Josephine: Bride of Louisiana (American Mail-Order Bride 18) by Cindy Caldwell Page A

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