Rag Fiction Celeste Novels, Letters From Celeste, Book 1

Margarethe trembled and couldn’t hide her excitement. A letter from Celeste, she thought. After all this time. She clutched it and then pressed it against her cheek and recognized the scent: Celeste’s perfume.
She hummed and bounced like a schoolgirl on the love seat tapping her shoes in a long forgotten dance step on the carpet. Her lips didn’t touch. Her eye were wide with excitement as she read the return address. She saw “Celeste,” in the upper left corner of the pink envelope: written in a very fancy script with a ribbon underlining her best friend’s name. Yes, I recognize her handwriting. It’s fancy. Ah! Is a number hidden in her name? Oh, yes! Number 1. What could she mean by a number? No street address or city or country. Ah such a unique, dear friend. Only her name. My Celeste; always different.
Visions of Celeste’s beauty flew through Margarethe’s mind. Her heartbeat quickened. She couldn’t wait to open the envelope. My best friend.
“Is she married?” John asked. He prepared the family’s African vacation list. “It’s from Celeste, your school chum as I recall. Isn’t that correct?”
“Yes,” she said, “Celeste. How did you know?”
“You’ve been humming her name, darling and bouncing all over your sofa.”
“Oh!” Margarethe said. “Really?” She inserted her sharp opener into the envelope. “She has never said, whether she’ married or not, one way or another--”
“Margarethe, in reality, you are a dear person, a good mother, fine wife and everything else but you have never been known as a vault of knowledge: important information. On the contrary, the most important information remains unknown to you. I suppose it’s--”
She didn’t look up from the letter. “I have always felt, if any of my friends, we have no family other than the children, wanted me to know their private details and a lot about their personal lives, they would tell me. Don’t be so, so--”
“Nosey? It’s a word not in your character.. At least that’s what I believe. Correct?”
“I don’t know.” She puckered her lips as she continued reading Celeste’s letter. “She lives in Paris now, John. She or they. I don’t know which--” She put the sheets down, folded her lower lip into her small mouth and frowned.
“What is it, Margarethe?” He knew something puzzled Margarethe: something in the letter.
“She got up from the love seat, pushed her favorite pillow to one side and walked to the window. “Something’s wrong John. I just know it.”
“What is it you know, darling?”
“It’s almost like she’s running from something.” She turned and leaned against the window sill. “The rain is striking every pane. I hate it when it rains this hard, for no reason I can recall.” She crumpled the note and clutched it tight in her fist as she walked back to John’s chair. She stood close to him, her arms folded across the front of her dress. At last she sat again in her corner of the loveseat.
“How is it you know something is wrong?”
“She insists upon staying in a hotel. She mentioned The Biafra. But, the tone of letter is giddy, school girlish. I can see her face and hear her voice. Like when we were in school every time she lied to me.”
“What’s wrong with her staying in a hotel? Is this the same Celeste you were chummy with at the nunnery place?” He laid his list on the table and picked up the morning newspaper. He startled her as he snapped it open.
“Pay attention, John. I just told you so. I wish you’d put the paper down. Nothing interesting in it anyway.”
“I can read and listen at the same time,” he said as he yawned.
“We didn’t meet in a 'nunnery place’, it was a Catholic private school for girls that my father insisted would educate me so I could take my place in the modern world, and he was so right about that, John.”
“Modern world, indeed. Berlin. We’re living in the year 1925. This is a Modern Era? We think we’re modern but old ideas, personal values, economic trends, and the authority of the military die hard. You were fortunate your father paid your tuition before the war got going. Maybe it was good the nuns taught you.”
“John, please. Don’t mention the war or Daddy’s death. And be respectful to the nuns. Please. But the war, it’s too--”
“I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again. It’s not tops on my list of interesting conversations anyway. So many mistakes were made. No wonder we lost. My family was lucky to come out of it as well as we did. I got caught up in it at the end but never made it to the front lines. I’m thankful for my father’s banking ingenuity. His requested delays for my induction saved my arse.”
“It was a good school. The sisters were very good instructors, John. I often wondered, because they were a cloistered order, how they knew so much about the modern world outside those school walls.”
His eyes left the printed page and stopped moving as he gazed at the ceiling. “Have I seen her picture?” He was more interested.
“Who?”
“Celeste, of course, your partner in crime at that girl’s school.”
“No, but I have photos. Some good; others bad. I’ll show them to you.”
“Why haven’t you shown me before? You’ve seldom talked about her.” He crossed his legs the other way and cleared his throat. “There isn’t a damn bit of interesting news in this paper.” He laid it on the table next to his high back chair and paid attention to Margarethe. “When is she coming? How is she travelling?”
