Lyn Cote's Blog, page 103

Author Robin Lee Hatcher & The Story Jar

My guest today is Author Robin Lee Hatcher and she has something just—

In time for Mother's Day giving…

THE STORY JAR

by Robin Lee Hatcher and Deborah Bedford

A lovely novel of three women, their stories threaded together through the concept of

The Story Jar…

The jar itself is most unusual—not utilized in the ordinary way for canning or storing food, but as a collection point for memories. Some mementos in the jar—hair ribbons, a ring, a medallion–are sorrowful, others tender, some bittersweet. But all those memories eventually bring their owners to a place of hope and redemption in spite of circumstances that seemingly have no solution.

THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY JAR

by Robin Lee Hatcher

In September 1998, I received a story jar as a thank you gift after speaking at a writers' conference in Nebraska. The small mason jar, the lid covered with a pretty handkerchief, was filled with many odds and ends – a Gerber baby spoon, an empty thread spindle, a colorful pen, several buttons, a tiny American flag, an earring, and more.

The idea behind this gift was a simple one. When a writer can't think of anything to write, she stares at one of the objects in the jar and lets her imagination play. Who did that belong to? How hold was he? What sort of person was he? What does the object represent in his life?

Writers love to play the "what if" game. It's how most stories come into being. Something piques their interest, they start asking questions, and a book is born.

A week after receiving my story jar, I attended a retreat with several writer friends of mine, Deborah Bedford included. On the flight home, I told Deborah about the jar. The next thing you know (after all, what better thing is there for writers to do on a plane than play "what if"?), we began brainstorming what would ultimately become The Story Jar. We decided very quickly that we wanted this to be a book that celebrates motherhood, that encourages mothers, that recognizes how much they should be loved and honored.

The Story Jar was first published by Multnomah in 2000, but eventually went out of print. Thus Deborah and I are delighted that Hendrickson wanted to bring it out in a new, revised version because we believe these stories can inspire others, just as it did this reader back in 2001:

"I am an avid book reader and have read thousands of books––maybe more––since the age of 5. I can honestly say that [The Story Jar] has touched me more than any other I have read. I cried, I laughed, and I relearned things that I had forgotten long ago as well as realizing things I never knew. Thank you for sharing your stories with your readers. They are truly inspiring. I plan on giving it to all the 'mothers' in my life for Mother's Day."

You don't have to be a writer to want a story jar. It can be a family's way of preserving memories. Consider having a family get-together where everybody brings an item to go into the jar, and as it drops in, they tell what it means to them, what it symbolizes. We can learn something new about our loved ones when we hear their memories in their own words. Or do what my church did a number of years ago to create a memory for a retiring pastor. Inspired by The Story Jar, members of the congregation brought items to the retirement dinner to put into a story jar or they simply wrote their memories on a piece of paper to go into the jar. It was our way of saying thanks to a man and wife for all of the years they'd given in God's service.

A story jar can be a tool for remembering all the wonderful things God has done in our own lives. As Mrs. Halley said, not all of God's miracles are in the Bible. He is still performing them today in countless ways today, changing lives, healing hearts.

In the grip of His grace,

Robin Lee Hatcher

he Story Jar on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1598566652/novelistrobinlee

The Story Jar on ChristianBook:

http://www.christianbook.com/Christian/Books/product?event=AFF&p=1138486&item_no=566659

Robin Lee Hatcher

http://www.robinleehatcher.com

Deborah Bedford

http://www.deborahbedfordbooks.com/

Sounds like a touching book. Thanks, Robin.

Tweet

Chapter Eleven 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

2011 copyright by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Eleven Scene 1

The common room of the inn was almost empty. Over-tired from her first night and day on the road, Christiane had overslept. Most of the other travelers must have left around dawn, she thought as she ate her rich porridge and thick slab of bread. She had been apprehensive about spending the night at the inn, but a few moments inside the door and she had been re-assured. It was a prosperous commercial inn, not one to encourage riotous behavior. Sipping from her pewter mug of creamy, sweet tea, she felt almost wealthy. Last year she had begged her way through New Jersey. This year she had the few pence it took to purchase bed and board. But she sat as close to the warming fire as was safe. She dreaded going out in the cold. The late November sun shone brightly through the few windows, but the wind, whining through the leafless trees, sounded willful. From what she'd overheard in the inn, the Continental Army had moved to northeast of Philadelphia.

Finally Christiane rose and walked as masculinely as she could to the innkeeper's thin wife. Her account settled, she and Nancy, both well-fed and rested, turned onto the road to Philadelphia. Christiane hummed as she reviewed the previous days. All had gone smoothly. The few people she had encountered had accepted her as the callow youth she wanted to appear.

