Lyn Cote's Blog, page 105
March 9, 2011
March 8, 2011
Chapter Eight Scene 4 La Belle Christiane
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La Belle Christiane
2011 Copyright Lyn Cote
All rights reserved
Chapter Eight, Scene 4
Christiane could barely believe that the awful winter of her suffering had finally ended. Spring had finally rescued them from the terrible winter. She sat under the arched grape arbor blooming near the inn, still Washington's headquarters. Lady Washington was taking a brief afternoon nap. Christiane, having much to think over, had decided to spend a few moments alone enjoying the spring afternoon sun.
April was nearly spent and the spring was ardently expressing itself. New green leaves fluttered over her head and dandelions dotted the open meadow behind the house. Christiane felt her former vitality returning. A melancholy thought of Jakob passed through her mind, but she let it go. The sun was too bright for sad memories from winter. Jakob would love this kind of day, the thought pierced her heart.
A throat cleared very nearby. "Mrs. Kruger?"
Christiane looked up. "Oh, Captain Lee, you have taken me by surprise." He was standing so close she should have heard his approach. The meadow must have cushioned his footsteps.
"I am sorry, madame. I did not mean to startle you."
"Think nothing of it, Captain. I was merely lost in the beauty of the day." She smiled and he gazed down at her. Christiane felt her face warm slightly.
"It is a beautiful day, isn't it?" he said pleasantly. "Where is our Mrs. Washington?"
"In her room."
"You mean I find you alone?"
Christiane saw his innocent smile and returned it spontaneously. "Yes, I am quite alone."
"May I sit with you or would you rather remain alone?"
"No, please, sit." She moved over on the bench to make room for him. The two of them had seen each other now and then since the night they had met, but never before without a room full of people, watching them. She had liked what she had heard about him. And his behavior towards her had matched Lt. Colonel Laurens–always courteous and never insinuating.
He sat. "I have heard that you are French by birth."
"Yes, I am from Paris originally."
"I almost went to England to continue my education, but the Revolution intervened. I had hoped to see Paris also."
She nodded. "But I have found war is an education in itself."
"Well said." There was a pause. "Are you leaving with Mrs. Washington in May?"
"She has invited me," she replied cautiously. This was the very subject that she had wanted to ponder. Mrs. Washington had invited her to go home to Mt. Vernon with her. When Christiane had declined, the lady had proposed another plan. Would Christiane stay and oversee the general's everyday life while Mrs. Washington had to be home, looking after Mt. Vernon? The lady's eyes had told Christiane that it was more than a simple request.
Christiane knew the many tasks Mrs. Washington undertook while in camp: hostess, nurse, seamstress, and more. She could tell that it worried the lady that her husband might need more than just his watchful valet, Billy Lee, especially in case of illness. Very few knew just how prone-to-illness the robust-looking general was. Perhaps she also worried that the General might be wounded and need someone who would make certain he wasn't "doctored" to death.
Washington himself had also asked Christiane to act as an unofficial secretary and translate letters into French. This had given her great satisfaction. Her old reservations about the Revolution had been swept away in that horrible December. She had lost too much in this battle for freedom to see it fail. For the first time she had felt she was contributing something constructive to the Revolution's success.
"But you do not want to go?" Lee asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She smiled apologetically. "I am trying to decide. Evidently the general and his lady think I may be of some use to him in camp."
"Oh?"
"Yes, some things need a woman's touch, such as making sure the general has his favorite foods." She smiled, trying to make light of it.
He smiled in return. "I admire your wanting to serve in any way you are able."
This made Christiane a little uncomfortable since she had been reaping so many benefits from her service to the Washingtons. Did she really want to help the Revolution or did she want to continue her new position and station?
I never want to be in need again. The force of this determination stiffened her. And somehow the simple life of the Richardsons' did not seem a sufficient buffer against life, the way it could suddenly strip a person of everything. Without intending to, Christiane shook her head slightly.
"You seem deep in thought," he said.
She glanced up at him. "I am sorry I am not much better company."
"Why don't we walk then? Walking sometimes clears the mind." He stood and offered her his hand.
She looked up at him. Lee was handsome as he smiled down on her, but then she saw Jakob's face momentarily. The spring before this one, Jakob had courted her. Only four months ago he had left her forever, but his memory was still with her, an ache deep inside. She pressed her hand against her heart. Such pain. All this must have played across her face.
"Mrs. Kruger?" Lee said softly.
"I'm sorry, Captain Lee, but I think I will return to the house."
He looked as though he wanted to object, but he was too much a gentleman to do so. "May I escort you that far?"
"Yes, of course," she assented and let him help her up. They walked quietly to the house and parted. Christiane went directly to her room. She stood at the window, looking down a the army which would soon begin fighting. She should ask for an escort to the Richardson's farm and return to her son. But everything within her resisted this. I can't go back to the way life was. I can't. Yet what am I going to do? Why can't life be easier, simpler?
March 7, 2011
Author Trish Perry & Unforgettable
My guest today is Author Trish Perry who is a busy little author this year. Here's Trish with some info about Unforgettable.
"Rachel Stanhope tries to see the good in everyone. But even her good graces are challenged when she meets Josh Reegan outside her Arlington, Virginia dance studio on a brisk fall morning in 1951. Admittedly, he's attractive, but she finds his cynicism and cockiness hard to tolerate.
A hard-news journalist and former World War II Air Force pilot, Josh considers distractions like ballroom dancing frivolous wastes of time. He has yet to shed his wartime drive to defend good against evil whenever he can. Yes, Rachel's confident nature is a refreshing challenge, but he wouldn't tangle with her if his newspaper hadn't roped him into covering one of her studio's competitions in New York City.
