The Fiery Cross

by Diana Gabaldon

  letgossip spread of its own accord- rious" did not begin She had no great regard for her own reputatiOn-"nOto

  gh of the, social realities to realize to encompass it-but she had grasped enou eport Were ne to her father by scandal. if a false r

  _gulation ring that real damage could be do "-Roger had really been a p

  to get around, for instance, that

  loyalties would be suspect.

  leader, then Jamie's own the talk in the Sherston's parlor over She had begun to realize, listening to iderweb. There were innumerthe last few weeks, that the Colony was a vast Sp spiders-and a number of able strands of commerce along which a few large

  650 Diana Gabaldon

  smaller ones-made their delicate way, always listening for the faint hum of distress made by a fly that had blundered in, always testing for a thinning strand, a broken link.

  The smaller entities glided warily along the margins of the web, with an eye out always for the movements of the bigger ones-for spiders were cannibalsand so, she thought, were ambitious men.

  Her father's position was prominent-but by no means so secure as to resist the undermining effects of gossip and suspicion. She and Roger had talked about it before, privately, speculating; the fracture-lines were already there, plain enough to someone who knew what was coming; the strains and tensions that would deepen into sudden chasm-one deep enough to sunder the colonies from England.

  Let the strain grow too great, too quickly, let the strands between Fraser's Ridge and the rest of the Colony fray too far ... and they might snap, wrapping sticky ends in a thick cocoon round her family and leaving them suspended by a thread-alone, and prey to those who would suck their blood.

  Tiou are morbid tonight, she thought to herself, sourly amused at her mind's choice of imagery. She supposed that painting death would do that.

  Neither the Wilburs nor the Sherstons appeared to have noticed her mood; her mother had, and gave her a long, thoughtful look-but said nothing. She exchanged a few more pleasantries, then excused herself to the company.

  Her mood was not lightened by the discovery that Jemmy had grown tired of waiting for her to come, and fallen asleep, tear-tracks on his cheeks. She knelt by his crib for a minute, one hand laid lightly on his back, hoping that he might sense her nearness and wake up. His small back rose and fell in the warm rhythm of utter peace, but he didn't stir, Perspiration glimmered wetly in the creases of his neck,

  The heat of the day rose upward, and the second floor of the house was always stiffing by evening. The window, of course, was firmly closed, lest the dangerous night airs get in and do the baby harm. Mrs. Sherston had no children of her own, but she knew what precautions must be taken.

  In the mountains, Brianna would not have hesitated to open the window. In a heavily-populated town like Hillsborough, full of strangers from the coast, and rife with stagnant horse troughs,and dank wells ...

  Weighing the relative danger of malaria-bearing mosquitoes versus that of suffocation, Brianna finally settled for pulling the light quilt off her son and gently removing his gown, leaving him comfortably sprawled on the sheet in nothing but a clout, his soft skin damp and rosy in the dim light.

  Sighing, she put out the candle and left, leaving the door ajar so that she could hear if he woke. It was nearly dark now; light welled up through the bannisters from the floor below, but the upstairs hall lay in deep shadow. Mrs. Sherston's gilded tables and the portraits of Mr. Sherston's ancestors were no more than spectral shapes in the darkness.

  There was a light in Roger's room; the door was shut, but a fan of soft candie-glow spread across the polished boards beneath it, just catching the edge of the blue hall-runner. She moved toward the door, thoughts of food subsumed in a greater hunger for touch. Her breasts had begun to ache.

  A slave was nodding in the corner, hands slack on the knitting that had fallen

  The Fiery Cross 651

  as the

  to her lap. She jerked, startled, door opened, and blinked guiltily at Arianna.

  toward the bed, but it was all right; she could hear the J, Bree looked at once at the woman, but made a small :biss and sigh of his breath. She frowned a little -finished stockImesture of dismissal. The woman clumsily gathered up her half

  ins and blundered out, avoiding Brianna's eye - tidily over the sharp angles Roger lay on his back, eyes closed, a sheet drawn

  ,Of his body. He's so thin, she thought, how did beget so thin, so fast? He could swallow no more that' a few spoonsful Of soup and Claire's penicillin broth, but surely two or three days was not enough to leave his bones showing so promigently?

