The Art of Romance by Kaye Dacus
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
The Art of Romance is the first Kaye Dacus book I’d read. I found I love her voice. And her characters. They caught my interest right away and carried me along. This is definitely a Southern novel with its emphasis on family and a quirky one at that. So I can recommend this entertaining book –to those who like humor, genuine emotion and a touch of romance. Way to go, Kaye!
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 Twenty-Four Scene 1
The next afternoon Christiane and Jean Claude explored in the muddy meadows, looking for sheep. The time for lambing had come. Walking beside her son over the thick spring green grass, she felt as uncertain as a babe herself. She didn’t even look like herself. Her Mt. Vernon clothes felt too grand for this simple farm. Today she’d dressed to match her son who wore heavy sweater, knee pants, white hose, and stout shoes. She wore a navy wool dress that she’d sewn in Morristown during the winter she had met Mrs. Washington. Around her shoulders, she wore her faithful plaid shawl and a wool ruffed cap warmed her head. The breeze blew briskly across the sky, still overcast–as was her mood. So many changes in such a short time. But her strained relationship with her new husband had not budged. Often she nearly massaged the area over her heart, trying to soothe the the deep ache there.
Right after breakfast, the Friend Samuel had taken the two men on a tour and then he had left, saying that he would spread the word that Christiane’s family had come. The around-the-clock assistance evidently would end now. Back at the house, while the two Sarah’s and Josiah were napping, John and Alfred were in the barn, seeing to the stock. This had amazed Christiane. She would have expected that such labor was beneath his lordship; certainly Alfred was disgruntled at being expected to do farm chores. But they were on their own now.
Her life had also altered. Immediately after their breakfast that morning Sarah Anne had devoted herself to feeding and tending her stricken husband. Christiane had looked at the used bowls and spoons and then had risen to wash them. The harsh odor of homemade lye soap and feel of the hot water had brought back memories of Rumsveld Tavern and Morristown in Mrs. Hardy’s kitchen where she had gratefully served as a scullery maid.
As she’d dried the dishes and put them away, she’d admitted to herself that this had been a major part of why she had fled this farm that night to Philadelphia four years ago. She had longed to be a lady and escape a life of menial toil. She chuckled to herself. In fact, she ranked a lady now, Lady John Eastham, but evidently that did not protect her from carrying water and washing dishes.
“Mother, I think I see something over in those bushes,” Jean Claude said quietly, pointing to their right.
Mother! He said it without any reservation. Again she contrasted her own feelings this time to four years before. Then still a toddler, Jean Claude had been reluctant to accept her as mother. That sting rejection and the goad of her guilt for having created the situation had also been a part of why she’d run away. After all the years apart, she reveled in being close to him, being allowed into his life. Whatever the cause for his acceptance of her, John and Sarah Renee, she felt buoyant, almost lighter than air. How could one word give her such joy?
He tugged her hand, nodding for her to follow his gaze. “Yes, Mother, it is one of our sheep and she is lambing!” he exclaimed happily. Quietly and carefully they approached the ewe. Evidently this ewe did not have enough sense to come to the barn of her own accord, so Christiane and her son were here to bring the two back to the barn for extra nourishment and care. They stood silently observing as the baby lamb was expelled from its cozy nest into the muddy, chilly world. They watched as the mother painstakingly examined and groomed her infant.
“Grandpa says that human mothers have babies like this, too,” her son commented matter-of-factly.
Christiane tried to match his tone. “Yes, it is very similar.”
“What was my father like?”
The unexpected question hit her but she did a quick recover. “You look very handsome just like him.” She allowed her hand to stroke the rich brown waves that ended in a tail at the back of his head. “He was a very jolly man. And he loved to sing and tell stories. He was a very fine fur trapper.”
“He sounds nice.” He glanced up.
“He was more than nice.” She smoothed a curl behind his ear.
“Then how did we get here?”
“After your father died, I married another man, named Jakob. He came to New York City to fight the British.”
“And we came, too?” He sounded as though he knew this part, but wanted to hear her confirmation.
“Yes, and that is how you came to live here.”
“And thee helped the Revolution?” He stooped, watching the white lamb closely.
“Yes, that is why I was gone so long,” she continued the partial deception. When he was older, she would be more frank.
“That’s what Grandma said. Did thee fight like a soldier?”
“No.” She laughed. “Nothing that exciting.”
“Grandma says fighting is sad.” He stood, looking up at her seriously.
“She is right,” Christiane answered soberly. “Fighting is very sad.” She looked down at him, overwhelmed. She pulled him to her, unable to stop herself. “Oh, Jean Claude, my dear son, I have missed you. I love you so.”
He put his arms up and returned her embrace. “I missed thee, too. I asked and asked Grandma and Grandpa when thee would come home. They said thee would as soon as thee could.”
She could not answer. She merely hugged him again. The ewe, almost done grooming her newborn, bleated as if demanding their attention. The little lamb staggered to its feet, shivering.
“It’s time to take them home,” her son announced. “We must wrap the old blanket around the lamb and pick it up,” he said.
“What about the ewe?” She used the blanket as instructed.
“Oh, as long as we have her lamb, she’ll follow us anywhere.”
Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, Christiane understood her fellow mother completely. She lifted the quivering lamb into her arms.
The ewe bleated and rocked to her feet. So they wended their way through the meadow back to the barn. Even though the breeze chilled her, Christiane felt warm. She’d expected resentment from her firstborn and instead had reaped love. A part of it was due to a child’s natural acceptance, but most of the credit was Sarah Anne’s and Josiah’s. They had filled Jean Claude with their love for him and had given him an attitude of respect for her. She was very grateful.
They arrived at the barn. Alfred and Eastham stood, talking just inside. “Good day, gentlemen,” she said politely though neither was dressed as a gentleman. Both wore clothing they had purchased while traveling, much like Jean Claude’s outfit.
They bowed slightly. “Good day, ma’am,” John replied, “I see you have a new boarder for us.”
His use of the title instead of using her name dampened her mood. “Yes, where should I put mother and child?” She cradled the lamb close.
“There is a warm spot right over here. Alfred just laid it with new straw in hopes you would be successful.” He ushered them to the rear and opened the stall gate.
Christiane carried in the lamb and laid it down gently in the hay. The concerned mother hurried in after her and began examining her infant.
John closed the gate. “Did you enjoy your walk, Jean Claude?”
