Lyn Cote's Blog, page 94

Chapter Twenty-Four Scene 4 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

2011 Copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Twenty-Four Scene 4

The rest of the day flowed by Christiane. She went through the motions of planting, cooking supper, bathing her daughter, and putting her children to bed. All the while her mind chewed on the experience of the afternoon.

Finally she sat in her night dress on her side of their bed. Staring out the moonlit window across from her, she stroked her hair with her ivory-handled brush. Over and over again Sarah Anne's words went through her mind, intensifying Christiane's agitation, the tension she guarded from view.

Her husband came in and quietly closed the door. "Jean Claude is really doing well with his reading," he commented as he sat down with his back to her to take off his shoes.

Christiane made an interested noise and surreptitiously massaged the worsening ache over her heart.

He continued to talk idly about the evening's reading lesson while she continued to brush her hair, dealing with her confusion. At last the candle was snuffed and the bed dipped as he lay down. "Good night, ma'am," he bid her civilly.

Something in his matter-of-fact tone sliced her in two. Unexpectedly tears threatened. She popped up and stepped to the window, trying to conceal her distress. Why was she crying? Why would a child's quarrel upset her so?

"Is there somewhat the matter?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head.

There followed a deceptive calm then as Christiane stood in the moonlight pooling  by the window, clutching the sill. Her tears refused to be denied. She struggled to remain silent. She was at a loss as to what to do. She could not got to bed. Her trembling would give her away. She could not go downstairs and disturb Sarah Anne, so she stood, gripping the sill, swallowing tears.

"Something is wrong." John had come up behind her and his voice startled her. "You are trembling. What is it?"

"I don't know," she gasped miserably, "I can't seem to stop crying."

Gingerly from behind, he put one hand on each of her arms.

Christiane looked up at him over her shoulder. Tears obscured her vision, but his look of concern melted her resistance. She knew why she was crying. She wanted him to love her again as he had in Philadelphia. "It's all my fault," she blurted out and then wept harder, more hopelessly.

He tightened his grip on her arms and pulled her back against him. He could feel her soft hair against his chin. How he had missed her softness against him. "What do you mean?"

"I spoiled everything. You loved me and I spoiled it." She was too upset to care what she said.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to be treated like a guest. I want to be a real wife." Then she gasped and her tears abruptly ended .

John held her arms still and felt her lean back against him. Her distress made him bold. "And what prevents you from being a real wife?"

"You don't want me," she said plaintively.

"Who told you that? You are the one who said you hated me."

"I know. It was awful of me. I have regretted saying those words a thousand times." She wiped her tears with her trembling fingertips.

"You have?"

"Yes," she said miserably, rubbing the ache over her heart.

John had kept his distance as well as he could. He'd wondered in the weeks since their marriage, if her heart had softened. He'd told himself that he would be content with peace and harmony with his wife, a quiet home for him and their child. But was that really true or had he just made himself believe it? She was his wife, his legal wife. But he'd wanted more, but had hesitated.

Hope bobbing up within, he squeezed her arms gently and let his face dip into her luxuriant hair. Deeply he inhaled the natural scent of her with that hint of lavender. With satisfaction he felt his body tighten with desire. He felt again the wonder that being near her. Of course he wanted to make love to her. Whispering her name, he placed small kisses down the side of her neck, pushing back her hair with his lips.  His arms went around her possessively. This is my wife.

She rotated within his embrace and pressed herself against him, encircling him with her arms. "Oh," she breathed.

Their lips met in a kiss of reunion, gentle at first but then through it, they pitched headlong into passion.  He pulled her more tightly to him. How had he waited this long to hold her? The desire to make love to her was pushing him to his point of no return. "Christiane, please." The words were wrenched from him.

"Don't–"

A sharp intake of air nearly choked him.

"Stop," she finished.

He swung her into his arms onto their bed, exultant. She smiled up at him. He pushed her  back against the large feather pillows.  She threw her arms around him, tugging him down to her. The urgency of wanting her–completely–overwhelmed him.  I love you, Christiane. He bent his head to her soft skin….

Afterward, they lay against one another, replete and tangled in the sheets. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he gloried once more in the softness of her. "Nothing separates us now, wife. And never will again."

She kissed his ear. "I behaved terribly to you at Mt. Vernon and Philadelphia." Her low voice curled through him. "How can you forgive me?"

"We will put the past away and forget it." He kissed her palms, one and then the other.

"I love you so," she murmured, "I just wish…," she stopped, suddenly afraid her careless words might spoil this reconciliation, this closeness.

"What is it?" he asked, looking up.

"Nothing. Nothing." She looked away, hiding from him.

"I think something. Christiane, tell me. I promise I will not be angry."  He placed small kisses along her hairline, coaxing her to the truth.

She hesitated, then she looked up at him sadly. "I just wish things could stay the way they are."

"What do you mean?"

"Easthaven," she whispered, her eyes downcast, her heart wrenched.

So they'd come to the heart of the matter. At last. "Christiane," he began quietly, "you forget I have been in America almost ten years myself. I am afraid I would be a foreigner on the streets of London now. When I left England, I was merely escaping sad memories, guilt and my father. But now I don't know. It is odd how one's thinking can change.

"Five years completely on my own at that frontier fort did have its effect. I didn't even realize it till I was in New York City, rubbing elbows with the newly arrived London officers. Their conversations held no interest for me and their attitudes at the time irritated me. They were so 'superior' to these gauche colonials. They held even colonial loyalists in disdain as though they were not Englishmen too. And the other officers did not have the manners to hide their prejudices. Though I hadn't realized it, I had begun to give more weight to what a man did than to his family connections. I felt out of place."

"But you stayed?" She hazarded a glance.

"Because I was an officer in His Majesty's Army and was loyal to my king." He tucked her against him and she lay her head on his shoulder. "I understood the rebel viewpoint, but I had my duty to perform." A long pause ensued while he considered his words. "No matter where I live I will always be what I am, but in the future I do not feel I will be out-of-place in America."

"What?"

He went on as though she had not spoken. "The problem with my staying here now though is that technically I am still the enemy."

"No one here seems to care."

