Lyn Cote's Blog, page 107

Author Merrillee Whren & Hometown Dad

My guest today is a Love Inspired Author Merrillee Whren who shares about her book, Hometown Dad, and her own family.  Here's Merrilee:

"During February, the third book in my Kellerville series, HOMETOWN DAD, is available in stores. This book is particularly close to my heart. I wrote the story to further awareness of Crohn's disease because my daughter has it. She was diagnosed while she was in her twenties, a fairly common occurrence among Crohn's patients.

Crohn's patients have some symptoms in common, but it is a disease with a wide variety of symptoms and treatments. What works for one person may not work for someone else. The right treatment is often found through trial and error. My daughter is one of the approximately twenty-five percent of Crohn's patients who also suffer from joint related pain, much like arthritis, in addition to the digestive problems associated with Crohn's disease.

Thankfully, her current treatment has brought the disease under control. Since her diagnosis, she has been determined and resilient as she continues to live her life to the fullest. I am blessed to have a daughter who is a strong and vibrant woman, who faces the challenges in her life.

Here is a blurb that tells a little bit about HOMETOWN DAD.

Double Trouble

A pair of rowdy boys would be exhausting for two parents—little wonder single mom Melanie Drake feels overwhelmed. Her sons are her world, but she knows she needs a helping hand to keep them in line. Enter Nathan Keller—respected banker, descendant of the town's father…and baseball coach. Melanie knows he's out of her league, but as her sons learn to love Coach Nathan, Melanie starts falling for him, too. With the whole town rooting for happily ever after, it won't be long before this hometown dad joins their family for good.

Do you know someone who has shown resilience as they have faced a health issue?

That's a question which many will unfortunately answer yes to. My own daughter struggles with fibromyalgia and chronic migraines. She amazes me with her strength in the face of daily pain."–Lyn

For more info on Merrillee and her books, drop by www.merrilleewhren.com or

http://www.facebook.com/merrillee.whren

Here is also a link for the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation.

http://www.ccfa.org/

Chapter Six Scene 1 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

Copyrigth 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Six Scene 1

The early December wind whipped the ends of Christiane's wool scarf as she held Nancy's reins in one hand and young Michael's hand in the other. The wooden wheels of the baggage train creaked and groaned and bumped over the bridge which spanned the Delaware River. It was nearly evening, but it had been a dark, glowering day since dawn. Everything–the sky, the water, the people–was gray or dirty white.

"Is this really the last river, Mrs. Kruger?" the boy shouted to be heard.

Christiane could only manage a nod of her head. Yes, thank God, it was the last river. After evacuating Manhattan Island in October, they had ferried across the Hudson. Then after the Battle at White Plains, they had crossed the Hackensack, Passaic, and now finally the Delaware. Tonight they would tent in Pennsylvania.

This forced march had begun with Howe's attack at Throg's Neck on Manhattan. General Washington had ordered the families and most troops moved off the island, so he wouldn't be cut off by the British general's brother, Admiral "Black Dick" Howe, who controlled the waters, surrounding Manhattan. Then Fort Washington on the Manhattan fell to the British–three thousand Americans taken prisoner.

Now what was left of the Continental Army hurried behind them. An army running for its life! Hadn't she warned Jakob that the English kept whatever ever they took?

Finally the wagon directly in front of them, the one Tildy and William were on, was allowed to venture onto the bridge. The quartermaster sergeant motioned Christiane and Michael to follow it. Christiane could see Tildy was white-faced and nearly unconscious. Little William was asleep on her lap and his small weight was holding his mother onto the wagon. An icy needle of fear pierced Christiane again. The jolting of the wagon and the severe weather had taken a toll on Tildy. She could hardly keep down whatever food Christiane could find. Then Tildy succumbed to a fever. Her hacking cough kept them all awake at night. What if Tildy began to miscarry? What if she couldn't survive this living in tents in the middle of winter?

"Mrs. Kruger, will they burn this one, too? Will they?"

Christiane looked down into Michael's eyes, the only part of his face that was visible. She nodded once.

"Will we be able to stay and see it this time? I mean close up?"

"No, we will have to keep moving. The soldiers are right behind us. Remember they must all cross the bridge, too. By then we will be far ahead." She watched his eyebrows pull together. She wished she could say some comforting word, but there was no comfort for any of them.

"I never get any fun." The child spoke the words, facing away from her. Because of the noise of the wind, wagons, and drums behind them, he probably thought that she wouldn't hear him. Oh, Michael. Even after days of freezing rain and constant retreat, a boy could still think of fun. A knot clogged her throat and she tried to fight the tears.

She was wearing every shred of clothing she owned, including Jon's buckskin breeches under her two dresses. She and Tildy had wrapped the boys' and their own legs with rag strips for extra warmth. She realized by now that she had become infested with lice and fleas. Wasn't it bad enough to be part of a forced march in the winter without suffering lice and fleas? And Jakob, where are you in the troops behind us?

None of this made sense. She couldn't remember what it was like to be warm or even dry. Had she ever really slept in a bed–a bed with ruffled, muslin sheets and a pink satin comforter? What kind of life was this?

This phrase suddenly took her back, back to her grandmother's chateau. "It is the tradition of our family. You are the fourth generation. You will fulfill your birthright!" Christiane could still hear her grandmother's querulous exclamation when Christiane had faintly questioned her mother and grandmother as they had been musing about her "possibilities. " Her mother had just laughed and said, "She is but a girl, mother. When she is a woman, she will be glad of our tradition. What a life you will have, my Christiane!" What a life indeed.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Stepping from the bridge to Pennsylvania soil, she stumbled slightly. Nancy shied, but Christiane stopped herself from falling. She felt as though she were walking on stumps not feet.

"Can I ride again?" Michael whined. "My brother doesn't have to walk all the time."

Wordlessly Christiane lifted Michael onto Nancy. Oh, when would they be permitted to stop now that they had crossed the final river? Slap, slap–she struck her mittened hands together to make them tingle. A burning sensation on her finger tips warned her of frostbite. Slap. Slap. Then she hugged herself, folding her arms across her breast and tucking each hand under an elbow. In a few weeks on Christmas Day, she would be eighteen years old. Four years since she fled her grandmother and her "possibilites." Would she be able to endure much more?

