booksbylyncote.com

Remember if you’ve just discovered La Belle Christiane, click Archived Free Read above and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

Copyrigth 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Six Scne 2

And what about Jean Claude? Did he remember her at all? In another month Jakob’s enlistment would end and she would see her son again. Would she last till then? The day of freezing rain had ended. A wind had swept the clouds from the sky. The stars glittered in brittle light without warmth above her. Tildy was coughing again. Christiane trembled as she banked the fire and then went inside the flapping canvas walls to lie down and warm her friend.

#

A few days passed and Christiane and Tildy sat miserably in their windbreak, wrapped in blankets, huddled by the fire. The two of them held mugs of steaming water. Without intending to, Christiane let out a downhearted sigh.

Tildy tried to smile. “Come now, Christiane. I’m sure the provisions will be better today.”

Christiane’s lips trembled with the cold and unshed tears. The men still had not been allowed to stay with their families. “Why can’t Jakob and Michael be with us?”

“They must be battle-ready. Have courage. I’m sure we will finally go into winter quarters soon.”

This tender regard from her suffering friend broke Christiane’s resolve not to cry. “Oh, Tildy, how can you say that? You know the Hessians are just the other side of the Delaware. They are just waiting for the river to freeze then they’ll march over and…,” she faltered. She could not put her worst fears into words. Jakob taken prisoner. Jakob killed. The Rebellion crushed.

“Christiane, God will not desert us. We fight for the rights of every freeman.”

Christiane’s face twisted into a bitter smile. She wanted so much to believe Tildy’s word. “What do the rights of free men mean in this misery? You know the Hessians are living comfortably, quartered in private homes, warm and well fed. Across the river the farmers and merchants are happily enjoying the profits of selling their goods to them for English notes and silver. They won’t even accept the worthless paper money our husbands are paid with.” Out of her pocket, Christiane pulled a few bills of the Continental Army script and tossed them into the fire.

Tildy’s hand gripped Christiane’s wrist to stop her. “Christiane, our circumstances are terrible. We can’t fool ourselves. But what we are fighting for is worth all this. It is.” She shook Christiane’ hand to emphasize her point.

Since Christiane had never confided to Tildy her doubts about this Revolution, she pressed her lips together to keep herself from letting her boiling resentment gush out. “How can you say that? We’re doomed–”

“No! Let me explain!”

Christiane could see that Tildy’s eyes burned, not with passion alone, but with fever. Quickly Christiane switched moods. Murmuring soft concern, Christiane began to chafe Tildy’s hand and then refilled Tildy’s mug with hot water from the kettle, steaming in the midst of the fire. How could she have let herself upset Tildy–when the woman was nearly dead?

“Let me explain, Christiane.” Tildy said, her eyes nearly closed. “When Michael and I still lived in Boston in our own home, we quartered a British soldier for a time–”

“You did?” Christiane arranged the blankets around Tildy’s thin shoulders and reached for another short log for the fire.

Tildy’s smile twisted wryly. “Yes, it is the king’s right, don’t you know? Michael could have been jailed or our property confiscated for refusing. They marched them through the streets and stopped at each house. The English officer walked right in, looked over the house as though he owned it, and assigned one soldier to us.” Tildy’s tone was hard as she recalled this slight. “As we got to know Dan, I really understood for the first time what all Michael’s political meetings had been about.”

“How?”

“It was difficult, having been born and raised near Boston, to understand how he thought about things. We had gentry in Boston and they had influence, of course, but their lives very rarely touched ours. Besides, a rich man only had one vote at town council, just like a poor man. But when Dan told us how he was conscripted, it made me see the power of the king.”

The tent flapped wildly in a gust of wind. Christiane tried to shield Tildy from it with her own body. Tildy began to cough and Christiane helped her sip the warm water. Finally the coughing fit ended. Again Christiane urged her not to speak, but she went on, “They send conscripting gangs through London and drag away the young men. What I could not believe was his not resenting his treatment!” To stave off another fit, Tildy swallowed a deep draught from her cup.