“Yes, Father, we saw the baby get borned.”
“Have you seen it before?” John stooped to be at eye level.
“Every year, but I like seeing it every year.” The boy grinned.
“I know what you mean.” John squeezed the boy’s shoulder.
Christiane marveled again at their ease at being together. Somehow her son in his innocence had already drawn closer to John than she had been able to. How could she bridge the gap? The ache over her heart twinged.
So Christiane begins to form a relationship with her six year old son. Do you think he will always be this accomodating?–Lyn
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During the first week of January this year, I began to post scenes from my original manuscript La Belle Christiane.
This book was written when books were longer. Remember those days when you held a paperback in your hand and it was substantial? This manuscript is double the length I write now.
Now finally the end is within sight!
Tomorrow I’ll post the first scene of the FINAL CHAPTER. After that, there is only a brief Epilogue.
I will be asking for some feedback about this manuscript. I’ve already had an artist do a cover and the manuscript is in the process of being edited and proof-read. Soon I’ll have the manuscipt ready to upload to Kindle and Smashwords to become a digital book.
Plus for those of you who still like to hold a book, I will be using the company CreateSpace to have copies printed for sale. You’ll be able to buy them through my website and Amazon.com. You can also ask your local bookseller or librarian to order it for you. I’ll post that information as I have it.
I’ve never done anything like this before so it has been an interesting journey. I thank you for being my “beta readers.” You have helped me know when to shorten a chapter and made me grapple with the intense work of revision. So thanks!
Some other writers suggested that after the beginning chapter, I move immediately to Christiane meeting John again in Philadelphia. However, how would we know Christiane the way we do if we hadn’t suffered with her through Rumsveld and her risking her life to rescue young Michael and other experiences she endured?
What do you think? Should I have shortened the story? Would shorter have been better? If so, what would you have cut? Or is there a part you wished I’d spent more time on? I really want to know!–Lyn
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If you’ve discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.
La Belle Christiane
2011 Copyright by Lyn Cote
All rights reserved
Chapter Twenty-Three Scene 3
“Come thy tea is ready and I’ll slice thee bread and cheese.” Sarah Anne gathered them all around the big table. Two candles flickered atop pewter candlesticks. Heavy mugs of rich creamy tea awaited them, along with bread and cheese, and fresh butter in a dish.
“Now we can talk. When did thee receive my letter?” Sarah said as they all sat down.
“Nine, no ten days ago,” Christiane replied.
“Thee made good time then.”
“Sarah Anne, this is my husband, John Eastham.”
“Welcome, John,” the woman said warmly.
He bowed slightly where he sat. “Thank you, Mrs. Richardson.”
“Please call me Sarah Anne.”
“Thank you. I will,” he answered and helped himself to the food.
“And this is little Sarah Renee?” the woman asked.
“Yes, I’m Sarah Renee,” the little girl answered for herself. “Do you have any jam please?”
Sarah Anne chuckled. “No, but how about a sprinkle of sugar on thy butter bread?” The little girl nodded and ate happily.
Alfred and Samuel came in. “It is starting to drizzle,” Samuel said.
“Then thee arrived just in time. Christiane, what is thy friend’s name?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. This is Alfred. Alfred, this is Sarah Anne,” Christiane said.
“Come to the table, Alfred. Thy mug is waiting for thee.”
Alfred hesitated. His expression said that he had never broken the bounds of his propriety before.
“Come, Alfred,” Eastham ordered quietly. Alfred sat down uncertainly and gripped his mug.
“Help thyself to the bread and cheese,” his hostess offered.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Alfred murmured.
“Please call me Sarah Anne.” She smiled. “Christiane, John, this is our dear friend Samuel Thomas.” The man smiled and went back to the rocking chair near the fire. “Friends from meeting have been taking turns spending a day or night with me. I have not been alone since Josiah was struck.”
“How did it happen?” Christiane asked, hurting for her friends.
“He was out in the barn,” Sarah Anne replied matter-of-factly. “I expected him right back and when he didn’t come, I went out to see what was taking so long.”
“Has he improved any?” John went on.
“A bit.”
“Can he speak?” John asked.
“No.”
He nodded. “It may come back in time. I have known a few older people near my home that suffered strokes.”
Sarah Anne nodded. “Christiane did not let me know that she intended to marry.”
“I was just recently re-united with Christiane.”
Christiane spoke softly. “He is Sarah Renee’s father.”
“Well, the Lord be praised. My prayers are answered. Now both thy children will have a true family.” The woman smiled.
Christiane was touched. Her dear friend could rejoice for her even though Josiah lay ill.
“You talk odd,” Sarah Renee took time out between bites to say.
“No doubt I do sound odd to thee, little one, but soon thee will be accustomed to it,” the Quakeress answered, unruffled.
“Sarah Renee, do not speak in such a saucy way to your elders,” Christiane scolded.
“I am sorry, Mama.”
“You are forgiven,” the old Sarah said.
“We have the same name,” the little girl observed.
“Yes–”
Christiane broke in, “Sarah Renee, you were named for Sarah Anne and another dear friend named Sarah.”
Christiane looked into Jean Claude’s eyes then. He had been watching her all the while. He was the same brown-eyed, dark-haired, beautiful child he had been three years before. Now he was so tall, a boy no longer a babe. His eyes were so serious that suddenly she smiled at him. “I am so happy to see you, my son.”
He nodded. Then he leaned over to Sarah Anne and whispered. “Thee must speak to thy mother thyself,” she instructed him.
“Does thee have any other children?” he asked shyly.
“No,” Christiane replied, “just you two.” She had not thought of his speaking as a Quaker. He seemed to want to say more, but all he did was look sideways at John. “Jean Claude, in all the rush of coming, I haven’t introduced you to your stepfather,” Christiane said, looking over into her son’s upturned face. “Sarah Anne explained to you that I was away because of the war, didn’t she?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Well, Sarah’s father was away because of the war, too. He had just come back to us right before we received your grandmother’s letter. Jean Claude, this is your stepfather, John Eastham.”
Reaching across the table, John offered his hand to the lad. The boy took it and shook it solemnly. “Jean Claude,” John asked, “what would you like to call me?”
Christiane was surprised by the question, but kept still.
The lad thought awhile. “What does she call thee?” he asked, pointing to his sister.
“I call him father,” Sarah Renee piped up.