Finally all the Americans must have crossed over to Pennsylvania. The sky behind billowing with black, charry smoke made them all witnesses of the destruction of their final connection with New Jersey and New York.

The final connection with her son, Jean Claude. She'd wanted to go to him, but how could she leave Tildy so weak? And Jakob in danger? What if either or both of them fell ill? No, her son was safe and warm with the Richardson's and she would not take him from that safe haven.

At last the four of them were huddled by a small fire, too numb to speak or move. In this state they did not notice the furtive figure until he spoke to them."Christiane, Tildy, is that you?"

Christiane surfaced first. "Jakob!" She hurled herself into his outstretched arms.

"Michael?" Tildy implored weakly.

"He and Tom are both well. Michael send me on to help you and the other women of our squad."

The sight of Jakob oddly drained the last of Christiane's energy. She began to cry. "Liebschein." Jakob held her to him and kissed the top of her forehead, the only spot that was not swathed in scarves and rags. Then he turned to young Michael. "You come with me and we get the tent up."

The women watched him bustle about setting up their camp. He raised the Main's tent and then converted the Kruger's tent into a windbreak around the fire. Christiane stood up to put the tea kettle on the three-legged trivet. There would be no tea, just hot water, but that would warm them all.

Then Jakob went about helping any woman he could. His presence and his word that all the men of Main's squad were alive and unwounded cheered them all. When he finished, he came back and accepted a steaming mug. Christiane had tucked Tildy and the two boys into their tent. Christiane could not resist questioning Jakob though softly. If his news were bad, she did not want to alarm Tildy and the other women nearby. "We have no news, Jakob. What has happened?" She was afraid to ask: what will happen next?

"We retreat to here. We try to keep the redcoats from Philadelphia and the Congress there. If we hold them back long enough, maybe they go into winter quarters."

"Are we staying here or will we be moving on soon?"

"It depends on the British. If they come, we retreat again. Michael says the general hopes the terrible weather and the Delaware River will stop them."

Her tears began again. He took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly. "I am so sorry, Christiane. I should have sent you to be with Jean Claude for the winter. As soon as I can, I will take you there. Do you think the Richardsons would keep us for the winter? In the spring I must re-enlist for the next campaign, but maybe they let me work for them till then."

She nodded against him.

"Good. Then you will be safe when I have to be away again. I do not want you to stay here in this camp ever again. I cannot leave now though. The war is going bad. The general kept us from redcoats, but now he waits to see where the Englisher Howe attacks next. The fighting could start again at any time. I must go now."

In the dim light from the fire, Christiane rubbed her face against his buckskin jacket. The leather was stiff with the cold. She pressed herself against him, trying the draw his strength into her own defeated heart.

Tilting back her head, he kissed her, the kiss a plea from one tortured heart to another. She clung to him, pouring all her love, her devotion and, yearning into her kiss. He released her lips. She gasped a sob, then his name.  "I love you, Jakob. I love you. Please be careful. Please."

"I love you, mein Liebschein. Forever. I love you always." He kissed her again and then tore himself from her.

Clutching her empty arms around her, she sat back down within scorching distance to the fire. Jakob had gathered them enough wood to last the night. In the morning, Michael and William would have to search for more. She nibbled the dry bread. She knew she should save some for morning, but she was so hungry she could not stop herself. Their rations were ever more inconsistent and poorer in quality. If things did not improve soon, she would go back to begging for food as she had on her journey to join Jakob. Inwardly she cringed. Which was worse–begging or starving? If only Jakob could stay here, she would not be so cold and so lonely. A shiver tore through her. How could they winter in tents?

Author Nancy Mehl & Quiet Strength

My guest today is Author Nancy Mehl, the Author of the "Curl Up & Dye" mystery series for Barbour Books. Here's Nancy:

"I'm happy to guest on a blog about strong women. I've been fortunate to know several strong women and try to create resilient female characters in my novels. But recently I was made aware of a very special kind of strength. I call it quiet strength. It doesn't ask for attention and will even slip past you if you don't know what to look for.

My mother-in-law, Wilma Mehl, recently passed away at the age of 92. I still remember the day she welcomed me into her family. My husband and I married away from our hometown in a small service with only my father and grandmother as witnesses. Wilma never once complained that we hadn't waited so she could watch us say our vows. Instead, she told me, "I'm just so glad my son married someone like you."

Quiet strength.

Down through the years, she never interfered in our marriage, never insisted on attention. Instead, she was grateful for whatever time we gave her. Several years after her husband Fred died, she began to have problems living alone. She made the decision to move to a place that could provide the additional care she needed. So she sold her home and took up residence in a retirement community that provided assisted living. My husband once asked her if she'd like to ride over and see the house she'd spent a major part of her life in – the house her husband built with his own hands. "No," she said. "That's behind me." And we never heard another word about it.

Quiet strength.

In the last years before her death, she would always thank us for coming to see her in the nursing home. And she meant it. Not once did she complain if we missed a visit or ask if we could come to see her more often. Surrounded by elderly people who had dementia, who clutched dolls and begged to be taken home, she never complained. And she had the most beautiful smile. In fact, she smiled at a nurse moments before she took her last breath.

Quiet strength.

What gave her the ability to never complain? To never express regret for a difficult time in her life? It was because she was determined, with every fiber of her being, to never be a burden to the family she loved so much. If she ever did express her inner pain, Only one Person heard it. Her precious Lord, Jesus Christ. Then she left her burden with Him.

Quiet strength.

My son is preparing for marriage to a wonderful girl. Besides being mother and son, we've also been best friends his whole life. Now I'm going to have to step back and let another woman take first place. It's a little scary, but I'm not afraid. You see, I have a beautiful light to guide me. Wilma's example of quiet strength and the example she left me of real love that doesn't seek its own way.

Thank you, Wilma.

Isaiah 30:15 …in quietness and trust is your strength.

1 Peter 3: 3 & 4  Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes.  Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight. "–Nancy

Thanks for sharing such a beautiful story of a woman who faced life with strength and bravery. You've proven that many mother in laws are blessings. If you'd like more information about Nancy and her books, here's where to go.–Lyn

Nancy's Web site: www.nancymehl.com

Nancy's blog: www.nancymehl.blogspot.com

My newest novel, "Blown Away," is the second book in my "Curl Up and Dye" series. You can find out more about the adventures of Hilde Higgins, hair-stylist to the recently departed at Barbour Books. http://www.barbourbooks.com/product/Blown-Away,6986.aspx?Tab=Books

Chapter Five Scene 5 La Belle Christiane

Remember if you've just found this free read, you can click Archived Free Read above and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

By Lyn Cote

copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved.

