Coming Home Chapter 2 Home

I awake from a light sleep and stretch. I feel my bones grind and pop as things shift back into place. I will have to think about purchasing a new mattress. This one is a lumpy mess and way too soft. I feel a bit like the princess and the pea. I could not get comfortable last night, and as a result, I have slept rather poorly.

It could be because I am six months pregnant. 46 years old and about to be a mother for the third time. I am much too old for this. I feel myself creak like an old floor as I leverage my arm against the bed's headboard in order to sit up. What is it going to be carrying to full term I wonder worriedly. I will most likely need a small crane to help me out of bed. It had never occurred to me that I might have even be pregnant when Frank died. We had sex over the course of our marriage only a handful of time, and I had never conceived. Why should the rape a couple of weeks before his death have been any different? Frank went to his grave never knowing he would be a father. Karma has an odd sense of humor sometimes.

Jamie and I had never had an easy time of it either. Two and a half years of marriage, pretty much going at it like rabbits had resulted in only two pregnancy's and only Bree I carried to full term. I lost Faith at about six months, approximately where I am in this pregnancy. When my courses missed the second month in a row, I immediately blamed the stress of Frank's early demise for having upset my body's natural routine but when I added in the morning sickness I was exhibiting, I leaped straight to denial, choosing to ignoring the obvious. I simply could not be pregnant I told myself, so therefore I wasn't.

My friend Joe Abernathy, had been the first to said something out loud when he caught me coming out of the doctor's lounge bathroom having just relieved both my bladder and the contents of my very upset stomach.

"How far along are you L J?" he asked.

"How far along am I what? I replied as I grab a glass of water and rinse my mouth out.

"Tisk, tisk" he said with a tilt of his head. "Don't be coy with me. I recognize the signs of early pregnancy when I see them. Lets see, shall we start with the nausea, irritability – always one of my personal favorites, frequent urination, and fatigue to name just a couple." he said with a knowing smile.

"Pregnant? Me? That's not even funny Joe."

"Trust and believe. You need to schedule an GYNOB appointment, STAT. I recommend Dr. Bottoms. He'll get you started on some iron tablets. That will help with the fatigue though it might make your nausea worse. Start carrying some Saltines in your pocket for that. They really do work according to Gail. They got us through her pregnancy. That and saltines, pickles and ice cream." And he made a face that made me laugh. "Never really thought about it, but maybe that explains Lenny" and he laughed in reply.

No hiding my head in a hole like the proverbial ostrich. One trip to the Obstetrician confirmed Joe's suspicions. I am now at the beginning of my third trimester. The due date is mid August, right around the time Faith should have been born had I carried her to term.

"Faith" I uttered wistfully, closed my eyes and whispered a silent prayer... "Take care of your dad for me."

I am considered a high risk pregnancy because of my age and the difficulties I had delivering Bree. Dr. Bottoms wanted me to be seen monthly. I have my first appointment with Dr. FitzGibbons next week. Her office is in Inverness. I am not sure how much longer I will be able to drive, which means, in addition to the list of other things I need to do, I will need to find someone to take me. My To Do list is growing by the minute. I smile and rub my belly. "What to you think Peanut?" Peanut is the name Bree has tentatively given the baby. "we have to call the baby something... I refuse to my new sibling Baby or It. I believe it is after her favorite Sunday newspaper cartoon strip by Charles Schultz though she has never actually said..

Or I suppose I could have slept poorly because today is May 1st. My husband's birthday. Jamie is 226 years old today. No, I am not going to make a cake and cover it with candles. It would burn Lallybroch to the ground. I had stayed up last night thinking I would have a drink, after midnight, to celebrate the auspicious event with him as we talked but the glass I poured sits right where I'd left it last night, on the table near the fire. He never came. Maybe he will tonight.

"Madainn mhath mo chridhe fuil. Co-là-breith math. Good Morning my heart's blood. Happy Birthday and I swing my legs off the bed and onto the floor. "Cold Floor! Cold Floor!" I cry as I hop across it to the chair where I left my clothes the night before. I quickly change back into the flannel shirt and overalls I wore yesterday and tie my hair back with a kerchief. I am ready for my first full day back at Lallybroch. I have come home and there is much to do.

