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La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Six Scene 5

“What did you say, lad?” he asked, bewildered.

“She’s dying. A man tried to kill her.”

“Who, lad?”

“Mrs. Kruger. You have to come!” Michael took hold of the man’s hand and began tugging.

“Where is she?”

“At the beginning of your lane.”

A woman, clutching a shawl over her nightdress, appeared at the man’s elbow. “What is it, John?”

“The lad here says there’s a woman dying at the head of our lane.”

“Well, you must go see,” she ordered briskly.

“Yes, of course.” He pulled down his jacket on the peg by the door and set off at a trot with the boy. The dogs joined them, barking their encouragement.

Several minutes later the farmer’s wife saw her husband, walking quickly back, carrying a woman. A horse followed the boy and the dogs. “Esther!” he called his wife. “She’s been stabbed in the leg! She’s bleeding badly!”

Esther threw open the door as he rushed in and carried Christiane over to the fire. He laid her down gently. Already the woman was kneeling beside Christiane, pulling at the clothing that covered the injured leg.

“John, build up the fire and get some water heating. I’ll have to clean off the blood, so I can see what to do.” He quickly obeyed her. Michael stood just inside the door, watching.

Esther pulled up the multitudes of skirts and petticoats and then slid down the buckskin pants. Soon she was sponging away the gore with a basin of warm water. She examined the two deep slits in the thin, white thigh. “John, get me my herb basket.” The basket was delivered swiftly. She pored over its contents and then selected what looked to Michael to be spider webs which she pressed directly on the wounds. “Bandages,” she stated succinctly.

John soon handed her another covered wicker basket. Inside were rolls of homemade bandages in various widths. She selected the widest and thickest one and began to unroll it as she applied it to Christiane’s leg. When she was done, she took the blankets John had brought her, unasked, and wrapped Christiane in them and left her snug by the fire.

With a thoughtful expression, she re-filled the copper kettle and hung it over the fire. Then she stood, gazing down at Christiane’s white face. Without turning toward him, she motioned Michael to come to her. He approached her warily. “Lad, how did this happen?” Somehow her calm question opened the floodgates of his emotions. He sobbed and could not speak at first. “A deserter…a Hessian tried to take…our horse. And he stabbed her,” Michael stuttered in between sobs. “It’s all my fault.” Esther opened her mother-arms and took him in. “John, did you see a horse?”

“I hit her rump and headed her toward our barn.”

“Go see to the mare please,” she requested. Her husband nodded and dragged his coat on again and hurried outside.

“Who are you?” she asked the child.

“Michael Main, Ma’am.”

“And this is?” Esther gestured toward the woman.

“Mrs. Kruger. She’s a friend of my mother.”

“Why are you with her and not your family?”

Michael hung his head in shame. “It’s all my fault.”

“Please tell me,” the woman asked patiently.

Michael heard some movements behind them and looked up to see four children, coming down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Sit down at the table, children. This is Michael. He is going to tell us how he came to our house while I make breakfast.” She gently piloted him to a seat on the bench by the long trestle table. She straightened her white cap and re-arranged her heavy shawl over her long flannel nightgown. Then she began to mix up a large pot of oatmeal.

John came in, bearing large bucket of fresh milk. “The horse is eating in our barn and I finished the milking.” He then sat down in a large chair at the head of the table and began to fill his pipe.

“Now, Michael, tell us your story,” Esther bid him.

So he did, leaving out very few details. He ended with the question he dreaded to ask, “Is she going to be all right?”

“I’ve done as much as I can do for her. But she really needs a doctor and some good care. She’s so thin,” the woman answered, as though speaking to herself.

The silent children watched Michael as he put away two large bowls of mush and two mugs of milk. His shrunken stomach felt as though it were about to burst. The food reminded him of the way his mother had cooked in their old house in Boston. This brought fresh tears to him. Where was his mother? And what would she say about his wicked disobedience?