Chapter Five, Scene 5

A tall man bustled into to the tent. "Laurens," his voice boomed. Immediately Christiane recognized the General and stood up respectfully. On his part, seeing her there made him glance around as though to make certain he were at the correct tent. Then he looked expectantly to her.

Though somewhat nervous at meeting this august gentleman again, she stepped forward. "Lt. Colonel Laurens was called away just a few minutes ago, General Washington."

"We've met, haven't we?" he asked, scrutinizing her.

"Yes, General. I am Mrs. Jacob Kruger. We met on one of your inspections." As he bowed over her hand politely, she curtseyed.

Laurens himself came hurtling into the tent. "General!" he panted.         "And I, you." The General looked somewhat amused at the young man's breathlessness. He inclined his head toward Christiane. "I was just getting re-acquainted with Mrs. Kruger."

Laurens quickly outlined the reason for Christiane's visit. "Of course, Mrs. Kruger, please sit back down and write your letter," the General said. "Being separated from your son must be very difficult. How old is the child?"

"Just a year," she murmured.

"Oh, dear. Well, I hope you two will be reunited soon. Come, Laurens, we will talk outside while Mrs. Kruger writes her letter." He started away, and then abruptly turned back to her. "Where are your friends?"

"Across the Hudson River in New Jersey, sir."

"Laurens, don't post the letter. Have a courier take it over for her today."

Christiane's heart leapt. "Oh, General, how can I thank you–"

"No, not a word. The mails are not reliable these days. This way you will be sure it has arrived." Before she could offer further gratitude, the two men were gone.

Christiane was touched by his concern. What a kind man he was. So busy and yet able to sympathize with her. She became businesslike. She must write the letter and be out of their way. An army depended on them.

18, October 1776

Dear Josiah and Sarah Anne,

I have been reunited with my husband. He was quite saddened over the news of his son's death. We are in Washington's camp together and are unable because of his duties to come for Jean Claude. I am comforted by the knowledge that he is in your excellent care. I will send word as soon as I am able.

Yours very truly,

Christiane

P.S. Kiss my son for me.

Quickly she folded, addressed, and sealed the letter with hot wax.

Waves of longing seemed to roll over her as she imagined the feel of her small son in her arms. Forcing down the emotions that threatened to swamp her, she stood up. Just feet away from the tent's entrance, the General and Laurens were finishing their consultation. Christiane waited until they became aware of her. "General, I have finished," she addressed him.

"Mrs. Kruger, we'll see that it goes off within the hour," he answered with a smile.

"Thank you so–"

"Mrs. Kruger," the General broke in, "think nothing of it. You are making a great sacrifice for liberty by encouraging your husband to serve his nation. It is the least we can do."

Christiane could think of no reply, so she curtseyed and left them.

As Jacob and she sat together that evening, she began to tell him about her afternoon visit to Laurens. But before she could really start, Sergeant Main and a stranger came. "Christiane, this man would like to see you," the sergeant said discreetly.

The stranger drew near her within the small circle of light. "Mrs. Jacob Kruger?" he questioned officiously and loudly.

"Yes." Christiane cringed inwardly, knowing that every ear was now on her. She stood up to see him better.

"The General sends his compliments, Ma'am. I am the courier that took your letter across the Hudson today. I have your answer here," his large voice boomed out of his long thin body.

Christiane took the missive from him. She could feel her cheeks warming; once more the surrounding tongues would wag about her. She opened the letter.

"Ma'am, if you have no further requests, I'll be going," the courier asked.

"I have nothing more, but please thank the General and Mr. Laurens again for me."

"Aye, Ma'am." He saluted and left hurriedly as though heading for his own fire. Sergeant Main left quietly, too.

Christiane forgot everything as she knelt by the fire and read the brief note.

18, October, 1776

Dearest Christiane,

We write in haste as not to delay the courier. Jean Claude is well and happy. We will care for him as long as necessary with gladness. It is our great joy. You are in our thoughts and prayers daily. Give our condolences again to your husband.

With all our love,

Josiah and Sarah Anne                                                                                                                    Richardson

After reading the meager lines over several times, she turned to face Jacob who was staring at her intensely. Without comment she handed him the note. She looked up at his face in the dim light and was surprised to find that there were tears in his eyes. He looked down at her for a long silence and then he shook his head. Mindful of all the ears concentrating on them, she watched him struggle with his pride.

"Christiane," he said as though drawing a long breath.

"I had to do something about Jean Claude, you understand that don't you?"

He nodded and motioned her to come with him. Inside the tent he embraced her sadly. They went into their blankets silently. Jacob kissed her forehead and tucked her close to him.

#

The next morning Christiane awoke to the sound of gunfire. At first she sleepily marked it off as target practice somewhere, but when it continued, increased, she realized it must be something more. A small fear ignited in the pit of her stomach. She sat up looking around her. There was no sign of Jacob.

A breathless voice called to her and the tent flap flipped open. Tildy ducked inside. "Christiane! Christiane! Get up! You must come and help me pack up and then I'll help you. Quickly, girl, up, up!"

Christiane sat up in confusion. "What's the matter? What's wrong?"

"Michael and Jacob left early this morning. Jacob didn't want to wake you. Howe has attacked somewhere. Don't you hear the guns? The men are being called forward. We women must move out first with the baggage train so we are not caught in the line of fire. Up! Up!"

Christiane scrambled out into a camp changed to bedlam. Women and children were rushing around them. Fear and hurry almost seemed to crackle about their ears. Tildy took Christiane's hand and pulled her off to the Main's tent. There the two women rushed about packing a few wooden boxes and dismantling the gypsy home. Then they repeated the actions at the Kruger campsite. Finally Tildy was shepherding them to the baggage wagon train that had appeared nearby. Everywhere women were loading their belongings onto the ox wagons and horse carts. The drivers helped here and there, lifting heavier objects and tying down items to their own satisfaction.

Christiane hung close to Tildy's skirts, doing as she was told, glad to be directed. Finally all had been packed on the line of wagons and women, clutching their children's' hands, tried to find room for themselves on the wagons atop and around the baggage.