After Frank died it took the lawyers over three months to straighten out his trust. Seems he made some changes to it almost a year before he died that I was not made privy to. Frank, it would appear, had searched for and found Lallybroch then purchased it. He never said a word to me. He had also planned ahead and set up an educational fund for Bree. His foresight make MIT possible for her in the Fall.

I sold our home in Waltham, a suburb of Boston, and when the trust was settled and Bree graduated High School, I moved us and our belongings to Scotland. We stayed with Reverend Wakefield and his son Roger for a couple of day. Sadly, dear Mrs. Graham had passed away several years ago. Her granddaughter Fiona has stepped into the position and keeps the two Wakefield men clean and fed and the Maise organized and tidy. I hardly recognized Roger; he has grown from a small boy of five into a handsome young man of 24. Bree seems to have noticed as well.

Yesterday, after picking up some supplies, Roger drove us out to Lallybroch. Last night was our first night in the house. I've come home.

Bree, understandably, had been vocal about her discontent with my decision to relocate us to Scotland. While I explained that it was really the only place that had ever felt like home to me, she refused to accept the specific choice of Scotland.

"I lived a couple of years in Scotland before I had you. As a matter of fact you were conceived there" and added "which I will tell you all about some day very soon, I promise" when Bree looked at me in utter confusion. "You will just have to trust me darling. Lallybroch was your father's home and really the only home I have ever know. I was too young to remember the one I lived in with my parents and my Uncle Lamb and I traveled so much there was really never a place we stayed long enough to call home, unless you count the tents that traveled with us. That's probably why daddy surprised me with the house, I think, because he knew how much I loved it and how very much I need to be here. Scotland is very beautiful and full of charm. I am sure you will learn to love it. And you'll be returning to Cambridge in August. Did you know that your father and I were married in a small church in Scotland, not too far from Lallybroch? I will try to see if I can find it. I will show it to you. It's was quite a pretty little church when I last saw it, all be it a little cold and drafty. It was in need of new windows when we were married. I believe your father's Uncle made a sizable donation to a windows fund. I would like very much to see the windows they put in."

Dressed, I left the Laird's room to make my way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, passing the paintings by Ellen Fraser hanging, inspired by her children. Willie, Jamie and Jenny all staring from their time stopped memorials; reminders of what had been. My husband's blue eyes peering mischievously back at me, Sawney, the wooden snake Willie had carved for him, held tightly in his small hand and his big brother's hand resting on Jamie's shoulder, holding him still while his mother captured their likeness. Jenny, occupying the other canvas, smiling sweetly at the baby bird she holds while I'm sure her mother painted furiously, trying to capture the moment. Jenny and I may not have been the best of friends but the house is noticeably empty without her; Lallybroch is missing it's heart. I certainly miss her forceful presence and had never really mourned the loss of her or Ian.

Ellen's self portrait is missing; the place beside her children, where it had hung all those years ago, is bare. I know where the painting is. It holds a place of honor, though how it arrived there, I don't suppose I will ever know. I had discovered it, quite by accident while on a family vacation to see the sites of the Nation's Capital, Washington, D.C..

Bree and her father had made all the plans. They spent weeks researching, planning and mapping out the week, days and hours. They made a list of all the sites they absolutely had to visit: The Smithsonian and The Original Declaration of Independence, climb the Washington Monument, wade in the reflecting pool, stand in front of Abe Lincoln and Thomas Jefferson at their respective Memorials, walking under the cherry trees the line the Potomac River and spend most of one day roaming The Natural History Museum. There were side trips planned to Arlington National Cemetery and Mount Vernon, home to George Washington. My one and only request had been to visit The National Gallery of Art. We were viewing The National Gallery's Portraits exhibit, again, my choice. Frank and Bree let me know they were bored to tears. They wanted to rush through as fast a humanly possible and then start on their list of sights which were located just down the mall from the building we were currently roaming. I was ambling, a little behind Frank and Bree and as they entered the next room, I lost sight of them. A few moments later, I turned the corner and strolled into the next gallery to find the two of them standing, stock still, in front of a work of art. When I caught up and looked at the painting they were so ardently admiring...