“My father is dead,” Jean Claude said quietly.
“Jean Claude, when I married your mother, I became your father by law,” Eastham said.
The boy looked up at his stepfather’s face. “Thee are my father, too, then?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will call thee father. If thee are my father, it wouldn’t be proper to call thee, John.”
“That will be fine, son.” The two nodded and smiled at each other. Christiane sent her husband a timid look of gratitude.
“Are thee all filled?” Sarah Anne asked. “I have some raisin cake a friend brought this morning. Shall we have some now?”
“Goody!” Sarah Renee clapped her hands. “Do you like cake, brother?”
“Of course,” he said, looking as though it were a silly question.
The squares of the rich brown cake were meted out. Christiane accepted more tea and began to relax. The homecoming had been more satisfying than she had dared to hope and now the fatigue of the day was making her drowsy. She let the conversation flow around her. Finally she roused herself as Sarah Anne urged everyone to bed. Soon she found herself in the old couple’s bedroom upstairs, alone with her husband. Sarah Anne preferred to sleep on a cot near her husband and she had sent them up together with a cheery goodnight.
The candle flickered as they gingerly undressed and wordlessly took their places in bed. The candle was snuffed and she lay staring into the dark. Her thoughts tumbled around in her mind. Gratitude for being with Jean Claude almost swept her into glad tears.
But concern over the Richardson’s troubled her. How long would she be able to stay and help them? They had given to her so freely. She wanted to repay them, had to. But everything hinged on the man beside her. He had been kind, but how deeply would these concerns weigh with him? And most of all how could she become his wife in reality? She sighed. Her body ached with fatigue.
“Good night,” he said politely.
“Good night, my lord,” she murmured. At this a small teardrop wet her eye. When, how could she break through his polite kindness?
My face is RED! I didn’t realize until I read Margie’s Friday comment that I had repeated one scene. Too embarrassing. My apologies. However, this is the last scene of the second to last chapter. Wednesday we begin THE END!-Lyn
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If you’ve just discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.
La Belle Christiane
2011 Copyright by Lyn Cote
All rights reserved
Chapter Twenty-Three Scene 2
Later Christiane leaned against the rough split-rail fence. Evan and her husband were walking among the horses in the muddy pasture. “I think this gray and the bay I showed you before are just what you need,” Evan said.
Lord Eastham nodded. “I will take them today then. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing. They will be my wedding present to you and Christiane.”
“That is too kind,” he said, as the two men made their way over to Christiane.
“Evan,” Christiane said, “you must let us pay you.”
“No discussion of price!” Evan objected in mock anger, holding up both hands. “They are my horses and I’ll do what I want with them.”
A glance passed between Christiane and John in which she ventured that they should accept. He nodded slightly to her.
“Thank you then, Evan. It is a fine gift,” Christiane said with a smile.
Evan smiled in return. The transaction was accomplished quickly. Soon Christiane and John were standing by their mounts. Their draught horses and wagon were already on the way to Mt. Vernon.
Christiane looked up at Evan’s profile. He by his gracious acceptance of her marriage was proving his true character. She had been so fortunate in the men who had loved her: Jean Claude, Jakob, Henry, Evan. She looked over at her two-day husband. She had never guessed that he would fall in so easily with this drastic change in course.
John and Evan shook hands. “Thank you again, sir,” her husband said.
“You’re very welcome. I wonder will you grant me a favor? May I kiss your bride farewell?”
“Of course,” John replied, his face unreadable to Christiane.
Evan leaned down and chastely kissed Christiane’s upturned cheek. A lump grew in her throat. She knew that it was unlikely that she would ever see Marshfield and its master again. “Farewell, Evan,” she said softly. “Thank you again for everything.” Then John helped her mount Penny and they rode off down the lane. When Christiane looked over her shoulder, the master of Marshfield still kept watch. Goodbye, Evan.
#
They had been on the road for almost nine days. Christiane had forgotten how wretched it was to travel by horseback or open wagon. She was in the saddle this afternoon, having taken her turn driving the wagon all morning. Alfred was at the reins now. Little Sarah was napping somehow in the back of the jolting buckboard. Finally Christiane could sit no longer and she slid down to walk beside her horse.
“Sore, madame?” her husband asked as he came alongside her.
“I am afraid so, John.” They had progressed to the point of easy exchange, though they still never addressed each other by name.
“Are we getting near, do you think?” He slid down and fell into step with her.
“It has been four years since I have travelled this way, but it seems to me that today or early tomorrow we should be there.”
“Good. I must confess I am weary of the road.”
She grimaced slightly, looking down at her mud-spattered, wrinkled black dress. “I must say that I agree with you. However, you and I have travelled more in our lives than most. Perhaps that is the reason we dislike it more than most.”
“An excellent explanation. Do you think that eventually we might actually settle down?”
“I hope so,” she said, suddenly subdued by the specter of Easthaven. They walked then silently, almost companionably. Christiane fretted inwardly about arriving at the Richardson;s. How was it possible to want something desperately, but to fear it equally? She was nearing her son, but….
John glanced down at her profile. It was easy to read the concern on her face. Suddenly he took pity on her. “Are you worried?” he ventured.
She looked up gratefully, glad he had asked. “Yes,” she said slowly, “I know that it was the right decision leaving Jean Claude at Meadow Farm for his safety, but will he agree? What will he think of me for having left him so long?”
“That is a difficult question. We will just have to take matters as they come and do the best we can. Surely time with you will demonstrate your love for him.”
She bit her lip, trying to hold back sudden tears. He had used “we.” “I don’t know what I will do if he holds it against me.”
Gently he touched her shoulder. “Take heart. Sarah does not seem to hold it against me that I have only just appeared.”
“That is true,” she said somewhat comforted, “but she is younger than her brother.”
“I am glad that you have confided in me. I will be what help I can.”
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, looking up into his eyes. He did not look away.
She owed him so much, needed to make up for the way she had hurt him. She wanted to say so many things, but she still felt a distance between them. Even if they had remained connected in heart and spirit, four years was a long time to be apart. In Philadelphia, he had staked everything on her once and had lost. Would he trust her again? It would take time and effort, but if his heart could be won again, she would accomplish it. They walked along and the afternoon sun warmed them, though the breeze still held a touch of winter and the coming evening promised to be cool and damp.
