Lyn Cote's Blog, page 99

Chapter Seventeen Scene 3 La Belle Christiane

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

La Belle Christiane

2011 Copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Seventeen Scene 3

The stranger slid from the saddle and looked around uncertainly. One of the grooms approached. The man questioned him. The groom called to a junior officer on the porch below.

While the groom led the horse away to the nearby stable, the young officer saluted the stranger and they exchanged words. The two men turned and the young officer motioned toward the house to the windows above her. The stranger looked up then, giving her a clear look at his face. She gasped. This man was no stranger. Captain Hansen! She knew him well as his liaison duties often brought him to Washington's headquarters.

The meeting, the important meeting, upstairs. She gasped again and her mind raced. She had to be sure it was he and that he was bound for the meeting. The two men headed toward the main entrance. If he were going up to the floor above to the meeting, he would go via the front staircase. She halted. If it were Hansen, he might identify her as easily as she had recognized him.

Quickly she drew the hooded cape around her, tying it at the neck and deftly arranging her hood. She stepped out her door and down the hall to the landing. The two men were almost to the second floor. She paused and watched them. He was the right height and build to be Hansen. As they went by her, she caught another look. It was Hansen–unmistakably. She stood rooted to the spot. Then the two men were gone, up the remaining stair and onto the third floor landing.

She sought the refuge of her own room again. Inside she leaned back against the door as though the world were spinning too fast. Hansen, a spy. She was aghast at his treason, but more horrified by the implications of his appearance here for her. What if he saw her and revealed her true identity? Without a doubt she would be arrested as a spy. The circumstantial evidence of who she was, where she was, and with whom would be too damaging.

The fears that she had had when first arriving in Philadelphia re-attacked in force and made her queasy. Her pulse pounded at her temples. Could she count on John's protection absolutely now? Even if he did defend her, would it only cast suspicion on him–to have been intimate with a suspected spy? It could destroy his reputation for the rest of his life. I might be imprisoned or even hanged. She stood, wringing her hands helplessly.

Sternly she took hold of herself. She and Hansen must never meet here. For her own protection, for John's reputation, she must go for now. Mechanically she brought out her new saddlebags. Carefully she packed her things, trying to make them as compact as possible.

Henry's ring. She must have that if she were going to Valley Forge. She paused. Wouldn't it be better to go back to the Richardsons? But she had been waylaid by traveling two days alone in the first place. She could reach the Forge before nightfall and suddenly she longed to be among familiar faces, trustworthy hearts. She fumbled in the jewel box atop the dressing table. There was the chaste garnet ring underneath the pearls and emeralds. She stood then, ready to leave. But how could she leave like this? She must leave John some word. He might think she had met with foul play.

Over to the small desk by the window she went. Taking pen in hand, she paused to think.

John,

I have learned facts today that have deeply shaken my confidence in you.

I can only hope that they are untrue.

She was forced to pause. Somehow just writing the words: wife and child would shake her too greatly, they were too hurtful. Besides if he knew her accusation beforehand, he might be able to cover his tracks too well. Should she mention Hansen as her reason for leaving? She chewed her lip. Suddenly it occurred to her that Valley Forge would be safe for her only as long as Hansen were here. If he returned knowing of her lapse of chastity and loyalty–the very idea nauseated her.

More importantly how could she let him continue his treachery now that she knew of it? Innocent lives could be lost and the very outcome of the Revolution compromised. But he would never return if he knew she would identify him as a spy. She looked down at the paper. Quickly she added.

I must leave now. I will try to get word to you. Please inform Captain Hansen that I would hate to attend his hanging, but I will if he returns to Valley Forge–whatever the personal cost to me. Ask him if he knows Christiane Kruger. Goodbye, Christiane

That would do it. Hansen would be foolhardy to return now and she had terminated any possibility of his continued spying or future blackmail.

She felt a hard lump like coal, forming in her stomach. This note burned her bridges just as Washington had during last winter's retreat. For a few days the chasm between John's politics and hers had narrowed and now in a matter of hours it was wider than ever.

Another thought halted her. She would hate to leave without saying farewell to Lord Hazelton. A note would have to suffice. The pen poised over the new page. She did not have time to wait for inspiration, so she wrote:

Dear Lord Hazelton,

It grieves me to leave you so abruptly. The situation is too complex to explain. You will always be in my memories. Please do not believe any unkindness about me. I am innocent of any intrigue. Au revoir. Christiane

Quickly she sanded, folded, sealed with wax, and addressed the two papers. Then she tucked both under the large glass paperweight on the major's desk.

For a moment she scanned the room, the place where she had experienced so much joy. She had planned to leave it on the morrow, but how different was her departure now. So many emotions crowded her heart that she could not sort them out. The meeting would not go on indefinitely. I must make haste or all will be lost.

Closing the door behind her, she tried to make her way to the stable as naturally as possible. Once in the stable she summoned a groom and mounted her new mare. The groom led her out into the yard. She gathered the reins then and cast one final glance at her home for the last month. In the window on the third floor, a man was looking down at her. He waved at her. It was John. She waved in turn. Could she signal him somehow? No, he was too far from her and  her feelings about him were too tangled now.

Penny pulled at the bit impatiently and Christiane left the yard without a backward look. Not wishing to call attention to herself, she moved slowly through the streets, which were still decorated for the Christmas holiday. She bid her mare Nancy a silent farewell as she passed near the widow's street. Finally she reached the outskirts of Philadelphia. Cunningly she did not increase her speed all at once, but gradually. She had an excellent idea of the position of Valley Forge now and she wanted to avoid roadblocks at all costs. A route over the fields and through the woods would be shorter and safer.

The intervening miles went by without complications. The trim Pennsylvania farms took almost no notice of a lady out riding on the frosty day. Whenever thoughts of what the day had brought forth surfaced, she pushed them to the back of her mind. She could only deal with the journey and the cold for now, nothing more.

It was late afternoon when she finally paused at a farm yard. She could see the main road now. She turned Penny toward it. The road was sure to be in rebel hands this close to the winter quarters. She began, sorting ideas to explain her new horse, new clothes, and her arriving alone, but the anxiety and cold had paralyzed her brain.

Penny, though tired herself, seemed to sense that they were near their destination. Her pace quickened and before long the rebel camp was in sight. Christiane saw the sentry post and slowed the eager mare.

"Halt!. Friend or foe?" the sentry challenged her.

"I am expected at headquarters. I am Lady Washington's companion."

"Lady Washington ain't come yet."

"I know, but I have." Suddenly Christiane felt totally exhausted and completely numb with the cold. "Please, private, I am unarmed woman. I am a threat to no one. Please have someone escort me to the general."

The private looked her over once more. "You escort this here lady to headquarters."

