I remember once, a nurse I worked with while I was stationed in Germany during the war, told me that I needed to start living my life. That my knight in shining armor may really exist, but what if, because I never went out, dated or did anything other than work, read and bathe, what if I missed him, I never met him. Or if I did meet him, I was so boring that I was not his dream gal. Her advise was to live, to have fun. If a guy asked me out, I should go. What was the worst that could happen? I'd have a nice meal and maybe loose a little sleep because I did not stay in and go to bed promptly at 9pm. Maybe his best friend was the perfect guy for me and my date would introduce us. I had to be willing to risk my heart to find happiness, she said. So when my heart's desire asked me again to to go with him to Reverend Wakefield's and Culluden, I said yes, and went. I tried not to let my own heavy heart get in the way of enjoying my time with Jamie, my very own Sir Galahad. I needed to make memories that would last me a lifetime. Jamie was going to be gone and this would all come crashing to an end soon enough.
Finally. Claire has agreed to come with Randall and I to Reverend Wakefield's after lunch as well as Culloden tomorrow. I ken I don't have much time with her. I want to be near her as much as I can. I need to make memories that will last me a lifetime. This will come to an end soon enough.
The three of us return to the library. Claire 'checks out' the books on Planets and Scotland as well as a book titled The Time Machine by H. G. Wells so I can take them back to the flat to look through them. She thinks I will enjoy H. G. Wells as an author and that he was a verra prolific writer with a keen imagination. We pack up all Randall's papers and pens and leave for lunch.
It is decided to eat at a tavern a short walk from the Library, The Uisage Beatha, Water of Life I translate for Claire. It is like walking back in time for me. Two doors admit us; a street door, a small alcove and then an interior door. A large bar sits against the far wall. Tables with church pews, used as seats, run along every available wall with plenty of tables and chairs between the pews and the bar. There is a large fireplace on wall opposite the bar with a fire going. At the back there is a raised platform, I do'na ken why. Two large windows at the front admit the only light. I immediately feel at home here. We find a 'booth' and I guide Claire in and then I sit beside her. Lambert is off to use the loo and says to order a round of beers. The bar maid come to the table and Randall orders 4 pints, and she leaves to fetch the drinks and menus.
Randall starts talking. I no not about what. I am not listening. Claire reaches under the table and places her hand in mine. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. Finally, she has forgiven me. I turn and look at her. She is tracing the grain in the wooden table with the fingernail of her other hand. I reach out and place my other hand on top of hers and with my thumb, I slowly start to caress it. She closes her eyes and sighs. I feel her heart beat slow as she relaxes. Finally she turns and looks at me. It is the first time since I chased after her when she left the Library that she has looked directly at me. We neither of us have any words to speak. We just touch. She relaxes enough to slide up next to me and leans her head against my arm and I can take another breath. I lay my cheek on the top of her head and lean back against the pew. We will be alright. I feel the tension in my shoulders start ease and my body starts to relax a little as well.
Randall acts like he is oblivious to us. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a piece of paper. He stands and fetches a pen from the inside pocket of his coat, which is hanging on a 'coat hook' on the side of the pew. Randall sits down starts to draw on the paper. He is talking, but neither Claire nor I are listening.
Claire asks, "Why do you keep calling me Sassenach, Jamie?"
Randall lifts his head and says, "It's a Gaelic word, Claire. It how Scots refer to the English. A Sassenach is like an Outlander or an Outsider to them. A English person. We have the same slang in our language for a Scot. We refer to them as a Jock."
"Aye," I say and nod my head. "I use it to refer to your Englishness, Claire. I use it as a term of endearment. No one will call you a Sassenach but me," and I gently stroke her hand.
Lambert is back from the loo and slides in next to Randall so he is sitting across from me. Lambert reaches out and places his hand on top of ours and pats them. We both watch him. "Don't worry you two." Lambert says. "My friend is coming. He will know what needs to be done. All that is wrong, I am , can be fixed. Go with Frank today Jamie and take Claire with you. Go to Reverend Wakefield's. There is important information for you to learn there. Information for you both. Claire, you must go with Jamie tomorrow as well; he needs you now more than ever. Life will always throw obstacles in your path. The trick is to work together to overcome them. Remain united. Resolve the issues as a pair. Do not let the problems divide you, use them make your bond stronger. Have faith and remain true to your feelings for each other. It will all work out." And he smiled at us.
