Chapter 8: Pistol Packin' Momma
Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander
"Is that all you can offer for them?" Good lord, the jokes about the Scotch being tight- fisted with their money wasn't altogether a joke.
"Aye. Sorry, Lass, but I've been feelin' the pinch since the war ended."
"I'm sorry too." I gathered up all Jamie's things and began putting them back into the bag. "Maybe I'll have better luck in Edinburgh."
MacNab rubbed his chin. "Now—wait just a minute there. Let me reconsider. Hmn … All right, I'll increase the price by ten percent. Would that be satisfactory to ye?"
"Indeed, it would." I returned the empty sporran to the bag, shoving it in with his bandoleer, and belt.
Yes! That money would tide us through for more than a month, until we could secure work. I strolled around the shop while he put the treasures behind the counter. That's when I saw a glint of silver on a shelf against the wall. "Is that a German Luger?"
He winked, smiling at me. "It is. For a lass, ye do have a sharp eye for yer weaponry."
This was indeed my lucky day. I had experience with the Luger, as several service men I had acquaintance with, came to appropriate the weapons from the hands of dead soldiers on the battle fields. They would show me the pistols, and even give me some tips on firing one.
"I'd like to buy it. My husband is a historian, and would enjoy owning one. Do you have a cartridge for it?"
"What use is the pistol wi'out ammunition?"
I nodded. "Sold …"
My sack felt so much lighter with all the metal-works missing, and I, myself felt lighter knowing what my next move was. This situation definitely called for desperate measures.
Confidently, I sauntered into the station, my Luger safely hidden in the haversack. It was quiet in the office. Were they all at the memorial service like Bayne said? Not wanting to assume that the man at the desk was the only guard present, I asked, "Is officer Bayne around?"
I wanted to make entirely sure that the Bayne of my existence wasn't present.
"No, Lass. I'm the only one here. I'm Duncan, by the way."
Just to be doubly certain, I inquired, "What about officer Strothers?"
"Sorry, everyone's at a funeral for our late captain. I offered to stay and watch o'er the prisoner, but maybe I can help ye?"
Could the timing have been any more perfect? I fished about the inside of the bag, wrapping my palm around the handle of the gun.
"Yes, you most assuredly can. I'll thank you to grab the keys to Jamie's cell, and kindly let him out."
The man leaned back in his seat, and actually laughed. "What? You must be jokin'."
I lifted the Luger from the sack, and pointed it at his face. "Does this look like I'm joking? I asked you politely to get the keys. Now, do I have to get nasty? I assure you, this gun is loaded."
Putting his hands up in surrender, Duncan stammered, "Hold on, hold on. I'll get them for ye."
"Good boy … and don't do anything stupid. I wouldn't want to waste a bullet on you. These were very expensive."
Without putting the gun down, I walked behind the desk, and watched as he drew out the keys from a drawer.
"All right then, let's go."
Jamie practically jumped off the cot at our approach. "Claire! Have ye lost hold o' yer senses?"
"Yes, I have. These idiotic twits wouldn't release you. I tried to be reasonable, but they wouldn't bloody well listen."
Duncan had stopped in front of the jail cell, and I grew impatient. "What are you waiting for?"
I nudged him with the barrel of the pistol. "Go on, open it."
As he unlocked the door, Jamie backed up. Putting out my hand to Duncan, I said, "I'll take those."
With the keys in one hand, and the Luger in the other, I yelled to Jamie. "Come on, Scotty. We're going."
He scooped up a pillow case that was stuffed with clothes, I imagined, and walked toward the guard. "I'm mightily sorry 'bout this, Duncan. And I thank ye truly for yer kindness. I'll miss our chess games, but as ye can see, the lass here is in a bit o' a rush, and I'd best not keep her waitin', ye ken."
Gesturing with the pistol, I instructed the man, "I would most appreciate it if you'd get inside and sit on the cot."
The man sighed. "Are ye sure ye wanta be doin' this, Lass."
"Aye. Now, get moving."
Duncan sauntered into the jail cell, and I locked the door. Handing the weapon to Jamie, I took his free hand, leading him to the outer door. Then locking it as well, I returned to the office and retrieved the sack. Jamie dropped the Luger inside. We went out the back exit, and when we got far enough away, I threw the keys into some nearby bushes. That should hold off the hounds for awhile.
# # # # #
Shockin' it was to see my Sassenach aimin' a gun at Duncan, but I expect she was at the end o' her rope, ye might say. From the verra first time I saw the lass, I kent as she was brazen as well as clever, but god in heaven, she was a sight to behold this day. I wished to wrap my arms 'bout her, and lift her above my head in joyfulness, but truth be told, there was precious little time to waste in such trivialities, as we had to get to a place o' safety afore the police came a'chasin' after us.
We ran down the back alley at a full gallop for a couple o' miles at least, then slowed as we appeared on the street agin, so as no to arouse suspicions. We walked a good ways, and finally arrived at a small home on Paisley Avenue.
A dark-haired, couthie lass came to the door, and smiled at me. "You must be Jamie. Claire said you'd be by t'day. Come in, come in. My name's MacKenna; I'll show ye around the house, so ye can navigate more easily, as I havta be leavin' for school shortly. Mum said for ye to make yerselves at home. She'll be back around five or so. She left plenty of food for ye in the fridge, so dinna be shy about eatin' some o' it. There's also clean sheets on the bed opstairs in the spare room."
MacKenna showed us around the place, chatterin' all the while. Amazin' it was to see a privy right inside o' the house. Imagine that! There was e'en a refrigerator like Claire had explained to me, and a big, black box made o' iron to cook the food—a stove, I believe she called it. But most astonishin' was a container o' wood, with knobs decoratin' the front, and when ye turned the knob, music came outta the thin' ... such music as I ne'er did hear afore.
