BetweenScenes

Writer, Outlander & Poldark Enthusiast

[betweensceneswriter]

Anyone else spend a bunch of time crying when Colin was mad at Penelope? I thought my heart was going to break!

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper-Chapter 28b: Just Add Water Part 2

Shots and the ‘Shungle’

Previously on Island Hopper:  Chapter 28: Just Add Water Some things are instant.  Not usually sons.

ISLAND FEVER (Jimjeran Book 1)

ISLAND HOPPER (Jimjeran Book 2)

FanFic Master List

 The days blended into one another after that.  Mornings began with waking a reluctant child to give him his long-acting insulin.  Jamie started taking Perkaj into the stall with him after I was done with my shower, washing Perkaj’s hair, wrapping him in a towel and sending him in to me.  While they were out of the apartment I would rush into my own clothing. On Perkaj’s arrival back in the apartment I would dry him off, brush his hair, and give him a little privacy while he dressed.  

He was amused by the bustle and pace of our household.  If we ever tried to rush him, he would respond after a deep sigh, “Oh, Mama Peach, I am lazy,” or “Oh, Baba Shamie, I am lazy.”  Jamie assured me that ‘lazy’ didn’t have the same negative connotation in Majel, but it still made me laugh every time Perkaj said it.

Perkaj was also surprised by how often we bathed, but after a few days Jamie said the boy had started to industriously scrub his skin with a washcloth and soap while Jamie washed his hair.

Breakfast was when he would test his blood sugar and give himself injections with an amount based on his level and how hungry he felt.  In the beginning he turned up his nose at the steel cut oats we would usually have for breakfast, but he was delighted by bread with honey or jelly and peanut butter.  Eventually with a sprinkle of cinnamon and brown sugar, we were able to coax him to eat the ‘porridge’ as well.

Jamie had to leave for school a few minutes early so he could drop Perkaj off at his house, or if he was running late I would take him. There the little boy would be fussed over by his family and then walk to school with his brothers and sisters.  His mother would pack him a lunch to be eaten at school, when he would check in with Jamie for testing and another dose of short-acting insulin before joining the other kids on the lawn for lunch & recess.

After school, Perkaj would come home with Jamie.  They would test his blood sugar to make sure it was high enough for play and family time and give him a snack if it was on the low side.  Most days of the week  Jamie would walk him the rest of the way to his house, returning to our apartment to do grading and planning for the next day.  Around six I would take my turn to travel to Perkaj’s house, supervise as Perkaj would prick one of his poor fingers again, and then the little guy and I would assess his dinner plate with his parents & auntie, talking about the insulin amount needed before eating.

At 7:30, one of Perkaj’s family members would walk him to our house where we would tuck him into bed with a story.  One more test and snack or insulin would finish his long, eventful day.  

After Perkaj headed to bed was when Jamie and I made sure to cuddle up to each other, having a little contact while reading or writing letters by the  warm light of the bedside lamp.  More  often than not one or the other of us would nod off accidentally and wake up only when the other person turned off the lamp. Jamie or I would rouse long enough to climb under the sheet and turn to the other for a goodnight kiss before we would drift back into slumber.  

Our life felt strange, broken up into little chunks like this-- repeated interruptions and moments of being apart when we would normally have been together. It wasn’t easy, but I steeled myself with the fact that there weren’t any other good options.  This—serving the health of the islanders—was why I was here; not marriage, not sex, not selfishness.

“Ijab konaan,” Perkaj cried, sitting at the table with his tester and insulin pen in front of him. “Emetak.” He rubbed his face with his hands, smearing the dust from an afternoon of active play into gray streaks on his skin.

Of course he didn’t want it.  Of course it hurt.

Jamie looked up at me, his eyes full of compassion and desperation.  We had to get Perkaj to buy in to his own health if we were ever going to get our own lives back.  

All of a sudden I had an idea.  I grabbed a syringe from my black medical kit and a vial of sterile saline.

“How many carbs are you going to eat, Meester Shamie?” I asked him. He eyed the syringe and then looked back at me, narrowed eyes giving way to a tiny smile of understanding.

He took a deep breath, looking at the soup and muffins on the table. “Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully, “I  know I’m hungry, and I’m lukuun kilep, so I’ll have five servings… some noodle soup and three muffins. How about you, Miss Peachay?”

“Oh, I’m not very hungry,” I responded. “When it’s hot like this, ijab konaan moni, so I’ll have three.”

Without looking off to the side at Perkaj, I picked up the tester, a strip and a lancet. “I wonder what my blood sugar is right now,” I mused. I pricked my finger, the sudden shock of pain giving me shivers, then pressed the drop of blood to the testing strip. “Eighty-five,” I remarked.  “That’s good for before a meal.”

Jamie took the tester I offered him and did the same. He winced and stuck his finger in his mouth after he’d touched it to the testing strip. “Seventy-six? No wonder I’m starving!” He passed the tester on to Perkaj, who had grinned at Jamie’s over-the-top reaction to the prick of the lancet and blood on his finger.

“Okay,” I said. “Five servings means five units.”  I held the vial up as I inserted the syringe and drew out several milliliters of saline. Then I handed the syringe to Jamie.

Up until then he’d been playing along with me.  When I handed him the needle his face drained of color. His raised eyebrows communicated clearly, “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

Perkaj had tested his sugar and was already clicking the units into his insulin pen.

“One for being little high,” he murmured to himself. “And tree for carbs.”  He screwed on the fresh needle tip and looked over at Jamie. “Why you waiting, Baba Shamie?”

Jamie frowned. “Ijab konaan,” he said, his eyes showing some genuine fear. “Enaj metak.”