“Mother,” a sleepy voice called, “are we there yet?”
“No, Sarah.” Christiane waited for the wagon to catch up to her. “How was your nap?”
“Good. Can I ride with you?”
“Why don’t you ride and I’ll walk?”
John lifted the child onto Christiane’s saddle and Christiane led the horse on. She gave only partial attention to the father and daughter exchange. Her mind was still on her son and the Richardson’s.
About dusk, Christiane recognized the inn at a fork. “My lord,” she called.
He turned his horse, detecting her note of excitement. “Yes?”
“We’re very near now. Just a few miles.”
“Wonderful.”
“Here. Here,” Alfred murmured.
She glanced back at him, suddenly concerned. “Alfred?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
Her eyebrows came together. “Alfred, there won’t be any servants’ quarters.”
“Ma’am?” he said.
“I mean.” She turned to John for assistance. “They act differently. They call everyone by their first name.”
“I see. Quakers do that, don’t they?” John commented.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Well, we will be in their home. We will abide by their ways.” He turned to his man, “Accommodate yourself, Alfred. And remember don’t call me lord.”
“Yes, my lord, I mean, sir,” Alfred said uncertainly.
#
The last few miles went quickly. All concerns were consumed by their desire to reach their long-awaited destination. At last Meadow Farm was in front of them. Candles were just being lit and they watched them illuminate the windows, one-by-one. Down the rutted muddy road they hurried. Christiane nudged Penny and she trotted up the last half mile to home.
“Sarah Anne!” Christiane called as she ran to the familiar back door. It opened and there stood Jean Claude. Before she could think, she dropped to her knees and folded him into her arms. “Jean Claude,” she repeated over and again as she clung to him. The boy stood very still, not understanding.
“Christiane!” Sarah Anne appeared in the doorway. “It is thee! Oh, my dear, it is thee!” Christiane stood up and received the older woman’s embrace.
“Sarah Anne,” Christiane said, so relieved, so suddenly at peace.
Sarah motioned the others now coming up behind Christiane. “Come in by the fire.”
“The horses–” Eastham began.
“Samuel, will thee see to their horses and their wagon?” she spoke to a tall gray-haired man, waiting behind her. He nodded and left with John and Alfred.
Little Sarah still held her mother’s hand, but went as close as she could to the other child. Then the old woman took charge by pulling Christiane inside. The three all gravitated to the hearth and its warmth while Sarah Anne busied herself making a quick supper.
Standing with her back to the fire, Christiane watched Sarah Renee stare at the quiet, watchful Jean Claude. How unbelievably joyous she felt. After four years she was with her son again. But her mood saddened when she saw Josiah, sleeping quietly on a narrow bed just at the edge of the fire’s glow. John entered and came near Christiane. How she appreciated his closeness now and how difficult to remain silent. But she couldn’t presume anything.
So Christiane is finally reunited with her son. But there is still one bridge to cross. What do you think it will be?–Lyn
My guest today is best-selling author Michelle Stimpson who will share how God worked Romans 8:28 in her young life. Here’s Michelle:
“When I think about how God strengthened me through something I didn’t even realize was a struggle, I stand in awe. I was twelve years old when my mom was involved in a serious car accident. For almost two years after the wreck, she was in rehab learning how to become herself again. During that time, I (the oldest of three kids) had to take over her role as mom to my younger brothers. I remember signing their report cards for them, frying bologna sandwiches for dinner (cooking is not my gift).
While I don’t think I recognized this situation as a “problem” per se, I was incredibly lonely. All my friends were outside playing and I was tucked away in my house caring for my brothers. Even when my mom finally returned home for good, the dynamics of our family had changed so much, things weren’t quite the same.
I’m so thankful that God gave me the gift of writing to keep my head on straight. I started keeping a diary to deal with my feelings and help work through my frustrations and anger. Years later, I realized that God had used those diaries to speak to my heart; to lay the foundation for our candid, intimate relationship, which sustains my very life to this day.
I look back on that portion of my life, I recognize it now as perhaps one of the most trying times in my life. Now, when I hear what other people have gone through in their younger years and how those adversities lead to drug use, running with the wrong crowd, or other destructive coping mechanisms, I am nothing but thankful for God’s intervention. The only strength I had came from God Himself. The consequences, of course, were that I had reason to write almost every day of my teenage years. This discipline was actually the cornerstone for my writing career because writing in that diary developed my voice and confidence as a writer.
Similarly, my main character Tori in Someone to Watch Over Me has actually been through some rough times with her own mother and, later, with her great aunt, who suffered a stroke. Tori is suddenly thrust into a caregiver’s role while helping to raise a younger cousin she had no idea existed. Yet, caring for others that actually makes her stronger and brings her closer to God.”–Michelle
Bestselling author Michelle Stimpson has penned several works, including the highly acclaimed Boaz Brown, national bestseller Divas of Damascus Road, and her latest release, Someone to Watch Over Me. She has also published more than forty short stories through her educational publishing company. Michelle holds an English degree from Jarvis Christian College and master’s degree in education from the University of Texas at Arlington. She is a part-time language arts consultant and serves in the Creative Tyme ministry at her home church, Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship. Michelle lives near Dallas with her husband, their two teenage children, and one crazy dog.
Thanks, Michlle. God can use painful times for our good if we stay true to him. My time of testing came when my father left our family when I was eleven and my baby sister was 5 months old. My parents ran a business together so we lost our father and our income in one fell swoop. But it made me strong and made me depend on God. What about the rest of you? Would you share a time of trial that God used for your good?–Lyn
For more about Michelle:
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 Twenty-Three Scene 2
They had been on the road for almost nine days. Christiane had forgotten how wretched it was to travel by horseback or open wagon. She was in the saddle this afternoon, having taken her turn driving the wagon all morning. Alfred was at the reins now. Little Sarah was napping somehow in the back of the jolting buckboard. Finally Christiane could sit no longer and she slid down to walk beside her horse.
“Sore, madame?” her husband asked as he came alongside her.
“I am afraid so, John.” They had progressed to the point of easy exchange, though they still never addressed each other by name.
“Are we getting near, do you think?” He slid down and fell into step with her.
“It has been four years since I have travelled this way, but it seems to me that today or early tomorrow we should be there.”
“Good. I must confess I am weary of the road.”