After winning the battles of Brandywine and Germantown, the British had taken control of New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania and had taken Philadelphia as their headquarters. She was quite aware that she was riding through enemy-controlled territory. She just as soon have by-passed the big city, but all roads led there so she had no choice but to go to the city and then find her way to Valley Forge. She'd overheard the other travelers talking about General Washington setting up his winter headquarters at Valley Forge. The Forge's position was a good one, easy to defend and close to the enemy, but unfortunately for the Continental Army, the English had already picked the area clean of provisions.

But Christiane felt that the enemy control of Philadelphia would work in her favor. She would tell Henry that friends of the Richardsons had brought her as far as Philadelphia, but since, Christiane had not wanted to put Henry or any other officer in danger, she had merely traveled the short distance from Philadelphia to the Forge by herself. She permitted herself to smile a bit smugly.

She was certain also that in a few weeks she would persuade Henry to marry her and send for Jean Claude or perhaps she would leave her son with the Richardsons and visit them often. Everything in her life would fall into place at last. She would have the kind of husband she needed and her son would be re-united with her.

A few hours down the road, she boarded a ferry at the Rappahanock River. The memory of crossing ice-filled rivers the year before as Washington's army ran for its life flashed vividly through her mind. Once again this year the Revolutionary forces had been pushed back by the invading army. But she had no doubts about the men she had worked with. They would not give up the fight till their independence had been won.

On the other side of the river, Nancy plodded on down the lonely winding road with its thick growth of leafless trees, crowding it on both sides. Tired, Christiane's mind wandered.

"Halt!" the voice boomed like a cannon through her pre-occupied mind. Old Nancy shied. Christiane tightened her grip on the harness a second too late and off she went. Landing on her bottom, she gave an "oof." The two English soldiers laughed at her discomfort. It was a roadblock. She had been stopped at a few before, but at those she had been seen them ahead and also had been shielded from close scrutiny by a group of other travelers.

Her mind raced. A lone woman, she had no illusions about what men were capable of. Another complication occurred to her suddenly. If they discovered her masquerade, they might think her a spy. Sympathizers were imprisoned and spies were hung. Her terror escalated, but she worked to keep her wits about her. She was just a young lad, travelling on family business. Slowly she retrieved the dragging harness and stroked the jittery mare's neck.

"Lad," the older of the two soldiers barked, "don't h'ever think of ji'ning the calv'ry. You won't neever qualeefy." The two roared again at their own humor. Inwardly Christiane was relieved at their acceptance of her ruse. "State yer business," the same one demanded.

"Jest going to Philadelphy," Christiane mumbled, squinting up at him.

"What fer?"

"Family matter," she mumbled again, watching the two Englishmen studying her. They looked bored and chilled.

"Yer saddlebags is awful full," the talkative one observed.

"Just some things for my sis," she improvised quickly.

"You have a sister?" the younger soldier piped in.

The older one laughed.

"You have a sister in Philadelphy?" the young man persisted.

"Aye," she grunted in her best boy-style.

"Pretty?"

"No."

The older one laughed again. "George 'ere don't care if she's pretty or not. Think she'd be interested in 'im?"

"She's married," Christiane grunted again.

"George wouldn't 'old that against 'er. Would you, George?"

George just grinned in response.

The conversation disgusted Christiane and she wanted to be off. She threw the reins back up to Nancy's back and made ready to hoist herself up.

"'Ere, lad, you 'ain't been given permission to mount up yit!" the older one shouted. "Nobody 'ain't neever taught you 'ow to treat your betters! You taker your 'at off when you speaks to a King's soldier!" Both men crowded close to her.

Memories of the night in the kitchen crowded closer. She panicked. Fumbled at her belt for her knife. She heard a shout and felt a blow to her skull. Blackness.

#

Pain. She was aware of pain so severe she could not bear to open her eyes. Someone was lifting her and then carrying her like a sack of meal. Her head pounded. A door creaked and she felt herself being thrown down. The smell of stale hay. Darkness.

Tweet

We have two winners!

This week two of my guests, Margaret Daley and Vickie McDonough, offered book giveaway drawings to those who left comments.