Perkaj’s response was adorable.  He patted Jamie’s arm like I’d seen my husband do to him  countless times over the last few weeks. “Is okay, Baba,” he said reassuringly, shaking his head. “It not hurt forever.”

After that, there was no way Jamie was going to let his fear of pain stand in his way.  

“Let’s do it together,” he said.  “Will you count?”

“Juon, ruo, jilu,” Perkaj counted.  On ‘three’ both boys jabbed themselves with their needles and pressed down on the plungers.  They made faces at each other as they did, and when the syringe and insulin pen were returned to the table, Jamie pulled the little guy in for a hug.

“You’re so brave!” He exclaimed. Perkaj grinned and grabbed a muffin.

Out of necessity we discovered that about five minutes after Perkaj fell asleep he would be dead to the world for a solid fifteen minutes.  If we’d saved enough energy, we could engage in a clandestine lovemaking session, covered by the bedsheet, trying to keep the bed frame from squeaking or the headboard from banging against the wall.

Unfortunately, I was gun shy after our ‘coitus interruptus’ and Jamie seemed to be internalizing the stress of parenthood even more than I was. He was still affectionate, and would frequently wrap his arms around me for a hug, come up behind me when I was doing dishes and rub my shoulders, or pull my head to his chest when we lay next to each other in bed reading.  But after my experience being married to him thus far, it wasn’t like him. It was surprising that Jamie wasn’t lusting after me, wasn’t taking liberties with my body, wasn’t making it clear he wanted nothing more than to have me naked.  

Perhaps even more disturbing to me, I was okay with the lack of sex. I tried to reassure myself.  Jamie and I were still cooperating with each other, accomplishing an important thing.   We were still working together, laughing together.  Despite the inconvenience, Perkaj was adorable and Jamie was adorable with him. But both of us were exhausted at night. We were all sleeping in the same room; less alone time meant fewer opportunities when the same idea would strike both of us, when raised eyebrows or a simple caress would be the snowflake that started an avalanche.

But as my dad had said, this was ‘just a season.’

And what a season.  Along with the hot, dry conditions that made it challenging to keep my garden healthy and brought the mamas to clinic fanning themselves and telling me they were lukuun bwil, the level of the catchment continued to drop until the bucket would scrape against the cement bottom of the tank when we drew our drinking water.

One afternoon after school Perkaj announced that he was going to stay and help Baba Shamie cut the grass.  Apparently he and Jamie had been talking on their walk home and Jamie had shared his plans for the afternoon.

“Ikonaan jibaneke,” Perkaj said.  “I want help you!”

Perkaj helped me water my plants and then used the hand-held grass clippers to assist Jamie by trimming the grass near our outbuildings and well.  Jamie used an old school scythe to cut the grass, a wicked looking curved blade on a long wooden handle with two grips.  When he held it on his shoulder as he headed out to the field, he looked like a tropical themed version of the Grim Reaper, with khaki shorts, a tee shirt, and flaming red hair.

I followed the boys as they worked, using a rake to heap up the grass and lift it into our wheelbarrow. Jamie had decided that composting was a necessity to increase the quality of our soil, so we were layering grass clippings with palm fronds and kitchen waste in a heap in the back corner of the property.

I was across the yard when two girls walked hesitantly up to Jamie.  He leaned on his scythe, giving them his attention.

“Meester Shamie,” one of them said, “we no have water to drink.  Our catchment is emmat...empty?

Jamie looked at them, at their water container, and at the big jug by the still, three quarters full from the days’ filtration. He glanced at me.

“Of course,” I insisted, “we have enough to share.”

As Jamie poured water into their bottles, I crossed the yard to the well. Someone would need to draw more well water to refill the solar still.

Through the sunny hours of the day while Jamie was teaching, I had taken it upon myself to keep the reservoir of the still filled with enough well water to keep the trickle of distilled water constantly flowing. When one water jug was filled, I would transfer the hose to the next jug and place the cap on the now-full container.

“Jibaneke?” The little voice asked from behind me. “I help you, Mama Peach?”

Perkaj might have been only seven, but he was an expert at the wrist flick necessary for getting water from the well, and the rapid hand -over -hand motion to bring up a full coffee can. He filled the five gallon bucket in half the time it would take me, then beamed up at me as we carried the bucket together to pour into the solar still.

He stood up on his tiptoes to peek through the sloped glass cover. “Well water enana?” he questioned, brown furrowed.  

“Is it bad?” I responded. “Not bad.  Just doesn’t taste good  for drinking .”

“But Mama Peach,” he said with his forehead wrinkled, “Aolep well water,” Perkaj said.  

It was all well water? I didn’t understand what he meant. Rupert had brought the lower grades over to teach them a lesson about the solar still and evaporation, so I had seen them peering in interest at the setup. I was sure Rupert had explained how the process removed minerals, salt, and impurities from the water.

“Ke?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

He showed the motion of the water with his hands -- the upward wafting of moisture, at which he said, “Well water,” then indicated the abrupt stop at the sloping glass, “Well water also” and then showed the drops falling into the collection channel. “Aolep well water,” he finished, holding up his hands as if to encompass the whole water cycle.

“Well, not exactly,” I tried to explain, hesitantly trying out my baby Majel.  “This is a small version of how the earth makes fresh water.  When the water goes into the air, it leaves behind germs and salt and bitter minerals.  Do you see the white crust on the black fabric?  That's the bad part-what was left behind.”

Perkaj peered into the still through the condensation -covered glass curiously.  “Oh.” He exclaimed, wide eyed.  I wasn’t sure he’d understood, but at least I’d tried.

