Chapter 10: A Cottage in the Woods

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander.

The house was just as Hannah described it, a quaint little stone cottage hidden in the woods. I almost expected Snow White to come to the door and shake out the rugs. It was primitive to be sure, but as long as Jamie was with me, I didn't mind.

We got out of the car, and walked up to the entrance. Hannah continued to apologize about the lack of amenities, but as the saying goes, beggars can't be choosers.

"Kyle told me he put two oil lamps on the desk in the livin' area, and some candles in a kitchen cupboard. Ye'll havta do wi' cookin' yer perishables when ye get them, since there's no refrigerator to keep it from spoilin'."

"Aye … just like home."

As we entered the house, Hannah panned her torch across the living area, and touched upon the oil lamps. She handed the torch to Jamie, and reached into her pocket. Pulling out a book of matches, she lit the wick with one of them, placing the remaining on the desk, and suddenly a flood of light illuminated our surroundings. As I peered around the interior, I exclaimed, "Oh, Hannah. This place is charming. I feel as if I'm in a fairytale."

Hannah quirked an eyebrow. "What wi' yer prince here, I'd hazard a guess to say, ye are ... for a few days, anaways. Ah, weel, sad to say, real life will creep op on ye in the blink of an eye, so enjoy it while ye can.

"Speakin' o' real life … I hope I'm no bein' too nosy, but d'ye think ye can find a way to make a livin'."

I shrugged, confident in my abilities. "I should have no trouble. I was a nurse, and there's always a need for that."

She turned her attention to Jamie. "And what d'ye think ye'll be doin'?"

Jamie scratched his head. "I suppose there's no callin' for a highland warrior, aye?"

"There must be somethin' ye've done in the past that's as valuable today?"

My eyes rolled involuntarily. "Cattle rustling?" Then an idea popped into my head. "No … wait." I glanced at Jamie who was still scratching his head. I hoped to god he didn't have a case of lice again. "He was a boffin with horses—breaking, training them. Weren't you, Jamie?"

My red-headed husband nodded.

"Horses, eh? I just happen to know if ye go down the road aways to the west, ye'll see a farm there. Maybe ye can get taken on as a hand. Old MacGregor is gettin' on in years, and his youngest son just got married and moved to Dunwall. He'll be lookin' for help."

"Jamie, that's a great idea."

"I'll see 'bout it, first thing in the morn."

Hannah began to move a few steps back, toward the door. "I'll be 'round on Tuesday to see how ye're gettin' on. Oh, and ye can borrow my torch for a few days. I'll not likely be needin' it for awhile I'm sure. And another thin'—there's a coach comes through these parts, but you'll havta hike for a mile on the main road to the coach stop. It's on the way to Inverness.

"I pray that's ever'thin' now. Weel, I'll leave ye to unpack and settle in."

Jamie gave her a bone-crushing hug. "Thank ye, Hannah, truly."

Flustered, Hannah eeked out, "Oh my!"

Hugging her myself, I reiterated what Jamie had spoken, "You have no idea how much this means to us. We're both very grateful."

# # # # #

I set to work as soon as Hannah left. There was wood piled by the hearth, and a metal basket stocked wi' kindlin'. My tinder box was in the sack wi' my kilt and so forth, but Claire took the wee booklet wi' the sticks inside it—matches, I believe she called them. The fireplace was cracklin' wi' flames in no time atall.

With Hannah's torch in my hand, I went outside to get some water. It was a stroke o' luck as there was a weel on the east side o' the house, and I filled and toted several buckets inside, to wash wi' and clean dishes and such.

I canna say as I was sorry to be housed here. The forest was beautiful, and quiet, and private. And the bungalow was like bein' at home. I was verra comfortable. I wondered tho' if Claire felt as much.

"Claire, will ye be missin' the toaster and the other thin's? We dinna need to stay here for long, if that's so."

"No, it's really quite lovely here. And I don't imagine it'll take us more than a fortnight to find work. We can always have the electricity and water turned on when that happens. Maybe even a telephone installed."

I brightened op considerably. "And a radio?"

"Yes, Scotty … a radio."

"Good."

After we put our belongin's away, I took one o' the lanterns and went explorin' … pokin' 'round drawers and shelves. I saw a square wooden container as looked like a music box, except it had a verra peculiar crank on the side o' it, much like a brace and bit. Liftin' the lid partially, I peeked inside, and lo and behold, it was a music box to be sure, but there was no black cord on it for the electricity. I called to Claire, "Sassenach, what d'ye make o' this?"

She came from the bedroom, and stopped behind me resting her chin on my shoulder. "Oh, how lovely. It's an old gramophone. I wonder if it still works."

She walked 'round to my side and pushed the lid back as far as it would go. There was a note adhered to the inside as read: Look in the second drawer of the desk. The name as signed was none other than Hannah.

We both opened the drawer, and there was a black disc in a paper sleeve, such as I had seen afore at Hannah's. Claire smiled, placed it on the spindle, and set the arm opon it. She turned the crank, and the music began playin'. It was the Moonlight Serenade.

Claire reached her hands toward me, and blew out the lamp. And that evenin', by the flickerin' o' the firelight, we danced once more to Glenn Miller, in our wee home far away, tucked betwixt the trees of the forest, just me … with my Sassenach embraced in my arms.

I slept soundly 'til the sun came op. The birds were chirpin' outside the bedroom window, and the sound was glorious. Glancing at my Sassenach beside me, all cozy-like amongst the blankets, put a smile on my face, and I was ready for the day.