A gangly frontiersman by his looks, stood up. He had been squatting and warming his hands by a small fire. Not saying a word, he took Penny's reins and started off. A brisk walk brought them to an imposing brick house. The private handed Christiane the reins and left.

Afraid she might already be frostbitten, she hitched her horse to the post herself and stepped quickly to the dark green door. She clapped the brass knocker resoundingly. The icy winds whipped and flayed her, making her feel naked and battered. A great shiver went through her.

At last the door opened. "Yes?" a large woman asked.

"I am Mrs. Christiane Kruger. I would like to see the general."

"We weren't told to expect anyone," the woman replied cautiously.

Christiane wanted to scream in frustration, but she did not have the strength. A day of emotional turmoil and frigid travel had almost drained her. She made her voice firm, using a precious amount of her energy. "I am expected. The general just did not know exactly when I would arrive. I am Lady Washington's companion and I am Captain Henry Lee's fiancée."

When the woman still did not open the door wider, Christiane pushed her way inside, forcing the woman to step back. "Show me to the general and have someone see to my horse please." Christiane's desperate determination won out.

The woman led her to a door nearby. "Mrs. Christiane Kruger," she announced as she opened the door. Christiane stepped through the door and into the candlelight. The conversations ceased with her entry. The startled men rose automatically. She tossed back her hood and scanned the occupants.

"Christiane?"

She recognized Henry's voice immediately. She had not expected him to be at headquarters and something in the quality of his exclamation released her emotions.

"Oh, Henry!" she gasped, rushing to his arms. "Oh, Henry."

"Christiane, how did you get here?"

"Oh, Henry." She wept. "I'm so terribly cold and tired." And heartbroken, she longed to add.

General Washington came over. "Captain Lee, please escort Mrs. Kruger to the room at the top of the stairs. It has been waiting for her. I'll order food and drink to be brought up and you must start her a fire there immediately."

Christiane looked up as though she were about to speak.

"We will speak later, Christiane," the general urged. "Go now please. You will feel better if you follow my instructions. Captain, stay with her till the girl arrives." He urged them out and closed the door behind them.

He wore a thoughtful look as he rang for the housekeeper, but he spoke wryly to mask it, "Gentlemen, always remember: never question a weeping woman. It is always useless and sometimes dangerous." There was a chuckle over this and then the former conversations resumed.

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Author Carrie Turanksy & Her Brave Daughter

My guest today is Carrie Turansky who also writes for Love Inspired, but she is sharing today about her daughter and her latest book, not a LI. Here's Carrie:

"One of the strongest and bravest women I know is my daughter, Melissa Morrison. She is very much like my heroine, Jennifer Evans, in my newest novel, Surrendered Hearts. They are both adventurous, artistic, and creative women. Melissa wrote the following blog post soon after arriving in Sudan where she and her husband Peter help oversee a hospital operated by Samaritan's Purse.

We stepped through the door of the small UN plane and out onto the dirt airstrip. The rush of heat instantly hit my cheeks so intensely it reminded me of opening the oven door mid-cookie-baking to check on the gloriousness. We grabbed our backpacks and jumped in the Land Cruiser. During the ten-minute ride to the compound I couldn't help but notice the monochromatic landscape. It looked like a rocky Sahara, just dust and sand everywhere.

We had arrived in Sudan during the last few weeks of the dry season, the hottest time of year, and the earth all around us seemed to be screaming for water. The only pops of color on the sandy canvas were the women gracefully swaying as they walked down the side of the road swathed head to toe in bright solid colored fabric – turquoise, canary-yellow, red, orange. They reminded me of Indian women in beautiful saris. Occasionally, we would pass a man in his white long flowing jallabia, which looks like a robe and matching white turban.

We pulled into the compound and headed back to what would be our house for the next year to unpack. This is our tukul (pronounced too-kul).

It has mud walls, cement floor, and a straw roof. It is one large room with an adjoining porch area. I have found over the past couple moves that it really help to make our house or room (whether it is a mud hut, army tent, or cement room) into a space that is a place of beauty and rest. You may get sweaty and dirty and fight battles all day, but if you can come home to your peaceful space it changes everything. My mother passed on the aesthetics gene to me, which basically means that it really affects my mood if the curtains clash with the bedspread. I cannot just cut the vegetables and put them on the table. I have to arrange them in a way that is beautiful. So in my 20-kg allotment of luggage, I sacrificed some clothes to instead bring funky Indian fabric, some silk to put on our bed, maps to hang on the wall (to plot future shenanigans), pictures to put around, and a candle that cost something ridiculous like $26 from Anthropologie. So even if you are in a mud hut, dirty and sweaty, if you close your eyes and breathe in deeply you feel like you're somewhere deeply luxurious. It's the little things.

That first evening we both got in bed to try to go to sleep. It was only 8:30pm, but we were exhausted. The temperature on our wall clock said 103 degrees. I don't know if I have ever sweated quite so much doing nothing. Between the heat and our door latch not working and randomly blowing open every few hours promptly scarring us half to death, we didn't get much sleep. But now a week in I must say I am quite attached. We have a dog named Buddha, a goat named Brutus, and a tukul that while it has walls of mud, also has swatches of silk- what more could a girl want?"–Carrie

To follow Melissa and Peter's adventures in Sudan, check out her blog:

http://www.musingsandzest.com/

To learn more about Carrie's books, visit her blog: http://www.carrieturansky.com/

Here's a summary of SURRENDERED HEARTS:

Jennifer Evan's life changes forever when a gas pipeline explodes, starting a fire at her apartment. Losing her home and beloved dog are terrible blows, but the ugly scars that cover her arm, neck and shoulder steal her confidence and cause her fiancé to desert her. With her funds depleted and her job on hold, she heads for Vermont where she hopes to reconnect with her brother and find a way to rebuild her shattered life. Bill Morgan, a strong and quiet man whose faith runs deep, challenges her view of God and faith. Will she hold on to the pain of her past, or will she surrender her heart and find the faith and love she seeks?

Thanks, Carrie. You have an amazing daughter, but you knew that! And I'm excited about your new book which is available as an ebook only.  Carrie is going to add a copy of her latest Love Inspired Seeking His Love to my Mega May Basket and she will also include a coupon for Smashwords for a free copy of Surrendered Hearts. Thanks so much, Carrie. Ladies, why not leave a comment encouraging Carrie's daughter. I'm sure Carrie would pass it on!–Lyn

Chapter Seventeen 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 Seventeen Scene 2

"Of course not, Why would he tell her about them?" Alfred answered reproachfully. "Come now and I'll give you a hand. I won't be needed here for a few hours." The door closed behind them.                 For several seconds Christiane was too stunned to feel anything. Then she became aware of the sensation of suffocation. She gasped for breath and realized that, in fact, she had stopped breathing for those few moments. A wife? A daughter? She must have misunderstood them. Must have.