The day stayed hot past sunset, the air barely holding any humidity.  Without a breeze, the house didn’t cool off even when it got dark.  Jamie had tried to cuddle me, but any place our skin contacted we would stick together, and any movement would feel like trying to detach from an octopus.

Perkaj was snoring quietly in his bed when Jamie got up and headed to the door, shoving his feet into his flip flops.  He headed outside without an explanation; I figured he needed the restroom.  

I was lost in my book when I startled at a faint sound behind me. Was that shifting gravel outside the window? I paused to listen. We’d opened the curtains because it was so damn hot, but that meant anyone outside would be able to see me… and could see that Jamie wasn’t here with me.  Still, none of the island men would even try to  bother me.  I wasn’t a single woman anymore, and they wouldn’t dare insult Meester Shamie…

“Tssst tssst,” a voice hissed from outside the window.  “Tssst tssst.” I pretended not to hear them, hoping inwardly that Jamie would return any minute and this person would fade away into the night and stop embarrassing themselves.

“Miss Peachay,” the voice sang, “I want to talk to you.  Tssst tssst.  You want to go to the shungle with me? Kwe konaan bwebwenato?”

As the invitations continued, I turned slowly to squint out the window.  The light from the apartment shone faintly on the pole supporting the short wave radio antenna.  There was a large hand gripping the pole, and next to the hand… there was curly red hair.

“You dip wad!” I hissed.  “I nearly peed my pants!”

“Shhhh,” he responded.  “Grab a quilt.  Come to the shungle with me.”

Perkaj was sleeping, so I figured what the heck.  I obeyed, grabbing a quilt and the mosquito net, turning off the lamp, shoving my feet into zories, and joining Jamie on the road in front of the clinic.

“Come on,” he whispered, taking me by the hand and leading me across the road.  There was only a little sliver of moon, but it was enough to keep us from crashing into trees as we wove deeper into the ocean-side palm forest.  

We got far enough that we couldn’t see the clinic light anymore, and giggled as we spread out the quilt and covered ourselves with the mosquito net.  

Out of the house it was actually cooler, and I sighed in relief as I looked up at the stars, Jamie’s arm behind  my head.

I couldn’t help it, laying on that quilt, covered by that mosquito net, looking up at those stars. “Oh, Frank…” I breathed.

My husband froze, and then he reacted. “Oh, you did not just call me Frank,” Jamie exclaimed.  I giggled as he rolled over on top of me.  “You take that back,” he ordered, his hand forcing its way under my tank top.

I laughed again, meeting his lips with mine, helping him peel off his shirt, wriggling out of my shorts and panties.

It had been so long and the circumstances were so novel I was fully engaged, blissful at his hands on me,  kissing his neck, reaching for him with my hand.  I attempted to change positions, to urge him inside, but he seemed determined to dominate me, insistent.

His hands were on my breasts and then his mouth was, teasing my nipples, biting them gently.   His hands were on my thighs and he was between my legs.  But he seemed to just be teasing me, pressing his pelvis towards me but then pulling away as I opened to him.

I realized he was waiting for something.

I took a deep breath. “I know who you are,” I whispered.  “Jamie.  Soulmate.  True love.  Partner.”

He paused, relaxed against me, kissed me gently between phrases.

“Provider,” I continued. “Protector. Gift of Providence.  Father of my babies. Friend.  Jimjeran.”

When we joined, finally, I was crying. I reached up and found his face, placing my hands on his cheeks, keeping his lips on mine as we moved together, as we connected, as we bonded ourselves together once again.

The whine of mosquitoes chased us inside, but not before we heard a wolf whistle from Anni and Kona’s yard as we crossed the road in front of the clinic. “Miss Peachay, Meester Shamie!” She exclaimed.  “You go to shungle?”

We headed inside to the sound of her laughter.

The next morning as we were getting ready for work and school, I noticed Jamie scratching himself rather intently  on the ass.  

“Hey Meester Shamie,” I joked, “How did you get a mosquito bite?”

He grinned at me adoringly. “I wonder, Miss Peachay.”

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper-Chapter 28: Just Add Water

Certain things are instant.  Not usually sons.

Previously Chapter 27: So Long, Farewell Surprising things await back on Majuro.

ISLAND FEVER (Jimjeran Book 1) 

ISLAND HOPPER (Jimjeran Book 2) 

FanFic Master List

     Perkaj looked so small sitting next to Jamie on the Jolok boat.  The breeze whipped his fine black hair around his ears.  Before he was discharged that morning, Dr. Langenbelik had coached us on our goals.  Perkaj, as young as he was, needed to be able to maintain his correct blood sugar level for at the least a full week by himself before we were to allow him to move back in with his family.  

     After that we were to spot check--stop in and have him test his blood sugars at a variety of times of day to make sure he was being consistent.  The goal was for him to re-enter his family and be independent of us, but not at the cost of his health.  We could also work with the family to help support him, hopefully getting their cooperation to speed the process of moving back home again.  

     Jamie and I had bundled up Perkaj with the few possessions he had brought along and the medical paraphernalia that he had gained during his hospitalization, along with a coterie of stuffed animals and toy cars, gifts from the nurses who had felt such pity for the unparented wee waif. We had boarded the Jolok boat just in time for departure.

     Perkaj’s dark eyes sparkled with delight as he glanced back at me.  He crouched to come close to me and exclaimed above the roar of the engine and surf.  “We go to your house now!”

     “We will also see your mama and baba,” I said.

     At that, he looked giddy.  “I miss them,” he admitted, then with a smile at me went back to sit with Jamie.

