The Fiery Cross

by Diana Gabaldon

  -The subject of their earlier conversation lingered in her mind, and she ned to it, as she took a fresh handful of sage leaves for her mortar, bruising m carefully before putting them to steep.

  "You didn't plan to be a doctor when you were young, you said. But you med pretty single-minded about it, later on," She had scattered, but vivid, mories of Claire's medical training; she could still smell the hospital smells ght in her mother's hair and clothing, and feet the soft coot touch of the en scrubs her mother sometimes wore, coming in

  to kiss her goodnight

  ire didn't answer at once, concentra

  Cenlashe came in late from work. flicking them through the open lucking out rotted bits and ting on the dried com silk she s cleaning, p

  dow. "Well," she said at last, not taking her eyes off her work. "People-and it's t just women, not by any means-people who know who they are, and at they're meant to be ... they'll find a way. Your father-Frank, I can-" She scooped up the cleaned silk and transferred it to a small woven sket, small fragments scattering across the counter as she did so. "He was a ry good historian. He liked the subject, and he had the gift of discipline

  :and concentration that made him a success, but it wasn't really a ... a calling for him. He told me himself-he could have done other things just as well, ,and it wouldn't have mattered a great deal. For some people, one thing does matter a great deal, though. And when it does ... well, medicine mattered a ,great deal to me. I didn't know, early on, but then I realized that it was sim-

  what I was meant to do. And once I knew that . . She shrugged, dustJng her hands, and covered the basket with a bit of linen, securing it with twine.

  "Yes, but ... you can't always do what you're meant to, can you?" she said, thinking of the ragged scar on Roger's throat.

  "Well, life certainly forces some things on one," her mother murmured. She glanced up, meeting Brianna's eyes, and her mouth quirked in a small, wry smile. "And for the common man--or woman-life as they find it is often the life they lead. Marsali, for instance. I shouldn't think it's ever entered her mind that she might do other than she does. Her mother kept a house and raised children; she sees no reason why she should do anything else. And yet-" Claire lifted one shoulder in a shrug, and reached across the table for the other mortar. "She had one great passion-for Fergus. And that was enough to jar her out of the rut her life would have been-"

  "And into another just like it?"

  Claire bent her head in a half-nod, not looking up.

  "Just like it--except that she's in America, rather than Scotland. And she's got Fergus."

  "Like you have Jamie?" She seldom used his given name, and Claire glanced up in surprise.

  "Yes," she said. "Jamie's part of me. So are you." She touched Bree's face, quick and light, then turned half away, reaching to take down a tied bundle of marjoram from the array of hanging herbs on the beam above the hearth. "But neither of you is all of me," she said softly, back turned. "I am ... what I am.

  684 Diana Gabaldon

  Doctor, nurse, healer, xvitch-whatever folk call it, the name doesn't matter, I was born to be that; I will be that 'til I die. If I should lose you--or Jamie-1 wouldn't be quite a whole person any longer, but I would still have that left, For a little time," she went on, so softly that Brianna had to strain to hear her,

  66after I went ... back ... before you came ... that was all I had. Just knowing." the

  Claire crumbled the dried marjoram into the mortar, and took up the pestle to grind it. The sound Of clumping boots came from outside, and then Jamie's voice, a friendly remark to a chicken that crossed his path.

  And was loving Roger, loving Jemmy, not enough for her? Surely it should be. She had a dreadful, hollow feeling that perhaps it was not, and spoke quickly, before the thought should find words.

  "What about Da?" "What about himp,

  "Does he-is he one who knows what he is, do you think?" Claire's hands stilled, the clanking pestle falling silent.

  "Oh, yes," she said. "He knows. 17 "A laird? Is that what you'd call it?" Her mother hesitated, thinking.

  "No," she said at last. She took up the pestle and began to grind again. The fragrance of dried marjoram filled the room like incense. "He's a man," she said, "and that's no small thing to be."

  LONESOA4E ME

  RIANNA CLOSED THE BOOK, with a mingled sense of relief and foreboding. She hadn't objected to Jamie's notion that she teach a

  Bfew of the little girls on the Ridge their ABC1s. It filled the cabin with cheerful noise for a couple of hours, and JemmY loved the cosseting: of a halfdozen miniature mothers.

  Still, she was not a natural teacher, and always felt relieved at the end of a lesson. The foreboding came on its heels, though. Most of the girls came alone, or under the care of an older sister. Anne and Kate Henderson, who lived two miles away, were escorted by their older brother, Obadiah.