A quartermaster sergeant rode down the line, bellowing his orders again and again, "Only pregnant women and small children on the wagons! All able-bodied women and older children must walk!" Grumbling answered him as many women and their charges dismounted.

Christiane stood by, holding Nancy's bridle. Tildy stayed in her place with William at the back of the nearest wagon, but she pushed Michael, her oldest son, down from beside her. "Christiane, can Michael ride with you?" she asked.

Christiane nodded, but then she protested, "But you're not–"

"Yes, I am, Christiane. Almost five months along. Michael, if for any reason we become separated, stay with Christiane."

The lad and Christiane mounted the old mare as the wagon train began to creak away. Christiane kept Nancy walking near the wagon that held her belongings, Tildy, and William.

Too much had happened too quickly. All along Christiane had known that she was living in a military camp, but never had she imagined she would be there to witness its transformation during a battle. Howe had attacked! Memories of the day spent hiding in the woods from the Mohawk raid flooded Christiane, almost sweeping her into hysteria. Frantically she fought her emotions down, but one unbidden thought tugged at her anyway. Was Jacob safe?

So now the war continues. What will happen next?–Lyn

Chapter Five, Scene 4 La Belle Christiane

Remember if you've just found this Free Read, click Archived Free button above to start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

By Lyn Cote

All rights reserved.

Chapter Five, Scene 4

He turned and to head back to the drill sergeant. "I mean this is no place for a baby. People sicken every day."

Christiane followed him closely. " Jakob, I can't leave him there. He's my son. I want him with me." Christiane was near tears now.

He took both her hands in his. "It is hard. I know.  But I think for the little one it is best he stay away. This is no place for women and children. No."

"But  Jakob–"

He kissed her forehead gently. "Christiane, how could I bear losing your son too?" His voice broke.

She knew then that he was thinking of Jon and to comfort him, she tightened her hold around his chest and buried her face into his coarse homespun shirt. "How long?" she whispered.

"The fighting here will end soon. Then I take you myself. It frightens me that you come all that way, all alone."

She couldn't disagree with him. But the ache inside her for Jean Claude was too harsh to repress. She sobbed soundlessly and shivered despite the warmth of his embrace. Then he left.

Unable to rest over this, Christiane decided to turn to Tildy Main. Maybe she would have some ideas of another way to solve this problem.

"Care for a cup of tea?" Tildy asked, sitting on a camp chair by her fire. Christiane smiled and unfolded the camp chair she had brought to sit on. Silence, a companionable one, held while Tildy performed the simple rite of preparing and serving tea. All around them were the buzz of other voices and the sounds of their communal, outdoor life. "Tildy, don't you ever get tired of this camp?""Yes, we all do, I suspect." For just a moment the New Englander scrutinized Christiane. "You were born gentry, weren't you?"

"Why do you say that?" Christiane sipped her steaming tea, trying to mask her surprise.

"Everything about you. The way you speak, walk, your manners, your looks. I saw you the day you met the General. Would any of us have offered him our hand like a lady? No. When I watch you eat beside a campfire, I picture you more at home at a long table with silver and china around you."

Christiane studied her cup of tea, not knowing what to say.

"So it must be extra difficult for you," Tildy continued. "I mean this is a terrible way to live for all of us. But if you were raised to expect better, it must be a bitter draught to swallow."

"This camp is not what I hate most. I want my son." Christiane stood up; her agitation over Jean Claude goading her to pace back and forth in front of Tildy. "I know he is safer and much better off with the Richardson's, but I miss him." She felt tears come to her eyes.

"Do you think it would help you if we could get a message to the Richardson's some way?"

"Why didn't I think of that? But I have nothing to write with or on. And where could I post the letter?" Abruptly she froze. An aide de camp was a secretary and she knew one, John Laurens. He could help her.

She almost turned and started off at once. But one glance down reminded her of her appearance. She fingered her dirty, wrinkled skirt that she had worn day and night. She couldn't let the gentleman see her like this—if she had a choice Without saying a word to Tildy, she turned away toward her own tent.

"Where are you off to?" Tildy called after her.

Christiane went on without pausing. "I'll need your help!" Quickly she went into the tent and opened her saddlebags. In one side she still had a blue dress a woman at Rupert's fort had given her. Because it was too good for travel or camp life, she had not worn it, but it would be appropriate for a call on headquarters of the Continental Army itself. For just a second, Christiane quailed at her own boldness. She had only met Laurens twice fleetingly, but there was no one else to turn to.

She shook out the crushed, wrinkled dress, and spread it on her quilt. She remembered seeing Tildy ironing just the day before. She went back to Tildy and in the matter of an hour Christiane stood, transformed, before her friend.                 Christiane's hair was coiled neatly in a large braid secured at the base of her neck. Tildy had loaned her one of her white, frilled caps to frame her face. The blue dress was so clean, so fresh, so pretty. Christiane beamed at Tildy. Taken by a sudden whimsy, she held her skirt in both hands and did a sashay as though dancing.

"My, you are a pretty one," Tildy sighed. "It is a treat just to see you."

Christiane started off without a backward glance. She recalled where the main headquarters were, but she had quite a long walk to reach it. The balminess of the day matched the lifting of her spirits. She hummed softly an old French tune that her mother had often sung to her.

Finally she could see the house the headquarters occupied and a cluster of tents around it. She thought she would first try at the tents and hope that Lt. Colonel Laurens was about his business there.

Not too far from the first tent she was halted by a sentry, "Your business, Ma'am?"

"I'm looking for Lt. Colonel Laurens please," she answered.

"Private," he called. A man nearby, dressed in frontier buckskin, sauntered over.

"What your name, Ma'am?"

"Mrs.  Jakob Kruger."

"Private, go tell Mr. Laurens that Mrs. Kruger is here to see him."             The man nodded and then ambled away. The first man said, "He will be right back, Ma'am. Mr. Laurens was just over there." So she and the sentry stood in silence, each looking at distant objects.

Suddenly a glimpse of a red-and-white, not blue-and- white, uniform caught her attention. Two officers: one in a blue-and-white uniform and one in a red-and-white, stood facing two identically dressed officers. Next to them stood a British drummer.

