Lallybroch
Claire dragged herself in through the doors of the Hospital and the smell of the hospital hit her as she walked in; that clean, sterile, bleached smell that most people complain about when they first come in. She had become desensitized to the odor, she had not noticed it in years. She walked up to the second floor, the floor with the newly admitted patients. She entered the nurse's locker room and found her standard grey locker, number 1721, put her purse and sweater away and removed her cap from the shelf. She walked to the lavatory to use the mirror to check her makeup and pin her cap in place. She hardly recognized the face in the mirror staring back at her. There was such sadness in the eyes that looked back at her and puffy from all the crying that had been done before she left the flat. She looked a fright and thought for sure she would scare the patients. If she had not already been out for 4 days, she would have called out sick, but she could not do that to the other nurses. It's tough on the rest of the team when one of them is out. Besides all she would do at home would be to cry and be miserable. Here at least there was the offer of distraction. The day would go quickly. An 8 hour shift usually ended up being 10 – 12 hours here anyway. She would go home exhausted and fall into bed. She would wake up tomorrow and do it all again. One foot in front of the other, trudge on like the good little soldier she was. One day at a time. The ache in her heart would eventually lessen, she had to hope.
Nurse's aide Mary Hawkins and Head Nurse Margaret Sanger came bursting into the locker room.
"SssEeee Mrs. SSSanger, I told you I ssssawww Ccclllaire come in. She's back" Mary proudly pronounced.
"Aye, I can see that with my own eyes Mary. I thank you for coming to tell me so quickly" and she smiled at Mary.
"I'm so glaaad you're back Ccclllaire. We haaaave missed you terribly." Mary said a huge grin on her face. "Ddddooo you think she can hhhhelp me with Mr. Murray? He is ggggiving me sssuch a hard time."
"Mary, give me a minute with Claire and then I will send her to help you, I promise. Since she is not on the schedule to return until tomorrow, I think that would work nicely for the floor. We know how good Claire is with… unhappy patients."
"SSSure, Mrs. Sanger. Ggggood to have you back Ccccllaire" and Mary left the room.
Nurse Sanger approached Claire. It was clear she had been crying. Quite a bit of crying by the looks of her. Claire's face and body language told her that; her stance was not her usual military stiff and straight self and her eyes, puffy from tears. Her face carried the look of a person worn out from working an 8 hour shift not one just coming on. Even her usual perfect make-up and immaculate hair were in state of disrepair. Something was wrong. She needed to make sure Claire was alright to come back to work. Claire was her best, most dependable nurse and was always the consummate professional. She knew to leave her personal issues at the door and give her patients the very best possible care; she made the hospital proud to have her on their staff. As Claire's direct supervisor it was her duty to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering her nurse.
Nurse Sanger approached Claire and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "What's going on Claire? It's not like you to get your days mixed up. You look a bit of a sight. Are you sure you wouldn't rather be home?"
Claire looked up into the mirror at the concerned face of her supervisor standing behind her. Nurse Sanger was one of the few women she knew who was taller than herself and a great supervisor; she absolutely loved working with her. Some head nurses can be so disciplined and hard but not Nurse Sanger. That is why no one ever transferred from this floor; it had a reputation for breaking nurses but when Nurse Sanger took charge almost a year ago, things changed. Mrs. Sanger protected her nurses, she did not allow the doctors berate or ridicule them. She always stood up for her floor nurses and had a reputation for kindness and fairness. Claire knew she couldn't lie to her supervisor, but if she started to talk about this week, all that had happened, then the fragile wall she had erected, and needed, to even walk through the hospital doors, would come crashing down. Claire's hands trembled as she tried to pin her cap to her head when she noticed the large white cuff on the sleeve of the new couture nurse's uniform looked crumpled and smashed. She set the cap and pins down and started to pull and futz with the sleeve, the pale blue uniforms with their starched white pinafores were beautiful but the large cuffs were very impractical.