“We tried to explain that it was against his rights as a freeman to be treated that way and he said what we called freedom was rebellion. It frightened me.” Tildy’s voice was fading, but her eyes were burning.

“Don’t try to talk anymore. Lay back. You need to rest.”

Tildy shook her head stubbornly. “In twenty years would such gangs rove through the streets here? Would the king drag my sons away to fight a foreign war?” Her head shaking uncontrollably, Tildy looked Christiane straight in the eye. “Or maybe your son.”

Nodding, Christiane urged Tildy to lie back. When Tildy closed her eyes, Christiane pressed her hand to her friend’s forehead. She thought back to Jakob’s reason for leaving his home. Her childhood in France had been so removed from these things, so sheltered.

And then a scene from the past snapped into her mind with sudden clarity. It had taken place only shortly before her mother’s death. Christiane and her mother had been sitting in the library. Her grandmother had stood over her. For over an hour, the older women had rehearsed Christiane over and over on the ranks of nobility–who outranked whom from the bottom fringe of society upward to the king. Christiane had listened carefully and repeated the information to her grandmother’s exacting standard. But evidently her own lack of enthusiasm had finally stung the older woman. “Don’t you understand, child, the importance of this?”

Christiane had sent an appealing look to her mother. “Christiane, grandmere is right. This is of the utmost importance.”

“But why?” Christiane has asked.

“Why!” the elder had fumed. “Don’t you understand, we are talking of rank and rank is power? You must know which men are too powerful to disappoint–to refuse! Don’t you realize that one serious affront, one insult, could destroy everything three generations have built? Are you simple-minded?”

At the time as the woman’s voice had risen insistently, Christiane had trembled with a vague fear. She had not understood completely then, but she grasped it now. Just now she had believed herself to have been sheltered in the past by her family, but now she realized that–in the end–her life as a Pelletier would have taken her to the very seat of power–the French Court. And she would have spent her days carefully treading a tight-rope of pleasing those in power in order not only to prosper, but to survive. She shivered and it wasn’t from the cold.

“You’re right, Tildy,” Christiane said soothingly. “It’s time you rested now.” She took the empty mug from Tildy’s hand and tucked the nearest blanket up over her friend’s chin. After nodding, almost immediately Tildy fell into exhausted sleep.

#

Christmas dawned. Christiane was barely aware that it was her birthday. She and the women around her all sensed that some movement of the army had taken place. Their eyes would not meet each other’s. Most sat sullenly by their fires. They waited in gnawing ignorance. They heard cannon fire across the river in Trenton and they all tensed.

Then late that day Jakob himself burst upon them with the news. “Christiane! Christiane!” he shouted. “We win! We win!” He pulled her into his arms and danced her around the fire. “They don’t even see us coming, Liebschein. It is wunderbar! The general is a genius! He make them look the fools they are!”

“What, Jakob? What are you talking about?” Christiane asked breathlessly, catching his excitement.

“We take back Trenton from those lousy Hessians!” he yelled. “We rub their noses in it. Their own colonel is killed. We show them we are not licked yet!” And then he began dancing her around again and kissing her.

The camp around them seemed to explode with the excitement. Guns were discharged. Laughter, the first in many days, rang out as did raucous choruses of “Yankee Doodle”. Husbands, fathers, brothers filtered in to join the celebration.

Christiane had never experienced anything like it before in her life. It was mass hilarity. The invisible, but normally impregnable line between the decent women and the strumpets disappeared for the evening as everyone joined together in the first real victory in months. The general had done the impossible! He had shown those uppity foreigners what Americans were made of!

The captured rum and food warmed and filled them. The laughter and song fed their weary souls. Finally the party quieted. Now a full eighteen years old, Christiane snuggled contentedly in Jakob’s arms as he slept the sleep of the truly tired. Oh, she loved this man! Somehow they would win this Revolution!