Christiane realized that two must be British officers. What were they doing at the Continental headquarters? While she pondered this, one of the British officers and one of the American officers changed places very formally with much saluting and drums. A brief exchange of words continued outside of her earshot. Once, while the formalities lagged, the English officer who was not speaking glanced idly in her direction. Her heart lurched. Captain Eastham!

Unconsciously she took two steps forward, but then he turned his head back to the proceedings. She caught herself just before she called out. Was it really the captain who'd helped at that fort in Canada? She was sure it was, but, what would she say to him? They were separated now not only by distance, but by a war. He was the English  Jakob was at war with. Besides he probably wouldn't remember her. A sense of loss, she couldn't comprehend clutched her. The four officers marched away.

"Why were those English officers here?" she could not stop herself from asking the sentry.

He glanced in the direction she had nodded. "Oh, prisoner exchange, ma'am."

"I see." Her heart still pounded erratically, but she forced herself to nod politely.

"Mrs. Kruger, how good to see you again!" Laurens exclaimed beside her. Christiane trembled slightly. She held out her hand to him and he bent over it momentarily as she curtseyed.

"Please allow me to make you comfortable." He motioned toward the awning over the entrance of a nearby tent where there was a table and two chairs. He seated her and then sat across from her. "Now what may I do for you?"

His politeness had put her at ease and, in spite of her inward commotion caused by seeing the British officer, her words came out smoothly. "Lt. Colonel Laurens, I have a favor to ask of you."

"Anything at all if it is in my power." He looked up expectantly.

Christiane traced one of the folds of her skirt pensively. Looking up, she began, "I have an infant son who I have been forced–by circumstances–to leave in the custody of friends.  I hoped to return soon and take charge of him, but I find that I am unable to go to him right now. I would like to get word to them that I am well, but that I will be delayed in returning."

"Yes?" he coaxed when she paused.

"That is the favor. I have no way of writing a letter." She blushed, ashamed of admitting her poverty.

"Why I would be happy to write it for you," Laurens said quickly.

She blushed again at his misunderstanding. "I am afraid I did not make myself clear. I am quite able to write a letter, sir, but I need paper, ink, and a quill. And I have never posted a letter except in France…."

This revelation obviously startled him. He looked at her more closely as though trying to analyze her. "Of course, how foolish of me. And, certainly, I have everything you need." Evidently upset at having caused her embarrassment, he quickly went to the table and cleared it for her.

Just as he finished laying out all the materials, the private came over, "Lt. Colonel Laurens, you're wanted."

Laurens nodded. "Madame, here is all you need. I will be back as soon as possible," he said as he moved her chair up to the table.

When he was gone, Christiane sat at the desk, staring down at the paper. It had been so long since she had held a pen in her hand, not since that day at the little fort when she had written down the names of eight men who had wanted to marry her. Fleetingly the face of Captain Eastham came up before her again. She was sorry he had come south to join in these hostilities. Consciously she turned her thoughts back to the present. What should she tell the Richardsons?

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Chapter Five Scene 3 La Belle Christiane

La Belle Christiane

By Lyn Cote

All rights reserved.

Chapter Five, Scene 3

The day's gray, hovering clouds matched Christiane's mood. Since daybreak Christiane had sat, fidgeting by the fire. Finally boredom and stiffness prompted her to get up and walk. After a night of drizzling rain, the ground was slick and muddy. Her skirts dipped into a myriad of puddles, wetting the bottom of her dress, giving her the sensation of being dragged down. At last she paused at a nearby green to observe a squad at drill. The marching master and his men seemed at odds with each other. Christiane did not find it interesting, but in her dismal mood, she continued watching anyway.

Then across the green she glimpsed a cluster of officers in crisp blue-and-white uniforms. Having seen hardly any gentlemen—save Lt. Colonel Laurens yesterday–in the years since she had left France, she watched them with fascination. Her mind brought up the image of Captain Eastham for a moment. She distracted herself by watching the officers. They officers watched the drill and stopped from time to time, consulting.

Finally the group of officers approached the place where she stood. And she realized her mistake. She didn't want to be seen, so she lowered her face and turned away.

"Mrs. Kruger," Laurens hailed her  and stepped over nearer without hesitation.

Christiane smiled stiffly in return. "Lt. Colonel Laurens." She bobbed politely, hoping her face wasn't smudged.

The other officers caught up with Laurens. The tallest one in the center spoke up, "Mr. Laurens, is there any difficulty?"

"No, sir, no difficulty. I was just greeting Mrs. Kruger. She has just joined her husband here."

The other officers gave the tallest their full attention while he gave his to Christiane. "Are you going to introduce me, Mr. Laurens?"

"Mrs.  Jakob Kruger, sir," Christiane inserted swiftly.

Then somehow looking up at this tall man, white-wigged and in an immaculate uniform, brought back her careful childhood training. In consequence just as the day before, her curtsey to this officer was of the very deep, very polite one used for nobility.

"General Washington, ma'am. Your servant," the General replied, taking her hand gently and bowing.

The fact that she was meeting the great General himself almost swept her away, but her careful training stood up well. She looked up into his face. It was not a handsome one, but the features were strong and she liked the straight line of his jaw. His eyes were penetrating her as though they divined a great deal about her also and his grip was firm and warm.

"It is a great honor to meet you, sir." She forced the words out of a tight throat.

The General smiled and showed her a further courtesy by introducing the others, Major Fish, two captains, and a Frenchman DuCoudray.

"Mrs. Kruger is originally from Paris," Laurens said

"How interesting. How do you come to be with us, Mrs. Kruger?" the General inquired politely as though he had nothing further to accomplish this day except pleasant conversation.

Christiane sorted through her mind swiftly. "My father and I travelled to Montreal some years ago. He was involved in some political activities there," she said, trying to put a good face on her Irish father's ill-fated anti-English intentions..

"Montreal?" he voiced surprise, "You have come quite a way to join your husband."

"I  had no choice our village near Lake Ontario was raided by Mohawks late in August."

"I did some Indian fighting in my youth, so I understand your plight, madam," Washington said in a hard voice.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her husband approaching.  Jakob arrived at her side and placed his hand possessively on her shoulder. Christiane formed her face into a smile as she glanced up at him, trying to give the appearance of a happy wife. "Gentlemen, my husband, Corporal  Jakob Kruger."

The General graciously addressed him, "Corporal, we have merely been enjoying a few moments conversing with your wife."

Jakob saluted and replied with a smile and a quiet, "Yes, sir."

