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La Belle Christiane

2011 Copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Eighteen  Scene 2

“I have always anticipated the coming of a nation, based upon the ideal of liberty. Mr. Benjamin Franklin encouraged me to come and do what I could to help it emerge. To fulfill a lifelong dream, madame,” he paused and sighed, “it is a great satisfaction.”

Christiane smiled genuinely at him. “When you spoke,  baron, you remind me of my late husband.” And his enthusiasm for liberty cheered her. To the majority of the British officers in Philadelphia this war was just another boring little war, not the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Even the major had admitted that he was here only to keep himself occupied. Fresh pain wrenched her and she hid it, biting her lower lip.

At that moment the Marquis de Lafayette began a conversation with the  baron in rapid French. And the dinner conversation took on a timeless quality. The officers and their wives discussed the signs predicting a hard winter, military strategies, the price of wool, the change of fashions. The words flowed over and around Christiane as she ate sparingly, churning with her misery. She forced herself to listen as the  baron and  general discussed his background. Evidently Baron Von Steuben was something of an expert the drilling of an army. She recalled the Continental Army’s sad attempts at marching drill that she’d witnessed in Manhattan in ’76.

“I am happy that you are not given to idle chatter and giggling,” Henry whispered , interrupting her concentration.

Christiane glanced at him with a guess that he was referring to Henry Knox’s bride. “I think that Knox enjoys it,” she whispered back.

“I prefer your seriousness,” he replied.

Her seriousness. An invisible tourniquet around her heart made her almost gasp in pain. In all the years since leaving France–when had she ever had the privilege of chattering and giggling? Her life had been one test after another, one loss after another. And now this most dreadful because it held the poison of betrayal. Near tears, she turned to the  baron and began asking him about his home in Germany.

The long meal finally ended and they all paraded to the parlor. There the furniture had been pushed back against the walls and the carpet had been rolled up to make way for dancing. Two men with fiddles lounged by the fire. Christiane wished that she could now leave, but to go would be unnatural and would cause comment. Her manufactured smile was again carefully put into place and weighed on her.

“Mr. Lee, if you don’t mind, I will claim Christiane for the Virginia Reel. After that she is yours,” the  general said. He motioned to the fiddlers and commanded, “A Virginia Reel please.” The peppy music began almost immediately. The parallel lines formed quickly. Christiane lost herself in the rhythm of the melody: bowing, turning, bouncing, and sashaying. When the next dance formed, the  general took his place against the wall, letting Henry take her hand. Since there were more men than women, the husbands graciously sat out dances, so that the unattached officers could enjoy the fun also.

Finally, Christiane’s hand was claimed by the  baron. She found him a good dancer. Each succeeding dance became more of a trial. When would this evening end?

“Madame, how is it that you have a German name?”

“My late husband Jacob was originally from the area near Hamburg,” Christiane replied. And then not wanting for him to get the wrong impression of her. She added, “My late husband was a corporal.”

“That is of no consequence to me.”

From the dinner conversation, she had gotten the impression that the  general wanted something from this man, but could this newcomer understand what he had gotten himself into? This was no European army. Not clearly knowing why, she began intuitively,  “Baron, for the first thirteen years of my life, I was European. Now I am an American.”

“Is an American so different from an European?”

She took her time thinking of the right answer. “Do you remember how General Washington lived when he first arrived at this forge?”

“Ja, in a tent.”

“Yes, up on a platform in the wind. Why do you think he did this?”

“I thought it was a grand gesture. To show that he would not take his comfort until theirs had been taken care of.”

“More than that. The men respect him so highly because he does not only give orders. He commands their respect by his actions and his devotion to their common cause. This is not easy for me to tell you,  baron, for it is still a painful memory. Last December as my husband and I wintered in tents, we waited for  Jakob’s enlistment to end on the thirty-first. We planned to leave to be with my son. I was merely surviving till that day. Then the general himself came through the ranks, asking the men personally to stay on just six weeks longer.” Christiane paused, shaken by these sad memories, piled onto her Philadelphia burden.