Just then Christiane began to moan weakly. Quickly Esther was kneeling by her side. “Mrs. Kruger?” she murmured. Christiane’s eyes fluttered open, but had an unfocused quality to them. Then Christiane tried to speak, but was not able to.

“John, milk please.” He hurriedly brought over a mug which Esther took and held to Christiane’s lips.

After a few sips, Christiane was able to whisper, “Michael?”

“He is here, Mrs. Kruger, and is well,” Esther answered her. Then she helped Christiane take in more milk. “Children, bring two large pillows.” The two older children quickly complied. She placed the pillow under Christiane’s head. Christiane just lay, staring into space.

In a few moments Esther was back with a bowl of thin mush which she began to spoon slowly into Christiane’s mouth. The bowl was almost empty when Christiane’s eyes closed of their own accord.

“Did she faint again?” John asked.

“No, she’s just so weak.”

“Can we go get the doctor?” Michael ventured. There was a significant pause.

“I’m sorry, son, but there ain’t any doctors around here,” John answered.

“Then what are we going to do?”

“Wait and see. That’s all we can do,” Esther said. “I’ll do my best for her.”

Michael sat, staring down at his feet.

The rest of the morning passed slowly. John and Esther went about their daily chores, but whenever Christiane regained consciousness, Esther was there giving her milk or thin mush. Michael sat and watched helplessly.

They had just finished a lunch of bread, cheese and dried apples when a voice and the sound of hooves startled them all. “Hallo! John, hallo!” In a second’s time, John was shrugging into his heavy coat and out the door. The rest of them lined up at the nearest frosted window to watch and listen.

“Army coming, John. My boys and me are warning everybody ‘long Princeton Road.” A tall man, dressed hastily against the cold, sat on a dark stallion.

“Which army? Going north or south?”

“Continental. Going north. Hide your stock. They are moving fast, but they still might do some commandeering.”

“Right. My thanks to you,” John called to his neighbor as they parted–Paul back down the lane and John toward his barns.

Michael’s ears perked up. Without a word, he pulled on his stocking cap and jacket and charged out the door and down toward the road.

Esther called after him, but understood almost immediately his intent. For certain an army–or, at least, part of it–would be visiting their house. Bearing this in mind, she bustled around the house gathering up items of value and hiding them as best she could. Outside she could hear her husband, urging their stock into the woods behind the barns.

When Michael reached the road, he could clearly see the army about a mile and a half away. He had no plan, so he began to run toward the on-coming soldiers. When he came abreast of them, he slowed to a jog and carefully scanned the soldiers as they passed him. After about a mile of this, he decided to sit on a fence rail by the side of the road and let the passing army reveal itself to him. Though his feet rested, he scrutinized the marching ranks.

With collars folded up and rags wound over the legs of their breeches, the men were stiff-faced against the cold and the pace they marched at was brisk. No rain and clouds today, the day was bright and sunny, but so cold. Michael hugged his arms around him and occasionally stepped down to stamp his feet to keep them from feeling numb. Finally he picked out his father in the long columns of men. “Father!” he called as he darted in and out between the startled men.

“Michael!” The tall sergeant pushed forward and tugged his son back to the side of the road so as not to get in the way. “What are you doing here? Where is your mother?”

Young Michael was hesitant, but confessed, “I ran away yesterday. I wanted to be with you.”

“Michael, when I have a chance, I’m going to tan your hide! Your mother will be worried to death! And anything might have happened to you. Anything!” The angry father shook the boy soundly and left no doubt that punishment would be severe and soon. “Come along now. We have to get back into formation.” He began steering his son back toward the road.

“No, Father, stop!”

“What is it now?” the sergeant asked in exasperation.

“Mrs. Kruger came to find me on Nancy,” the boy stammered.

“Well? Where is she?” There was a pause. Michael shook his son’s arm. “Tell me!”

“A Hessian tried to take her horse last night. He stabbed her in the leg with his bayonet.” Michael’s lower lips trembled.

“Where is she!”