"Have you asked your company officer to procure any extra equipment you might need?" Major Fish inquired politely.

"Yes, sir. But we still have not a tent. They said none was yet available,"  Jakob answered.

"Oh, no, that won't do! I'll see to it that one is made available today. Apply to your officer before dusk," the major said.

"Thank you, Major," Christiane answered.

"Well, I fear, we must make our farewells," the General said. "We have many pressing matters to attend to. Ma'am, a pleasure." He paid her the compliment of again bowing over her hand. Then the officers walked away. Laurens looked back at her and smiled.

Uncertain at the change in her husband, Christiane stood, watching the officers move on,  Jakob's hand still resting on her shoulder.

Finally  Jakob broke the silence, once again sounding like her  Jakob. "I will pick up the tent. Stay near the Mains, ja?" She nodded, though surprised, as her husband walked away.

That night Christiane found herself in the lately procured tent. With the tent had come two folding camp stools, a kettle on feet, and two blankets. Evidently this unexpected largesse had surprised the surrounding neighborhood, for many had come to watch the raising of the tent.  Tom from Rumsveld had also stopped by to recall the friends in Rumsveld they had lost. He had been very downhearted but she could do nothing but mourn with him.

Under the starlight she sat drinking at last cup of tea by the fire.  Jakob, finished putting everything away, sat down beside her. It was the first time they had sat alone together since Christiane had arrived. "Christiane," he said simply, "forgive me."

A sob escaped her. "Oh,  Jakob." She could say no more. Tears washed over her cheeks. His strong arms wrapped her against him. She continued to weep quietly into his fringed deerskin jacket. Aware of all the eyes and ears too close, Christiane whispered, "Take me inside,  Jakob. Please."

Gently he led her into their tent. "Christiane, I'm sorry, but it was a shock. I lose not just my son, but everyone–"

"I know–"

"I should have stayed at Rumsveld. You asked me to and now I see why. You needed me and I left you. Never again. God as my witness, never again will I leave you in harm's way."

"Oh,  Jakob." She had been starved for this reunion. She kissed him and he answered with his own denied yearning. It had been such a long and lonely time apart.

Carefully he arranged their blankets for her and tucked her in with extra courtesy. There was almost no light. He  slid in beside her. His strong arms held her firmly against him and he drew a long breath. "Mein kleines Frau, ich liebe dich," he whispered. She replied with only a satisfied, little sigh. She was content at last.

#

The morning light filtered faintly in and around the canvas covering them. Christiane slowly became aware of it and of the warm body pressed against her back. This startled her and she jerked away.

"Liebschen?" a sleepy voice asked softly. Then she remembered  Jakob was with her. She blushed at her mistake. His strong arms pulled her back to the warm nest. "Did you forget I was here?" he asked with a grin. Christiane nodded.

Sergeant Main's brisk voice outside the tent intruded. " Jakob, time to assemble the men."  Jakob moaned loudly in protest and was answered by a laugh. "Come on, Corporal." Groaning and twisting,  Jakob crawled out of the cocoon of blankets and stood up.

"But you haven't had any breakfast," Christiane complained.

"I brought him a cup of coffee if he will just come out," the sergeant interrupted.

A quick kiss and  Jakob was gone. Stretching, then snuggling deeper in the blankets, trying to keep what remained of the warmth of  Jakob had left around her.

All morning her thoughts turned more and more to the Richardson's. In light of the crowded, shabby family camp, their simple farmhouse took on the aura of paradise in her mind. And her loneliness for her son was overpowering. he two of them sat by their fire after a meager lunch. The air was softer than the night before, a short pause in the steady advance of cool fall air. " Jakob, is there any way you could take a short leave?" she asked the question she had been planning all day. "I have to go the Richardson's, the couple who are taking care of Jean Claude."

"No."  Jakob and stood up again. He tossed the dregs of his coffee onto the fire, causing the flames sputter.

"You mean you can't get a leave?" she continued as she stood, so she would not need to raise her voice.

Why do you think Jakob won't let her go?

Author Janet Tronstad & Loves Lost and Found & a prize!

My guest today is Author Janet Tronstad, a fellow Love Inspired Author and a good friend.

"This is Janet Tronstad and I've been pondering just how often losing-and-finding is the dance of love.  You've probably noticed it in your own life – it can be as trivial as losing a gift from a loved one or as devastating as losing the loved one themselves.  In my latest Dry Creek novella, 'A Family for Dry Creek' (from the book 'Small-Town Moms'), my heroine, Maegan Shay, is a woman who lost her parents while a child and soon after lost her two sisters to different adoptions.  After becoming an adult, Maegan works to find her sisters.

The novella begins when Maegan finds out that one of her sisters has died and left a daughter behind. The daughter is living with her uncle, Clint Parker, and Maegan is determined to make contact and find out if the little girl is all right. The story of Clint and Maegan is one of my favorites.

In their honor – and for all of us who have lost and found someone – I am sponsoring a Lost Valentine Writing Challenge on eHarlequin this month.  Readers will write short 250-word stories that must include a lost and found Valentine as well as some other items reminiscent of my popular Dry Creek series (published by Harlequin Love Inspired).

The winner will receive a $25 Barnes and Noble gift certificate. The contest starts on February 7 and runs to February 11. Just follow the links to http://community.eharlequin.com.  I'll look forward to seeing you there – even if you don't want to write a short story of your own, it is great fun to read what others have written.

In the meantime, I'd love to know your experiences with 'lost and found' in your life. So, if you have a minute, please share."–Janet Tronstad

www.JanetTronstad.com

Thanks, Janet. The Lost Valentine Writing Challenge sounds like FUN! Recently I posted my review of one of Janet's delightful, fun Dry Creek Romances. Here's the link to my old blog, if you want to read that review.

If you're interested in Janet's books, drop by to purchase her latest books.

If you've never visited the Harlequin Love Inspired Community, drop by and say hi here http://community.eharlequin.com/forums/steeple-hill/christian-cafe-3?page=10

Chapter Five Scene 2 La Belle Christiane

La Belle Christiane

By Lyn Cote

All rights reserved.

Chapter Five, Scene 2

She and Laurens followed Main as he led them where he thought  Jakob would be. Very soon the sergeant began calling, " Jakob!  Jakob!" He hurried on ahead. Laurens talked to him.

