Lyn Cote's Blog, page 106

Author Sandra Leesmith & A Surprise Package to Win!

My guest today is Author Sandra Leesmith who will share about the strength of obedience. Here's Sandra:

"It takes a strong woman to obey her husband. The words obey and submission send chills down our spines. Those words conjure up a wimp and/or victim, but to follow God's teaching to love and obey your husband, the woman must be strong. And the only way she will be able to do this properly is to do it in a godly manner.

Years ago I fulfilled my dream to be a published author. I had published two Harlequin Temptations, two mid-list romance novels for Warner's Lovestruck and had published 21 self-help books for teens with Rosen Publishing Group. I thought I had it made. But I did not invite God in my life. I followed selfish dreams.  It was about this time I had my epiphany and rediscovered my relationship with God.

Shortly after this major event, I lost all three editors. That spells disaster for an author. In those days most authors didn't have agents unless you were Nora Roberts caliber. I had no one to go to bat for me. The new editors wanted their own new "stable."

My husband urged me to go back and finish my teaching career.  I had just begun my true relationship with my God and had learned that I must obey my husband. I prayed and prayed for the Lord to give him wisdom. And suddenly the Holy Spirit opened my eyes to see that the more I prayed the more adamant my husband became.

So I obeyed. This took incredible courage and strength. I did not want to return to the classroom. But my courage and strength was put to God's good. I know that I know that the Lord was able to impact many young lives through me. My students always won the writing awards so my writing experience helped. And basically I was critiquing and editing all those years. Great experience.

And my hubby was right. Now that I'm retired, I can write what I want to write. I can take the time I need to write. I have a retirement income and don't need to sweat those long waits for an editor to call.

The disadvantage of the ten years in between was I had to relearn my craft. The writing styles had changed from more passive to more active.  I had to start all over again. The editors had changed so many that I knew were no longer there.

But like the heroine in my debut novel coming out this summer with Avalon Books, PRICE OF VICTORY, I had to persevere, follow all the steps and continue until I had reached my goal.

The hard work paid off. I now will have the new books in print in two to three months.  And I've been able to publish some children's books, GOD'S SPIRIT WITHIN ME and GOD'S SPIRIT CALLS ME. I use my maiden name, Sandy Wardman, for the children's books."–Sandra

Come visit Sandra who is one of the Seekers on Seekerville.blogspot.com.

http://www.sandraleesmith.com

http://www.sandywardman.com

Sandra will be giving away a surprise package containing both of her children's books and a signed Seeker romance novel. So leave a comment with your email written with (dot) and (at) and maybe you'll win!–Lyn

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Chapter Seven Scene 2 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Seven Scene 2

In the days that followed, the icy sensation stayed with her. In the past she had lost loved ones, but always before she had witnessed their going. Jakob's death retained a feeling of unreality. Sometimes as she rested, she glanced up at the door and she would imagine it opening. Then Jakob would walk in and smile down at her. The vision–at first–was comforting and then crushing. Jakob would never come to her again.

Finally the evening came when the doctor was ready to take off the bandages. The supper dishes were done. The wind moaned bleakly outside. Christiane sat up and watched. She still did not remember the savage attack that had caused this calamity, but there was the evidence, two red welts on her left thigh. After pronouncing her healed, the doctor received his thanks and left.

"Christiane, we have a surprise for you. Don't we, Emma?" The usual muffled voice agreed and Mrs. Hardy continued, "Get out the hair mixture first."

Mrs. Hardy turned to Christiane. "We decided to give you a real bath this evening. We couldn't do it before because of your leg, and you being so all in. But now we're really going to do you up."

Christiane forced herself to smile and tried to look cheerful. The two women bustled around her, getting out a large wooden tub and buckets. Mrs. Hardy stood behind Christiane and brushed a loathsome black mixture lavishly into Christiane's tangled and matted hair. Christiane gasped and the woman chuckled, "Smell's sure strong, ain't it? But it'll do the job. Don't cotton to having lice in my kitchen, but we couldn't do nothing till you mended."

The mixture oozed and dripped from Christiane's scalp which tingled almost painfully. Christiane hoped silently that the mixture would take the lice, but leave her hair. Then Mrs. Hardy wrapped an old linen cloth around Christiane's head several times, tying it on securely. "Latch the door, Emma. We don't want any sudden drafts." The woman went over and tested the water with her hand. "This water ain't warm enough! She might take a chill!"

"Sorry," Emma muttered through her veil, but she did not sound as though she meant it. It took several minutes to heat enough water to bring the tub water up to the correct temperature. Emma was sent out to draw two more buckets from the well. Then it took a time to warm up the kitchen again. At last Christiane was helped into the warm bath. Mrs. Hardy beamed and hustled Emma over to the table to leave Christiane in privacy.

Letting out a sigh of pleasure, Christiane let her limbs stretch as much as she could in the small tub. The bath soothed the chronic ache that remained in her thigh muscles from her wound and it seemed to melt away the sheets of ice that had encased her since she came to this kitchen. Memories of her childhood baths fluttered through her mind and the dark walls around her reminded her of last winter with Sarah Rumsveld and the baths she had taken in Sarah's rough, old tub. And she remembered her bath at the fort in Canada and the lavender soap Captain Eastham had given her. The face of her son came to her. Jean Claude. He was nearer now, in the same colony, but still she could not go to him. Their separation was no longer a sharp pain, but remained a dull grieving that never left her.

Slowly she began to rasp her skin with a long-handled brush and strong soap. Then she began to work at her hair. It took time and effort to work out all the original tangles and Mrs. Hardy's hair mixture, but finally it was floating around her in the tub.

"Christiane, we have a vinegar rinse for your hair, so it will shine nice." The cold, pungent liquid was dumped on her head. Christiane sputtered and pushed her hair back from her face. Then they helped Christiane to stand, so they could douse her several times with the tepid rinse water. Afterwards the two women quickly dried her, so that the cold hovering just away from the fire would not bring on the chills.

Christiane sat contentedly on her pallet in a fresh gown, reveling in the feeling of being clean once more. Then Emma stood beside her and began to rake her head with a large comb. Before she could help herself, Christiane yelped in pained surprise.

"Emma! Easy. Don't be so clumsy!" Mrs. Hardy scolded.

Christiane reached up and took the comb from the girl's hand. "Thank you, Emma. But I'd like to comb it myself," Christiane said and smiled gratefully. Emma reached down to Christiane's shoulder. Christiane anticipated a friendly pat and jumped at the pinch that came instead. She sat, stunned, holding the comb in mid-air.

"Well, I reckon it be time to turn in. Emma, bank the fire before going to bed. And good night to you, Christiane," Mrs. Hardy said.

"Good night," Christiane replied mechanically. "And thank you again for the bath."

"Think naught of it. Besides tomorrow you'll start to work for your keep. Night!" Mrs. Hardy was out the door to go to her room in the main part of the house. Emma finished the fire and went wordlessly to her little room which had once been a pantry. Christiane sat on her pallet, staring into the embers, combing her hair. For the first time in many weeks, she wondered what the morrow would bring.

#

The next day Christiane found herself sitting at the kitchen table for breakfast. Then Christiane helped with the bread baking for the day and peeled potatoes for a hearty soup. By noon her hands were trembling and her back ached. Noticing her fatigue, Mrs. Hardy told her to lie down after the midday meal. After the nap, Christiane was roused again to help with the preparation of supper. As soon as she was dismissed after the final meal of the day, Christiane fell into a deep sleep.

