Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [187]
“Why—” he began, then stopped and swallowed, knobbly Adam’s apple bobbing. “Aye, Mac Dubh. That will suit fine.” A small, incredulous smile had formed on his face as Jamie spoke, and stayed there, as though Duncan were unaware of it.
“Agent.” He swallowed again, and reached for one of the bottles of ale he had brought. “What will ye have me to do for ye, Mac Dubh?”
“The two things, Duncan, and ye will. First is to find me settlers.” Jamie waved a hand at the beginnings of our new cabin, which so far consisted entirely of a fieldstone foundation, the framing of the floor, and a wide slab of dark slate selected for the hearthstone, presently leaning against the foundation.
“I canna be leaving here just at present, myself. What I want ye to do is to find as many as ye can of the men who were transported from Ardsmuir. They’ll have been scattered, but they came through Wilmington; a many of them will be in North or South Carolina. Find as many as ye can, tell them what I’m about here—and bring as many as are willing here in the spring.”
Duncan was nodding slowly, lips pursed beneath his drooping mustache. Few men wore such facial adornment, but it suited him, making him look like a thin but benevolent walrus.
“Verra well,” he said. “And the second?”
Jamie glanced at me, then at Duncan.
“My aunt,” he said. “Will ye undertake to help her, Duncan? She’s great need of an honest man, who can deal wi’ the naval bastards and speak for her in business.”
Duncan had showed no hesitation in agreeing to comb several hundred miles of colony in search of settlers for our enterprise, but the notion of dealing with naval bastards struck him with profound uneasiness.
“Business? But I dinna ken aught of—”
“Dinna fash,” Jamie said, smiling at his friend, and the adjuration worked on Duncan as well as it did on me; I could see the mounting uneasiness in Duncan’s eyes begin to recede. For roughly the ten-thousandth time, I wondered how he did it.
“It’ll be little trouble to ye,” Jamie said soothingly. “My aunt kens well enough what’s to be done; she can tell ye what to say and what to do—it’s only she needs a man for the saying and doing of it. I shall write a letter to her, for ye to take back, explaining that ye’ll be pleased to act for her.”
During the latter part of this conversation, Ian had been digging about in the packs that had been unloaded from the mules. Now he withdrew a flat piece of metal, and squinted at it curiously.
“What’s this?” he asked, of no one in particular. He held it out for us to see; a flat piece of dark metal, pointed at one end like a knife, with rudimentary crosspieces. It looked like a small dirk that had been run over by a steamroller.
“Iron for your hearth.” Duncan reached for the piece, and handed it, handle-first, to Jamie. “It was Miss Jo’s thought.”
“Was it? That was kind.” Jamie’s face was weathered to deep bronze by long days in the open, but I saw the faint flush of pink on the side of his neck. His thumb stroked the smooth surface of the iron, and then he handed it to me.
“Keep it safe, Sassenach,” he said. “We’ll bless our hearth before Duncan leaves.”
I could see that he was deeply touched by the gift, but didn’t understand entirely why, until Ian had explained to me that one buries iron beneath a new hearth, to ensure blessing and prosperity on the house.
It was Jocasta’s blessing on our venture; her acceptance of Jamie’s decision—and forgiveness for what must have seemed his abandonment. It was more than generosity, and I folded the small piece of iron carefully into my handkerchief, and put it in my pocket for safekeeping.
We blessed the hearth two days later, standing in the wall-less cabin. Myers had removed his hat, from respect, and Ian had washed his face. Rollo was present, too, as was the small white pig, who was required to attend as the personification of our “flocks,” despite her objections; the