"Ellen" I whispered and then "Dear God Jamie." as my hands came to clutch the sides of my face in an piss poor representation of Edvard Munch's The Scream.

What I assumed were private thoughts in my head, must have been spoken out loud because Frank and Bree, both, turned and stared at me with faces frozen in shock. For there, hanging on the wall in front of me, was Ellen Caitriona Sileas MacKenzie Fraser, Jamie's very own mother and Bree's Grandmother. Her self-portrait. She was wearing her beautiful Scotch pearls and elegant boar tusk bracelets. Gifts from secret admirers who's identities her family was never privy to. I had known and had kept her secrets and was in possession of both items now. The pearls were a wedding gift from Jamie and the bracelets a sisterly gift from Jenny.

The family connection was so obvious that people were starting to taking notice... looking from the striking woman in the portrait to the young teen standing in front of the painting. A painting of a likeness so strikingly similar to the face Bree saw in the mirror every morning. Frank gave me a look of sheer loathing, took Bree by the arm and ushered her out of the gallery. I took a moment with Ellen and then I left to follow them as well. I found Frank and Bree sitting on a bench on the mall across the street from the museum. The look of fury still on Frank's face, confusion on Bree's. When Frank saw me approach, he nudged Bree. They stood and started down the mall toward the Natural History Museum, not waiting for me. When I caught up with them as they paused for a light in order to cross a street, none of us spoke. Neither of them asked for an explanation though later, after Bree had gone to bed, I offered Frank an olive branch. I explained that I had no idea the portrait was there. Frank of course, never believed me. And Bree? She, to this day, has never inquired.

That's alright. I have the pearls and the bracelets. I plan to give them to Bree today, on her father's birthday. Perhaps after dinner. They will be the introduction to a much needed and long overdue conversation.

Time to have a good look around my home I think and shake the ghosts from my shoulder. I tear my gaze from my husband and his siblings and make my way down the stairs. I will start after breakfast of crackers and tea, as my upset stomach announces the day is beginning and I quickly make for the kitchen.

First I need to go up to the kirkyard and pay my respects. I need to find a couple of stones for the cairns along my way. Then I think I will check the area where the gardens used to be; there is still time to plant a small one. I need to do it sooner rather than later. I have a couple coming around this morning to interview for a possible position. I know Bree will be leaving for Boston by early August. My Joe Abernathy and his wife Gail have offered to take Bree up to MIT for me and help get her settled in. I would, I hope, have give birth by then but Peanut would be too young to travel. I will need help when Bree is gone. I need to have someone living here with me, before she leaves. I thought a woman to help with the cooking and cleaning, but the Real Estate Agent, Katie MacFay said she had found a husband and wife that might be interested. That might suit me better. I would have the main house to myself and could refurbish one of the surviving tenants cottages for the couple.

"Things seem to be falling into place quite nicely," I say as I enter the kitchen.

Frank had purchased the house, as is, furniture and all. As is also means used, mostly old and very eclectic. Some of the pieces, the extremely large ones like the Laird's bed frame, the work table in the kitchen, the dining room cabinet, sideboard and table as well as the Laird's study's desk are the very ones I remember when Jamie and I first came to live just after we were married. It seems no one could remove them from the house; they are too large to fit through the existing doorways. The rest of the furnishings are a hodgepodge mishmash of bits and pieces collected over the centuries. Certainly none of the carpets, window dressings or bedding are the same though a great deal of the window glass looks original. I swear the bedroom doors are original to the house as well but the leather hinges are gone, replaced with modern brass ones. Of course the kitchen still had the lovely large fireplace and stonework, and as I mentioned the work table is still here, but some brave soul has modernized it, Thank God. By that I mean plumbing, complete with running water, and electrical are now included but the upgrades have not been been done in, what looks like, the last thirty years. A half bath has been added to the main floor, cleverly hidden under the staircase in addition to one full bath added to each the second and third floor. There is even a wash room with a working washer off the kitchen, where a pantry had been. Sadly, no dryer; I will need to see if that can be rectified before the baby comes. I remember it took days for nappies to dry after Jenny's Maggie was born. The Priest's hole exists, in use as an canning pantry. I find several jars of home canned goods on the shelves when I go down. The stove, fridge and oven look to be ancient, but all work. There is even ice in the trays in the freezer. Bree will be pleased to have ice for her Coca-Cola. I see no sign of any heating system shy of the original fireplaces. I need to ask Katie about that as well. In the interim I had better stock up on wool sweaters, socks and blankets.

