Chapter Text
Open eyes. Wait. No. Close eyes again. One elbow per side. Push down. No movement. Try again. One elbow per side. Move together. Still nothing. Open eyes. No. Open eyes slowly. Light to the left. Fire ahead. Where is this. Blue walls. Blue design. This is familiar. Push up again. Or just try. Nope. Nothing. Try again. Where is this. Blue walls. Lying on something. Stretch fingers. Back and forth. Feel something. One hand per side. One elbow per side. Feeling something. Feel something.
There’s something soft. Something warm. Stretch fingers again. Push up again. No, just lie down. Lie down. Stretch fingers. Something soft. Close eyes. Focus. Where is this. What is this. Fire is crackling. Light is soft. This is soft. Stretch fingers. Move hands. A blanket. A heavy blanket. This is a bed. Touch the bed with fingers and hands. One hand per side. Feel the blanket and the bed. Open eyes. Look down. White blur. Blue walls. This is a bed.
One hand per side. One elbow per side. One arm per side. Move an arm. Reach out. Feel something. Figure this out. Stretch fingers. Reach out. Touch something cold. It is solid. It is cold. It is out of reach. Turn head. Nope. Don’t turn head. Close eyes again. Just reach out. Stretch fingers. Reach out. It is solid. It moves. Can’t feel it anymore. Where did it go. There’s a crash.
Head rings. Too loud. Too loud. Too loud. Head rings. Drop arm. Move arm back. Close eyes. Turn pain away. Close eyes. Too much pain. Too loud. Can’t move. Close eyes. Where is this. Blue design. Bed. Too loud. Blanket. These are hands. These are arms. These are fingers. Too much pain. How did this happen. Too much pain. Too loud. Close eyes. Close eyes. Close eyes.
The darkness of the kitchen accompanies a comfortable silence as I help Mrs. Crook wash and prepare various berries. My head jerks to attention when I hear the crash coming from upstairs. Whatever caused it, I am the only one close enough by to deal with it that’s also not too terribly busy. Looking at my hands, I see a mess of juices staining them red and blue so I brush them off on my apron and head out, giving Mrs. Crook a reassuring smile that comes out as more of a half-grimace. She nods in understanding.
The stairs fly past me as I run towards the source of the crash. My arms tense in apprehension.
The door flies open and old memories come flying with it. Memories of Ian and me sleeping together here. Memories of my first birth right there in that bed. Memories of listening to father read by the hearth when I couldn’t sleep. The few crumbling memories that remain of mother with her long hair and blue eyes. Memories of moving out when Jamie returned after all of those years away with no word. Memories of things I no longer have. I still have Jamie even though Jamie’s not here, I remind myself, at least not yet. Have to keep hope. Have to keep working.
My eyes dart around and quickly to take stock of the situation before me. No intruders. No wild animals. Just the woman in the bed. Just some broken glass on the floor. Just a little blood staining the sheets. This I can handle. Nothing world-shaking this time. Turning around, I yell down to the kitchen, “Mrs. Crook! Bring up a basket will ye? Also some- some extra cloth if ye will. We need to replace some of her bandages.”
The woman in the bed moans, grimacing at the sound of my voice. I curse myself inwardly. I kneel next to the bed, taking care not to kneel on the broken glass itself. Softly, I croon, “Shhh… Claire… It’s ok. You’re safe. I’m here. …Sorry I yelled.” The blood on the sheets is coming from Claire’s hand. I pick it up to assess the damage. It looks like she reopened a few of her scabs by moving about too much. Nothing to worry about.
I chide her, “Claire… now what are ye doin’ moving about that much? Save yer strength. You need it to heal” My voice lowers, “You it need to live.”
Mrs. Crook enters behind me and sighs out of concern when she sees the scene before her. She has a basket on her arm.
“Thank you Mrs. Crook. Would ye mind wrapping up her hand?”
She nods and takes the clean bandages out of the basket as she hands it to me. Carefully I start picking glass up off of the floor and gathering the shards in the basket. When the two of us finish our tasks, I sit up on my knees.
“Could ye dispose of this? I’ll fetch a fresh glass and see if I can get her to drink a bit.”