     He was equally excited during the bumpy ride in the back of the pickup truck from Arno Arno to Ine.  I realized from his enthusiastic reactions to everything we saw that he must have had no memory of his own truck ride to the air strip and plane ride to Majuro, and that this could be his first adventure outside the confines of the island.

     “Let’s stop at Perkaj’s house first,” Jamie suggested as we neared Ine.  I watched Perkaj’s face as we got closer, sharing in his joy as we pulled up to park on his property.  Our call to the Iroij had the desired effect, as the boy’s family members came spilling out of the house to greet him.  His mama was in tears, holding him by the cheeks and gazing into his face, clucking at how much weight he had lost but obviously pleased to see him looking healthy again.  His father smiled gravely as he shook Jamie’s hand.

     They invited us to come in, and we entered their house, nodding at the relatives we found already inside.  Perkaj’s mother and father ushered us to a pandanus mat and tried to urge food on us.  Jamie gestured to his stomach and explained that he was full and couldn’t eat anything.  I had a feeling that his stomach was still churning from the boat ride despite motion sickness pills.

     I could pick out the occasional word as Jamie explained everything to them.  At his invitation, Perkaj joined us on the mat and pulled out his zippered kit with lancets, tester, and insulin.  At Jamie’s nod, he took a testing strip and inserted it into the tester.  The room was silent as he twisted the plastic tip off the lancet, but there was a chorus of gasps as he poked his own finger and then touched the droplet of blood to the testing strip. Quiet murmurs followed, but when the tester beeped with the results, Perkaj held it up not to show his parents, but Jamie so he could see the LCD readout.

     “Emmon, good,” said Jamie. “120. Show Baba and Mama.” 

     Perkaj scrambled over to them, squatted between them, and pointed and explained as he looked at the monitor.

     I noticed that Maria was hanging back at the side of the room, so as the attention of the crowd was on Perkaj, I motioned to her to come outside.  She hung her head shamefacedly, not meeting my eyes.

     “I am not good aunt,” she muttered.

     “Yes you are,” I said.  “You came with Perkaj to Majuro.  It is very hard to take care of someone with diabetes.  You remember I am a nurse, so I can help Perkaj until he can manage it himself, but you can be a helper to him when he comes back home.”

     Her eyelashes fluttered as she glanced quickly up at me.  “Jolok bod,” she said.  “Is bad he live in your house? You and Meester Shamie are just married.  Is not time for nin-nins yet.”

     “Ejjelok bod.  It’s okay,” I said, trying as hard as I could to mean it.

      Before long, Jamie had made our excuses, Maria helped me grab a few more pairs of clothing for Perkaj, and we had our driver take us the rest of the way to the clinic. Coming around the side of the truck, I felt a hand on my arm. It was Jamie, concern on his face. “Are you all right, hen?” he asked. Perkaj was pulling his backpack out of the truck, his focus elsewhere.

     “Honestly? A little terrified,” I answered, meeting Jamie’s eyes. “Wondering how we’re going to manage all of this along with the rest of our lives.”

     “Just do the next right thing,” Jamie said. “That’s what my da used to say when Jenny, Willie or I were overwhelmed by a task.”

     I took a deep breath, grabbed my suitcase and swung it out of the bed of the truck.

     “Well,” I said, with a hesitant smile at Jamie, “let’s get inside and make a spot for Perkaj.”

     After dropping my luggage by the kitchen table, I went around the apartment opening up the louvered windows and curtains which had been closed for more than a week. Without a breeze to move the air it made little difference.  It was still stuffy and hot. 

     Perkaj wandered around the apartment, stopping in front of the pantry with its rows of cans and tubs of dry goods.  “Ebol mona,” he marveled, opening his arms to show how much food we seemed to have.

     “Eh bowl?” I asked Jamie. “I know mona is food.”

     “It means full… a lot.”

     After pulling our bed closer to the west wall of the apartment, Jamie moved the couch to create a barrier between the table and the back wall to give Perkaj a spot of his own.

     Glancing at me occasionally, Jamie set up the space.  He pulled a quilt from our storage tub, folded it several times and laid it on the floor, topping it with the pandanus mat Perkaj’s mom had carefully rolled up for her son. I pulled one of the extra pillows from our bed and put on a fresh pillowcase, handing a sheet to Jamie to put on top of the mat.

      Looking through the back window, I caught sight of my raised beds. Having seen the dry yellow grass along the sides of the road , the drooping palm fronds and wilting jungle plants on the way from Arno Arno, I’d had a sinking feeling. I still saw green peeking up above the wooden walls of the beds, so I invited Perkaj out to see my plants.

     Though most of the plants looked a little limp, as I dug down into the soil surrounding them I discovered that just an inch under the surface of the ground there was moisture.  It was only a minute later that Anni wandered over.

     “Meester Shamie asked me to water the plants,” she said, smiling. Perkaj stood up on tiptoes to peek into the box, then grabbed the bucket to go to the well.  He lugged it back having to use both hands to carry it, water sloshing out on his feet.  But he was fascinated and helpful as we dipped cups of water and gently poured them at the base of each plant.

     By the time we went back inside, Jamie had stretched wire from one rafter to the other and was hanging up a sheet to separate Perkaj's little room from ours.

     “Let’s do coconut rice and fish,” Jamie suggested, nodding towards our little visitor. He had reached into the dresser, grabbed swim trunks, and was about to drop his pants when he thought again.  

     “Do you want to see how yer bed feels?” He asked Perkaj, rattling off the translation in Majol afterwards. Once Perkaj had rounded the curtain, Jamie whipped off his clothing and pulled on the trunks, his back to the room.  After a pleasant eyeful, and having never seen the man sheepish about being naked, I couldn’t help but chuckle.  Perkaj was still happily sitting on his bed, setting his zoo of stuffed animals around the perimeter when Jamie joined me in the kitchen.

