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La Belle Christiane

2011 copyright by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Ten, Scene 4

The woman turned to him and motioned him to join them. “I wasn’t, husband, but perhaps now would be a good time?” She waited till he nodded. “I was just telling this dear daughter, that is how we think of thee, dearest Christiane, as the daughter we never had…What was I saying?”

“Thee was telling her?” Josiah prompted.

“Oh, yes, how forgetful I am. Anyway I was telling her how much joy she and her son have brought into our lives. Dearest Christiane, thy son is precious beyond measure to us. This year has been the most wonderful for us in the past thirty.”

“It is thirty years since our youngest son passed on,” Josiah commented quietly. “I was thirty-two when he left us. My fields are rented out. We are just two old putterers now.” He stopped to smile. “But, thank the Lord, we are still in good health and we have managed well with your son this year, I think.”

Christiane waited, letting all they had said sink in. He looked directly into Christiane’s eyes. “But at our ages good health can leave very quickly. Since we love thy son, we wanted him to be provided for in case anything happened to us before he reached maturity. So we had a will drawn up.”

Josiah began to speak more briskly, “Jean Claude has been designated as our sole heir. Thee, of course, would be the guardian of his assets, till he comes of age. But in case all three of us die, God forbid, and leave him an orphan, we chose guardians from our closest and dearest friends. Everything has been written, signed, sealed, and should be undisputed in any fair court.” He beamed in a satisfied way and reached out and took one of her hands away from Sarah Anne.

“And daughter Christiane,” Sarah spoke up, “Jean Claude will not only inherit this farm, but my family’s land also. Our joy is complete now that thee has come home for good. Again I apologize for my impertinence this afternoon. There are many good and prosperous farmers to choose thy next husband from. Christiane, my dear, take thy time and choose the best.”

“Yes, Daughter, we want thee to have the best. Always,” Josiah chimed in. The two sat smiling at her, each holding one of her hands. Christiane looked from one to the other, completely dumbfounded. Their announcement and assurance that she had come home to stay were so at variance with her plans that she could think of nothing to say, nothing that would not be hurtful.

“Your generosity amazes me,” she said at last.

“Oh, Christiane, we had no one else to leave it to,” Josiah said modestly.

“And besides, my dear, a stepfather looks more kindly at a stepson who has his own inheritance. There is less friction,” Sarah said.

“Sarah, I don’t think any of the men we know would be unkind to our Jean Claude,” Josiah dissented.

“Yes, dear, but she may not choose to marry a Friend,” Sarah replied. He nodded in return. In the face of all this, Christiane smiled as well as she was able.

“I think I’ll take a walk this afternoon,” she said. By now Christiane knew their after-dinner routine. Jean Claude would nap all afternoon. Josiah would sit by the window and read any paper at hand and then nap in the chair. Sarah would doze in her rocking chair by the fire. They would rest till Jean Claude came bounding down the stairs.

Christiane looked past them. Deep golden sunshine shone through the delicate curtains. “Just leave the dishes to soak and I will wash them when I return.” Sarah Anne tried to object. “Just leave them or I’ll be angry,” Christiane asserted. She went to the pegs by the door. Taking down her bonnet, gloves, and shawl, she let herself out quietly into the windy November day. The sun was deceiving. Its rays were only warm when one was standing directly in them. Christiane pulled the shawl more closely around and struck out briskly. She had to get away and think.

Far from the farmhouse down near the creek, she stopped finally. Leaning back against a thick, gnarled ancient oak, she positioned her feet in the crooks of its twisted and raised roots. The dried brown leaves above her rattled with each gust of wind and she began to think.

First of all, the Richardsons loved her and, most of all, loved her son. “I always knew that,” she whispered. They had made it clear that their home was hers when she had come to them last fall, but she had not realized that they would think she had come home to stay! She had thought almost nothing about their reaction to her leaving and talking Jean Claude with her. Her own callousness glistened coldly in front of her own eyes.