The barmaid is back with the beers and menus. She sets them on the table and walks away.
Randall slides the paper he has been working on toward Claire and I. It is a map...a very poor map, of Scotland. He has drawn X's in various spots and labeled them - Inverness, Culloden, Castle Leoch, Beauly, Prestonpans, Falkirk, Wentworth and Ardsmuir. I take the pen from his hand. After the words Wentworth and Ardsmuir, I add the word Prison. Why in the world does he want to go there I wonder. What does he ken about those prisons? I then add Fort William. Randall looks at me and raises his eyebrows. I nod my head. Now it is Randall's turn to be confused. I place an X labeled Lallybroch where I think the estate should be. Claire takes the pen from me and adds Craig na Dun and Edinburgh.
Randall leans back, laughs and says, "We'll be gone a week if we see all this."
Claire say, "If we will really need a week, I will need to ask if I can take several days off from work. Oh and Jamie, this package is your dry cleaning" and she pats the rather bulky package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. "Your clothes, back from the cleaners. I picked them up after work. But I think we are going to have to go shopping. One kilt, one shirt, one vest, one jacket and one pair of wool socks will not do. The borrowed clothes are fine for a day or two around the flat but you will need more than at least one change of clothes for this trip. Also, you gave me no boxers. Did you wash them yourself in the sink?"
"Boxers?" I ask.
"Underwear, chap." Randall says to me.
Aye," I say. "I do'na want to take this trip without them." I have no idea what they are talking about. I make a note to ask Claire what 'under where' is when we are alone.
The barmaid returns and we order lunch. Steak and kidney pie is now one of my new favorite meals. I hope Claire kens how to make it. I eat mine, then half of Claire's, as she says she is full, after a hand full of bites, and is'na going to finish hers. Lambert then says he is full and pushes his bowl of Lamb Stew to me to finish and I use the last of the bread to wipe the bowl.
"You are a bottomless pit," Randall says as he swaps my empty plate for his and lets me finish his fish and chips as well. He even has the maid bring me more bread.
Claire says, "they serve Cranachan, if you have room for desert, Jamie."
I eat two. Life is always better on a full stomach. I can not remember when I have eaten so well.
Mrs. Graham, the Reverend Wakefield's housekeeper, answers the door when Randall knocks. I ken this because that's the name he uses to greet her. She is a friendly looking woman and greets us with the same enthusiasm Mrs. FitzGibbon showed when I came back to Castle Leoch after a night of Cattle Rustling with my Uncle Dougal when I was a lad of 14. I think there are certain women that simply love men. They love to be around them, listen to them talk, take care of them. They spend their days doing whatever needs to be done for them - sewing, cooking, nursing them when they are sick and healing them when they are injured. They are always good cooks and you never leave their table hungry . They, plain and simple, love even the smell of men. I have found they are usually older, widowed women. They must miss their own men, so they look to take care of others. Mrs. Graham is such a woman. She somehow kens I know this about her. I can see it in her eyes when she looks past Randall and directly at me.
"Hello, Mrs. Graham," Randall says. "Is the Reverend waiting for me? I am a little late for our appointment. You remember Claire, don't you?"
Mrs. Graham moves to the side and opens the door wide allowing Randall to walk by. I walk in next with my body between Claire and whatever is in the house, protecting her. I have a tight grip on her hand. I do not ken this house or these people.
"Mrs. Graham," Claire exclaims. "How nice to see you again. I'd like you to meet my friend, James Fraser. Jamie, this is Mrs. Graham, Reverend Wakefield's housekeeper and a friend of mine," she adds and gently squeezes my hand. I relax a little. Claire seems comfortable here.