Remember if you’ve just discovered La Belle Christiane, just click Archived Free Read to start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

Copyrigth 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Six Scene 1

The early December wind whipped the ends of Christiane’s wool scarf as she held Nancy’s reins in one hand and young Michael’s hand in the other. The wooden wheels of the baggage train creaked and groaned and bumped over the bridge which spanned the Delaware River. It was nearly evening, but it had been a dark, glowering day since dawn. Everything–the sky, the water, the people–was gray or dirty white.

“Is this really the last river, Mrs. Kruger?” the boy shouted to be heard.

Christiane could only manage a nod of her head. Yes, thank God, it was the last river. After evacuating Manhattan Island in October, they had ferried across the Hudson. Then after the Battle at White Plains, they had crossed the Hackensack, Passaic, and now finally the Delaware. Tonight they would tent in Pennsylvania.

This forced march had begun with Howe’s attack at Throg’s Neck on Manhattan. General Washington had ordered the families and most troops moved off the island, so he wouldn’t be cut off by the British general’s brother, Admiral “Black Dick” Howe, who controlled the waters, surrounding Manhattan. Then Fort Washington on the Manhattan fell to the British–three thousand Americans taken prisoner.

Now what was left of the Continental Army hurried behind them. An army running for its life! Hadn’t she warned Jakob that the English kept whatever ever they took?

Finally the wagon directly in front of them, the one Tildy and William were on, was allowed to venture onto the bridge. The quartermaster sergeant motioned Christiane and Michael to follow it. Christiane could see Tildy was white-faced and nearly unconscious. Little William was asleep on her lap and his small weight was holding his mother onto the wagon. An icy needle of fear pierced Christiane again. The jolting of the wagon and the severe weather had taken a toll on Tildy. She could hardly keep down whatever food Christiane could find. Then Tildy succumbed to a fever. Her hacking cough kept them all awake at night. What if Tildy began to miscarry? What if she couldn’t survive this living in tents in the middle of winter?

“Mrs. Kruger, will they burn this one, too? Will they?”

Christiane looked down into Michael’s eyes, the only part of his face that was visible. She nodded once.

“Will we be able to stay and see it this time? I mean close up?”

“No, we will have to keep moving. The soldiers are right behind us. Remember they must all cross the bridge, too. By then we will be far ahead.” She watched his eyebrows pull together. She wished she could say some comforting word, but there was no comfort for any of them.

“I never get any fun.” The child spoke the words, facing away from her. Because of the noise of the wind, wagons, and drums behind them, he probably thought that she wouldn’t hear him. Oh, Michael. Even after days of freezing rain and constant retreat, a boy could still think of fun. A knot clogged her throat and she tried to fight the tears.

She was wearing every shred of clothing she owned, including Jon’s buckskin breeches under her two dresses. She and Tildy had wrapped the boys’ and their own legs with rag strips for extra warmth. She realized by now that she had become infested with lice and fleas. Wasn’t it bad enough to be part of a forced march in the winter without suffering lice and fleas? And Jakob, where are you in the troops behind us?

None of this made sense. She couldn’t remember what it was like to be warm or even dry. Had she ever really slept in a bed–a bed with ruffled, muslin sheets and a pink satin comforter? What kind of life was this?

This phrase suddenly took her back, back to her grandmother’s chateau. “It is the tradition of our family. You are the fourth generation. You will fulfill your birthright!” Christiane could still hear her grandmother’s querulous exclamation when Christiane had faintly questioned her mother and grandmother as they had been musing about her “possibilities. ” Her mother had just laughed and said, “She is but a girl, mother. When she is a woman, she will be glad of our tradition. What a life you will have, my Christiane!” What a life indeed.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Stepping from the bridge to Pennsylvania soil, she stumbled slightly. Nancy shied, but Christiane stopped herself from falling. She felt as though she were walking on stumps not feet.