     “Obviously, I need to rethink the space,” he whispered. “No’ enough privacy yet,”

     “You think he’s never seen a naked man before?” I asked in an undertone.

     “Aye, I’m sure the lad has, but he doesna need to be subjected to the vision of a large, naked white Scotsman.”

     “That would be a traumatizing nightmare,” I joked.  Jamie smirked, kissed me, and headed out the door with his fish spear.

     “Itok, Perkaj,” I called out. “Can you help me find a coconut for the rice?”

      Prepping dinner took a good hour, followed by testing his blood sugar, giving Perkaj short-acting insulin, measuring portions, eating, and cleaning up after the meal. By 7:45 I couldn’t tell who was more exhausted--us or Perkaj. Jamie meticulously wrote down everything in the blood sugar/insulin log, and then we met each other’s eyes, an identical question on our faces.  “What now?”

     We were used to freedom in the evenings, our time being our own to read or write letters, to flirt and joke and laugh, to kiss and cuddle, to freely shed our clothing and make as much noise as we wanted.  But now there was an unfamiliar guest in our sacred space. 

     For the first time, I thought I saw it register on Jamie’s face-the sense of anxiety and discomfort I was feeling. But then he frowned determinedly and turned to Perkaj.

     “Ej awa in kiki,” he said.  “It’s time to sleep.  What do mama and baba do to help you rest?”

     “Erro bwebwenato,” Perkaj replied. His voice held a tinge of sadness.

     “They tell you a story?” Jamie repeated, translating. “Well, come & lie down in your bed, and I’ll tell ye a story.  I have one that’s called Jock & his Mother.”

     We turned on a lamp by our bed and turned off the main lights.  While the boys were on one side of the sheet I put on my pajamas, choosing a longer pair of shorts in case Perkaj saw me in the morning. 

     The story was a little like one I’d heard before, where a simple-minded boy keeps following his mother’s advice a bit too late.  Jock brings home a needle in a bundle of hay, and his mother tells him he should have put it in his hat.  The next day he brings home a plough, and following his mother’s advice, puts it on his hat.  Of course, it’s so heavy it falls into the river. 

     “She said to him, ‘You silly boy!  Ye should have tied a rope to it and pulled it behind you!’” Jamie said, giving the mother the voice of an old crone.  Perkaj giggled.

     “The next day,” Jamie said, “The boy earned a leg o’ mutton... well, they dinna have those on Arno, so maybe it was a… roasted chicken. What do you think he did with it?”

     “Tie it with rope?” Perkaj offered.

     “And pulled it all the way home!” Jamie answered. The answering peal of laughter made me smile.  I sat on the bed, arms hugged around my knees.  All this time I hadn’t realized this talent of Jamie’s.  My only bedtime story from him had been the boring recitation of Scottish history.

     Poor Jock tried to carry a horse on his shoulder and then rode a cow, which of course helped a sad princess to laugh and so they got married.  Jamie slowed his sentences and lowered his voice as the story continued, and just before I heard the floor creak with the movement of Jamie pushing himself up off the floor, I heard a little voice murmur something in Marshallese.

     Jamie crept around the curtain, smiling when he saw me.  He joined me on the bed and was reaching for a book when I whispered, “What did he say?  I didn’t hear him well enough.”

     I could have sworn there was a little mist in Jamie’s eyes as he answered.  “He said ‘Ainikiom ekakiiki ao.’” He paused, the effort of translating wrinkling his forehead.  “It means,” he blushed and met my eyes. “The sound of your voice lulls my soul to sleep.”

     I felt a lump in my throat, the sting of tears in my own eyes as I leaned my head on Jamie’s shoulder. He pressed a kiss onto my forehead and wrapped an arm around me.

     “Tired?” he asked.

     “Exhausted,” I answered.

     “I don’t even think I can read tonight,” he said, reaching over me to turn off the lamp.

     “I won’t argue with that,” I responded, getting up to turn the covers down and pull up the single top sheet. It was still hot and windless.

     Jamie cuddled me for a moment when he got under the covers, but then pulled away.

     “It’s so hot,” he groaned. “I’m missing air conditioning already.”

      It was pitch black inside and out when I startled awake.

     “I want to go home,” a small voice quavered.  “Ikonaan mama im baba.  In my house, my brother sleeps next to me,” Perkaj cried.  “I am alone here.”

     “Jab jan”, Jamie said reassuringly.  “Don’t cry.  Here.  You can sleep next to me.”

     He flipped on the lamp, pushed the sheet out of the way, pulled the mat over until it was touching the side of our bed and tucked Perkaj in again.  Jamie then got into bed, kindly turning toward the little boy and scooting closer to the edge that faced him.

     For the next few minutes, I could hear Marshallese as Jamie murmured reassurances to Perkaj.  The low rumble of foreign speech patterns soothed me as well, and soon I fell back asleep.

      In the predawn hours, I was awakened by large, warm hands that gently stroked my back.  They found their way to the tight muscles of my neck and shoulders, then ran fingers through my hair to massage my scalp.

     I shivered at a kiss on my shoulder blade, at which Jamie scooted closer to me and put his arm over me.

     “Cold, hen?” he asked.

     “Actually, no,” I said, smiling to myself.

     “Me neither,” he whispered, a hand meandering down my side, lazily tracing the waistband of my shorts before slipping fingers under the elastic.

     “Whatcha doing?” I whispered playfully, rolling toward him and being rewarded by an enthusiastic caress of my breast and a thorough kiss.