I have found Katie quite helpful in the multiple phone conversations I have had with her. She employed a cleaning crew to come in and give the house a through once over. While I realize surgery sterile is not achievable, the house is not nearly clean enough for my satisfaction. Everything has been wiped down, dusted, washed and mopped in the kitchen, living room, two bathrooms (the half bath on the ground floor and the shared bathroom on the second floor), and two bedrooms out of the multitude of rooms. It would seem that at least the phone, electrical and water all work, though I have not gotten any hot water yet. I'll need to put in two cords of wood by fall as well as gather kindling and save newspaper.

Looking out the kitchen window, I realize I will need to hire a general cleaning crew to clean the windows if I expect to use the sun as a light source. I wonder when someone was last up on the roof to check it as well.

"Start a list of essentials," I mutter out loud to myself as I make to boil water for tea. Someone had actually left a kettle. I look at the fireplace and remember the kettle that Mrs. Crook always hung there, hot water at the ready and sigh.

This is another wonderful thing Katie has done, God Bless her sweet soul. She had purchased basic food supplies and had them delivered to the house. When I checked the kitchen yesterday, I had found several boxes of dried and canned goods. She even included a bottle of scotch, such a good Scottish Lass. This morning, as I sort through the items, I find a box of Jacob's Cream Crackers. I immediately open them and pop one in my mouth. I survived Bree's pregnancy with American Saltine Crackers but they are unavailable here in Britain. Katie said her mother recommended this Irish Cracker. Most of my nausea has dissipated but I still have an unsettling stomach first thing in the morning. So tea and crackers are my morning routine followed by a piece of fruit an hour or so later... usually an apple or banana. I smile. Who cares. I'll figure it out. I am home.

I find a pizza box in the fridge when I open door, looking for cream for my tea. Roger and Bree had driven into Broch Mordha and gotten pizza last night before Roger was to drive back to Inverness. Bree was not home when I went to bed. I half expect to find his little Orange, Morris Minor park out front. I noticed the way one looked when the other was distracted. Equal attraction I would guess. I shake my head and laugh at the thought of some young boy attempting to court Bree if Jamie were alive. Bree would die an old maid, I am afraid. No boy would be good enough for her in Jamie's eyes.

I check the living room sofa for Roger (not there) as I make for the Laird's Study in search for paper to start The Honey Do List; that's what Gail says she called it when she makes a list for Joe of things around the house that need to be fixed. I giggle. Joe is one of the good ones. A terrific friend. One of the keepers. I will miss him, his friendship and advise.

I enter the Lairds study and open the top drawer to find 2 paper clips, a red crayon and one copper penny. I check the two side drawers and find they are empty. There is something wrapped in butchers paper in the kitchen. I could make my list on that or the pizza box lid, in a pinch so I take the red crayon with me.

I sit on the window's ledge and look around the room. I have only been in this room a handful of times. The build-in shelves are almost empty. Almost all of Jamie and Jenny's beloved books are gone including all Jenny's well read French Romance Novels that Jared sent her over the years. I will have to haunt open markets and used book stores to try bring the shelves back to life. I do not see the Family Bible either. When Jamie and I had returned from Castle Leoch, married, Jamie had taken the Bible down from it's resting place on the shelf and entered my name next to his with an elegant squiggle between our names. When we returned from France, Jamie once again took the Family Bible down and this time added a straight line down between our names and written Faith. No one would have known to add Brianna's.

I shake my head. Enough melancholy. Bree will sleep until noon so no need to wait for her. Brush your teeth and lets get this day started, I tell myself. Get your list going and then it's time to say hello to Jenny and Ian.

Have all Appliances checked – stove, oven, fridge, washing machine Ask about Dryer.

Small appliances – toaster, coffee pot, vacuum cleaner, broom, dust bin.