“Can I ride again?” Michael whined. “My brother doesn’t have to walk all the time.”

Wordlessly Christiane lifted Michael onto Nancy. Oh, when would they be permitted to stop now that they had crossed the final river? Slap, slap–she struck her mittened hands together to make them tingle. A burning sensation on her finger tips warned her of frostbite. Slap. Slap. Then she hugged herself, folding her arms across her breast and tucking each hand under an elbow. In a few weeks on Christmas Day, she would be eighteen years old. Four years since she fled her grandmother and her “possibilites.” Would she be able to endure much more?

Finally all the Americans must have crossed over to Pennsylvania. The sky behind billowing with black, charry smoke made them all witnesses of the destruction of their final connection with New Jersey and New York.

The final connection with her son, Jean Claude. She’d wanted to go to him, but how could she leave Tildy so weak? And Jakob in danger? What if either or both of them fell ill? No, her son was safe and warm with the Richardson’s and she would not take him from that safe haven.

At last the four of them were huddled by a small fire, too numb to speak or move. In this state they did not notice the furtive figure until he spoke to them.”Christiane, Tildy, is that you?”

Christiane surfaced first. “Jakob!” She hurled herself into his outstretched arms.

“Michael?” Tildy implored weakly.

“He and Tom are both well. Michael send me on to help you and the other women of our squad.”

The sight of Jakob oddly drained the last of Christiane’s energy. She began to cry. “Liebschein.” Jakob held her to him and kissed the top of her forehead, the only spot that was not swathed in scarves and rags. Then he turned to young Michael. “You come with me and we get the tent up.”

The women watched him bustle about setting up their camp. He raised the Main’s tent and then converted the Kruger’s tent into a windbreak around the fire. Christiane stood up to put the tea kettle on the three-legged trivet. There would be no tea, just hot water, but that would warm them all.

Then Jakob went about helping any woman he could. His presence and his word that all the men of Main’s squad were alive and unwounded cheered them all. When he finished, he came back and accepted a steaming mug. Christiane had tucked Tildy and the two boys into their tent. Christiane could not resist questioning Jakob though softly. If his news were bad, she did not want to alarm Tildy and the other women nearby. “We have no news, Jakob. What has happened?” She was afraid to ask: what will happen next?

“We retreat to here. We try to keep the redcoats from Philadelphia and the Congress there. If we hold them back long enough, maybe they go into winter quarters.”

“Are we staying here or will we be moving on soon?”

“It depends on the British. If they come, we retreat again. Michael says the general hopes the terrible weather and the Delaware River will stop them.”

Her tears began again. He took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly. “I am so sorry, Christiane. I should have sent you to be with Jean Claude for the winter. As soon as I can, I will take you there. Do you think the Richardsons would keep us for the winter? In the spring I must re-enlist for the next campaign, but maybe they let me work for them till then.”

She nodded against him.

“Good. Then you will be safe when I have to be away again. I do not want you to stay here in this camp ever again. I cannot leave now though. The war is going bad. The general kept us from redcoats, but now he waits to see where the Englisher Howe attacks next. The fighting could start again at any time. I must go now.”

In the dim light from the fire, Christiane rubbed her face against his buckskin jacket. The leather was stiff with the cold. She pressed herself against him, trying the draw his strength into her own defeated heart.

Tilting back her head, he kissed her, the kiss a plea from one tortured heart to another. She clung to him, pouring all her love, her devotion and, yearning into her kiss. He released her lips. She gasped a sob, then his name.  “I love you, Jakob. I love you. Please be careful. Please.”

“I love you, mein Liebschein. Forever. I love you always.” He kissed her again and then tore himself from her.