I nod my head to Mrs. Graham and she smiles at me. "Come in, come in. Lets get you in front of a fire, to warm up. Both of you without a coat! Not an ounce of sense between the two of you, I must say," and she laughs. "Go on into the study. I'll make a pot of tea and bring it right in. That will warm ya up. I have some biscuits ready as well."
As we enter the Entry Hall, I notice a small boy sitting quietly on the stairs with a wee toy in his hands. The lad looks up at me when we enter and watches me with large green eyes. I wink at him, which of course means both eyes close, and the lad laughs.
"What's your name laddie?" I ask.
"Roger, sir," he replies.
"Jamie, this is Roger Wakefield. The Reverend Wakefield's adopted son. How old are you now, Roger?" Claire asks.
"Six." Roger answers. "My da's name is MacKenzie," he adds proudly. "I am Roger Jeremiah Wakefield MacKenzie," and he nods his head.
"My name is James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. I'm verra pleased to meet you, Roger. What's that you have?" I ask and point to the toy in his hand.
Roger's eyes get big a saucers when I say my name. "That's a lot of names. One is the same as mine," he says. "This is a present from my da," he adds and holds it up so Jamie can look at it. "My da is missing. My mam is dead."
"My mam and da are both dead as well. So are Claire's," I say and walk over to the side of the stairs and looks through the railing at Roger. I am eye to eye with the lad. Roger puts his hand through the rail and shows his toy to me. I do'na ken what kind of toy it is; I have never seen anything like it. Claire walks up beside me and opens her hand to take the toy...
"What a lovely airplane you have Roger. Do you know what kind of plane it is?" Claire asks. I do'na ken what an airplane is. Claire will explain it later, I'm sure.
"It's a spitfire, like my da flew in the war," he answers. He hands it to Claire, who in turn hands it to me.
"An airplane flies in the air like a bird, don't they Roger?" Claire says in an attempt to engage the boy in conversation. She turns to me. "The simplest way to explain it is, they are like cars, but they fly in the air like birds. Way above the clouds. They carry people from place to place. Across land, over mountains and oceans."
"Frank," Claire calls and then turns.
Randall is standing the the Entry Hall . He has been watching and listening to the entire exchange. "Yes Claire?" Randall answers. The Reverend is standing beside him, his face has a look of puzzlement on it.
"Roger, if I were to take an ship from, say, Inverness to America in the 1700's, how long would it take? Approximately," she asks him.
"In the 1700's? By ship, probably two months, with good weather. Frank states with certainty. "What do you think Reverend?"
"Um, yes, maybe two to three months. Yes, I'd say that would get you there," the Reverend agreed.
"Why, in the world, would you want to know that, Claire?" Frank inquired.
"Jamie and I were just talking to Roger, that's all. Thanks Frank." Claire says and turns back to me. "So, in a modern ship, that same voyage can now be done in less than 7 days. An airplane can make the same trip in a day. For people like you, who dislike sailing so, a plane makes traveling possible. And we have not even started on trains..." and Claire laughs and places her hand lightly on my arm.
I give the lad back his airplane and thank him for letting me hold it.
The lad smiles and asks, "would you like to see my room?"
"May I bring Claire?" I ask.
Roger frowns. "She's a girl. But if ya wan'na bring her, I guess it would be alright."
"Well, ya see Roger," I whisper through the railing to him like Claire is'na even here. "I'm kin'a partial to her, ya see, and we would'na want ta hurt her feelings by excluding her, would we?"
"Nooo," Roger replies hesitantly. "She's welcome too then," and he smiles at us.
And up the stairs we go to visit Roger's room. Roger gives us a guided tour. A wonderful bairn's room full of toys, books, puzzles and such. We have a grand time. Claire and I sit on Roger's bed as Roger brings his treasures to us one at a time. Claire and I make a sufficient amount of 'oohs and ahhhs', showing great interest and adoration to each object he brings, that he is quite happy and encouraged to bring toy after toy until finally he brings a book, climbs into my lap and asks me to read it to him. Claire sits back, leans against the wall and listens to me as I read Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. What a wonderful story. Peter is such a mischievous fellow. I think my brother Willie and Peter Rabbit are kindred spirits. Roger climbs down off my lap to put the book away and get another one when Mrs. Graham appears at the door.