"They don't really know, do they?" Her soft hair against his shoulder–glorious. "We are living in a somewhat closed community. The Quakers have taken no part in this terrible conflict, so their desire for revenge has not been raised. If we ventured out among the concerned populace, our welcome would be mixed. Some would welcome a former British major; others would welcome a chance to even scores. The tide has turned to the Americans now because of Yorktown, but the peace is not official. For now we are safe here, but we must plan our movements and future carefully for the next few years."

"You mean then that you actually intend for us to settle in America?" she asked in astonishment.

"Of course, what did you think?"

"Of course, what did you think?" she echoed him in disbelief. "I expected to have to go live at Easthaven."

"But I told you I did not want to go there while my father lives."

"I know, but he won't live forever. I thought it was just a matter of time."

"No, it isn't." His tone was subdued. "Neither of us is the same person we were in Europe or at that little fort in Canada. Or even the same as we were in Philadelphia. The two of us will have to make a life together that will suit the both of us. Frankly I welcome being on a different continent. All my life I had to please my father and worry about what the county or London society would think. Well, no more. I don't want our children put under such pressure. Do you understand?"

"Completely, and we must stay here as long as the Richardson's have need of us."

"Yes, our debt to them will be paid."

Christiane pulled his face to hers and kissed him in thanks.

"Thank you, ma'am," he murmured as he kissed her hair. "Your hair smells of lavender."

"Of course. I have always favored that scent ever since–"

"Ever since what?"

"Ever since an English captain in a fort on the Ottawa River gave me a bar of lavender soap."

He looked down into her eyes. "Fate does not often give a person a second chance."

"We have had more than two. And Sarah Anne would say providence, not fate I think."

Christiane thought of all the years, all she'd survived since she had left France. What a long and grueling journey. She felt wrung out, just remembering. "I've lived many lives since then."

He traced the line of her jaw with his index finger, sending shivers through her, and then encouraged her with a look.

"I've always been searching for…." She fell silent, gathering her thoughts. The time to speak of what was of importance had arrived. "I left for Canada because I didn't want to live my mother's life–one of excess and appearances and greed. I wanted to genuinely love and settle down with one man who loved me–not care who I was at court, not what influence I could offer."

"That's not so strange." He stroked her cheek.

She bent her face into his palm, reveling in his touch. "Perhaps.  Good men have loved me. Jean Claude. Jakob." She decided to omit the man she'd been engaged to when she'd fallen in love completely with John in Philadelphia, but Henry Lee had been a good man too. "But there was no peace, no settling down."

"That's certainly true. No peace on the frontier. No peace during a war."

"When Jean Claude was only two, I returned here but then I left this house. That's when we met again." She quieted again, unsure of her words, of what was trying to come to her lips.

"I can't regret you coming to Philadelphia." He kissed her cheek.

Christiane nodded, leaning her forehead against his. "I can't either. We didn't do things in their proper order. But if we had, I don't know how it would have turned out–our leaving for Bermuda. Maybe we had to be parted to come to this point. I have confessed my sin which led to Sarah Renee's being born illegitimate. But forgiveness seems too much to ask, to accept. And do I deserve this happiness, to finally make a family with you?"

"Instead of denying what we've been blessed with, why don't we just accept it?" He kissed her forehead, her eyebrows, one then the other. "We've wandered in the wilderness, fought a war. Can't the hard times end? These past weeks I've pondered all that brought me, us to this place of peace. I have a family of my own at last. I don't deserve it, but I'm going to accept it. I've seen too many men die. I'm not going to waste today because of how we arrived here."

Christiane closed her eyes, resting her face against his. "Sarah Anne would probably agree. So, unworthy as I am, I will love you and live with you and be grateful to God."

"As I will." They clasped hands as if renewing their sacred vows. "Christiane. I will never let you out of my life again."

She tried to answer, but his kisses smothered her words, so she responded in kind, giving herself up to the feelings, the emotions claiming her. This night and all the other nights they were given, she would no longer let anything separate her from her husband. As he caressed her, she rejoiced, praising God as she responded to her husband, the man who had loved her in spite of what she had done and said.  I don't deserve this, but thank you, God.

So the longed for reunion, reconciliation has finally come. On Friday, I will post the Epilogue which will show John and Christiane a year from now. Did you find this ending satisfying–why or why not? I really want to know!

If you've been reading this original manuscript, I'd really like to hear from you. Please leave a comment. I would definitely appreciate hearing from you!–Lyn

Tweet

Author Deborah Hale & Borrowing Strength (& 2 Giveaways)

My guest today is author Deborah Hale. She shares about borrowing strength in a way she hadn't expected. Also she's giving away a book to someone who leaves a comment. You'll recognize the book cover. She and Louise M Gouge are the authors of the 2 novellas in one Love Inspired Historical, The Wedding Season! Here's Deborah:

"Borrowing Strength

When my twin sons were born, I knew raising them would be a bit more of a challenge, simply because there were two of them.  As an experienced Mom of two older children, I figured I could handle it.  But I wasn't prepared for what would happen when one of the babies started crying.  It would upset the other twin, who would also start crying, which would further upset the first twin.  What we didn't realize at the time was that the boys had autism and were very sensitive to loud, high-pitched noises…like their twin brother wailing!

When my husband was home, I could hand off one baby to him and we would each go to different parts of the house to calm them down.  But when I was by myself and the crying cycle started, it was very frustrating for all of us. I often ended up in tears, too.  Then one day when I was at the end of my rope, I began singing one of my favorite hymns to make myself feel a little better and remind me that I wasn't really alone.

The babies' crying gradually eased and a feeling of peace came over me.  I might not have the strength to handle all the challenges of parenting twins, but I knew I could always rely on God to lend me the strength I needed during the tough times.  There were many of those over the years, some that continue to this day, but the rewards have been very rich too.

In my novella, "Much Ado About Nuptials" in The Wedding Season anthology, Rebecca Beaton has been strengthened in faith and loyalty by the harsh experience of a childhood spent in a charity school.  Now, she faces the loss of her position as a companion to Hermione Leonard.  But Rebecca cannot let that stop her from encouraging Hermione to marry the young man she loves – not even when his brother, the formidable Viscount Benedict, is determined to part the couple.  I really enjoyed writing about a heroine of such quiet strength and sincerity!"–Deborah

To learn more about Deborah and her books, drop by

www.deborahhale.com.