Between Arlington and New York, between the melodrama of ballroom antics and the real drama of political corruption, between family involvement and romantic entanglement, Rachel and Josh have their hands full. The last thing either of them expects is mutual need and support. But once they stop dancing around the truth, the results are unforgettable. "–Trish
A little about Trish:
Award-winning novelist Trish Perry has written eight inspirational romances for Harvest House Publishers, Summerside Press, and Barbour Publishing, as well as two devotionals for Summerside Press. She has served as a columnist and as a newsletter editor over the years, as well as a 1980s stockbroker and a board member of the Capital Christian Writers organization in Washington, D.C. She holds a degree in Psychology.
Trish's latest novel, Unforgettable, releases in March, and Tea for Two releases in April. She invites you to visit her at www.TrishPerry.com
Links to purchase:
I've been a guest on Trish's blog (on her homepage) and she often gives away books. Drop by.–Lyn
March 6, 2011
Chapter Eight Scene 3 La Belle Christiane
If you've just discovered this free read, if you click Archived Free Read above, you will be able to start at the beginning.
La Belle Christiane
2011 Copyright Lyn Cote
All rights reserved
Chapter Eight, Scene 3
Christiane sat writing thank you notes which later Mrs. Washington would sign, but her mind was far from the flowery phrases under her quill tip. After years of struggling for mere existence, Christiane was delighted at the respect, courtesy, ease, and material comfort she now enjoyed. However, this was one of those solitary moments when her past and present problems could come to her mind. Jakob. When would she stop grieving, stop regretting that she hadn't insisted that they leave on the last day of December as they had planned? If she had, Jakob would be alive now. And Jean Claude. How was he? Did he remember his mother at all? But how could she go to him–alone and in winter? And if she sent for him, she had no guarantee he would arrive safely. No, nothing could be done now.
"Miss Christiane?"
Christiane looked up to see one of the serving girls at the door.
"Yes?"
"Mrs. Hardy would like you to stop at the kitchen."
Christiane frowned inwardly. She had no desire to re-visit the kitchen, but she owed Mrs. Hardy her life and Emma too. "Tell Mrs. Hardy that I will come as soon as I have penned these notes."
The girl bobbed a curtsey and closed the door quietly behind her.
Over an hour later Christiane arrived at the kitchen door. It was already early evening. Stepping into the spicy-smelling, warm, shadowy room, she found Emma alone. She began to make her apology and leave when Emma surprised her by speaking up. "Christiane, I'm glad you weren't hurt."
"Oh?" Christiane could not keep the surprise out of her voice. Christiane stepped in farther and closed the door behind her. "Why?"
"It is hard to explain." Emma paused nearly a minute. Christiane waited patiently, staring into the flames of the familiar hearth. "You are so beautiful. I hate people who look nice."
"Emma, no one can control how they look."
"I know. But you are pretty. And someone tried to hurt you so bad."
Christiane reached out and put her hand on Emma's. "My life has been far from perfect. And you have your aunt who loves you."
"I know!" Emma eyes became excited. "She asked about me first that night, not you."
Then Mrs. Hardy came in, talking loudly. Christiane soon realized that Mrs. Hardy wanted to hear some of the house gossip and to be thanked again for her nursing Christiane back to health. Christiane did both and then hurried back to the main house.
Deep in these thoughts, she walked up the back steps to her room and hung up her cape. The Washingtons had already gone down for dinner, so she hurriedly swept her hand over her hair and dress and went down the front stairs to the dining room. A smooth exchange of voices greeted her as she entered. The company was already seated.
General Washington, polite as always, noticed Christiane and stood up. "Good evening, Miss Christiane," he said with a smile.
"Good evening, general, my apologies for being late," Christiane said, looking only at him.
"Quite all right. We have three new members to our company who you must meet, my dear." Christiane followed his gesture and discovered two men on his right, one older and distinguished-looking. The other was young and incredibly handsome with hazel eyes and wavy brown hair. "Mrs. Christiane Kruger, may I present to you Major Thoedrick Bland of the Virginia Cavalry, his lady, and one of his captains, Henry Lee."
After the courtesies, Christiane took her accustomed seat between Mrs. Washington and Mr. Laurens. This put her directly opposite young Captain Lee. Christiane kept her eyes down demurely. The general went on, "Major Bland's regiment has just joined us to get ready for this summer's campaign."
Christiane looked up and nodded politely.
"He brought this young man with him to dinner because his family and mine are old friends," the general continued.
"Yes," Mrs. Washington interrupted cheerfully, "as children, Captain Lee's mother, Lucy Grymes, and the general used to meet to kiss behind the large oak near George's house on Ferry Farm." She chuckled.
"Martha!" The general exclaimed in mock exasperation. "Who told you that?"
"You did, of course." She turned to the young man. "It only showed that as a child he had good taste in women."
The young captain smiled. "And evidently he did not lose that faculty as he matured."
"Flattery, of course, but very sweet of you, Captain." Mrs. Washington flushed with pleasure.
"Not at all, Lady Washington."
The general spoke up again, "Captain Lee's father sits at the Continental Congress for Virginia. We can hope now that his son is with us that the body will do a more efficient job of equipping and sustaining this army."
"My father does his best," Lee replied without rancor.
"I believe it," Washington conceded. "Sometimes though the shortages we must endure are almost beyond my understanding." Everyone at the table made some sign of agreement to this. Christiane glanced at Lee just in time to catch him gazing at her. She smiled for the briefest moment and lowered her eyes again.