Then  Jakob turned to look to where the sergeant was gesturing. She saw him, flushed with excitement striding toward her across the green. Then he was there–standing in front of her.

He looked down at her in evident wonderment. "Christiane?" he asked,

"Oh,  Jakob," she exclaimed as she threw her arms up to embrace him. His responding hug was firm and long and she reveled in the feeling of his strength. His wool shirt collar rasped against her cheek as she lifted her face to receive his kiss of welcome.

"Mein Liebscen," he murmured and her heart leaped at the longing in his voice. Several minutes passed and finally he released her, but his gaze did not leave her face. Then he asked quietly, seriously, "Christiane, why are you here? Where is Jon? Jean Claude?"

She pursed her lips, loathe to voice the death of his son. And in front of the men, strangers so near. " Jakob," she said, "This is Lt. Colonel Laurens who helped me find you."

Jakob picked up her cue and went to Laurens, saluted him and expressed his thanks. Laurens departed, casting one final curious glance at her. Then  Jakob returned to her. Only the sergeant remained close to them though Christiane was painfully aware  ofmany strangers in this crowded encampment. I can't tell him here. " Jakob, please is there any place where we can talk privately?"

Jakob turned to his sergeant. "Could we use your tent, Main? Since we are in family camp, it is closer."

"Of course,  Jakob. Come along." The old mare followed them as Main led them over to a large tent about twenty feet away. "Tildy," he called. A woman came out directly. "Tildy,  Jakob's wife is here. I told them they could use our tent a while to talk." The wife nodded.

" Jakob," Main continued, "the women can get acquainted later. You and your wife go right in. Take as long as you need." Then the couple walked away, taking the mare with them.

She and  Jakob stepped into the tent and he closed the flap behind them. "I am so happy that you are here, Christiane, but why have you come?"

As she looked up at him, she felt tears threaten her. She swallowed and forced them down, but she could not speak. Walking over to him, she rested her head on his chest. His arms came around her tenderly. "Christiane, tell me please. Where is Jon? Where is Jean Claude? Why have you come?" His tone became stronger. "Christiane, tell me please."

"I had to come,  Jakob. I had to. Jean Claude is across the Hudson with a kind, older couple. They said it wasn't good for me to bring him here," she began, still keeping her head against him. It was cruel of her to prolong this silence about Jon. Taking a deep breath, she began again. "It happened near the end of August,  Jakob. I was picking raspberries. Jon had shown me where. I was wearing these clothes so that I wouldn't tear mine," she said, trying to buy time. "While I was there, they came."

"Who?"

"The Mohawks." She watched cold fear flicker in his eyes; then she told him what had happened. She could not force herself to say Jon's name, so she clung to him, hoping that her nearness would comfort him. Helpless tears oozed from her eyes. They stood that way a long time. Finally she realized that he had not said anything and that his embrace had taken on an almost wooden quality. " Jakob?" she probed softly.

"My son is dead?"  Jakob's voice thinned to a thread. "Jon is dead?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I'm, so sorry,  Jakob. There was nothing I could do. It all happened so fast." She looked up at him then and she froze. The anguish in his eyes was horrible.

He stood, straight as always, but he seemed to withdraw from her and this sensation of distance affected her immediately.

As she watched, his eyes seemed shut against her.

"Stay here. I must think." He released her and pushed his way out of the tent.

Christiane followed him, not knowing what to say or do. But when he didn't even look back, she stopped, watching him stalk away.

Finally, the sergeant's wife Tildy said softly, "You mustn't judge him too quickly. I couldn't help but hear. He's lost his son."

"I just want to be with him." She trembled with emotion on the last word. Mrs. Main gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

#

When Christiane finally awoke the next day in a simple canvas tent, empty except for two other bedrolls and a trunk, the emotional upheaval of the preceding day weighed upon her like a layer of brick. Her sleep had been restless, not refreshing. Drowsily she stretched and slowly roused to the sounds around her. From outside the tent she heard in the distance a roll of drums and loud voices counting. She untangled herself from her bedroll. .

After a month of living with the Richardson's, she felt mussed and unkempt having slept in her clothing. Changing into a nightgown was once again a luxury much above her. She pulled her bone comb from her apron pocket and groomed herself as best she could.  With a deep sigh, she stepped out of the tent to confront the day. Would  Jakob speak to her today?

Mrs. Main was sitting by the fire, reading from a large, black book to two young boys. "Good morning, Mrs. Kruger. There's coffee by the fire for you."

Christiane felt rude, but she was unable to return the kind woman's smile. As she poured herself the strong brew, she distantly remembered a time when cafe au lait had been brought to her on a silver tray each morning. Quickly she rushed this memory out of her mind. Thoughts of the comforts of the past always came to the surface to taunt her whenever she felt especially miserable.

The two looked to be about the ages of Anson and Phillip, but were very thin. There was a natural brightness about them though that shone through. "Mrs. Kruger," the woman said formally. "These are our sons, Michael, Jr., the oldest, and William." Just as formally both young boys bowed to her, so she was obliged to stand and return a curtsey. "Now, sons, you may go and visit your friends, but don't wander."

"Yes, Mother," they said in unison as they dashed away.

"You didn't see them yesterday because they were with their friends. They spent the night there," Mrs. Main explained. Then in answer to Christiane's unspoken question, " Jakob is drilling with the others now. The men do it once a day, though a confusion it usually seems to me. Then there's just the waiting."

"Waiting?"

"Yes, that's the worst part. Just waiting to see what the enemy will do or what the General will decide to do."

Christiane looked at the other woman, a thought occurred to her. "Why are you here, here in a military camp with your young sons? Are you visiting too?"

"We're not visiting. And we're here for the same reason you are. We have nowhere else to go. Michael and I are from Boston. Our home was destroyed in the rioting there. So when the English Army pulled out, we joined the army."

"But every woman doesn't go to war with her husband."

"Of course not, but I had no choice. I had no relatives who could take care of me, no home, and no way of providing for myself. You, and I are just a few of a thousand or more. You are in the encampment for families. The decent women stay together for protection."

"But your husband didn't have to enlist."

"Neither did  Jakob. Michael wanted to and I supported his decision. We've worked long for independence. We wouldn't, couldn't back out when we were needed to fight."