Several hours after the kitchen had become silent Christiane began to toss in her sleep. Soon her soft moans crested into screams, "Jakob! Jakob!"

Strong hands clutched her upper arms and a violent shaking awoke her. Christiane looked up, still half in her dream. A vision of ugliness–a face with only a misshapen space for a nose and a twisted upper lip, loomed above her. Christiane screamed again.

The shaking started again. "I came out because I thought you needed help. Don't look at me like that!"

"Emma," Christiane gasped, "I didn't know it was you."

"Aunt told you I am a harelip."

"Yes, but….I was having a nightmare…." Christiane writhed inside. She hadn't meant to hurt Emma.

"Shut up. I know what you are thinking. I'm too ugly to live."

"Emma! You shouldn't even say such a thing."

"Why not? People have said it about me. I hate you, Christiane Kruger. I hate you and your pretty face. I'll get even someday. Someday." The words were bitter and resentful.

"Emma," Christiane whispered, but the young woman had already stomped back to her tiny room. The emotional confrontation completely unsettled Christiane. She lay for a long while staring into the waning flames. The dream had been of her Jakob, but the bitterness of Emma's words distressed her more. Jakob was dead, past help or hurt, but Emma was alive, so young and bitterly angry. At eighteen, it made Christiane feel old and sad.

#

In her days and nights that followed there were three constants: Mrs. Hardy, the jovial, strict taskmaster; Emma, the surreptitious tormentor; and the nightmares. Mrs. Hardy was not harsh, but she was a tireless worker herself and expected others to keep up with her. Christiane understood well that most all the patients in the nearby makeshift hospitals died. She owed Mrs. Hardy her life and she knew it.

Emma troubled Christiane. She pitied and resented her at the same time. Being born and having to live with such a deformity as Emma's was a cross to bear. But it was hard to feel compassion for a person when she pinched you in the same spot three days in a row.

The nightmares were the final blow to her peace of mind. Though exhausted, she dreaded going to bed each night because she never knew which scene would waken her with her own screams–her mother's murder, her father's death, the Indian raid or the vision of Jakob, lying dead. Her eyes were smudged beneath with dark circles and she rarely smiled.

Tom remained her faithful visitor. Whenever he had a few minutes, he would stop at the kitchen door to pass a word or two with her. Afterward Mrs. Hardy would wink or chuckle knowingly. Christiane knew what the woman meant and resented it, but she had other more pressing concerns.

A few times she had thought of asking Tom to travel to the Richardson's farm with her to get her son. But the idea of submitting herself to the relentless cold was unthinkable. And with her wounded leg still troubling her, she could not stand, much less walk for long. she still ached over the Main's leaving. Over and over, she rationalized that Tildy was very ill and much better off away. But it still hurt that they had left when she had needed them most. If only Tildy were here to talk to, to cry with.

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Author Gail Martin & A Dad of His Own

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My guest today is a dear friend Gail Martin. Here's the scoop on her latest Love Inspired Romance, A Dad of His Own, in stores now!
One Child's Wish

With his Dreams Come True foundation, Ethan Fox turns wishes into reality. Amazing trips. Meeting heroes. But Ethan has come to care deeply for a sick boy whose dream is. . .a dad. And not just any dad. Ethan. Though little Cooper has a great chance of getting well, widowed Ethan can't chance loving—and losing—again. Yet he's spending time with the sweet boy and his lovely, single mother, Lexie Carlson. Could a little boy's wish for a dad of his own come true after all?
In stores now where ever books are sold or order on line: Click to Order:

Bio:
Multi-award-winning novelist, Gail Gaymer Martin writes Christian fiction for Love Inspired and Barbour Publishing, where she was honored by Heartsong readers as their Favorite Author of 2008. Gail has forty-eight contracted novels with over three million books in print. She is the author of Writers Digest's Writing the Christian Romance. Gail is a co-founder of American Christian Fiction Writers, a keynote speaker at churches, libraries and civic organizations  and presents workshops at conference across the US. She has a Masters degree from Wayne State University in Detroit, Michigan and was a licensed counselor for many years. She lives with her husband in a northwest Detroit suburb.
Gail's Video Interview about A DAD OF HIS OWN and a little about her career can be view on her blog at:  www.gailmartin.blogspot.com

Visit Gail's Website at www.gailmartin.com
Gail on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#!/profile.php?id=1429640580
So have any of you read a Gail Martin novel? Anything nice you'd like to tell Gail?–Lyn

Chapter Seven Scene 1 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

Copyrigth 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Seven Scene 1

Slowly Christiane became aware of herself in the dim light around her. She was warm. At first it was enough just to feel the warmth. Then the fuzziness in her head cleared and she could see that she was lying on a pallet by a fire. She felt the pain then, a burning in her right thigh. She could hear the sound of a knife, chopping on a board. She willed herself to sit up, but she could manage only a slight quiver. She tried to speak, but a dry croaking was all that sounded.

"Emma, see if she's awake," a hearty voice commanded.

A large form loomed over Christiane. "She's awake, Aunt," an odd, muffled female voice labored to be heard.

Christiane blinked, trying to bring the form into focus.

"Well, get her a dipper of water, Emma. Do I have to tell you everything?"

The form neared and Christiane was able to bring her into focus that it was a very overweight, young woman. She jerked Christiane's head up and spilled a dipper of water into and around her mouth. Christiane coughed.

"Don't choke her!" The older woman bustled over, looming suddenly above Christiane. "Go back to your dicing." Then kneeling, she raised Christiane's head gently and carefully put the dipper to Christiane's lips. "I'm Mrs. Hardy. There now. Just sip the water. That's it. We were wondering when you would come back to us." The woman was large with a florid face and fly-away gray hair, showing around her white cap.

"What happened?" Christiane managed to whisper.

"What? Don't you remember?" The loud woman's voice hurt Christiane's ears. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

The woman's words poured forth, "Well, they told us you was wounded by a Hessian deserter. And it wouldn't be decent to put a woman in hospital with all those men. Not proper at all. The General sent word himself that you wished you to be brought here to Jakob Arnold's Tavern,  the General's headquarters in Morristown. And I agreed. I'm the cook here at Arnold's. Have been for years."

The voice beat against her, but Christiane clung to consciousness. I must know where I am. Where is Michael? And Tildy? Jakob?

"There was no other room for you in the Tavern, so I said bring her to my kitchen out behind the inn. Mr. Arnold agreed. Better you stay here in my kitchen than in a hospital–or in a tent on the Green. Imagine men and their families living out in tents, barns or just-made cabins in January. I never did think I'd live to see anything like this right here in Morristown."

Christiane's head swirled with all the words. Faces flickered in her mind and the memory of bone-deep cold and icy terror that drenched her all over again.

Mrs. Hardy raised her voice, giving more instructions. "Emma, put a piece of bread in a bowl and add some milk and sugar. We better get some food into her while we can." The woman deftly propped Christiane up with pillows. "Now, Emma, I want you to sit here and spoon this bread down her careful. I don't want to find half of it on her chin and gown when I get back. The doctor said he wanted to see her as soon as she wakened."

Christiane evaded the spoon and whispered, "Jakob?"

"Jakob?" Mrs. Hardy stopped and cocked her head. "That the name of the soldier that keeps stopping at the door to ask about her?" she asked Emma. "That your husband?"

Christiane nodded, her panic easing. Jakob wasn't far then.

"Well, he'll be back soon I reckon." Then the woman hurried out the door.