     “Dying,” was Jamie’s response. “A busy week at your parents’ house, then sleeping apart from ye at the hospital, and now we have an instant son? God, I'm starving for ye.”

     No words were needed to tell him I felt the same.  I’d been trying not to be selfish and resentful, but it was challenging to not feel deprived and disconnected.

     I helped him finish what he had started, wriggling out of my shorts and kicking them onto the floor, then climbing atop Jamie, who made quick work of pulling off my tank top over my head, throwing it to the side to join its companion on the floor.

     “Ifrinn,” he gasped as I used a hand to guide him in, lowering myself onto him.

     Perkaj won’t wake up, I assured myself, confident the darkness would hide us.  He was turned away from us anyway, his breath coming out in a low, even snore. I leaned toward him just to make sure he wasn’t looking in our direction.

     Jamie must have noticed my movement because he hissed under his breath, “It won’t be the first time he’s heard these noi…  Oh, God… oh, Christ...”

     I put my hand over his mouth, increasing my pace. I was close, he was close, and then, a plaintive voice interrupted the process.  “Meester Shamie?”

     I froze. Jamie desperately tried to hold my hips to keep me in place, but I was instantly out of the mood, melting down next to Jamie like an ice cube on a hot car.

     “No no no no no no no…” Jamie pleaded. I pulled the sheet up, panting.  “Bollocks,” he swore, then modulated his voice after a deep sigh.  “Ijin,” he said calmly, rolling away from me toward Perkaj.  “I’m right here.”

Next up on Island Hopper:

Chapter 28b: Just Add Water, part 2 Shots & the “Shungle” 

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper-Chapter 27: So Long, Farewell

Claire & Jamie head home, but unexpected surprises await them.

Previously on Island Hopper:

Chapter 26: Forgive me, Father… Jamie’s got a lot of built up bitterness toward his father.

ISLAND HOPPER (Jimjeran Book 2) Table of Contents

ISLAND FEVER (Jimjeran Book 1) Table of Contents

     Jamie reached down to give my mom a hug.  With her arms around his neck she kissed him on the cheek.

“I really do love you, Mister Jamie,” she said.  “Your mama would be so proud of you.”

The look on his face was precious—an affectionate smile and a flush of pride.

“Thanks for opening up your home to us,” he beamed, with an extra squeeze and a slight lift that made Mom laugh outright when he put her down, her face flushing as well.

“You’re welcome to visit anytime, son,” my dad said, reaching his hand out to shake Jamie’s.  He was more reserved than my mom but I could see his eyes twinkle as he put his arm around Jamie’s shoulders before we continued to make our farewells.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to let you go, man,” Seth said, putting out his hand to shake Jamie’s and then pulling him into a hug.  “Who is going to pace me on my morning jogs?”

“Ye just need to find a reason to do your final film project out on Arno,” Jamie told him after pounding him on the back affectionately. “Then it willna be as long before we get to jog together again.”

“You look out for my sister,” Shelly ordered Jamie as she hugged me.  “After what we’ve been studying in my global climate class, I’m worried about this upcoming storm season.”

We were waiting in the TSA line when John and Joe came rushing down the hall.  I did a double take when I realized John didn’t have a bit of luggage with him.

At Jamie’s curious shrug and the question in his eyes, John blushed.

“I changed my flight,” he explained.  “I was going to be flying back today, but I… we…” He glanced over at Joe.

“What the…?” I blurted out, looking from John to Joe and then back again. I’m sure my confusion was written all over my face, but so were my matchmaking suspicions.

Joe put his hand affectionately on John’s shoulder and raised an eyebrow at me. “You can stop grinning, Claire,” he ordered me.  “I know you’re jumping around on the inside.”

“Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed, grabbing Joe by the waist and squeezing him, looking up into his face to see his dark eyes twinkling down at me.  He hugged me back, and as I looked over at John's shy smile I whispered to Joe, “This is one of the good ones, Joegie.”

“Do the two of you want to stay with us?” my mom piped up.  “It would save you the cost of a hotel, and with Jamie and Claire leaving, there’s a room free in our house.”

“Thanks, Robin,” Joe responded.  “But this—” he said, meeting John’s eyes, “is so new, that might be awkward.”

“Well, at least come for dinner tonight,” she insisted.  “I’m going to be going through kid withdrawals by then.”

My eyes were pricking with tears and I found myself hugging my mom gratefully.  I knew that many of their Christian friends and colleagues were not as open minded, but my dad’s background in counseling had convicted them several years back that bigotry and judgment had no place in a loving life.

When I let go of my mom, I met Jamie’s eyes.  We were almost at the front of the line, our family members having traveled with us through the weaving queue leading up to the security check-in.

“I've made a decision,” Jamie declared, as we pulled the cart carrying our backpacks forward a few more steps.  I looked up at him curiously.  “I think I’ll just stay here,” he said brightly.  “I’ve bonded with your family, Claire, and I dinna want to travel on the Island Hopper again.  It makes me queasy just to think of it.”

“Jamie, honey,” my mom said reassuringly, patting his arm.  “You’ve got those copper pressure point bracelets I got for you, and you’ve taken your motion sickness medicine.  When you get on the plane, take the antihistamine Claire has for you and you’ll fall asleep.  You’ll be boring company for Claire, but you won’t feel nearly as sick.”

Jamie grinned down at my mom and put his arm around her.  “Thanks, Robin,” he said.  “I canna thank ye enough for looking out for me.”

“I’m a momma,” she said.  “And you’re one of my kids now, too.”

