Josephine_Bride of Louisiana

by Cindy Caldwell

  Her heart tugged at the thought of this happy family torn apart. She looked up at him and the sorrow radiating from him was more than she could bear. She needed to say something--anything--to lighten the mood. All she could think of to say was, “Pierre, what happened to her? Your mother?”

  Her heart leapt to her throat as he stiffened. Couldn’t she have asked about something else? Anything else? But she’d been fascinated by this portrait and now that she knew who it was, her curiosity got the best of her.

  “You do know that she passed away when I was ten. Of influenza. There was quite an outbreak that year and although we did all we could to save her, she was a casualty of the epidemic. Many on the plantation were lost.”

  “Oh, goodness,” she said, her hand to her mouth. “My parents passed away--of influenza, also.”

  He turned to her and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, her heart racing at his touch.

  “I am sorry for your loss, lovely Josephine. It was a long time ago, no? But the pain remains. It is difficult to open your heart again after a loss like that.”

  Josephine’s heart ached--for Pierre and his family, but also for her own. Her mother had never recovered after her father died, and she had followed him into heaven shortly after. She’d been fortunate that her aunt had taken her in--Michelle’s mother--or she would not have had a home.

  “Yes, it is difficult to open your heart once it’s been torn apart. But I can hope that the challenge would be worth it--to find love, to accept it and no longer be alone in the world.”

  Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. The future she’d dreamed of and hoped for was not to be hers. She knew that now, and the thought of losing something--Pierre--that she’d never even had ripped her apart. She turned toward the portrait and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.

  She willed her mind back to the present, determined to make the task before her a success to help this complex, endearing and passionate man. She knew she could not have him--not the way she wanted, his heart and soul hers and hers alone. But she would do what she could to make him happy. She couldn’t bear the thought of him losing everything that he held dear--his mother and the plantation.

  Forcing a smile, she turned back to Pierre and placed her arm through his again and said, “I think it’s time, don’t you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Father should be here shortly,” Pierre said.

  She turned and met his broad smile with a curtsy.

  Relief flooded Josephine as she preceded Pierre into the parlor after dinner. She’d come out of the event unscathed, no spoons on the floor and no hair in her soup. She’d even used the right silverware for each course--at least she thought so.

  “Dinner was wonderful, but the company was even better,” Mr. Bernard said as he entered the room, reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. His bright, blue eyes--much like Pierre’s--twinkled as he bowed slightly.

  He turned to Pierre and extended his hand. “I am so pleased for you and Josephine, son. She is a charming young lady, and I am honored that she will be joining our family.”

  Pierre winked at Josephine as he reached for his father’s hand, shaking it heartily.

  Mr. Bernard took a step back and stifled a yawn with his hand then rubbed his eyes.

  “You look tired, Father. Is there anything we can do for you?”

  His father smiled and patted his stomach. “I do apologize, but between that wonderful meal and my long journey, I believe I must bid you good evening.”

  “We certainly understand, Sir. It was very nice to meet you,” Josephine said as Mr. Bernard turned toward the door.

  He turned back and nodded once more toward Josephine. “A sincere pleasure, my dear. And I will sleep all the better knowing that all is well at The Willows and tomorrow we will be planning a wedding.”

  Josephine watched as Mr. Bernard climbed the stairs and when he’d reached the top she turned back into the room to see Pierre take two long strides toward her.

  She gasped as he wrapped his arms around her waist and spun her around, his smile so infectious that she couldn’t help but laugh, too.

  “Magnifique,” he whispered in her ear and her heart swelled that she’d made him so happy.

  He set her down and lifted her chin, his eyes not leaving hers. Her cheeks colored and she lowered her lashes, wishing that she might someday feel the warmth of his lips and knowing that she’d feel the same buzz she did when their hands touched.

  His eyes searched her face as he ran his finger down her jaw, lifting her chin. “Lovely Josephine. How can I ever thank you for what you’ve done?”

  She closed her eyes, her heart aching at the thought that all she wanted was to become his. When she felt the warm press of his lips on hers, she couldn’t help but respond, wishing he’d wrap his arms around her.

  Her heart sunk as he pulled away from her, his eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, Josephine. I don’t know what to say...”

  Josephine held her finger to his lips and said softly, “Pierre, you’ve made it very clear that you cannot--will not--have a real relationship. Thank you for your honesty, and for trusting me.”

  He hung his head, rubbing his eyes. He looked up, sorrow in his eyes, as he said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, Josephine. It’s not fair to you.”

  Horrified, she gathered her skirts and ran out of the room and up the stairs. She stopped to catch her breath at the top of the stairs, closing her eyes as she heard Pierre calling her back.

  She ran to her room, shutting the door behind her. Her heart raced as she leaned against it. How could he have done that--given her a taste of something he knew she could never have?

  As her heart rate slowed, she realized what an error she’d made--flying too close to a dangerous flame--and leaving when they had things to talk about. Maybe they could find a way to get to know each other better. He wouldn’t have kissed her if he didn’t want that, would he have?

  She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, and tomorrow was a big day--wedding planning. She shook her head and smiled at the thought.

