miss LeBlanc’s eyes lifted to Alexandre’s. “Do you not want a wife, Mr. Dugas?”
The simple question brought a deep and insatiable longing to his soul. Twelve years ago, he had left his parents’ farm and gone to seminary school. When he arrived in New Orleans to preach, he had been sidetracked by Isobel and lured into her father’s business instead. Last year, when Isobel had broken their engagement, he had finally answered God’s call and made his way up the river. He couldn’t allow another beautiful woman to cause him to stray once again—but maybe Miss LeBlanc was different. She was a believer and had a heart for the Chippewa—so unlike Isobel. He was going to Belle Prairie as an independent minister and wasn’t required to be married—but it was desirable for him to have a wife.
Could he and Miss LeBlanc help each other?
The unexpected thought sent energy pulsing through his veins. “May I ask why you are here looking for a husband, Miss LeBlanc?”
Her eyes went to the clock on a parlor table, and she spoke rapidly. “I just discovered that when my half brother turns twenty-one in two weeks, he will become the sole inheritor of my father’s estate and business.” She swallowed. “But, if I am married, my father’s will stipulates that my husband and I will retain half of everything.” She paused, and her voice became grave. “If I’m not married, I’m at my brother’s mercy, and I will be turned out on the street.”
The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity Page 34