“Aye Mistress.” Mrs. Crook ducks her head and leaves.
As I start to head out, I take one cursory glance over my shoulder at Claire. I stop in my tracks. Her eyes are slightly open; small creases of worry line her brow. My breathing quickens. She’s awake. I hurry to her side.
“Claire.”
She doesn’t respond. I brush some hair out of her face, gently grabbing her newly bandaged hand.
“Claire, can ye hear me?”
Her eyes are barely open but as they focus on mine, Claire’s face and chest begin to slowly writhe beneath the blankets.
“Claire, is something wrong? Are- Are you in more pain than we thought?”
I see her head make a small dismissive gesture. She can barely move at all in her current state. Her hand weakly squeezes mine. I see tears well up in her eyes as she breaks eye contact and, after a second more, loses consciousness again. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
What happened to you, Claire?
I take my hand out of her grip and command any feelings of worry away from my throat as I leave the room.
Mrs. Crook is waiting at the bottom of the stairs expectantly. She is holding a glass of water.
“I think she was awake for a bit but… she’s out again.”
“Suppose it’s a small mercy.”
“Mmm… Maybe I should stay with her tonight. She clearly isn’t fully ready to be out and about. Can’t have her breaking another glass and cutting herself up more.” I laugh at something. Myself, maybe, or perhaps just these stressful past few months.
“Will ye need blankets?”
“Aye, and- and extra wood for- for the fire.”
Need to make preparations. Claire needs me. This is going to take a while and she is hurting. Jamie is out here and he might be in danger. We are going to need Claire to tell us something. She wouldn’t have left him. Not without a good reason.
Suddenly my head starts to spin. Old, work-worn hands find my elbows and guide me down to a step. This is too much. Why did Ian have to go?
“Lizzie what- what could have happened? Why isn’t Jamie with her? Why is she all cut up and… and dying? What- What if- I just- What-”
“Mis- Jenny. It’ll be ok. We’ve weathered a lot. You’ve weathered a lot. Whatever happened to bring her here, like this, we will make sure she lives and she will tell us. Then we can decide what to do next. It’ll be ok.” I shut my eyes tightly and nod.
Mrs. Crook continues, “Let me go see if I can get her to drink.”
“Thank you. I’m… I’m going to go lie down. Let me know if Ian gets back.”
“I’ll wait up for him, Mistress. He’ll come back.”
Just not today it seems.
Later that night, I wrap myself tighter in some of my blankets as I watch Claire sleep from a nearby chair. She hasn’t moved since I left her. One of her hands lightly hangs off the side of the bed. The sheen of moonlight across her face paints a picture of peace and resilience. It is difficult to discern where her wounds are in this light; her face is just as fair as I remember it from her visits before. But it is different now. The world outside my walls is violent and changing rapidly thanks to the new rebellion. Everything’s different. I blink, and, now you’re here. Again.
Claire, what happened? Where is Jamie?
I’ve always marveled at how you were able to handle intense situations like this. Always ready to mend a wound or go to war. How were you able to go to war like it’s nothing? I know it takes its toll on you. I saw it a few times when I first met you all those months ago. I saw it when someone came in with a particularly bad wound or when you couldn’t help somebody, no matter hard much you wanted to. You’ve always known when to let go; when you can’t do anything more to help a patient. Your face would always tense up but then relax shortly afterwards; it was as if whatever horrors you were dealing with in the moment, you had always seen worse.
It’s hard to see you like this. All… beaten up and- and on the brink of death. You are so beautiful. Mother would’ve said so. I say so. Cuts and bruises do not suit you, or anyone, for that matter. You bring light to Lallybroch, even if I didn’t think so at first. When you left to find Jamie all those months ago when he was captured, I missed you. I’ve waited for Jamie before, but never you. Without you in the house, I… I became stiff, if you know what I mean. Getting out of bed became difficult to do – I was only able to move one limb at a time and my bones ached for something that I think you provided when you were here – whatever it was, when you left, it was taken away.