  Then she realized that he had likely been thin already, from the stress of thinner than usual. The prominence Of campaigning--both her parents were res; now that

  - dreadful swelling of his featu

  jbis bones had been disguised by the raceful line ) the hard, g

  that had subsided, his cheekbones were high and gaunt f the bandage of his jaw once more visible, stark above the white linen o

  wrapped around his lacerated throat. or of the fading She realized that she was staring at his jaw, appraising the col the delicate bruises, The yellow-green of a healing bruise was different than

  of life. She took a gray-green of new death; just as sickly, but withal, a color too, and deep breath, suddenly aware that the window in this room was closed,

  sweat was trickling down the small of her back, seeping unpleasantly into the crack of her buttocks. m-he turned his head on the pilThe sound of the sash rising wakened hi

  low, and smiled faintly when he saw her.

  -How are you?" She spoke in a hushed voice, as though in a church, Her own voice always seemed too loud, talking to herself. ,Okay.,' He He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug, but mouthed a silent

  looked wilted and damp, the dark hair at his temples sweat-soake&

  CcIt's awfully hot, isn't it?" She wavedat the window, where warm air-but MOVU19 air--came in, He nodded, poking at the collar of his shirt with one bandaged hand. She took the hint and untied it, spreading the slit open as far as it would go, , to expose his chest to the breeze. r the- dark His nipples were small and neat, the aureoles pinkish-brown unde

  ilk-fall breasts, and she had a curly hairs. The sight reminded her of her own rn his mouth to to lift his head, pull down her shift, and put

  moment s insane urge

  instant's vivid recall of the moment when he had done her breast. She had an a warm rush spread through her, tinthat, under the willows at River Run, and r cheeks, she turned to took over gfing from breasts to womb. Blood rising in he

  the nourishment available on the bedside table. ered bowl, and roth-sPiked with penicillin-in a cov

  There was cold meat-b

  etened tea alongside. She took up the spoon and raised a a flask of honey-swe I

  her hand hovering over the- table- the cup and brow inquiringly, nodded at the broth. She picked up

  He grimaced slightly, but

  at down on the stool beside him n toward his "Open up the stable-door," she said cheerily, circling the sPOO

  mouth as though he were Jern. ,j4,eeceere comes the horsie!" He rolled his eyes upward in exasperation.

  652 Diana Gabaldon

  "When I was little," she said, ignoring his scowl, "my parents said things like, 'Here comes the tugboat, open the drawbridge!' 'Open the garage, here comes the car!'-but I can7t use those with Jem. Did your mother do cars and airplanes?"

  His lips twisted, but finally settled on a reluctant smile. He shook his head and lifted one hand, pointing toward the ceiling. She turned to see a dark spot on the plaster-looking closer, she could see that it was a vagrant bee, blundered in from the garden during the day, somnolent now in the shadows.

  "Yeah? Okay, here comes the honeybee," she said, more softly, slipping the spoon into his mouth. "Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz."

  She couldn't keep up the attempted air of playfulness, but the atmosphere had relaxed a little.
She talked about Jem, who had a new favorite word"Wagga"-but no one yet had figured out what he meant by it.

  "I thought maybe it meant 'cat,' but he calls the cat 'Mow-mow'." She brushed a drop of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, then dipped the spoon again.

  "Mrs. Sherston says he should be walking by now," she said, eyes fixed on his mouth. "Her sister's children were both walking at a year old, naturally! I asked Mama, though; she says he's fine. She says kids walk when they're ready, and it can be any time between ten months and as much as eighteen, but fifteen months is about the usual."

  She had to watch his mouth in order to guide the spoon, but was aware of his eyes, watching her. She wanted to look into them, but was halfivay afraid of what she might see in those dark green depths; would it be the Roger she knew, or the silent stranger-the hanged man?

  "Oh-I almost forgot." She interrupted herself in the middle of an account of the Wilburs. She hadn't forgotten, but hadn't wanted to blurt the news out right away. "Da spoke to the Governor this afternoon. He-the Governor, I mean-is giving you a land grant. Five thousand acres." Even as she said it, she realized the absurdity of it. Five thousand acres of wilderness, in exchange for a life almost destroyed. Cancel the "almost," she thought suddenly, looking at Roger.

  He frowned at her in what looked like puzzlement, then shook his head and lay back on the pillow, eyes closing. He lifted his hands and let them fall, as though this was simply too much to be asked to contemplate. Maybe it was.

