Coming Home - Frank's Death
Frank was dead. The bastard. Just like that he was gone. No more. Never returning. He was driving, took a turn too fast, spun out on black ice and slid down an incline; the car rolling over three times before coming to a stop against a fairly large, old oak tree. Died instantly, the coroner determined. No alcohol or drugs in his system. No suffering. Quick and painless.
We, Bree and I, will take him back to England to bury him after he is cremated. I have already ordered the marker. He will be laid to rest next to his fucking parents in Sussex, three burial plots; no place for me. I smile. At the end I did not much care for him, I certainly would not want to lay next to him for all eternity.
I would be buried next to my home. Jamie. I just needed to find him. I had kept my promise to Frank for eighteen years. With his death, I would tell my daughter everything and begin with my search for Lallybroch.
I had a memorial for Frank at the house for the University staff and faculty along with some of his friends. I was thinking it would be a small, intimate gathering but soon found so many people at the house, I could hardly move. His peers, Boston friends and a parade of his of mistresses, past, present and most probable future he had not died... none of whom I cared to fucking know. They came to mourn their loss. They descended upon the house yesterday afternoon like vultures and stayed until early evening, dressed in their very best black ensembles. Drinking Frank's liquor. Leaving their bloody casseroles. Ashtrays overflowing with their cigarette butts. Telling me their treasured Frank anecdotes. Offering insufferable condolences. Revealing their own personal losses, like I give a fuck. Thank God for Good Scotch. Here, Here, pour me another, I'll drink to that!
My only concern is for Brianna. Bree loved Frank but her father, he is not. Whether Bree guesses, I can not say, but Jamie's daughter is no one's fool. There are family photos of the three of us scattered throughout the house, all of us smiling for the camera. It is blatantly obvious in all of them, to anyone that bothers to really look, that Frank has had no part in the creation of Bree and if I had not actually participated in the birth, I would be suspect as well. She is all Fraser, inside and out.
When I would debate Frank on those occasions when he would tell me how to raise my child, he would always correct me, reminding me that he was the only father Brianna would ever know. And, in all honesty, Frank was good to her. There for her birth, birthdays, first days and graduations of each new school until he died. He came to every parent-teach conference, class play, field hockey match, dance and piano recital. He was her biggest fan, cheerleader and as supportive as any natural father might be. He was the one that suggested the horseback riding lesson and took her to everyone of them. He taught her to handle weapons. Bree is skilled with both pistol and rifle because Frank took the time to teach her. They went camping, teaching Bree to build shelters, fires and to forage for food. When I went back to medical school, Bree basically became Frank's research assistant. Coming home after school, or, later in her life, work, I would find the two of them bent over some book or picture, foreheads touching as they scrutinized and discussed. They certainly established a rapport, a bond, if you will.
Maybe part of my animosity toward Frank stemmed from the fact that Frank had the relationship with Bree that she was so wrongfully denied with Jamie, her rightful father. By that same token, Jamie was denied his relationship with Bree. I am beside myself with anger. It is so wrong and unfair that Bree, and I, were taken from Jamie. He had given his life, to do what he knew was just and honorable AND he was punished for it. Killed. Taken from us. Never to see or hold or hear his daughter. Forever. Jamie would have loved Bree unconditionally, just as he would have with Faith. He was just never given the chance.
My mind rationalizes that the reason Bree and I are here is not of Franks doing, but my heart irrationally blames and hates him for it, none the less. Frank knew that and expressed it during one nights heated argument.
"I have never been given a chance to earn your love back, Claire. You will not let me in. I am not an imbecile, you know. Do think that I do not know that Brianna must be the spitting image of him? I see the way you look at her, the love, hunger and loss shows clearly on your face. You will never come back to me with his ghost haunting you every time you look at your daughter. I hear you at night, when you think I'm asleep, he's even in your dreams." He hurled the accusations at me with such vengeance and hostility.
I could not forgive Frank, would not accept him back into my heart after I had been given the gift of Jamie. Jamie was everything Frank could never be. I knew how Jamie would have been with Bree, and her sister Faith. I had watched him raise Fergus, though they had been more like sibling than father and son, Jamie as an older brother. They were really only fourteen years apart in age, but there was guidance and examples set. I had also witnessed him with little Maggie, Jenny and Ian's latest child. Late one night, just before we were to leave for Beauly, I woke to find Jamie gone from our bed. I had wrapped myself in one of his plaids and found him downstairs in the window seat, telling the baby his heart. For such a large, strong and fearless man, he could be so soft and tender. Whispering to her in Gàidhlig, lulling her with its rhythms and rhymes. His voice soothing her as he cradled her gently in his arms, the sweet, new born innocent that she was. Those huge, callused hands caressing her soft cheek with a touch I knew all too well. I felt the pull on my heart just to watch him. That voice and touch could soften the fiercest, most untamable stallion into a calm, gentled lady's mount.
