Chapter Text
The peace and routines of Lallybroch filled me day after day, hour after hour. Still one day at a time, one daily task after another…
It had been three months since arriving in Scotland from Paris. Jenny was holding a newborn and Ian had two tiny Murrays behind him, as they stood in the doorway, waiting to greet us. One Wee Jamie ran like the wind and flung himself at his uncle and then at me. My heart squeezed and the tears threatened to fall. Jenny hugged me in a way only a mother hugs another, in our silent agreement. At first I was ashamed to feel a pang of jealousy at my newest niece, Kitty… Why had she lived and my Faith had not? I was glad to notice though, that I managed to control these thoughts and almost rationalize my grief. Jamie held me closer to him that first day of family gatherings. He knew, he understood. Fergus hovered close as well, trying to get acquainted to his new home and because he insisted that he “would not fail” us again. Our sweet boy…
After all those weeks of deep loneliness, pain and sorrow, our reunion brought me relief. A relief that was palpable, as my load was now shared. As a mother, I carried most of it still, but that was exactly it… I was still a mother. Jamie made sure I knew that.
It was too painful to talk about her, even just the simple sound of her name, but she lingered with us in our room some nights, before we fell asleep locked around each other. We were both in bed with eyes wide open, thinking of a baby we had had to leave behind. That small fact had hurt Jamie deeply, because it was the connection he hadn’t been able to share with our daughter. Two times, on two different nights, when we were brave enough and almost in the midst of slumber, he’d asked me to tell him everything about our daughter. He had asked this with careful words and I couldn’t deny him. He, and I, would have liked to have her buried here, with family, side by side with her grandparents and uncle. But of course, at the time, Jamie’s fate (and my own, if I am to be completely honest) were really unknown. We had left a bit of Scotland with her though. That eased our hearts and made the thought more bearable. That day at the grave Mother Hildegarde had given her at the Hôpital’s cemetery had been a transition. During our trip back to Scotland, Jamie and I had barely stopped touching each other, craving the heat we had missed during those terrible weeks of pain, anger and the presence of the cold despair of the unknown.
For one, something that I admired in Jamie, and also Jenny and Ian, was their resilience. Something I could trace back to the days of collecting rents with the Mackenzies… Something I had inside me, but had needed Jamie to show me. In my 20th century life, that trait had carried me through a devastating war, but I tended to forget it in the daily routines, as is natural when things come easy. But with Jamie, and after all the ordeals we had been through, resilience was a as natural part of us as was breathing, as the nights we spent lost in the blue quilts of our bed. That resilience was part of our healing. But I knew Jamie suffered in silence… And I also knew he was a man of words.
That evening would prove to be another moment in time I’d never forget… I was rearranging some books on the shelves of the study, looking for free and clean pieces of paper, intended for notes of my medical procedures and to label my herbs. As I sat on the desk to arrange for some ink I noticed a square of paper with an elegant “F” on it, stuck beneath the recent package of books Aunt Jocasta had sent to Lallybroch from the Colonies. I could not take my eyes off of it. That “F” was not natural to Jamie’s handwriting, but it was nonetheless elegant and thus forced to convey a beauty that had been trained by the hand that drew it. I picked it up and opened it. I felt like an intruder and a worthy reader of that letter at the same time, all because I knew I would find what Jamie hadn’t yet been able to tell me; and like he had said to me, in Paris, when I allowed myself to look into his eyes, into my sun, we were the only two people in the world who knew this pain. The pain of losing Faith. My heart pounded in my chest…
My dearest Daughter,
I dream of you often. I did all the while your Mam carried you, all the while I felt myself lost in a dark room, hiding from myself. At the time you were a wee lad with brown hair. I apologize deeply for that, my sweet lassie. Not that I am not equally proud of you for being a girl but please understand that I thought it would be easier if you were… If you had ever come to be.
But of course you were, you are. Mo chridhe, please forgive me for that distance while ye grew, forgive me for what I did. I’m afraid I can’t ever forgive myself for what happened… Nay matter what your Mam said about the fact that could’ve happened anyway, and I know childbirth is not safe. Even so, I am so sorry I was not there to meet you.
I look at your beautiful Mam and my soul fragments itself and travels to her own. The sorrow in her eyes is no so deep anymore. I know it’s because you are looking upon us and guiding her into the light.
She told me you had hair like my own, in colouring at least. For me, that hair would have darkened a wee bit… I picture you with hair the colour of amber, curly [curling] mad around your face, blue eyes and with a smile that crinkles them. You are just like her, and I bless God for that gift. I dream of things for you… I hope you have the gift of healing, perhaps since you accompanied your Mam so many times when she was about her work. Perhaps you like horses as well? Aye, I think so. I would have taught you how to play chess. I see your wee legs running around the fields, I am chasing you and you are laughing, until we meet our angel in white. We embrace and our hairs mix together in a flash of warm light, like different shades of a tree in October.
I am sorry, I am so sorry. I don’t want to make the word seem vulgar.
My heart lifts everytime I see Mam smiling now, hoping that she is better, that we can get better together. Please help her, mo chuisle. Knowing that you’ll be forever with her, with me, soothes me. My wee treasure, I deeply regret not having felt you in my hands and I admit I don’t know that I would have been brave enough to do it. I was angry at God, deep in the cell I spent weeks in, not knowing what came of you and Claire. I was angry at God for not allowing me to meet you. But now I thank Him for you, my Faith… Because of you, we are whole.
I hope you found your grandsire Brian, your grannie Ellen and uncle Willie. They will find you, I’m sure. I hope you find Uncle Lambert, I so would have liked to know him as well, and your grandparents Henry and Julia.
I will carry your heart within me, the beat of flesh and blood of when I felt you in your Mam’s belly. I cherish every word she told me about you, wishing I had the memory of you in my hands. I thank God and the Virgin Mary for letting her hold you and feel you. I will love you forever. Guide us a leannan and please, forgive me.
Your father,
James Fraser
I pressed the piece of paper to my chest and closed my eyes, not being able to hold the tears. After some time, I went to the window and looked up into the starry night.