Lyn Cote's Blog, page 101

Author Kathy Herman & False Pretenses

My guest today is best-selling Author Kathy Herman. I've read most of Kathy's books and written endorsements for her. I had the pleasure of lunching with her in Dallas in 2009. It was so nice to meet her finally and her sweet dh! Here's Kathy:

"I love Lyn's courageous women and appreciate her giving me the opportunity to talk about two of mine. In my newest book, False Pretenses, Zoe Broussard, is on top of her game. She's married Pierce, the love of her life, who is also the head chef at Zoe B's, their thriving Cajun eatery in South Louisiana. Her life is exactly the way she wants it. And then she gets a series of anonymous notes with five simple words: I know what you did. Zoe is panic-stricken, and feels as if her perfect world is crumbling. She's got a secret she's never told anyone—not even Pierce. A secret so awful that, if revealed, it could destroy everything she's built and ruin her marriage.

Zoe has lied about who she is and how she got her business started—and told lies to cover her lies. Her journey through this nightmare she created takes her back to the wealthy widow she once worked for, Adele Woodmore. Digging out of her mess requires more of Zoe than mustering the courage to confess that she stole Adele's valuable ring and making arrangements to pay back the money. It also requires dealing with the shame of growing up in an abusive family and then changing her name, attempting to recreate herself. When she finally gets up the courage to tell Pierce everything he knows about her is a lie, he is shocked and feels betrayed. But Pierce comes to realize that the Zoe he fell in love with is real, no matter what name she went by. And before the story ends, both Zoe and Pierce are empowered by the example set by Adele—who not only forgives Zoe, but cancels her debt.  It was through this extraordinary heroine and her amazing example that Zoe found her own true identity in Christ—and a family of believers that would accept her for who she really was.

Zoe's deception was extreme, and so was Adele's act of grace. At the deepest level, isn't their story our story? I loved being able to give the Zoe the life she was looking for, both temporal and eternal. And Adele … well, I admired her so much that I made her the sole heroine in the second book in the series."–Kathy

For more info about Kathy and her books, drop by: www.kathyherman.com



Have any of you been affected by a secret finally being revealed? In my "Women of Ivy Manor" series, I wrote a scene where 4 generations of women in one family got together and finally told all the family secrets. The secrets had blocked their relationships. The truth told in love can be freeing. What do you think?–Lyn

Chapter Fourteen Scene 2 La Belle Christiane

If you've just discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

by Lyn Cote

2011 copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Fourteen, Scene 2

The basic simplicity of the design was its strength. It was made of three shades and three fabrics: a creamy satin, a fawn-colored taffeta and a warm brown velvet. The skirt was of the dark velvet, stitched in layers of lace-edged flounces down the front and bordered at the hem with a ruff of the pale satin. The overskirts on each side of her waist were of the taffeta. They were grandiose in proportion. She made a mental note to turn sideways at all single doorways.

Her white shoulders appeared well above a mock shawl neckline which revealed much and covered little. The striking point of interest of the cream-colored satin bodice was its effect of a loosely-laced dress. Most frocks laced up the back. Hers laced up the front daringly, almost immodestly. Her brow puckered over this. She knew that the major had asked for this effect especially. Not only did he want to impress, he wanted to stun. His mistress would outshine the Sultana tonight. His Christiane would be the most beautiful, the most outrageous. She experienced a slight tremor at this thought, but refused to allow it to show.

"Monsieur Lagneaux," she praised, "you are a master. It is the most lovely dress I have ever seen."

He beamed and bowed his head as in humility.

Just then the major entered. Shrugging out of his greatcoat, he came over to Christiane. "Well, madame, how do you like your gown?"

She did not respond to his sarcastic tone. "It is very lovely, my lord. Monsieur Lagneaux is truly an artist."

"Monsieur," his lordship said to the Frenchman, "she is quite right. All of Philadelphia will be at your doorstep tomorrow."

"Merci, Lord Eastham."

"Now for your fee."

The little man beamed as gold coins were pushed into his hands. The two seamstresses smiled and exclaimed their gratitude when they also received some of the largesse. Quietly and expertly then, they gathered up the accoutrements of their craft and bowed themselves out.

Christiane stood motionless, waiting for his next bit of sarcasm. It seemed to her that he was caught between his desire to carry out his plan and his natural tendency to sneer at it. What a man. So full of contradictions.

Instead of speaking, he came to her purposefully. Taking both her shoulders in his hands, he turned her so she faced directly into the mirror. His fingers were cool on her bare skin. A shiver tingled through her. Standing behind her, he casually drew from his pocket a necklace, which he placed around her neck. "The finishing touch," he said solemnly.

She gasped not only from the feeling of its iciness, but also from its beauty. It was five strands of perfect, glowing pearls. The highest two strands hugged her neck regally; the other three dipped in faultless symmetry down to her decolletage.

"They are exquisite," she breathed.

"I'm glad you approve." The irony crept back into his voice.

"You're sure the clasp and ties are adequate. I wouldn't want it to come apart."

He held up his hand. "Have no fear. All is secure."

She turned to look at him. He was in his dress uniform: red-coat with white epaulets, knee pants, white stockings. His sword gleamed at his side and his brass buttons shone. For the occasion he had had his hair curled and powdered. She had refused to have hers powdered. It was the only objection she had made. She disliked the affectation of the practice. Instead her chestnut hair had been styled ala Pompadour. Coyly three curls hung down her neck in graduated lengths. "Major, you look very nice."