Emma methodically and sullenly shoved the milk toast into Christiane's mouth, spoonful by spoonful. At this close range Christiane was able to study Emma in spite of the dimness of the light. The most startling thing about the young woman was that the lower half of her face was covered by a thick veil. Christiane wondered why, but could not seem to think. Of course, she remebered now that she'd burned with fever. That probably explained it. Wearily she hoped Jakob would come back soon and explain everything.

Christiane closed her eyes briefly. The spoon stopped and Emma stood up. "More," Christiane whispered. Emma sat down and once more the spoon scraped the bowl till it was empty. Then she left without a word and soon Christiane heard again the rhythmic meeting of a knife and board.

Several minutes later the energetic Mrs. Hardy swept into the kitchen with an elderly man in her wake. "She's over here, Dr. Craik. Emma, did she finish the milk toast?"

"Yes, ma'am." The girl's words, indistinct and raspy, were muffled by the thick veil.

"Did she want more?" the woman demanded.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Hardy," Christiane said, though the effort of speaking loud enough to be heard, drained her.

"Ma'am," the doctor addressed Christiane formally. "I am glad to see that you have finally regained yourself." He went down on one knee beside her pallet. "For two days you've slept."                Christiane shook her head slightly in denial.

"Yes, two days. But after your surgery–"

"Surgery?" Christiane whispered.

"She don't remember what happened," Mrs. Hardy said from her station on the other side of Christiane's pallet.

"You were bayoneted twice in your right thigh. The bone was only grazed once, not fractured. I merely had to close the wounds and bleed you. Thanks to Mrs. Hardy's excellent nursing, it seems that your condition is improving."

Christiane forced herself to speak, make the effort necessary. "I am very grateful–to both of you." She panted with the effort.

"Mrs. Hardy, if you would help me, I would like to examine the wounds." The doctor folded back the blankets which covered her.

Christiane was certain that the two were being as careful as they could be, but each touch and movement caused her searing pain. Tears welled in her eyes and she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out.

"So sorry," the doctor murmured soothingly. Finally the inspection and fresh bandaging were done, but they had left Christiane trembling and slightly nauseated.

"Jakob?" Christiane asked, pleading for him.

"Her husband–she wants to see him," Mrs Hardy explained.

"Oh, yes, yes," the doctor said distractedly. He turned away abruptly. "I shall see you on the morrow." He left, closing the door behind him against the rush of cold air.

"He didn't even guess, did he, Emma?" Mrs Hardy chuckled. Emma replied with a kind of pleased grunt. "Pay no mind to his soft soap, he thinks it's all his doctoring that saved you," the woman confided cheerfully to Christiane. "But Emma and me, we poulticed your leg and got the poison out. Your leg would have gone septic if not for those poultices. My grandma give me the receipt for them herself." Mrs Hardy chuckled again. "He did the stitchin', but we did the doctorin'."

Christiane tried to smile her appreciation, but almost immediately she began to doze as her exhaustion overtook her again.

Finally the long January afternoon was spent and the supper dishes were being washed. Christiane, though still in pain, was fed and warm.

A knock came at the door. Christiane's heart leapt. Oh, please let it be Jakob. The veiled and ponderous Emma answered the door and then a man was beside her. Even before he reached her in the dimness, she knew it was not Jakob.

"Christiane," Tom said softly. "I'm so glad to see you awake. We were so worried."

Christiane voiced the only reason she could think for Jakob's not coming. "Tom, is Jakob on sentry duty?"

Tom ignored her question. "The Mains left this morning. Tildy was still ailing and the sergeant wanted to get her to better quarters for the winter. They hated to leave you and his enlistment was not really up yet, but they had to get back to Boston." Tom continued nervously, "And, Christiane, I hope you don't mind, but I let them take Nancy. Tildy couldn't walk, you know. And you two being such friends…."

"Jakob?"

A terrible silence met her query.

"Is Jakob hurt?"

A more terrible silence ensued.

"Oh, Christiane," Tom managed to say and then tears overtook him. He lowered his face to hide them.

And then she knew. She closed her eyes and an icy sensation began to spread through her body. Finally after several minutes, Tom was able to speak again. "Oh, Christiane," he said wretchedly.

"When?" she whispered.

"He fell at Princeton. The day you went after little Michael."  Tom wiped his tears on the back of his sleeve.

"How?"

"He didn't suffer, Christiane."

"How?"

"A bullet in the head. He never knew any pain. He was gone before I could get to him."

On the hearth a log broke and shattered in the flames.

"Don't worry, Christiane. I'll look after you now. I brought you to the General, so you would get good care."

To Christiane he sounded like a child comforting his mother. Nothing could ever make everything right again. The icy feeling paralyzed her. She lay still, feigning sleep. At last he bent over her and placed a gentle touch on her forehead.  She wanted to shy away but remained frozen.

"She's widowed then?" Mrs. Hardy asked softly.

"Yes." Tom audibly choked back his own grief.

"That's not good. She's been asking for him all day."

Tom nodded. "Thank you, ma'am. Good night." He let in cold air as he went.

Mrs. Hardy stood over Christiane. Christiane remained silent with her eyes closed till the woman moved away. Then tears slid silently down the sides of her face. I am lost. Jakob, my Jakob.

So Christiane must face another loss. As you can see, this novel follows more the pattern of Gone With the Wind. It follows Christiane through her life until she finds what she has been searching for.  What is her heart's desire?



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Chapter Six, Scene 5 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Six Scene 5

"What did you say, lad?" he asked, bewildered.

"She's dying. A man tried to kill her."

"Who, lad?"

"Mrs. Kruger. You have to come!" Michael took hold of the man's hand and began tugging.

"Where is she?"

"At the beginning of your lane."

A woman, clutching a shawl over her nightdress, appeared at the man's elbow. "What is it, John?"

"The lad here says there's a woman dying at the head of our lane."

"Well, you must go see," she ordered briskly.

"Yes, of course." He pulled down his jacket on the peg by the door and set off at a trot with the boy. The dogs joined them, barking their encouragement.

Several minutes later the farmer's wife saw her husband, walking quickly back, carrying a woman. A horse followed the boy and the dogs. "Esther!" he called his wife. "She's been stabbed in the leg! She's bleeding badly!"

Esther threw open the door as he rushed in and carried Christiane over to the fire. He laid her down gently. Already the woman was kneeling beside Christiane, pulling at the clothing that covered the injured leg.

"John, build up the fire and get some water heating. I'll have to clean off the blood, so I can see what to do." He quickly obeyed her. Michael stood just inside the door, watching.

Esther pulled up the multitudes of skirts and petticoats and then slid down the buckskin pants. Soon she was sponging away the gore with a basin of warm water. She examined the two deep slits in the thin, white thigh. "John, get me my herb basket." The basket was delivered swiftly. She pored over its contents and then selected what looked to Michael to be spider webs which she pressed directly on the wounds. "Bandages," she stated succinctly.

John soon handed her another covered wicker basket. Inside were rolls of homemade bandages in various widths. She selected the widest and thickest one and began to unroll it as she applied it to Christiane's leg. When she was done, she took the blankets John had brought her, unasked, and wrapped Christiane in them and left her snug by the fire.

With a thoughtful expression, she re-filled the copper kettle and hung it over the fire. Then she stood, gazing down at Christiane's white face. Without turning toward him, she motioned Michael to come to her. He approached her warily. "Lad, how did this happen?" Somehow her calm question opened the floodgates of his emotions. He sobbed and could not speak at first. "A deserter…a Hessian tried to take…our horse. And he stabbed her," Michael stuttered in between sobs. "It's all my fault." Esther opened her mother-arms and took him in. "John, did you see a horse?"