Painstakingly she reviewed the conversation she had heard. Try as hard as she could, she could not devise a different interpretation. If they had been talking about some other major, some other lordship, why had Alfred said he was most pleased? From Alfred's manner toward her, she knew that her liaison with John had pleased Alfred immensely. He would not care about any other officer's love interest, only his own lord's.

She stepped out from the screen and, clenching and unclenching her hand, she paced tensely. If only John were here, but he was in his important meeting on the floor above. How could she broach this subject to him? And whatever his answer, how would she verify it? Just moments before she had been so secure in her trust of him. Now she was staggered. She had to know if this were true. She could go nowhere with him till she knew the truth.

Who could she ask? Not Alfred. He would only want to protect his master. Lord Hazelton? It would put him in an awkward position if it were true. And he might lie to cover another man's indiscretion or to preserve her feelings. Anyway Hazelton was in the meeting also.

Mrs. Loring? Yes. That woman knew every bit of gossip worth knowing and she had been with General Howe since Boston. Christiane did not wait. Within moments she was rapping at the general's door.

Mrs. Loring, upon hearing Christiane's voice, invited her in. "Christiane dear, I did not expect such an early call from you this morning," the blonde said languidly. Indeed the Sultana was still abed in a luxurious cream, satin negligee. Her long flaxen hair still hung freely around her shoulders. It occurred forcefully to Christiane that, though she knew exactly what she wanted to find out, she had not taken any thought of how to achieve it. The direct approach here was completely out of the question.

"Good morning," Christiane began, her mind racing ahead trying to form a plan. "I was just out on my way for a ride and I thought I would stop in for a minute. I keep hoping it might warm up a bit more."

"Dream on, my dear. Winter. I hate it. How you can enjoy riding in the cold. Not for me. Is your major at that dreary meeting, so hush-hush?"

"Yes," Christiane answered, still groping. She would have to be bold. Sitting down on the bed beside Mrs. Loring, she turned and said conspiratorially, "May I confide in you?"

A light flashed in the blonde's eyes. "Of course, my dear, who would you confide in but me?"

"John, Major Eastham, has asked me to go away with him."

"Really?" Mrs. Loring probed with interest, "Where?"

"The West Indies."

"The tropics! What a delightful place to spend the winter. If only William could get away. Eastham will resign his commission then?"

"Yes, if I consent."

"Well, what's hindering you?"

"Oh, I don't know." Christiane stood up and turning her back to her companion, walked casually over to the vanity. "I mean–" she kept her voice light, "–a man, with a wife and a child, how generous can he be?" It had come out just right. She had betrayed no concern, not natural to a mistress.

Mrs. Loring chuckled. "Oh, them. William told me all about that in New York. Quite a model of faithfulness was the major till you came along." The blond turned to flattery. "But how could a man let a woman like you just pass by?"

The blonde's voice took on a dreamy quality. "That's what William said to me in Boston when he asked me to come with him. How could a man let a woman like you just pass by?"

While the vain woman lost herself in romantic reverie, Christiane fought for control. She gripped the back of the gilded vanity chair while alternate waves of frost and fire inundated her body. She must get away and think.

She mastered herself. "Then you think I should go?" she asked coolly, surprising herself with her own performance.

"Oh, yes, he is fabulously wealthy. The situation would only be to your advantage. After a while in the Indies, you could always persuade him to take you back to England or better yet France. And he is such an amusing man, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. I thank you for your advice. Now I must be off for my ride. I will see you later then?" Christiane continued automatically while her heart still raced.

"Of course, my dear. Good day."

Christiane let herself out. Her feet took her back to the empty room. Tossing aside her cape, she paced in agitation. Her mind taunted her with the accusation of John's deception while her heart cried out that it could not be true.

Why hadn't Lord Hazelton told her the truth? But why would he? He would assume that she was like her mother. Mistresses did not care about wives and children. Hazelton would not suspect that she had desired marriage and that John had promised it. She had heard of sham weddings where a man paid someone to perform a bogus ceremony, but was the major really capable of that? Or had he intended somehow to promise marriage, but to postpone it? Would he have let her teach her son to call him father, only to leave them when he decided to return home? Or had he convinced himself that since she would never be in England with him that an invalid marriage was as good as a valid one in spirit and that he would provide for her in any case?

How did a wife and daughter fit into his life? Why had he been at the fort those years before he came down to enter these hostilities? Did a man with a wife and a child stay away from home for years? A man might if he were desirous to be away from that wife. She knew that most noble marriages were arranged for considerations of money and family connections.

Had any of his story at the inn been true? Had he substituted a dead wife for a very live one that he could not tolerate? Her head hurt from thinking. Her heart was pained by being forced to feel these thoughts. When would the meeting be over and what would she do when it was? She wandered over to her place by the window and stared down. A feeling of being in limbo clutched her. Their carefully laid plans, what would become of them now?

How long she stood there was uncertain. The outdoor scene below her moved through its daily routine while she watched in a trance. Till suddenly something unusual caught her eye. A stranger, tall in the saddle, wearing a brown greatcoat galloped into the yard.

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Chapter Seventeen 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 Seventeen Scene 1

Christiane stretched and gave an indistinct, "Mmmmm." The spell wrought by the feather bed and pillows would not quite release her. Then the fact of today's important sparked her mind. Her eyes flashed open.

John already leaned upon one elbow, observing her. "What startles you, my love?"  He traced her cheekbone lightly with his index finger.

A warm feeling blushed through her. Reaching up, she tangled her fingers in his straight brown locks and pulled his face down to hers. His lips played upon hers and then sought her neck leisurely. "Today is the day, John," she murmured the thought that had wakened her.

"I know," he replied. They lay still, letting the importance of the day sink in. After his morning meeting was completed, John would tender his letter of resignation to general Howe himself. They had spent last night, writing it together. Then they would pack, bid Lord Hazelton farewell, and leave for New Jersey. On the way out of town, they would stop at a church and be married. They planned to stay with the Richardsons for the winter and then book passage on a suitable vessel out of New York harbor in the spring. That would give all parties: the old couple, the child and the two of them, time to adjust to the change. Besides sailing on the Atlantic in the winter storms was more than chancy, it could be dangerous.

The British colony at Bermuda would their destination. The rest of their days would be spent in sunshine, love, and warmth. He kissed her again. "My sweet, my heart, my own," he whispered.

"I love you, John." Her joy was almost too much to be contained and suddenly she became tremulous.

"No tears, my darling," he coaxed, "None today. Only happiness for us. Remember?"

She brushed the few tears away. "Yes, I remember." They pressed their warm bodies close together. She sighed and smiled.