"There ya all are. I was about to send a search party out to find the three of ya," she says with a smile. "Tea's served, in the study with the Reverend and Mr. Randall. And you, young man," she says to Roger as she tousles his hair, come with me. We will make ya some hot cocoa and maybe I have a biscuit or two for ya as well, aye?"
"Thank ya most kindly Roger, for allowing Claire and I to visit your private sanctuary. Maybe next time we can play with your cars."
That makes Roger smile ear to ear.
I help Claire stand and we go downstairs in search of sustenance and adult conversation. There is plenty to be had in the Reverend's study. When we enter the room, the Reverend and Randall are deep in an argument about one Clarence Marylebone, The Duke of Sandringham, as to whether he was or was not a Jacobite supporter.
After a few minutes of listening to them banter, I say out loud "I do'na ken whether he was a Jacobite supporter or no, but he was most definitely a sodomite." That stops the discussion as two pairs of eyes turn to me in unison with shocked looks upon their faces. I place one of Mrs. Graham's biscuits in my mouth, whole, as Claire hands me a verra pretty but tiny cup of tea and places another biscuit on the saucer and I smile at the two men. Time to tell some of my truths to Randall. It is not like he does'na already guess at it anyway. He has been watching and listening to me all day, even though he pretended sometimes he is'na. And he is an educated man, not daft. Randall told me at the Library today that he is a Doctor; Dr. Frank Randall, Phd., in History, he told me with pride. His 'thesis' was The Jacobite Rising of 1719; Randall is a published author, specializing in a piece of history that is verra important to me. He has information I need to hear.
Claire sits down on the settee and pats the cushion beside her for me to come sit. She sets a plate of biscuits on the table in front of me, takes hold of my hand and I begin the portion of my tale that I will share with them. I try and explain, with the truth as I ken it, how, when my horse was shot out from under me, I was in 1743 and when I woke up, I was in 1946. When I am done, both Randall and Reverend Wakefield are open mouthed and silent.
"You're serious, Jamie?" is how Randall begins when he finally regains his ability to speak. "You believe you were born in May of 1721 and that in April 1743, you are shot and you wake up here in October 1946? Have I got that correct? And Claire, you believe him? You believe what he is saying?"
"Weel, that's not exactly what I said," I remind him. "The horse I was riding was shot. When the horse fell, I hit my head. Claire's Uncle Lambert can speak for where he found me. I just ken I was at Craigh na Dun when I hit my head and at Craigh na Dun when I came to. If you ken what happened between the two, I would like verra much to hear it."
"Jamie," Claire interrupts. "Just because you don't have your arm in a sling, like you should, does not mean you can ignore the fact that you were shot in the shoulder as well as dislocating it."
Mrs. Graham clears her throat. We all turn and there she is, holding a fresh pot of tea and looking a bit sheepish. "Jamie, if ya don't mind I call ya by your first name, I might have an idea as to how ya came to be here, now, having left 1743 behind ya. If ya'd care ta hear it."
"Now, Mrs. Graham, I don't want you spouting any of your poppy-cock to these nice people. It's one thing when it's me, quite another when it is guests that don't know you the way I do," the Reverend intervenes while shaking his head.
Jamie turned to the Reverend. "I would like to hear what the woman has to say if ya don't mind. Since I have no explanation of my own, I am not adverse to hearing someone else's thoughts on the matter. I can make up my own mind to choose to believe her or not."
"Why don't we go into the kitchen then," Mrs. Graham suggests. "I'll give ya a larger cup of tea in there and I have some fresh biscuits I just took out of the oven." I stood up, extended my hand to Claire, and the two of us leave the study and follow Mrs. Graham to the kitchen.
Claire and I take a seat at the table in the kitchen. True to her word, Mrs. Graham, who tells me her name is Margret but that her friends call her Maggie, and that Claire and I are most certainly her friends, places a large mug of tea in front of me. "A wee bit of scotch never hurt anyone on a day like this, aye?" she says as she pours a hefty dollop into my mug and winks at me. She sets down another plate of fresh, hot biscuits and I immediately place one in my mouth and blink at her. My new friend Maggie likes men.
