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They hadn’t had word from Jamie in years. Neither of them would say it aloud for fear of inviting it to be true, but they supposed he must either have been reimprisoned or he was dead. To hope for the former seemed just as cruel as the latter.
They certainly hadn’t expected Jamie to show up unannounced, riding a horse and wearing clothes that were clearly new, though worse for the wear of however long he’d been traveling.
It was her own Jamie who first brought word of his uncle’s approach, disbelief and joy in his eyes.
“I swear to ye, Mam,” he pressed when she shook her head, “it’s Uncle Jamie. Come see for yerself.”
With a skeptical and nervous glance at a wide-eyed Mrs. Crook, Jenny wiped her hands on her apron before removing it and then strode out to the yard to greet her returning brother.
She gasped when she saw him but luckily Ian was there to lay a steadying hand on her shoulder.
He might be wearing decent clothes and riding as straight and tall as ever, but his posture had none of the familiar sense of self she associated with her brother. Jenny tried to tell herself that he was just weary from his travels, that it was lack of sleep and the strain of seeing all that the Highlands had become in the years after Culloden that made him look so exhausted and dispirited.
“Could ye no have sent word ye were coming?” she scolded playfully—or so she hoped—as Jamie dismounted and yielded to her eager embrace.
“I’m sorry for the surprise… and for no writing ye back for… Yer letters were intercepted and it was too dangerous. I thought it best no to risk it,” Jamie explained, a shadow passing over his features as he freed himself from her arms and moved on to greeting Ian.
“We’re just happy to see ye home again,” Ian assured his friend, motioning for his sons to take care of their uncle’s horse. “I’ve a bottle of whisky tha’s a bit heavy and I could use yer help to make it lighter.”
Jamie smiled and nodded, walking beside Ian into the house. Ian glanced back at Jenny who remained frozen in the yard, watching the shadow of her brother take in their childhood home as though the strong, stone walls were a burden to be borne. She continued to watch him as he was welcomed back by those who knew him and introduced to those who did not—many of them her own children. A few dips into the bottle of whisky and he was laughing and smiling more freely, but Jenny was paying close enough attention to see that there was little light behind the display of mirth.
“Ye’re quiet tonight,” Jamie remarked to her at last, when it was just her and Ian remaining with him at the table. “Was the surprise of my arrival today really enough to send ye speechless?”
Jamie finally looked at her and she held his gaze despite seeing Ian’s warning look from the corner of her eye to let it alone, to leave Jamie be.
“It’s no the surprise of seein’ ye again,” she said as gently as she could—she would not lie to him, she would not pretend she was glad to see him so obviously lost. “It’s seein’ ye like this. I… I didna think anything could pain me more than seein’ ye grieving when Claire was lost… but what ye’ve been through since leavin’ here… Whatever it is seems to have hollowed ye out, Jamie.”
He blinked at her and then dropped his gaze to the table and the glass with it’s dribble of whisky set between his hands. He lifted it and drained the last, setting it back on the table upside down.
“Hollowed out seems a fair way to describe the way it feels,” he agreed.
Jenny sighed. “But ye’re home now, brother.” She didn’t know why she felt the need to state the obvious except that it didn’t seem to have sunk into Jamie yet. “From all ye’ve said ye’re free of the English and their prisons and their parole… To look at ye, ye’d think ye’d rather be their prisoner yet.”
“Jenny…” Ian warned quietly.
“I’m no their prisoner, no,” Jamie nodded. “But at least when I was, I kent what it meant—I kent who I was.” He looked up at her again. “Who am I now, Jenny? I’m no Laird Broch Tuarach. I’m no Mac Dubh. I’m no Alexander Mackenzie.”
“Ye’re Jamie Fraser,” she insisted, sitting straighter and speaking with more assurance. He was lost. Somewhere between that estate in the north of England and arriving at Lallybroch he’d lost his sense of himself. She knew she could—and would —help him find it again. She’d done it before with Ian after France and she’d do it again. She hadn’t saved what was left of Jamie’s life after Culloden for him to drift now that it was fully his again. “Ye’re my brother and ye’ve come home. What ye need right now is rest. Ye dinna need to ken right now what to do. Take another look come the morning.”
Jamie looked at her again with a blankness to his expression. Unmoved? Unconvinced? Uncaring? It sent a nervous chill up her spine.
“My home disappeared wi’ Claire,” Jamie murmured as she shuffled from the room and toward the stairs.
“Be careful, Jenny,” Ian warned, gathering the glasses and near-empty bottle of whisky. “Tryin’ too hard to fit those pieces back together… ye could end up breakin’ him more.”
“So I’m no supposed to even bother tryin’ then? Just leave him to hurt for the rest of his days?”
“Look beyond the cracks and missing bits,” Ian nodded. “There’s still a man there for ye to love, even if he’s no quite the one ye remember.”
Jenny rose and crossed to kiss Ian’s cheek. “Aye, and I do love him yet. I would see him happy again, even if he’s no so whole as before. He’s no so broken and hollow that happiness cannae be found for him.”
“I hope ye’re right,” Ian agreed quietly. He smiled and kissed her forehead.