"D'ye have any questions then?" she asked, as the tour ended. Questions? My brain was fairly crammed wi' the lot o' them. Where would I e'en start? I'd be askin' her 'til doomsday to explain this or that. The girl was anxious to leave tho', so I kept my curiosity to myself for now.
Claire answered her, "We won't keep you. I have Hannah's phone number if we need anything more."
"All right then, and just so ye know, I won't be stayin' here. I have my own flat, so ye can have some privacy. Mum just asked me to be here in case the two o' ye showed op t'day. And right she was, eh?"
She shook our hands, and gushed, "Oh … this is all so romantic. If we dinna meet agin, then good luck to ye."
"Thank ye, MacKenna. We're verra appreciative o' yer efforts in our behalf."
Stars and stones, the lass talked so fast, and ne'er came op for a wee bit o' air. She must've been excited to meet wi' two brigands. I said two, as Claire now joined the ranks wi' me in runnin' afoul o' the law.
I watched as Claire removed thin slivers o' meat, cheese, and some greens from the refrigerator, along wi' some bread as was already sliced, from a small wooden cabinet.
She looked op at me from her task, and said, "Would you like some beans with your sandwich? I saw a can in the cupboard when MacKenna was showing us around."
I was confused. I thought we were to eat promptly. "Aye. That would be grand, but won't they take a verra long time to cook?"
One eyebrow quirked, and Claire responded thus, "Trust me … another modern miracle."
She then took a cylinder down from the cupboard, and wi' a verra peculiar metal tool, grabbed hold o' the rim, and cut a circle in the top. There were beans inside, which she dumped into a pot, and put on the stove where flames rose op, heatin' them.
Combinin' the meats and such all t'gether, she placed the finished stacks on plates, along wi' the beans, and we ate, side by side at the table. We toasted our new-found freedom wi' glasses o' milk, and as she said afore—it was as cold as a witch's teat.
Wi' the meal outta the way, all these emotions started boilin' op inside me, and I thought my heart was wont to burst wi' them. My Sassenach was wi' me, and we were alone … the whole house to ourselves. What more could I ask? I winked at Claire, and her eyes answered my unspoken, heart's yearnin'.
# # # # #
There was no need to ask what was on my Scotsman's mind. He winked in his funny way, but his smile instantly changed, giving his features a seductive appearance. His smoldering eyes caught mine, and I surrendered without a fight. One hand enclosed about my wrist, and I was pulled from my chair and into his arms.
He took the stairs three at a time, carrying me all the way to the guest room, laying me on the mattress. I hadn't made love in a real bed in so long, it almost seemed decadent. That thought was evacuated from my consciousness, and replaced rapidly as our lips met.
It felt strange to unclothe using such modern fastenings. Jamie seemed familiar with the zipper, but the hooks and eyes on my brassiere were an obstacle that had him fumbling and cursing under his breath. I finally helped undo the obstinate closures, and nature took its course. We had all the time in the world to explore our bodies. Jamie's fingers stroked along my skin with a reverence close to adoration. He was so tender and sweet, and that afternoon of leisurely coupling, would long linger in my mind.
Afterwards, Jamie asked about my recent days with Frank, and I recounted all the sordid details.
"He means to divorce ye, then."
"Yes, he said he wanted to be rid of me."
"Och … that thought isna verra likely to e'er occur to me. I doubt as I could live wi'out your love, or leastways wish to live."
He suddenly pulled up on one elbow. "God in heaven, if he's divorcin' ye, then ye'll be mine—truly mine. All to myself. I dinna ken whether to laugh or weep wi' the joy o' it."
He sat up fully then, and leaning over me. Grabbing my face between his palms, he planted kisses all over it. "Ye're mine, Claire … mine. And no one in this world can take ye away from me."
Hannah came home from the manse, and from the look on her face as she walked through the front door, was glad to see we made it. Jamie and I helped with dinner, and when it was over, and the dishes all washed and put away, we sat in the living room, chatting.
"Ye know, I tried to tell Mr. Randall that maybe ye'd gone to another time, but he wouldna believe any such foolishness. Ah, weel, I suppose that's water under the bridge as they say. So now, ye say he's filin' for divorce?"
"Yes, not that I blame him. But it's not like I did this on purpose. I didn't plan on any of this happening, and it wasn't my fault that Dougal forced Jamie and me to marry."
Hannah nodded, then spoke to my Scotsman. "What about you, Jamie. What d'ye make of all these goin's on?"
"Weel, I'm just glad as Claire fell through the stones, and accepted me for her husband. She made me the happiest man in the Highlands. Now as Frank is lettin' her go, the guilt as plagued her isna more. We can go on wi' our lives as we like, free o' that man."
"I've ne'er had such a stimulatin' conversation, but ye're probably tired of my questionin'."
She got up and turned on the radio. Jamie sat there on the couch, smiling and tapping his foot to the melody. He was enjoying the music when our hostess said, "How d'ye like our modern music, Jamie?"
"I like it fine. Lots o' instruments and lively tunes."
Sentimental Journey started to play, and I jumped up, wanting to dance.
Jamie looked up at me, I'm sure, wondering why I was standing there.
I gestured to him, my arms extended. "Dance with me?"
His face flushed, and he glanced at Hannah, who mouthed, "Go on."
"I dinna think I can, Sassenach. I ne'er danced to such music as this, afore."
"Oh, come on, Scotty. It's not that hard. I'll teach you."
And so, an introduction to ballroom dancing began this evening, and Jamie took to it like a duck to water.