There was a lump in my throat as Jamie and I put our backpacks on the conveyor belt and stopped at the bench to take off our shoes.  I turned back one last time as we left the security area to go to our gate, and saw six familiar faces gazing at us, six arms waving furiously until we couldn’t see them anymore.

Jamie stopped me as we rounded the corner.  I had let out a little sob, and he dropped his backpack and took me in his arms.

“It hurts to say goodbye,” he whispered, his head bending close to mine.  “But how blessed we are to have your family so close.”

I nodded and took his hand as we headed toward home.

The text on my phone was as abrupt as the man himself. When does your plane arrive?

I shook my head in confusion, typing “7:17 pm” and hitting send.

Next to me, Jamie gave a soft snort, shifted in his seat, and then returned to the even breathing of sleep.

I will meet you then, came the reply.

Thanks, I responded.

You should stay with us tonight.

That would be nice.  Thanks.

The Iroij and I have a request. Let’s talk when you get here.

Dougal’s final response left me disquieted.

Dougal and the Iroij? What could they want, and why the need to prepare us for it?

I had been fretting about Dougal's announcement for nearly an hour when a deep breath and expansive stretch from Jamie next to me announced that the antihistamine effects might be wearing off.  He nuzzled my neck and then took my hand in his, drawing it into his lap.

“Jamie!” I whispered, “We are in an airplane, you goober.  There are people around!”

“Ifrinn, that is a shame,” came his slow good-humored reply.  With one final motion that brought me in lingering contact with his wake up show-and-tell, he released my hand and kissed me on the shoulder.

“Perhaps later,” he murmured.

“At Dougal's house?” I asked dubiously, handing him my phone.

He read over the messages, his forehead furrowing as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“What could they possibly want from us?” Jamie mused, yawning as he handed the phone back to me.

What indeed? I wondered, looking out the window at the never-ending landscape of blue ocean and the occasional cloud. I had to satisfy myself with the reassurance that we would find out soon enough.

“How were your travels?” Dougal asked once he had helped us load our things into the trunk of his car and he had turned down Lagoon Drive leaving the airport. The sun had set and all we could see was faint pink in the west over the lights of Delap.

“Remarkably good,” Jamie responded with a deep sigh, stretching his legs out and sinking into the front seat.  “Even spending today on the Island Hopper, I dinna feel horrible, though I do feel stiff and sore.  Dinna think I got off the plane once.”  He glanced over his shoulder at me in the back seat.  “As for Guam, the whole trip was brilliant.  Claire’s family was so welcoming I already love them.” Before turning back to face Dougal, he winked at me.

“Any other news?” Dougal asked, unaware of the shade thrown his way.

“Well, my da called me,” Jamie mentioned off-handedly.

“He did, then,” Dougal responded gravely. “He had called to get your information and I gave him Claire’s phone number.  How are ye, lad?”

“Not sure… Still in a state of shock, I guess, though I should probably call him before we leave Majuro,” Jamie replied.

Dougal didn’t ask any more questions, and Jamie didn’t offer any more information the few remaining minutes until we reached the MacKenzie home.

“The Iroij and I would like the two of you to take Perkaj home,” was Dougal’s request.  He had restrained himself until supper, once we were sitting in chairs around the dining table with him and Revka and Moneo.

I shared a confused glance with Jamie. How was that a request that needed much consideration?  “Well, of course we can take him back to Arno,” I responded.

“I dinna believe you grasp my meaning,” Dougal said, leaning forward. “We need you to take him back to Arno and keep him in your home for a time.”

“What about Maria?” I asked, confused.

“Aye, what about his auntie?” Jamie chimed in.

“She stayed for a week but then left,” Dougal explained, “convinced that the task was beyond her.  She isn’t prepared to monitor his blood sugars and take charge of his diabetic care.”

“And his parents?” I asked.  I glanced over at Jamie, whose brow was furrowed in thought.

“With several younger children in the home, I don't think his parents can be expected to take it on either,” Dougal reasoned. “But the Iroij and I feel like it would be cruel to put him in medical foster care here on Majuro, so far from his home.”

“No, that wouldna be right,” said Jamie, shaking his head. He reached over and put his hand on my knee.

“I agree,” said Dougal.  “So we would like the two of you to consider accepting this responsibility.  To have him come live with you for a time.”  He paused to let the concept sink in.  “We honestly can't imagine a better environment.  You with your medical background, Claire.  And you, Jamie, a teacher—close to him all day so you can monitor his blood sugars during school and coach him on eating and giving himself insulin.  The both of you will be there to help him through the night and in the morning.”

“But willna he miss his family?” Jamie asked.  “It may confuse him for them to just be down the lane.”

Dougal nodded briefly. “Mr. Timisen and I were thinking his life should be as normal as possible.  We would like him to eat a meal with his family each day and play with friends in the afternoon.  But until they are confident he is in a situation with the support to keep his blood sugar level, the hospital won’t even release him to let him return home.”

“Aye.” Jamie answered with conviction when Dougal finally paused in his reasons. “Of course we will help the wee laddie.”

I was still taking it in, thinking about the challenges of bringing a seven-year-old into our home.

I glanced over at Jamie to see if I could catch his eye—to see if I could signal to him that perhaps we should talk first.

Instead I saw him lean back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, on his face a wry smile.

“Am I to understand, Uncle,” he mused, “that as a married couple, Claire and I are actually better suited to be of benefit to the islanders on Arno than we were unmarried?”

Dougal’s generally gruff countenance softened at his nephew’s teasing comment.

“Aye, son, you’ve proven your point,” he said, shaking his head with a grin.  “And I said as much to Claire on our field ship voyage—that I was wrong to judge her effectiveness based on the actions of one night, and that I truly see now what an impact she is having.”