"And you, Madame Belmond, look exactly as I planned. Now remember I want you to break hearts tonight. I want men to fall at your feet in hopeless desire. I want every man there to envy me unbelievably. Do you think you can do it?"

"Major, it will be the greatest performance of my life," she answered truthfully. The penniless rebel going to the blue-blooded ball! No one, but she would plumb the true irony of this night. He handed her an embroidered, fawn-colored, elbow-high gloves and wrapped her in a red fox cape. She shivered in delight at the feeling of the fur on her bare back.

"Then let us be off." He led her out the door and down the front steps. Usually he would have led her to the back stairs, but evidently tonight he wanted everyone in the house, everyone in Philadelphia to see them. A special carriage waited outside for them. Alfred stood outside to bid them a good evening.

"Alfred, do not wait up for us," the major remarked over his shoulder as he assisted Christiane in the delicate operation of safely entering the swaying carriage. Finally the maneuver was accomplished. Her gown took up one entire seat, so he sat opposite her, studying her obviously.

She felt his intensity. It made her uncomfortable, so she turned her gaze out the window. His question nagged her. Could she manage this? The farewell party for Mrs. Washington last spring had been her debut as a woman in society and it had been extremely informal compared with the affair she would attend tonight. But she had been groomed to appear at the French Court, the pinnacle of society. Tonight's festivities would be lackluster when compared to even the most commonplace ball at Versailles. Could she be her mother for one night?

She knew that most of the senior officers would be watching her to see how the next generation Pelletier measured up. For the first time in her life she felt something like the tug of family pride. Her resolve was firm. For once in her life and only this once, she would behave in a way that would have made her grandmother proud of her.

The ride to Smith's City Tavern was brief, but she still became chilled by the time they arrived. A liveried footman opened the carriage door. The major alighted, then helped her down and up the few steps to the inn entrance.

She rehearsed herself silently. Grace, elegance and sophistication–that was what she wished to portray this night. The ball had already begun over an hour before. At the door they were announced, "Major John Eastham and Madame Christiane Belmond," and were received by a few of the officers who took turns sponsoring these weekly balls to stave off their boredom in this provincial capital.

Christiane was struck by the brightly lit room. Smith's was certainly an inn par excellance to boast such a large room for dancing. The oak floor gleamed in the candlelight. In all her troubles, she had almost forgotten that they were nearing Christmas. Boughs of holly festooned the paneled walls and be-ribboned evergreen wreaths graced the doors. The scent of bayberry candles filled the room.  At one end of the room there was a long dinner buffet and at the other end were the musicians. In between were the celebrants.

Most of the men were officers in dress uniform and white wigs, but here and there wealthy civilians were dressed in satin knee breeches and long waistcoats of all shades. The ladies were dressed in evening gowns. The young maidens primarily in light pastel shades and the matrons were in muted grays, blues and browns. One glance told Christiane that, barring the Sultana, she wore the most striking dress present. Heads turned to look at her and then turned again. She had barely been relieved of her cape by a servant girl when Lord Hazelton swept her away from the major for her first dance.

"Christiane, my dear," he praised, "your beauty dazzles the eyes. If only your dear mother could see you."

"Thank you, my lord, what a sweet compliment. I am so happy to start with a quadrille. It is my favorite."

"Oh, now, my dear, don't start practicing your idle conversation with me. Save it for the fortunate men who will count you a partner tonight. I am delighted to see the major has finally awakened to your purpose."

"My purpose?"

"To enjoy life and to be enjoyed, of course. That was your mother's and it is yours. The pearls are truly lovely. Soon you will have a collection of jewels to match your mother's." Then as they concentrated on the intricacies of the dance, she tried to ignore his comment. She had never felt that giving and receiving pleasure were her only reasons for living. But tonight only, this one night, she would  behave like her mother.

At the end of the dance Lord Hazelton was immediately beset by three other gentlemen who wished to meet his lovely partner. The introductions made, she was off and dancing. Gavotte, schottische, minuet, the dancers whirled around the floor to the stringed quartets' music. Christiane chatted, laughed, teased, insinuated, and flirted outrageously with every man who came to claim her. And not one, but many greeted her at the end of each dance.

The major watched his "creation" as she went from man to man. The dark velvet of her gown and her natural chestnut tresses stood out in the milieu. The other ladies with their powdered hair and light-colored satins paled when compared with Madame Belmond. When the Frenchwoman swung by on another lord's arm, the major observed the matrons pout angrily. These prosperous matrons of Philadelphia wanted to marry off their daughters to gentlemen and wanted no such competition. He watched their heads draw together and their tongues wag at this stranger's unseemly behavior. Why anyone could see she was making a scandal of herself? He smiled.

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Author Donna Crow & a New Kind of Giveaway!

My guest today is Author Donna Crow who writes delicious mysteries with delightful romance. She's doing a giveaway but in a different way. Here's Donna:

"Dr. Elizabeth Allerton is aware of her intellectual strength as head of the English department at Rocky Mountain College, but she has no idea how weak her spiritual and emotional life is until  Dr. Richard  Spenser joins her faculty.

