Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
18th Jun 2018 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #BookNine #GoTELLTheBEESThatIAmGONE #ForFathersDay #notspoilers #butnotNOTquitespoilerseither
“Here,” Jamie said, turning away from the creek and pushing aside the branches of a red oak sapling. Roger followed him up a small slope and onto a rocky shelf, where two or three more enterprising saplings had established themselves in crevices. There was room enough to sit comfortably at the edge of the shelf, from whence Roger found that they could see the opposite bank and the tiny spring-house, and also a good bit of the trail leading up from the house-site.
“We’ll see anyone coming,” Jamie said, settling himself cross-legged, with his back against one of the saplings. “So, then. Ye’ve a thing or two to tell me.”
“So, then.” Roger sat down in a patch of shade, took off his shoes and stockings, and let his legs dangle in the cool draft at the edge of the shelf, in hopes that it would slow his heart. There was no way to begin, except to start.
“As I said, I went to Lallybroch in search of Jem—and of course he wasn’t there. But Brian—your father—“
“I ken his name,” Jamie said dryly.
“Ever call him by it?” Roger said, on impulse.
“No,” Jamie said, surprised. “Do men call their fathers by their Christian names in your time?”
“No.” Roger made a brief dismissive motion. “It’s just—I shouldn’t have said that, it’s part of my story, not yours.”
Jamie glanced at the sun, coming slowly down the sky, but still well above the mountain.
“It’s a good while ‘til supper,” he said. “We’ve likely time for both.”
“It’s a tale for another time,” Roger said, shrugging. “But…the meat of it is that while I came in search of Jem, I found—well, my father, instead. His name was Jeremiah, too—folk called him Jerry.”
Jamie said something in Gaelic and crossed himself.
“Aye,” Roger said briefly. “As I said—another time. The thing was—when I found him, he was only twenty-two. I was the age I am now; I could have been his father, just. So I called him Jerry; thought of him that way. At the same time, I kent he was my…well. I couldn’t tell him who I was; there wasn’t time.” He felt his throat grow tight again, and cleared it, with an effort.
“Well, so. It was before, that I met your father at Lallybroch. I nearly fell over with the shock when he opened the door and told me his name.” He smiled a little at the memory, rueful. “He was about my own age, maybe a few years older. We met…as men. Mr. MacKenzie. Mr. Fraser.”
Jamie gave a brief nod, his eyes curious.
“And then your sister came in, and they made me welcome, fed me. I told your father—well, not the whole of it, obviously—but that I was looking for my wee lad, who’d been kidnapped.”
Brian had given Roger a bed, then taken him next morning to all the crofts nearby, asking after Jem and Rob Cameron, without result. But the next day, he’d suggested riding all the way to Fort William, to make inquiries at the army garrison.
Roger’s eyes were fixed on a patch of moss near his knee; it grew in rounded green clumps over the rocks, looking like the heads of young broccoli. He could feel Jamie listening. His father-in-law didn’t move at all, but Roger felt the slight tension in him at mention of Fort William. _ Or maybe it’s my own _… He thrust his fingers into the cool, wet moss; to anchor himself, maybe.
“The commander was an officer named Buncombe. Your father called him, ‘a decent fellow for a Sassenach’—and he was. Brian had brought two bottles of whisky—good stuff,” he added, glancing at Jamie, and saw the flicker of a returned smile at that. “We drank with Buncombe, and he promised to have his soldiers make inquiries. That made me feel…hopeful. As though I might really have some chance of finding Jem.”
He hesitated for a moment, trying to think how to say what he wanted to, but after all, Jamie _had _ known Brian himself.
“It wasn’t so much Buncombe’s courtesy. It was Brian Dhu,” he said, looking straight at Jamie. “He was…kind, very kind, but it was more than that.” He had a vivid memory of it, of Brian, riding in front of him up a hill, bonnet and broad shoulders dark with rain, his back straight and sure. “You felt---_I _ felt—as though…if this man was on my side, then things would be all right.”
“Everyone felt that about him,” Jamie said softly, looking down.
Roger nodded, silent. Jamie’s auburn head was bent, his gaze fixed on his knees—but Roger saw that head turn a fraction of an inch, and tilt as though in answer to a touch, and a tiny ripple of something between awe and simple acknowledgement stirred the hairs on his own scalp.
_There it is _, he thought, at once surprised and not surprised at all. He’d seen it—or rather, felt it—before, but it had taken several repetitions before he’d realized fully what it was. The summoning of the dead, when those who loved them spoke of them. He could feel Brian Dhu, here beside this mountain creek, as surely as he had felt him that dreich day in the Highlands.