  And if Pierre was truly to be her husband--real or not--they’d need to be in this together. As embarrassed as she was that she’d run out, she needed to go back downstairs and apologize, make it right so that things between them wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

  As she turned and opened the door, she touched her lips and smiled. At least she’d gotten one kiss.

  Her eyes grew wide as she stepped out into the corridor and right into the chest of Jerome. He hadn’t been at dinner and she had been glad of it--the smaller the audience, the better. Her nerves had been on edge as it was.

  “Oh, Jerome,” she said as she stepped out, wanting to catch Pierre. She stopped short as he held up his arm against the doorjamb. She took a step back and looked up into his eyes, crinkling her nose at the smell of alcohol wafting from his direction.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and asked, “What do you want?”

  He took her elbow and turned her back into her room, closing the door behind him.

  Her stomach tightened as she backed up toward the window. He shouldn’t be in here with her--she knew that--but what was she to do?

  “Josephine, lovely Josephine,” he said, his lips curled up in a leer.

  She clutched at her collar, her heart thudding against her ribs. What could he possibly want with her? She’d done everything he wanted her to, and now success seemed certain.

  He paced slowly in front of the door, his hands behind his back. Rubbing his eyes, he stopped and folded his arms over his chest. Leaning against the door, he said, “There is something I need you to understand.”

  Josephine wished Pierre would come and take Jerome out of her room. She didn’t want to understand anything at all that Jerome had to say, but she sat down at her vanity as he was between her and the door.

  “I’ve heard about your success this evening. I am utterly and completely surpris
ed.”

  Josephine held her chin up, proud of her efforts. “Why would you be surprised? You’ve all helped me, and I worked very hard.”

  “Ah, there’s the problem, dear Josephine. Yes, we helped you, but you weren’t supposed to be so good at it. That was not my expectation. So I am surprised--and disappointed.”

  Josephine frowned and stood. “I don’t understand. What do you mean? You were instrumental in bringing me here.”

  “Yes, you’re right. But you see, you were to fail. I never thought a seamstress from New England could convince my uncle that she had any breeding or grace at all.”

  “I thought he needed a bride to gain his inheritance. That’s what he told me.”

  “That’s true, my dear, and he does need that. But what I need is entirely different.”

  Josephine shook her head, her hands folded in her lap, confusion washing over her. She looked up at him and folded her hands in her lap, wishing again that Pierre would come and straighten all of this out.

  “Now you must listen to me and do as I say. I will have a carriage waiting for you tomorrow at dawn. You will be in it and it will take you back to wherever it was you came from.”

  Josephine stood, her hand to her chest. “I will do no such thing. Pierre and I are planning our wedding tomorrow.”

  Jerome crossed over to her in two long strides. She cringed as he touched her chin. “Poor, dear Josephine. You do hope that Pierre could love you, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

  She dropped her eyes, but looked back up at him, her resolve firm. “I don’t know what could or will happen between Pierre and me, but I do know that he wants to move forward. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I’m staying.”

  Jerome sighed, grabbed Josephine’s wrist and pulled her toward the window. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face the glass, pointing in the direction of the cabin of the mother and young child she’d seen several times.

  “Do you know who lives there?”

  She hesitated, then said, “A lovely young lady with a darling daughter.”

  Jerome laughed. “And have you seen the darling daughter’s father?”

  She tilted her head and realized she hadn’t. She’d only seen Pierre talking to them and bringing them muffins. She gasped and turned around, her eyes full.

  “Yes, you see now, don’t you? He can never love you, even if you stay.”

  Josephine slumped into the chair by the cold fireplace, her mind numb. Could that lovely girl be Pierre’s daughter? She thought back to how lovely she was, her black hair and piercing blue eyes, and covered her mouth with her hand.

  Jerome walked over to her, crouched down and looked her in the eye.

  “You will be on that carriage, or I will tell my uncle that you are a fraud, and Pierre will lose the plantation anyway.”

  She looked up at him as he stood. “Why are you doing this, Jerome? You are Pierre’s cousin--his family.”

  “I have my reasons, and they are not your concern,” he said as he walked to the door. “When you disappear, I will tell Pierre that you got cold feet. He will be disappointed about the inheritance, but he’ll get over it. As he’ll get over you. He doesn’t love you anyway--you know that.”

  He reached for the latch, pulled the door open and turned to Josephine. “Be on the carriage at dawn, my dear,” he said as he sneered and walked out, closing the door behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The clock ticked more slowly than Josephine could imagine as she sat and stared out the window. She hadn’t even attempted to sleep after Jerome left the room, her thoughts jumbled and her heart heavy.

  How could this be? The last she’d seen Pierre, he’d actually kissed her--kissed her--and now Jerome insisted that he wanted her to leave?

  She slowly reached for her green bag on top of the wardrobe, pulling it down and opening it on her bed. She wiped away a tear as she opened the wardrobe, her hand running over the beautiful dresses. She stopped as she felt the soft velvet of the caramel-colored dress she’d worn only two nights ago--the night she and Pierre had danced for hours.