After stokin' and replenshin' the wood on the hearth, I dressed and walked to the back o' the cottage. I brought bits o' twine wi' me and gathered op leaves and branches, riggin' a few traps for rabbits, squirrels and such. Then I returned to the house and my sleepin' angel; gladness fillin' my heart at the sight o' her.

# # # # #

When my eyelids fluttered open, there was Jamie, leaning over me with a bright smile gracing his lips.

"Mornin', Sassenach. Did ye sleep all right?"

"Yes, blissfully so, thank you."

"I made ye some breakfast, and wi'out the toaster thin'."

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I stretched and asked, "Well, Jamie, you're starting to fit right into the twentieth century. However did you accomplish such a feat?"

"I speared the bread with a sharp stick and turned it o'er the fire. I like this bread fine, but d'ye suppose, we can get any oatcakes?"

"I imagine they have some at the bakery. Maybe I can pick up some tomorrow."

We had our breakfast of jellied toast, cheese, and sliced pears. A cup of tea with honey topped it off. Afterwards, I packed us lunches, then spread some of the money on the table, and explained the different denominations, handing Jamie what I thought would tide him over for the day.

I planned on taking the coach into Inverness, but Jamie balked when I suggested that he do the same. "Nay, I'll no get into one o' those contraptions. I'll walk, if ye dinna mind."

Stubborn man … "Keep the money with you anyway. You may very well have need of it."

We walked along the graveled drive and onto Inverness Way. That's where we would part company.

"Now, kiss me goodbye. I'm going to search out a clinic or a hospital to see if they're doing any hiring. I should be back around 5:30 or so. I anticipate that we should both have good news."

Jamie latched onto my lips with an alacrity that was mildly alarming. He pulled away, unwillingly, and gazed at me with sorrow-filled eyes. "I wish ye didna havta leave, Claire."

"And I wish we didna havta eat, either. Stiff upper lip now, chap. Let's have a go, shall we?"

I marched away, but glanced over my shoulder once. Jamie was still watching me as I trekked toward the coach stop.

As soon as I got on board the coach, I asked the driver, "Can you possibly direct me to the nearest hospital?"

He squinted his eyes at me. "Ye're not sick, are ye?"

"Not hardly. I'm looking for work. I'm a nurse."

"Oh, aye. Just take yer seat, and I'll stop the coach when we get there. It's right along the highway, ye canna miss it."

"Thank you, sir."

The brakes squealed when we pulled to a stop at the curb. Everyone on the blasted vehicle looked my way when the driver announced, "Mercy Inverness Hospital for the lass wi' the brown, curly hair."

All eyes followed me as I slid across the seat to gain access to the aisle. I walked to the accordion door, averting my gaze from the curious passengers. I stepped down onto the sidewalk and took a deep breath. The large grey building loomed before me. Surely, I could find work in such a busy place.

One of the guards pointed out the personnel office, and I strolled forward, back straight, with an air of confidence. The woman behind the desk was a dour looking thing, with frizzy grey hair, and eyes dull as dishwater.

"D'ye have an appointment with the head supervisor?"

"Um … no. I'm here to apply for a job, actually. I'm a nurse."

She drew her horn-rimmed glasses down her long nose, peering over the top of them, assessing me. Pushing back her chair, she reached into a drawer, and took out a bundle of papers. "Fill these out. And when ye're doon, I'll see if she's ready to receive ye. I canna promise anathin', ye understand. Ye just might havta come back next week, dependin' on whether or no she needs any more nurses."

I sat down and filled in all the required information, but skipped over marital status. If I signed it as Claire Fraser, there'd be no record of my nursing career in the combat zone. I had no license or proof of my services during the war on my person. Much as it galled me, I wrote in, married, signed it, Claire Randall, and crossed my fingers that the documentation could be found.

Handing in the paperwork to the jaded receptionist, I sat once more awaiting my interview. Miss Frizzy got up from her chair and headed down the hall with the sheaf of papers clutched to her bosom. She returned two minutes later. "This must be yer lucky day. She'll see ye now."

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! The woman holding the title of head supervisor was a sister of Mercy … a nun. She looked none too merciful either.

"I'm Sister Mary Laberaux. You may sit, while I look over your qualifications."

She thumbed through all the papers, licking her thumb every now and then, as she turned the pages.

Sister Laberaux executed an ahem quite loudly, and said, "This is quite an impressive resume. Am I to assume that the contents are entirely truthful?"

The nerve of this woman. Was she calling me a liar? I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. "Yes, ma'am, every word."

"May I see your nurse registration?"

"Unfortunately, I haven't one at present, but I'm certain you can procure it from the Midwifery Council at Oxfordshire."

"I see … Mrs. Randall, in that case, I only have one more question to ask. Is your husband amenable to your working here?"

"Mr. Randall has nothing to say about my decision."

The good sister canted her head. "And pray tell, why is that?"

"He's filed for divorce."

The woman frowned, virtually burning me with her accusing eyes. "I'm sorry then, Mrs. Randall, I don't hire divorcees. That's not the image I want to portray amongst my staff. Good day to you. Mrs. Turley will see you out."

I stood, shaking with emotion, and attempting to modulate my voice. I wanted to throttle this woman. "Sister Laberaux. I need this job. Please say you'll reconsider."

Her face was immutable. "You should have thought of that before your marriage disintegrated, my dear. As I told you before, good day!"