"I hit her rump and headed her toward our barn."

"Go see to the mare please," she requested. Her husband nodded and dragged his coat on again and hurried outside.

"Who are you?" she asked the child.

"Michael Main, Ma'am."

"And this is?" Esther gestured toward the woman.

"Mrs. Kruger. She's a friend of my mother."

"Why are you with her and not your family?"

Michael hung his head in shame. "It's all my fault."

"Please tell me," the woman asked patiently.

Michael heard some movements behind them and looked up to see four children, coming down the stairs to the kitchen.

"Sit down at the table, children. This is Michael. He is going to tell us how he came to our house while I make breakfast." She gently piloted him to a seat on the bench by the long trestle table. She straightened her white cap and re-arranged her heavy shawl over her long flannel nightgown. Then she began to mix up a large pot of oatmeal.

John came in, bearing large bucket of fresh milk. "The horse is eating in our barn and I finished the milking." He then sat down in a large chair at the head of the table and began to fill his pipe.

"Now, Michael, tell us your story," Esther bid him.

So he did, leaving out very few details. He ended with the question he dreaded to ask, "Is she going to be all right?"

"I've done as much as I can do for her. But she really needs a doctor and some good care. She's so thin," the woman answered, as though speaking to herself.

The silent children watched Michael as he put away two large bowls of mush and two mugs of milk. His shrunken stomach felt as though it were about to burst. The food reminded him of the way his mother had cooked in their old house in Boston. This brought fresh tears to him. Where was his mother? And what would she say about his wicked disobedience?

Just then Christiane began to moan weakly. Quickly Esther was kneeling by her side. "Mrs. Kruger?" she murmured. Christiane's eyes fluttered open, but had an unfocused quality to them. Then Christiane tried to speak, but was not able to.

"John, milk please." He hurriedly brought over a mug which Esther took and held to Christiane's lips.

After a few sips, Christiane was able to whisper, "Michael?"

"He is here, Mrs. Kruger, and is well," Esther answered her. Then she helped Christiane take in more milk. "Children, bring two large pillows." The two older children quickly complied. She placed the pillow under Christiane's head. Christiane just lay, staring into space.

In a few moments Esther was back with a bowl of thin mush which she began to spoon slowly into Christiane's mouth. The bowl was almost empty when Christiane's eyes closed of their own accord.

"Did she faint again?" John asked.

"No, she's just so weak."

"Can we go get the doctor?" Michael ventured. There was a significant pause.

"I'm sorry, son, but there ain't any doctors around here," John answered.

"Then what are we going to do?"

"Wait and see. That's all we can do," Esther said. "I'll do my best for her."

Michael sat, staring down at his feet.

The rest of the morning passed slowly. John and Esther went about their daily chores, but whenever Christiane regained consciousness, Esther was there giving her milk or thin mush. Michael sat and watched helplessly.

They had just finished a lunch of bread, cheese and dried apples when a voice and the sound of hooves startled them all. "Hallo! John, hallo!" In a second's time, John was shrugging into his heavy coat and out the door. The rest of them lined up at the nearest frosted window to watch and listen.

"Army coming, John. My boys and me are warning everybody 'long Princeton Road." A tall man, dressed hastily against the cold, sat on a dark stallion.

"Which army? Going north or south?"

"Continental. Going north. Hide your stock. They are moving fast, but they still might do some commandeering."

"Right. My thanks to you," John called to his neighbor as they parted–Paul back down the lane and John toward his barns.

Michael's ears perked up. Without a word, he pulled on his stocking cap and jacket and charged out the door and down toward the road.

Esther called after him, but understood almost immediately his intent. For certain an army–or, at least, part of it–would be visiting their house. Bearing this in mind, she bustled around the house gathering up items of value and hiding them as best she could. Outside she could hear her husband, urging their stock into the woods behind the barns.

When Michael reached the road, he could clearly see the army about a mile and a half away. He had no plan, so he began to run toward the on-coming soldiers. When he came abreast of them, he slowed to a jog and carefully scanned the soldiers as they passed him. After about a mile of this, he decided to sit on a fence rail by the side of the road and let the passing army reveal itself to him. Though his feet rested, he scrutinized the marching ranks.

With collars folded up and rags wound over the legs of their breeches, the men were stiff-faced against the cold and the pace they marched at was brisk. No rain and clouds today, the day was bright and sunny, but so cold. Michael hugged his arms around him and occasionally stepped down to stamp his feet to keep them from feeling numb. Finally he picked out his father in the long columns of men. "Father!" he called as he darted in and out between the startled men.

"Michael!" The tall sergeant pushed forward and tugged his son back to the side of the road so as not to get in the way. "What are you doing here? Where is your mother?"

Young Michael was hesitant, but confessed, "I ran away yesterday. I wanted to be with you."

"Michael, when I have a chance, I'm going to tan your hide! Your mother will be worried to death! And anything might have happened to you. Anything!" The angry father shook the boy soundly and left no doubt that punishment would be severe and soon. "Come along now. We have to get back into formation." He began steering his son back toward the road.

"No, Father, stop!"

"What is it now?" the sergeant asked in exasperation.

"Mrs. Kruger came to find me on Nancy," the boy stammered.

"Well? Where is she?" There was a pause. Michael shook his son's arm. "Tell me!"

"A Hessian tried to take her horse last night. He stabbed her in the leg with his bayonet." Michael's lower lips trembled.

"Where is she!"

"At the farm up the road," the boy whimpered, pointing north. Main was disgruntled.

"What's the matter, Sarge?" Tom Mitchell asked as he reached them.

"It's a long story, Tom. I'll explain later. But Christiane is here at a farm up the road. She's been wounded."

"What!"

"Run back to Carter and tell him what has happened. Then catch up with us." The father and son immediately started to jog alongside the road, heading into the lane.

"Father, where's Mr. Kruger? Did he get lost, too?"

"Not now, Michael."

They arrived at the farmhouse and before Sergeant Main could knock, the door opened. "Hello, Michael," Esther greeted him calmly as though soldiers at her door was an everyday occurrence.

"Ma'am, we'd like to see Mrs. Kruger," the sergeant said.

Esther opened the door farther and admitted them. The three went directly to Christiane's side. "Is she asleep?" Tom whispered.

"She comes and goes," Esther replied.

"How bad is she hurt?" Main asked.

"Two deep wounds in her thigh. I think one hit the bone. I cleaned and bandaged them. But like I told the boy, she needs a doctor."

"No doctors hereabout?" Main asked.

"None."

"Then we'll have to take her with us to one of the army doctors," Michael decided aloud. "Where's her horse?"

"In our barn, resting and eating," John answered from the doorway. His voice was almost a challenge. There was a brief pause.

"I want to thank you, folks, for helping my son and Christiane, but we got to move quickly or be left behind and maybe taken prisoner."

"I'll get the horse for you," John said.

"You may start her bleeding again if you move her," Esther cautioned.

"We don't have a choice," Main said.

"Wrap her in a blanket and try to keep her as still as possible then," the woman instructed them.

The two soldiers went outside and with the farmer's help fashioned a makeshift travois and hitched it to the mare. "I hope it lasts till we get where we're going," Tom worried.

"It will have to," Main said. Then they carefully bore Christiane out and tied her into the travois. They said their thanks again and were off down the lane.

When they reached the road, most of the army had passed. They fell in with the closest rank. The nearest officer rode over to question them. He was generous with his sympathy, but cautioned them to return to their own outfit, so they would not be thought missing.