She grimaced slightly, looking down at her mud-spattered, wrinkled black dress. “I must say that I agree with you. However, you and I have travelled more in our lives than most. Perhaps that is the reason we dislike it more than most.”
“An excellent explanation. Do you think that eventually we might actually settle down?”
“I hope so,” she said, suddenly subdued by the specter of Easthaven. They walked then silently, almost companionably. Christiane fretted inwardly about arriving at the Richardson;s. How was it possible to want something desperately, but to fear it equally? She was nearing her son, but….
John glanced down at her profile. It was easy to read the concern on her face. Suddenly he took pity on her. “Are you worried?” he ventured.
She looked up gratefully, glad he had asked. “Yes,” she said slowly, “I know that it was the right decision leaving Jean Claude at Meadow Farm for his safety, but will he agree? What will he think of me for having left him so long?”
“That is a difficult question. We will just have to take matters as they come and do the best we can. Surely time with you will demonstrate your love for him.”
She bit her lip, trying to hold back sudden tears. He had used “we.” “I don’t know what I will do if he holds it against me.”
Gently he touched her shoulder. “Take heart. Sarah does not seem to hold it against me that I have only just appeared.”
“That is true,” she said somewhat comforted, “but she is younger than her brother.”
“I am glad that you have confided in me. I will be what help I can.”
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, looking up into his eyes. He did not look away.
She owed him so much, needed to make up for the way she had hurt him. She wanted to say so many things, but she still felt a distance between them. Even if they had remained connected in heart and spirit, four years was a long time to be apart. In Philadelphia, he had staked everything on her once and had lost. Would he trust her again? It would take time and effort, but if his heart could be won again, she would accomplish it. They walked along and the afternoon sun warmed them, though the breeze still held a touch of winter and the coming evening promised to be cool and damp.
“Mother,” a sleepy voice called, “are we there yet?”
“No, Sarah.” Christiane waited for the wagon to catch up to her. “How was your nap?”
“Good. Can I ride with you?”
“Why don’t you ride and I’ll walk?”
John lifted the child onto Christiane’s saddle and Christiane led the horse on. She gave only partial attention to the father and daughter exchange. Her mind was still on her son and the Richardson’s.
#
About dusk, Christiane recognized the inn at a fork. “My lord,” she called.
He turned his horse, detecting her note of excitement. “Yes?”
“We’re very near now. Just a few miles.”
“Wonderful.”
“Here. Here,” Alfred murmured.
She glanced back at him, suddenly concerned. “Alfred?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
Her eyebrows came together. “Alfred, there won’t be any servants’ quarters.”
“Ma’am?” he said.
“I mean.” She turned to John for assistance. “They act differently. They call everyone by their first name.”
“I see. Quakers do that, don’t they?” John commented.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Well, we will be in their home. We will abide by their ways.” He turned to his man, “Accommodate yourself, Alfred. And remember don’t call me lord.”
“Yes, my lord, I mean, sir,” Alfred said uncertainly.
The last few miles went quickly. All concerns were consumed by their desire to reach their long-awaited destination. At last Meadow Farm was in front of them. Candles were just being lit and they watched them illuminate the windows, one-by-one. Down the rutted muddy road they hurried. Christiane nudged Penny and she trotted up the last half mile to home.
“Sarah Anne!” Christiane called as she ran to the familiar back door. It opened and there stood Jean Claude. Before she could think, she dropped to her knees and folded him into her arms. “Jean Claude,” she repeated over and again as she clung to him. The boy stood very still, not understanding.
“Christiane!” Sarah Anne appeared in the doorway. “It is thee! Oh, my dear, it is thee!” Christiane stood up and received the older woman’s embrace.
“Sarah Anne,” Christiane said, so relieved, so suddenly at peace.
Sarah motioned the others now coming up behind Christiane. “Come in by the fire.”
“The horses–” Eastham began.
“Samuel, will thee see to their horses and their wagon?” she spoke to a tall gray-haired man, waiting behind her. He nodded and left with John and Alfred.
Little Sarah still held her mother’s hand, but went as close as she could to the other child. Then the old woman took charge by pulling Christiane inside. The three all gravitated to the hearth and its warmth while Sarah Anne busied herself making a quick supper.
Standing with her back to the fire, Christiane watched Sarah Renee stare at the quiet, watchful Jean Claude. How unbelievably joyous she felt. After four years she was with her son again. But her mood saddened when she saw Josiah, sleeping quietly on a narrow bed just at the edge of the fire’s glow. John entered and came near Christiane. How she appreciated his closeness now and how difficult to remain silent. But she couldn’t presume anything.
How long before John and Christiane break through?–Lyn
I didn’t have to look very far to find examples of Merrilee’s character in my own life. My family tree is littered with women of faith and strength. Take my great grandmother Daniels. A widow, she moved in to take care of my father and his four siblings after they lost their mother—her daughter—in childbirth during World War II. She was a sweet old lady by the time I met her when I was nine, but what impressed me most even then was her love of the Lord. What about my own grandmother who was eight when her father abandoned her family at the height of the depression. She dropped out of school to work in the cotton field to help put food on their table. But years later, when her father came to her doorstep sick and dying, she showed unconditional love and forgiveness by taking him in and caring for him until he died. I asked her one time how she could forgive him so easily, and she said something I’ll never forget. She forgave him because she had been forgiven.
And then there’s my mother. If you asked her, Momma would say she hasn’t done anything special in her life. She’d just been a wife and mother. But my momma is one of those people who stay in constant prayer—about her kids, her family and those around her. She lives out her faith, not by spouting off scripture but by walking it.
Strong examples of faith that I look to in my writing and in my life.”–Patty
Bio: A romantic at heart, Patty Smith Hall is an award winning, multi-published author. Her stories of encouragement and hope can be found in Guideposts, Journey and Chicken Soup for the Nurse’s Soul. Her Genesis award winning manuscript, Hearts in Flight, will be released by Love Inspired Historical in July, 2011. Patty resides in Georgia along with Dan, her husband of 28 years, two daughters and a Yorkie who loves to cuddle.
Serving her country as one of the Women’s Army Special Pilots is Maggie Daniels’s dearest wish. But there are obstacles to overcome above and beyond the enemies in the Pacific, including her overprotective family, skeptical fellow pilots—and handsome, distant squadron leader Wesley Hicks. Whatever it takes, Maggie will prove herself to Wesley, until she succeeds in winning his admiration…and love.