BTW, Deborah has 6, that's right, SIX books out in the first SIX months of 2011. Yikes! I'm amazed! Impressed!

And here's the link to her Facebook Page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Regency-Author-Deborah-Hale/139566946091102

Now don't forget Deborah is giving away a book, so leave a comment. The winner will be announced Sunday or Monday.

Here's a suggestion. If you're a mother, did you come up with some way to face the challenges of new motherhood? If you're not a mom, have you ever used music to face a challenge. If so, how?–Lyn

PS: Deborah is sponsoring another contest on her website, click here to sign up for that one too! Here's the scoop from Deb's website: "To celebrate the release of my first Regency anthology for Love Inspired Historical I'm having a collection giveaway! The prize will include my two previous anthologies The Love Match and Mistletoe Kisses along with a Crabtree and Evelyn gift set – Bath and Shower Gel, Hand Therapy and Hand and Body Lotion in a beautiful makeup case! The winner will smell like they've just come in from an English country garden like the one where Rebecca Beaton meets Lord Benedict." I plan to enter. How about you?

Chapter Twenty-Four Scene 3 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

2011 Copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Twenty-Four Scene 3

A week passed and the weather improved and so did their life at Meadow Farm. John hired a laundress and day maid to lighten his wife's load. Content to cook and mind her children, Christiane welcome the hired help and the easing of her work. Also Sarah Anne let John take over the details of renting out the farm land for the year. A stable boy was added and helped out with the many outside chores. They all had settled into a homey pattern together.  But every night, Christiane still lay on her side of the featherbed and John kept to the other side.

Today the time for planting the kitchen garden had arrived. They stood together by the recently plowed plot. At the idea of someone else planting her own garden, Sarah Anne had been shocked, so they had decided to please her and do it themselves. The children, of course, were excited. And Sarah Renee had been excused from her daily nap to join in the planting.

"Children," Christiane instructed, recalling her own days of planting corn with Jakob, "come here. You two will take care of planting the corn hills. Here is the measuring stick. Use it to space your hills. Remember, three kernels to a hill." The two scrambled off to their section of rows. Sarah Anne, are you sure you want to plant the potatoes?"

"Oh, aye, if I do not share in the planting, how can I share in the joy of the growing? Besides the potatoes are perfect for me. I make the holes with this old broom handle, drop the eye in, and move the dirt with my toe and step on it. I have done it this way many years now."

"Very well. You know best," Christiane said. "I will do the peas. Alfred, will you see to the pumpkins?"

"Very good, ma'am," he said grimly. He accepted the sack of seeds from her.

"And what do I get to plant?" her husband inquired.

"Do you really want to?"

"Of course, shall I lounge around while the rest of you labor?"

She shook her head, but smiled a bit. "Here are the turnips then, sir," she said lightly, "will that suit you?"

"Perfectly."

Christiane bent to the task of dropping peas in at intervals down the row nearest the fence. The vines would climb it and blossoms would decorate it. The smell and feel of the earth cast her thoughts back to Rumsveld and Jakob.

Then the sound of her children's angry voices snapped her back to the present. She looked up just in time to see Jean Claude push Sarah Renee down onto the black earth. "Jean Claude!"

John strode over the furrows to the quarrelers, Christiane in his wake. "Now what is the problem, young man?" he demanded in a military tone.

Not intimidated, Jean Claude looked up defiantly, his hands on his hips. "She won't do it right! She keeps putting too many kernels in."

"I am not!" the girl yelled back. She jumped up and charged her brother. He stepped out of the way and she fell forward onto her stomach. This caused more screams of frustration.

"Now stop this," Christiane ordered. She picked up the struggling child and shook her firmly. "Someone needs a nap."

"No, I don't!" Sarah Renee shrilled and began to cry.

"Baby," Jean Claude spat out.

Without a word John reached over and picked up his daughter and carried her, still fussing, toward the house.

Christiane turned to Jean Claude. "I do not ever want to see you push your sister down again. Do you hear me?"

"But, Mother, she–"

"Don't 'but mother me!' If she is doing wrong, come and tell me or your father. We will take care of it." He looked disgruntled, but nodded. "Now go back to your planting."

She stood for a moment then. Should she follow John in? No, it would be best to wait and see if he appealed for help. She went back to her row of peas. Mechanically she began dropping peas again, but her frown deepened. The children had seemed to get along so well.

At last her husband appeared by her side. "She was really over-tired," he said softly. "It took me a while to get her settled down."

"Do you think that was the cause?" Christiane asked.

"A little," Sarah Anne interrupted. She had come close to them. They turned to look at her. "The two of thee look overly concerned."

"But, Sarah, he pushed her down," Christiane countered.

"I know. It is a common thing for a lad to do to his sister," the older woman said with a wry smile. "I had six brothers so I should know. And if you expect them to always obey you, you should leave that idea behind."

The younger couple digested this in silence.

Suddenly John smiled. "Ah," he said, "I see what you mean."

"Well, I do not," Christiane said firmly, but quietly not wanting her son to hear.

"Oh, Christiane, it is a simple matter," Sarah said. "Today Sarah and Jean Claude became brother and sister indeed."

"By quarreling?" she asked. This exchange was unexpectedly pinching her, digging in deeply to her emotions. Why?

"One doesn't argue with a guest, does one?" John pointed out.

Christiane absorbed this like a blow to her mid-section. When would she and John put away their painful polite civility? When would they stop behaving as if they were new acquaintances at a party?

"Aye, Christiane, rejoice. They trust one another enough now to show their true feelings," Sarah Anne chuckled and then turned back to her potato rows.

Christiane mulled this over, trying to keep her marked reaction hidden. The planting resumed in a weighty silence.

So the honeymoon between sister and brother has ended. One more bridge must be crosse. One more scene to go!–Lyn

Tweet

Chapter Twenty-Four Scene 2 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

2011 Copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Twenty-Four Scene 2

"Ma'am," John said, rising, "some Friends delivered a chicken. It hangs by the side door. It is gutted, but needs plucking and cooking." He looked at her meaningfully. Earlier amid her morning chores, she had forgotten to prepare dinner, so they had lunched on porridge and biscuits.