"These are excellent, Maggie. As good as any I have ever had, and I have eaten biscuits in King Louis's court," I tell her. "What do ya call them again?"
"Shortbread," she replies with a slight blush to her cheeks. "My dear Granny's receipt, handed down to me when I was just a lass. I'll wrap some up to take home with ya then," and she starts to get up to do just that. I put my hand on her arm to stop her. I motion for her to sit back down.
"There is plenty of time for that, lass. Ya ken do it before we go. I want to hear what you ken about the Stones. About Craigh na Dun. Tell me, please."
"The Stones are old, old as man himself, maybe older," she starts. She drops her smile and her face becomes serious. "I'm what's known as a druid, but also a caller. Like my Grandmother was and her Grandmother before her. Callers skip a generation, ya see. I learned to speak to the Stones from my Gran. And she from hers. And so on back in time. My Gran taught me the words and how to call to them. To open them. Four times a year we meet to worship and call them. My Gran taught me the way it was taught to her, every:
Lughanasadh – The beginning of the harvest August 1st
Samhain – The end of the harvest / beginning of Winter October 31st
Imbolc – St. Bridig's Day / The beginning of Spring February 1st
Beltane – May Day May 1s
We dance and sing to the stones, starting an hour before sunrise. At the start of sunrise as we see the sun come up over the horizon, the caller speaks to the stones and when we see the full sun we put out our torches and leave until the next meeting."
Jamie's hand is gripping mine. "I did'na come on Auld Hallow's Eve. I came through the Stones last night. I left my Scotland April 1st, 1743. I arrived here in this Scotland on October 26th, 1946. Not at sunrise, both in the night. Both in the pouring rain."
"Did the Stones call ya then?" Maggie asked me.
"Call to me? How would they call to me? Ya mean did I hear ya singing from the other side of the stones? Na, if ya were calling, I did'na hear ya. I was too busy fighting the British to hear anything but battle cries, gun fire and swords." I say in reply.
"We would not have been singing then. We will sing in 4 days time," Maggie reminded me. Someone must have opened the Stones to allow you through, though. The Stones usually call to a soul, like siren calls to a sailor. Some say it sounds like wind, others say it sounds like a roar. Either way, the Stones call to ya before they take ya and someone would have ta wake the Stones before that. I've never heard of a sunset calling. Who would want ya here? Now? There is good and there is evil in the world. Whoever it was must be a powerful druid to do it before Samhain."
"Good and evil," Jamie repeats and looks at Mrs. Graham with a tilt of his head.
"Give me your hand," Maggie asks in a demanding sort of way. "Let see what your palm can tell me," and she lightly puts her fingers around my wrist and pulls my left hand towards her and flattens my palm.
"Mrs. Graham, I mean Maggie, has read my palm Jamie. She is really quite good. She also reads tea leaves. Let's see what Maggie has to say about you, your future and your past perhaps. There may be clues or answers," Claire says. "Maggie, when you read my hand you use my right hand. You are reading Jamie's left. Is there a reason?"
Maggie runs her fingers over my palm and looks seriously and deeply into it. "One should always read a woman's right hand and a man's left," she replies to my question but does'na look up at me, she looks at Jamie and says "You are left handed. Unusual for a warrior such as yourself."
"And just why do ya think I am a warrior?" I ask with skepticism and I raise an eyebrow at her.
"Because you've been watchful of the lass since ya came to the door. Ya are pleasant enough but ya have not dropped your guard since ya came in except when ya were upstairs with Roger," she replies. "Even then, ya kept yourself between Claire and the door."
I smile and give a soft laugh. "Ya are right enough there."
"You do Jamie? Are you protecting me?" I place his right hand, which I have been holding almost continually since lunch, in my lap and place my right hand over our interlocked fingers and trace his knuckles. I lean over and place a brief kiss on his cheek and whisper, "I never noticed. That's really very sweet, Jamie."