“She’ll let us know for certain soon, she says.” She glanced at John. “I think there’s a tear stain on this sheet. I’m sure of it.”
“Oh? What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t mean happiness. I know it doesn’t.”
“How do you know, for certain?”
“We were friends for four years in school and have written off and on for the last ten years--”
“I know you’ve written to her. Has she ever answered?
“ John, don’t you remember? She sent us flowers from Stockholm on our wedding day and more flowers from Oslo and London, and now she’s living in Paris on our wedding anniversary.”
“She must be married. Why would she live in four different cities in four separate countries.” He paused. “Unless she or their lives were wound up in the war some way?” He nodded. “The war has to be the answer. Maybe she’s a spy! What do you think?”
“John, darling. I love the way you try to make me laugh. Now, however, is not the time. But I was thinking. Her notes with the flowers always congratulated us and was always signed, 'Celeste’, as I recall.”
“Sorry, Margarethe. I’m feeling a little bit aroused. You know what I mean. Tonight.”
She smiled, acknowledging and agreeing to his subtle request, and said: “She’s a very, very dear friend, and we vowed we would always be friends and help each other come what may.”
“I’d like to see a picture of her, Margarethe. Where do you keep her photos?”
“In the steamer trunk. I’ll show some of them to you after dinner.”
“Before we get into bed.” John gave Margarethe his innocent expression and waited for her response.
Margarethe arched an eyebrow as she stood. “You are a rascal,” she said as she smiled softly. She folded Celeste’s letter and placed it inside her jacket pocket. “I must go see how cook is doing with dinner.” She walked as though in deep thought toward the library door. Has Celeste changed? Will she look as pretty as she was; her blue eyes; fair skin? “The children are too quiet. I’ll go upstairs and see to them, too.”
“I hope she arrives after the vacation in Africa, Margarethe. Don’t you?”
She closed the large door. It latched and made no sound. John stared at the dark wood door and enjoyed the ornate carvings of nymphs, centaurs, grapevines, trees and tree trunks. He stared at his favorite carving but couldn’t see it too well from his chair. It reminded him of himself: tall, full of life, perhaps a nymph, well endowed and muscular. There’s a gleam in the nymph’s eyes, he thought and chuckled. And why shouldn’t there be? He enjoyed the luxurious appointments and furniture in his library. This house reeks of wealth, and I’m going to keep my home as is, now and forever.

CHAPTER TWO

John heard the chatter from the hall and knew Margarethe had returned with Celeste. He laid his book on the table, straightened his jacket, wiped down his trousers and walked with purpose toward the door. He opened it and walked into the hall. He stared at the woman next to Margarethe and couldn’t hold back his smile.
“Oh, John, this is my dearest--”
“So you are Celeste,” he said reaching for her hand. She met him halfway.
“John. You’re more than I pictured.”
“How much more? A lot, I hope.”
“Oh, silly man. She means she’s very pleased to meet you after not having been able to make the wedding or visit us until now.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then you aren’t--”
“We’ll talk about it later. She is tired. Not feeling too well. Thinks it was spoiled food on the train. Did you have chicken?” Margarethe asked.
Celeste frowned at the mention of the word.
“Then that’s what is was. Spoiled chicken.” Margarethe took Celeste by her elbow.
John’s eyes followed the outline of Celeste’s bosom, past her breasts, down to her small waist and slender hips and compared her height to Margarethe’s. The same. Two ample women, hidden away in a nunnery. What a waste. He sighed as he glanced at Margarethe. “How can I help?” His eyes scanned their bodies again.
“Find Heinrich. Have him make certain there is chopped wood in the fireplace for dinner. She’ll rest upstairs in the west suite--”
“I thought she had plans to stay in a--”
“John, she is,” she said, turning and facing halfway up the stairs. She admonished John to stop
asking questions without using words. “Those plans were read to you two letters ago. I read them, remember?”
“So you did.” He shrugged his shoulders as he entered the large dining room through open French doors and waltzed his way toward the kitchen. He enjoyed his feeling of arousal. If Heinrich is anywhere, he thought, he’s with cook. Unless he’s chopping wood for the evening dinner. He stopped to listen. No. No. There’s no sound of the woodsman’s axe. He’s in the kitchen now.