The dinner conversation flowed around her. Captain Lee answered queries politely. Christiane, however, felt that in reality that his mind was focused on her. The attention of men was certainly not a novelty to her, but unexpectedly he had gained her interest in return. The evening passed more pleasantly than usual.
Later as she sat on the side of her bed. Lady Washington stepped in and sat down beside her. "Well, what do you think of this Captain Henry Lee?"
"He seems very personable."
"You have made a conquest of him already." Mrs. Washington sounded proud.
"Oh, please, I…."
"Oh, save your denials. You are young and beautiful. Catching the attention of men is a natural part of that."
Christiane was at a loss as to what to say. She could not deny that Lee had been attracted to her or that she had taken note of him. But Jakob had only been gone a few months. The idea of "interesting" another man was repugnant. She looked down at her hands. The pain of loss strangled her.
Mrs. Washington, seeming to read Christiane's thoughts, laid her hand on Christiane's cheek. "It is unfortunate that you have had such sorrow in your young life. But don't let it make you afraid of happiness." The lady left, closing the door behind her.
Christiane snuffed the candle and lay down. Confusion was still with her, but the phrase "afraid of happiness" lingered.
March 3, 2011
Chapter Eight Scene 2 La Belle Christiane
La Belle Christiane
2011 Copyright Lyn Cote
All rights reserved
Chapter Eight, Scene 2
Mrs. Washington stood at the door to the parlor greeting the ladies of the Morristown garrison and the surrounding county to the inn. While she met each one and thanked them for coming to her first sewing circle, she kept one eye on Christiane,standing next to her.
In the days following her decision to make Christiane her personal companion, Mrs. Washington had watched with pleasure and some amazement the transformation of this beautiful, young woman. She had, of course, recognized the girl's quality before this, but now she wondered even more about Christiane's background. Etiquette, grace, style, Christiane lacked none of the social education of a lady. Today would be the final test of Christiane's pedigree. And her introduction into the society Mrs. Washington hoped to make her a part.
"Mrs. Washington."
Martha looked up into the haughty face of Lady Stirling, the wife of Lord Stirling. Though the heir to the title of the sixth earl of Stirling, Lord Stirling was one of the general's ablest officers.
"I see you have brought your lovely nieces with you." Mrs. Washington smiled at the girls, who were the daughters of the governor of New Jersey. She quickly introduced them to Christiane and waited to see if sparks would fly now or later. She was already well aware from the garrison's grapevine that Lady Stirling was miffed that a former scullery maid would be included in a gathering of "ladies." Democracy was all well and good, but ladies did not sit to tea with servants.
Christiane curtseyed gracefully and greeted Lady Stirling and her nieces in French. Mrs. Washington chuckled inwardly at the lady's peeved expression. Evidently Lady Stirling did not speak French and did not like a scullery maid to do so either. With the posture of a general, Lady Stirling turned away and claimed the seat next to Mrs. Washington's sewing box.
Since Lady Stirling had evidently timed her arrival, carefully managing to be the last to arrive, Mrs. Washington moved to stand in front of the fireplace. All the ladies quieted and turned to her.
"Again good afternoon to all of you and my heartfelt thanks to your coming out this cold day." Mrs. Washington said." I know you have been just as moved as I have been over the plight of our brave soldiers. Many of whom are sadly in need of clothing. Christiane and I have already cut out the cloth for the new shirts we will be stitching today. And while our purpose is serious, I hope these sewing sessions will bring us all closer to friendship."
There was polite pause and Mrs. Washington sat down on the settee beside Lady Stirling and handed Christiane her sewing box, her signal to Christiane that she was to thread a needle for her.
Christiane stepped over to the bay window, trimmed in bouffant sheers, and began to thread.
Lady Stirling said, "Mrs. Kruger, you speak French?"
Christiane continued her threading. "I am French, Lady Stirling."
"You are? But you have no accent?"
"My father was an Irish emigre," Christiane replied. "I'm sure you are aware that many Irish nobles escaped to France because of the harsh treatment of Ireland by England."
"I take it he was attached to some nobleman?" the lady inquired airily.
This implication that Christiane's father belonged to the servant class and that Christiane had no business joining a room of ladies cut through the polite conversations that had barely begun. Mrs. Washington held her breath and watched as Christiane assumed an imperious stance which put Lady Stirling's to shame.
Mrs. Washington noticed that this visible change in Christiane was caught by each observer till all eyes were on the beautiful young French emigre. The young woman's stance demeanor went from humble companion to grandame in seconds. All their faces asked the same question: what would the girl say?
The young Frenchwoman turned to look upon her rival with an expression that a mistress would use on a disrespectful servant. The audience waited.
With what could only be described as regal grace, Christiane walked to the settee where Mrs. Washington was. She handed the threaded needle to the lady. The silence in the room now was complete. Fastening her eyes on Lady Stirling alone, Christiane spoke, "Lady Stirling, I perceive that you are curious about my background."
Christiane's tone sounded icy as only a highborn lady's could be. "I come here without credentials. I could tell you any fantasy I wished to devise and you would have no way of assessing its validity. Therefore, I make no claims. However, to answer your question, no, my father was not attached to any nobleman." Then Christiane sat down nearby and reached for her sewing project.
Lady Stirling looked more surprised, than insulted. Mrs. Washington suppressed a smile. The other women in the room quickly looked down and became busy with their sewing. At the end of the dreary winter afternoon when Mrs. Washington bid the ladies farewell, she was certain that their stomachs were full of tea and toast, but their minds were discreetly mulling over Lady Stirling's setdown by the intriguing young Frenchwoman.
