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La Belle Christiane

Copyrigth 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Seven Scene 3

On another afternoon, the three women in the kitchen were making muffins and churning cream into butter. Mrs. Hardy was in a loquacious mood. “Yes,” she said reminiscently, “Emma come to me as just a babe. The mister and me had been married for almost eight years and still no children. Then I got word that a cousin of mine, not far from here, had had a child with a harelip.” She sighed. “And her husband was terrible upset about it. Not knowing what had caused this terrible judgment to come on their house.”

This comment made Christiane squirmed uncomfortably, but she continued carefully spooning batter into muffin tins.

“Anyway,” the woman continued, “we, me and my mister, decided to go and see them. Comfort them you know. They already had five children–all good-looking and bright. But the youngest before Emma was only sixteen months old. My cousin was having a time, doing her work, caring for the children, helping her husband and here was this baby. The child couldn’t suck and she was having a terrible time feeding her.” Another pause.

“So my mister, he had such a good heart, says to me, why don’t we take the babe home with us and give this woman a chance to get on her feet? My cousin was that glad when we put it to her–so grateful she was. So we brought Emma home and they was to come and get her when things had settled down. But they never came to get her,” she finished spritely.

“And we were glad, too. She, my cousin, had five more children before she was through and here I was happy to have Emma–no matter how she looked. Why some people told us we were foolish to care for her. They said she would have died if I hadn’t taken such special care of her. And they said it would have been a mercy. But I say no! Not everyone is meant to be beautiful like you Christiane.”

Christiane was shocked and showed it. Emma, sitting beside her with the churn, made her own statement by kicking Christiane sharply under the table. Christiane jumped and bit her tongue.

“No, not everyone is meant to be a beauty, but we all have our place. Emma has hers here in the kitchen.” Not noticing Christiane’s reaction, Mrs. Hardy smiled at her ward fondly. “My mister has been gone for almost six years now and how lonely I would be without her.” The widow shook her head as she took out another two tins of hot applemuffins from the hearth oven. Their rich cinnamon fragrance filled the kitchen.

There was a knock at the door. Christiane quickly rose to answer it, though her slight limp slowed her. All of them expected to see Tom, so Christiane was surprised when it was strange soldier in the doorway between the inn and kitchen.

He was tall, unkempt, and was clothed in well-worn buckskins. He stood, leering at her. The open door caused a draft of cold wind which blew through her skirts and chilled her. “Yes?” she asked, her tone tart.

He smiled slyly and continued leering at her. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, she straightened herself almost haughtily under his stare. “Yes?” she repeated stiffly.

At last he spoke, “Girlie, the general’s lady is come and the general he wants his tea early.”

“Anything further?” she asked, wanting to shut out his unpleasant presence.

“Not this time, darlin’.” And he turned and disappear, probably heading back to his duties.

He was completely and immediately forgotten as the kitchen went into a dither. The three women had known that Mrs. Washington was expected, but had not known exactly when. Mrs. Hardy rose to the occasion and began directing her two minions.

Very soon a large silver tray was complete with the best china tea set and Mrs. Hardy’s delectable apple muffins and fresh creamy butter. The cook inspected the tray one last time and then turned a speculative eye on Christiane. She stood a long moment, cradling in one hand her elbow and in the other hand, her chin. “Christiane, you will serve tea.”

“Me?” Always before Mrs. Hardy or a maid from the house had done the serving. “Me?”

“Why not?” Mrs. Hardy responded. “Let’s just show Lady Washington what kind of house this is. I want Morristown to show off its best.”

Serve the general’s lady and his officers? Christiane had been raised waited upon by servants. Somehow working at a tavern in Rumsveld hadn’t humiliated her, but serving a lady as a maid would be mortification. Christiane began to protest.

Mrs. Hardy cut her off. “Quickly, Christiane, put on a fresh apron and cap. Let me see your hands.” Within a few minutes Christiane was groomed to Mrs. Hardy’s satisfaction and holding the tray.

“But I can’t curtsey,” Christiane blurted out. Her leg muscles were still quite stiff and sore from her wounds.

“They will understand. After all, it was the general himself that put you in my care.”

Christiane could see that there was no way out. She would have to do this. Mentally she braced herself. It had not bothered her to serve ale in Sarah’s tavern, but these people were of quality. To appear before gentle folk as a serving maid caught in her throat. But Mrs. Hardy and Emma would never understand her reluctance, so Christiane straightened her back as Mrs. Hardy placed a shawl around her shoulders. Out she went through the cold breezeway to the back door, and into the inn. She shrugged off her shawl into the hands of the waiting innkeeper whom she’d met on a few occasions.

“Where’s Mrs. Hardy?” the innkeeper asked.

“She wants me to serve tea.”

“Oh, good,” the man said,  looking relieved. “They all be in there.” Without further conversation, she led Christiane to the door of the parlor. As he opened the door for Christiane, he whispered, “The tea table is by the hearth.”

Christiane took a deep breath. Grandmere had always pronounced that a true lady was never discommoded by any circumstance. Christiane repeated this to herself and then stepped through the door. One by one, the faces turned to look at her, frozen just inside the door.

“Mrs. Kruger,” John Laurens stood up and came over to her. “How are you?”

“Much better. Thank you, sir,” she murmured. His friendliness was just what she needed to calm her. “I have brought your tea.”

“Of course. Of course.” He motioned toward the nearby tea table. At this Christiane moved forward as gracefully as possible and set the heavy tray on the tea table.

Glancing up, she met the clear eyes of Mrs. Washington. The general’s lady was no beauty, small, plump and with gray hair peeking our around the ruffle of her cap. Christiane smiled shyly and began to arrange the tea things.

“My dear girl, I will be happy to pour,” the general’s lady said.

“As you wish, my lady,” Christiane replied softly. She turned to leave and met the general, looking down at her. “Do you need anything before I leave, sir?”

“No, Mrs. Kruger, I was just happy to see you up and around.”

Anger sliced through her, startling her. This was the man who had persuaded her husband to re-enlist for six more weeks. If Jakob had left when his original term was up, he would still be alive. But when she looked up again into that lined face, all the outrage left her. This was the man who could take time to speak politely to a poor woman, who could send a courier to take a letter for her and later see that her wounds were cared for. Then a real sympathy for him poured through her. How could a caring man bear the burden of all the men who fought and died under him?

“Except for a slight stiffness I am very well. Thank you, sir,” Christiane murmured quickly. She wished to thank him for his aid, but she would wait for a more private moment. She nodded, smiled, and let herself out of the room.

Standing just outside the closed door, she overheard Mrs. Washington’s voice, “Mr. Laurens, how did that young woman come to be injured?”

“It was quite a story,” Mr. Laurens began and in brief terms told us Christiane’s injury. “Then she was brought to headquarters and the general arranged for her to be cared for.”

“Oh, I’m so glad, George. What a brave and resourceful, young woman! And so lovely, too.”

Feeling lighter, Christiane limped down the hall and sat down on a chair by a window. The transition from the dark, solid kitchen to this sunny hallway brought back memories.

Her phantom grandmere chided, A lady does not eavesdrop.

At least, nothing boring,” her mother teased.

Christiane smiled. It was good to remember them as they had been together. Her mother had been dead now for four years. With a twinge of guilt, she wondered how grandmere was or if she were even still living.

Christiane looked up and down the hall, admiring the gray and pink-blossomed wall paper, the gleaming, ornamented tables, and the two portraits that stared down on her. Now she was glad she had been asked to serve the tea. She had learned something that grandmere had never discovered. She now knew that she could serve tea to a lady and still feel like a lady herself.

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