In The Shadow of Reality, book 1 in the Elizabeth & Richard Mysteries Elizabeth insists Richard join her for a Dorothy L. Sayers style mystery week high in the Rockies. It's all far more than Elizabeth had dreamed it would be until one of the actors turns up dead.  Or is he only acting?  Elizabeth must discover the narrow line between fantasy and reality before she falls prey to the vicious murderer lurking in the shadows

I hope I'm not giving too much away when I reveal that in book 2 A Midsummer Eve's Nightmare Elizabeth and Richard are on their honeymoon.  The Shakespeare Festival at Ashland, Oregon, has always been one of our very favorite getaway places for my husband and myself so it seemed a natural choice for my English professors cum detectives.

And it works out perfectly for them until they find that Desdemona's brilliantly acted death scene wasn't acted and Elizabeth's costume designer sister and her actress roommate are terrified that they are slated to be the next victims.

Elizabeth's inner resources are stretched to the limit as she struggles to deepen her marriage relationship while supporting and protecting her younger sister at the same time."–Donna

"With an adroit hand at humor and sleek banter, Donna Crow combines a lighthearted romance with the dangerous world behind the curtain. Her characters Elizabeth and Richard share their Christian faith unobtrusively and with deft intelligence."  Christine Lindsay, Shadowed Silk

A Midsummer Eve's Nightmare has "all the elements of a throat-gripping, sleep-robbing thriller, while still wooing the reader with the tenderness of sweet romance. . . this is a charming page-turner that will keep readers on edge to the very end."  Kathi Macias, Valeria's Cross

Please visit me at http://www.donnafletchercrow.com/

read my blog at http://www.donnafletchercrow.com/articles.php

or follow me on Facebook at http://ning.it/efoKUV

Two points in Donna's post caught my eye: "Dorothy L. Sayers style mystery" and "The Shakespeare Festival at Ashland, Oregon, has always been one of our very favorite getaway places for my husband and myself so it seemed a natural choice for my English professors cum detectives."

Here's my questions:

Have you ever read any of Dorothy L Sayers' Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries?

Do you have any place that you love to visit over and over?

If you answer one or both of those questions, you will be entered into the drawing for A Midsummer Eve's Nightmare.  But it won't be in print form. Donna is offering it in either pdf or will send a Smashwords coupon. A PDF is a book that you can read on your computer. Smashwords is a distributor of ebooks. You don't need an ebook reader for the PDF. So when you leave a comment, let me know if you'd like the book in PDF or the coupon.–Lyn

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Chapter Fourteen Scene 1 La Belle Christiane

If you've just discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

by Lyn Cote

2011 copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Fourteen, Scene 1

The room was aglow with candles and the "dress" was about to be completed. Christiane stood statue-like as the final, absolutely final, fitting took place. Since dawn all she had done was act as a human pin cushion. Never could she have predicted the events of the past two days. This had all begun when she had encountered Lord Hazelton. And she could not, by any mean, forget Mrs. Loring's part in bringing about this charade.

At the beginning of the week she had–reluctantly–visited Mrs. Loring at the Sultana's invitation. The general's mistress had been brazen in her conversation over Christiane's lack of results with the major. "My dear," the blond had begun, "I really feel I must speak to you frankly. You are so young, I mean, so naive for a girl from a background such as your own. Really you are not handling Major Eastham as you should."

"Pray what do you mean?" Christiane had asked, though she already suspected what the drift of the conversation would be.

"From what the other officers say, your major is fabulously wealthy and you are not taking full advantage of the situation. You have been with him for almost two weeks now and what have you to show for it? One dress? Really. You must make hay while the sun shines. This silly, little Revolution will be crushed in the spring. Washington's so-called Army won't even survive till then."

Christiane had choked down her anger this comment had triggered. In the past two weeks, she had become less afraid of being discovered a revolutionary, but more galled by the way the Continental Army and its cause were laughed at and ridiculed.

The odious woman had continued, "The point is, my dear, that when this war is over, all these officers will return home. Now your major is the only heir of an old, very distinguished and wealthy family. Next to the general–" The woman had visibly preened. "–I would say you made the best choice of the field, but you are not handling him well. You must pout a little, fuss a little, make him a bit jealous, and he will come across. Do you see what I mean? Personally I am planning on returning to Europe with William. London, Paris, that is where I belong. This is my chance to escape the colonies and I'm going to take it."

In a way, Christiane felt sorry for the woman. It was true that Mrs. Loring was a lovely blond and that she amused the general with her antics, her gambling, and her flamboyance. But if Elizabeth Loring thought she could compete successfully with women the caliber of Christiane's mother, she was mistaken.

Christiane knew enough of court life to know that beauty and gaiety were not enough. One needed a family crest and a history of titles. A person without these at court would be cut dead in public. General Howe knew this, too, and Christiane doubted he had any intention of taking the blond back to England with him. If he did, Mrs. Loring would most likely end up in a brothel there, not at court.

The American woman's advice only demonstrated her lack of understanding of the nobility. The noblemen who had patronized her mother had brought gifts, fabulous ones, casually and as a matter-of-course. To worry about one's purse was bourgeois and declasse. Mrs. Loring's tactics would brand a woman as a lightskirt used to dealing only with the lower class. Fortunately Christiane had been saved from any further advice by the blond's appointment for a card game.

Christiane had quickly forgotten this interview till three days later when she had encountered Lord Hazelton on her way back to the major's room. He had asked to escort her up and then had stopped just outside the door. "My dear girl," he had begun hesitantly, "there doesn't seem to be any easy way to say this so I will just ask it. Are you happy with the major?"