Wesley can see that Maggie’s a first-class pilot. She’s also too fearless by half. The war has cost Wesley so much already. Can he let go of his guilt for a chance at happiness—and can he learn to trust in God…and Maggie…enough to believe in love for a lifetime?
Patty, thanks for being my guest. Your book sounds wonderful! I wish you many more.–Lyn
PS: Beckie Peterson won Miranda Parker’s book, A Good Excuse to be Bad and Barbara Ann won Ann Gabhart’s book Blessed is Lacey. Thanks to everyone who left a comment! And thanks Miranda and Ann, for you generosity. (Beckie and Barbara Ann, you’ll be hearing from Miranda and Ann sometime this week via email.)
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 Twenty-Three Scene 1
Two days had passed since their wedding. Christiane, Lord Eastham, Mrs. Washington, and Sarah sat at the remains of lunch. No one seemed to be in the mood to leave the table. As he conversed pleasantly with his hostess, Christiane studied her husband’s profile . Though she had wanted to, she still had not spoken to him except in “yes’s” and “no’s.” Sarah Renee, on the other hand, gave him almost no peace.
Christiane fretted silently about the future. Easthaven, the home of the Eastham’s, hung over her like the guillotine. How she loved Virginia! She had told him in Philadelphia that she never wanted to see Europe again. Did he remember? Did he care? She had no clue and she would have no choice. He was her husband now. When would he tell her to pack for England?
Breechy entered and approached Christiane. “Lady Eastham, a post rider just arrived with a letter for you.” He handed it to her and retreated.
Startled, Christiane opened it quickly.
10, March 1782
Dearest Christiane,
I write in haste. Eight days ago my Josiah
suffered a stroke. He is almost completely paralyzed
on his right side and is very, very ill. Our friends are
being good to us, but we need you, especially Jean Claude.
I must devote most of my days and nights to nursing my husband.
Please come home quickly. We need you.
With fondest regards,
Sarah Anne Richardson
Christiane looked up soberly. “Sarah Renee, I need to talk to your father and Mrs. Washington alone. Will you go to your room and play for awhile?”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes.”
“Obey your mother, Sarah,” John added.
“Yes, father,” the little girl said reluctantly.
As soon as she left the room, Christiane said, “I have received bad news.” A thickness coated her throat. She cleared it as best she could. “I will read you the letter.” Both Mrs. Washington and John listened attentively.
“Oh, dear,” the lady said. “How awful. When was the letter dated?”
“March tenth. Almost two weeks.”
“How sad. Well, I must leave you two to discuss this. I will go and keep Sarah company.”
After she left, a silence fell. Christiane could hear the muted sounds of the servants about their daily chores and the children playing outdoors.
Finally he spoke up, “I was wondering what had happened to your son since he was not here. I was afraid to ask, in case, you know….” His tone was sympathetic.
“I did not know quite how to bring him up. I did not have him here because of my situation.” She took a deep breath. “You see, his future and legitimacy were assured. I didn’t want either jeopardized by–”
“I understand.” Another pause. “What do you plan to do?” He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, the white linen tablecloth gleaming before him.
She trembled inside. Would she be forced to choose between her children again? “I will have to go.” Her voice sounded odd even to herself. “They are like family. They need me.” If only she knew him well enough to know his reaction. She took another deep breath and it helped hold back her tears. “I will just have to leave Sarah Renee with you. You will have to send word when you leave for England and I will try to join you when I can.”
Her husband’s head snapped up to face her. “What kind of man do you think I am, madam? Do you think I would take Sarah and leave you?” His voice was harsh.
“Oh, dear….” Embarrassing tears slipped from her eyes. She looked down at her hands, trying to hide them. “It is just that I have responsibilities that are not yours. And I know you want to go home–”
“I think you know very little about what I want,” he said evenly.
She looked up at him then, but she paused, not knowing what she should say. She dabbed away her tears with her handkerchief. “I think you are right,” she said tentatively, “but we haven’t really talked, my lord.”
“That’s true,” he replied more calmly. “How long will it take us to get there?”
“About ten days to two weeks,” she answered, almost not believing what he had said. “More if we run into bad weather.”
“And the letter took two weeks to get here. We had better leave as soon as possible then. How soon could you be packed and ready?”
“Within hours.” The ease of his accommodation left her breathless.
“Then we will leave in the morning. I think I should purchase a wagon and some draught horses. We should take everything with us. I would say a carriage, but a wagon would draw less notice. The roads are not very safe these days. And you’re going to have to stop calling me, my lord. Lords are not the thing here right now.”
“How should I tell Sarah? I’m frightened.”
“Of what?”
“For Sarah. She was born here. Mt. Vernon is her whole world.”
“I see what you mean. But we can’t stay here for the rest of her life.” He turned a palm up. “We would have left sometime anyway.”
“I know. It just hurts me to upset her. To have to do it so suddenly.”
“We will tell her together. Come. We will do it now.” He pulled her to her feet. “Calm yourself. We don’t want to alarm her unduly.”
“You’re right, of course.” She consciously subdued herself and went with him. He did not relinquish her hand and she was grateful for his re-assurance. They found Sarah and Mrs. Washington playing dominoes at the table in the girl’s room.
“Sarah Renee, your mother and I have something to tell you.”
“Should I leave?” Mrs. Washington asked.
“No, stay please,” he replied. Christiane and he sat down on the side of Sarah’s frilled bed.
“Sarah, do you remember that I told you that you have an older brother?” Christiane asked.
“Yes?” the child answered readily.
“Well, it is time that we go to him,” Christiane said.
“Yes, now that I am home we can go get Jean Claude and be a complete family–mother, father, sister, brother. What do you think of that?” John asked.
“Hurray!” Sarah jumped up, smiling.
“When do you leave?” Mrs. Washington asked quietly.
“In the morning,” he answered.
“This is going to be a difficult parting for me,” Mrs. Washington said and stood up.
“But we’ll bring my brother back here, won’t we, Mama?”
“Not right away. The family he has been living with needs our help,” Christiane said.
“Oh.” Sarah looked crestfallen.
Mrs. Washington patted her back. “You will be happy to have your brother.” Then she turned to John. “What I would have done without your dear wife and daughter these past years, I just don’t know.” The two women embraced. Then the lady’s voice became businesslike. “Now you’ll need something to travel in. ”
“Yes, some draught horses and a wagon. ” John had risen also.