The day went on. Christiane did not regain consciousness, but moaned anyway over each bump and rut. Young Michael hovered beside her. Finally after dark, the command decided that they had put enough distance between them and the enemy and the victorious army was allowed to rest.

But not the sergeant, Tom or young Michael, they moved up the line till they finally found their unit. Sergeant Main tried to send one of the other men to find a doctor, but Tom stopped him. "No, I been thinking. Most of the doctors don't amount to much." There was silent consent to this from the circle around him. "She needs a good doctor and good care."

"Well, how do you expect to get them?" Main demanded unhappily. He was well aware of his debt to Christiane.

"I'm going to take her to the general," Tom stated firmly.

"What?" The word echoed around Tom.

"Are you crazy, Tom? You can't do that," the sergeant blustered.

"I am taking her to the general."

"But–"

"I am taking her to the general," Tom repeated solidly. Silence answered his stubbornness. "Don't you see?" he pursued, "It does make sense. The general and the Lt. Colonel Laurens do know Christiane. Remember how they sent the courier for her when we were still in New York? And when me and Jakob…." His voice faltered, then it went on. "When we re-enlisted, the general recognized Christiane and spoke real kind to her."

"I see what you mean, Tom, but still I don't know," Main murmured. Another pause followed as the group ruminated over what had been said.

"I'm going to take her. I know the general is busy, but he can, at least, see that she gets a good doctor and decent care," Tom said resolutely. His firmness seemed to sway the men. The Tom they knew was shy and usually easily swayed. If he was this certain, then he must be right.

Sergeant Main spoke for them. "All right, Tom. I'll go with you." Murmurs of assent joined his. So the two exhausted men and boy began to move forward again.

What do you think is coming next? Have I kept you wanting more?–Lyn

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British Author Veronica Heley & Her Strong Heroines

My guest today is British Author Veronica Heley. She was my guest last year and I inadvertently misspelled her last name. But she forgave me. If you like a good British mystery, I think that you might want to try one Veronica's! Here's Veronica:

"I write two series of gentle crime stories, the Ellie Quicke Mysteries and the Abbot Agency series. The women in these stories are not at all alike – one is a home-builder who helps to run a charity, and the other is a business woman who runs a domestic agency. Both have family problems to deal with, which cause them much distress at times. One worries about her weight and never bothers with makeup unless she feels she ought to. The other is tall and believes in manicures, and good clothes.
Perhaps the only thing they have in common is that each tries to act as a Christian in a secular world, and they both pray in times of distress. One goes to church – she used to sing in the choir – and the other reads her dead husband's bible and tries that way to learn more about Jesus and what he can mean in her life.
The latest book out – in February in the USA – is FALSE MONEY, where Bea's well-meant advice to her daughter-in-law has led to a breakdown in their relationship, while at the same time she tries to find the missing star of an art-house film – who also has strong Christian values. None of the girl's friends seem able to tell the truth behind her disappearance and Bea's investigation only brings danger to her much-loved grandson.
A grandmother holding the balance between common sense and panic in family situations is all too familiar a problem today, I'm afraid, though my own mother was a good example to us all. She had seen enough of the world to know when to speak and when to keep silent. A rare accomplishment, and one which Bea has to learn the hard way, and with much prayer. For the sake of her little grandson, she puts aside her own hurt feelings . . . and it works.
Ellie is faced with a different problem. Her first husband and her daughter had carefully trained her to fall in with their wishes, but when she's widowed, she has to learn to say 'No' on occasion. This means making some difficult and even agonising choices, but as she grows in faith, so she becomes  stronger and better able to cope with everything that life throws at her. Her latest story is MURDER BY MISTAKE, also from Severn House."–Veronica

Author Bio

Veronica Heley celebrates the publication of her 67th book this summer, having been  in the business for over 30 years. Apart from the two gentle crime series she's currently writing and some short stories, she's also produced a straightforward biography of St Paul, some historical fiction, many articles and reviews, masses of children's and resource books, and learned how to write story-boards for cartoons.

She's involved with her local church and community affairs, likes to break for coffee with friends and does the garden when she has time. She has been a member of a book reading club for 40 years, but has decided that life is too short to read depressing literature any more.

For more information, drop by www.veronicaheley.com And sign up for her a monthly newsletter by clicking the button on her home page. Or also on her publishers' website: www.severnhouse.com

Thanks for telling us about your heroines, Veronica. They sound like my kind of strong women!–Lyn

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Chapter Six, Scene 4 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Six Scene 4

"I don't know, but you know boys. Bet he's somewhere about," the woman tried to sound encouraging. "I'll send the word up ahead. You go back and spread the word that way."

Soon the call of "Michael! Michael Main!" echoed up and down the length of the train.

Within an hour the wagonmaster was ready to press on, but Michael was not to be found anywhere among the many wagons. Two of the burly drivers came to confer with Tildy and Christiane about the lost child.

"We got to git on, don't ye see?" the older man stated, not unkindly. "We got orders to git as far north as we kin as quick as we kin."

"Shouldn't let children run about," the other muttered.

The first ignored this and pressed on to make his point. "I feel powerful bad about this, but we got to git on."

If Tildy had had the strength, she would have been hysterical. Instead she merely sagged between the two women who supported her.

"I'll go back and find him," Christiane heard herself say. Everyone turned to look at her. She was not surprised. She had shocked herself.

"Ain't safe for a woman to be travelin' alone," the old driver objected. Tildy said something unintelligible, but it, too, seemed an objection.

Christiane pulled her weary self together as well as she could. "I have travelled from Montreal to New York City alone. I believe I can make it half a day's journey over and back. Besides I still have my hunting knife," Christiane said as stoutly as she could manage.

She knew the agony her friend was feeling. Even knowing he was safe, she suffered was over being separated from Jean Claude. But Micheal he wasn't safe. Dread filled her. Two armies were probably battling somewhere south, deserters roamed the countryside and it was cold enough to freeze a young lad to death before morning. Michael had to be found and as soon as possible and, no one else who could go, would. "Where are the wagons headed for? I'll need to know where to meet up with you."

"I ain't supposed to say," the old man said. "But, oh, what the hell, ye got to know. Come over here. I'll tell ye." He pulled her a few steps away from the others and whispered in her ear. "We're headed to Morristown, New Jersey. Just ye stick to Princeton Road comin' and goin' as far as ye kin. All right?"

Shivering, Christiane nodded.

The old man gripped her shoulder as though giving her strength. "Good luck then." He stepped back toward the crowd of women. "All right. Everybody git ready. We'll be leaving right now." The call went up and down the line as two women helped Tildy and William with their blankets onto a wagon.

"Don't worry, Tildy. I'll bring him back," Christiane called as bravely as she could. Tildy pressed her hands together, making the sign that she would be praying. Christiane turned poor, tired Nancy and started back south over the wretched miles she had just spent a day accomplishing.

At first her fears made her alert to the subtle sounds, interrupting the midwinter night–Nancy's hooves plodding, the hollow voices and farm animal noises near the occasional farms she passed, her own breathing. A summer's night was literally alive with sound, but a winter's night was deathly silent. The stars above were bright and sparkling. Christiane took as much comfort from their beauty as she could. The crisp and cold air fairly crackled around her muffled ears. Occasionally a gust of wind would rattle the leafless trees and startle her. The mud evidenced the dropping temperature. It had been moist and sticky all day. Now it was frozen.

Her initial alertness waned before the onslaught of her own weariness and the chill. Many times she caught herself dozing. She was surprised that she was able to stand leaning against Nancy while sleeping. From time to time Nancy would also stop as though taking a brief nap herself. Christiane did not urge her on. The mare had been walking and sometimes carrying her all day and probably would be all night. Finally the cold would prompt the mare and she would start again of her own accord.