"Here Claire, let's start with the hair shall we?" Nurse Sanger said in a calm and kind tone. "Hand me your hairbrush." She removed the tie from Claire's hair and, handed it to her to hold and started to brush it. "You have the most beautiful curly hair. It's naturally, yes? You don't perm it, do you?" she asked.
"No" Claire replied in a quiet voice.
Well, that confirmed it. Claire always spoke clearly and in a normal tone. Looked a person in the eye when she spoke. Something was off. "Well I know plenty that would kill for these curls, natural or man-made" and she smiled at her nurse in the mirror. "You sure you feel up to working today? You seem a bit out of sorts…" Nurse Sanger reached for the tie to complete the ponytail.
"I'm just a little tired. We had a fun, fast paced, exhilarating and exhausting couple of days. I had a friend in town, staying with me. And we spent 3 days touring the Scottish sights. That's why I asked for the days off." Claire explained then sighed.
"I see. Hand me your cap and I'll pin it in place… if you are sure you want to stay" she said.
"I would like to… to keep busy. You see, my friend left early this morning and I don't think I will see them again" Claire said softly and looked at her feet.
Not before her supervisor saw her chin tremble. She took Claire by the shoulders and turned her around to face her. "A man, sweetie?"
Claire wouldn't look up. She just couldn't. She was barely able to hold back the tears now. "It did not end well before he left, you see. We had a fight."
"Well, if I am any judge of men, and I think that I am, married 35 years and raised 4 fine boys, the only female in the house, even the dogs were all males. Your fella is feeling the same way, I'm sure. How could he not? Let the man get to where he is going. Give him a couple of days. He will call you, I'm sure of it" and she smiled at Claire with all the confidence and knowing of any mother. "Is he military?" she asked.
"Yes, yes he's a soldier" Claire responded. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose and exhaled it back out through her mouth. She did that a second time and then opened her eyes.
Her supervisor was looking at her curiously.
"An odd trick an old man I met in Tibet taught me, when I was living, or rather traveling, with my Uncle after my parents died. He said it would help center me. And it does, if calming me is centering me" and Claire smiled as she remembered the small bald man dressed in red. "Anyway, I need to be busy. Point me to Mr. Murray and let's see if I can help Mary out with her worrisome patient."
"Alright, if you are sure... If you change your mind or need to leave early, just come find me. If I am not on the floor, I will be in my office" and she starts to walk away. She stops and turns around. "It's good to have you back Claire. Your absence was noticed" and she opened the door for Claire and followed her out.
"Good morning Mr. Murray," Claire cheerfully announced her presence and added a smile. "I am Nurse Beauchamp. I will be your nurse while you are here today". "You remember Mary?" and she turned to find that Mary was not behind her. She had not followed Claire into the room at all, absolutely no Mary in sight. She looked back out into the hall and saw Mary's figure turn the corner at the nurse's station and disappeared without a glace behind her. "Coward" Claire muttered to herself. Seems she was on her own with Mr. Murray then.
"Another Nurse?" Mr. Murray grumbled loudly as he opened his eyes and glared at her. "That makes 3 and I've only arrived this morning. Are you going to poke, prod and take my pulse as well?" he growled.
Well, now Claire knew why Mary preferred to be elsewhere, actually anywhere else but in this room. She smiled, her best, most patient friendly smile in her repertoire. She would make her mission, today, to see that Mr. Murray was content, maybe not happy but content since his chart said he was going to be here for several day, at the minimum. Severe chest pains.
"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?" she asked. "Another pillow perhaps or a second blanket? I could turn the radio on if you'd like to listen to some music."
"No, I don't want to listen to what you young people think passes for music these days" he said with a frown. "I'd like to go home. If you really want to help, find my clothes and help me get dressed. Let me get out of here."
"Mr. Murray, your chart says you are in here because of chest pains. The doctors want you to stay in hospital a couple of days so they can run some tests. Where is your family? Are they downstairs in the cafeteria having a cuppa? Would you like me to go down and fetch them for you?"