She had looked up, startled. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, my dear, you are a young, beautiful woman and how does he expect you to live? Like a cloistered nun? No gaming, no parties, no new gowns. I have yet to see you at the weekly ball at Smith's City Tavern. I wondered at your choice and now that I see how he treats you." He threw up his hands theatrically.

"Oh, my lord, how sweet of you to be concerned." Her mind had raced, trying to concoct an explanation. "I am responsible for our sedateness really. I have not felt well until recently. That blow to my head, you know."

He had pursed his lips, looking unconvinced. "You are commendable in your loyalty, but you need have no fear of any annoyance if you wish to leave him. I am here and would shield you from any unpleasantness–"

They had been interrupted at that point by Major Eastham himself, who had unfortunately heard their voices in the hallway.

Alone in his room the conversation had begun innocently enough. "What was the Colonel saying to you?"

"Our 'unusual' behavior is causing comment." She sat down in her chair. "You keep me at home like a nun, no dresses, no balls."

"Oh?" He had arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, I had heard the same from Mrs. Loring earlier this week."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I am not 'handling' you very well. Two weeks and I only have a dress to show for them," she had continued, trying to make light of it. "I need to pout, and fuss and wheedle. The nerve of the woman. She even believes that General Howe intends to take her home with him."

"I can't see what Howe wants consorting with such a common woman."

She now realized that should have guessd from his tone that these comments had troubled him. Unwisely she had replied, "She doesn't bother me. But if she says this to my face, what is she saying behind my back? Our charade is wearing thin. major, I must be leaving soon. What is the word from the widow, taking care of my mare?"

"At least, five more days before Nancy will be well enough."

She had made a frustrated sound and his brow had furrowed. Then he had fallen deep in thought, so she had left him alone, hoping he would forget their discussion. Finally she had heard him say, as if to himself alone, "I will show them."

"What?"

He had fixed his eyes on her. "They don't think that I know how to treat my mistress? Well, they are mistaken and I intend to prove the point."

She had argued in vain that she did not want him to go to any further expense, that he had done enough, that gossip was of no consequence to her. But no argument had prevailed. His honor had been called into question. With that pronouncement, he had dispatched Alfred to bring back a clothier to commission a ball gown for her to wear to this week's ball at Smith's Tavern.

She heard their final clash of words again. "Major, you should be thinking of a way out of this situation, not entrenching us in it more deeply."

"Madame, you will leave as soon as you are able. On that we have already agreed. Until then, however, you are under my protection and I might add, direction. You will do as I say."                       With her hands on her hips, she had stood in front of him and they had indulged in a short staring competition. Finally she had thrown up her hands in exasperation. "This is ridiculous. Very well. You are in charge, but I refuse to consider the dress mine. It will remain with you when I leave."

So here she was standing with a couturier and seamstresses fussing around her by candlelight all because the major wanted to dress her and show her off. Very well, she would indulge him. He had been more than generous with her. But she had made up her mind two days ago that on the morning after tonight's ball, she would slip away. If Nancy were not strong enough to carry her, they would walk together to Valley Forge. It might take two days, but she would dress warmly and the major had fattened her enough that two lean days would do her no harm. Tomorrow morning this episode in her life would be over. It would be a unique memory that she would never be able to share with anyone.

She looked down at the top of Monsieur Paul Andre Lagneaux, the clothier Alfred had returned with. He was new in Philadelphia and had been the only one available to design and produce a dress on such short notice. At first she had taken for granted that he had left France because of a lack of talent, but now she had been impressed by his obvious expertise. No doubt he had offended someone influential.

Just then the couturier and his two seamstresses buzzed excitedly in French on all sides of her. A final tug here, a pull there. All three stepped back to view their masterpiece. "Mangnifique!" the Frenchman breathed. He motioned proudly for Christiane to go nearer the full length mirror to her left. When she looked, she was indeed dazzled by her own reflection. She had never worn a dress as lovely, as grand, as superb. The finest compliment she could give it was that both her mother and her grandmother would have been impressed.

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Helping Others-Author Brenda Novak's Auction

Since I have a son who is diabetic and a daughter who has reactive hypoglycemia, this auction is personal–if you know what I mean. For the past few years, I've donated a gift basket to this auction. Last year I knitted an afghan and donated it along with my latest books. I knitted something new this year. Why not drop by the site and look me up under "Gift Baskets?"–Lyn

Remember the Latest Book Giveaway

Last Sunday I posted a membership drive for my egroup LynCote_to_Readers. Click the link below so you don't miss this opportunity!

http://booksbylyncote.com/SWBS/uncategorized/one-more-reason-you-should-click-join

Chapter Thirteen Scene 2 La Belle Christiane

If you've just discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

by Lyn Cote

2011 copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Thirteen, Scene 2

"Oh, aye, there be Widow Schulz. She lives but two houses north. She is a wonder at healing," the guilty innkeeper explained eagerly. Christiane and the major locked eyes.

"Very well. We will see what Widow Schulz can do," the major said.

The man started to move.

"No," the major stopped him and then turned to the soldiers who'd accompanied them. "Private, go two houses north. Explain the situation to Widow Schulz and ask her to join us." Eastham was not going to let this disreputable innkeeper out of his sight. He had no respect for any man who did not care for his animals. Waiting, the trio stood in an uncomfortable, shivering silence, broken only by Nancy's painful breathing. The major moved closer to Christiane, shielding her from the drafts.