Interesting, isn't it, that those who supported liberty still might be "snobs?"–Lyn
March 2, 2011
Author Julianne MacLean & Color of Heaven
My guest today is Author Julianne MacLean who writes secular romance. I've invited her to share about a very different book she's written, based her on her own experiences. In order to let her readers know that this book is different, she has written it under the name of E.V. Mitchell. Here's Julianne:
"I have a new book out now called THE COLOR OF HEAVEN, a novel I have been working on for the past six years. It's been getting nice reviews, and I've received many touching letters about the story from readers who amaze me with their personal stories.
The book has touched a nerve for many people I suppose, and the reasons for that are not easy to explain.
Let me backtrack a bit.
I was late delivering this blog to Lyn, because the subject matter is not an easy thing to write about, and I kept putting it off. THE COLOR OF HEAVEN is autobiographical in many ways, based on the most traumatic and difficult events from my own life.
In the book, Sophie, the main character, is a writer and she endures the unthinkable hardship of caring for her sick child.
My own daughter was diagnosed with Hemolytic Uremic Syndrome when she was two years old, and we almost lost her. We spent six weeks in the hospital, hitting rock bottom for a few days in the ICU when I was certain we were going to lose her.
I will never forget the panicked nurses and doctors rushing around her bed, administering drugs, calling in a team of workers in the middle of the night for an emergency kidney dialysis. I wept and prayed for a miracle during those terribly dark 24 hours.
It's a difficult thing to revisit, but in these twelve years since, I have watched my daughter grow into a beautiful young woman, and have never stopped feeling grateful for my prayers being answered.
But not a day goes by that I don't wonder… What if they had not been?
Let me tell you about another experience that is part of my life and part of the book. Sophie crashes her car into a frozen lake and drowns in the water, which is the near-death experience that teaches her something about her own life and her past.
I, too, had a similar car accident when I was twenty-five years old. I hydroplaned at high speed on a rain-soaked highway and skidded off the road. Clutching the steering wheel and bracing my body for the worst – and praying, dear God, that everything would be okay – I rolled down a steep embankment.
By some miracle I survived, and I am still astonished by the fact that I walked away from that wreck with only a few scratches, when half the car was flattened like a pancake.
There are times I am certain there was an angel beside me.
So why did I write this book the way I did? I took those terrifying situations and asked the question, "What if?" What if my prayers had not been answered, and I had not walked away from the wreck?
I suppose I needed to face such possibilities, because sometimes our prayers are not answered.
I believe, however, that it's important for each one of us to know that our precious lives, no matter how difficult at times, are a gift from above. Every moment should be cherished, and it's important to give thanks, to be grateful and humble for what we have been given.
Sophie learns this in THE COLOR OF HEAVEN. I have certainly learned it in the years since my two close brushes with death – my own and my daughter's.
I sleep with a small ceramic angel over my head at night, and I am grateful for all that I have been blessed with.
Please be grateful, too. Give thanks and enjoy your blessings every day. No matter what happens, you are not alone. Be strong, and always hold your faith close to your heart."–Julianne
For more about THE COLOR OF HEAVEN – an E-book original available now, drop by www.juliannemaclean.com
I've been attending a Beth Moore study of the book of Daniel. Recently she made the point that God can deliver us FROM a trial, or he can deliver us THROUGH a trial. I think Julianne's story shows both of these. God led her daughter through this illness and brought her out safe on the other side while Julianne was delivered from the auto accident. We don't like times of testing but IMHO, we learn the most about ourselves and heaven from them. Thanks, Julianne, for being so open and sharing what has touched your life.–Lyn
March 1, 2011
Chapter Eight Scene 1 La Belle Christiane
La Belle Christiane
2011 Copyright Lyn Cote
All rights reserved
Chapter Eight Scene 1
Dreaming, Christiane reached for Jakob. Suddenly a hand clamped down across her mouth and a heavy body crushed her own. She awoke instantly and screamed almost soundlessly into the wide hand. She struggled against his grip.
"There, there, girlie. Don't get so upset. I'm aiming to pay for what I want. I would ask polite like if I thought you were just any doxy. You be pretty uppity. I figure the officers must keep you close here for their own pleasure. And I don't blame 'em a bit. You are a choice piece and I'm for gettin' my share."
He chuckled softly and waited confidently for her to stop struggling. When she did not, he commented without concern, "So you want it rough? You think my money ain't as good as an officer's. Too bad." Then he began to maul her in earnest, roughly ripping through her gown.
Christiane bit his hand and screamed, "Emma!" He cuffed her viciously across the face. She screamed again.
"Bitch!" he shouted. "You'll be sorry!" He mounted her. Christiane fought him wildly now, scratching and writhing.
A muffled voice said, "Stop." He looked up to see Emma, unveiled and standing directly above him. By the shadowy twilight of the hearth, her deformity looked terrifying. He opened his mouth to scream. Emma lifted up her musket; the kitchen exploded in smoke.
A tumult of people crowded into the small kitchen–sentries, officers, house servants, and Mrs. Hardy–all in night dress. Emma stood stolidly, still holding her weapon. Christiane, clutching together her split gown, lay weeping and trembling on her pallet. The attacker was sprawled backward and silent. Blood poured from a ragged hole in the center of his chest.
Mrs. Hardy pressed forward. "Emma! Are you all right?" Emma didn't answer. Gently Mrs. Hardy took the musket from her and handed it to a sentry. Then she hugged the frightened girl.