"No, I don't want you to go down and fetch them!" He yelled, turned and looked out the window. I checked his chart. No family. The man had no one. He'd most likely had a heart attack, he was probably scared to death and had no one to sit with him. No one to talk to or to hold his hand, to comfort him.
Claire walked over, pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. She reached out and gently took his hand in hers. She spoke not a word, sat in silence waiting for him to tell her.
He did not pull his hand away. He allowed her to hold it, he even squeezing it once. That spoke volumes. While still looking out the window he began, "I was'na always an auld grommel, ye ken. I remember being happy. Once, a long time ago. I was married too. Happily. Her name was, or rather still is, Rebecca, but I always called her Becs" and she was mine. He turned and let me see the sadness in his heart. Becs and I grew up together as kids. All the boys wanted her as their sweetheart, but I was the one she picked, out of all of them. I was the one she wanted, she had always said, until she didn't anymore. Want me that is. Said she always ken it would be me she would marry. All through school, we only had eyes for each other. Neither of us dated anyone else. When we got our parents permission to marry, we did'na even wait to finish school. We were so happy. We didn't have much but it didn't matter, we had each other. We lived on my family's farm; 3 generations of Murray's in the big house. My Grandda and Granny, my da and ma and me and Becs. Did not think we could be happier until the day our son was born. We named him Ian. After the first Murray to run the farm. Back to the early 18th century, we go back. We, the first male of each generation are all Ian Murray's, except the verra first; the verra first Ian Murray's youngest son was the first to carry his fathers name. The first Ian Murray's first born was named after his wife's brother, ye see. Verra unusal. She was the last of her name. All of her family had died except one, a younger brother and that's who her oldest was named after. So verra sad" he said as he shook his head. "She had an older brother that died when he was 11. He must have fallen ill and died. Then the mother must have died in childbirth because she died on the same day a baby was born. The baby died as well. Not so uncommon back then, ye ken. Then the father died, young, only 40 years old. Murray's wife has another, younger brother, that was still alive but the farm goes to the oldest Murray son; it does not stay in the wife's family" and John scratches his head and shrugs his shoulders. "We never solved the mystery of the surviving brother and why he did not take over the running of the family farm. Perhaps he was handicapped or soft in the heid. Maybe he died at Culloden Moor in '46 or slipped out of the country, like so many Scots tried that were persecuted by the British around that time. Many healthy young Scots that were caught were tried and hung as traitors of the crown in an attempt by the British to take family land. We'll never ken, I suppose. So that's how the farm fell to the Murray's, by marriage and is my inheritance.
"How very interesting, Mr. Murray. It's nice that you know a little about your family's history. That does not really explain where your family is now or how I can get in touch with your nearest relative, though." Claire smiled as she patted his hand. "Would you like some water, before you continue your family's tale?" she asked.
"Please, Claire is it? Call me John, it's the English translation for Ian. I'd love a cuppa, if you could manage it. Maybe a biscuit or two to go with it?"
Claire nodded, left and returned with his tea. She had even managed to snag a couple of jammie dodgers from the nurses lounge. "I need to poke and prod you for just a few minutes. It will give your tea a chance to cool. You said plain, no milk or lemon, correct?" she asked.
John nodded his head and held out his arm so she could take his blood pressure and pulse. When that was done, she made the notations in his chart. "Do you need to use the loo?" Claire asked. "I'll be happy to assist you or would you like me to unpack your overnight bag?"
"I don't have an overnight bag. There was no one to pack one for me." John said. "The only thing I thought to grab was the family bible when the police came to pick me up ta bring me to hospital. The doc waited with me until they came but neither of us thought about an overnight bag."