As Christiane waited, different memories passed through her mind. She saw Nancy and herself, escaping the devastated Rumsveld with the two little boys. She saw Tobias Ander walking beside Nancy, turning up his face to look at Christiane as they travelled southward. At the end, she saw the mare in the stark moonlight on the night they had searched for young Michael together.  Nancy had been through so much with her. Tears welled up in her eyes, so she looked down at her shoes.

The major mistook her glance at her shoes. "Madame, would you prefer to wait inside by the fire?"

"No," she answered, looking up at him. He saw her wet eyes and once again she won his sympathy. He knew what it was to be attached to an animal. Pulling out a handkerchief, he handed it to her. "Thank you," she murmured.

Then they heard the voices: one a loud female with a thick German accent and the other the private's piping tones. The barn doors opened, admitting the two along with a fresh blast of icy air.

"The old biddy is hard of hearing," the innkeeper said quietly.

As though she understood him, she cast him a disgusted look.

"You got sick horse?" she asked lustily.

"Yes, can you do anything for her?" the major replied in kind.

"I see! I see!" she yelled back. She knelt by Nancy, first kicking away at the soiled straw. Poking and looking, stroking and humming, she examined her patient. "Dis horse has got the lung congestion. And some of her stripes is festerin'." She pointed to the red welts and cast the innkeeper a dark look.

"Can you do anything for her?" the major bawled.

"Ja, Ja," she answered in booming tones. "But not in dis dirt!" She put her shawl to her nose to demonstrate her disgust.

The major and Christiane exchanged looks. She nodded.

Carefully Christiane threaded her way through the refuse to Nancy's side again. Then she knelt beside the horse and began stroking her neck and explaining to her as though the mare were her child. Then Christiane stood and slipped a nearby bridle over the mare's head and coaxed in gentle tones, pulling lightly on the rein.

The four observers watched silently, each one evidently curious to see if she could get the mare on her feet. Then Nancy began to rock, front and back. Painfully, slowly she pulled herself to her knees and then to her feet. She stood, wheezing and gasping for breath. Christiane threw her arms around the mare's neck and hugged her. "Oh, Nancy, good girl!"

"Ve take her to mein barn!" The old woman looked around and located a dusty old horse blanket, hanging from a peg. Quickly the two women draped it over the horse's back and led her from the stall.

Major Eastham fixed an eye on the culprit. He knew it would be very difficult to prove any charge against this innkeeper, at least, this time. "You will be watched," he said ominously to the worried man. The man bobbed his head and sweated even more.

The major jerked his head and the private followed him out the door. The two women and the horse were already stumbling over the frozen ruts. The major hurried forward to assist Christiane while the private took care of directing the driver to bring the carriage along. The major could see that many neighbors came to their windows to view the strange parade: Widow Schulz, an ailing horse, a beautiful woman, a British major, a carriage, and one lobsterback.

The widow's barn was a total contrast to the previous one. It was built adjoining the house, so it was snug, spotless, inhabited by an old cow, a nanny goat, and a cat with a few kittens. The widow led Christiane and Nancy into the empty corner directly next to the chimney back and then left them. A few minutes later she bustled back out of the house with her arms full.

"Ve got to poultice her to break her lungs up," she informed them, still speaking forte. With that she went to work mixing a smelly concoction and stuffing it into a small flour sack which she tied shut. "Help her get back down," she instructed Christiane. Christiane and the widow fussed around the mare while the major, private, and driver stood inside the door, silently observing.

Christiane helped the old woman put several more old blankets over the mare's back on top of the poultice. "Ve sveat it out o' her," the widow declaimed and stood back with her hands on her hips. "Ve vait now, just vait. Come. Come in. Ve have tea." She herded Christiane through the low door into her kitchen and motioned for the men to follow. The major nodded to the two men. They looked surprised to be included, but happily followed the major into the house. They all stood in the half-circle of light cast by the hearth. The sunlight was nearly gone, but the glow of the fire was cheering.

Once inside Christiane was aware that her feet were more like chunks of ice than flesh. She took another step closer to the warmth and then turned to look around the dim interior of the little house. It reminded Christiane of cabins she had lived in, though this one had a wooden floor and was framed with pine boards that covered the logs inside and out. This made it snug against the winter winds.

"You men, bring chairs up to da fire and sit. Sit." The old woman seemed happy to have their company. The private and driver accepted mugs of tea from their hostess and went to sit in the shadows on the settle. A dish of large ginger cookies waited there for them. Christiane and the major sat in the two ladder-backed chairs near the fire, next to a commodious and ancient rocker and accepted tea and cookies also. The widow sat in the rocker. "I just bake dis morning," she offered conversationally, a bit quieter.

"They are delicious," the major announced clearly, downing one in two bites. The widow chuckled in reply, looking pleased with the compliment.

Christiane's anxiety over Nancy's health waned and she relaxed cozily. Conversation floated around her. She found herself glancing at the man beside her repeatedly, wondering what he thought of this event, wondering why he was such a peculiar mixture of kindness and coldness. No doubt there was a story behind his actions, but she could not imagine him volunteering any personal information. No wonder his memory had repeatedly come to her over the last three years. He was a man to respect, a man to remember.

The hours passed till they all dozed in the warmth of the hearth. Then the widow heard something and jumped up hastily and went to the connecting door. "The poultice it vorks!"

Christiane yawned and smiled. "She'll be all right then?"

"I pretty sure. You go home now. It is late. Come see her next day, ja?"