The winner of Margaret Daley's Trail of Lies is April A Renn at tarenn98(at)yahoo(dot)com

And the winner of Vickie McDonough's Finally a Bride is  Linda St Myers at lstmyers(at)cinci(dot)rr(dot)com

Chapter Ten Scene 5 La Belle Christiane

La Belle Christiane

2011 copyright by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Ten, Scene 5

Dressed in her long, heavy flannel gown and stocking feet, she paced the room back and forth. The wind rattled the window and the candle's shadows danced to each gust. The minutes accumulated into hours. Her head ached and her eyes were dry with fatigue. Still she paced. Finally she paused by the darkened window. By pressing her face close to the glass, she could see outside. The moon was nearly full and the stars were brilliantly crystal, shining coldly down on her. Resting her head against the icy window pane, she pondered what she should do.

Suddenly she knew clearly what she wanted to do. She wanted to leave. But if she followed both the General's and Henry's orders, it would take, at least, a week or two for a letter to reach headquarters and then more for a carriage to be sent for her. How could she force Jean Claude to leave with her? How could she leave the Richardsons completely alone? At this the tears hovered closely again. Fiercely she pushed them back.

How could she explain her true feelings to the Richardsons? They would not understand her desire for a different life. How could she face them, knowing that their dream of having her and her son close by in the way they had assumed was doomed?

She knew also that if they were the kind of people that would have met this news with arguments and anger, they would have made it easier for her. She could have felt righteous about asserting her own will. But she knew that they would not try to stop her. They were too good, too kind to hurt. She could not face them. She needed to talk this over with Henry.

Through the window her glance encountered the barn below. An overwhelming urge to be safely back at headquarters in her accustomed role came over her. She had her mare, Nancy. She could leave tonight. Her own audacity shocked her. She could not go alone, she argued sensibly with herself. But her distraught mind shrieked, I want to go now!

An old idea came to her. She moved over to her bed and knelt beside it. Silently she tugged out her old saddlebags. From them, she pulled out Jon's buckskins. She had not been able to part with them. They had stayed with her–all she had left of Rumsveld and Jacob. Now she was desperate enough to try a masquerade. She couldn't wait for Henry to come for her. The longer she stayed, the harder it would be to leave with or without Jean Claude.

Quickly she shed her feminine attire and examined the worn frontier outfit. If she were to succeed in her disguise, she would have to take pains to mask her womanly form. Eating regularly had filled her curves out nicely. Even the long fringed jacket would not hide them. Soon she was wrapping a light shawl from a point just under her arms to the top of her thighs. It gave her a uniformly thick trunk and held her breasts flat. Then she added the cotton flannel shirt and buckskin breeches and jacket. She plaited her hair into two tight braids which she pinned flat against the back of her head and drew Jon's red, fox-tail hat.

Now she must leave a note for Sarah and Josiah. She couldn't bear to cause them worry by just disappearing. She sat at the bedside table, quill in hand, waiting for inspiration. She must write something soon before the low candle burned out completely.

Dear Sarah Anne and Josiah,

I am sorry to leave you like this, but….

I have my reasons. Please do not worry. I will return

as soon as possible. Tell Jean Claude I love him and will return.

Christiane

She laid the note on her pillow. Carefully she gathered up a few items and put them in the saddlebags for the journey and her brown dress, underclothing, stockings, shoes. She would have to have an outfit to change into once this charade was over. After glancing around the room, she quietly left. She paused before the old couple's bedroom door. If only Jean Claude was not sleeping in their room, she could see him once more.

Silently she walked down to the end of the hall and down the steps. From the pantry, she took a half loaf of brown bread and filled her water skin from the covered pitcher there. Then she stood before the side door.

A shiver of fear and cold sliced through her. Could she walk out into that chilling darkness, mount Nancy, and leave? Before fear could stop her, she blew out the candle and stepped out into the night. As she marched briskly to the barn and harnessed Nancy, she shivered in earnest. Then she walked the horse down the moonlit lane and she did not look back.

Whoa! Christiane, what are you doing? The phrase above in red–she calls it fear, But I would call it caution.  I think it is fear that is driving her. Acting rashly out of fear can end badly. Fear can cause people to do and say things that they shouldn't. But what exactly is Christiane is afraid of?

Tweet

Vickie McDonough & Her Mom's Cinderella Life

My guest today is Author Vickie McDonough who shares very frankly about her "Cinderella" mother and how God changed a heart.  I think there's more than one Cinderella in this story. Vickie has also offered a copy of her latest book Finally a Bride. Leave a comment with your email using (at) and (dot) to be entered in the drawing. Here's Vickie:

"There was a time when I couldn't stand to be around my mother. In fact, I all but quit going over to visit. My mom has always had myriad problems. Her mother was accidentally killed when Mom was only two years old, then my granddad remarried shortly after that, and he married a woman who hated kids—until she had one of her own. Mom literally grew up a Cinderella life, with a step-brother who was highly favored, while she was made to work and received little love and attention. It's no wonder she had problems.