  Her shoulders sagged as she pushed the colorful dresses aside, knowing they’d never be worn by her. She reached into the back of the wardrobe where she’d placed her old, gray dresses she’d worked in. As she passed the mirror, she held one in front of her and cocked her head. She reached for her scuffed, dusty shoes and set them on the bench. Had it been only a few days ago that she’d arrived in these?

  It seemed like a lifetime since she’d gotten off the steamboat. So much had happened, and she felt changed--new, somehow. And just thirty minutes earlier, she’d been brimming with hope about her future--hers, Pierre’s and the plantation’s.

  She’d set the best of her old dresses on the bed and dusted her shoes. She gazed wistfully at the new dresses and undressed, taking off the blue, shimmery dress she’d worn to have supper with Pierre and his father.

  Taking a last look, she closed the wardrobe slowly and dressed in her old one, the fabric scratching her skin. She pulled on her socks and old, beaten boots and buttoned them, rotating her ankle to try to loosen them. She hadn’t remembered them feeling so tight. But compared to the beautiful new slippers she’d been wearing, of course they would.

  She hadn’t had much left to pack, so she scooted the bench of the vanity toward the window and sat, gazing as she had on her first night there at the stars, the gracious willow branches and the horses in the fields.

  Clouds gathered over the hours she sat, and she jumped as a bolt of lightning streaked through the sky. She held her hand to her heart, hoping it would slow as she scrunched her eyes closed and waited for the thunder she knew was coming.

  As prepared as she was, she almost jumped out of her skin as it came--so loud that she wanted to cover her ears. She peered out the window as the sun struggled to peek through the now-dark and cloudy sky.

  Her stomach roiled at the thought of another lightning storm and she could barely breathe thinking of going out in it.

  She thought of looking for Pierre as she saw another flash of lightning out of the corner of her eye. He’d taken care of her in the last storm and she wished she had his arms around her now.

  But Jerome had been very clear. Pierre didn’t want her--didn’t love her--and he even had a family--a child. And he hadn’t even had the decency to tell her himself.

  As the stars began to fade and the deep black of night turned to pink, she stood, knowing that it would soon be time to leave the plantation that she, too, had fallen in love with.

  Her hand stopped in mid-air as she reached for her bag, the sound of carriage wheels crunching gravel wafting through her window. She peeked out and saw the young driver waiting. Waiting for her.

  She shrugged on her old, tweed coat and pinned on her hat. She looked in the mirror, realizing that she looked exactly as she had when she’d arrived--but thought she may have noticed a little difference in her face. No, that couldn’t be. She was the same old Josephine. Only this time, she’d be showing up in Corinth, Mississippi, to see if Michelle could help her.

  The leather handles of her green carpetbag felt strange in her hand and she held her breath as she gripped them tightly, opened the door and headed down the long hall. As she reached the top of the stairs, she took one last glance at the picture of Pierre as a child with his mother and father.

  Just last night, she’d been thrilled at the prospect of becoming part of this family. But now that Pierre didn’t even have the courage to send her away on his own, she thought maybe it was good that she was going.

  She covered her ears as thunder crashed, and she took one last look down the hall, toward Pierre’s room. She sighed and turned toward the stairs. He wasn’t coming to save her. Now or ever.

  As silently as she could, she tiptoed down the stairs, hoping that it was still so dark from the clouds that Bernadette wasn’t already in the kitchen. Although it was at the back of the house, she didn’t want
her new friend to see her shame--to witness her humiliation. Best just to go.

  She opened the tall, white doors and stepped out onto the porch, the huge columns and porch roof protecting her from the rain--for the moment. The driver gave her a weak smile and nodded, reaching for her bag. She wondered if he knew, too, and that the entire plantation would be aware soon enough.

  No matter. She had some pride left and had no interest in staying where she was not wanted. She jumped at another clap of thunder as the driver carried her bag down the steps and set it in the buggy, helping her up and onto the leather seat.

  He opened his umbrella and climbed in, flicked the reins and headed down the drive. Josephine took one last look behind her at the huge mansion that had briefly been her home and over to the smaller cottages. The woman with the child stood on their porch, watching her as the buggy neared the end of the long, willow-lined driveway. Josephine looked quickly away. Pierre’s family? How could she have not known?

  Josephine slid across the seat as she was jolted back forward. The buggy had just left the gravel driveway and its wheels slid a bit in the mud that now formed the better part of the road that would lead them past the plantation and toward the town.

  This was familiar to her--the road she and Pierre had taken on their tour of the plantation--but it was raining so hard that she could barely see a bit ahead of the buggy. She looked up at the driver, his umbrella almost flapping in the wind as the rain drove against the horses.

  She sat back in the buggy, trying to stay dry, but it was no use. The fierce wind blew the rain almost sideways and there was no escape. Even her bag was soaked.

  She covered her ears at the next bolt of lightning, knowing what would come next as she scrunched her eyes closed and waited. Panic shot through her along with the boom of the thunder. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, all thoughts of Pierre gone and her entire focus on trying to remain dry and out of the lightning.