“Evan Marsh is your man. He breeds and trains all manner of horses.”
“I will see him directly.”
“I would go with you,” Christiane spoke hesitantly, “to say farewell.”
“Of course,” he answered lightly. “Come on Sarah. Let’s put your cape on and go out for our walk first.” Then they were gone.
Mrs. Washington picked up the dominoes, one-by-one, and put them in their small wooden box. “I will call for some stout boxes and we will pack your things.” She turned to Christiane. “He is taking it better than I thought he would. Many men are not so cooperative about stepchildren. George was good about it, but some aren’t.”
“I was surprised myself.” An understatement.
“My dear, you and I have both been twice-married and we should know a woman never really knows a man till she is his wife and living with him.”
“True,” Christiane said, still pensive.
“I will miss you both so much.” The two women hugged once more and left to begin the packing. Christiane focused on the work, not the leaving. Still, she couldn’t help thinking that this might be from God–not Josiah’s stroke that was due to age. But the bringing together of her children, something she had never been able to do, seemed a blessing. Could she hope God was helping now that she had learned the truth, was living the truth?
Well, what do you think about that final question?–Lyn
If you’ve just discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.
La Belle Christiane
2011 Copyright by Lyn Cote
All rights reserved
Chapter Twenty-Two Scene 3
Aghast, Christiane watched her go. What was she going to do? No one understood. Suddenly she thought of Evan Marsh. Quickly she ran to the stable. Within minutes she had straddled Penny bareback and was off. The groom frowned disapprovingly at her as she rode away so unladylike. Christiane rode with speed and ease that belied her inner agitation. Mrs. Washington’s words echoed through her mind. Your own flesh-and-blood. What foolishness is this? You have wronged him.
From nowhere a branch of wet oak leaves slapped Christiane in the face. Momentarily blinded, she clutched the reins. Heaving deep gasps, she brought Penny to a walk.
The wet winter-worn leaves had acted as a bucket of cold water on her passion. Was she running away again? Hadn’t she vowed never again to allow impetuousness to carry her into folly? Not only had she run to Philadelphia years before, she had run from Philadelphia. In both cases, she had harmed one of her children. At Valley Forge she had vowed never to run again. How could she have forgotten? She paused to take deep breaths to calm herself.
She had no choice. She had to marry John. Sarah Renee was depending on her. And in truth she had wronged him. He had never wronged her.
The full impact of this revelation hit her like a hammer to an anvil. Mon Dieu. All he had said, all he had promised in Philadelphia had been true. He had meant to resign and marry her! She slid from the horse’s back and buried her head against Penny’s side. Sobs tore at her. She had broken their love, not he. One overheard comment, one verification from an idle trollop and she had abandoned him. Oh, God, I’m doing it again, taking matters into my own hands–impulsively too. And now I must confess sin again. I wronged John, put both of us through unnecessary suffering. How can I make matters right between us?
At last, her wrenching sobs turned into drizzling tears. As had happened when she stopped in the church and the cantankerous old priest had given her a stiff penance, she didn’t feel better. But she had done right to confess her sin. Leading Penny over to a downed log, she pulled herself back into her saddle. She sat motionless, waiting for a leading as to what to do next. She had intended to go to Evan and that was right. He deserved to hear of her marriage from her lips alone.
Signaling Penny forward, she trotted on to Marshfield. She and Penny knew the way by heart since this winter she had started the habit of visiting him at home almost weekly. As she entered the spacious grounds, she admitted to herself that she had, deep down, decided to be the mistress of this estate. While her feelings for Evan had never reached passion, she had given him her trust and affection. Brushing away the last traces of her weeping, she rode up to the steps and tossed her reins to the groom. Evan’s butler already awaited her at the door. “Good mornin’, Mrs. Kruger,” he greeted her.
“Good morning. Is Mr. Marsh at home?”
“Yes, ma’am, he is in his study.”
“I’ll show myself in then. This isn’t a formal visit.”
“As you wish, ma’am.” The man bowed and let her go.
She stepped lightly down the hall to the familiar door and tapped. “Come in,” Evan called. She slid in through the barely opened door.
“Christiane, what a pleasure!” he exclaimed as he stood up. “You have rescued me from these dry figures.” Then he saw her face. “What is it, dear?”
“He came back,” she said simply.
“The Englishman?”
“Yes.”
“With Will’s letter?”
She nodded.
He paused and furrowed his brow. “I see.”
She could only stand and look helpless. Speech seemed beyond her.
“When do you marry then?”
“He says today.” Her throat constricted. They stood like bookends, facing each other. Then he opened his arms and she went in willingly. “Oh, Evan.”
“A hard pill to swallow?”
“Oh, it’s more than that,” she said and started to cry again. “Don’t you see? It means I was wrong. I am the one to blame. He never lied. He never meant me harm. And I…,” she could not go on. She wept quietly.
Evan held her gently till the new tears ebbed. “I understand. It is a shock indeed to find oneself the villain of the play.”
She wiped her eyes with his proffered handkerchief. “I always act rashly and then regret it. When will I ever learn?”
“I think you are learning. You didn’t accept my proposal and you gave me a well-thought-out reply.”
“I am sorry. My stupidity has involved you and I have hurt you also.”
“I will mend. I just saw a chance for some sunlight and warmth in my last years.” He paused, looking her over from head to toe. “Well, my girl, I have never seen you in such a state.”
“What do you mean?” She sniffled.
“Red eyes, mussed hair, scratched face, muddied skirt.”
“Oh, dear.” Her hand automatically went to her hair.
“Go upstairs to the first room at the top of the steps and I will send up a basin of water.”
Soon she stood in front of a mirror which sat on a high of chest drawers. She was indeed a sight. A maid fluttered in with a towel, a bowl, pitcher, and a fresh bar of soap. Carefully Christiane unwrapped the light purple paper and seal on the bar. The fragrance of lavender stopped her.
Suddenly she was taken back, back to a rough room in a wilderness fort. She was a scared fifteen-year-old girl, holding a fresh bar of lavender soap. How clearly she remembered that morning. Kind, John Eastham had been so kind to her that day. And in Philadelphia he had given her his protection and so much more.
She heard her own voice again, saying. “I hate you.” How could she have said that? Tears threatened to start again, but she resolutely pushed them away. She had cried enough. She would have to make it up to him some way–with God’s help. Strengthened, she smoothed her hair and washed her hands and face, calming herself.