"What?" Claire exclaimed. "I will go down the street on my lunch hour and pick you up some essentials. If you will give me permission, I have a friend that might be willing to drive me out to your farm and let me pick some things up for you, if you would like. I've been very lucky and traveled a great deal with an Uncle that raised me but, you know, I have never been on a working Scottish farm. Do you have someone to look after your animals and pets?
"A neighbor will watch the farm for a day or two, but he has his own farm and family to take care of. If my stay goes much longer than that I will have to find someone that can stay at the farm. Maybe hire an hand or two." John sighed and shook his head. "I don't like strangers mucking about the place."
"Well, when they release you, you won't be able to manage alone in the beginning. You'll need someone to look after you. Do you have a housekeeper? What about your... Rebecca, is it? Could she come and stay a while, perhaps?" Claire inquired.
"No, I would'na ask Becs" he said, looking down at his hands and shaking his head.
Claire watched Mr. Murray for a minute, waiting to see if he wanted to tell her why his wife was alive, but not an option to take care of him. When he said nothing more she stated "Well, I will help you think of something, John, don't you worry. Now sit up, let me fluff those pillows to make you more comfortable," which Claire did, straightening his bedding as well and then handed him his tea.
"If all the men are named Ian, it would most definitely make it easy to call everyone into supper" Claire said and smiled. John returned her smile. "But it must make it difficult in normal table conversation. Mention the name Ian and every male at the table looks up.." and Claire giggled. "Are you given numbers... Is your Grandfather Ian #1 and your father Ian #2 and so on?" Claire asked.
"Verra funny lass. Ye have a bit of a wit, I will say that for all your Englishness. We just have different names between the first and the last, ye see. My Grandda was Ian Murray; Ian Robert Murtagh MacKenzie Murray and he was always called Rabbie. My father was Ian Murray; Ian Alastair Robert MacLeod Murray, just like the very first Murray in our family tree and he always went by Ian. When my mam and da had me I was Ian Murray; only I am Ian Brian James Fraser Murray and I have always gone by John. Named after the man that built the family farm, Brian and his son James and the first Ian Murray's wife's family name Fraser. My son was Ian Murray. Ian William Robert MacKenzie Murray and we started calling him Willie. He is named for the other two sons of Brian and his wife's family name MacKenzie. Only my son wanted everyone to call him Angus. He thought Willie was too baby and William too formal and Angus was much more brawn" and John laughed.
"What a lovely story. And where is your son then?" Claire asked. "Fraser you say, I have a friend with the same last name, though I guess it is a fairly common Scottish surname..."
"Aye, lots of Fraser's around Inverness, what with the Frasers of Lovat and their castle only a stones throw from here" Mr. Murray admitted.
"Yes, yes." Claire chimed in. "I just came back from a short holiday touring the highland local sites with a couple of friends. One was a Jamie Fraser. We stopped in Beauly; that's where the Lovat Castle is if I remember correctly. Clan Fraser as well, right?"
"Why aye," Mr. Murray said with a smile. "Are ye sure ye do'na have a wee of the Scotch in ye? Ye seem to have caught on to the clans pretty well for a Sassenach."
That made Claire laugh. "Oh, you are a sweet talker, John. Now tell me about your son and fishing..."
"My father and my son loved to stream fish. They would leave before dawn on a Saturday Morning and be home by noon with with enough beautiful trout for dinner that night. They had a great relationship. When my mother died it was Angus and fish'n my da lived for." Mr. Murray closed his eyes and a quiet sob escaped his lips.
Claire waited for John to gather himself. When he did, he opened his eyes and I handed him a tissue. He smiled at me as he took it. "Where was I? Ah, yes... my father and son. They went fish'n you see, one Saturday, on Auld Hallows Eve, and never returned. They had a secret fishing hole and they swore they would not tell anyone, not even me, where it was so when they left that morning and they did'na come home that night we did not even ken where to send the police ta look for them. Becs and I, we ken something was wrong. Something happened to keep them from returning home. About a week later they found my da's car. About an hour away from the farm, not far from here, near Craigh na Dun it was, parked on the side of the road. They never found the fish'n poles, the basket lunch, none of it. Almost like they vanished into thin air." He shook his head in sadness.