I am used to waiting, but what I’m not used to is the silence. When you and Jamie left – both times – my life was filled with silence. We had been given the smallest of glances at what it felt like to see our family completed for the first time in ages. I knew it, Ian knew it, and all of our tenants knew it too. It felt good to laugh with you and Jamie. To make eye contact with you across the dinner table when our husbands got a little too drunk. How many nights did we retire elsewhere to sit by the fire and talk? You, breathing in the fresh night air, me, knitting something or other for one of the bairns. It couldn’t have been all that many times, but…
I wish I could talk to you and see your face glowing under the firelight instead again of seeing it hidden by moonlight.
I am startled out of my reverie when Mrs. Crook opens the door. I breathe out sharply.
“Ye scared me.”
“Sorry mistress, I- Roddie is here. Says he came with important news that ye need to hear.”
“Lizzie, is it really that important? I want to be here for Claire. Just in case she wakes up.”
“If she hasn’t moved all night, I’m sure she’ll will be fine for a while more. You can come back after you hear the news. Roddie said it really couldn’t wait.”
I sigh and get up, following Mrs. Crook out of the room.
Downstairs, the two of us sit in the living room by the fire, hands clasped together on the table, waiting to hear whatever news the young man has brought to us. I don’t know Roddie super well. The lad sometimes comes up to the estate to help with harvest or storing grains for the winter. He is quiet. Only ever opened up to Ian and a little to Jamie when he was here. The lad had decided to leave with Jamie and the rest of the Jacobite army a few months ago. Roddie has short brown hair that I’ve never seen in a tidy state. He constantly has to brush it out of his eyes, which he is doing now as he paces back in forth in front of the table, hands tightly clasped behind his back. He hasn’t said anything since Mrs. Crook and I came down. I am too impatient for this. I have work to do.
“Roddie. What is it? We don’t have all night.”
The boy stops in his tracks, face paling to a deathly white.
“I’m no’ sure how to say it. I-”
“Whatever it is, out with it. We can handle a bit of bad news, Roddie.”
“Aye, but-”
“Roddie.”
He swallows. “There was a… a battle. On Culloden Moor.”
“There’s a war going on, Roddie, that’s not-”
“We lost. The Jacobite army we- we lost. Badly. M- Most of the men died. Nobody knows what happened to the Prince. Jamie told me to get out right before it happened, so- so I came right back here as fast as I could. The redcoats are executing anybody suspected of being involved. They are sweeping the countryside looking for those that survived, even though… Even though there aren’t much of us left.”
I freeze.
“And my- my brother?”
Roddie’s voice begins to crack, emotion showing clearly now, “I don- I don’t know! I’m sorry, I-”
His small frame starts to shake. Mrs Crook stands up and caresses his shoulder, “It’s ok, lad. You did good by telling us. Go on home to yer family. It’s ok.”
There is a fog in front of my eyes that stings. It hangs as I sit motionless.
He can’t be dead. It can’t have all been for naught. He’s already been to war and come back to me. This is no different. I just want my family. I just want silence, but not this silence. I want a comfortable, wanted silence of sitting by this fire with Claire or fishing with my brother or waking up in bed by my husband’s side. He can’t be dead. Wouldn’t do this. Can’t be dead. Hang on to the fire. Hang on to the moonlight. Just hang on, Jenny.
“Janet. Listen to me.”
I blink and see Lizzie’s head level with mine. Her hands are resting on my lap. I realize that I am breathing heavily, brow furrowed.
“We don’t know anything yet. Master Jamie could still be alive for all we know. I mean, Claire made it out alive. If she made it, someone as hardy and as capable as Jamie might've too. We just have to wait.”
“Yer right. Yer right. I- Thank you, Lizzie. I’ll… I’ll go back upstairs. I want- need to make sure Claire is ok.”
“Make sure to get some sleep yerself, ok? We- we need you. Now more than ever.”
I nod, unsure of what value a frozen, birth-worn mother like myself has to offer at a time like this.
Claire hasn’t moved an inch. Moonlight from the open window still conceals her wounds and bruises. The remnants of the firelight dance on the blue designs of the bedroom and on the white sheets of the bed.
Wake up Claire. I need you.