On Nancy's back, Christiane awoke once again with a jerk. Nancy, too, was taking one of her rests. How many hours she had been on the horse she did not know, but she knew she was saddle-weary. She slid off and stood, leaning against the warm body of the horse. Had she ever been warm? The surroundings appeared somewhat familiar even in the sparse moonlight and Christiane was sure she had not strayed from Princeton Road.

Maybe she should start calling his name once in a while, now that she was nearer where he had left them. Her shouts roused only Nancy, who began plodding again. Christiane decided to walk beside her to start her circulation going again. So she walked beside the mare alternately clapping her mittened hands together and calling out Michael's name.

This went on for more than an hour. Never had Christiane felt more isolated. The silence around her was crushing; then she thought she heard something. She stopped Nancy and stood like a statue. She heard it again. It was another voice. "Michael!" she called out, hoping against hope. "Michael?"

Then she heard the answer from a distance. "Mrs. Kruger!" She dropped the reins and started running. Then she could see him about a hundred yards ahead of her on the frozen, rutted road. When she reached him, she held him close to her. Waves of relief washed over her. Jean Claude was safe with the Richardsons and Michael was here with her. She looked down at him, still unable to speak. His face streamed with tears and he was gasping for breath. She just held him close and hugged him till they both began to breath normally again.

"Michael, why did you leave us?"

His words tumbled out of his mouth. "I wanted to see a battle. But I got scared. I saw some deserters, English ones, and I hid from them. Then I went on farther and I heard cannon. That scared me. Then I remembered Father told me to stay with Mother and take care of her. And I knew he'd be angered if he saw me. And it was dark and I was scared."

Instinctively Christiane knew that this was not the moment for a reprimand and besides she was just too tired. Nancy had caught up with them and stood patiently beside her. "Come, Michael. Let's get back to your mother." In their accustomed manner they mounted and turned back north.  At dawn they would stop at the nearest farm and beg for food and warmth. The worst was over. A day or two and they would be re-united with Tildy.

More hours came and went. Michael and she dozed off and on and Nancy plodded on, stopping periodically. Dawn still seemed to be years away.

Christiane awoke with a start. She looked down into the face of a Hessian and screamed.

"Down!" he bellowed at her in broken English. "Gib mir dein horse!"

Christiane kicked out with her right leg, almost knocking him off balance. With a curse, he lunged forward. But Christiane was ready for him. As he struck her thigh with his bayonet, she slashed him with her hunting knife. The blade flayed him across his throat. Blood shot out, spraying both of them. He stabbed her once more in the thigh; then he loosed the reins and fell to the ground in a heap. The frightened horse took off. Christiane gripped the mane to keep astride. Weeping aloud, Michael clutched her waist. The horse galloped only a short distance. Though terrified, Nancy was too tired to run for long. When the horse stopped and stood heaving from the exertion, Christiane ordered weakly, "Michael, get down and hand me up the reins."

"Are you all right?"

"Michael, get down and hand me up the reins," Christiane repeated as she pried his arms loose.

As he handed up the reins, he stared at Christiane's leg. "Mrs. Kruger, you're bleeding."

"I know, Michael. Now get back up. Hurry." Her icy leg burned with pain. Christiane looked around. Not a house in sight, but, at least, the gray of predawn was lightening around them. "Michael, we're going to find help," she said evenly.

From deep inside a fit of shivering welled up in her. "Hold on tight, Michael." With this she urged Nancy on. All the while she was aware of the sickly sensation of her own warm blood coursing down her frostbitten leg and filling her moccasin to over-flowing.

The minutes seemed endless and still no house appeared. Christiane halted the exhausted mare. She cut two of the long strings on Jon's buckskin jacket and tied them together. Then she looped it around her injured thigh, making a primitive tourniquet. When she straightened up, stars exploded before her eyes and she slumped forward against the mare's neck.

"Mrs. Kruger! Mrs. Kruger!" Michael called hysterically. He tried to reach around for the reins. Finally he caught them with his fingertips. Then he nudged Nancy with his heels.

Another mile and half down the road he spotted a lane off to the left. He kicked in at Nancy's sides and urged her to go, but to no avail. The mare had walked all day and all night and she was done for. The unconscious Christiane slid slowly from the mare's back, landing on the frozen ground with a muffled thud. Michael jumped down and ran up the lane.

At the end of the long lane, a path in the snow led to a modest, white farmhouse, flanked by two barns. Michael ran directly to the side door and began pounding and yelling. Two large dogs came charging around from one of the barns, but Michael ignored their barking and continued beating the door.

At last the door was flung open by a half-dressed man. "What's the matter?" he yelled sleepily as the dogs quieted.

"She's dying! She's dying!" Michael screamed at the man. "You've got to help me! She's dying!"

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Author Victoria Bylin & Living With Mistakes

My guest today is Author Victoria Bylin and she discusses Living with Mistakes. Here's Victoria:

"I want to thank Lyn for inviting me to participate in her blog. It's a joy to talk about strong women, and it's particularly fitting for The Outlaw's Return. The heroine, Mary Larue, is a woman with a secret. She's also a brand new Christian. When a man from her past walks into her life–the outlaw who once left her pregnant and unmarried–Mary is faced with a challenge. That challenge isn't forgiving the man who hurt her. She forgave J.T. Quinn the day she become a Christian. Mary's challenge is living with her mistakes.

She's a lot like the Samaritan woman in the Bible, the one who meets Christ at the well. When Jesus asks the Samaritan women if she has a husband, she rightly says that she's never been married. They talk for a bit, and she leaves with her sins forgiven. Mary Larue has had a similar experience.

That's what I love most about this heroine. She's been forgiven and she knows it. More than anything, she wants to make good choices. The problem is reconciling her present with the past, especially where it concerns outlaw J.T. Quinn. She's attracted to J.T. but she doesn't trust him. She's terrified of losing her good name again, and she has an enemy who wants to manipulate her. No one in Denver knows that she was once with child. She wants to keep it that way, but above all else, she wants to honor God and the gift of a clean slate.

It takes courage to deal with the wreckage of the past. Mary finds that strength, and her faith grows as she steps up to an assortment of problems. I admire her!  It was pure pleasure to give this strong woman a happy ending that includes a family, hope and the man she's always loved.  J.T. is a lucky man!"–Victoria

Thanks so much for being my guest, Victoria. And if you want to know more about her and her writing, drop by these sites:

Website:  www.victoriabylin.com
Facebook:   http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/profile.php?id=100001287093699
Petticoats & Pistols:  www.petticoatsandpistols.com

Chapter Six Scene 3- La Belle Christiane

Remember is you've just discovered my free read, click the button above Archived Free Read to begin at the start.

La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Six Scene 3

The troops and families were still camping separately, so Christiane decided to go to Jakob's squad to ask about their own plans. Tomorrow, December 31, 1776, Jakob's enlistment ended. In fact the majority of the soldiers would be free the next day. Plans were being shared all around in family camp as to who was going where and how. She had just reached Jakob's squad when the striking blue-and-white uniforms of the officers appeared among the drab and muddy homespun and buckskin.

Looking up, Christiane recognized the general and at his elbow, Laurens. Quickly she looked down, hoping that she would not be noticed. Under everyday circumstances, her unkempt appearance was trying, but being seen by these two gentlemen struck her with acute embarrassment. She pulled her faithful quilt closer around her shoulders.