From beyond the drawn bed curtains, they heard Alfred enter and stir the dying fire, making it blaze to temper the chilliness that hung around the feather bed.

Hearing his man leave, John said, Our morning is begun,"

"The first morning of our new life, John?"

"No, the last morning of our old. Tomorrow will be our new beginning." John kissed her and slid out of the bed to dress in the cold room. "When this day is over, I shall be the happiest man in the known world."

"And I will be the happiest woman." The morning routine passed before her eyes in a kind of daze. They breakfasted; he read her the morning news; he dressed. She stayed abed, dreaming of barefoot mornings. Then he leaned over her. "It's time I go, Slugabed. Are you planning to spend the day ensconced here?" he asked in mock rebuke.

She laughed for indeed they had spent much of the last two days thus. "No, my lord, not all day," she answered coyly. "I believe I will give Penny a bit of a run."

"Then I bid you au revoir." He bent and kissed her hand and left. She heard him whistling as he stepped briskly down the hallway. She grinned.

Contemplating the golden tropical sun had made facing Philadelphia's frigid, winter sun even more difficult. But it was time to be hardy. And of all days, she wanted this one to go most rapidly of all. Penny needed a good gallop and the day would go more quickly if Christiane busied herself.

Throwing back the covers, she leaped onto the glacial floor and raced to the rug by the fire. Speedily she groomed and dressed herself. John had promised her a maid in the future, but for now she was still on her own. Soon she stood before the full length mirror.

Monsieur Langeaux's riding habit was a rust-colored velvet with delicate golden embroidery which covered the whole bodice. A matching hooded cape for winter completed the ensemble. Alone she admired her reflection frankly. John had pronounced her a picture in it and she enjoyed his flattery. All these years she realized a part of her had been starved for pretty clothes and loving compliments. Maybe she was no different from her mother or any other woman in this respect.

It would be an interesting question to put to Tildy or  Mrs. Washington. Two women she had counted as friends. Most likely she would never see or communicate with them again. By its very nature, her future could not include them. She felt no qualms about her commitment to John, but doors would close to her. Maybe she was being melodramatic. In the future when the Revolution had been won….her thoughts broke off.

"I'm off to ride, Alfred. I'll be back for luncheon!" she called.

Outside the front doors the cold air struck her. Instead of daunting her, it invigorated her. Just as she reached the stable door, she looked down at her hands. Her riding gloves, Lord Hazelton's gift, she had left them up in the room.

Swiftly she returned to the room and began looking for them. She stepped behind the dressing screen to search and she heard Alfred's interior door open.

A strange voice asked jovially, "So his lordship finally won her over then?" Heavy footsteps headed toward the hallway door.

"Yes," came Alfred's cheerful response, "I am most pleased."

"Well, has the major told her about his wife and daughter in London yet?" The stranger laughed boisterously.

Wife and daughter? Where did they come from?

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Author Jane Kirkpatrick & the Strength of Family in Shaping Our Lives

My guest today is Author Jane Kirkpatrick. Jane's historical novels portray the lives of real American women, bringing their simple historical facts to life. Jane tells us about two strong women in her latest book and then she shares a humorous family story as we celebrate MEGA May. Jane is also contributing a copy of her latest book to the grand MEGA May basket which someone who leaves a comment this month will receive.

Here's Jane:

"I'd like to add Clara and Helga Estby to the treasure of strong women that Lyn Cote celebrates, especially in May with Mother's Day in our memories. Clara and her mother, Helga, accepted a wager in 1896 that if they could WALK from Spokane, Washington to New York City within seven months, they'd earn $10,000, enough to save their family farm from foreclosure.

It was a daring thing to do. Times were tough in 1896 with lots of people out of work, defaults on property happening daily. The Estby's had hit on hard times, too. With eight children at home (two had already died of various diseases) and the father unable to work due to injury, losing the farm would be disastrous. How would they feed the family? So when the wager came up, sponsored by the fashion industry, Helga convinced her daughter to go with her much to the family's chagrin. Helga also wanted to prove that women were strong, capable of making good decisions and tending for themselves in challenging environments that might include robbers, railroad bums, bad weather, and the demand to walk nearly 25 miles a day if they were to meet their commitment.

They began with five dollars each carrying maps, a compass; each had a pistol. A lantern offered light and Clara carried a curling iron, too. They followed the railroad tracks and when they reached Salt Lake City they had to don the new reform dress that challenged fashion when modesty required that women's ankles be covered and corsets worn daily.

The women did indeed arrive in New York City — two weeks late. The wager was lost even though the women accomplished the primary task of walking all that distance. What happened when they returned home added to the strength of these women as their family was so shamed by their publically making this trip that they forbade either woman from ever speaking of the walk again. Even more family challenges awaited them with Clara eventually changing her last name and separating herself from the family for more than twenty years.

That Clara, a woman of faith, eventually reconciled, is another part of the tug and pull of mother and daughter relationships and of the strength of family in shaping our lives.

My novel The Daughter's Walk explores this mother-daughter journey begun May 5, 1896, a big May Month for the Estbys.

My links are as follows: www.jkbooks.com (website) www.janeswordsofencouragement.blogspot.com (blog) www.bodaciousbothedog.blogspot.com (my dog's blog. He has more followers than I do); www.theauthorjanekirkpatrick.facebook.com and a video link to a book trailer that is on my website http://www.youtube.com/embed/Pt4ZMRfao_c

Now for Jane's funny story:

"When my husband required neck surgery at an out of town medical center, we asked my parents and his parents to look after his sometimes troubling sixteen year old son — and the dogs while we were gone. My mom was a retired nurse and my mother-in-law an evangelist who traveled North America in her youth speaking and healing. She was a natural Biblical Concordance. They were lovely people and all four got on well together.

My mom shared this story with me when we got back a week later.

Apparently, after supper one evening, my mom put a red-trimmed plate down for the dogs to lick clean, something we do all the time. My mother-in-law commented. "I know the kids do that but it just doesn't seem sanitary to me."

My mom, the nurse told her that so long as the plates were washed in the dish washer she thought it was likely ok.

She went on about her business picking up dishes and getting dessert ready for serving.

When she looked for the dog-licked plate to put it into the dishwasher, she couldn't find it. Then she remembered she'd put it on the counter planning to put all the dishes in at one time. She still couldn't find it on the counter. then she looked at the table and saw that my mother-in-law had apparently thought it a clean plate and was happily eating her pie off the plate with it's pretty red trim.

"What did you say?" I asked my mom.

"Nothing," she answered. "Some things are better left unsaid."

Her diplomacy made me laugh and we laughed together, a harmless secret that can now be said as those both of those lovely women are now at "Home."–Jane

Thanks so much, Jane. Your latest book reminds that while women have always been strong, in the past they had to contend with many more rules and prejudices. Do any of you have family stories where a woman went around the barriers and succeeded?