Jamie would have taught Bree how to ride and shoot instead of Frank, and also how to brandish a blade. He would have laughed and read with her, taught her Gàidhlig, French and Latin. He would have shown her, by example, how to be courageous, smart, honorable and how to be a leader. He'd have taught her to play chess and.. and.. and to knit.. and replace a missing button... and to play shinty... and... climb trees... hunt rabbits... to hide in the tall grass and jump out to scare me as I pass... and to swim and hold her breath under water... and... DAMN IT ALL… he never had a chance to show Bree how much he loved her.
And what of Bree? A chance to grow up with people that would love her unconditionally. Understand her. Accept her for the smart, beautiful, exasperating, stubborn, euphoric human being she is. She'd have an older brother in Fergus, to protect and defend her, and Jamie and I might have given Bree other siblings as well. She'd have a sense of family and belonging. She'd have had Aunt Jenny and Uncle Ian and a plethora of cousins in the Murray Clan and the tenant's children as well. Unlike the only child life she had with Frank and I; growing up in a world without aunts, uncles, siblings and cousins. And what of Murtagh? Murtagh was everything to Jamie and me; we would have been lost without him. Bree, she would have had Murtagh too. The thought of all Bree has missed makes me gasp. It just seems so unfair. It makes me so angry I want to throw something.
Frank always used Bree as a shield when we fought. Always repeating how fortunate I was he had taken me back, taken us in. "Where would you and Bree be without me?" He would demand. How very enigmatic of him to have raised her like his own. He repeatedly reminded me that Jamie had knowingly sent me back to him, pregnant. For him to protect and rear my lover's child as his own. Unconditionally. "Because your precious Jamie failed you, you came crawling back to me. I was left to pick up the broken pieces."
"I look at her and know exactly what your James Fraser looked like" he would hiss at me. "I may not have been that Red Headed Scottish Sperm Donor you shacked up with but I'm the only Father Bree will ever know" he'd throw at me like an 50 mph bowl in rounders. He always brought up Jamie when he had no other insults or defenses left during one of our frequent, loud and sometimes, physical altercations; safe in the knowledge that the mere mention of Jamie would knock the fight right out of me and reduce me to a sobbing mass of tears.
That's when he reminded me of Captain Jonathon Wolverton Randall, Frank's Bloody Canonized family relation, the most. Now I know that Captain Randall is not Frank's true biological descendant. Jamie and I had learned that it was really the Captain's younger brother Alex that loved and conceived a child with Mary Hawkins, starting Frank's family tree. Good begat Frank not Evil, so to speak. Captain Jonathon Randall married Mary Hawkins, only to honor his brother's dying wish, to protect her and the baby she carried. I also realize that family is family. Where Jonathon was definitely the evil son to Alex's angelic one, they shared a common genealogy, blood and traits if you will. So, when we argued, Frank and I, not yelling and screaming at each other yet, just verbally exchanging character assassinations at a higher than normal volume, Frank would change. He would, for lack of a better word, unfold; yes, that's it, Frank would almost evolve. Black Jack's facial features would be the first to emerge. Frank's face would harden, become stricter, more hostile. It would develop those deep furrows on his forehead and cheeks, lines he never had any other time. But the part that would chill me to the core was that his whole presentation would change. His physical demeanor would reshape as well as his voice. He would almost grow in height; stand straighter, taller, like he had a stick up his ass. His movements would change; there was an ease with his body, a fluidity, that Frank's never had. His voice registration would lower a half octave, deepen and become more commanding. And he would turn cold, calculatingly mean. It was the only time Frank would ever act like he wanted to hit me. Sometimes I would see his hands ball up into fists, just itching to punch me. This Frank scared the shit out of me. This Frank forced himself on me, raped me twice. The last time, just mere weeks before he died.
Thank God he never turned into Black Jack in front of Bree. She never saw that side of him, never knew it existed.
"Mamma, the Dean and his wife are leaving. You must come in and say good-bye" Bree calls from the back door, pulling me from my thoughts. I am puttering in my gardens. So many weeds. I never have enough time to tend to it properly. The hospital keeps me so busy. I brush the soil from my knees and remove my gardening gloves. I pick up my drink and drain the glass, turn and walk back inside the house to pretend Frank's life mattered to me, one last time.
I sigh as I finally close the front door behind the last annoying, grieving guest. I don't miss Frank but I acknowledge it is a loss for others and for Bree. We had been married on and off for twenty seven years. We may have been married in the eyes of God but he was never a real husband to me. I was never good enough for Frank; never the perfect Faculty Wife he wanted, throwing perfect parties for guests, raising the perfect children we never conceived, and agreeing with everything Frank said and did. That was not the way Jamie saw me; I was his equal, his partner in everything, allowing me the freedom to be myself, defending and protecting that right until his dying breath. Frank was not the man I loved, though maybe I had thought I did early in the marriage. I discovered quickly that I had married a father figure rather than a partner. Someone who would take care of me but did not allow me to become the person I needed to be – a healer. Jamie showed me the truest meaning of love. He also had tried early on in our marriage to reshape me, trying to suppress my will and treat me as an object or property rather than his equal. Thank gracious he loved me enough listen to my needs, to accept me as his partner. He accepted me for who I was, honoring and embracing my differences and independence. I look down at the palm of my hand and trace the "J" still easily seen at the base of my thumb and wish with all my heart that he was with me not just in mind and soul but physically as well; that we could still be together. A tear escapes my eye and rolls down my cheek. I do not wipe it away, rather I allow it to water my body as another memory of Jamie blooms within me.
