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La Belle Christiane

by Lyn Cote

2011 copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Thirteen, Scene 2

“Oh, aye, there be Widow Schulz. She lives but two houses north. She is a wonder at healing,” the guilty innkeeper explained eagerly. Christiane and the major locked eyes.

“Very well. We will see what Widow Schulz can do,” the major said.

The man started to move.

“No,” the major stopped him and then turned to the soldiers who’d accompanied them. “Private, go two houses north. Explain the situation to Widow Schulz and ask her to join us.” Eastham was not going to let this disreputable innkeeper out of his sight. He had no respect for any man who did not care for his animals. Waiting, the trio stood in an uncomfortable, shivering silence, broken only by Nancy’s painful breathing. The major moved closer to Christiane, shielding her from the drafts.

As Christiane waited, different memories passed through her mind. She saw Nancy and herself, escaping the devastated Rumsveld with the two little boys. She saw Tobias Ander walking beside Nancy, turning up his face to look at Christiane as they travelled southward. At the end, she saw the mare in the stark moonlight on the night they had searched for young Michael together.  Nancy had been through so much with her. Tears welled up in her eyes, so she looked down at her shoes.

The major mistook her glance at her shoes. “Madame, would you prefer to wait inside by the fire?”

“No,” she answered, looking up at him. He saw her wet eyes and once again she won his sympathy. He knew what it was to be attached to an animal. Pulling out a handkerchief, he handed it to her. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Then they heard the voices: one a loud female with a thick German accent and the other the private’s piping tones. The barn doors opened, admitting the two along with a fresh blast of icy air.

“The old biddy is hard of hearing,” the innkeeper said quietly.

As though she understood him, she cast him a disgusted look.

“You got sick horse?” she asked lustily.

“Yes, can you do anything for her?” the major replied in kind.

“I see! I see!” she yelled back. She knelt by Nancy, first kicking away at the soiled straw. Poking and looking, stroking and humming, she examined her patient. “Dis horse has got the lung congestion. And some of her stripes is festerin’.” She pointed to the red welts and cast the innkeeper a dark look.

“Can you do anything for her?” the major bawled.

“Ja, Ja,” she answered in booming tones. “But not in dis dirt!” She put her shawl to her nose to demonstrate her disgust.

The major and Christiane exchanged looks. She nodded.

Carefully Christiane threaded her way through the refuse to Nancy’s side again. Then she knelt beside the horse and began stroking her neck and explaining to her as though the mare were her child. Then Christiane stood and slipped a nearby bridle over the mare’s head and coaxed in gentle tones, pulling lightly on the rein.

The four observers watched silently, each one evidently curious to see if she could get the mare on her feet. Then Nancy began to rock, front and back. Painfully, slowly she pulled herself to her knees and then to her feet. She stood, wheezing and gasping for breath. Christiane threw her arms around the mare’s neck and hugged her. “Oh, Nancy, good girl!”

“Ve take her to mein barn!” The old woman looked around and located a dusty old horse blanket, hanging from a peg. Quickly the two women draped it over the horse’s back and led her from the stall.

Major Eastham fixed an eye on the culprit. He knew it would be very difficult to prove any charge against this innkeeper, at least, this time. “You will be watched,” he said ominously to the worried man. The man bobbed his head and sweated even more.

The major jerked his head and the private followed him out the door. The two women and the horse were already stumbling over the frozen ruts. The major hurried forward to assist Christiane while the private took care of directing the driver to bring the carriage along. The major could see that many neighbors came to their windows to view the strange parade: Widow Schulz, an ailing horse, a beautiful woman, a British major, a carriage, and one lobsterback.

The widow’s barn was a total contrast to the previous one. It was built adjoining the house, so it was snug, spotless, inhabited by an old cow, a nanny goat, and a cat with a few kittens. The widow led Christiane and Nancy into the empty corner directly next to the chimney back and then left them. A few minutes later she bustled back out of the house with her arms full.

“Ve got to poultice her to break her lungs up,” she informed them, still speaking forte. With that she went to work mixing a smelly concoction and stuffing it into a small flour sack which she tied shut. “Help her get back down,” she instructed Christiane. Christiane and the widow fussed around the mare while the major, private, and driver stood inside the door, silently observing.

