A Breath of Snow and Ashes - Diana Gabaldon [258]
“Don’t you see? Mama told you what would happen—about Culloden. You couldn’t stop it, but you saved Lallybroch. And your men, your tenants. Because you knew.”
“Oh, Christ,” he said, realizing with a shock what she meant. Recollection washed through him in a flood, the terror and desperation and uncertainty of that time—the numb despair that had carried him through that last fatal day. “Ye want me to tell Bird.”
She rubbed a hand over her face, and shook her head.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if you should tell him—or if you do, whether he’ll listen. But Roger and I talked about it, after you asked him about the Indians. And I kept thinking about it . . . and, well, it just didn’t seem right, to know and not do anything. So I thought I’d better tell you.”
“Aye, I see,” he said a little bleakly.
He had noticed before the inclination of persons with tender consciences to ease their discomfort by handing the necessity of taking action on to someone else, but forbore to mention it. She could hardly be telling Bird herself, after all.
As though the situation he faced with the Cherokee were not sufficiently difficult already, he thought wryly—now he must deal with saving unknown future generations of savages? The mockingbird zoomed past his ear, unnervingly close, clucking like a hen, of all things.
It was so incongruous that he laughed. And then realized that there was nothing else to do. Not now.
Brianna was looking at him curiously.
“What are you going to do?”
He stretched himself, slowly, luxuriously, feeling the muscles of his back pull upon his bones, feeling each of them, alive and solid. The sun was coming down the sky, supper was beginning to cook, and for now, for this one last night, he need do nothing. Not yet.
“I’m going fishing,” he said, smiling at his lovely, unlikely, problematical daughter. “Fetch the wee lad, aye? I’ll get the poles.”
James Fraser, Esq. from Fraser’s Ridge
To my Lord John Grey, Mount Josiah Plantation,
this 2nd day of April, Anno Domini 1774
My lord,
I depart in the morning to visit the Cherokee, and so leave this with my wife, to be entrusted to Mr. Higgins when he shall next arrive, to be delivered with its accompanying parcel into your hands.
I presume upon your kindness and your solicitude for my family in asking your favor to help in selling the object I entrust to you. I suspect that your connexions might enable you to obtain a better price than I might do myself—and to do so discreetly.
I shall hope upon my return to confide in you the reasons for my action, as well as certain philosophical reflections which you may find of interest. In the meantime, believe me ever
Your most affectionate friend and humble servant,
J. Fraser
42
DRESS REHEARSAL
BOBBY HIGGINS looked uneasily at me over his mug of beer.
“Beg pardon, mum,” he said. “But you wouldn’t be a-thinking of practicing some type of physic upon me, would you? The worms are gone, I’m sure of it. And the—the other”—he blushed slightly and squirmed upon the bench—“that’s quite all right, too. I’ve et so many beans, I fart quite regular, and not a touch of the fiery knives about it!”
Jamie had frequently remarked upon the transparency of my features, but this was surprising perspicacity on Bobby’s part.
“I’m thrilled to hear it,” I said, evading his question momentarily. “You look quite in the pink of health, Bobby.”
He did; the hollow, wasted look had left him, and his flesh was firm and solid, his eyes bright. The blind one hadn’t gone milky, nor did it wander perceptibly; he must have some residual ability to detect light and shape, which strengthened my original diagnosis of a partially detached retina.
He nodded warily, and took a sip of beer, still keeping his eyes fixed on me.
“I’m very well indeed, mum,” he said.
“Splendid. You don’t happen to know how much you weigh, do you, Bobby?”
The look of wariness vanished, replaced by modest pride.
“Happen I do, mum. I took some fleeces to the river port for his Lordship last month, and was a mercer there what had