Lt. Colonel Laurens pushed his way through. "Someone light some candles." Then he saw Christiane. He knelt down, wrapped a blanket around her torn gown and helped her to the bench by the large kitchen table.
Just then Mrs. Washington bustled into the room, followed by another disheveled officer. "Did I hear a gunshot?"
Laurens answered, "We were just about to ascertain the facts, ma'am."
"Milady," Hamilton. the officer who'd come with her, interposed, "I can attend to this and relay the facts to you and the general."
"No, Mr. Hamilton, thank you, but since I am already here, I would prefer to stay, especially since I see that this has involved Miss Christiane. I don't want my husband disturbed at night anymore than he has to be. Would you go up and tell him what you have seen?"
Hamilton seated Mrs. Washington at the table next to Christiane, then swiftly left. "Christiane, what happened? Can you tell us?" she asked gently. For an answer Christiane turned and hid her face against the lady's shoulder. Emma sat as mute as before. "Mrs. Hardy, what restorative do you have at hand?" Mrs. Washington asked.
"Get the bottle of brandy I keep in the far cupboard," Mrs. Hardy ordered, gesturing toward one of the seving girls. "And two glasses. Quick now,"
"Please can one of you tell us what occurred?" Mrs. Washington again questioned gently.
Unexpectedly Emma spoke up. "I heard Christiane scream my name." The girl struggled to make her words clear. The shadows hid the girl's face, but she spoke, as if unaware that her face was exposed. "At first I just thought she was having one of her nightmares like she does every night. But she never called my name before and I heard odd noises, too. So I got up and looked. I saw him trying to…to hurt her." The girl looked down. She went on hesitantly, "Anyway I got out the musket that Aunt left under my bed. And I shot him." The last was barely a whisper.
"I give her the musket for protection," the cook spoke up. "All these strange men about."
"It seems that it was a wise thing to do," Mrs. Washington said. "Christiane, can you add anything?"
Christiane shook her head slightly without lifting her face.
"Does anyone recognize this man?" Mrs. Washington asked.
There was a silence as everyone tried to look at the dead man without really looking at him. She waited patiently. Finally one of the soldiers cleared his throat.
"Yes?" Mrs. Washington looked to him.
He cleared his throat again. "I think…I mean he be a day sentry."
"A sentry, you say?" she asked, sounding put out. "Do you know his name?"
The man stepped gingerly over to the dead man and looked down. "Yes, Lady Washington, this be Private Cashmore, one of the sentries. He was rough–a mighty rough man."
"Very well. I believe the body can be removed then. Mr. Laurens, please accompany this man and see where the body is taken. The general will want a complete report and most likely there will be an inquiry."
The men left with the body, wrapped in a blanket, and Mrs. Hardy directed the serving girls to drag out the pallet as they left.
"Christiane, what were you doing in the kitchen at this hour?" Mrs. Washington asked.
At last Christiane looked up, but Mrs. Hardy answered for her. "Why it is where she sleeps, milady. All the other servant quarters and rooms are filled."
A grimace passed over the lady's face. "A more suitable place will be found." With this she stood, drawing the still-dazed Christiane up with her and led her upstairs.
Mrs. Washington's black maid, Oney, candle in hand and a shawl around her shoulders, was waiting at the door. She sighed in relief. "Is everything all right, Miss Martha?"
"Everything is quiet now, but we need to find…."
Christiane's mind, gripped by shock, drifted away almost into unconsciousness. The lady, assisted by the maid, led Christiane up the stairs and into the general's suite.
The maid disappeared silently through a doorway just the other side of the fireplace. A candle burned on the night stand beside the large curtained bed and the flames on the hearth crackled warmly. Christiane drew close to the fire.
The older woman stood beside her. "I am so sorry that one of the soldiers would….you won't be left in such an unprotected position again."
This broke through to Christiane. All the tension of the experience flowed out. Tears wet her cheeks. Sobs like waves shook her body. The older woman, her arm again around Christiane, led her over to the bed. Parting the bed curtain, they sat side-by-side on the edge.
Then the young maid came out of the doorway. She nodded to her mistress and left discreetly. The lady helped Christiane, still weeping softly, through the same doorway into the dressing room directly behind the fireplace. There she sat Christiane down on a small bed.
Christiane came to herself more and more as Mrs. Washington came back in the room, carrying a fresh nightgown. "I am certain that this will be much too large for you, my dear, but it is all I have."
The door to the adjoining room opened and closed. Heavy footsteps walked across the floor and the general's voice called softly, "Martha?"
"I'll be right in, George. Christiane, here is soap and a fresh pitcher of water. You won't have a fire in here, but your bed lies against the chimney. That should keep you warm through the night. I hate to leave you, but the Old Man needs his sleep and he won't settle down till I'm beside him." The older woman paused. "Is there anything else you need, my dear?"
Christiane looked around dis-orientedly. "I am to sleep here?"
"Yes, Mrs. Hardy was right. The house is full up. So you will sleep here in our dressing room. I told you that you would be well-protected from now on and you will be. I don't think Lord Howe himself would dare disturb you in the general's dressing room." Her tone of concern deepened. "You will be all right, won't you? Do you wish me to stay with you?"
"No." Christiane tried to make sense of all the words, but couldn't.
Mrs. Washington briefly touched Christiane's shoulder. "We'll talk in the morning. Good night, my dear." The door closed behind her. By the light of the single candle, Christiane methodically and thoroughly washed herself and changed into the new gown. Then she slid under the covers of her new bed. They had been warmed. She sighed at the comfort, but suppressed a gasp that had nearly become a sob.