  She stood watching him in silence, but he didn't open his eyes. There were deep creases where his brows drew together.

  Moved by the need to touch him, to bridge the barrier of silence, she traced the shadow of the bruise that lay over his cheekbone, her fingers driffing, barely touching his skin.

  She could see the oddly blurred edges of the bruise, could almost see the dark clotted blood beneath the skin, where the capillaries had ruptured. It was beginning to yellow; her mother had told her that the body's leukocytes would come to the site of an injury, where they gradually broke down the injured cells, thriftily recycling the spilled blood; the changing colors were the result of this cellular housekeeping.

  The Fiery Cross 653

  His eyes opened, fixed on her face, his own expression impassive. She knew she looked worried, and tried to smile. ssive facade; his eyec4you don't look dead," she said. That broke the imPa

  brows twitched upward, and a faint gleam of humor came into his eyes.

  6%oger_11 At a loss for words, she moved impulsively toward him. He stiffctively to protect the fragile tube in his throat, but hunching instin

  ened slightly, 'ful but needing desperately to feel

  1, she put her arms around his shoulders, care

  the substance of his flesh.

  "I love you)" she whispered7 and her hand tightened on the muscle of his arm, urging him to believe it.

  dry, familiar-and yet a feeling of

  1 She kissed him. His lips were warm and

  through her. No air moved against her cheek, no warm breath shock ran mouth. it was like kissing a mask. Air, damp from touched her from his nose or nst her I from the amber tube agai

  the secret depths of his lungs, hissed coo nd she neck, like the exhalation from a cave. Gooseflesh ran down her arms a neither shock nor revulsion showed on her face.

  V" stepp ed back, hoping that ed;she His eyes were closed, squeezed tight shut. The muscle of his jaw bulg

  saw the shift of the shadow there. the ice shaky. -1,11-1111 see you in "You ... rest," she managed, her vo

  morning." oticing that the candlestick in the hall She made her way downstairs, barely n silently from the shadows back into was lit now, or that the waiting slave slid

  the room.

  D"er had come back, but she didn't go downstairs in search of food. Herhung about the unused milk5 first. She turned toward her She had to do something

  through the stifling shadows. In spite parents' room) feeling a faint draft move tine was still of the warm, muggy air, her fingers felt cold, as though turpen

  evaporating from her skin.

  yfriend Deborah. She used to make money Last night I dreamed about M, always offer to do onefor doing Tarot readings i .n the Student union; she'd

  ree, but I wouldn't let her.

  me, forf fiftbgrade that Catholics aren't Sister Marie Romaine told us in the 0 cards do divination-wc weren't t. touch Ouija boards or Tarot

  allowed to ings like that arc seductions of the D-E-v-1-L---she or crystal balls, because th r say the word.

  always spelled it out like that, she'd neve ow I couldn't bring Pm not sure where the Devil came into it, but someh

  myself to let Deb do readingsfor me. She was, last night, though, in mY dream.

  I used to watch her do itfor otherpeople; the Tarot cardsfascinated memaybe just because they sccmedforbidden. But the names were SO cool-the Major Arcana, the minor arcana; Knight of Pentacles, Page of CUPS, Queen of Wands, King of swor&", 7he Empress, the Magician. And the Hanged Man. I this was not a subtle

  Well, what else would I dream about? I mean

  654 Diana Gabaldon

  dream, no doubt about it. Tbere it was, r

  cards, and Deb was tellin r'ght in the middle of the sp ead of g me about it.

  w trees. His ootfrom a pole laid across t 0

  "A man is suspended by onef

  arms, folded behind his back, together with his head, form a triangle with

  9sform a cross. To an cxtent, the Han

  the Point downward; his le ged Man is still earthbound, for hisfoot is attached to the pole.).)

  I could see the man on

  the card, suspended Permanently halfway between heaven and earth. 7hat card always looked odd to me-the man didnt Pite Of being upside-down and blind-folded. seem to be at all concerned, in s

  g them out again, and that one Deb kept scooping up the cards and layin

  Pread. kept coming up in every s

  "The Hanged Man represents the necessary process ofsurrender and sarrificc, " she said. "This card has Profound -'ignifleaNce, " she said, and she ger on it.

  looked at me and tapPed berfin

  to figure out the meaningfoy yourself "But much Of it is veiled; you have .Self surrender leads to transformatiOn Of the Personality, but the person has to accomplish his own regenera-

  ,V tion.