I turn, place a kiss on her forehead and reply, "Always Sassenach." I turn back to Maggie and ask, "and just how do ya ken I am left handed?"
"Because ya keep Claire on your right and hold her hand in your right. Keeps your sword hand free, yes?" and Maggie smiles back at me. "Even though ya don't have your weapon on ya. Ya do have a small knife in the back of your left boot. Always armed."
"You do Jamie?" Claire seems surprised.
"This," and she traces a thick line around the base of my thumb where it meets my palm, with the nail of her little finger, "is your family line. See how thick it is? Family is everything to you. You would do anything for them and to protect them. This," and she traces a thinner line that goes from in between my thumb and forefinger, encircles and encompasses the pad at the base of my thumb, "is your life line. You are going to live to be a verra old man," she looks up and smiles at me. "It is a bit odd though, there is this shadow of a second line, like there may be two lives. What is really odd is this second, lighter line has 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 lines crossing it. That would mean this second life has 9 lives before they die. How odd. How could a person die 8 times and come back to life after each death?" Maggie shakes her head as if to clear the thought.
That was what the old gypsy fortune teller in Paris had hinted at. She had called me a cat with nine lives, I remind myself. I had been too cheap to pay her to find out. I click my tongue against my teeth.
"This line," and she traces a line a that starts about my middle finger and goes to the end of my palm just under my little finger, " is your heart line. Most heart lines start here under the index finger. This can mean that your heart was broken at an early age so that you refused to love for awhile. That means you usually find your heart later in life. Most find their first love when they are in their teens and love several times before they settle down. Not you. Now you see this lighter smaller semi-circle inside just above the heart line? When the heart line is reinforced with this inner heart line it means you will give your heart only once. See how deep the line is. True love and devotion to the lucky woman. You will'na stray. She looks up and shifts her look to Claire and then back down to my palm. "But now the marriage line, well it looks like two marriages, although one is verra faint, almost like it's not there. And it crosses over the deeper marriage line, like ya are married to two women at the same time. Your not one of those bigamists, are ya now, Jamie?" she giggles as she asks but I can see in her face she is serious and watching me for my reaction to what she said. "See this line," and she traces one that joins with the inner marriage line and then jets down toward the center of the palm. "This one I do'na see verra often. It's your passion line. It means just what you think. You are passionate about how you feel and live. But connected to the inner marriage line is significant. Your wife will never worry about how you feel about her.
"What about bairn? Can ya see how many I will sire?" I shift my gaze out the corner of my eye to look at Claire, to see how she responds to the question. My wee glass faced Sassenach is turning a wee red. I smile.
"Only women have the lines to show how many children they will bare. Sorry Jamie. See this line," and she traces one that starts joined with the life line but is basically a straight line to the center of my palm. "This is the head line. It usually curves and follow the life line. Not yours. Yours is straight as a arrow. You are as stubborn as they come. No compromise for you."
My Sassenach laughs out loud with that statement.
I turn and look at her. She stops laughing but continues to smile.
"The passion line, presented like it is, usually means ya will not stray far," Maggie continues. "But your whole hand is really a conundrum. It contradicts itself several times. Long life but you'll die 8 times. Faithful to your one true love but you'll marry twice. Strong family ties but you'll leave them. Finish your tea. Lets see what the leaves say, shall we?"
I turn to look at Claire. To see how she is taking all this. She lifts her head, looks me straight in the eye and says, "Kiss me, my wee conundrum."
I smile, laugh and turn to Mrs. Graham. "Thank you Maggie. This has been most enjoyable and informative. But I think I will skip the reading of the tea leave for today. I need to go back to the study. I have questions for the Jacobite experts and then it sounds like Claire and I need to go clothes shopping. Did I say that correctly, Sassenach?"
"Perfectly." Claire responds and smiles.
We both stand. I take one last biscuit and pop it in my mouth and swallow the last of my tea. We take our leave of Mrs. Graham and find our way back to the study. I have a great deal of history to catch up on. My teachers await.