“At the farm up the road,” the boy whimpered, pointing north. Main was disgruntled.

“What’s the matter, Sarge?” Tom Mitchell asked as he reached them.

“It’s a long story, Tom. I’ll explain later. But Christiane is here at a farm up the road. She’s been wounded.”

“What!”

“Run back to Carter and tell him what has happened. Then catch up with us.” The father and son immediately started to jog alongside the road, heading into the lane.

“Father, where’s Mr. Kruger? Did he get lost, too?”

“Not now, Michael.”

They arrived at the farmhouse and before Sergeant Main could knock, the door opened. “Hello, Michael,” Esther greeted him calmly as though soldiers at her door was an everyday occurrence.

“Ma’am, we’d like to see Mrs. Kruger,” the sergeant said.

Esther opened the door farther and admitted them. The three went directly to Christiane’s side. “Is she asleep?” Tom whispered.

“She comes and goes,” Esther replied.

“How bad is she hurt?” Main asked.

“Two deep wounds in her thigh. I think one hit the bone. I cleaned and bandaged them. But like I told the boy, she needs a doctor.”

“No doctors hereabout?” Main asked.

“None.”

“Then we’ll have to take her with us to one of the army doctors,” Michael decided aloud. “Where’s her horse?”

“In our barn, resting and eating,” John answered from the doorway. His voice was almost a challenge. There was a brief pause.

“I want to thank you, folks, for helping my son and Christiane, but we got to move quickly or be left behind and maybe taken prisoner.”

“I’ll get the horse for you,” John said.

“You may start her bleeding again if you move her,” Esther cautioned.

“We don’t have a choice,” Main said.

“Wrap her in a blanket and try to keep her as still as possible then,” the woman instructed them.

The two soldiers went outside and with the farmer’s help fashioned a makeshift travois and hitched it to the mare. “I hope it lasts till we get where we’re going,” Tom worried.

“It will have to,” Main said. Then they carefully bore Christiane out and tied her into the travois. They said their thanks again and were off down the lane.

When they reached the road, most of the army had passed. They fell in with the closest rank. The nearest officer rode over to question them. He was generous with his sympathy, but cautioned them to return to their own outfit, so they would not be thought missing.

The day went on. Christiane did not regain consciousness, but moaned anyway over each bump and rut. Young Michael hovered beside her. Finally after dark, the command decided that they had put enough distance between them and the enemy and the victorious army was allowed to rest.

But not the sergeant, Tom or young Michael, they moved up the line till they finally found their unit. Sergeant Main tried to send one of the other men to find a doctor, but Tom stopped him. “No, I been thinking. Most of the doctors don’t amount to much.” There was silent consent to this from the circle around him. “She needs a good doctor and good care.”

“Well, how do you expect to get them?” Main demanded unhappily. He was well aware of his debt to Christiane.

“I’m going to take her to the general,” Tom stated firmly.

“What?” The word echoed around Tom.

“Are you crazy, Tom? You can’t do that,” the sergeant blustered.

“I am taking her to the general.”

“But–”

“I am taking her to the general,” Tom repeated solidly. Silence answered his stubbornness. “Don’t you see?” he pursued, “It does make sense. The general and the Lt. Colonel Laurens do know Christiane. Remember how they sent the courier for her when we were still in New York? And when me and Jakob….” His voice faltered, then it went on. “When we re-enlisted, the general recognized Christiane and spoke real kind to her.”

“I see what you mean, Tom, but still I don’t know,” Main murmured. Another pause followed as the group ruminated over what had been said.

“I’m going to take her. I know the general is busy, but he can, at least, see that she gets a good doctor and decent care,” Tom said resolutely. His firmness seemed to sway the men. The Tom they knew was shy and usually easily swayed. If he was this certain, then he must be right.

Sergeant Main spoke for them. “All right, Tom. I’ll go with you.” Murmurs of assent joined his. So the two exhausted men and boy began to move forward again.

What do you think is coming next? Have I kept you wanting more?–Lyn

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