"Men!" Colonel Fish shouted. "The general would like to speak with you."

As Washington stepped forward, a quiet respect showed in the mens' stances and silence. "Men, I am glad of the opportunity to speak to you today on a matter of great importance. It has been a long, cold month." Polite murmurs of agreement were heard. "I am not unmindful of the hardships that you have endured in the cause of the Revolution. Especially those of you with families here." At this Christiane looked up, she found the general gazing directly at her. Mortified, she blushed, but lifted her chin gracefully. "I am certain all of you are familiar with Thomas Paine's treatise, "Common Sense." I would like to read you a few lines from his latest treatise, The Crisis because they so adequately reflect my own feelings.

"'These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it now deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.'" Washington looked up. "That is what I am here to ask you. Will you stand with me? Many of you have enlistments that end tomorrow. I know well how it is to want to go home. Mt. Vernon is calling to me, but the voice of liberty constrains me. I cannot stand alone or move against the enemy without you. The Revolution–America–needs you.

"You have shown what you are capable of here at Trenton, but the war is not won. If you leave now before we can safely go into winter quarters, all may be lost. Will you re-enlist? If not for six months, at least, for six weeks? I cannot stress enough how much you are needed, every one of you. I am able to offer an extra ten dollar bounty to any man who will stay with us, at least, six more weeks. But more importantly, America will owe you her heartfelt gratitude. What do you say? Will any of you come forward?"

There was an awkward silence. Christiane knew these soldiers had come to respect deeply this man, their commander, but what he asked would cost them a great deal. Christiane felt the cross-current of emotions herself. Somehow she had not caught the significance of the effect of all the six-month enlistments ending while winter quarters still had not been entered.

And she was truly touched by his personal appeal. It was not something any European officer would have been gracious or humble enough to do. And his case was sound. How could a general, even a great one, fight a war alone? But spending January, the heart of winter, in tents and barns without proper clothing or provisions? Christiane was caught between her desire to finish what they had started and her private needs, her need to see her son again.

Jakob ended her quandary. "We stay. I sign up for six more weeks," he stated loudly and firmly.

"Thank you, soldier. Please come up. I would like to shake your hand," the general answered, sounding pleased. Jakob went forward and it was an indication of the regard he was held that many men followed him. Tom and Michael were among them.

Christiane was still caught between her conflicting emotions. She wanted to scream, "Stop!" but she could not. A part of her was proud of her husband's resoluteness and courage. But six more weeks, how could she bear it?

"Mrs. Kruger?" a voice inquired beside her. She looked up into Lt. Colonel Laurens' face.

"Lt. Colonel," she greeted him. She was sincerely happy to see him, but unhappy to have him see her. Unconsciously she extended her hand, which he bowed over politely. Silently she wanted to slap herself. Once so long ago she had learned the manners of an aristocrat and now whenever she was confronted by a person of quality, she automatically reverted to them. Would she never learn?

"It is a pleasure to see you again, ma'am," he replied.

"The pleasure is mine," she returned patly. Trying to divert the conversation to him, she continued, "I'm sure you have been very busy of late."

"Indeed, ma'am. The general has done quite a bit of correspondence, especially to Congress."

"I heard that they have moved from Philadelphia to Baltimore," Christiane continued in her best drawing-room style.

"Unfortunately, yes, though if our luck holds, they should be able to return soon."

This comment was left without a reply as Christiane glanced over just a Jakob and the general reached them. Christiane had the sudden impulse to pick up her skirts and run. Wrapped in a dirty quilt in clothes she had not washed in over a month, the humiliation of this moment almost crushed her, but again her chin went up.

"Mrs. Kruger," the general addressed her politely. "Your husband thanked me again for the service of that courier and I wished to thank you for your continued devotion to our cause."

Christiane curtseyed formally. "The general is too kind," she murmured. There was an awkward pause for she was too abashed to refute his compliment.

His eyes lingering on her face, the general broke the silence, "I wish we could chat longer, but I have two more regiments to visit this morning."

"We understand, of course, general," she responded almost regally and extended her hand again. Then they were gone. Turning to Jakob, she spoke quietly, "Are you sure? I–"

"I know, Liebschein. I know. But it is only six weeks. Then we go to Jean Claude right away."

Christiane only nodded. Nothing could be done anyway. Tears rushed up in her eyes. Not wanting him to see them, she turned away.

But Jakob did not let her leave. From behind he embraced her, resting his chin on her right shoulder. "Thank you, Christiane. You never complain. I make it up to you."

Christiane was weighted down with a crushing load of despair, but she hid it from him. She nodded and turned to press her cheek to his. "I love you, Jakob," she whispered. "Always."

"I love you also, my sweet Liebschein. I know you don't want to be here. But you stay–"

"I am committed now, Jakob."

"You mean it?"

She nodded. "You and General Washington cannot be wrong. I trust you too much."

They kissed then. Jakob crushed her once again to him. Then Michael Main called to him. Christiane turned to leave, but Jakob could not let go of her hand. Lifting her palm, he kissed it with great care and respect. Finally she pulled a way and left him. A glance over her shoulder revealed him, staring after her, sadness in his eyes.

#

Less than a week later the women were roused before dawn by the wagonmasters. It was time to move again–north. Christiane was glad to hear the direction. Going north would only bring her closer to Jean Claude. On the other side of the coin, however, this meant that Jakob might be in danger again. The British were smarting over their defeat at Trenton. Maybe they were coming to demand their pound of flesh. This aspect was not wasted on young Michael as the women went through the routine of packing.

"Michael," Tildy gasped, "I don't want to hear any more about it! You cannot stay with your father! Battle or no–children are not permitted to remain with the troops." Even little William looked exasperated with his brother, his expression said that even he knew it was a crack-brained idea.

"But–" the child tried one last time.

"Not a word, Michael. Not one word," Tildy slammed the argument shut. Christiane could see that the exchange had sapped her friend's last bit of strength. Christiane wordlessly helped Tildy onto her place on the familiar wagon. William climbed up beside her and Christiane covered them both with the blankets. There was no clamor anymore for places on the wagons. Walking helped keep toes from freezing. Christiane mounted Nancy and hoisted Michael, still disgruntled, up behind her.

The wagons began to roll. Grimly Christiane faced a day of walking and riding through the freezing wind. In spite of the cold that chilled her to her very core, the roads were still stiffly muddy in spots. This slowed their progress and made the day all the more miserable. When they stopped to make a midday meal and to rest the horses and oxen, Michael begged to be allowed to travel with his friend, David. Tildy finally gave in, saying it would compensate him for his earlier disappointment. He left quickly with a loud whoop.

Soon they were back on the road again and the frigid miles inched on. Finally it was time to rest again, but not for the night. The order came down the line that they were to continue on as long as the stock could carry on. Muttered retorts greeted this as the weary women huddled around the few fires. They sipped hot tea from warm mugs and gnawed at hard bread.

"Christiane, I'm sorry to ask you this, but would you go get Michael. I think he should sleep on the wagon with William and me. I would go, but…," Tildy asked.

"Certainly," Christiane cut in. "I'll get him right now." She worked her way up the line to the wagon that David's family travelled beside. "Michael! Michael!" she called when she came near it.

"Michael? Did you expect to find him here?" David's mother answered from her place at the fire.

Fear sparked in Christiane's inside. "Didn't he come to you at midday?"

"No," the woman answered, "I haven't seen him all day."

Christiane just stared at her. "Where could he be?"