When Christiane had decided to find  Jakob, she had left the future up to him. Even in her vagueness though she had not envisioned herself taking up residence with the army. I must go back to my son. But could she leave  Jakob to mourn alone?

"Mrs. Kruger," her companion intruded, "there are certain sacrifices that you may have to make for the Revolution. This is only one."

Christiane nodded, but couldn't look hopeful.  Jakob was a fine man, but when would he let her be his consolation? And could she go against the Richardson's advice against bringing a baby to a war?

Chapter Five Scene 1 La Belle Christiane

La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 By Lyn Cote

All rights reserved.

Chapter Five, Scene 1

Following Josiah's directions after nearly a month's delay to enter New York City, she headed southwest to Hobb's Ferry to cross the Hudson. After she'd spent years in the wilderness, New York City with over twenty thousand people intimidated Christiane. Josiah had drawn a rude sketch of the main boundaries and points of the city. "X's" marked the area where he believed Washington's army would be camped.  Inhaling deeply, she contemplated confronting an army.

The ferry, a flat barge with wooden sides like a fence appeared as she topped the river's bluff. A network of ropes connected the two riversides and prevented the ferry from floating on down the river. Christiane, the only passenger, paid her ha'penny and the ferryman, a large, rough-looking man, began his chore of pulling them across the river along the ropes.

Very soon she stepped onto the opposite shore, mounted and urged Nancy onto the road. Suddenly the thought that she would be reunited with Jacob sometime that day surged through her. She longed for him, but the burden of bringing the news of his son's death filled her with foreboding. She consulted her little map once more and faced eastward with as much confidence as she could summon. Softly, bravely, she hummed a French tune she had not sung in a long time.

Prosperous farms bordered the lane. The inhabitants were busily harvesting the fall crops: corn, pumpkins, squashes, rye, and wheat. The colors were rich amber, orange, dark green, and red. Christiane savored the bustling harvest sounds of the scythe, locust, and busy voices. The homeliness of the atmosphere served to calm her lingering nerves. Soon the farms gave way to streets lined with brick homes. Other riders on horseback and ox-drawn carts joined her on the thoroughfare.

Suddenly Christiane saw a young man in dark blue, military dress, cantering toward her. Without thinking she stopped and waved to him. He slowed agreeably, pulling up across from her and doffing his tri-corn hat. Immediately Christiane was struck with her own forwardness, but her desire for information spurred her confidence. "I apologize, sir, for stopping you so boldly."

"Oh, please, Mistress, don't give it a worry," he cut in smoothly. "This may be my most pleasant duty today."

At this she blushed and bowed her head. "Are you with Washington's army?" she inquired, looking up at him once more.

"Yes, indeed. Lt. Colonel John Laurens, aide de camp to the General himself," he answered with a slight bow.

"Oh," Christiane replied. Her mouth retained the "O." She was abashed at approaching so important a person. "I apologize again, sir. I did not wish to keep you from your important duties, but, you see, I am looking for the army. I wished to know if I am going in the correct direction."

"Yes, Mistress, you are." His face sobered. He gazed at her as if worried about something. "Just continue south on Bloomingdale Road and you cannot miss it."

"Thank you so much, sir," she said as she made to start onward.

"Ah, Mistress," he detained her by holding up his hand. "Are you sure you really want to seek out Washington's Army?"

"I am joining my husband, sir," she replied simply

"Your husband?" Laurens eased back in his saddle. "I see."

She gathered her reins. "Thank you again, Lt. Colonel Laurens."

"Madame, I must not abandon you," he replied. "An army is not a safe place for a young wife alone. I will escort you to your husband."

Christiane gazed at the young man; his open honest face convinced her. "I would be grateful to have your assistance, sir." She bowed her head in an elegant gesture she had been rigorously taught. She regretted demonstrating this trace from her past , so at odds with her present status.  I am just a farmer's wife now.

"Will you accompany me for a little while and then I will help you seek out your husband." He gestured for them to proceed.

Unable to stop herself, Christiane repeated her graceful nod and rode beside the young officer, seeing more and more military men. Then suddenly she was there.

She'd dreaded entering a city, but she'd had no conception of what a whole army looked like. She sat stick straight on Nancy's back and stared with her mouth open.

Men. Thousands. Thousands of men. Covering pastures and commons as far as she could see. Men. Thousands of men. Thousands. In tents. Beside tents. Walking. Drilling. Sitting. Squatting. Talking. Men wearing all manner of clothing: proper uniforms, frontier buckskin, linsey-woolsey of dark blue.

Her eyes took in more than her mind could process. This was an army, a whole army. She was unaware of the minutes passing. Finally though her mind formed a thought. "Oh, my," she breathed. How will I ever find Jacob in this sea of soldiers?

Laurens had paused beside her. "It is quite a sight."

"Oui," she said, lapsing into French.

"You're French then. I thought you had a very slight accent."

She pulled herself together and glanced Laurens' way. "I was born in Paris."

"Is your husband French?"

"No, sir, he is from New York." She scanned the legions before her, feeling helpless.

"Regular army or militia?"

"Militia," she said, mesmerized by the sight of so many before her. They rode on.

Headquarters proved to be a village of sad-looking tents. Laurens helped her from her mount and then offered her a camp chair. She sat and waited. Many officers dressed similarly to Laurens and other men in buckskin or home-loomed linsey-woolsey moved in and around the tents.

Within minutes, Laurens came toward her. "I am free, madam. I've asked about the New York militia and believe I have a good idea where they are encamped."

Before she could stop herself, she rose and executed a curtsey, again as she had been taught. Somehow Laurens' gentleman's dress had triggered her Paris manners. She let him toss her onto her horse and followed him as he led her through the tight lanes between tents and groups of men.

"We will concentrate on New York's Clinton Brigade. The brigade has two regiments which are both over three hundred men. But once we find Clinton's men, we should find your husband."

When they reached Clinton's men, the two of them dismounted and led their horses forward. Then Christiane hung back, leading Nancy and letting Laurens do her talking.

He questioned a few more men and located Fish's men in the midst of the Second New York Regiment. Then they spoke to a sergeant, named Main.

"Jacob Kruger? Certainly I know him. He's my corporal. Glad to meet you, ma'am." The sergeant clasped Christiane's small hand and shook it.

Christiane smiled politely as she cast around, trying to see her husband. After all the time, all the miles, I'm going to see Jacob! Her heartbeat quickened.