And have any of you read any of Jane's books? Let us know or if you're going to add this one to her TBR (To Be Read) pile. Thanks, Jane!–Lyn

Chapter Sixteen 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

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Sixteen Scene 4

"I have my reasons." She looked up at him sorrowfully in the dim light. "I have my reasons and none of them have anything to do with you. I mean, I'm not leaving to get away from you." She cursed herself mentally for speaking so clumsily.

He could not speak. They sat like wooden statues. The courtyard of his quarters was around them then. He climbed out and turned to help her down. He stood a moment holding her hand. "Come with me." Keeping her hand in his, he led her to the stable, the same one where he had discovered her almost a month before.

She wondered at his purpose, but went obediently. Inside he led her to a stall near the end of the stable. Using a flint, he lit a candle-lantern that hung on the wall. A young sorrel mare looked up at Christiane. "Merry Christmas," he said tersely.

"What?"

"Penny here is your Christmas present. Since you're leaving in the morning, you might as well take her. You will need a new mount."

"Nancy–"

"Nancy will never carry you outside of Philadelphia. Your new side-saddle is hanging there." He motioned to it. "And Monsieur Lagneaux delivered a riding habit yesterday. So you can go to your 'old lady' in style."

Though he spoke coldly, she knew it was merely a cover and her heart wept for him. "You have done so much for me," she murmured. "I wish I could give you what you want."

"There is something you can do for me."

"What?" She glanced up but couldn't see his face clearly in the low light.

"Let us go in. We might as well be warm." He blew out the lantern and led her into the brightly lit house.

Christmas carols were being sung in the front parlor. A harpsichord tinkled gaily in accompaniment. Officers bounced up and down the staircase, calling to one another. Silently the two of them arrived at their room. The glimmer of Christmas spirit that she'd felt had evaporated and numbness had completely overtaken Christiane.

He felt as though ice water had replaced his blood. The shell of stone that he had existed in for over six years was re-asserting itself. No. How could he live that way again?

Maybe for the last time, they sat in their chairs, contemplating the fire. "What can I do?" she asked, not looking at him.

He knew there was something holding her back. More than an old lady drawing her from him. "Tell me the truth. Tell me why you are leaving me."

"You won't like it. You don't want to know," she responded lifelessly.

"Tell me." His pulse sped up.

"You will hate me or disrespect me or both."

"Tell me."

Abruptly she stood up, turning her back to him. She leaned her head upon her hands against the mantelpiece. "I am engaged to another man." Her dispassionate tone matched his.

The words nicked his heart."Do you love him?"

"No."

Her tone spoke of the truth. "Then I don't understand."

"Maybe I don't love him, but I will in time. He has offered me marriage and a stable future. The kind of life I intend to live," she defended herself with a complete lack of enthusiasm.

Marriage? He didn't miss a beat. "You mean if I offered marriage, you would stay with me?"

"I know you cannot," she said tiredly. "Your father would never approve. I am a French bastard of a notorious family, without a dowry. No English lord would want his only son to marry me."

"I didn't think marriage would be a factor with you," he said, sounding uncertain as he was.

"Because of my family?"

"Yes, I suppose so. I just had not thought of it." He paused and cleared his throat. "If you wish marriage, it could be arranged." His voice was suddenly strong as he took the first step.

"What about your father?" she asked. "From what you said I thought all he cared about was family pride. A man like that would never sanction such a union."

"What do I care what he thinks?" The words boiled up from the old wound. "I have not communicated with him since I left London. What I do with my life is my business. Marry me, Christiane. I would have asked you sooner if I thought it mattered." He began to let himself hope.

She was dumbfounded by this revelation. He wished to marry her, not just form a liaison.

It was as though a blinding light illumined her heart. She would never love Henry like this. If she married Henry, it would be a marriage out of obligation, not joy. And before this realization, she could have married Henry but not now. She loved this man, this Englishman. This fact nearly stopped her heart. He was still the enemy. She took a deep breath. She turned and faced him. "There is more."

He looked up at her.

Lowering her eyes, she took a deep breath. There would be no going back once she shared this, the heart of their difference. "We are in the middle of a war. In wars people take sides."  Her blood throbbed at her temples. She waited breathlessly.

Finally he spoke, "This is a civil war, not really a revolution, as it is called. In a civil war, taking sides is especially painful since it is between brothers, as it were. But this war is not worldwide. There are many places where it would be merely a distant conflict."

"I have turned my back on Europe for good." She held her breath again.

"I was thinking more of Bermuda or Nassau."

She was speechless. He was willing to take her in spite of their political differences. But could she turn her back on the cause she had suffered so much for? But did the cause of freedom depend on one woman? The lethargy she had felt since after dinner fled from her. She looked at him closely. He loved her. She could see it in his eyes. Could she leave everything behind for him? But she realized she had already made her decision by staying. If she had really wanted to, wouldn't she already be at Valley Forge?

"There us one thing more I haven't told you." She paused. "Jean Claude and I had a son."

"A son?"  He moved as if startled.

"Yes, I haven't been able to provide for him very well." She looked down at the floor. "He is in the care of an older couple in New Jersey. That is why I need a secure future. I want my son with me." After the major's sad experiences, would he welcome her child?

"You don't think I would make a good stepfather." He sounded hurt.

"It's not that," she assured him quickly. "I just didn't think you would want a child, any child–after what you have been through." She stepped to his side and knelt to touch his arm.

A series of emotions coursed through him. The main one was relief. She had finally revealed to him the reasons she had held him at bay. She desired marriage. She was a rebel. She had a young son she wanted to have with her. If only she had told him sooner. Didn't she understand that the only reason he had bought his commission was to be away from England with its memories and his father? He had paid little attention to the causes of this conflict. And a son, after all those years of wanting a child, there would be one. "How old is he?"

"Just two."

He looked down into her liquid brown eyes. "He would be most welcome in our home."

"Oh, my darling," she whispered, beginning to weep. "I love you."

"And I love you." A tide of warmth flowed through him, thawing him at last.

"No, you don't understand. I have loved you all along. So many times in the last three years I have remembered you, even dreamed of you. I think I must have been a little in love with you even then." She touched his cheek.

"I was a fool to have let you leave that day. But then I thought, well, now you know what I thought that I was unmanned. You were so lovely even then. And so special. I got quite drunk on your wedding night."

She clutched his arm. "Are you in earnest then? We can go away with Jean Claude and make a life together. It won't violate your conscience to leave?"

"No, it will not. What about your conscience?" he asked.

"I have already suffered enough. Besides my son needs me and I need you."

"I have an important meeting at the end of the week. After it, I will resign my commission and we will be free to go. Five years in the wilderness and one year of combat is enough service for my king. My conscience is clear."