He slapped the swinging door open wide, expressing vigor, and shouted, “Well, hello there Heinrich!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“This is too much to imagine, Margarethe,” John said embracing his wife. “So tragic and yet such a wonderful surprise. I had no idea you were--”
The train whistled and blew steam. It screamed as smoke flew up into the high heights of the train station. Martin goosed Eric and the twins laughed. Ceily cautioned them they must try to behave like normal ten year old boys as Eric replied, trying to shout above the train’s insistent whistle. “No eight year old little sister is going to boss us around. We’re men and you’re only a girl.”
Ceily mouthed a few words to her brothers. Martin’s eyes widened while Eric chuckled and understood her epithet. “Where did you learn those swear words, Ceily?”
“From listening to you and Eric. Are they really bad words?” Martin whispered in Ceily’s ear. She giggled.
The engine released its steam as John ushered Margarethe and their new son into the depot waiting room. “We must get him registered. I’ll take care of the situation tomorrow. The way events are happening in Germany today, we must take care to let the government know he’s a German citizen. What did you say you’ve named him?”
“Todd John Kuhn, and he is so handsome. So sweet. He never cries. God sent him to me to comfort me and make up for my loss. She looked down at the sleeping baby. If only Celeste could see what a pretty baby he is, she thought..
“Poor Celeste,” John said. “How tragic. She is, was, so young, so pretty. So vital.”
“Poor, dearest Celeste. My heart aches when I think about her tragedy. They had to take the--” She caught herself before she mentioned Celeste’s child. She studied John’s face. He had summoned Heinrich, waving to him, and motioned for him to bring the car around to the curb. He hadn’t heard her mistake. Heinrich understood John’s signal and disappeared in the station crowd. John didn’t hear me. She adjusted the baby’s blanket. Thank God.
“What were you saying, darling? Here. Let me hold my son.”
“Poor Celeste. It’s so tragic--”
“Mother.” Martin bragged. “Your bag is so light. Look, I can carry it with no effort: one hand. I’m strong mother.”
“Here let me try,” Eric shouted and pulled the large leather bag from Martin’s grasp.
“Don’t boys. Take turns. Your mother is very tired,” John ordered. He looked into Margarethe’s eyes. They missed you my darling. You must never be away from us this long, ever again.”
Margarethe touched John’s face. “I won’t allow it either,” she said, and ran her hand over his upper lip. He shivered. “My touch still excites you, doesn’t it, my love?”
“I need to hold you, Margarethe. I missed you too. After you’ve rested, you will see how much I’ve missed you.” He rocked the baby gently and hummed as he stiffened his back. He pleased Margarethe. She understood that John had told her he had been faithful to her in her absence.
Margarethe stared into the distance. She spoke as if in a dream. “A terrible time for me. Celeste lay dying. She knew it and I began to show with Toddy. Toward the end Toddy grew rapidly. Very fast. It became harder for me to carry him: a situation that hadn’t happened to me before with the other children, even the twins. I was younger then, though. Maybe age is the difference. I don’t know. Fortunately for me, the doctor had made a few extra trips to check on Celeste as her condition worsened. He came to know me, too. He’s a marvelous man, John. Very professional. Compassionate. I really couldn’t have made it through the ordeal without his help.”
“Frenchman, is he?”
“I don’t know. I suppose. Maybe he’s Belgian. I don’t know. You don’t hold his nationality against him, do you?”
“Of course not. Did he deliver Todd?”
“Yes, he and Marie. And by the way Marie never stopped crying and thanking you and me for the money you sent for her. She kissed my hand many times. She was so much help and such a dear person. She lost two sons and her husband in the war.”
“Are all the bills paid, I mean for you and Celeste? Doctor bills or anything?”
“Yes. Completely.” She held the wide, wood-trim glass door and followed John onto the station’s wide sidewalk. She waved at Heinrich as he approached the curb, steering the large touring car with great care. He stopped the car. John helped Margarethe into the back seat. She insisted on holding the baby. John got in beside her and the twins sat in fold down seats facing their parents. They would ride backwards. They appeared to have grown taller in the last four months. They are so handsome. Such beautiful faces. She held John’s hand as Heinrich assisted Ceily who sat in front. He shut her door and set her bag in the trunk of the car.
“Can I hold Todd, mother?” Martin asked.
“Of course, darling,” she said. “Hold him tight. Be very careful.”
“He’s a cute little guy. I think he looks like my baby pictures--”
“Hey,” Eric said interrupting. Maybe he looks like me.” He blushed and realized what he had said. He slapped his knee. “He does look like us, doesn’t he Martin?!” The twins laughed with each other.
John and Margarethe laughed heartily and Ceily surprised her mother by whispering that Eric thinks with his brain and not another part of his anatomy.