Have water heater checked/replaced?

Check water pump

Plumbing?

What heats house?

Estimate for refurbishment of tenant cottage.

Core of Firewood

Kitchen – pots and pans. Dishes, glasses, carving/cooking knives, eating utensils, serving/cooking spoons, cutting board, light bulbs, kitchen towels, apron, oven mitts

Bed rooms – New Mattresses! pillows, sheets, blankets, comforters

eventually 3 beds w/mattresses.

Bath room- towels, wash cloths, soap, shampoo

Furniture – chairs, end tables, Padded chairs, curtains, rods, rugs, lamps

rags, cleaning supplies, mop, bucket

rake, shovel, screw driver, hammer

Broken windows (3) repaired/replaced

Steps to house... loose stone

Remove shutters... whose idea what that ? Repair holes in stone

Fences?

Barn?

Need: Chickens – eggs

Goats – Cut Grass Soap?

Bees – Honey?

Cows?

Horse?

Sheep?

HELP!

Finally, I have to stop. I need to clear my head. I need air. I pull my Irish wool sweater over my head, find my gloves and hat and slip out the front door. I am careful not to step on the loose stone. I turn the corner and almost walk straight into the back of Roger's car.

Well, it will be very helpful for him to stay. I can send he and Bree into Broch Mordha for supplies. It may be that we will have to go back to Inverness for a day or two so I can arrange for appliance repairs and mattresses. My head hurts just from thinking of everything that needs to be done.

I take a deep breath and look for the path on the far side of the yard. It is fairly easy to follow, once I find it. It almost looks as if someone uses it with some regularly. It takes me a while, the climb is more uphill than I remember but I find the kirkyard by following the path. The wall surrounding the graves is hidden behind some very tall grass, but the path leads right to the gate. I manage to find half five palm size stones as I walk. I hope that will be enough. I wonder if they will have a marker for Jamie, even though I know he and Murtagh are resting in a mass grave at Culloden. A tear rolls down my face at the thought of the way they must have died. I set the stones down on the wall and open the gate. I straighten my shoulders and walk in.

Someone has definitely been coming with regularity. The yard is not manicured but the wild grass is neat and trimmed. Someone must have goats that they bring up here for it to be this cropped. I can clearly see the headstone and cairns mark several of the graves, but not all of them. I know Brian's. Jamie had brought me here before we left for the last time. I recognize Willie and Ellen's as well. Both to the left of Brian's. On the right are two newer head stones. As I approach I can read the names... Ian & Jenny share a Companions Headstone. The third belongs to Caitlin Maisri Murray and the year 1749. Jenny had given birth to a baby that died the same day it was born.

"Oh Jenny" I say with a sob. "I am so very sorry for your loss." I wish I had been there. I might have been able to help." Tears begin to stream down my face.

"I told you I should have come back here with Fergus to Lallybroch, Jamie" I yell. "But no, you God Damn Stubborn Scot. You had to send me back to Frank. Look what I might have prevented! I might have saved your niece and spared your sister and brother-in-law heartache. And just look at the state I am in" I add with a whisper, rubbing my belly.

I wipe my nose on my kerchief and my sleeve takes care of my tears as I take a seat on the wall, feet hanging into the yard. I clear my throat and attempt a start.

"Hello family" I begin and then stop. That's a pretty stupid start I mutter to myself but press on... "I wish I could have come sooner." Lame Claire, really lame I add as I shake my head. "I really miss you." I stop and roll my eyes. This is dumb. I am not even sure, with the exception of Jamie's direct family, who else is even up here. Out of Jamie's family, I had only met Jenny and Ian as I hardly think wee Jamie and Maggie count. I am fairly certain Jenny did not much care for me as her brother's wife. I think for a Sassenach, I was fine. As a healer I was better than good. But as a choice of wife for her only living brother and Laird to Lallybroch, I am sure I was pretty close to last choice on her list. I'd bet she'd have been happier with Laoghaire MacKenzie than me. Not that Jamie didn't care what Jenny thought... He loved her but I was his heart, of that I am certain and he would never have stopped coming to my bed even if Jenny had asked him to. Oh dear God, had she ever actually asked him, I wondered? Jamie and I had promised each other truth in what we told each other but that there was room for secrets. Shit. I'd never know now but I now will wonder about it for the rest of my life. Damn.