"Oh, my dear." She rested her head in his lap and he stroked her hair tenderly. "I can't quite believe it. I fought it for so long."

His heart beat in a regular cadence but so strongly, the rhythm echoed through him. "I fought it as hard or harder than you."

"Why did we?"

"I can't remember. I can't think of anything unhappy now." He stroked her wondrously soft face. So beautiful and now his.

"No more unhappiness for us?"

"I pledge myself to spend the rest of my life seeing to your happiness." His voice was thick with emotion.

She took his other hand and laid her cheek on it. "I pledge the same, my love."

He put his other hand on her cheek and turned her face to his. Leaning down, he kissed her softly on the lips. "My love, my bride, my Christiane."

They lost themselves in each other's eyes. The only sound was the logs crackling and disintegrating on the hearth. At last he stood and drew her gently to him. The clean smell of his shaving soap, the soft urgings of his lips, and the strength of his embrace made her weak with pleasure.

"You are mine now, all mine," he whispered to her, fanning her ear with his breath. She gave him a dreamy smile in response, knowing that she would not sleep in her blankets by the fire this night or any other.

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Author Rachel Hauck & Dining with Joy!

My guest today is Rachel Hauck–one of those cute young(ish) Southern belles. Here's a bit from Rachel:

"Looking back, I believe I've always written. If not in my journals or stories, in my heart. I was constantly taking note of the sights and sounds around me, the emotion of a moment: dinner with friends, the last night in college before graduation, racing through an airport to catch a flight to Australia, talking about Jesus with my translator in the back of a cab as we drove across Madrid.

Now, my days are spent mining those life experiences and emotions so I can share them with you through the eyes and ears of my characters and the places they live.

In '92, I married my best friend, Tony, and spent over eighteen years in youth ministry with him. We love to read and go to the gym, and laugh at the antics of our pets.

A year later, I started my first novel, an epic WWII story that eventually found some light as a sub plot in my book Love Starts With Elle..

With the help and cheering of writing friends I met through American Christian Fiction Writers where I served as President and now as an Advisor, my first book was published in 2004, the same year I left the corporate world to write full time..

Since then I've become an award winning, best selling author of twelve novels with more to come. It's my desire for you find hope and escape in my stories, and inhale a bit of the fragrance of Jesus's love.

Blessings from my heart to yours."–Rachel

Now here's the scoop about Rachel's current book.

Dining With Joy

"A delectable and light tale of finding love amid everything edible, a story that goes down easy. Readers will find themselves hankering for another serving of lowcountry living from Joy's pantry."  – Publisher's Weekly

"Featuring excellent character development, this is a light, fun romance for readers who like foodie fiction. It will also attract fans of Hauck's other romances."  – Library Journal

"With its sparkling dialogue, witty premise, and convincing characters, and the popularity of television cooking shows, this subtly inspirational tale is sure to entertain readers." — Booklist

Joy Ballard has a secret: she's a cooking show host who can't really cook.

When her South Carolina-based cooking show, Dining With Joy, is picked up by a major network, Joy Ballard's world heats up like a lowcountry boil.

Joy needs help. Then she meets chef Luke Davis who moved to Beaufort after losing his Manhattan restaurant. A cook at the Frogmore Cafe, he's paying debts and longing to regain his reputation in the elite foodie world.

Luke and Joy mix like oil and water…until Joy is exposed on national television. With her career and his reputation both under fire, they'll have to work together to fix the mess. Is it possible that they can learn to feast on God's love and dine with joy?

For more info, drop by

http://www.southernbelleview.blogspot.com/

http://www.rachelhauck.com/

PS: Here's a recipe from the book.

Charles Ballard's (Joy's father) Banana Bread

from Connie Spangler

1 3/4 cups flour

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup brown sugar

1t. baking soda

1/2 t. salt

1/2 t. cinnamon

2 eggs

3 mashed ripe bananas

1/2 cup oil (I use canola)

1/4 cup plus 1 T. buttermilk

1 t. vanilla

1/2 cup choc. chips

1/2 cup p.butter chips

In a large bowl stir together flour, sugars, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon. In another bowl, combine eggs, bananas, oil, buttermilk and vanilla. Add to flour mixture, stirring just until moistened. Fold in chips. Pour into a greased 9-in. x 3-in. loaf pan. Bake at 325 for 1 hour and 20 minutes or until it tests done. Cool on a rack 10 minutes before removing from pan.

Tips for baking banana bread: DON'T over mix the batter, just until moistened. Banana bread is always best if after its cooled to wrap up and serve the next day.

Sounds like an intriguing book, Rachel! Love cooking shows. I learn so much. I had never heard of brining pork but after hearing about it on a cooking show, my pork chops are never dry! Have any of you discovered a culinary tip from a cooking show? Please share!

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Chapter Sixteen 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

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Sixteen Scene 3

They were led to their dining room by a smiling serving girl with holly in her hair. The small room was warmed by a crackling fire. Garlands of holly decked the walls and a small German Christmas tree, decorated with glass balls and strings of cranberries, stood before the window. The round table at the center of the room was impeccably set for six. The white linen, polished silver, and white china bordered in blue all gleamed in the candlelight.

"Six places, major?" she murmured as she rested a hand on the curved back of the nearest Chippendale chair.

"Yes, two couples will join us," he answered. "Do you want to know whom? Or would you rather be surprised?"

"Tell me."

"Very well. Lord Hazelton and a companion and the general and Mrs. Loring."

She pursed her lips. Lord Hazelton she would welcome, but Mrs. Loring was getting on her nerves.

He read her mind. "Mrs. Loring angled an invitation."

"Why? I don't understand why she–"

"Pursues you?"

"Does it seem that way to you?" she asked.

"Yes. Rather unusual in a woman given to pursuing men." He allowed himself to smirk.

"Yes, so why I am a target?"

"The granddaughter of a French king?" he asked rhetorically.

"Is that it?"

"I'm pretty certain. She is the Sultana of Philadelphia, but she longs for greater challenges."

"I know," she replied, recalling the blonde's desire to move to Europe. So she hoped that Christiane might help her? How unfortunate. Christiane had decided years before never to return to Paris.

She looked at her officer speculatively. Did he confidently expect her to return to England with him? That she would never do. She immediately regretted her unspoken cattiness. She had to admit he did not behave confident where she was concerned. A sadness engulfed her. She was sorry already to have to hurt him. Why had he chosen her? No, he had not really. He had saved her life and then agreed to give her his protection. None of this was his fault. He would suffer because of his own kindness and her impulsiveness in leaving the Richardsons.

Her face was downcast and his heart ached for her. Without thinking, he went to her and took her into his arms and tried to kiss her. She pushed against him.