Her pulse raced at his intent gaze. Had he grown more handsome or was it only her longing? "I used to know how to make a delicious chicken stew with dumplings."

"Dumplings?" He looked intrigued.

"Yes, I learned how in Rumsveld an old friend taught me. It was one of her specialties." The thought of leaving the quiet farm clawed her suddenly.  Her future lay in the hands of her husband now, something that was never far from her mind. She turned away, stricken.

"Well, your biscuits passed muster," he conceded.

"Thank you, sir, I hope you will find my dumplings satisfactory also," she returned lightly, hiding how low her spirits had dropped. "Jean Claude, are you coming with me?"

"No, Mother, I want to stay with the men."

Christiane looked up at her husband.  Why don't you ever speak of the future, our future? Even if you spoke of England, that would give me some idea of your plans.

"Good. We can use his help," he answered.

"I think there are two more sheep," Jean Claude said. "We need to check on them too."

Smiling as much as she could, she patted her son's shoulder. "Supper will be ready at dark, John." Her use of his first name was coming easier, no doubt due to the Quaker dislike of titles. Would John soften toward her, begin using her name once more?

"Very good, ma'am."

She stepped away and retrieved the chicken. Inside Sarah Anne sat dozing in the rocking chair by the low fire. Christiane quietly found a basket to hold the feathers and settled herself near a window for enough light so she would not miss any of the small pinfeathers. Carefully she worked, glancing out the window now and then.

She realized then how unexpectedly content she was sitting here plucking a chicken. Her family had come together. Her son accepted her and John. Sarah Renee had her own father and would never suffer the stigma of illegitimacy. Now one last matter to be resolved lay between the two of them. John had married her to be with his child–true. But he showed himself willing to cooperate in unusual circumstances. She would be agreeable and patient and perhaps in time… Dear Lord, I am grateful for this reunion. But what will happen next?

#

"Mama!" Sarah Renee called from the steps.

"Hush," Christiane cautioned. "Come down quietly. Sarah Anne and Josiah are napping still."

The child hopped down the steps, humming.

"You may play with the toys in the box, but try not to knock over the blocks."

"Yes, Mama." The little girl went cheerfully over to the large box. Soon she had built a house of blocks and was playing with clothes-pin people while Christiane prepared the stew and set it to simmer.

Finally the late-winter sunlight dimmed to the point where Christiane rose and lit two tapers, one on the mantel and one on the table. Once more she leaned over her fragrant stew, bubbling on  a hook on the hearth.

The kitchen door opened. The two men and boy came hustling in. "It is beginning to drizzle again," John said. He carried an arm load of wood as did the other two. Deftly they piled it against the wall. "Will this hold us till morning, Sarah Anne?" he asked.

"Yes, looks enough."

Jean Claude went over to the cot and sat on the side opposite his grandmother. "Grandpa," he said softly to Josiah, "Mother and I found the first lamb this spring. It is all white." He turned to his grandmother. "I wish he could have been there."

"Yes, thy grandfather always has loved little ones of any kind." She smiled down at her husband. Jean Claude leaned over and rested his head on Josiah's chest for just a moment. Seeing this small act of love nearly carried Christiane into tears. She quickly turned and stirred the fire with the poker.

"Brother, will you play with me?" Sarah Renee asked.

"After supper."

"Ma'am, that certainly smells delicious," Alfred murmured admiringly.

"Thank you, Alfred."

"May I assist you in any way?"

"No, thank you. Come to the table, everyone. Dinner is ready." They all took their places. Sarah Anne looked to John. "John, would thee give thanks for us?"

Surprising Christiane, he nodded and they all joined hands. "Heavenly Father, thank Thee for the meal we are about to eat and the hands that prepared it. Amen."

Christiane was somewhat anxious about her stew, but a few bites assured her that she had remembered the recipe well. Compliments were murmured and she could not help, but smile. Sarah Anne joined in the companionship of the meal and then carried a bowl of stew to feed Josiah.

"I'm so glad thee made dumplings, Christiane. It has always been one of Josiah's favorites." Then she turned to her husband. "Josiah, thy dinner is cool enough now and I know thee will enjoy it." Without waiting for any response, since one was impossible, she gently raised his head with pillows and carefully spooned the rich stew into his mouth. As Christiane watched this, a desire for the same closeness with her husband moved her. The firelight and candles lent a snug feeling to the dark room. Spring rain pattered down softly on the window panes.

Little Sarah went to stand by the bed and watch the proceedings. "Is he very sick?" she asked solemnly.

"In a way. I don't think that he is in great pain, but he cannot speak to us or move much. Does thee know what he would say if he could?"

"What?" the little girl asked.

"He would tell thee how happy he is to meet thee. He has wanted thy mother to bring thee home for a long time."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Sarah Renee watched the grandmother a bit longer and then she joined her brother on the floor by the fire's glow. Her simple block house became more elaborate with her brother's help. He claimed two of the clothes-pin people and a story soon progressed, involving both children, using different voices for different characters. After Josiah was fed, Sarah Anne sat in her rocker and began knitting. Alfred sat on the settle in the shadows and Christiane and John relaxed at the table still, observing the children. The room quieted then except for the crackling flames and the children's voices.

Pushing away concern about her marriage, Christiane drifted into a dreamlike state, no doubt her fatigue contributed to this.

"Christiane, I have prayed for this for years," Sarah Anne murmured. "We are altogether at last. 'Commit thy way unto the LORD; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass.'"

Christiane heard the words. Had this good woman's prayers made the difference, brought this coming together? Glancing at her husband, Christiane found him looking at her. Without thinking, she smiled shyly. He looked directly at her and then nodded. What did that nod mean? She couldn't find the strength, the courage to ask. Should she just let the matters flow? Or should she ask the question about the future that festered inside her? She couldn't decide.

Soon it was time for bed. Drowsily Christiane roused herself to shepherd the children to bed. At the foot of the steps, she looked back and found John's gaze on her again. What was he thinking? This husband of hers?