Another change in her life. Where is this all leading? –Lyn
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February 28, 2011
Author Maureen Lang & Springtime of the Spirit, Just What We Need
Today my guest is Author Maureen Lang. I love her books–well written and thought-provoking and deeply emotional. Here's the scoop plus a personal note from Maureen and Springtime of the Spirit
The winter of an unjust war is over. A springtime of the spirit awaits.
Germany, 1918
Four years of fighting have finally come to an end, and though there is little to celebrate in Germany, an undercurrent of hope swells in the bustling streets of Munich. Hope for peace, fairness—the possibility of a new and better tomorrow.
It's a dream come true for Annaliese Düray. Young and idealistic, she's fighting on the front lines of Munich's political scene to give women and working-class citizens a voice in the new government. But she's caught off guard by the arrival of Christophe Brecht—a family friend, recently returned from the war, who's been sent to bring her home.
It's the last place she wants to go.
Christophe admires Annaliese's passion, unable to remember the last time he believed in something so deeply. Though he knows some things are worth fighting for, he questions the cost to Annaliese and to the faith she once cherished. Especially when her party begins to take its agenda to new extremes.
As the political upheaval ignites in Munich, so does the attraction between Annaliese and Christophe. When an army from Berlin threatens everything Annaliese has worked for, both she and Christophe face choices that may jeopardize their love, their loyalty, and their very lives.
"Beautifully written, passionate, thought-provoking. Maureen Lang weaves romance and political intrigue like no other. Not only did these characters become part of me, but their love for God and country inspired my own."
––Tamera Alexander, best-selling author of the Timber Ridge Reflections series
A note from the author:
Writing this book taught me some of the political ideals so many people fight either for or against haven't changed in hundreds of years. In light of what's happening today around the world and even here in America, this book reminded me to trust that the future is in God's hands and to pray for His guidance in every decision—even the ones about government.
Bio
Maureen Lang is the award-winning author of several novels, including The Oak Leaves, On Sparrow Hill, and most recently, The Great War series. She has won the Inspirational Readers Choice contest and a Holt Medallion Award of Merit and was a finalist for the Christy Award. Maureen lives in the Midwest with her husband and three children. Visit her Web site at www.maureenlang.com or on her blog or Facebook page:
http://maureenlang.blogspot.com/
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/maureen.lang
Springtime of the Spirit can be purchased wherever books are sold or online:
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http://www.amazon.com/Springtime-Spirit-Great-Maureen-Lang/dp/1414324375/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_1
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A special bonus: Whisper on the Wind, another book in Maureen Lang's Great War Series, is available for a free Kindle download for a limited time through www.amazon.com
Happy Reading!"– Maureen
Thanks, Maureen. –Lyn
February 27, 2011
Chapter Seven Scene 4 La Belle Christiane
La Belle Christiane
Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote
All rights reserved
Chapter Seven Scene 4
The delightful minutes passed too quickly. Christiane left the sunny window and went back to the parlor door. She caught herself just before she knocked. A competent servant would know instinctively when to enter without knocking. Undecided, she stood there at few more minutes. Then she chose to be adventurous and enter. Inside she paused just the door. They were done with tea. As unnoticeably as possible, she crossed to the tea table and quietly began to prepare it to return to the kitchen.
Mrs. Washington interrupted the flow of conversation, "A very fine tea, my dear. Please tell the cook that her muffins are delectable."
"Thank you, Lady Washington," Christiane answered softly. She picked up the heavy tray carefully, so that there would be no clatter. There was none. Her confidence was high. Stiffly, but formally she turned toward the door, then paused to consider how to go through the closed door without putting down the tray a second time. That pause was her downfall.
Three of the officers leaped up to assist her. Laurens and Hamilton rose so abruptly that they bumped into each other, in turn into the third, Henry Knox. Knox was pushed off balance and his outflung arm knocked the tray out of Christiane's hands. The perfect, translucent china shattered around her feet on the polished oak floor. Christiane cried out in dismay and without thinking knelt to pick up the china. The pain from the stiffened muscles shot through her and she slumped forward in a faint.
#
Christiane moaned in French, "Ma tête," as she came to herself.
"There, there, my dear," a soothing voice said. "Your head will be better soon."
"Grandmere?" Christiane whispered, the quality of the voice taking her back to Versailles. Then Christiane came completely to herself, pushed a damp cloth from her eyes, and tried to sit.
"Don't try to sit up just yet."
"Lady Washington?" The lady's presence came as a shock.
"Yes, I am with you."
"Where am I?" Christiane surveyed the massive four-poster on which she lay.
"In the general's quarters. How does your head feel?"
"It feels a bit tender, my lady," Christiane answered as she tentatively touched the large knot near her left temple. "Please, how did I get here?"
"Lt. Colonel Laurens carried you, upon my instructions. The gentlemen were very sorry about what happened."
Then the scene in the parlor returned. "It's quite all right," Christiane murmured automatically, wondering what Mrs. Hardy would say about the broken china.
"Well, it was an unfortunate occurrence, but really a lovely young woman such as yourself must be accustomed to such displays of 'courtesy', shall we say?" Before Christiane could respond ot this unexpected drollness, Mrs. Washington continued, "You were speaking French at first, weren't you?"
Christiane looked up at Mrs. Washington who was smiling benignly down at her. "Yes, I am from Paris originally."
"Oh? You don't speak English with an accent."
"No, my father was Irish."