My dad, on the other hand, was the youngest of ten kids and had parents who lived to be in their nineties. He lovingly cared for them much of his life. He was the nurturer in our family, and the one I was closest to.

When Dad died suddenly six years ago, I didn't know what I was going to do with Mom. She believed she had environmental allergies—among a host of other illnesses—and hadn't left her home in 20 years. I'm not kidding. Dad had done everything for her—and now everything fell on me. And I wasn't happy about it. And I let God know that.

But, I did what I had to do. I couldn't abandon my mom, no matter how I felt. At first, I went over daily to do things she couldn't do for herself, then we started bringing her over for Sunday dinner and for the afternoon. Long story short, God gradually did a big work in my heart. Mom and I pretty close now. Thanks to getting her meds stabilized, she's much easier to be around. We still argue at times, but God has healed things between us.

The biggest work was done in my heart. I've never been known as a compassionate person, so taking care of a senior citizen has been an adjustment. I now if God had taken Mom first, I'd have suffered much guilt over how I treated her, but in His mercy, He gave us this time to heal. And you might like to know, lately I've gotten mom to go eat in a restaurant and go in a store with me. I just wish my dad could see her now. He would be so proud."

Yes, Vickie, your dad would be proud and I think that your heavenly Father is proud of you too. "Love one another as I have loved you" isn't about "feeling" love but "doing" love. In loving your mother with your actions, you healed. So both you and your mother had a Cinderella Happily Ever After Ending.

Finally a Bride, her book that releases April 1st, is the third book in her Texas Boardinghouse Brides series and is the book she's offering to giveaway. So leave a comment. Do you have a story where loving actions prompted love?

For more info about Vickie and her books, drop by www.vickiemcdonough.com

Tweet

Chapter Ten Scene 4 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

2011 copyright by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Ten, Scene 4

The woman turned to him and motioned him to join them. "I wasn't, husband, but perhaps now would be a good time?" She waited till he nodded. "I was just telling this dear daughter, that is how we think of thee, dearest Christiane, as the daughter we never had…What was I saying?"

"Thee was telling her?" Josiah prompted.

"Oh, yes, how forgetful I am. Anyway I was telling her how much joy she and her son have brought into our lives. Dearest Christiane, thy son is precious beyond measure to us. This year has been the most wonderful for us in the past thirty."

"It is thirty years since our youngest son passed on," Josiah commented quietly. "I was thirty-two when he left us. My fields are rented out. We are just two old putterers now." He stopped to smile. "But, thank the Lord, we are still in good health and we have managed well with your son this year, I think."

Christiane waited, letting all they had said sink in. He looked directly into Christiane's eyes. "But at our ages good health can leave very quickly. Since we love thy son, we wanted him to be provided for in case anything happened to us before he reached maturity. So we had a will drawn up."

Josiah began to speak more briskly, "Jean Claude has been designated as our sole heir. Thee, of course, would be the guardian of his assets, till he comes of age. But in case all three of us die, God forbid, and leave him an orphan, we chose guardians from our closest and dearest friends. Everything has been written, signed, sealed, and should be undisputed in any fair court." He beamed in a satisfied way and reached out and took one of her hands away from Sarah Anne.

"And daughter Christiane," Sarah spoke up, "Jean Claude will not only inherit this farm, but my family's land also. Our joy is complete now that thee has come home for good. Again I apologize for my impertinence this afternoon. There are many good and prosperous farmers to choose thy next husband from. Christiane, my dear, take thy time and choose the best."

"Yes, Daughter, we want thee to have the best. Always," Josiah chimed in. The two sat smiling at her, each holding one of her hands. Christiane looked from one to the other, completely dumbfounded. Their announcement and assurance that she had come home to stay were so at variance with her plans that she could think of nothing to say, nothing that would not be hurtful.

"Your generosity amazes me," she said at last.

"Oh, Christiane, we had no one else to leave it to," Josiah said modestly.

"And besides, my dear, a stepfather looks more kindly at a stepson who has his own inheritance. There is less friction," Sarah said.

"Sarah, I don't think any of the men we know would be unkind to our Jean Claude," Josiah dissented.

"Yes, dear, but she may not choose to marry a Friend," Sarah replied. He nodded in return. In the face of all this, Christiane smiled as well as she was able.