I try again. "Jenny. Ian. Fergus? If any of you Or all of you, can hear me? I am so sorry. I should have been there for you, after Culloden, after Jamie went back to die. I should have just turned for home. To you, my family and not gone through the stones. But how could I not honor Jamie's last wish. He made me promise. I took an oath to obey my husband." Although when had I ever directly obeyed Jamie? I can not, in all honesty, say. Maybe if I had, Jamie might have lived. Survived. It was, after all, my bright idea to try and change history, to go to Paris. "I am so very sorry."

I shake my head in sorrow. I look up to the sky with tears streaming down my face. There is a strong breeze and I watch the clouds blow by and just try to breathe. What had I done? The forget-me-nots that had led me back to the stones that very first night I traveled. To the stone's cries that made me instinctively set my hand on it to try and heal it. To end its pain, its roars. To Murtagh, in all that chaos, finding me, rescuing me, for Black Jack, without a doubt, would have killed me after he'd finished with me; for a Lady, crying rape by a British Officer, would have surely ended his career. And then to my Jamie. Hurt, needing my healing hands... and that long ride back to Leoch. I had stirred desires in Jamie and I knew it. And how could I have not fallen in love with him.

But was I his Achilles heel that led to his downfall? A Femme Fatale perhaps. Was I Eve, tempting Adam with an apple. Or Helen of Troy bringing on the Trojan War when Paris won her heart? Or Delilah to Samson who had just simply given his heart to the wrong girl. All evidence pointed to me. I had ruined an entire family's lives. I had been their downfall.

I have only one thing to offer in my defense. Brianna. Our daughter. Faith too, if she had lived; hers was just another shinning example of the mayhem I managed to leave in my wake. But Bree. She stands tall as a tribute to Jamie. She is the price we paid. If I had stayed I would have lost her just as I had lost Faith. It all would have been for naught. And had I to do it all over again, I suppose I would, once again, pay that price. It has never dawned on me until now, how I have ruined the Fraser/Murray lives. Perhaps Laoghaire had been right all along, I truly am a witch. Jamie might have lived and been happy with someone else. Just anyone else but Laoghaire, I think. Anyone but her.

"I am so sorry Jamie. No wonder you did not come to talk to me last night." I scoot back off the wall. "Today is not a good day perhaps. Maybe because it's your birthday. Maybe my hormones are making me crazy. I don't know. Jamie's daughter is here with me until August. She will go off to University then. I will bring Brianna up to meet you all before she leaves, that I promise. Jamie asked me to name the child after you Brian. Rest well my family. I tap the wall twice with my hand and turn.

I place a stone on each of the cairns, then walk away with my head hanging low and feet dragging. I am beginning to realize perhaps finding and purchasing Lallybroch had be a punishment on Frank's part. He had to have known I'd come. He had to have known, that once here, I'd never leave. What have you done Frank? And why?

I think about making my way down to the mill but it is already after 9. I am not sure what time the Realtor told the O'Connells to come, Seamus and Glenna, about the housekeeping position. So I turn and head back toward the house. I should have coffee and biscuits ready, I suppose...

I pause as I pass the large walnut tree. I swear the tree is laughing at me. I pick up a small stone and throw it, hitting the tree in the trunk. "Teach you to laugh at me." I make my way back down the path - to home.

#####

I quickly step back behind the walnut tree, unnoticed as she passes. I had seen her leave the main house and walk up the hill. I had heard she had finally come to Lallybroch so I arranged to drop by the house... to see her. Rather than wait for her to return from her walk, curiosity got the better of me so I followed her as she made her way up the hill. I knew what was up there at the end of the path, but did she? Did she remember?

Clearly she did. She had to look for it but knew it was there, somewhere. It took some searching on her part. She lost the path several times. Her memories failed her, unable to retrace the exact steps to where she would find them. She stayed true to the trail that I kept clear and soon discovered the kirkyard, hidden from most by the tall grass. If you did not ken it was there, ye'd walk right past it. She found wall that led to the gate and entered quietly. Respectfully. She even brought stones for the cairns. She remembered. A true Scot she is. She elects to sit upon the wall and pay her respects rather than kneel at the graves themselves; speaking to them as a whole rather than individuals. Keeping her distance.

