“And who lives there?” She pointed to the clapboard house on her right.
Pierre leaned forward and looked to where she was pointing. His eyes clouded and he frowned, turning back to the road ahead. “That’s where Harriet and her daughter live.”
Apparently, she wasn’t going to get any more details as his lips formed a thin line and he flicked the reins at the horses, moving them along faster. She looked back at the house as it grew smaller in the distance, her mind turning at the possibilities.
As they moved along, Pierre described what seemed to Josephine to be an entire village. He pointed out a blacksmith, a laundry, a leatherworker--all of whom smiled and waved at Pierre as he passed by. Without exception, he smiled and waved in return, and Josephine’s heart warmed. People seemed very happy here at The Willows.
As they passed through and the road turned to weave through the fields, Josephine sat in contented silence as Pierre spoke to workers in the fields and stopped frequently to jump out and look at the leaves of some of the plants.
She watched as he carefully lifted leaves, moved small branches over and looked under plants. He’d shield his eyes from the sun--which was dimming behind darker clouds--and look down the long rows, walk to another one and look again and then nod, turning back to the buggy.
“You’re definitely very involved here, aren’t you?” she asked as he climbed back in the buggy after one of his surveys.
He looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry. You must be bored.”
“Oh, no, not at all. It’s been fascinating, actually, and I love when you tell me about the plants. I feel like I’m getting a real education.”
He grinned and flicked the reins, the buggy moving forward again. He pushed his hat back on his head and looked up at the sky, just as his stomach rumbled.
He patted his stomach and said, “With those dark clouds gathering, that could have been thunder.”
Josephine looked out from the cover of the buggy up at the sky. The black clouds had turned even darker as they’d been when they’d set out on their tour, and she held her hand out, a fat raindrop plopping on her hand.
She pulled her coat more tightly around her, wishing she had brought a scarf, as the air had suddenly turned even chillier. “Does it rain frequently at this time of year?”
Pierre shook his head. “It’s pretty unpredictable here. It can rain at any time, but I didn’t think it would today. I’m sorry.”
She laughed and said, “Where I came from, this would be snow, and I would have to walk in it to and from work. And try not to slip when it turned to ice. So this is nothing.”
“That sounds awful,” Pierre said, tucking the blanket closer around Josephine.
Her heart hitched as he did. She’d not had anyone to look after her for many years. Her mother had died shortly after her father, and as she was of age, she had to look for a job right away. She felt fortunate that she’d had such good roommates and her cousin, Michelle, but this felt entirely different.
Pierre slowed the horses and handed the reins to Josephine. “Here, hold these for a second. Just keep them taut, just like this.”
Her eyes grew wise and she gingerly took the reins. She’d never driven a buggy before and silently prayed that they wouldn’t do anything--unexpected.
Pierre hopped out of the buggy and ran to the back. Thunder cracked as he lifted his last foot and sat down beside her, setting the basket at their feet.
Josephine jumped at the thunder, and the reins bounced, the horses starting up again. She gasped and looked at Pierre.
He laughed and took the reins from her. “Nicely done, Josephine,” he said, patting her arm gently.
She looked down at his hand and up into his eyes. He blinked, looked down at his hand and pulled it away, just as the heavens opened and rain pelted down, clacking on the roof of the buggy.
So much for a picnic,” she said. “And you’re hungry.”
“I definitely am. There’s a vacant foreman’s cottage up ahead. We can stop there and wait it out.”
She turned up the collar of her coat and jumped again as lightning crashed, so close that she could feel the heat of it. Her old fear of thunder returned, and her father had always teased her about it, sending her to her mother for comfort.
Her mother was gone, so Josephine reached for the basket and moved it to her right as she scooted over closer to Pierre. She reached her arm through his and hung on, her eyes scrunched closed as he hurried toward shelter.
Chapter Sixteen
Pierre tried to make it to the cottage as quickly as he could, as Josephine’s fingernails were digging into his arm, deeper with every clap of thunder. He smiled down at her, her face buried on his shoulder and her hair tickling his nose. He breathed deeply, and the scent of rose water washed over him and combined with the falling rain, he actually thought it was quite nice--all of it.
He pulled up in front of the cottage, glad he’d worn his boots and had asked Josephine to, as well. He pried her fingers from his arm and his heart pinched as she shivered at the next clap of thunder.
“I’ll be right back, Josephine,” he said as he set her hands on the handle of the basket. “I’ll just be a second.”
He looked back at her pleading eyes as he hopped out and walked the horses and the buggy under a lean-to on the side of the cottage--one they’d built for just this kind of thing. The horses and buggy under cover, he hastily tied them to the post and ran around for Josephine, swooping her up in his arms as she stood. He turned and took just a few long strides and they were under the roof of the porch.
He felt her shivering as he opened the door of the cottage, pushing it open wider with his foot. He quickly looked around, releasing his breath when he spotted the pile of firewood in the corner.
“You’ll be all right here, just for a moment. Let me start a fire.” He removed his coat, draped it over her thin wrap and reached for some of the kindling set by the front door. The cottage should be well stocked, he thought, as sometimes workers needed to stay rather than take the time to travel all the way back to the main house.
