Romance of the French Country House

ROMANCE OF THE FRENCH COUNTRY HOUSE

By

Dorothy Baker

ROMANCE OF THE FRENCH COUNTRY HOUSE

Published By Dorothy Baker at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 by Dorothy Baker

Cover Art by Miss Mae

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Romance of the French Country House is a work of fiction. Though some actual towns, cities, and locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Any similarities of characters or names used within to any person past, present, or future is coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. Brief quotations may be embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Chapter 1

Ellen Krall fairly danced as she entered Gray's Decorating, passing through the showroom, she entered the main office and dumped her arm load of samples and books on Donald Gray's desk.

I did it! I will be decorating Mrs. Howard’s sun porch and all because I helped Earl Simmons landscape her garden last spring. She so loved the colors I get to bring them indoors. She smiled smugly, as Donald Gray patted a pretend yawn.

Good heavens, what next, attics, closets, bathrooms?

You’re just jealous. You thought I'd be running behind you for years with my pad and pencil, taking your notes and measuring. But it has been just a little over a year and Mrs. Howard requested me to decorate her sun porch. Granted it not quite in the same class as your doing the Le'Masters's new house but I'm more interested in restoration anyway. While Ellen's tone was sarcastic, Donald knew she was just playing and joined in.

Speaking of my coos, I have to go out to Sugar Springs. Go home and put on something more comfortable. I want you to go along. Mrs. Gregory called yesterday, she coming in today and wants to go over the plans for the house, jeans will be fine, low shoes, say one thirty. Donald did not act thrilled as he stood and reached for his jacket.

Donald Gray was in his mid fifties, of medium height and weight. His features were regular and some might call him handsome. Now that his chestnut hair showed a sprinkling of gray, he could be said to be distinguished looking. He was however a talented interior designer, and though he lived and worked in the small town of River Bend, he was well known in the industry.

Ellen felt a tingle of excitement at the prospect of a trip to Sugar Springs. She quickly put away her samples, waved at Mildred, the sales woman, and following instructions, headed home to change.

Home was a small apartment above her parent’s garage. When she had returned home from collage, she just did not want to move back into her old room. Ellen agreed that she would pay a very modest rent for the garage apartment that her father had built to supplement his up coming retirement. While it gave Ellen a measure of independence, it seemed that her mother always knew her coming and going. Like now as she mounted the stairs to the apartment, her mother called from the back porch.

Home for lunch early dear? Is everything all right?

Everything's fine. Ellen called back.

As she came back down the steps, her mother called You aren't working this afternoon?

I'm driving to Sugar Spring with Donald to see how the Gregory house is coming. And before her mother could ask more she drove off. It wasn't that Ellen resented her questions. Her mother asked such questions out of habit, sometimes she didn't listen for the answer, it was just her way of being motherly. But as she neared her twenty sixth birthday, Ellen wondered if her life would ever change.

When Ellen pulled into the little parking lot, she saw Donald’s red BMW parked on the street, with the top down. He always parked it on the street in front of the store. It was advertising, he would say. Some people who plan on spending lots of money want to spend it with people who spend money. Ellen didn't know if she believed this philosophy, but Donald did work for some of the most affluent people in three states. She took a head scarf from the glove box, and a heavy jacket from the back seat of her little blue sedan. As she came around to the front of the store, Donald came out.

Let go! It's nearly an hour's drive. Donald said, as he slid under the wheel. Ellen pulled on her jacket and got in. She didn't really like convertibles except for a slow ride in the park, but Donald loved it. He pulled away from the curb and slowly drove the two blocks to Main Street. There he turned left and drove even slower to River Park Boulevard, giving everyone a good look at his car. The boulevard was Ellen's favorite drive. A broad street that for three miles wound around the rivers edge until it joined route 106.

As they traveled the boulevard Ellen looked south, across the river and up the limestone bluffs. It was early spring, the trees were almost fully leaved and she could not see the object of her fantasies. She was nearly twelve when she first noticed the chimneys among the tree, high up on the bluff. She had been with her mother and father, just crossing the river, heading south when she saw them. In total surprise, she asked her mother what they were.

There's a house up there. The French woman's place, her mother answered.

Ellen had pestered her parents about it, but received little information. Finally, Ask your grandmother, she was told.

When asked, her grandmother had told a wonderful story.

"Before Westport, or St. Joseph, that old French man, Edmond Generaux had been in the country, trapping. There must have been a Mrs. Generaux somewhere back east, because later he came with his son. As the nation grew the son Edmond Jr. had a settlers store at the rivers bend. He traded with the Indians and white trapper. He had three children, two boys and a girl. The girl married and moved on west. The two boys, James and Joseph stayed here and helped their father build a saw mill, later a lumber yard, store, and bank.

They were two such different boys, maybe, because of the big difference in their ages. James, the oldest was schooled at home and worked along side his father. The sister was the mother's pet, Joseph, the baby, was twenty years younger then his brother. A good boy, but born after the difficulties of establishing a community. He was educated in a regular school and sent back east to collage. James married a local girl and they were childless. Joseph was well past thirty when he married. He built that big house across the river, high on the bluff, and brought to it his fancy wife from St. Louis. She was hardly more then a girl. She was uppity. Town folks never saw her much, other than riding out for an afternoon or at mass. They had four children, three boys and a girl. She had a private teacher for them, until they came of age to go to boarding school. Then one at a time she sent them off. The two oldest boys were killed in the war, and she never came down out of that house again. She even had the priest go up and say mass.

Her girl married and moved back east. The youngest son, James, stayed here till his father died then he moved to Chicago. His wife’s family was from there. They came back often but the old woman was never seen, at least not in town. Some local people worked up there from time to time but her housekeeper was from St. Joseph, and later there was a nurse from somewhere. More specific her grandmother could not be.

Ellen relived this story anytime she was near the river, and was doing so as Donald turned left off the boulevard and across the bridge on highway 106. Suddenly the car lurched to the right and the tires squealed, Ellen instinctively hung on, uttering a little cry of fright. She saw a blur of black amid the dust.

What happened? What was that? She gasps.

A Porsh I think. Donald answered through clenched teeth. Where in Sam Hill he came from I don't know. But he was sure taking his half of the road out of the middle.

I was looking up at the bluff, I wasn't watching ahead. Ellen stammered.

Well, I was! Donald declared. It nearly a quarter mile from the bridge to the crest of the hill and the road was clear. I looked off at the river and when I looked back that black thing was bearing down on us. Donald's hands began to relax on the wheel, and he shifted his weight in the seat. Ellen was setting up straight, her hands holding tight to the arm rest, silently giving thanks for seat belts. Neither of them noticed the faint trace of white dust at the entrance of the white rock lane that lead to the Generaux mansion.

Now, out in the country they both relaxed and began to enjoy the drive. The land lay in rolling low hills, sparsely treed, somewhat rocky but covered with thick prairie grass. The air was cool, but the sun began to warm them now they were away from the river valley.

My source tells me you’re seeing Harold Nash on a regular basis. said Donald, with a grin meant to irritate.

Your source is wrong.

"My source says you were seen coming out of church together and seen dining