"I think I'll take a walk this afternoon," she said. By now Christiane knew their after-dinner routine. Jean Claude would nap all afternoon. Josiah would sit by the window and read any paper at hand and then nap in the chair. Sarah would doze in her rocking chair by the fire. They would rest till Jean Claude came bounding down the stairs.

Christiane looked past them. Deep golden sunshine shone through the delicate curtains. "Just leave the dishes to soak and I will wash them when I return." Sarah Anne tried to object. "Just leave them or I'll be angry," Christiane asserted. She went to the pegs by the door. Taking down her bonnet, gloves, and shawl, she let herself out quietly into the windy November day. The sun was deceiving. Its rays were only warm when one was standing directly in them. Christiane pulled the shawl more closely around and struck out briskly. She had to get away and think.

Far from the farmhouse down near the creek, she stopped finally. Leaning back against a thick, gnarled ancient oak, she positioned her feet in the crooks of its twisted and raised roots. The dried brown leaves above her rattled with each gust of wind and she began to think.

First of all, the Richardsons loved her and, most of all, loved her son. "I always knew that," she whispered. They had made it clear that their home was hers when she had come to them last fall, but she had not realized that they would think she had come home to stay! She had thought almost nothing about their reaction to her leaving and talking Jean Claude with her. Her own callousness glistened coldly in front of her own eyes.

"But he's my son! I didn't mean to leave him with them for a whole year!" she said aloud. She caught hold of a low branch with both hands and gripped it painfully. The stabbing loneliness she had felt each night the year before without her son's warm body cuddled up to hers washed over her in smothering waves as she struggled with the young branch.

But what can you give him? She let go of the branch and wiped away the tears that had come. The Richardsons had given him a good home, love, and all their material wealth. She was engaged to a gentleman, the son of a wealthy family, but what did that mean for Jean Claude? Henry would be responsible for her and her son, only when they were married, and that would not be till the war was over. What could she give her son now?

Christiane sat down on a prominent, gnarled root nearby. She had nothing to give her child except her love and the promise of a home. The Washingtons had made it clear that Christiane's position was hers as long as she wanted it. She had not mentioned bringing Jean Claude back with her to either of them.

Perhaps she had not wanted to admit to herself that matters had not really changed. The same reasons that had forced her to leave him originally with the Richardsons, weren't they still valid? The memory of shivering men, standing in line at Morristown waiting for smallpox vaccinations, flashed through her mind. How many children had died last winter, too? Christiane made a nest of her arms and rested her head in it.

To the Richardsons, the solution was simple. She should stay here and marry a farmer. Why couldn't she accept that? She would marry again. Why couldn't she marry a farmer and settle here?

But she knew she wanted more–a life filled with beautiful things: crystal goblets, silver tea sets, delicate bone china, satin gowns and lace camisoles, graceful staircases and symmetrical gardens. She wanted to be included in conversations with educated people, men who could turn a compliment into poetry, people who took an active part in making the future happen. In either station of life, there would be children to bear and duties to perform. But she wanted the elegance she had grown up with, not the hardship she had grown to expect.

But Jean Claude….her calm analysis broke down. Waves of strong, undefined emotion flooded her. Standing up, she         pressed herself back against the firm trunk as though trying to resist them. She wanted many things. She wanted the life Henry offered her. She wanted the Richardsons to be happy. Most importantly, she wanted her son, who had made it clear that he considered her the outsider, to accept her. But Jean Claude did not want to leave his home.

Finally she became aware of the sun setting. She must get back or they would worry and she might hurt herself, walking in the semi-dark. She turned abruptly and nearly tripped over another tree root. She walked quickly home over the frozen ground.

That evening was a blur. She could not hide her pre-occupation. There was a quiet supper and then she watched Jean Claude fall asleep in Sarah's arms by the fire. Finally Christiane gathered him up and carried him to his bed. This was the only time she could hold her son–only when he was so soundly asleep that he did not know that they were her arms. On the previous nights, she had returned to spend a few fireside moments with the Richardsons, but tonight she turned to her room instead. How could she bear to hurt them?

end of scene 3

Later she heard their footsteps on the stairs and then a timid knock. "Christiane?" Sarah's voice asked softly. Christiane rose from sitting on her bed and went to face them. Her pulse leaped erratically. She opened the door and tried to smile.

Josiah stood with his hand, resting on his wife's shoulder. Sarah Anne held a candle. "Christiane, is something wrong?" the old woman asked sadly. Christiane shook her head.

"Is it the will?" Josiah asked huskily.

"No, I….No," Christiane stammered again.

"We just wanted thee and Jean Claude to be safe and happy," Sarah Anne offered.