Christiane watched the lady's expression absorb this. A lady such as Mrs. Washington would recognize that Christiane did not speak with any touch of the Irish and, in fact, spoke the English of an aristocrat. But the lady did not comment any further about Christiane' speech. She merely took the cloth away from Christiane's forehead. "It doesn't seem as though any permanent damage has been done, but you will have a nasty bruise for awhile. You may sit up now, but slowly. I don't want you to faint again."
Christiane obeyed carefully. She was still rather stunned to find herself on the general's bed, being nursed by the general's lady. Mrs. Washington walked across the room and rummaged through one of her small trunks. She soon returned to Christiane's side with a small jar. "I have something here that may make you feel better. Every night I want you to put hot, wet cloths on your thigh, then rub this ointment in deeply and wrap it in flannel. Do you have any flannel?"
"No, Lady Washington."
"Very well. I'll see that you have some. It takes muscles quite a long time to heal, but this treatment should help them feel better in the meantime. Why don't we see if you can stand now?" She reached out and helped Christiane descend the two steps beside the high bed and then stand next to the white ruffled bedspread. "How is that?" she asked, still supporting Christiane's arm.
"Much better, thank you, Lady Washington."
Sedately the two set off for the kitchen. Mrs. Washington swept into the kitchen with Christiane in the rear. "Mrs. Hardy?"
Mrs. Hardy and Emma stood up. "Lady Washington," she answered and both she and Emma curtseyed by a table of half-prepared food.
"I am certain that you have heard about Christiane's mishap in the parlor?"
"Yes, Milady, we heard that she fell and hit her head."
"That is true. But I wanted you to know that her fall and the breaking of the tea set were due to the clumsiness of a few of our officers. Christiane did a lovely job serving tea. I hope she will serve my tea everyday."
"I am happy to hear that, Milady," the cook answered primly.
"I've heard how well you cared for Christiane after her wounding at Princeton and that she owes her life to your careful and expert nursing."
At this Mrs. Hardy smiled and murmured a polite denial.
"I hope you won't be offended if I offer a further remedy."
"Oh, not at all, Milady," Mrs. Hardy replied eagerly.
"I have an ointment of mine here that I think will help reduce the stiffness in her muscles. Her leg will need hot packs first; then the ointment well-rubbed in; finally the thigh will need to be wrapped in flannel."
"That sounds to be a good treatment."
"It has worked many times in the past. I must be leaving now. It was pleasant meeting you, and your staff, Mrs. Hardy. Good day." The farewell courtesies were exchanged briefly. Christiane bobbed her head once more to the lady as she shut the door to the inn.
"Well, Christiane, I am sorry that you had a fall." Mrs. Hardy stood, treasuring to her breast the jar of salve.
"Yes, Ma'am." Christiane was still trying to put everything that had happened together in her mind. Primarily she was struck by the kindness of Mrs. Washington whose station put her so much higher than Christiane, now working in the kitchen.
"What a grand lady," the cook sighed.
"Yes, Mrs. Hardy," Christiane agreed. In the back of her mind, however, she still pondered the changes in her life, her station. If the massacre in Rumsveld hadn't happened, she would never have faced these glimpses of the a life so close to the one she had been born and bred to live. How many changes would she go through before her life became settled in one spot, in one station? Oh, Jakob, I miss you so.
In the times we live in, we rarely meet anyone who is very different from ourselves, wouldn't you agree? And in our modern times we don't set as much emphasis on social class differences. But though our early leaders wanted liberty, they still accepted a society of educated ladies and gentlemen which was separate from the majority of humankind. And this is the world that Christiane will deal with, not ours.
February 24, 2011
Chapter Seven Scene 3 La Belle Christiane
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La Belle Christiane
Copyrigth 2011 by Lyn Cote
All rights reserved
Chapter Seven Scene 3
On another afternoon, the three women in the kitchen were making muffins and churning cream into butter. Mrs. Hardy was in a loquacious mood. "Yes," she said reminiscently, "Emma come to me as just a babe. The mister and me had been married for almost eight years and still no children. Then I got word that a cousin of mine, not far from here, had had a child with a harelip." She sighed. "And her husband was terrible upset about it. Not knowing what had caused this terrible judgment to come on their house."
This comment made Christiane squirmed uncomfortably, but she continued carefully spooning batter into muffin tins.
"Anyway," the woman continued, "we, me and my mister, decided to go and see them. Comfort them you know. They already had five children–all good-looking and bright. But the youngest before Emma was only sixteen months old. My cousin was having a time, doing her work, caring for the children, helping her husband and here was this baby. The child couldn't suck and she was having a terrible time feeding her." Another pause.
"So my mister, he had such a good heart, says to me, why don't we take the babe home with us and give this woman a chance to get on her feet? My cousin was that glad when we put it to her–so grateful she was. So we brought Emma home and they was to come and get her when things had settled down. But they never came to get her," she finished spritely.
"And we were glad, too. She, my cousin, had five more children before she was through and here I was happy to have Emma–no matter how she looked. Why some people told us we were foolish to care for her. They said she would have died if I hadn't taken such special care of her. And they said it would have been a mercy. But I say no! Not everyone is meant to be beautiful like you Christiane."
Christiane was shocked and showed it. Emma, sitting beside her with the churn, made her own statement by kicking Christiane sharply under the table. Christiane jumped and bit her tongue.
"No, not everyone is meant to be a beauty, but we all have our place. Emma has hers here in the kitchen." Not noticing Christiane's reaction, Mrs. Hardy smiled at her ward fondly. "My mister has been gone for almost six years now and how lonely I would be without her." The widow shook her head as she took out another two tins of hot applemuffins from the hearth oven. Their rich cinnamon fragrance filled the kitchen.