Clutching her empty arms around her, she sat back down within scorching distance to the fire. Jakob had gathered them enough wood to last the night. In the morning, Michael and William would have to search for more. She nibbled the dry bread. She knew she should save some for morning, but she was so hungry she could not stop herself. Their rations were ever more inconsistent and poorer in quality. If things did not improve soon, she would go back to begging for food as she had on her journey to join Jakob. Inwardly she cringed. Which was worse–begging or starving? If only Jakob could stay here, she would not be so cold and so lonely. A shiver tore through her. How could they winter in tents?

Remember if you’ve just found this free read, you can click Archived Free Read above and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

By Lyn Cote

copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved.

Chapter Five, Scene 5

A tall man bustled into to the tent. “Laurens,” his voice boomed. Immediately Christiane recognized the General and stood up respectfully. On his part, seeing her there made him glance around as though to make certain he were at the correct tent. Then he looked expectantly to her.

Though somewhat nervous at meeting this august gentleman again, she stepped forward. “Lt. Colonel Laurens was called away just a few minutes ago, General Washington.”

“We’ve met, haven’t we?” he asked, scrutinizing her.

“Yes, General. I am Mrs. Jacob Kruger. We met on one of your inspections.” As he bowed over her hand politely, she curtseyed.

Laurens himself came hurtling into the tent. “General!” he panted.         “And I, you.” The General looked somewhat amused at the young man’s breathlessness. He inclined his head toward Christiane. “I was just getting re-acquainted with Mrs. Kruger.”

Laurens quickly outlined the reason for Christiane’s visit. “Of course, Mrs. Kruger, please sit back down and write your letter,” the General said. “Being separated from your son must be very difficult. How old is the child?”

“Just a year,” she murmured.

“Oh, dear. Well, I hope you two will be reunited soon. Come, Laurens, we will talk outside while Mrs. Kruger writes her letter.” He started away, and then abruptly turned back to her. “Where are your friends?”
“Across the Hudson River in New Jersey, sir.”

“Laurens, don’t post the letter. Have a courier take it over for her today.”

Christiane’s heart leapt. “Oh, General, how can I thank you–”

“No, not a word. The mails are not reliable these days. This way you will be sure it has arrived.” Before she could offer further gratitude, the two men were gone.

Christiane was touched by his concern. What a kind man he was. So busy and yet able to sympathize with her. She became businesslike. She must write the letter and be out of their way. An army depended on them.

18, October 1776

Dear Josiah and Sarah Anne,

I have been reunited with my husband. He was quite saddened over the news of his son’s death. We are in Washington’s camp together and are unable because of his duties to come for Jean Claude. I am comforted by the knowledge that he is in your excellent care. I will send word as soon as I am able.

Yours very truly,

Christiane

P.S. Kiss my son for me.

Quickly she folded, addressed, and sealed the letter with hot wax.

Waves of longing seemed to roll over her as she imagined the feel of her small son in her arms. Forcing down the emotions that threatened to swamp her, she stood up. Just feet away from the tent’s entrance, the General and Laurens were finishing their consultation. Christiane waited until they became aware of her. “General, I have finished,” she addressed him.

“Mrs. Kruger, we’ll see that it goes off within the hour,” he answered with a smile.

“Thank you so–”

“Mrs. Kruger,” the General broke in, “think nothing of it. You are making a great sacrifice for liberty by encouraging your husband to serve his nation. It is the least we can do.”

Christiane could think of no reply, so she curtseyed and left them.

As Jacob and she sat together that evening, she began to tell him about her afternoon visit to Laurens. But before she could really start, Sergeant Main and a stranger came. “Christiane, this man would like to see you,” the sergeant said discreetly.

The stranger drew near her within the small circle of light. “Mrs. Jacob Kruger?” he questioned officiously and loudly.

“Yes.” Christiane cringed inwardly, knowing that every ear was now on her. She stood up to see him better.

“The General sends his compliments, Ma’am. I am the courier that took your letter across the Hudson today. I have your answer here,” his large voice boomed out of his long thin body.

Christiane took the missive from him. She could feel her cheeks warming; once more the surrounding tongues would wag about her. She opened the letter.