"I'll just take a look as we leave."

"Thank you, Mrs. Schulz," the major said as he and Christiane stood up. "You will be paid well."

"I happy to help." The woman smiled. "Guten nacht."

Inside the carriage, Christiane nearly fell asleep. Back at their room the major and she silently went through their nightly routine. Each took turns changing behind the lacquered dressing screen. Then he slid into the just-warmed sheets and she snuggled herself into a nest of blankets by the fire.

Christiane broke the silence. "As soon as Nancy is well, I will be able to leave. How long did the widow say it would be?"

"A week to ten days." He stood by his bed, trying to block the intimacy of this sharing his room with this beautiful woman.

"I hate to bother you any longer than I absolutely have to."

He shivered, trying to shake off the feelings she ignited. I want her here; I want her gone. "I understand, but it won't do to try to travel with a weak horse in this weather." He was pleased that his voice did not betray him.

"You're right, of course." Christiane wanted to say more, to thank him, to let him know how much she appreciated everything he'd done for her, but she knew instinctively he did not want her to. A wave of loneliness washed over her. If she had not left so impulsively, she could be safely asleep at the Richardson's farm with her son only a few steps away. Or if she had waited to send for Henry, she could now be safely at Washington's headquarters, waiting for Mrs. Washington to arrive.

In this moment she realized with sudden clarity that her whole life thusfar had been one impulsive decision after another. Her first had been the night long ago in Paris when she had left her grandmother's home. Then she had married the fur trapper Jean Claude under unusual circumstances. After his death she had gone to Rumsveld alone and then had married Jakob. All these had been rash actions. Some of the decisions had been wise and some not so wise, but all of them had been impetuous.

The flames burned hypnotically before her. This last one of leaving the Richardson's Meadow Farm had been the most ill-advised. No more impulsive decisions from now on. She would marry Henry Lee, regain her son, and spend the rest of her life, living calmly and deliberately.

Have you ever made a rash decision? Mine are usually offering to do something I really don't want to do. Ever done that? If a person is impulsive like Christiane, is it possible for that person to change and become more cautious?

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Author Yvonne Lehman & The Strength in Knowing Weakness

My guest today Author Yvonne Lehman has not only written many, many fine books, she has also influenced other writers for God. Here's some of her story:

"After my church rejected my idea of putting into action what I was teaching girls, ages 17-married, in Sunday School, my faith in pastors and Christians diminished and I considered leaving the church and questioned God. After a six-month period of doubt and distress, I chose to trust God, realized that He and I are a majority, and asked Him how I could reach out to others. That led to my attending the Billy Graham School of Christian Writing where a whole new world opened up to me. At that time the School (in MN) and Mount Herman (in CA) were the only conferences for writers. I knew there was a need for writing instruction in the southeast. For 2 ½ years I tried to get Billy Graham Evangelistic Association and others to sponsor a conference.

Defeated, I gave up and told God I heard him wrong, or had failed to adequately convey the message. Or if I was a hindrance, I was stepping aside. After giving up, I received encouragement, along with the money to incorporate such a conference. The dean of the School offered to be emcee and contact editors and faculty.

The short of a long story is that I became director (without being qualified), treasurer, secretary, etc. and held that position for 25 years for the Blue Ridge Conference. A few years ago, after turning that over to someone else, I founded and direct the Blue Ridge "Summer" and "Autumn" in the mountains Novel Retreats.

Did all that happen because I'm strong? No way! It happened because I knew my weakness, knew my lack of qualifications, but believed God shows his strength when we are weakest, when we know we're not in control, when we want to serve instead of be served.

My idea of a strong woman is one who realizes her weaknesses, limitations, and inadequacies, but trusts God to use her according to what he has given her, where He has put her, and she finds means to improve herself mentally, physically, and spiritually. Those are qualities I put in my characters. The hero/heroine has problems, goals, or conflicts in which they know they aren't handling well. They learn, or someone enlightens them, that they need to turn their lives, their desires, their will over to the Lord. Not always, but usually I have an older woman character who is an example to the younger ones. Matilda, in Aloha Brides, serves that guiding purpose in all three novels. She is flamboyant and eccentric, but is the one to whom the characters go for insight and instruction for they know she is a woman who trusts in the Lord and inspires in them a stronger faith and always gives them hope.

In defense of that church, they have gone on to being very mission-minded and put action to what they teach. I think God closed their minds and hearts for a while so He could lead me into a writing career that I had not previously considered."–Yvonne

BIO: YVONNE LEHMAN is a best-selling, award-winning writer of 50 novels. She directed the Blue Ridge Conference for 25 years, now directs the Blue Ridge "Summer" and "Autumn in the Mountains" Novel Retreats. She is co-director of the Honored Authors of the Gideon Media Arts Conference and is a mentor with the Christian Writers Guild. Her latest release is Aloha Brides, a collection of three historical Hawaiian novels. She earned a Master's Degree in English from Western North Carolina University and has taught English and Creative Writing.

For more information, drop by:

www.yvonnelehman.com
www.gideonfilmfestival.com (for "Summer" Novel Retreat)
www.lifeway.com/novelretreat (for "Autumn" Novel Retreat)

Yvonne's story is one I can identify with. Has God ever used "Wait" in your life to bring about more than you could have thought of on your own?