Christiane helped the old woman put several more old blankets over the mare’s back on top of the poultice. “Ve sveat it out o’ her,” the widow declaimed and stood back with her hands on her hips. “Ve vait now, just vait. Come. Come in. Ve have tea.” She herded Christiane through the low door into her kitchen and motioned for the men to follow. The major nodded to the two men. They looked surprised to be included, but happily followed the major into the house. They all stood in the half-circle of light cast by the hearth. The sunlight was nearly gone, but the glow of the fire was cheering.

Once inside Christiane was aware that her feet were more like chunks of ice than flesh. She took another step closer to the warmth and then turned to look around the dim interior of the little house. It reminded Christiane of cabins she had lived in, though this one had a wooden floor and was framed with pine boards that covered the logs inside and out. This made it snug against the winter winds.

“You men, bring chairs up to da fire and sit. Sit.” The old woman seemed happy to have their company. The private and driver accepted mugs of tea from their hostess and went to sit in the shadows on the settle. A dish of large ginger cookies waited there for them. Christiane and the major sat in the two ladder-backed chairs near the fire, next to a commodious and ancient rocker and accepted tea and cookies also. The widow sat in the rocker. “I just bake dis morning,” she offered conversationally, a bit quieter.

“They are delicious,” the major announced clearly, downing one in two bites. The widow chuckled in reply, looking pleased with the compliment.

Christiane’s anxiety over Nancy’s health waned and she relaxed cozily. Conversation floated around her. She found herself glancing at the man beside her repeatedly, wondering what he thought of this event, wondering why he was such a peculiar mixture of kindness and coldness. No doubt there was a story behind his actions, but she could not imagine him volunteering any personal information. No wonder his memory had repeatedly come to her over the last three years. He was a man to respect, a man to remember.

The hours passed till they all dozed in the warmth of the hearth. Then the widow heard something and jumped up hastily and went to the connecting door. “The poultice it vorks!”

Christiane yawned and smiled. “She’ll be all right then?”

“I pretty sure. You go home now. It is late. Come see her next day, ja?”

“I’ll just take a look as we leave.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Schulz,” the major said as he and Christiane stood up. “You will be paid well.”

“I happy to help.” The woman smiled. “Guten nacht.”

Inside the carriage, Christiane nearly fell asleep. Back at their room the major and she silently went through their nightly routine. Each took turns changing behind the lacquered dressing screen. Then he slid into the just-warmed sheets and she snuggled herself into a nest of blankets by the fire.

Christiane broke the silence. “As soon as Nancy is well, I will be able to leave. How long did the widow say it would be?”

“A week to ten days.” He stood by his bed, trying to block the intimacy of this sharing his room with this beautiful woman.

“I hate to bother you any longer than I absolutely have to.”

He shivered, trying to shake off the feelings she ignited. I want her here; I want her gone. “I understand, but it won’t do to try to travel with a weak horse in this weather.” He was pleased that his voice did not betray him.

“You’re right, of course.” Christiane wanted to say more, to thank him, to let him know how much she appreciated everything he’d done for her, but she knew instinctively he did not want her to. A wave of loneliness washed over her. If she had not left so impulsively, she could be safely asleep at the Richardson’s farm with her son only a few steps away. Or if she had waited to send for Henry, she could now be safely at Washington’s headquarters, waiting for Mrs. Washington to arrive.

In this moment she realized with sudden clarity that her whole life thusfar had been one impulsive decision after another. Her first had been the night long ago in Paris when she had left her grandmother’s home. Then she had married the fur trapper Jean Claude under unusual circumstances. After his death she had gone to Rumsveld alone and then had married Jakob. All these had been rash actions. Some of the decisions had been wise and some not so wise, but all of them had been impetuous.

The flames burned hypnotically before her. This last one of leaving the Richardson’s Meadow Farm had been the most ill-advised. No more impulsive decisions from now on. She would marry Henry Lee, regain her son, and spend the rest of her life, living calmly and deliberately.

Have you ever made a rash decision? Mine are usually offering to do something I really don’t want to do. Ever done that? 🙂 If a person is impulsive like Christiane, is it possible for that person to change and become more cautious?

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