“Ma’am, if you have no further requests, I’ll be going,” the courier asked.

“I have nothing more, but please thank the General and Mr. Laurens again for me.”

“Aye, Ma’am.” He saluted and left hurriedly as though heading for his own fire. Sergeant Main left quietly, too.

Christiane forgot everything as she knelt by the fire and read the brief note.

18, October, 1776

Dearest Christiane,

We write in haste as not to delay the courier. Jean Claude is well and happy. We will care for him as long as necessary with gladness. It is our great joy. You are in our thoughts and prayers daily. Give our condolences again to your husband.

With all our love,

Josiah and Sarah Anne                                                                                                                    Richardson

After reading the meager lines over several times, she turned to face Jacob who was staring at her intensely. Without comment she handed him the note. She looked up at his face in the dim light and was surprised to find that there were tears in his eyes. He looked down at her for a long silence and then he shook his head. Mindful of all the ears concentrating on them, she watched him struggle with his pride.

“Christiane,” he said as though drawing a long breath.

“I had to do something about Jean Claude, you understand that don’t you?”

He nodded and motioned her to come with him. Inside the tent he embraced her sadly. They went into their blankets silently. Jacob kissed her forehead and tucked her close to him.

#

The next morning Christiane awoke to the sound of gunfire. At first she sleepily marked it off as target practice somewhere, but when it continued, increased, she realized it must be something more. A small fear ignited in the pit of her stomach. She sat up looking around her. There was no sign of Jacob.

A breathless voice called to her and the tent flap flipped open. Tildy ducked inside. “Christiane! Christiane! Get up! You must come and help me pack up and then I’ll help you. Quickly, girl, up, up!”

Christiane sat up in confusion. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

“Michael and Jacob left early this morning. Jacob didn’t want to wake you. Howe has attacked somewhere. Don’t you hear the guns? The men are being called forward. We women must move out first with the baggage train so we are not caught in the line of fire. Up! Up!”

Christiane scrambled out into a camp changed to bedlam. Women and children were rushing around them. Fear and hurry almost seemed to crackle about their ears. Tildy took Christiane’s hand and pulled her off to the Main’s tent. There the two women rushed about packing a few wooden boxes and dismantling the gypsy home. Then they repeated the actions at the Kruger campsite. Finally Tildy was shepherding them to the baggage wagon train that had appeared nearby. Everywhere women were loading their belongings onto the ox wagons and horse carts. The drivers helped here and there, lifting heavier objects and tying down items to their own satisfaction.

Christiane hung close to Tildy’s skirts, doing as she was told, glad to be directed. Finally all had been packed on the line of wagons and women, clutching their children’s’ hands, tried to find room for themselves on the wagons atop and around the baggage.

A quartermaster sergeant rode down the line, bellowing his orders again and again, “Only pregnant women and small children on the wagons! All able-bodied women and older children must walk!” Grumbling answered him as many women and their charges dismounted.

Christiane stood by, holding Nancy’s bridle. Tildy stayed in her place with William at the back of the nearest wagon, but she pushed Michael, her oldest son, down from beside her. “Christiane, can Michael ride with you?” she asked.

Christiane nodded, but then she protested, “But you’re not–”

“Yes, I am, Christiane. Almost five months along. Michael, if for any reason we become separated, stay with Christiane.”

The lad and Christiane mounted the old mare as the wagon train began to creak away. Christiane kept Nancy walking near the wagon that held her belongings, Tildy, and William.

Too much had happened too quickly. All along Christiane had known that she was living in a military camp, but never had she imagined she would be there to witness its transformation during a battle. Howe had attacked! Memories of the day spent hiding in the woods from the Mohawk raid flooded Christiane, almost sweeping her into hysteria. Frantically she fought her emotions down, but one unbidden thought tugged at her anyway. Was Jacob safe?

So now the war continues. What will happen next?–Lyn