Sarah Anne's prayers. Do you have someone praying for you? I know I do. What a blessing.–Lyn

Tweet

Lyn Reviews Author Kaye Dacus' The Art of Romance

The Art of Romance by Kaye Dacus

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The Art of Romance is the first Kaye Dacus book I'd read. I found I love her voice. And her characters. They caught my interest right away and carried me along. This is definitely a Southern novel with its emphasis on family and a quirky one at that. So I can recommend this entertaining book –to those who like humor, genuine emotion and a touch of romance. Way to go, Kaye!

View all my reviews

Chapter Twenty-Four Scene 1 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

2011 Copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Twenty-Four Scene 1

The next afternoon Christiane and Jean Claude explored in the muddy meadows, looking for sheep. The time for lambing had come. Walking beside her son over the thick spring green grass, she felt as uncertain as a babe herself. She didn't even look like herself. Her Mt. Vernon clothes felt too grand for this simple farm. Today she'd dressed to match her son who wore heavy sweater, knee pants, white hose, and stout shoes. She wore a navy wool dress that she'd sewn in Morristown during the winter she had met Mrs. Washington. Around her shoulders, she wore her faithful plaid shawl and a wool ruffed cap warmed her head. The breeze blew briskly across the sky, still overcast–as was her mood. So many changes in such a short time. But her strained relationship with her new husband had not budged. Often she nearly massaged the area over her heart, trying to soothe the the deep ache there.

Right after breakfast, the Friend Samuel had taken the two men on a tour and then he had left, saying that he would spread the word that Christiane's family had come. The around-the-clock assistance evidently would end now. Back at the house, while the two Sarah's and Josiah were napping, John and Alfred were in the barn, seeing to the stock. This had amazed Christiane. She would have expected that such labor was beneath his lordship; certainly Alfred was disgruntled at being expected to do farm chores. But they were on their own now.

Her life had also altered. Immediately after their breakfast that morning Sarah Anne had devoted herself to feeding and tending her stricken husband. Christiane had looked at the used bowls and spoons and then had risen to wash them. The harsh odor of homemade lye soap and feel of the hot water had brought back memories of Rumsveld Tavern and Morristown in Mrs. Hardy's kitchen where she had gratefully served as a scullery maid.

As she'd dried the dishes and put them away, she'd admitted to herself that this had been a major part of why she had fled this farm that night to Philadelphia four years ago. She had longed to be a lady and escape a life of menial toil. She chuckled to herself. In fact, she ranked a lady now, Lady John Eastham, but evidently that did not protect her from carrying water and washing dishes.

"Mother, I think I see something over in those bushes," Jean Claude said quietly, pointing to their right.

Mother! He said it without any reservation. Again she contrasted her own feelings this time to four years before. Then still a toddler, Jean Claude had been reluctant to accept her as mother. That sting rejection and the goad of her guilt for having created the situation had also been a part of why she'd run away. After all the years apart, she reveled in being close to him, being allowed into his life. Whatever the cause for his acceptance of her, John and Sarah Renee, she felt buoyant, almost lighter than air. How could one word give her such joy?

He tugged her hand, nodding for her to follow his gaze. "Yes, Mother, it is one of our sheep and she is lambing!" he exclaimed happily. Quietly and carefully they approached the ewe. Evidently this ewe did not have enough sense to come to the barn of her own accord, so Christiane and her son were here to bring the two back to the barn for extra nourishment and care. They stood silently observing as the baby lamb was expelled from its cozy nest into the muddy, chilly world. They watched as the mother painstakingly examined and groomed her infant.

"Grandpa says that human mothers have babies like this, too," her son commented matter-of-factly.

Christiane tried to match his tone. "Yes, it is very similar."

"What was my father like?"

The unexpected question hit her but she did a quick recover. "You look very handsome just like him." She allowed her hand to stroke the rich brown waves that ended in a tail at the back of his head. "He was a very jolly man. And he loved to sing and tell stories. He was a very fine fur trapper."

"He sounds nice." He glanced up.

"He was more than nice." She smoothed a curl behind his ear.

"Then how did we get here?"

"After your father died, I married another man, named Jakob.  He came to New York City to fight the British."

"And we came, too?" He sounded as though he knew this part, but wanted to hear her confirmation.

"Yes, and that is how you came to live here."

"And thee helped the Revolution?" He stooped, watching the white lamb closely.

"Yes, that is why I was gone so long," she continued the partial deception. When he was older, she would be more frank.

"That's what Grandma said. Did thee fight like a soldier?"

"No." She laughed. "Nothing that exciting."

"Grandma says fighting is sad." He stood, looking up at her seriously.

"She is right," Christiane answered soberly. "Fighting is very sad." She looked down at him, overwhelmed. She pulled him to her, unable to stop herself. "Oh, Jean Claude, my dear son, I have missed you. I love you so."

He put his arms up and returned her embrace. "I missed thee, too. I asked and asked Grandma and Grandpa when thee would come home. They said thee would as soon as thee could."

She could not answer. She merely hugged him again. The ewe, almost done grooming her newborn, bleated as if demanding their attention. The little lamb staggered to its feet, shivering.

"It's time to take them home," her son announced. "We must wrap the old blanket around the lamb and pick it up," he said.

"What about the ewe?" She used the blanket as instructed.

"Oh, as long as we have her lamb, she'll follow us anywhere."

Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, Christiane understood her fellow mother completely. She lifted the quivering lamb into her arms.

The ewe bleated and rocked to her feet. So they wended their way through the meadow back to the barn. Even though the breeze chilled her, Christiane felt warm. She'd expected resentment from her firstborn and instead had reaped love. A part of it was due to a child's natural acceptance, but most of the credit was Sarah Anne's and Josiah's. They had filled Jean Claude with their love for him and had given him an attitude of respect for her. She was very grateful.

They arrived at the barn. Alfred and Eastham stood, talking just inside. "Good day, gentlemen," she said politely though neither was dressed as a gentleman. Both wore clothing they had purchased while traveling, much like Jean Claude's outfit.

They bowed slightly. "Good day, ma'am," John replied, "I see you have a new boarder for us."