"I know," Christiane replied sincerely. Impulsively she hugged Sarah and then Josiah. "Good night," she said, tears threatening. She could see that they wanted to ask more, but graciously they bid her good night and she watched the small light waver down the hall to their door.

As she undressed, Christiane left her candle flickering on her bedside table. Outwardly she moved methodically. Inside her heart continued to race. Images of her past and thoughts of her choices tumbled over each other in her brain.

So I think you'd agree that matters aren't going as Christiane expected. What will she do? Decide to stay with Richardsons and pursue a simple life? Or ? What's your prediction?

Tweet

Author Margaret Daley & What to do about Abuse

Today it's my pleasure to host a friend Author Margaret Daley, another Love Inspired author. She shares about her latest book but also about a topic that many of us unfortunately have personal experience with. Here's Margaret:

"In my April Love Inspired Suspense, Melora Hudson, the heroine, is a verbally abused woman in a marriage that to the rest of the world seemed perfect. She feared her husband and didn't know how to get out of a marriage that was abusive psychologically. She agonized over how to get out of the marriage without losing her daughter, which her husband used as a threat against her. He was ruthless and nothing stood in his way. Melora had to dig deep to plan to get away from her husband. When a woman is abused, she needs to seek help. It is hard to do it alone and is scary. As a teacher I worked with several teenage girls who were being abused by their boyfriends. It breaks my heart at how young this pattern starts. The key is to realize you are not alone—there is help out there for you.

Support is out there for woman who are abused, but to take that first step is difficult and takes a lot of courage. Some websites to get information are: http://www.ncadv.org/files/PsychologicalAbuse.pdf or http://www.helpguide.org/mental/domestic_violence_abuse_types_signs_causes_effects.htm.

Blurb for Trail of Lies:

As the mother of a beautiful daughter and the wife of a wealthy entrepreneur, Melora Hudson seemed happy. No one knew about the secrets hidden behind closed doors—secrets Melora was forced to keep. Now, two years after her husband's disappearance, the truth may be exposed. His body has been found, and everyone has questions. Texas Ranger Daniel Boone Riley comes to find answers and stays to protect the woman and child who win his heart. But the terror of Melora's past isn't over. Her late husband's old "associates" want her to carry his secrets to her grave."

Margaret is offering a giveaway of this book in a drawing from those who leave a comment and their email address, using (at) and (dot) so spammers don't harvest the emails.

Let us know if you've enjoyed any of Margaret's books and if you'd like to share about a personal or family member's or friend's triumph over abuse, that's good too.

And for more about Margaret, here are her links:

http://www.margaretdaley.com

http://margaretdaley.blogspot.com

To read an excerpt, click here.

Tweet

Chapter Ten Scene 3 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

2011 copyright by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Ten, Scene 3

Outside the worshipers gathered informally in groups. The Richardsons paused to talk to several, introducing Christiane as they went. Christiane made little attempt to remember names, but she tried to be cordial to all.  She loved the Richardsons and these were the people that they loved. The talk meandered around babies, harvests and livestock. Just as they were about to leave, the "rebel" John Mark came up to be introduced.

He smiled down at her. She knew that a Friend would never be forward enough to give a flattering greeting, but his smile said volumes. She did not wish to encourage him, but because he had spoken in favor of the Revolution Christiane gave him a polite curtsey and smile in return.

Sarah Anne spoke up brightly, "John Mark, why does thee not come and have dinner with us?"

He smiled again. "Sarah Anne, I would never turn down an invitation to sit at thy table. Please let me go over and tell my aunt Patience and then I will follow thee home."

Sarah with Jean Claude in her arms, Christiane, and Josiah got into their wagon and soon John Mark was riding beside them on a fine black gelding. He did not speak to Christiane, but he whenever he caught her eye, he smiled. Sarah and her husband kept up a friendly exchange with him and Christiane maintained her cordial, though formal demeanor.

Back in the kitchen Jean Claude ran happily over to his small wooden box of toys in the corner. While the routine of First Day might be a mystery to his mother, he knew it well. Over an hour of stillness left him ready to play. Soon wooden horses were galloping across the bare floor. Sarah chuckled while she watched him as she busied herself over the hearth.                                                 "John Mark is very well thought of hereabouts," Sarah offered.

"Oh."

"He inherited quite a large farm from his father a few years ago and runs it quite well."

"Yes."

"Everyone thought he was going to marry Katherine Smith last year, but the engagement never took place."

"I see." Christiane did not like the drift of these comments.