  She wasn't sure when or how it had started. Perhaps from the first day, when he had looked her in the eye, smiling faintly, and held the glance for a moment too long before patting his sisters' heads and leaving them to her care. But there had been nothing she could reasonably object to. Not then, not in the days since. And yet ...

  The Fiery Cross 685

  Stated bluntly to herself, Obadiah Henderson gave her the creeps. He was a lad of twenty or so, heavily muscled and not bad-looking)

  brown-haired d blue-eyed. But there was something about him that was somehow not of something brutal about the mouth, something f

  eralin the t; a sense

  epset eyes. And something very unsettling in the way he looked at her.

  She hated going to the door at the end of a lesson. The little girls would atter in a flutter of dresses and giggles-and Obadiah would be waiting, leanin . sitting on the well-coping, once even lounging on the bench I g against a tree

  outside her door.

  The constant uncertainty, never knowing where he would be-but knowing that he was there, somewhere, got on her nerves nearly as much as that halfsmiling look of his, and the silent smirk as he left her, almost winking, as though he knew some dirty little secret about her, but chose to keep it to himself-for now.

  It occurred to her, with a certain sense of irony, that her discomfort near Obadiah was at least partly because of Roger. She had grown accustomed to hearing things that weren't spoken aloud.

  And Obadiah didn't speak aloud. He didn't say anything to her, made no improper motions toward her. Could she tell him not to look at her? That was ridiculous. Ridiculous, too, that something so simple could cause her heart to jump into her throat when she opened the door, and make sweat prick beneath her arms when she saw him.

  Bracing herself, she opened the door for the girls and called goodbye as they scattered, then stood and looked around. He wasn't there. Not by the well, the tree, the bench ... nowhere,

  Anne and Kate weren't looking; they were already halfivay across the clearing with Janie Cameron, all three hand in hand.

  "Annie!" she called. "Where's your brother?" Annie half-turned, pigtails bouncing.

  "He's gone to Salem, Miss," she called back. "We're going home to sup with Jane today!" Not waiting for acknowledgment, the girls all skipped away, like a trio of bouncing balls.

  The tension melted slowly from her neck and shoulders as she drew a long, deep breath. She felt blank for a moment, as though she weren't quite sure what to do. Then she drew herself up and brushed down her rumpled apron. Jemmy was asleep, lulled by the girls' nasal singing of the alphabet song. She could take advantage of his nap to go and fetch some buttermilk from the springhouse. Roger liked buttermilk biscuits; she'd make them for supper, with a little ham.

  The springhouse was cool and dark, and restful with the sound of water running through the stone-lined channel in the floor. She loved going in there, and waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, so she could admire the trailing fronds of dark-green algae that clung to the stone, driffing in the current. Jamie had mentioned t
hat a family of bats had taken up residence in the springhouse, too-yes, there they were, four tiny bundles hung up in the darkest corner, each one barely two inches long, as neat and tidy as a Greek dolmade wrapped in grape leaves. She smiled at the thought, though it was followed by a pang.

  686 Diana Gabaldon

  She had eaten dolmades with Roger, at a Greek restaurant in Boston. She didn't care all that much for Greek food, but it would have been a memory of their own time to share with him, when she told him about the bats. If she told him now, she thought, he would smile in response-but the smile wouldn't quite reach his eyes, and she would remember alone,

  She left the springhouse, walking slowly, the bucket of buttermilk in one hand balanced by a wedge of cheese in the other. A cheese omelette would be good for lunch; quick to cook, and Jemmy loved it. He preferred to use his spoon to kill his prey, then devour it messily with both hands, but he would feed himself, and that was progress.

  She was still smiling when she looked up from the path to see Obadiah Henderson sitting on her bench.

  "What are you doing here?" Her voice was sharp, but higher than she'd intended it to be. "The girls said you'd gone to Salem."

  "So I had." He rose to his feet and stepped forward, that knowing half-smile on his lips. "I came back."

  She suppressed the urge to take a step back. This was her house; damned if he'd make her back away from her own door.

  "W elf, the girls have gone," she said, as coolly as she could manage. "They're at the Camerons'." Her heart was thumping heavily, but she moved past him, meaning to put the bucket down on the porch.

  She bent, and he put his hand on the small of her back. She froze momentarily. He didn't move his hand, didn't try to stroke or squeeze-but the weight of it lay on her spine like a dead snake. She jerked upright and whirled around, taking a step back, and to he[[ with not letting him intimidate her, He'd already done that.