His use of the title instead of using her name dampened her mood. "Yes, where should I put mother and child?" She cradled the lamb close.

"There is a warm spot right over here. Alfred just laid it with new straw in hopes you would be successful." He ushered them to the rear and opened the stall gate.

Christiane carried in the lamb and laid it down gently in the hay. The concerned mother hurried in after her and began examining her infant.

John closed the gate. "Did you enjoy your walk, Jean Claude?"

"Yes, Father, we saw the baby get borned."

"Have you seen it before?" John stooped to be at eye level.

"Every year, but I like seeing it every year." The boy grinned.

"I know what you mean."  John squeezed the boy's shoulder.

Christiane marveled again at their ease at being together. Somehow her son in his innocence had already drawn closer to John than she had been able to. How could she bridge the gap? The ache over her heart twinged.

So Christiane begins to form a relationship with her six year old son. Do you think he will always be this accomodating?–Lyn

Tweet

THE END is Near–but In a Good Way :-)

During the first week of January this year, I began to post scenes from my original manuscript La Belle Christiane.

This book was written when books were longer. Remember those days when you held a paperback in your hand and it was substantial? This manuscript is double the length I write now.

Now finally the end is within sight!

Tomorrow I'll post the first scene of the FINAL CHAPTER. After that, there is only a brief Epilogue.

I will be asking for some feedback about this manuscript. I've already had an artist do a cover and the manuscript is in the process of being edited and proof-read. Soon I'll have the manuscipt ready to upload to Kindle and Smashwords to become a digital book.

Plus for those of you who still like to hold a book, I will be using the company CreateSpace to have copies printed for sale. You'll be able to buy them through my website and Amazon.com. You can also ask your local bookseller or librarian to order it for you. I'll post that information as I have it.

I've never done anything like this before so it has been an interesting journey. I thank you for being my "beta readers." You have helped me know when to shorten a chapter and made me grapple with the intense work of revision. So thanks!

Some other writers suggested that after the beginning chapter, I move immediately to Christiane meeting John again in Philadelphia. However, how would we know Christiane the way we do if we hadn't suffered with her through Rumsveld and her risking her life to rescue young Michael and other experiences she endured?

What do you think? Should I have shortened the story? Would shorter have been better? If so, what would you have cut? Or is there a part you wished I'd spent more time on? I really want to know!–Lyn

Chapter Twenty-Three Scene 3 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

2011 Copyright by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Twenty-Three Scene 3

"Come thy tea is ready and I'll slice thee bread and cheese." Sarah Anne gathered them all around the big table. Two candles flickered atop pewter candlesticks. Heavy mugs of rich creamy tea awaited them, along with bread and cheese, and fresh butter in a dish.

"Now we can talk. When did thee receive my letter?" Sarah said as they all sat down.

"Nine, no ten days ago," Christiane replied.

"Thee made good time then."

"Sarah Anne, this is my husband, John Eastham."

"Welcome, John," the woman said warmly.

He bowed slightly where he sat. "Thank you, Mrs. Richardson."

"Please call me Sarah Anne."

"Thank you. I will," he answered and helped himself to the food.

"And this is little Sarah Renee?" the woman asked.

"Yes, I'm Sarah Renee," the little girl answered for herself. "Do you have any jam please?"

Sarah Anne chuckled. "No, but how about a sprinkle of sugar on thy butter bread?" The little girl nodded and ate happily.

Alfred and Samuel came in. "It is starting to drizzle," Samuel said.

"Then thee arrived just in time. Christiane, what is thy friend's name?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. This is Alfred. Alfred, this is Sarah Anne," Christiane said.

"Come to the table, Alfred. Thy mug is waiting for thee."

Alfred hesitated. His expression said that he had never broken the bounds of his propriety before.

"Come, Alfred," Eastham ordered quietly. Alfred sat down uncertainly and gripped his mug.

"Help thyself to the bread and cheese," his hostess offered.

"Thank you, ma'am," Alfred murmured.

"Please call me Sarah Anne." She smiled. "Christiane, John, this is our dear friend Samuel Thomas." The man smiled and went back to the rocking chair near the fire. "Friends from meeting have been taking turns spending a day or night with me. I have not been alone since Josiah was struck."

"How did it happen?"  Christiane asked, hurting for her friends.

"He was out in the barn," Sarah Anne replied matter-of-factly. "I expected him right back and when he didn't come, I went out to see what was taking so long."

"Has he improved any?" John went on.

"A bit."

"Can he speak?" John asked.

"No."

He nodded. "It may come back in time. I have known a few older people near my home that suffered strokes."

Sarah Anne nodded. "Christiane did not let me know that she intended to marry."

"I was just recently re-united with Christiane."

Christiane spoke softly. "He is Sarah Renee's father."

"Well, the Lord be praised. My prayers are answered. Now both thy children will have a true family." The woman smiled.

Christiane was touched. Her dear friend could rejoice for her even though Josiah lay ill.

"You talk odd," Sarah Renee took time out between bites to say.

"No doubt I do sound odd to thee, little one, but soon thee will be accustomed to it," the Quakeress answered, unruffled.

"Sarah Renee, do not speak in such a saucy way to your elders," Christiane scolded.

"I am sorry, Mama."

"You are forgiven," the old Sarah said.

"We have the same name," the little girl observed.

"Yes–"

Christiane broke in, "Sarah Renee, you were named for Sarah Anne and another dear friend named Sarah."

Christiane looked into Jean Claude's eyes then. He had been watching her all the while. He was the same brown-eyed, dark-haired, beautiful child he had been three years before. Now he was so tall, a boy no longer a babe. His eyes were so serious that suddenly she smiled at him. "I am so happy to see you, my son."

He nodded. Then he leaned over to Sarah Anne and whispered. "Thee must speak to thy mother thyself," she instructed him.

"Does thee have any other children?" he asked shyly.

"No," Christiane replied, "just you two." She had not thought of his speaking as a Quaker. He seemed to want to say more, but all he did was look sideways at John. "Jean Claude, in all the rush of coming, I haven't introduced you to your stepfather," Christiane said, looking over into her son's upturned face. "Sarah Anne explained to you that I was away because of the war, didn't she?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Well, Sarah's father was away because of the war, too. He had just come back to us right before we received your grandmother's letter. Jean Claude, this is your stepfather, John Eastham."