Then a burst of brisk fall air rushed in. The men came in from the stable, silencing any further talk. The two farmers sat by the fire while Sarah put the final touches on the meal and Christiane set the table. Christiane surveyed the table with its white linen cloth, the pewter plates, heavy china cups, old silver, and the bouquet of fall wildflowers that Josiah had brought his wife the day before. The set table reminded her of the family here: plain, solid, pure.

"Come to the table," the cook announced as she arranged the large steaming bowls and platter.

Hearing Sarah's summons and smelling the aromas of roast and corn, the toddler left his horses and climbed up on the bench across from Christiane. As always, he kept the table between him and the newcomer. Christiane was stabbed with a longing to hold her son. The men took chairs at each end. A solemn grace was performed and the eating began.

"Thee has not come to meeting before, Christiane?" the guest asked.

"No," Christiane answered stiffly.

"But we are hoping she will attend with us each week," Sarah put in quickly. Christiane looked down to hide her negative reaction.

"That will be up to Christiane," Josiah moderated.

"I understand thy husband was a soldier," John Mark continued.

"Yes, I appreciated your position this morning. I hope some aid can be extended to soldiers' families. I know, from personal experience, how great the need can be." It cost Christiane something to say this. She still did not want to remember the days in which she had been in dire need, but she could not forget them.

"Many people offered contributions after meeting," the young man said. "I do not think it will be too difficult to locate those in need and provide for them."

"We should help all who are in need regardless of politics," Josiah commented firmly and Sarah smiled in agreement.

"Thee would even help a redcoat if he came to thy door, wouldn't thee, Josiah?" John Mark said in an admiring way.

"Of course. A uniform makes no difference."

"That is something I admire about thee, Josiah. Old Nathan today questioned whether I was being seduced by this conflict. I don't know. All I know is that sometimes I am so angry at London for putting us all in this position…." His voice went on and Josiah responded periodically, but the conversation proceeded without Christiane.

Anger and disbelief welled up in her. The British were the enemy! They had killed her Jacob and caused her terrible hardships. She despised them and she was not ashamed of her feelings. The Revolution must succeed or all her future plans were for naught and all she had suffered would be in vain! She glanced at the two men and Sarah. She thought she knew them so well, but did she? Their "meeting" this morning baffled her still.

"Christiane, is something wrong with thy food?" Sarah asked. "Thee has stopped eating."

"No, no, I was just thinking," stammered Christiane. Sarah Anne smiled in such a way that Christiane could not miss her meaning. Inwardly Christiane gasped. She thinks I am interested in this man!

With as much aplomb as Christiane could command, she resumed eating and the conversation around her began again. Christiane and Sarah locked eyes briefly. Evidently it was about time that the Richardsons were told that she was engaged to Captain Henry Lee of the Virginia Lees and that she intended on taking Jean Claude back to Washington's headquarters soon.

At last the meal ended. Jean Claude, full of potatoes and gravy, laid his head on his grandmother's lap. She lovingly stroked his hair and almost immediately, he sighed and was asleep. Carefully she gathered him in her arms and carried him upstairs for his nap. Christiane followed and watched as Sarah gently tucked him into his little trundle bed next to Sarah and Josiah's huge four-poster. Sarah left and for a few moments Christiane let herself admire him. He was so precious, but when would he let her show him how she cared?

When she came downstairs, John Mark and the Richardsons were waiting by the door for her. John Mark spoke up, "Christiane, it has been good to meet thee." She offered him her hand, curtseyed and murmured some indistinct pleasantry in French. He shook her hand honestly and said his thank-yous and farewells. Josiah went out with him. Sarah began to clear the table.

"Sarah Anne, about John Mark–" Christiane began.

"Oh, I am sorry, Christiane, for being so obvious," Sarah interrupted. "It is just that…." Christiane waited, surprised at Sarah's quick apology. Sarah shook her head absently and pressed her lips together and continued her cleaning up. Finally she motioned Christiane to sit with her by the fire. "Christiane, I think it's time that we talked."

Christiane agreed silently and sat down. Gently Sarah's wrinkled and spotted hands took Christiane's small, white ones. "Thee does not know what thy coming into our lives has done for us. We did not know we were sitting in a dark room till thee came in and brought the sunlight–thee and thy son. We had no kin left. And our sons had died so young and so long ago that we had forgotten the joy of children, the joy of looking forward to the future. Except for thee and Jean Claude, Josiah and I are all alone."

Josiah had come in, unnoticed. "I thought we would tell her together, Sarah?" he queried softly.

Tweet

We have a winner!