There was a knock at the door. Christiane quickly rose to answer it, though her slight limp slowed her. All of them expected to see Tom, so Christiane was surprised when it was strange soldier in the doorway between the inn and kitchen.
He was tall, unkempt, and was clothed in well-worn buckskins. He stood, leering at her. The open door caused a draft of cold wind which blew through her skirts and chilled her. "Yes?" she asked, her tone tart.
He smiled slyly and continued leering at her. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, she straightened herself almost haughtily under his stare. "Yes?" she repeated stiffly.
At last he spoke, "Girlie, the general's lady is come and the general he wants his tea early."
"Anything further?" she asked, wanting to shut out his unpleasant presence.
"Not this time, darlin'." And he turned and disappear, probably heading back to his duties.
He was completely and immediately forgotten as the kitchen went into a dither. The three women had known that Mrs. Washington was expected, but had not known exactly when. Mrs. Hardy rose to the occasion and began directing her two minions.
Very soon a large silver tray was complete with the best china tea set and Mrs. Hardy's delectable apple muffins and fresh creamy butter. The cook inspected the tray one last time and then turned a speculative eye on Christiane. She stood a long moment, cradling in one hand her elbow and in the other hand, her chin. "Christiane, you will serve tea."
"Me?" Always before Mrs. Hardy or a maid from the house had done the serving. "Me?"
"Why not?" Mrs. Hardy responded. "Let's just show Lady Washington what kind of house this is. I want Morristown to show off its best."
Serve the general's lady and his officers? Christiane had been raised waited upon by servants. Somehow working at a tavern in Rumsveld hadn't humiliated her, but serving a lady as a maid would be mortification. Christiane began to protest.
Mrs. Hardy cut her off. "Quickly, Christiane, put on a fresh apron and cap. Let me see your hands." Within a few minutes Christiane was groomed to Mrs. Hardy's satisfaction and holding the tray.
"But I can't curtsey," Christiane blurted out. Her leg muscles were still quite stiff and sore from her wounds.
"They will understand. After all, it was the general himself that put you in my care."
Christiane could see that there was no way out. She would have to do this. Mentally she braced herself. It had not bothered her to serve ale in Sarah's tavern, but these people were of quality. To appear before gentle folk as a serving maid caught in her throat. But Mrs. Hardy and Emma would never understand her reluctance, so Christiane straightened her back as Mrs. Hardy placed a shawl around her shoulders. Out she went through the cold breezeway to the back door, and into the inn. She shrugged off her shawl into the hands of the waiting innkeeper whom she'd met on a few occasions.
"Where's Mrs. Hardy?" the innkeeper asked.
"She wants me to serve tea."
"Oh, good," the man said, looking relieved. "They all be in there." Without further conversation, she led Christiane to the door of the parlor. As he opened the door for Christiane, he whispered, "The tea table is by the hearth."
Christiane took a deep breath. Grandmere had always pronounced that a true lady was never discommoded by any circumstance. Christiane repeated this to herself and then stepped through the door. One by one, the faces turned to look at her, frozen just inside the door.
"Mrs. Kruger," John Laurens stood up and came over to her. "How are you?"
"Much better. Thank you, sir," she murmured. His friendliness was just what she needed to calm her. "I have brought your tea."
"Of course. Of course." He motioned toward the nearby tea table. At this Christiane moved forward as gracefully as possible and set the heavy tray on the tea table.
Glancing up, she met the clear eyes of Mrs. Washington. The general's lady was no beauty, small, plump and with gray hair peeking our around the ruffle of her cap. Christiane smiled shyly and began to arrange the tea things.
"My dear girl, I will be happy to pour," the general's lady said.
"As you wish, my lady," Christiane replied softly. She turned to leave and met the general, looking down at her. "Do you need anything before I leave, sir?"
"No, Mrs. Kruger, I was just happy to see you up and around."
Anger sliced through her, startling her. This was the man who had persuaded her husband to re-enlist for six more weeks. If Jakob had left when his original term was up, he would still be alive. But when she looked up again into that lined face, all the outrage left her. This was the man who could take time to speak politely to a poor woman, who could send a courier to take a letter for her and later see that her wounds were cared for. Then a real sympathy for him poured through her. How could a caring man bear the burden of all the men who fought and died under him?
"Except for a slight stiffness I am very well. Thank you, sir," Christiane murmured quickly. She wished to thank him for his aid, but she would wait for a more private moment. She nodded, smiled, and let herself out of the room.
Standing just outside the closed door, she overheard Mrs. Washington's voice, "Mr. Laurens, how did that young woman come to be injured?"
"It was quite a story," Mr. Laurens began and in brief terms told us Christiane's injury. "Then she was brought to headquarters and the general arranged for her to be cared for."
"Oh, I'm so glad, George. What a brave and resourceful, young woman! And so lovely, too."
Feeling lighter, Christiane limped down the hall and sat down on a chair by a window. The transition from the dark, solid kitchen to this sunny hallway brought back memories.
Her phantom grandmere chided, A lady does not eavesdrop.
At least, nothing boring," her mother teased.
Christiane smiled. It was good to remember them as they had been together. Her mother had been dead now for four years. With a twinge of guilt, she wondered how grandmere was or if she were even still living.
Christiane looked up and down the hall, admiring the gray and pink-blossomed wall paper, the gleaming, ornamented tables, and the two portraits that stared down on her. Now she was glad she had been asked to serve the tea. She had learned something that grandmere had never discovered. She now knew that she could serve tea to a lady and still feel like a lady herself.