I watch her as she climbed the hill. She is still in good shape, despite her age. Her bonnie arse swinging in display as she climbs. It makes my cock hard watching her move. She does not struggle or stop to take a rest as she makes her way up the path. She is really quite bonnie, one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. I need to tell her that when we talk. Both my mam and sister being verra bonnie also, so I speak from knowing. Her curly brown hair is restrained but is being blown about by the breeze anyway. The curls seem to have a life of their own. Lovely long fingers try desperately to keep them out of her face and behind the kerchief she wears. I am most definitely attracted to her. She is a kindred spirit, I can feel it. There is a connection. Why has she come to Lallybroch?

She spoke to them, calling them by name. Calling them Family. Her last name is Fraser, according to Katie, and the husband, now dead, was Randall. The grave stones go back to the 1700's, when the house was first built. Frasers and Murrays have lived here as far back as that. Since the beginning. Why does she keep apologizing? Has she done something wrong? I sigh when she places a rock on the oldest cairns and says her goodbyes. She tells them she'll be back. She has a daughter they need to meet she explains. A corner of my lip lifts in the hint of a smile. A daughter. Brianna and a small laugh escapes.

Suddenly I gasp as I watch her walk toward the tree I hide behind. Katie said nothing about the woman being with child. That takes me by surprise and I whisper a silent pray for the woman and her unborn child. That changes things... perhaps...

Why had Frank Randall done such a thing for his wife? Why had he purchased the Estate for his English wife? His English wife who lived in America. Randall had certainly not seem excited to meet him in Broch Mordha, however brief it was. Katie said the daughter was going to University back in the States. She would be leaving in a couple of months. Katie told me it had been arranged for the O'Connells to go by this morning to interview for the positions of caretaker and housekeeper. That's why I had come by so early, to see her. To speak with her. To make her an offer... if she would have me.

When the top of her head disappears below the rise, I come out from behind the tree and follow cautiously behind her. When I reach the start of the sloping trail that leads back to Lallybroch, I watch her as she walks. She had a gracefulness about her, an elegance if you will. Still an English Lady. Despite all the derogatory things I have heard her tell the family of graves. She blames herself for their deaths yet she walks with her head held high. She is brave, this woman. Strong and bonnie, honed and sharp. She can take care of herself. She is not weak or feeble minded I think and nod knowingly.

I loose sight of her for moment and then she comes back into view as she enters in the main house yard. Instead of walking back into the house she walks around the back, between the main house and the barn, bends and pulls up a weed. She holds it to her nose and smells. She wipes the weed's root with her other hand and puts it to her mouth and takes a bite. Whatever she has found, she is eating it.

My curiosity is peaked. Just as I start down the hill after her, I notice a movement in an upstairs window. A blur of red. I still have eyes like an Hawk. I stop and watch. No. Nothing is there now. Whatever was there is gone. It must be the daughter, watching.

By the time I make it down the hill and to the edge of the yard, I see she is on her knees digging in the dirt with her hands. Her back is to me. She has a pile of what looks like carrots, turnips and radishes in a small pile beside her. No one has lived in this house for over 20 years. Yet somehow this woman has found the house's vegetable garden in all those weeds and managed to produce vegetables from it. My wife had quite the little nose on her, I remember and smile. She could find a carrot faster than Donas or ken if I were bleeding almost before I did. She always smelled of earth, her wee herbs and lavender. I wonder if she still does.

I check the window and catch a quick glimpse of the daughter. She is tall for a lass. I can tell by how her form fits in the window. Just a couple of inches shorter than me, certainly taller than her mother. Long, red hair. Not her mother's brown. And straight, not curly. She must take after the father, I think and my lip curls into a smile.

I walk up to the woman, my feet make very little noise in the dirt. I stop beside her. My large dirty boots next to her pile of harvested vegetables. I can wait. She will notice my feet, eventually. I am correct, of course and it dinna take her long.