  "I brought ye something," he said. "From Salem." The smile was still on his lips, but it seemed completely disconnected from the look in his eyes.

  "I don't want it," she said. "I mean-thank you. But no. It isn't light for you to-my husband wouldn't like it."

  "No need for him to know." He took a step toward her; she took one back, and the smile grew wider.

  "I hear your husband's not home much, these days," he said softly. "That sounds lonesome,"

  He put out a large hand, reaching toward her face. Then there was an odd, smafl sound, a sort of meaty tnk.1, and his face went bla* his eyes shocked wide.

  She stared at him for a moment, completely unable to grasp what had happened. Then he turned those staring eyes to his outstretched hand, and she saw the small knife stuck in the flesh of his forearm, and the growing stain of red on the shirt around it.

  "Leave this place," Jamie's voice was low, but distinct. He stepped out of the trees, eyes fixed on Henderson in a most unfriendly manner. He reached them in three strides, put out his band and pulled the knife from Henderson's arm. Obadiah made a small sound, deep in his throat, like a wounded animal might make, baffled and pitiable.

  "Go," Jamie said. "Never come here again."

  The blood was flowing down Obadiah's arm, dripping from his fingers. A

  The Fiery Cross 687

  drops fell into the buttermilk, floating crimson on the rich yellow surface. a dazed sort of way, she recognized the horrid beauty of it-like rubies set in Id.

  Then the boy was going, free hand clamped to his wounded arm, shambling, n running for the trail. He disappeared into the trees, and the dooryard was ry still.

  to do that?" was the first thing she managed to say, She felt Did you have she herself had been struck with something. The blood tined, as though to blur, their edges dissolving into the buttermilk, and cps were beginning

  thought she might throw up. caught her by the arm, putted her down -Should I have waited?" Her father

  sit on the porch. . have said something to him?" Her lips "No. But you-couldn't you just . - her vision. t numb and there were small flashing lights in the periphery of

  motely, she realized that she was going to faint, and leaned forward, her ace buried in the sanctuary of her apron.

  ad between her knees, f creaked as Jamie sat down beside her, -1 did, I told him to 90." The porch to her own ears, muffled -You know what I mean." Her voice sounded odd ered

  sat up slowly; the red spruce by the big house wav U, the f,,Ids of cloth. She

  9? Showing off? ;aightly in her vision, but the" steadied what were you doin

  14ow could you count oil sticking somebody with a knife at that distance? And vhat was that, anywaY-a penknife?" a mean to stick him," ket. And in fact, I didn

  "Aye. It was all I had in my poc the wait o' the cabin, and when he Jamie admitted. "I meant to throw into oved, though." looked to see what made the noise, hit him from behind. He M

  h her nose, willing her stomnd breathed deeply thrOug

  She closed her eyes a % ach to settle.

  ,"Ye're all right, a muirninn?" he asked quietly. He laid a hand gently on her k-somewhat higher than Obadiah had. It felt good; large, warm and combac

  forting.

  4611m, fine," she said, opening her eyes. He looked worried, and she made an effort, smiling at him. "Fine." oubled, though they stayed

  He relaxed a bit, then, and his eyes grew less tr

  intent on hers. 441ts no the first time, aYc? How long has yon gomerel "Well, then," he said,

  been tryin' it on wi' You? "and forced her fists to uncurl- She wanted to miniShe took another breath, )ruilt-for surely she should have found Mize the situation, moved by a sense of 9

  some way to stop it? Faced with that steady blue gaze, though) she couldn't lie. "Since the first week)" she said.

  His eyes widened. n about it?" he demanded, in-

  4cSo long? And why did ye not tell your ma

  credulous. d fumbled for a reply.

  She was startled, an I Mean, it wasn't his problem." She heard tile ,I-wU-l didn't think ... me biting remark sudden intake of his breath, no doubt the precursor to so

  about Roger, and hurried to defend him. ust looks. And, smiles. How

  4clt-he-he didn't actually do anything. I

  688 Diana Gabaldon

  could I tell Roger he was looking at me? I didn't want to look weak, or helpless." Though she had been both, and knew it. The knowledge burned under her skin like ant bites.

  "I didn't want to ... to have to ask him to defend me."

  He stared at her, his face blank with incomprehension. He shook his head slowly, not taking his eyes away from her.

