People disappear all the time.

Young girls run away from home, children stray from their parents and are never seen again, housewives take the grocery money and a taxi to the train station.

Most are found eventually.

Disappearances, after all, have explanations.

Usually.

Strange, the things you remember.

Single images and feelings that stay with you down through the years.

Like the moment, I realized I'd never owned a vase.

That I'd never lived any place long enough to justify having such a simple thing.

And, how at that moment, I wanted nothing so much in all the world as to have a vase of my very own.

It was a Tuesday afternoon.

Six months after the end of the war…

The end of the bloodiest and most terrible war in human history, grows fainter with each passing day.

But I can still recall every detail of the day when I saw the life I wanted sitting in a window.

Sometimes, I wonder what would've happened if I'd bought that vase and made a home for it.

Would that have changed things?

Would I have been happy?

Who can say?

Even now, after all the pain and death and heartbreak that followed, I still would make the same choice

~8~

Though the prior events had not been planned, Aoife never imagined that her life would've taken such a turn.

Jenny had always told her that she wouldn't have made a good house wife—she had no interest in boiling sheets or cleaning up around the house, and her lack of skill in cooking was so frightfully low that Jenny was concerned that the young woman would end up starving since she could barely make a proper cup of tea. But, much to Aoife's joy and Jenny's surprise, the younger woman was able to bake a few snacks that could pass off as edible… as long as Aoife was the one was eating them.

Snickering to herself, Aoife brushed her soiled hands against the apron that covered her dark grey skirt, the cuts that she had acquired had long become immune to the coarse fabric. If only Jenny saw her now, three years after leaving Castle Leoch, as a maid. She had no other choice but to learn how to boil sheets, shine shoes, make the beds, clean, and cook if she wanted to stay in the castle. They, unfortunately, were not going to allow her to lie around and, as much as Aoife yearned to leave, she knew that if she wanted to see Jamie again, staying in the castle was her best bet.

That is, if he ever came home.

The ache that had taken root in her heart, that rested where her love for Jamie had once been flourishing, pulsed dully as her mind drifted to the past. Aoife squeezed her eyes shut in response, willing it to go away and leave her alone—she had more important matters to attend and she no longer had time to dwell on the past. Nevertheless, no matter how hard she tried to repress those thoughts, the always seemed to come to her in the mindlessness of the hours.

"Focus, Aoife," She muttered to herself, allowing herself to relax for a mere moment, her bum resting on her heels as she took a deep breath and pushed the loose hair away from her eyes, before grabbing the brush and beginning her task again. She had been tasked to wash the floors today; her least favourite chore and one that caused her the most pain the next day. Her arms already ached from the constant push-pull motion, her eyes never seemed to stop watering from the countless times she had accidentally wiped them—forgetting the soap on her hands—and her back screamed from the constant hunch she had placed herself in.

Yes, it had been three years since she had last seen Jamie. Her Jamie. Aoife shuddered as the memories crept back into her mind—the memories of the day she tried to forget, the memories of the day he had been taken away from her. For two years, she anxiously awaited a letter from him, a message from him, a sign that he was still alive and well. There had been nothing during those two years: no letter, no messenger, nothing. It wasn't until she had been walking across the courtyard last year that she had finally gotten the news she had been waiting, hoping, for. It was a small letter, barely fitting the three lines that were scrawled in the familiar, chicken-scratch handwriting, but it had been enough to cause her to drop the basket of herbs she had gathered for Glenna and cover her mouth as tears prickled her eyes.

Aoife shook her head, truly hoping to expel the drifting memories from her mind. She couldn't allow herself to think of those times, right now. Not with the current hustle and bustle that was going around the castle, and certainly not with the amount of injuries that seemed to be constantly drifting through her doors. With a sigh of relief, Aoife tossed the coarse brush into the bucket, not caring for the water that sloshed over the edge and crashed to the ground, and stood up. The numerous pops that sounded from her back echoed throughout the barren hall as the window in the corner graced her with a gentle breeze, the coolness contrasting with the warm beads of sweat the dripped down her face.

