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La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Six Scene 4

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn’t let children run about,” the other muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shivering, Christiane nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Michael, why did you leave us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you all right?”

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

As he handed up the reins, he stared at Christiane’s leg. “Mrs. Kruger, you’re bleeding.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s dying! She’s dying!” Michael screamed at the man. “You’ve got to help me! She’s dying!”
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