  "What in God's name d'ye think a man is for?" he asked at last. He spoke quietly, but in tones of complete bewilderment. "Ye want to keep him as a pet, is it? A lapdog? Or a caged bird?"

  "You don't understand!"

  "Oh. Do I not?" He blew out a short breath, in what might have been a sardonic laugh. "I have been marrit near thirty years, and you less than two. What is it that ye think I dinna understand, lass?"

  "It isn't-it isn't the same for you and Mama as it is for me and Roger!" she burst out.

  "No, it's not," he agreed, his voice level. "Your mother has regard for my pride, and I for hers. Or do ye maybe think her a coward, who canna fight her own battles?"

  "I ... no." She swallowed, feeling perilously close to tears, but determined not to let them escape. "But Da-it is different. We're from another place, another time."

  "I ken that fine," he said, and she saw the edge of his mouth curl up in a wry half-smile. His voice grew more gentle. "But I canna think that men and women are so different, then."

  "Maybe not." She swallowed, forcing her voice to steady. "But maybe Roger's different. Since Alamance."

  He drew breath as though to speak, but then let it out again slowly, saying nothing. He had taken his hand away; she felt the lack of it. He leaned back a little, looking out over the dooryard, and his fingers tapped lightly on the boards of the porch between th
em.

  "Aye," he said at last, quietly. "Maybe so."

  She heard a muffled thump in the cabin behind them,,then another. Jem was awake, throwing his toys out of his cradle. In a moment, he would start calling for her to come and pick them up. She stood up suddenly, straightening her dress.

  "Jem's up; I have to go in."

  Jamie stood up, too, and picking up the bucket, flung the buttermilk in a thick yellow splash across the grass.

  441, H fetch ye more," he said, and was gone before she could tell him not to bother.

  Jern was standing up, clinging to the side of his cradle, eager for escape, and launched himself into her arms when she bent to pick him up. He was getting heavy, but she clutched him tightly to her, pressing her cheek against his head, damp with sweaty sleep. Her heart was beating heavily, feeling bruised inside her chest.

  'nat sounds lonesome, " Obadiah Henderson had said. He was right.

  CREAmED CRUD

  AMIE L sighing in repletion. As he EANED BACK from the table,

  started to get up, though, Mrs. Bug popped up from her place, wagging an admonitory finger at him. nowhere, and me left wi' gingerbread and "Now, sir, now, sir, ye'll be going

  sh crud to go to waste. er mouth, with the muffled noise characteristic Brianna clapped a hand to h . Jamie and Mr. Bug, to Whom one who has just shot milk up one's nose oked at her curiOf iliar Scottish usage for "curds," both 10

  Ocrud" was the farn

  ly, but made no comment- I expect I'll die a happy man," Jamie -Well, I'll surely burst, Mrs. Bug, but a wee thing to fetch whilst Ye serve Informed her. "Bring it on, then-but I've ed a pound or two it out." With amazing agility for a man who had just consurn

  Of apples and potatoes, he slid out of his chair and disspiced sausage with fried i

  appeared down the hall toward his study. smelled the gingerbread cooking I took a deep breath, pleased that I had s before ernoon, and had had the foresight to remove my stay

  earlier in the aft

  sitting down to supper. d, piddrig up infallibly on the word most calcu I -wan, crud!" Jemmy crowe unded his hands on the table in lated to cause maternal consternation. He po

  ecstasy, chanting, "Crud-crud_crud-crud"7 at the top of his lungs. that she . Roger glanced at Bree with a half-smile, and I was pleased to see the job caught it, smiling back even as she captured jemmy's hands and started

  of wiping the remains of dinner off his face. curds-these being sugared and Jamie returned just as the gingerbread and r Roger's whipped into creamy blobs-made their appearance. He reached ove

  shoulder as he passed, and deposited a cloth-bound ledger on the table in front of him, topped with the small wooden box containing the astrolabe.

  o months, maybe he said casually, "The weather's good for another tw crud on his d sticking a finger into the huge dollop of creamed

  sitting down an his mouth, closing his eyes in bliss.

  plate. He stuck the finger in and barely audible, but enough to make "Aye?" The word came out choked ridered Jernmy quit babbling and stare at his father open-mouthed. I w0 whether it was the first time Roger had spoken today. s dessert with

  and picked up his spoon, eyeing hi Jamie had opened his eyes die trying.

  the determination of a man who means to to the coast just before snawfall-if "Aye, well, Fergus will be going down