Margarethe shushed Ceily and turned to John. “Our babies are growing up, aren’t they, darling?” He held Margarethe closely. They spoke quietly as the twins were engrossed with Todd. “He’s so handsome,” John said. Such a beautiful little tyke. Looks like my mother’s side, actually.”
Oh, John, she thought and coughed. Men don’t know these things. Someday I will be able to face you with this truth. Definitely, not now, though. She put a hanky to her eyes. She looked away from her husband.
“I should have come to you, Margarethe, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to leave the children. I couldn’t bring them with me. I’m sure cook and Heinrich could have run the house but there is so more turmoil in the banking industry, these days. I didn’t dare leave Berlin.”
“You were with me in my heart, my darling. Someday, I will tell you everything with regard to Celeste.” Everything, she said to herself. “The doctor gave me so much support. And Marie. You must meet them. Someday, we’ll travel to France, Paris, to Celeste’s grave. It’s all so sad.”
“Sh, now,” John said. He noticed Heinrich had taken a detour. “Why are you going this way, Heinrich?”
“A better road, sir. They still haven’t found time to repair these old thoroughfares even though some have wooden bases under the asphalt.
“Yes, I know. This is an example of another problem. Germany needs much rebuilding. Everything, cities, buildings, transportation, roads, have been neglected to support that war.”
“I’ve heard some new political parties are using this chaos to define their various agendas--for gaining more power.”
“You’ve heard it, too?” Heinrich asked.
“Yes.” John said. He rubbed the back of neck. “I resigned from the Socialist Party last year. They have no new ideas. Most of them sound communist or subversive to me.”
“I resigned too.”
“You were a Socialist?”
“Yes sir.”
“Perhaps we can talk politics someday. There’s a lot of agitation going on, at this very time, now, in Bavaria and other areas in the south. The south may lead us back to world prominence yet.”
“No more politics, for now, anyway, darling,” Margarethe leaned her head against John as Todd began to fuss.
“What’s wrong mother?” Martin asked. He held his brother up for his mother to hold.
“This is easily solved,” she said. “You boys may enjoy the scenery while Toddy--” She unbuttoned her blouse and held his small head against her breast. He sucked hard, giving her pleasure and warming her body. She followed raindrops flowing down the automobile’s windows and thought about how thankful she was she had developed enough milk, with Dr. Ferme’s assistance. She marvelled that medical science could create pills to help develop breast milk when a mother has no development. She sighed, stroked Toddy’s head as it began to rain harder. She occasionally heard his smacking sounds above the whine of the tires as the car’s speed increased. She accepted the doctor’s explanation of how she developed milk. She knew he guessed, too: empathy for Celeste, simpatico. The recollection of his words consoled her: Medical science can’t really explain it, Madam Kuhn. The baby’s sucking stimulated her and she enjoyed the feeding more as she stroked John’s arm and his leg.
“We’re nearly there, madam,” Heinrich said. He turned into the residential section.
“A quick trip, darling,” Margarethe said. John laid his hand on her thigh.
He glanced at his son before whispering in her ear. “Margarethe, I need to touch you with my tongue: taste your nipples.” He felt like he was on fire. “I’m swollen. Have been for months. I don’t enjoy being this hard, and I can’t hold off much longer,” he said holding up his hand. “And I’ve been faithful, darling. I can’t believe how hard I’ve been. Are you, er, well below, between those gorgeous legs?” He shivered.
She understood his plight. “Yes, John. Darling,” she said. “Oh you dear, dear man. Toddy is nearly two months old now. I’m healed.” She stroked Todd’s blond hair. He gurgled and held her breast securely with small fingers. “And I want you to make love to me. I too, have waited too long.”
Eric pretended not to hear his mother’s words. He nudged Martin with his knee and arched his eyebrows. Martin glanced at Eric and blushed. He knew Eric was hard, not from his parents’ conversation, but from being jostled by the car. He knew how Eric thought. Keep your legs together in the car, and if we travel a great distance, say from home to the Berlin Zoo, the feeling is better than one might experience at one’ own hand. Eric knows so much about sex. Martin admired Eric. He took short breaths and held on tight as Heinrich hit another hole in the road. Oh, yes. Eric is right. Eric giggled at Martin’s expression. Ceily slapped the back of Eric’s head.
“Behave,” she ordered. “Mother!” she said to Margarethe, her expression pleading for Margarethe to reprimand her boys.
Margarethe smiled at Ceily. Margarethe was glad to be back home.

End of Chapters 1, 2, and 12,
from Letters From Celeste -- Book 1.
There are 54 Chapters in this Adventure Novel.

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