“The...the basket.”
Pierre looked up from the wood stove, intent on getting it lit and adding a little warmth in the room. It wasn’t terribly cold yet this time of year, but it could be. Storms here were unpredictable. Besides, this young lady was shivering enough from the thunder, and the fire certainly couldn’t hurt.
“Are you saying that you’re incredibly eager to find out what French delicacies Bernadette has in store for us?” He smiled, and her meek one in return tugged at his heart. He remembered being frightened by storms as a small boy, but when his mother passed away, he no longer had the luxury of being comforted by her--so he toughened up.
“You were hungry. Your stomach growled,” she said as she took a deep breath and moved closer to the start of the fire. She held her hands closer to it and turned toward him. “Thank you, Pierre. I...it’s something that’s frightened me since I was a child. I always hope I’m over it.”
He pulled his coat more snugly around her shoulders. “It would appear not,” he said, smiling at her.
By the time he’d returned with the basket, Josephine had removed her bonnet, found a cloth and dusted off the small table and chairs. He set the basket on the floor and pulled the table closer to the wood stove, put another log in and rummaged in a cupboard until he found a small saucepan.
“Do you plan to be cooking here?” Josephine asked, shrugging off Pierre’s coat and hanging it on the back of a chair.
Pierre reached up and found two mugs in the cupboard. He reached for the cloth Josephine had laid on the counter and rubbed the dust out of them also.
“No, not cooking, really. But I asked Bernadette to add milk so I could introduce you to one of France’s main traditions.”
Josephine’s eyebrows rose as she pulled the chair with Pierre’s very wet coat closer to the fire. “I do hope that these things are going to be...well, at
least edible.”
“Bernadette and I made an agreement. If you don’t like something, you don’t have to eat more than a bite. But you should at least be familiar, just in case these things come up at a time you should know about them--or would know about them if you were truly French.” Pierre shot a sideways glance at Josephine as he took the cloth off the top of the basket and spread it out on the table.
He groaned as he peered inside. He and Jerome had thought that it would be a good idea for Josephine to become familiar with some uniquely French delicacies, but he hadn’t thought Bernadette sadistic enough to add some of the things he now rummaged through.
As he moved aside the langue de boeuf and the pate de foie gras, he let out a sigh of relief as he spotted two unusual sandwiches, a specialty of New Orleans but one he thought might be a little more palatable to someone from back East who’d never tasted cow’s tongue or goose liver pate before.
He pulled out the small bottle of milk and turned to Josephine. “Is the fire hot enough to warm some milk?”
As Josephine took off her wrap and placed it on the chair to warm beside Pierre’s coat, she said, “I believe so. It’s a lovely fire. Warm milk? I don’t believe I’ve seen that except in baby bottles. I’ve certainly never tasted it.”
Pierre looked up in surprise as he placed the various dishes on the table. “Never? It’s something I don’t think we could live without. We have it every morning for breakfast in our coffee.”
He shook his head and sighed as he took out a small plate of tripe, glancing at Josephine and wondering just how hardy she was. “Josephine, cafe au lait is one of the simpler things we enjoy. Are you particular about food? I’m afraid some of this might be fairly unusual, compared to what you’ve had in the past.”
Josephine smiled and smoothed her skirt. “I’ve never been a fussy eater. My mother made French food for my father when I was younger. I love chocolate croissants,” she said, her eyes lighting up.
Pierre eyed her warily, trying to decide whether to explain to her what each of the items was before she ate it, or see if she liked it first. He thought back to when he had introduced Harriet and her little daughter Rebecca to French food when they’d first moved into the small cottage on the plantation. They’d loved it immediately, so he shrugged his shoulders and hoped for the best.
Harriet and Rebecca. He sighed at the thought of the two of them, wondering if he would ever know who Rebecca’s father was. Harriet had refused to speak of it, and he had taken pity on her when he’d come upon her, very pregnant but still working in the fields. There was something about her that he couldn’t turn a blind eye to, and it had taken everything he had to convince his father that they couldn’t abandon her and her unborn child, and he’d eventually--reluctantly--agreed to allow Pierre to house them on the plantation. Now, Harriet had found her place and was loved by all, as was the darling young girl, Rebecca.
With that thought in mind, he pulled out a chair for Josephine, who smiled eagerly as he scooted her in. He sat down beside her, hoping that she’d have the same response as Harriet and Rebecca had, and that he wouldn’t have to carry her back out to the buggy as she’d become ill.
“I’m very much looking forward to learning about this.” She hung her head for a moment before looking back up at Pierre, her shoulders squared. “I know I can do this and I don’t want to let you down.” Josephine rubbed her hands together. “Just as long as there are no really strange things like snails, I’ll be fine.”
Pierre sighed, patted her arm and squinted as he looked at her. She really was beautiful, and her smile infectious. His heart tugged at her enthusiasm, and he tried to smile. If she could get through this, she may be able to get through just about anything.
Chapter Seventeen
Josephine 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 w
as 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.
Josephine: Bride of Louisiana (American Mail-Order Bride 18) Page 7