The door behind them opened. "Lord Hazelton and Mrs. Deborah Ardan," the same girl piped and then seeing them together, she blushed and hurried away.

Hazelton beamed at them. "Mistletoe?" he asked impishly.

"Not really," the major said uncomfortably.

"Well, one can always hope." The colonel looked teasingly at his companion. The lady, a lovely redhead, smiled and shook her head at him as though scolding him. "Allow me to present my friend, Mrs. Deborah Ardan. Deborah, this is major John Eastham and Mrs. Christiane Belmond." The honors were done smoothly.

Christiane looked the redhead over carefully. She seemed to be in her thirties and quite attractive. Christiane had wondered when her mother's old friend would make his choice from the beauties of Philadelphia. She sincerely hoped that Mrs. Ardan was a widow.

As though in answer to her question, the lady commented, "Your dress is striking. My late husband was always partial to that shade of green."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ardan. It is my Christmas present from the major."

"No, it is not," he corrected smoothly. He had re-gained his composure. "You will receive your Christmas present on Christmas. Tonight we are celebrating your birthday."

"Very well then," she humored him, "it is my birthday gift."

"Your birthday?" Mrs. Ardan said brightly. "How lovely. Henry didn't tell me or I would have brought a gift, too."

The door opened again. "General Howe and Mrs. Elizabeth Loring," the serving maid announced, keeping her eyes lowered.

"Christiane, darling!" Mrs. Loring gushed, "Happy Birthday!"

So the birthday dinner unfolded. Christiane felt oddly divided. Part of her was enjoying the food, the wine, the company, but part of her seemed to be watching it from a distance. Part of her belonged here and part of her belonged twenty miles away at Valley Forge.

The duck had been consumed and the cake was served. Christiane received three brightly wrapped boxes. She was embarrassed. She did not want them, but she could not refuse them. "Open mine first," the Sultana urged.

Christiane nodded and undid it. A silver and tortoise shell brush and comb set was inside the lined box. "Oh, Mrs. Loring, how beautiful. Thank you!" Christiane stroked the brush handle.

"Mine next, Christiane," Hazelton entreated.

The silver box held fur-lined leather gloves for riding. "Oh, my lord, they fit perfectly. And they are warm!" She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

The final present awaited her, a long thin jeweler's case. She looked to the major and was met by a mask of nonchalance. She dreaded looking. She already owed him too much. Carefully she unwrapped it. From the velvet lining, a flash of green burst brilliantly–emeralds, a necklace of emeralds. She was speechless. The gift was more costly than she could imagine. Emeralds, the queen of gems.

"Try them on," the Sultana urged, careful not to sound envious. "Help her, major," she coaxed coyly. He rose stiffly, stood behind Christiane and did the honors. Christiane was still unable to think what to say. "Well, darling, aren't you going to thank the major?" Mrs. Loring purred.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what to say!" Christiane exclaimed at last. "They are too beautiful. I never expected anything such as this!"

"Major, you have superb taste," General Howe said.

"Here. Here," Hazelton seconded.

"I have never seen such a gorgeous necklace ever," Mrs. Ardan added.

Eastham took his place again across from Christiane and looked back at her. Such a look of uncertain hope he gave her. Tears sprang to Christiane's eyes as she fingered the necklace. "Thank you, major," she said softly. "They are too lovely for words."

With the opening of the gifts, the party began to break up. Christiane knew her well enough to predict that Mrs. Loring was anxious to lose some money at the gaming table and she wanted to make her appearance at the Smith's Christmas Ball. Anyway, Christiane thought, the blond had gleaned enough gossip: Christiane's emeralds and Lord Hazelton's redhead. The Colonel kissed Christiane and promised to stop by for a Christmas punch with them on the morrow. He and Deborah had to leave to make several more stops this evening.

So soon Christiane and the major sat, alone, across from each other in the silent room, the sounds of revelry echoing around them. She could not think of anything to say, anything kind. And slowly a feeling of lethargy came creeping over her, a kind of reaction to all the gaiety and wine, a feeling of not wanting to do what must be done.

Finally he spoke, "Are you angry?"

"What about?" she asked languidly.

"The necklace. I was afraid you would be angry."

"I don't feel like being angry and I will enjoy them for the evening."

"Meaning that you will not accept them," he said grimly.

Without speaking, she bent and rested her head on her arms.

"Aren't you feeling well?" he asked.

She wished she could shake this ennui. "What am I going to do?" she answered softly, "what am I going to do with you, my lord?"

"Stay with me," he begged quietly, and then more daringly, "love me."

In grips of languor she stared across at him. She had to tell him, but she dreaded it so. "Let us go," she whispered.

He rose and helped her on with her wrap. He wanted her. This past week he had waited patiently for her to come willingly to him as she had the night of the ball. He could see that the state of his emotions was the opposite of hers. She was drowsy, but he was stirred by the party, by her beauty.

They left the holiday festivities behind them and sat side by side in the carriage. He was bold and put his arm around her. And when she turned to speak, he kissed her with abandon.

There was no mistaking his intentions and her lethargy worked against her. She knew she should protest, but somehow she could not. His lips were soft and so demanding. Hers answered his at first. Finally she was able to pull away. She could not mislead him. "I'm leaving in the morning."

He felt an icy needle pierce his chest. "Why?"

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Chapter Sixteen 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

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Sixteen Scene 2

Back at the officers' quarters, she smiled as she alighted from the chair and bid her companion good evening.

Up the front staircase she hurried and went directly to the major's room. He was standing by the fire in his usual pose. The tea tray was waiting by the fire. Christiane tossed off her wraps and went swiftly to the warmth, still holding her three small bundles. "What shall I do with these?" she asked jauntily.

"What are they?" he responded in kind.

"Christmas presents!" she exclaimed with almost childlike animation.

"You've been shopping then?" He wondered at her changed mood. She had been somber since the morning after the ball. If only he could sustain the change.

"Yes." She stopped. A frown creased her brow. "I hope you won't be angry, but I signed for these. I'm sure the shopkeepers expect you to pay."

"Of course they do," he answered quickly, "and, of course I will. I have told you. Anything you wish is yours." Mentally he crossed his fingers. He knew how independent she was about money.

She looked up and smiled. "It was fun. I've never really been able to buy anyone a gift before."

He smiled back. "We'll put them up on the mantel, shall we?" Nodding, she handed them to him and he positioned them carefully one by one. "Ready for tea?"

"Completely." She deftly poured their cups and handed him his.

He continued to stand as he sipped thoughtfully. It was wonderful to see her so animated. He was afraid to speak for fear he would say something that would break the spell. The tea was warm, creamy and sweet and there were slices of a dark nutty fruitcake to be enjoyed with it.

She sighed happily. "I bought a book of poetry for Lord Hazelton."

"Which poet?" he asked carefully.