“But he’s my son! I didn’t mean to leave him with them for a whole year!” she said aloud. She caught hold of a low branch with both hands and gripped it painfully. The stabbing loneliness she had felt each night the year before without her son’s warm body cuddled up to hers washed over her in smothering waves as she struggled with the young branch.

But what can you give him? She let go of the branch and wiped away the tears that had come. The Richardsons had given him a good home, love, and all their material wealth. She was engaged to a gentleman, the son of a wealthy family, but what did that mean for Jean Claude? Henry would be responsible for her and her son, only when they were married, and that would not be till the war was over. What could she give her son now?

Christiane sat down on a prominent, gnarled root nearby. She had nothing to give her child except her love and the promise of a home. The Washingtons had made it clear that Christiane’s position was hers as long as she wanted it. She had not mentioned bringing Jean Claude back with her to either of them.

Perhaps she had not wanted to admit to herself that matters had not really changed. The same reasons that had forced her to leave him originally with the Richardsons, weren’t they still valid? The memory of shivering men, standing in line at Morristown waiting for smallpox vaccinations, flashed through her mind. How many children had died last winter, too? Christiane made a nest of her arms and rested her head in it.

To the Richardsons, the solution was simple. She should stay here and marry a farmer. Why couldn’t she accept that? She would marry again. Why couldn’t she marry a farmer and settle here?

But she knew she wanted more–a life filled with beautiful things: crystal goblets, silver tea sets, delicate bone china, satin gowns and lace camisoles, graceful staircases and symmetrical gardens. She wanted to be included in conversations with educated people, men who could turn a compliment into poetry, people who took an active part in making the future happen. In either station of life, there would be children to bear and duties to perform. But she wanted the elegance she had grown up with, not the hardship she had grown to expect.

But Jean Claude….her calm analysis broke down. Waves of strong, undefined emotion flooded her. Standing up, she         pressed herself back against the firm trunk as though trying to resist them. She wanted many things. She wanted the life Henry offered her. She wanted the Richardsons to be happy. Most importantly, she wanted her son, who had made it clear that he considered her the outsider, to accept her. But Jean Claude did not want to leave his home.

Finally she became aware of the sun setting. She must get back or they would worry and she might hurt herself, walking in the semi-dark. She turned abruptly and nearly tripped over another tree root. She walked quickly home over the frozen ground.

That evening was a blur. She could not hide her pre-occupation. There was a quiet supper and then she watched Jean Claude fall asleep in Sarah’s arms by the fire. Finally Christiane gathered him up and carried him to his bed. This was the only time she could hold her son–only when he was so soundly asleep that he did not know that they were her arms. On the previous nights, she had returned to spend a few fireside moments with the Richardsons, but tonight she turned to her room instead. How could she bear to hurt them?

end of scene 3

Later she heard their footsteps on the stairs and then a timid knock. “Christiane?” Sarah’s voice asked softly. Christiane rose from sitting on her bed and went to face them. Her pulse leaped erratically. She opened the door and tried to smile.

Josiah stood with his hand, resting on his wife’s shoulder. Sarah Anne held a candle. “Christiane, is something wrong?” the old woman asked sadly. Christiane shook her head.

“Is it the will?” Josiah asked huskily.

“No, I….No,” Christiane stammered again.

“We just wanted thee and Jean Claude to be safe and happy,” Sarah Anne offered.

“I know,” Christiane replied sincerely. Impulsively she hugged Sarah and then Josiah. “Good night,” she said, tears threatening. She could see that they wanted to ask more, but graciously they bid her good night and she watched the small light waver down the hall to their door.

As she undressed, Christiane left her candle flickering on her bedside table. Outwardly she moved methodically. Inside her heart continued to race. Images of her past and thoughts of her choices tumbled over each other in her brain.

So I think you’d agree that matters aren’t going as Christiane expected. What will she do? Decide to stay with Richardsons and pursue a simple life? Or ? What’s your prediction?

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