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Chapter Thirteen Scene 1 La Belle Christiane

If you've just discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

by Lyn Cote

2011 copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Thirteen, Scene 1

Christiane sat, staring at the flames, which were an image of her own anger and frustration. Snow and ice and bitter cold had overtaken Philadelphia and Valley Forge. Only a day away the Forge seemed to slip farther away from her reach daily. And with her mare Nancy not located yet, she was held captive in the major's quarters. How she resented him at times.

She knew he was doing her a great service, but bearing up under his sardonic attitude infuriated her. The irony of their situation evidently fueled his dry humor. When they were out among people, performing the charade of lover and mistress, he–at the most inoppotune times–would whisper maddening phrases into her ear. Maddening because they were usually hilarious comments about those present and Christiane could not allow herself to laugh. Instead she had to smile and behave as though he had just said something especially endearing.

She glanced down then at the dark green gown she wore. Mrs. Loring had given her the brown dress and a few days later the major had commissioned this green frock. She had protested at the time that she did not want him to go to the expense of dressing her. He had countered that it would look odd if he did not provide for her, considering the relationship they were implying. She writhed inside over her dependence on him.

And his behavior when they were alone together in his quarters was nearly insulting.  He acted as though she did not exist. It was not his amorous attention that she desired. She was experienced enough to know any man did have his limits and she did not want to push the major beyond his. Because of this, she read quietly during their evenings alone and she slept on the floor by the fire, keeping out of his bed. But he could, at least, acknowledge her existence.

And the days were going by quickly. She was accomplishing nothing of her purpose in leaving the Richardsons. If Nancy did not turn up soon, in spite of the cold, she would have to leave on foot. She and the major would have to concoct some argument or excuse so she would have reason to leave. Eight days under these circumstances. Enough.

At that moment the major strolled in casually. As usual, he nodded at her formally, poured them sherry, brought it to her, and settled himself in the chair opposite. Their late afternoon ritual had begun. His attitude grated on her, the unruffled aristocrat, smirking at life. Henry Lee cared enough to die for a man's right to live free and have a vote that counted. And what a contrast between this cool gentleman and her impassioned and passionate Jakob.

Her face must have given her away because the major looked up and asked coolly, "Anything amiss?"

Caught unprepared and unfortunately in a fractious state of mind, she stood up and swept over to the window.

This intrigued the major since this was the first bit of spirit she had shown since her arrival days before. Perversely he rose and followed her. "Anything amiss?" he repeated.

"I'm just restless, I suppose," she forced herself to say since she could not afford to reveal her true feelings. If only circumstances were different she would put a bee in his ear!

"Oh," he said disappointedly, realizing that he would have enjoyed a little conflict. This startled him. Turning away, he sought the refuge of his chair and newspaper. Automatically he began to read to her as was his practice.

Christiane stayed at the window till the chill from it forced her back to her own seat near the hearth. His voice droned on recounting to her the events of the day, according to the evening sheet and unaccountably she felt her irritation draining away. She was not interested in the news, but the quality of his voice always soothed her. She had to admit when he wanted to, he could be interesting and she found these evenings a respite to the emotional turmoil she had experienced at the Richardsons.

Taking leave of Tildy and then facing her dilemma over Jean Claude; the combination of the two was still more that she could bear. Why couldn't life run smoothly? Why did she face difficult choices and contradicitng impulses? Unruly tears threatened her. Blinking rapidly, she rose and went back to the shimmering, iced-over windows, hoping that the darkness would mask her distress. She struggled to regain her composure.

"Something is wrong."  His voice–suddenly so near–startled her. He had come up beside her. "Has someone upset you?" His tone was stern.

She looked up at him with tears just beginning. If only she could tell someone what she was feeling.

There was a knock at the door. When Alfred did not appear, the major answered it himself. A corporal spoke quickly in an undertone. Christiane caught none of it, but heard the major's "very good". Then he turned and walked over to her. "Madame Belmond," he spoke formally as he did when they were alone.

She looked up in the dim light. "What is it, Major?"

"Your mare has been located."

His hard-faced expression and tone stopped her from showing any happiness.  "Is she alive?"

He nodded. "I will go and see about it now."

"Not without me."

"It may not be pleasant."

"I am coming."

"Very well," he allowed grudgingly.

In the carriage Eastham took the opportunity to examine her profile. She was a beauty, no doubt about it. And in eight days and nights with her he had felt no twinge of desire. It was only to be expected, he thought dispassionately. He had had over six years of this and no doubt many more to be endured.

She was a rare woman, though. When they did speak, she could talk sensibly, keeping her mind on the topic. He also had to admit that he liked the way his reputation had improved among the other officers because of their implied relationship. He was aware that he was no longer deemed a sexless oddity, just a man with very good taste and very high standards. This was a pleasant dividend, but it troubled him that he still cared–even a little–about what others might think of him and his choices.

They arrived at the disreputable-looking inn he had been advised of. Across the yard was a dilapidated barn. The lady across from  cast a worried look in his direction.

"One of my men noticed a dapple mare, pulling a dray for this inn. The horse had the black marking on the right foreleg that you described to me." She moved forward to leave the carriage. He put a hand in front of her. "I want to warn you. This isn't the kind of place that takes very good care of their animals." She pursed her lips and nodded. Outside of the carriage, he supported her as she in her dainy shoes slipped her way over the rutted yard. Inside the stable a soldier stood, guarding a sullen, greasy-looking man.

Christiane uttered, "Oh!"  She knelt down in the filthy straw in the nearest stall. The old mare was down, wheezing painfully, staring vacantly ahead.