Almost as though the wind had been calling her name, Aoife made her way across the room before leaning out the window, resting her elbow on the dewy cobblestone and her chin on her palm. The sound of children laughing, men shouting, and women singing reverberated throughout the small courtyard and out into the fields. It was such a beautiful day. The grass was a vibrant green, the sky a clear blue with not a single cloud to be seen, and the sun creating a warm halo across the land. Aoife shivered as another cool breeze caressed her pale face, her inky locks dancing as the wind twirled with them.

In the gentleness of the afternoon—and the procrastination of finishing her other chores—Aoife couldn't help but let her mind wander to Jenny. The older Fraser girl had been her closest friend and the person left to take care of the farm. Aoife knew that it was a hard life out there, especially when you had no one helping you, but she also knew that the older girl was strong and could handle herself. Jenny was three years older Aoife, two years older than Jamie, and had been taking care of the pair since their mothers had died. She had even gone as far as forcing the young girl to move in with them so that she could help her watch over Fiona.

"When can I go home?" Aoife mused, trailing her finger over the clumped, green moss, "When will you come home?"

Forcing out a rather harsh breath, Aoife pulled herself away from the window and grasped the handle of the bucket. She couldn't postpone her work any longer, she lamented, and it was better for her to not get caught this time. As she had noted before, there seemed to be an increase in injuries at the castle and, while she worked as a maid, she had also been tasked with being the healer. Growing up on the farm with Jamie, she had been quick to learn how to take care of him when the young boy injured himself. She taught herself the healing properties of certain plants and how to make them into salves, or boil them into teas. Though she could do a lot, she wasn't a professional and there was only so much she knew how to do. Setting a broken bone was as simple as baking a pie, but healing a sick child… sometimes there was nothing she could do.

Speaking of pies, the young woman hurried down the steps, depositing the bucket in a hidden cupboard, before pulling open the courtyard door. She had been meaning to pick some flowers for Glenna—the poor woman had taken it upon herself to teach Aoife how to make a duck pie—and Aoife thought that the bright colors would lighten up the kitchen. Though it was not always permitted for servants to leave the castle without permission, she had quickly learned that, if not one saw you exit the castle, then no one could ask what you were doing about. It wasn't uncommon to be tasked with bringing lunch to the stable boys or gathering vegetables from the garden.

Aoife hummed to herself as she crossed the courtyard, her mind was clearly in the clouds but she found herself in too good of a mood to truly care. It was only when the sound of oncoming horses reached her ears that she was brought back to earth, turning to see a herd of people rushing across the bridge. Aoife felt her brows furor in confusion as she caught a glimpse of a woman, wearing quite an inappropriate dress, might she add, siting on one of the horses. It was not uncommon for whores to be brought to the castle, but Aoife had never seen a soldier bring one into the castle from a battle—why would they when they had plenty in town? Tilting her head, Aoife wondered if she was maybe still too naïve and had yet to learn the soldiers' code. However, all thoughts were quick to flee her mind when she caught sight of unruly auburn hair from behind the woman, and she wondered if this was a new soldier who had yet to learn the code.

She wasn't sure.

What she was sure of was that the man who rested behind the woman was different. His form was too study, too strong, to have been a soldier and she pondered if he had been a farmer before being recruited. The man slowly lowered the woman to the ground, and Aoife couldn't help but notice the woman's rather short hair, before he, too, slid off the horse. She noted his grimace of pain and her eyes trailed up his form, searching for a wound, bloodstain, or bandage, when an oddly casted sling caught her attention.

Probably a dislocated shoulder, Aoife pursed her lips.

The man, whose face was still blocked from hers, whispered something to the woman, and Aoife went to make her way over to the two when the man looked up. Aoife's mind went numb as her body froze, her heart picking up speed and feeling as though she had ran from the creek to the castle. She couldn't forget those eyes; no matter what, she could never forget those eyes. She had seen them sparkle with happiness, burn with anger, and shimmer with tears.

A hoarse whisper escaped her lips, "Jamie?"

And suddenly the sky met the earth.