  Transfo f the personality. nat's what I'm afraid of

  rmation o all right. I liked Roger's personality just fine the way it was!

  Well ... rats. I don't know bow much the D-,E-V-1-L has to do with it, but I am sure that trying to look too far into the

  least -right now. future is a mistake. At

  THE SOUND$ OF SILENCE

  T WAS TEN DAYS before Penelope Sherston's portrait was completed to her satisf

  action. By that point, both Isaiah Morton and Roger had reor travel. Given the imminence Of Morton's off covered sufficiently f spring

  and the danger to him in coming anywhere near either Granite Falls or Brownsville, Jamie had arranged for him and Alicia to lodge rith the brewmas ter of Mr. Sherston 'A -

  's brewery; Isaiah would undertake employment as a wagoner for the brewery, as soon as his strength permitted.

  "but I've grown a bit "I canna imagine why,,, Jamie had said to me privately,

  fond of the immoral wee loon. I shouldna like to see him murdered in cold blood."

  Isaiah's spirits had revived spectacularly upon the arrival of Alicia,

  a week, he had made his way downstairs, and within dog as she worked in the kitchen to sit watching Alicia like a devoted -and to pause on his way back to bed to off

  comments on er the progress of Mrs. Sherston's portrait.

  "Don't it look just like her?" he'd said admiringly,

  standing in his nightshirt

  The Fiery Cross 655

  ing-room where the sitting was in progress. "Why, if the door of the draw

  see that
picture, you'd know just who it was." u was to

  I rt Given the fact that Mrs. Sherston had chosen to be painted as Salome, I was -ompliment, but she flushed pretOt positive that this would be considered a c

  Vay and thanked him, evidently recognizing the sincerity in his tone.

  Bree bad done a marvelous job, contriving to portray Mrs. Sherston both recatty and flatteringly, but without overt irony---difficult as that must have i'b,_-cn. The only point where she had given in to temptation was in -a minor de-

  esemblance to Goverthe severed head of John the Baptist bore a striking r

  :. turnine features, but I doubted that anyone would notice, what r Tryon's sa

  the blood.

  We were ready to go home, and the house was filled with a spirit of restless pt for Roger.

  C%citement and relief-exce

  Roger was indisputably better, in purely physical terms. His hands were mobile again, bar the broken fingers, and most of the bruising over his face and 'body had faded. Best of all, the swelling in his throat had subsided enough that he could move air through his nose and mouth again. I was able, to remove the 'tube ftorn his throat, and stitch up the incision-a small but painful operation that he had borne with body stiff -and eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling while I worked.

  In mental terms, I was not so sure of his recovery. After stitching his throat, I had helped him sit up, wiped his face, and given him a little water mixed with hed carefully as he swallowed, then put my brandy as a restorative. I had watc,

  fingers lightly on his throat, felt carefully, and asked him to swallow again. I closed my eyes, feeling the movement of his larynx, the rings of his trachea as he swallowed, assessing as best I could the degree of damage.

  At last I opened my eyes, to find his eyes two inches from my own and still wide open, the question in them cold and stark as glacier ice.

  I don't know," I said at last, my own voice no more than a whisper. My finthrough the gers still rested on his throat; I could feel the thrum of blood

  carotid under my palm, his life flowing just below the skin. But the angular hardness of his larynx lay still under my fingers, queerly misshapen; I felt no kl pulsing there, no vibration of -air across the vocal cords.

  don't know," I said again, and drew my fingers slowly away. "Do youwant to try now.

  He had shaken his head then, and risen from the bed, going to the window, braced against the frame as he looked facing away from me. His arms were

  into the street, and a faint, uneasy memory stirred in my mind. down

  oonlit night, then, not broad dayin Paris. I had waked It had been a m

  from sleep to see Jamie standing naked in the window frame, the scars on his back pale silver, arms braced and body gleaming with cold sweat. Roger was ng, too, from the heat; the linen of his shirt stuck to his body-and the

  sWean the look of a man braced to meet fear; one lines of his body were Just the same,

  who chose to face his demons alone.