"Robert Blair. His mother was a Scot, you know."

"No, I hadn't, but it sounds a good choice."

He examined her upturned face for, at least, the thousandth time. The thick black eyelashes, the eyebrows like swallow's wings, the ivory complexion, the perfect lips: all framed by the curling, chestnut hair. Her eyes, the focal point, were two globes of shining dark sable. He had not thought about God for a great many years, but he thanked Him silently for this beautiful woman that had come into his life almost miraculously. Everything would be all right for both of them from now on; he would make it his business. He would make it impossible for her even to imagine their being apart.

A timely knock on the door broke his train of thought. He glanced at the mantel clock. Right on time. Alfred stepped out from the next room and went to open the door. It was Monsieur Lagneaux and his staff. "My lord, the dress is finished!" the little man declared happily. "Madame Belmond needs only to try it on."

Looking surprised, Christiane stood up.

The couturier advanced and kissed her hand. "It will be lovely for the holiday party!" he exclaimed again.

Christiane frowned and turned to the major. She thought she had made it clear to him that she did not wish to attend the Christmas Ball tonight at Smith's. She did not want to chance another interlude with him afterwards. Certainly she did not want him to finance another gown for her.

The two women came forward and unwrapped a large box. Christiane was immediately relieved to see that it was definitely a party dress, but not on the scale of a ball gown. It's emerald green satin shimmered in the candlelight. There was cream-colored lace at the scooped neck and at the end of the full sleeves over deep cuffs. It was simple in line. It was lovely.

Christiane released an appreciative "Oh."

"Madame, will help you behind the curtain," Monsieur Lagneaux coaxed. Christiane obeyed. The two seamstresses dressed her and adjusted her behind the dressing screen. The garment fit flawlessly.

"Madame is pleased?" another seamstress asked softly.

Christiane nodded, delighted in spite of herself. Proudly, though somewhat self-consciously, she came out and modeled the frock for the men. Alfred smiled. The clothier beamed. The major nodded cautiously in approval.

The designer and his assistants were paid and bid "Merry Christmas," They left to enjoy their own holiday in this strange new country. Alfred slipped out with the tea tray and left them alone.

Christiane stood in front of the mirror, admiring the dress guiltily.  "Why?" she asked simply.

"Because I like to see you dressed beautifully. And I decided that since you refused the Christmas ball, I would still concoct a holiday celebration."

"Yes?"

"I am giving a private dinner in your honor at the Indian Queen."

"My honor?"

"Your birthday is tomorrow, is it not?"

"You remembered my saying that?"

He nodded. "You look lovely, lovely."

"Thank you."  She twirled with a touch of her gaiety returning. She still felt a little self-conscious. After so many years of buckskin and linsey-woolsey, satin against her skin still felt almost alien.

"If we are going out, I should take some time dressing my hair," she murmured. She went over to the vanity and took down her hair.

In the mirror she saw his face, so pensive. A wave of regret or was it guilt rushed up around her heart like wind-driven surf. She had to leave this man, so kind, yet so vulnerable.

For just a moment she had a vision of them faraway from the turmoil of this revolution. They were alone together in the wilderness. He was kissing her. Her hands paused in their duty as a rush of sensations suffused her body. Forcibly she pushed them away. Maybe another time, another country they could have been happy, but now too much separated them. Quickly she smoothed the last tendrils into place and pinned the last pin. "I am done," she said unnecessarily as she stood up. "When do we leave?"

"Soon. I like your hair. It is always done simply, but elegantly."

"Thank you," she replied briefly. She wanted nothing more between them, not even compliments. "Shall I wear the pearls?"

"No," he answered, "let the dress speak for itself."

"Very well." She strolled idly about the room. "The weather seems to be getting even colder."

"Yes, but, at least, it is clear. The snow clouds seem to have blown over." This is ridiculous, he said to himself. We are talking like strangers on a coach ride. How can I break through her reserve? His thoughts put a frown on his face.

"Is there something wrong, my lord?"

"No. Why?"

"You were frowning."

"Oh, was I? I wasn't even aware of it. We can go now if you like."

"Yes, of course." He helped her with her fox cape and muff and then he pulled on his own great coat. Maybe tonight would be the catalyst.

At the same moment Christiane wondered if tonight would be the time to declare unequivocally her intention to leave. It was foolish to prolong this charade any longer.

The ride to the Indian Queen was brief and brisk. The stars glittered like ice in the cloudless, midnight-blue sky. She examined them from the carriage window and then again just before she allowed herself to be drawn into the bright and populated inn. How removed and solitary the stars seemed. How she envied them.

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Author Janet Tronstad & Troubles with Family

My guest today is a good friend Author Janet Tronstad http://www.JanetTronstad.com. She has a lot to say about Family. And be sure to read the reminder about MEGA MAY and giveaways at the end. Here's Janet:

"When Family Matters in Fiction

I didn't realize when I wrote my novella, 'A Dry Creek Family' (in the book 'Small-Town Moms'), that the story of a woman looking for the remnants of her family would touch so many chords with readers. My heroine, Maegen Shay, had been orphaned as a young child and spent years as an adult looking for two younger sisters who'd been placed in the foster care system separately. When she finally follows the paper trail to both sisters, she finds out that one of them has died after giving birth to two children, a boy and a girl.

My piece of the story (it's a two-novella book) tells how Maegan came to love her niece and the man who was taking care of her. She does so despite her feelings of inadequacy when it comes to all things family. I think it is her awareness of her own shortcomings that gives Maegan an emotional connection to readers. How many of us feel inadequate when faced with the troubles in our family?

I certainly have to raise my hand along with Maegan on that one. I wish I had easy solutions for troubled nieces and nephews, for health issues, for financial struggles. I know Lyn features stories of strong women here on her blog. I have to think, given the response to 'Small-Town Moms,' that women today may not appreciate how much strength they have when it comes to living an ordinary life in the middle of a family crisis (whether one's a mother, an aunt, a grandmother, a sister, or a friend of the family). We all feel inadequate, but we don't give up. We pray, we cry, we work on it. And that is our strength.

Take a look at the back of the trading card I put together for 'A Dry Creek Family.' It gives you a glimpse of Maegan.

If you have a minute, I'd love to hear what you think gives you strength in your family."–Janet

A quick reminder–this is MEGA May. Janet along with almost all the other authors who are guests this month are donating books and goodies to my MEGA MAY Basket. I hope you'll leave a comment to Janet's question so that your name will be entered into the drawing. Be sure to add your email address using (at) and (dot) to throw off spammers.

Also if you look up in the righthand corner, anyone who joins my LynCote_to_Readers this month will be entered into another drawing for a current book of mine and one older title. I'm not going to be giving away any books till fall so don't miss out on these two opportunities!

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