"My wife and I never recovered, or maybe she did and moved on but I never did and that's why she left. She moved to the big city. London. To forget, I think. Met a new bloke. English. Sent the final divorce papers for me to sign on about 40 years ago it were. Said she did not want to see me. Couldn't. Brought back too many sad memories her note said. Anyway, she's happy. Has a new family. So, no. I don't have any family left." He said and tried to smile.
Claire just held his hand and gave him time to collect his thoughts.
"So you see, every October 31st, I usually go up to Craigh na Dun and set flowers by the stream near the big stones there. In memory, you see. For my father and my son. Do you know Craigh na dun?" he asked. "Maybe that's why I am so out of sorts."
"That's quite a story." Claire said. "I am truly sorry for your loss. If you would like, when you are able to go home, I will take you up to Craigh na Dun, if you would like, to lay your flowers." She said it and meant it. She could say goodbye to Jamie and Murtagh at the same time, she thought. "Where is your farm?"
"You are a kind lass for a Sassenach, ye ken? So nice of ye to sit with me and offer te help. Yer just lovely. The farm, Broch Tuarach? It's about an hour north of Inverness. Near a town call Broch Mordha.
"Sassenach, my friend called me that, as an endearment he said. Broch Mordha?" Claire repeated. "Where have I heard that before?" and she looked out the window until it came to her... "my friend mentioned that name as well. It's a town near your farm?"
"Weel, if ye take the A-82 out'a Inverness to the A-87, ye'll run right into Broch Mordha, ye see. The A-87 runs right up against the western edge of the farm, Broch Tuarach."
"Broch Tuarach, there's another name I've heard recently. My friend said something about a Laird of Broch Tuarach..." Claire said tapping her fingers on the bed and looked back out the window.
"Oh, Lallybroch is no a working farm any more lass. No. I can'na run a farm alone. I keep a couple of sheep and chickens and tend a wee garden..."
"LALLYBROCH?" Claire interrupted, practically screamed. Did you say your farm is named Lalllybroch?" She turned to look into John's face with an almost desperate stare.
"Aye, lass. Lallybroch..." and he looked at her with question in his face. "And there has always been a Laird. Laird Broch Tuarach, himself he is referred to. That would technically be me now. Ouch, lass. Ye have a fair grip on my hand there" and he tried to pull his hand from her tighten grip. He raised an eyebrow at her.
Claire just about fell out of her chair. It was like looking at Jamie when John did that. "Did you say you brought your family bible with you? Here to the hospital?" she asked and started to stand. She had to see it. She had to touch it. She had to know...
"Aye," John said scrunching his eyebrows together in worry. "Are ye alright lass?"
"Mr. Murrrrray, sssir" Mary said as she entered the room carrying a tray. "I have a llooovley luuunch for yoouuu."
Claire took the tray from Mary. Mary unfolded the little legs underneath the tray and Claire set it down over John's lap. She removed the metal cover from the plate and revealed a nicely roasted piece of chicken, thigh and leg, roasted small potatoes, green beans and a hard roll. There was tea to drink. Claire opened the cloth napkin, revealing the knife, fork and spoon.
"Would you prefer coffee with your noon meal, John?" Claire asked. It took everything she could muster to keep her voice even and calm. She scanned the room while she waited for John to answer. The knowing was so close, in this very room. That book would have answers to Jamie perhaps although John said it did not show when Jamie died. It might now. Now that Jamie had passed through the stones. "What? I'm sorry John. What do you need?" and she turned her focus back to the job at hand.
"I said, Claire, the bible is under my jacket over there in that chair..." and he watched her face as he said it. He noticed how her eyes seemed to light up when he had mentioned Lallybroch. And now again with the knowledge that the family bible was here with him.