Reaching across the table, John offered his hand to the lad. The boy took it and shook it solemnly. "Jean Claude," John asked, "what would you like to call me?"

Christiane was surprised by the question, but kept still.

The lad thought awhile. "What does she call thee?" he asked, pointing to his sister.

"I call him father," Sarah Renee piped up.

"My father is dead," Jean Claude said quietly.

"Jean Claude, when I married your mother, I became your father by law," Eastham said.

The boy looked up at his stepfather's face. "Thee are my father, too, then?"

"Yes."

"Then I will call thee father. If thee are my father, it wouldn't be proper to call thee, John."

"That will be fine, son." The two nodded and smiled at each other. Christiane sent her husband a timid look of gratitude.

"Are thee all filled?" Sarah Anne asked. "I have some raisin cake a friend brought this morning. Shall we have some now?"

"Goody!" Sarah Renee clapped her hands. "Do you like cake, brother?"

"Of course," he said, looking as though it were a silly question.

The squares of the rich brown cake were meted out. Christiane accepted more tea and began to relax. The homecoming had been more satisfying than she had dared to hope and now the fatigue of the day was making her drowsy. She let the conversation flow around her. Finally she roused herself as Sarah Anne urged everyone to bed. Soon she found herself in the old couple's bedroom upstairs, alone with her husband. Sarah Anne preferred to sleep on a cot near her husband and she had sent them up together with a cheery goodnight.

The candle flickered as they gingerly undressed and wordlessly took their places in bed. The candle was snuffed and she lay staring into the dark. Her thoughts tumbled around in her mind. Gratitude for being with Jean Claude almost swept her into glad tears.

But concern over the Richardson's troubled her. How long would she be able to stay and help them? They had given to her so freely. She wanted to repay them, had to. But everything hinged on the man beside her. He had been kind, but how deeply would these concerns weigh with him? And most of all how could she become his wife in reality? She sighed. Her body ached with fatigue.

"Good night," he said politely.

"Good night, my lord," she murmured. At this a small teardrop wet her eye. When, how could she break through his polite kindness?

My face is RED! I didn't realize until I read Margie's Friday comment that I had repeated one scene. Too embarrassing. My apologies. However, this is the last scene of the second to last chapter. Wednesday we begin THE END!-Lyn

Tweet

Chapter Twenty-Three Scene 2 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

2011 Copyright by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Twenty-Three Scene 2

Later Christiane leaned against the rough split-rail fence. Evan and her husband were walking among the horses in the muddy pasture. "I think this gray and the bay I showed you before are just what you need," Evan said.

Lord Eastham nodded. "I will take them today then. What do I owe you?"

"Nothing. They will be my wedding present to you and Christiane."

"That is too kind," he said, as the two men made their way over to Christiane.

"Evan," Christiane said, "you must let us pay you."

"No discussion of price!" Evan objected in mock anger, holding up both hands. "They are my horses and I'll do what I want with them."

A glance passed between Christiane and John in which she ventured that they should accept. He nodded slightly to her.

"Thank you then, Evan. It is a fine gift," Christiane said with a smile.

Evan smiled in return. The transaction was accomplished quickly. Soon Christiane and John were standing by their mounts. Their draught horses and wagon were already on the way to Mt. Vernon.

Christiane looked up at Evan's profile. He by his gracious acceptance of her marriage was proving his true character. She had been so fortunate in the men who had loved her: Jean Claude, Jakob, Henry, Evan. She looked over at her two-day husband. She had never guessed that he would fall in so easily with this drastic change in course.

John and Evan shook hands. "Thank you again, sir," her husband said.

"You're very welcome. I wonder will you grant me a favor? May I kiss your bride farewell?"

"Of course," John replied, his face unreadable to Christiane.

Evan leaned down and chastely kissed Christiane's upturned cheek. A lump grew in her throat. She knew that it was unlikely that she would ever see Marshfield and its master again. "Farewell, Evan," she said softly. "Thank you again for everything." Then John helped her mount Penny and they rode off down the lane. When Christiane looked over her shoulder, the master of Marshfield still kept watch. Goodbye, Evan.

#

They had been on the road for almost nine days. Christiane had forgotten how wretched it was to travel by horseback or open wagon. She was in the saddle this afternoon, having taken her turn driving the wagon all morning. Alfred was at the reins now. Little Sarah was napping somehow in the back of the jolting buckboard. Finally Christiane could sit no longer and she slid down to walk beside her horse.

"Sore, madame?" her husband asked as he came alongside her.

"I am afraid so, John." They had progressed to the point of easy exchange, though they still never addressed each other by name.

"Are we getting near, do you think?" He slid down and fell into step with her.

"It has been four years since I have travelled this way, but it seems to me that today or early tomorrow we should be there."

"Good. I must confess I am weary of the road."

She grimaced slightly, looking down at her mud-spattered, wrinkled black dress. "I must say that I agree with you. However, you and I have travelled more in our lives than most. Perhaps that is the reason we dislike it more than most."

"An excellent explanation. Do you think that eventually we might actually settle down?"

"I hope so," she said, suddenly subdued by the specter of Easthaven. They walked then silently, almost companionably. Christiane fretted inwardly about arriving at the Richardson;s. How was it possible to want something desperately, but to fear it equally? She was nearing her son, but….

John glanced down at her profile. It was easy to read the concern on her face. Suddenly he took pity on her. "Are you worried?" he ventured.

She looked up gratefully, glad he had asked. "Yes," she said slowly, "I know that it was the right decision leaving Jean Claude at Meadow Farm for his safety, but will he agree? What will he think of me for having left him so long?"

"That is a difficult question. We will just have to take matters as they come and do the best we can. Surely time with you will demonstrate your love for him."

She bit her lip, trying to hold back sudden tears. He had used "we." "I don't know what I will do if he holds it against me."

Gently he touched her shoulder. "Take heart. Sarah does not seem to hold it against me that I have only just appeared."

"That is true," she said somewhat comforted, "but she is younger than her brother."

"I am glad that you have confided in me. I will be what help I can."