“And your  Jakob stayed on?”

“Yes.” She took a calming breath. “He was killed January third at Princeton. Jakob was completely devoted to liberty and personally his respect for Washington knew no boundary. Do you see my point? This army is fighting for a whole new way of living and it is a different army, built on mutual respect, not blind obedience.”

The dance ended. The  baron bowed over her hand. As her next partner claimed her, she watched the baron. He looked thoughtful. As the torturous evening dragged on, Christiane felt like a puppet on a string. She smiled, curtseyed, danced, smiled. She acted out this painful and exhausting manner for almost two hours.

Finally the music was halted and glasses of mulled wine were passed around. The last minute of 1777 was breathlessly counted down and at the last stroke of midnight, they raised their glasses for the toast. “Hurrah for 1778! Hurray for the New Year!” Many kissed and embraced. Henry kept a tight arm around Christiane’s waist to ward off any attempts by others. She turned and smiled at him as best she could though tears were bedeviling her again.

“Why tears, my sweet?” he asked.

“Oh,” she lied, dabbing at them, “I just wish the war were over.”

He smiled broadly and kissed her cheek, for, of course, he interpreted her statement as her desire for their marriage to come more quickly. After formally ringing in the New Year, the party quickly dispersed. Everyone’s duties would resume as usual in the early hours of the morning.

By candlelight Henry escorted Christiane to her room. They paused at her door to say good night. Glancing up and down the empty hall, he drew her to him and kissed her. A guilty conscience prompted her to return the kiss ardently. He sighed with satisfaction and they parted without words. She closed the door, undressed. The image of Major John Eastham would not fade from her mind and neither did her lips forget his touch. She cried herself to an uneasy sleep.

#

Another afternoon at the aide station where the frostbitten were tended was done. Christiane sighed, pulled on her cape and stepped out into the brisk wind. It was February 10, 1778, and she was sick to death of this winter. Unbidden the major’s face came before her eyes. She often wondered how she had been able to carry on, giving the appearance of being the same woman she had been in November. Inside she felt as though she had been scoured thoroughly and everything that she loved  everything–trying to gain love, peace, and her son. She had lost. Over and over, she tried to fit all the pieces together and gain a full perspective of what had truly happened there. But try as she could she could not make all the figures add up to the correct sum.

She fought the wind back to the yard in front of the imposing, cut-gray stone house. Loving the major had been foolish. Now away from him, she realized that if she had run away with him, she could never have been at peace. Maybe after this dreadful winter, she could come to some understanding of what to do about Henry Lee and her son.

As she came closer to the Hewes’ House, she could see a great many people milling about the entrance of it. The horses were being unhitched from a large carriage in the stable yard. Her pace quickened and her ears listened sharply to the bits of conversation around. Inside she stepped directly into the unusually crowded front parlor. She found there the face she was looking for. “Mrs. Washington!”

“Christiane!” They embraced. Christiane had so much to say, but so many people were in attendance that she turned to the commonplace.

“Has anyone ordered you tea?”

“No.”

“Then I will go see to it. When you are done with your tea, have the general escort you up.”

Mrs. Washington squeezed her hand. “Thank you, my dear, you know my thoughts exactly.”

How good it felt to have this dear woman close again.

#

April morning sunlight flooded Christiane’s room. Nausea made it impossible for her to rise. So far she had not vomited and she did not want to. It would be too revealing. When she had first come to Valley Forge, she had suspected that the story Major Eastham had told her that morning after the fateful ball had been false. She had waited anxiously for her monthly flow. It had come late and had been usually light, but it had come. She had been relieved. However, a few days after Mrs. Washington had arrived, she began experiencing nausea. At first, she had passed it off as quinsy. General Washington was suffering from it then also.

But in the weeks that followed the symptoms had not relented. Perhaps if she had not experienced them before, she would have been able to continue to fool herself. Then she had missed one month and then another. Weeks of denial had finally given way to acceptance. Now she had missed her fourth. She was pregnant and she knew it.

Did you see this coming? No hiding the truth any longer.–Lyn

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