My guest Ann Gabhart chose the fourth commenter from Thursday, Marianne mitzi_wanham[at]yahoo[dot]com

Marianne, I've asked Ann to contact you so you can receive your copy of Angel Sister.

Thanks again, Ann! And congratulations, Marianne!

BTW, this week I also gave away a copy of Daddy in the Making at the Craftie Ladies of Romance Blog.  If you haven't visited there, drop by!

Chapter Ten Scene 2 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

2011 copyright by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Ten, Scene 2

Just three days later on Sunday morning, Christiane sat very straight on the backless bench in the meetinghouse. Her heart pounded with apprehension. Next to her sat Sarah with Jean Claude on her lap. Josiah was across the Quaker church, sitting with the men. Everyone around her was calm and quiet. None of them suspected her hidden distress. The spare white meetinghouse was nothing like the Cathedral at Notre Dame where she had often worshiped in Paris. Where were the altar, the statues and the candles flickering in the semi-darkness?

Clenching her hands in her lap, she glanced back to the double doors where last year she had–sick with fever–collapsed. How different were her circumstances this year. But during the past few days with them, the Richardsons appeared to see no change in her from last year. Also having to help Sarah with the laundry, scrubbing, and cooking had reminded her vividly of a life she had been relieved to leave behind. Added to these, her troubled re-union with her son made her long to be back at the Continental headquarters doing her usual duties.

A tall attractive man entered alone, grasping a worn Bible. His and Christiane's eyes connected for a fraction of a second. Then she looked down at her hands. Finally all seemed to be assembled. Christiane waited–for what she really did not know–some kind of beginning, but there did not seem to be any, just a heavy silence. Even at his age Jean Claude felt it, stopped squirming and settled back into Sarah Anne's lap. Christiane waited and waited. After awhile her apprehensive feelings slipped away. Sitting in silence did not seem sacrilegious or very religious for that matter.

A voice cut through the silence. Christiane's head snapped up and saw that the tall man who had come last had stood up to speak. Christiane realized that she was the only one who had turned to look at him. Quickly she looked back down at her hands self-consciously. Was he the priest? Why wasn't he at the front? His voice was strong and pleasant. He read from his Bible with a strong, deep voice,

For thee has broken the yoke

that burdened them

and the rod that beat their shoulders.

Thou hast defeated the nation

that oppressed and exploited thy people,

just as thou defeated the army of Midian long ago.

The boots of the invading army

and all their bloodstained clothing

will be destroyed by fire.

He cleared his throat and began to speak,"This passage from the prophet Isaiah, chapter nine, has haunted me this week past. Though I cannot support the violent means that the Rebels are using, I cannot help but sympathize with their desire to send foreign soldiers away from this free land."

Though nothing was said in answer, Christiane was aware of a subtle disapproval that flowed through the congregation. She knew that the Quakers did not support the Revolution and she still could not understand why. Unconsciously she sighed softly and shook her head.

Still no liturgy began, but periodically and without introduction men or surprisingly women would stand up and speak. Some quoted scripture; some merely spoke what they believed in their own words; a few prayed.

Then one white-haired old farmer stood up and clutching a cane with both hands. His voice crackled with age, "Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called the sons of God. John Mark, I was a friend of thy grandfather and thy father. Thy reading troubles me. I know young blood runs hot. Some of our number have already been seduced by this conflict. I would hate to see thee follow their fate." The old man remained standing as though waiting for a response. His watery gray eyes fixed on the first speaker of the day.

John Mark rose and faced his accuser. "Friend, I do not think that I am being seduced by this conflict. I only speak what I feel. Whether we approve of this Revolution or not, it will alter the course of the history of this continent. I also think that if the British win that the outcome will not mean more freedom, but less."

"What does thee propose?" The old man shot back keenly. "Are thee saying that we should enlist in this war?"

Christiane held her breath.

"No, thee knows I do not, but I do think that we could take up a collection of clothing and foodstuffs for the families of soldiers who remain here while their men are away. Winter is coming and many of them are in need."

The old man stood for a moment. "That is a different matter. I am sure most of us would be glad to help any in need," he said quietly and sat down. Again Christiane felt an unspoken answer go through the congregation. This time it was one of approval. After many more minutes of silence, a woman rose and said a short prayer. Christiane realized that it must be some sort of signal because people stood and began leaving. Was the service over? When had it begun?

This is the first time Christiane attends a Quaker worship service. What made it difficult for her to "get into" it? Have you ever thought about what a person who had never attended your particular church would think of what they sat through? That can be an eye opener!

Tweet