I love Brianna, our daughter, she is the sole reason I have survived. She was and still is the reason I breathe. Every day I wake up and gaze upon our daughter's face is one more day I keep my promise to Jamie; our daughter is safe, loved and protected. But my heart, all of it, will always belong to him. My husband, my home, is dead and I died that day right along with him on Culloden Moor, or at least my heart had. I live for our daughter now but it isn't much of a life without him. I am just going through the motions.
That night, for the first time since Jamie last held me in his arms, I slept. I mean really slept. I reached a decision while gardening. I will change our future, Bree's and mine. I will sell this so called life of ours here in Boston. Sell everything, Lock, Stock and Barrel and move us back to Scotland. I will tell Brianna the truth, about her father and who she truly is.
I rise early the next morning, feeling fresh and alive for the first time since my return. Bree and I take a couple of boxes to clear out Frank's personal things from his office at the University. It is the last thing we need to do before we leave.
One of Frank's peers stops us in the hallway. "I am so very sorry for your loss Mrs. Randall…."
"It's Doctor Fraser" I correct him.
"Oh that's right, Frank mentioned you had finished Medical School and that you use your first husband's last name. You're a pediatrician I think he said."
"A Surgeon" I correct him.
"Ah" he replies. "Well Brianna, I am sorry for your loss. I know how much you meant to your father. To put it quite simply, you were the apple of his eye. Please let me know if there is anything I can ever do for you. We will miss your smiling face around here in the afternoons. We academics can be such a dull lot and you certainly brightened our hallways with your smile. I think I still have a picture or two you drew while you were here helping your dad after school."
"Thank you Dr. Adams. It's very kind of you to remember me. It's been 2 years since I last visited my father's office."
"Are you applying to the University for Fall Term?" he asks.
"Well, …." Bree begins.
"We won't be staying in America. We will be returning to Scotland" I interrupt. Bree needs to meet her true father and see his birthright. I will surround her in his loving embrace, in Lallybroch. I will find the estate, purchase it and move us in. I just had not told Brianna my plan yet. Guess the cat is out of the bag so to speak. "We really must be going. Nice to see you" and I turn and enter Frank's office.
"Mama, why must you always be so rude to Father's friends? Why in the world would you tell him we are moving? To Scotland of all places?" Bree asks. "I thought you said you and daddy were English. From Sussex, right? That is where we are taking him, to bury him with his family?"
"Because we are leaving, Brianna. Scotland is my home, not England. I married a Scot so I am Scottish and I am returning to my home in the Highlands. And you, young lady, are going with me" and I bend to my work.
Two hours and a dozen boxes boxes later we are almost finished. The shelves and filing cabinet have been weeded out into three piles: keep, donate and trash. Only his desk remains. I hand an empty box to Bree. "You box the things on the desk and I will go through the drawers and then we will be finished. We can stop for a late lunch on the way home, the corner deli near home if you'd like. One last Hot Pastrami on Rye and Potato Salad?"
I open the pencil drawer and start removing various writing implements as well as a rulers, clean sheets of department stationary and university envelopes, rubber bands, paper clips, chewing gum, a roll of stamps and an assortment of coins – perhaps for coffee in the teachers lounge.
"How odd" I exclaim as I reach my hand in the back of the drawer. "Bree, here's an envelope with your... name... on it." I looked up at Brianna. Our eyes meeting, both pair flickering with confusion. "It looks to be your father's handwriting" I state cautiously and hand it to her. "Strange that it would be in his desk at work…." I add, my mind working at the implication of the envelope. What had Frank needed to write to Bree about. What had he wanted to say to her?
Bree stops packing and takes the envelope. She sits in one of her father's chairs with her feet tucked under her and stares at the envelope, deep in thought. Turning it over and over in her hands while she thought. It is a standard mailing envelope, not one of the university's, and is sealed with wax on the back with what looks like the impression of an "R" in the red wax. Raising it to her nose, it smells of wood and oil, not of her father's Old Spice scent. She runs her fingers over the ink lettering on the front.
Brianna Ellen Randall Fraser
Fraser? That Brianna does not understand. Her mother always goes by her first husband last name, Fraser, but she has always used her daddy's last name, Randall. She looks up and sees her mother staring at her. Bree stands, folds the envelope and shoves it in her back pocket. She will read it later, in the privacy of her own bedroom and goes back to the task of packing the desk. A hot pastrami sounded really good right about now, with a cream soda, a dill pickle and barbecue potato chips. Ruffles, because they have ridges, and she smiled for the first time since her daddy had died.