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.