"Thank you," she said sincerely, looking up into his eyes. He did not look away.

She owed him so much, needed to make up for the way she had hurt him. She wanted to say so many things, but she still felt a distance between them. Even if they had remained connected in heart and spirit, four years was a long time to be apart. In Philadelphia, he had staked everything on her once and had lost. Would he trust her again? It would take time and effort, but if his heart could be won again, she would accomplish it. They walked along and the afternoon sun warmed them, though the breeze still held a touch of winter and the coming evening promised to be cool and damp.

"Mother," a sleepy voice called, "are we there yet?"

"No, Sarah." Christiane waited for the wagon to catch up to her. "How was your nap?"

"Good. Can I ride with you?"

"Why don't you ride and I'll walk?"

John lifted the child onto Christiane's saddle and Christiane led the horse on. She gave only partial attention to the father and daughter exchange. Her mind was still on her son and the Richardson's.

About dusk, Christiane recognized the inn at a fork. "My lord," she called.

He turned his horse, detecting her note of excitement. "Yes?"

"We're very near now. Just a few miles."

"Wonderful."

"Here. Here," Alfred murmured.

She glanced back at him, suddenly concerned. "Alfred?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

Her eyebrows came together. "Alfred, there won't be any servants' quarters."

"Ma'am?" he said.

"I mean." She turned to John for assistance. "They act differently. They call everyone by their first name."

"I see. Quakers do that, don't they?" John commented.

"Yes," she replied.

"Well, we will be in their home. We will abide by their ways." He turned to his man, "Accommodate yourself, Alfred. And remember don't call me lord."

"Yes, my lord, I mean, sir," Alfred said uncertainly.

#

The last few miles went quickly. All concerns were consumed by their desire to reach their long-awaited destination. At last Meadow Farm was in front of them. Candles were just being lit and they watched them illuminate the windows, one-by-one. Down the rutted muddy road they hurried. Christiane nudged Penny and she trotted up the last half mile to home.

"Sarah Anne!" Christiane called as she ran to the familiar back door. It opened and there stood Jean Claude. Before she could think, she dropped to her knees and folded him into her arms. "Jean Claude," she repeated over and again as she clung to him. The boy stood very still, not understanding.

"Christiane!" Sarah Anne appeared in the doorway. "It is thee! Oh, my dear, it is thee!" Christiane stood up and received the older woman's embrace.

"Sarah Anne," Christiane said, so relieved, so suddenly at peace.

Sarah motioned the others now coming up behind Christiane. "Come in by the fire."

"The horses–" Eastham began.

"Samuel, will thee see to their horses and their wagon?" she spoke to a tall gray-haired man, waiting behind her. He nodded and left with John and Alfred.

Little Sarah still held her mother's hand, but went as close as she could to the other child.             Then the old woman took charge by pulling Christiane inside. The three all gravitated to the hearth and its warmth while Sarah Anne busied herself making a quick supper.

Standing with her back to the fire, Christiane watched Sarah Renee stare at the quiet, watchful Jean Claude. How unbelievably joyous she felt. After four years she was with her son again. But her mood saddened when she saw Josiah, sleeping quietly on a narrow bed just at the edge of the fire's glow. John entered and came near Christiane. How she appreciated his closeness now and how difficult to remain silent. But she couldn't presume anything.

So Christiane is finally reunited with her son. But there is still one bridge to cross. What do you think it will be?–Lyn

Tweet

Author Michelle Stimpson & Can God Use Trials for Our Good?

My guest today is best-selling author Michelle Stimpson who will share how God worked Romans 8:28 in her young life. Here's Michelle:

"When I think about how God strengthened me through something I didn't even realize was a struggle, I stand in awe. I was twelve years old when my mom was involved in a serious car accident. For almost two years after the wreck, she was in rehab learning how to become herself again. During that time, I (the oldest of three kids) had to take over her role as mom to my younger brothers. I remember signing their report cards for them, frying bologna sandwiches for dinner (cooking is not my gift).

While I don't think I recognized this situation as a "problem" per se, I was incredibly lonely. All my friends were outside playing and I was tucked away in my house caring for my brothers. Even when my mom finally returned home for good, the dynamics of our family had changed so much, things weren't quite the same.

I'm so thankful that God gave me the gift of writing to keep my head on straight. I started keeping a diary to deal with my feelings and help work through my frustrations and anger. Years later, I realized that God had used those diaries to speak to my heart; to lay the foundation for our candid, intimate relationship, which sustains my very life to this day.

I look back on that portion of my life, I recognize it now as perhaps one of the most trying times in my life. Now, when I hear what other people have gone through in their younger years and how those adversities lead to drug use, running with the wrong crowd, or other destructive coping mechanisms, I am nothing but thankful for God's intervention. The only strength I had came from God Himself. The consequences, of course, were that I had reason to write almost every day of my teenage years. This discipline was actually the cornerstone for my writing career because writing in that diary developed my voice and confidence as a writer.

Similarly, my main character Tori in Someone to Watch Over Me has actually been through some rough times with her own mother and, later, with her great aunt, who suffered a stroke. Tori is suddenly thrust into a caregiver's role while helping to raise a younger cousin she had no idea existed. Yet, caring for others that actually makes her stronger and brings her closer to God."–Michelle

Bestselling author Michelle Stimpson has penned several works, including the highly acclaimed Boaz Brown, national bestseller Divas of Damascus Road, and her latest release, Someone to Watch Over Me. She has also published more than forty short stories through her educational publishing company. Michelle holds an English degree from Jarvis Christian College and master's degree in education from the University of Texas at Arlington. She is a part-time language arts consultant and serves in the Creative Tyme ministry at her home church, Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship. Michelle lives near Dallas with her husband, their two teenage children, and one crazy dog.

Thanks, Michlle. God can use painful times for our good if we stay true to him. My time of testing came when my father left our family when I was eleven and my baby sister was 5 months old. My parents ran a business together so we lost our father and our income in one fell swoop. But it made me strong and made me depend on God. What about the rest of you? Would you share a time of trial that God used for your good?–Lyn

For more about Michelle:

www.MichelleStimpson.com

www.WomenGIC.blogspot.com

Tweet