Her completely unexpected but genuine action shocked him. And spoke to his own love of his animals. He edged nearer, hoping the animal would not die.

Christiane began stroking the mare's neck, saying her name over and over. At first there was no response. But within a few minutes, the old horse glanced at Christiane and then tried to neigh. On the mare's back were welts, some still inflamed and oozing. Her face blazing with anger, Christiane turned to the sullen man. "Did you do this?"

He shifted uneasily, glancing in turn at each of the men who flanked him. "'Tis the drivers," he muttered, twisting a frayed tri-corn hat in his hands. "They're a rough lot."

She glowered at him with her hands on her hips. "Any man who would mistreat an old animal like this…." She paused significantly, letting his imagination devise a proper punishment.

The major spoke up, "He claims he bought the mare from an English soldier."

Christiane's answering look stated clearly that she believed this to be highly likely.

"So we might have some trouble pressing a charge of horse thievery." The major made his voice suggest that he'd like to do this anyway.

The man paled visibly.

"However I think a charge of receiving stolen property would be easily proven." The major suddenly wished he could do this and make it stick. But in time of war….

In spite of the drafty, frigid barn, sweat dotted the man's forehead. "Major," the man pleaded pitifully, "I didn't know. You got to believe me. I didn't know."

"It's just too bad there are no laws against mistreating animals and keeping them in a filthy barn," Christiane charged. The stench of the barn was almost unbearable even in the dead of winter.

"I'll give the lady the price of the mare," the miserable man bargained.

"I don't want your money," Christiane snapped. "I want my mare back the way she was eight days ago."

The man tried to placate her still. "Well, ma'am, your mare's sick and truly I don't think she'll make it through the night. I'll pay you what I owe. I will." He cast a nervous glance at the two soldiers and twisted his hat again.

Christiane crossed her arms over her breast, scowling. Nancy wheezed painfully. Then an idea came to her. "Certainly there must be someone near that knows how to care for animals."

I can understand Chrsitiane's love for this mare, can't you? Animals become part of our history, our families.

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Author Trish Perry & A Scrumptious Recipe!

Tea for Two

(Now Available)

Although heroine Tina Milano and her women's group are mentioned in The Perfect Blend (the first book in this series), Tea for Two is where we meet her and hero Zack Cooper. I knew I would write this book while I wrote the first, so it was fun to plant a passing mention of Zack and Tina while I wrote Steph's story in The Perfect Blend. By the time I was able to write Tina and Zack's story, I was eager to unfold their lives, conflicts, and love. I hope readers will be eager to experience what happens to them!

Zack Cooper tries his best to raise his children, but he's losing his grip on them in their teen years. They've both had scrapes with the local law.

Tea Shop owner Milly Jewel has the perfect woman in mind to help Zack. Counselor Tina Milano meets weekly at the tea shop with her women's group. Milly encourages Zack and Tina to work together to draw the teens back before they get in even hotter water. Milly never thought things might heat up between Zack and Tina. Or did she?

Tina's connections with the Middleburg police department prove a mixed blessing for Zack and his kids. Both her best friend and old boyfriend are officers on the force.

And when Tina's women's group gets wind of her personal pursuits and clashes, they want to help. The group's meetings at the tea shop take on a slightly different flavor. Tina wonders who, exactly, is counseling whom.

Order this book at Amazon.com

Order this book at Barnes and Noble

"In this novel of hope after loss, Trish Perry brings together characters most readers will be able to recognize among their own families and friends."? CBA Retailers+Resources

Now for the Scrumptious Recipe!

Chocolate Mousse Cake

Ingredients:

6 ounces crushed malt balls

8.8 ounce container mascarpone cheese

7 ounces heavy cream, whipped

3 seven ounce packages white chocolate & Macadamia cookies

1 cup Bailey's Irish cream liqueur (for non-alcoholic version use Irish Crème coffee creamer)

Chocolate mousse:

10 ounces chopped dark chocolate

2 eggs (room temperature)

¼ cup caster sugar (very fine granulated sugar)

¾ cup heavy cream, whipped

Directions:

Make chocolate mousse—

In microwave-safe bowl, microwave chopped chocolate until almost melted, stirring after each minute. Set aside to cool slightly.
Beat eggs and caster sugar with electric beater for five minutes.
Stir in cooled chocolate.
Fold in ¾ cup whipped cream.
Refrigerate until needed.

Set aside ¼ cup crushed malt balls.

Fold together mascarpone, 7 ounces whipped cream, and remaining malt balls. Remove the base of an 8-inch spring form pan and place the ring on a large serving plate (ring will serve as a mold for the cake). Cut a strip of parchment paper and line side of ring. Dip cookies, one at a time, into liqueur and place in single layer in mold to cover base. Spread half mascarpone mixture over cookies. Top with another layer of cookies dipped in liqueur.

Spread chocolate mousse over cookies. Top with one more layer of cookies dipped in liqueur. Spread remaining mascarpone mixture over cookies and sprinkle with the ¼ cup reserved malt balls.

Cover and refrigerate overnight. Then remove spring form, peel away parchment paper, cut, and serve.

That sounds delish! And Tea for Two sounds like a fun book. I know that Trish often has book giveaways on her blog.

BTW, I'm going to be on 4 the Love of Books Weds and Thursday this week. Drop by to read my interview and for another chance to win my Daddy in the Making.–Lyn