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Chapter Six Scene 2 La Belle Christiane

Remember if you've just discovered La Belle Christiane, click Archived Free Read above and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

Copyrigth 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Six Scne 2

And what about Jean Claude? Did he remember her at all? In another month Jakob's enlistment would end and she would see her son again. Would she last till then? The day of freezing rain had ended. A wind had swept the clouds from the sky. The stars glittered in brittle light without warmth above her. Tildy was coughing again. Christiane trembled as she banked the fire and then went inside the flapping canvas walls to lie down and warm her friend.

#

A few days passed and Christiane and Tildy sat miserably in their windbreak, wrapped in blankets, huddled by the fire. The two of them held mugs of steaming water. Without intending to, Christiane let out a downhearted sigh.

Tildy tried to smile. "Come now, Christiane. I'm sure the provisions will be better today."

Christiane's lips trembled with the cold and unshed tears. The men still had not been allowed to stay with their families. "Why can't Jakob and Michael be with us?"

"They must be battle-ready. Have courage. I'm sure we will finally go into winter quarters soon."

This tender regard from her suffering friend broke Christiane's resolve not to cry. "Oh, Tildy, how can you say that? You know the Hessians are just the other side of the Delaware. They are just waiting for the river to freeze then they'll march over and…," she faltered. She could not put her worst fears into words. Jakob taken prisoner. Jakob killed. The Rebellion crushed.

"Christiane, God will not desert us. We fight for the rights of every freeman."

Christiane's face twisted into a bitter smile. She wanted so much to believe Tildy's word. "What do the rights of free men mean in this misery? You know the Hessians are living comfortably, quartered in private homes, warm and well fed. Across the river the farmers and merchants are happily enjoying the profits of selling their goods to them for English notes and silver. They won't even accept the worthless paper money our husbands are paid with." Out of her pocket, Christiane pulled a few bills of the Continental Army script and tossed them into the fire.

Tildy's hand gripped Christiane's wrist to stop her. "Christiane, our circumstances are terrible. We can't fool ourselves. But what we are fighting for is worth all this. It is." She shook Christiane' hand to emphasize her point.

Since Christiane had never confided to Tildy her doubts about this Revolution, she pressed her lips together to keep herself from letting her boiling resentment gush out. "How can you say that? We're doomed–"

"No! Let me explain!"

Christiane could see that Tildy's eyes burned, not with passion alone, but with fever. Quickly Christiane switched moods. Murmuring soft concern, Christiane began to chafe Tildy's hand and then refilled Tildy's mug with hot water from the kettle, steaming in the midst of the fire. How could she have let herself upset Tildy–when the woman was nearly dead?

"Let me explain, Christiane." Tildy said, her eyes nearly closed. "When Michael and I still lived in Boston in our own home, we quartered a British soldier for a time–"

"You did?" Christiane arranged the blankets around Tildy's thin shoulders and reached for another short log for the fire.

Tildy's smile twisted wryly. "Yes, it is the king's right, don't you know? Michael could have been jailed or our property confiscated for refusing. They marched them through the streets and stopped at each house. The English officer walked right in, looked over the house as though he owned it, and assigned one soldier to us." Tildy's tone was hard as she recalled this slight. "As we got to know Dan, I really understood for the first time what all Michael's political meetings had been about."

"How?"

"It was difficult, having been born and raised near Boston, to understand how he thought about things. We had gentry in Boston and they had influence, of course, but their lives very rarely touched ours. Besides, a rich man only had one vote at town council, just like a poor man. But when Dan told us how he was conscripted, it made me see the power of the king."

The tent flapped wildly in a gust of wind. Christiane tried to shield Tildy from it with her own body. Tildy began to cough and Christiane helped her sip the warm water. Finally the coughing fit ended. Again Christiane urged her not to speak, but she went on, "They send conscripting gangs through London and drag away the young men. What I could not believe was his not resenting his treatment!" To stave off another fit, Tildy swallowed a deep draught from her cup.

"We tried to explain that it was against his rights as a freeman to be treated that way and he said what we called freedom was rebellion. It frightened me." Tildy's voice was fading, but her eyes were burning.

"Don't try to talk anymore. Lay back. You need to rest."

Tildy shook her head stubbornly. "In twenty years would such gangs rove through the streets here? Would the king drag my sons away to fight a foreign war?" Her head shaking uncontrollably, Tildy looked Christiane straight in the eye. "Or maybe your son."

Nodding, Christiane urged Tildy to lie back. When Tildy closed her eyes, Christiane pressed her hand to her friend's forehead. She thought back to Jakob's reason for leaving his home. Her childhood in France had been so removed from these things, so sheltered.

And then a scene from the past snapped into her mind with sudden clarity. It had taken place only shortly before her mother's death. Christiane and her mother had been sitting in the library. Her grandmother had stood over her. For over an hour, the older women had rehearsed Christiane over and over on the ranks of nobility–who outranked whom from the bottom fringe of society upward to the king. Christiane had listened carefully and repeated the information to her grandmother's exacting standard. But evidently her own lack of enthusiasm had finally stung the older woman. "Don't you understand, child, the importance of this?"

Christiane had sent an appealing look to her mother. "Christiane, grandmere is right. This is of the utmost importance."

"But why?" Christiane has asked.

"Why!" the elder had fumed. "Don't you understand, we are talking of rank and rank is power? You must know which men are too powerful to disappoint–to refuse! Don't you realize that one serious affront, one insult, could destroy everything three generations have built? Are you simple-minded?"

At the time as the woman's voice had risen insistently, Christiane had trembled with a vague fear. She had not understood completely then, but she grasped it now. Just now she had believed herself to have been sheltered in the past by her family, but now she realized that–in the end–her life as a Pelletier would have taken her to the very seat of power–the French Court. And she would have spent her days carefully treading a tight-rope of pleasing those in power in order not only to prosper, but to survive. She shivered and it wasn't from the cold.

"You're right, Tildy," Christiane said soothingly. "It's time you rested now." She took the empty mug from Tildy's hand and tucked the nearest blanket up over her friend's chin. After nodding, almost immediately Tildy fell into exhausted sleep.

#

Christmas dawned. Christiane was barely aware that it was her birthday. She and the women around her all sensed that some movement of the army had taken place. Their eyes would not meet each other's. Most sat sullenly by their fires. They waited in gnawing ignorance. They heard cannon fire across the river in Trenton and they all tensed.

Then late that day Jakob himself burst upon them with the news. "Christiane! Christiane!" he shouted. "We win! We win!" He pulled her into his arms and danced her around the fire. "They don't even see us coming, Liebschein. It is wunderbar! The general is a genius! He make them look the fools they are!"

"What, Jakob? What are you talking about?" Christiane asked breathlessly, catching his excitement.

"We take back Trenton from those lousy Hessians!" he yelled. "We rub their noses in it. Their own colonel is killed. We show them we are not licked yet!" And then he began dancing her around again and kissing her.

The camp around them seemed to explode with the excitement. Guns were discharged. Laughter, the first in many days, rang out as did raucous choruses of "Yankee Doodle". Husbands, fathers, brothers filtered in to join the celebration.

Christiane had never experienced anything like it before in her life. It was mass hilarity. The invisible, but normally impregnable line between the decent women and the strumpets disappeared for the evening as everyone joined together in the first real victory in months. The general had done the impossible! He had shown those uppity foreigners what Americans were made of!

The captured rum and food warmed and filled them. The laughter and song fed their weary souls. Finally the party quieted. Now a full eighteen years old, Christiane snuggled contentedly in Jakob's arms as he slept the sleep of the truly tired. Oh, she loved this man! Somehow they would win this Revolution!