A tap came at the door and Evan entered. He said, looking at her reflection, “Well, you do look some better.”
She turned around, fighting a sad expression.
“No, sad face today, Christiane. You must look the bride.”
“I don’t feel very bride-like.”
“I know and I don’t feel much like being a best man, but I am prepared to offer my services.”
“Oh, Evan.” She was touched beyond words by his gesture. His presence at the wedding would give her so much comfort and how gracious of him to think of it. She went to him and rested her hand on his chest. “Thank you. I don’t know how I can face him. I said awful things to him this morning.”
He patted her shoulder and then put her shawl around her. “The carriage is waiting for us. Come along.” They went down and he helped her into the carriage, Penny was tied to the rear. As they reached the lane to Mt. Vernon, the driver slowed to match the pace of a John on horseback who’d been setting out, no doubt going to find her and bring her back. She writhed with embarrassment. She’d managed to make the bad situation even more difficult.
“Hello!” Evan hailed John courteously.
“Evan,” Christiane broke in with a trembling voice, “this is Lord John Eastham, my fiancé.”
Evan looked up sharply at the man then. “We are well met, sir. I am Evan Marsh, a friend and neighbor of the Washingtons. Christiane came to tell me of your wedding today.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Marsh,” John said calmly, but looking at the two of them searchingly.
“I was wondering if you would be needing a best man,” Evan went on. “I know we are strangers, but unless you have brought someone with you–”
“Thank you, Mr. Marsh, that is very kind of you. I will take you up on your offer.”
Evan nodded.
“Then with your permission, sir, I will ride on ahead,” John said.
“Very good, my lord.” Evan touched his hat as John nodded and then cantered on ahead. “No doubt, Christiane, he was starting out to look for you.”
She bit her lower lip, unable to reply.
“I wonder what he thinks of my bringing you back?”
She did not reply that she had told the major that she had intended to marry Evan. It would only cause Evan discomfort and embarrassment and he did not deserve it. Since John was a gentleman, she knew he would not mention it. Eastham awaited them by the central front door. When the two had joined him, Evan asked, “When is the wedding to be, my lord?”
“Mrs. Washington and I decided that during Sarah’s naptime would be best. Then when she wakes, we will reveal that I am her father. We will celebrate the occasion for the evening not as a wedding, but as a homecoming.”
“That seems a good plan,” Evan commented.
Christiane lifted her eyes briefly. “Won’t she think it odd that we did not tell her who you were during the last visit?” She lowered her eyes again.
“Mrs. Washington solved that. We will tell her that we waited till I could return for good.”
Christiane nodded then, but a sudden thought of Jean Claude came to her mind. She had not mentioned him to John. Did he remember that she had a son? A cold feeling crept into her heart. She was doing what was right for her daughter, but would it benefit her son also? Matters were moving so quickly. At the thought that she might not be able to include Jean Claude in her life with John Eastham, the flesh over her heart ached.
“Gentlemen,” she said softly, ” I must go and change then.” She left them and hurried inside.
#
Formality filled the light blue parlor. The vicar stood with his back to the window. Facing him stood John and Christiane. They were flanked respectively by Evan and Mrs. Washington. The afternoon sunshine was brilliant and the five stood in a pool of light. Alfred remained at the rear by the door with a few of the other servants. Christiane had chosen to wear her russet taffeta and her mother’s pearls. Both shimmered in the sunlight. John wore a new civilian suit of brown. The tailed coat, vest, and knee pants were well-tailored. Christiane had to admit she approved of his lack of excessive adornment. There was almost no lace on his white shirt and his brown hair was clubbed neatly at the back of his neck.
At the vicar’s direction, they joined cold hands awkwardly. Christiane brought to mind the settings of her first two weddings, a wilderness stockade and a frontier village. Both contrasted with this luxurious parlor, a good sign perhaps.
The minister cleared his throat and began, “We are gathered here in the sight of this company to join this woman and this man in holy matrimony….” Her embarrassment over her earlier words somehow made it difficult to imagine speaking to John naturally. How she wanted to say that she was sorry, but what if he no longer cared? He had made it clear that he was marrying her for his daughter’s sake alone. And certainly she had caused him enough pain to destroy his love for her. Unconsciously, guiltily she sighed deeply. He looked down at her then. She tried to smile, but did not do a very good job. He sent her an impenetrable look and then gave his attention to the pastor.
Quietly they went through the making of the vows and the giving of the ring “And thereto I plight thee my troth,” she repeated obediently and then it was over.
“In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Stiffly John leaned down and touched her lips, but there was no ardor or even affection in the touch. He avoided her eyes and turned to receive the congratulations of his best man. Christiane fought the lump of tears in her throat.
#
Christiane lay very still. It was the next morning and she was awake, but was he? Of course, Mrs. Washington had moved the both of them together to a larger room. They were married now after all. Last night they had put Sarah to bed together and had come to their room. Once inside a silent awkwardness had hung over them as though they were strangers, reminding her of their uneasiness when they had first stayed together in Philadelphia.
She had wanted to speak, but she had lacked the courage needed to break through the heavy barrier. Besides what would she do if he turned away from her? At any rebuff she felt as though she would shatter into small pieces. Too much had happened in one day. Finally they had managed to dress themselves for bed and each had claimed a side.
At last he had said formally with his back to her, “Good night.” And she had replied, “Good night.” For just a moment she allowed herself to recall the tenderness that had existed between them long before, but the memory had proved too painful.
Now the door flapped open and small, bare feet pattered over the hardwood floor. “Mama! I couldn’t find you!” Sarah shrilled.
“Hush, Sarah, your father is sleeping.”
“No, I’m not. Good morning, Sarah.”
The child was struck into silence at seeing the two of them together in bed. “Sarah, parents stay together,” Christiane said reassuringly.
The girl came over and allowed Christiane to draw her under the covers between them.
“Major,” the little girl asked, “are you staying with us forever?”
“Yes, forever.” He smiled down at her face and then involuntarily glanced up at Christiane. Their eyes locked and then he looked away. At the coldness of his look, Christiane felt an invisible weight press down on her breast. She took a deep breath to quell the tears that seemed to be waiting to snare her.
So at long last, John and Christiane are married. What will happen next?–Lyn