“As I said, of course we will be happy to take Perkaj home wi’ us,” Jamie repeated, smiling over at me proudly.

By that point both men were looking at me in expectation. What other choice was there? We were there for the sake of the islanders, not our own selfish impulses.

“So,” I said brightly.  “What do we need to do to get ready for a temporary son?”

Perkaj looked so small in the hospital bed. He'd always been a cheerful student and joker, his chubby face often in a smile.  Now he looked shrunken and serious as the endocrinologist showed us the tester, the insulin pen, and the syringe for long-acting insulin.

I had done an endocrinology rotation in nursing school.  Despite this, the prospect of learning to be a human pancreas was daunting. I held back, but Jamie instantly sat down by the boy, taking his hand in his and talking to him in Marshallese.  Perkaj answered his questions in a small voice, and Jamie kept up a constant stream of conversation until the doctor was ready to continue.

“Go ahead and speak to him in Majel,” Jamie directed the doctor.  “I’ll translate for Claire.”

I appreciated how Dr Langenbelik also sat down at Perkaj’s level to show him the insulin pen as he told us they’d already administered his long-acting insulin for the day, the dose given each morning to provide a baseline level of insulin in the bloodstream for the day.  As we were talking, a breakfast tray arrived from the cafeteria.  On it was a range of island menu staples—a small bowl of rice, a piece of grilled fish, some baked breadfruit, sliced papaya, and two white flour pancakes.

“Knowing how much insulin to take with each meal is very important,” the doctor was telling Perkaj.  “You need to get good at counting your carbs.”

The doctor cupped his hand and held it up in front of Perkaj.

“That’s about a half cup,” Jamie translated in a whispered aside, “That is the size of a serving of food.”  He stopped and listened as the doctor explained while pointing to the items on the tray, then turned back to interpret for me.  “A half cup of anything sweet or starchy—rice or pancakes, fruit or breadfruit—takes one unit of insulin to enter the cells of the body.  With each meal Perkaj eats, he needs to figure out how many servings he is eating, and then he will give himself the short-acting insulin.”

“Or we can help him until he is ready to do it,” I suggested.

“Before eating anything, ledrik,” the doctor said to Perkaj, who was eyeing the food hungrily, “You need to test your blood sugar.  If you are high, you need to add an extra ____ units for each ____ points too high.  If you are too low, you need to adjust the insulin down slightly.”

Perkaj leaned back, deflated.

“Dinna worry, Perkaj,” Jamie encouraged.  “It shouldn’t take long.”

“It’s time,” the doctor said to us.  “I’m going to step back and observe as you help Perkaj with this meal.”

Jamie and I exchanged wide-eyed glances, then nodded at each other to fortify our confidence.

“Ready?” Jamie asked the young boy.  Perkaj nodded his head, sitting back up and looking eagerly at the food.  “First we should have you test your blood sugar.  Can you do that?”

With one false start and wincing as he did it, Perkaj was able to poke his fingertip with the lancet to get his blood sugar reading.  It was right on target, so as the boy looked over his plate, Jamie coached him to count the carbohydrate servings, which Perkaj adorably did by counting on his fingers.

“Enana keine” he said, making a face after a tiny taste of pancake.  “I eat the kappokpok, the keinabbu, the feesh, and the rice.  That is tree carbs.  No carb for feesh.” He looked around the tray curiously, questioning, “Is there salt? Or soy sauce?”

Once Perkaj had decided what he was hungry for, it was time to administer the short-acting insulin.  Jamie tried to hand the pen off to me, but I forced it back into his palm.  “You need to do it,” I insisted at his surprise.  “I know how to give injections. You’re the one who needs practice!”  He conceded with wide eyes and a reluctant sigh.

I coached Jamie with the insulin pen, watching as he turned the end of the cylinder until it clicked three times, one for each carb serving—the rice, the breadfruit, and the papaya.

“But I don’t want to hurt him,” Jamie objected when I pulled up Perkaj’s sleeve and exposed the back of his arm where Jamie was to give him the injection.

“Is okay, Meester Shamie,” Perkaj said reassuringly, bravely squaring his jaw as Jamie did the same, looking away as Jamie firmly jabbed the needle into the boy’s arm and pressed the plunger to dispense the insulin units into his bloodstream.

Jamie shuddered when it was done, murmuring “Jolok bod,” to Perkaj.

“Echelok bod, Meester Shamie,” Perkaj said cheerily.  “You did bery good. Emetak only jiddik.”

Dr. Langenbelik approached, a smile on his face.  “Excellent,” he said.  “Now eat your breakfast, Perkaj—we want to make sure there are carbohydrates in your body when the insulin is in your bloodstream.”

Perkaj seemed hungry and grateful to get food in his system again.  As he ate, the doctor turned and talked to the two of us quietly.

“Our goal is to get Perkaj trained to take on his diabetic care himself.  Until he does, though, I am grateful that the two of you are willing to take on the responsibility.  Not every young person diagnosed with type 1 has family members who feel ready to help them get through the learning process.”

“I don’t feel ready,” Jamie said to the doctor.  “But I dinna think we have much choice.”

We took shifts staying with Perkaj during the twenty-four hours before the Jolok boat was to take us home.  I stayed with him while Jamie went to the hardware store to buy the last of the things he needed for the solar still and storm-proofing our house.  I had taken one of Revka’s books with me and spent several hours reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to Perkaj.

Jamie arrived, giving me a quick hug before going right to Perkaj’s bedside.  He picked up where I left off with the book while I went to do our grocery shopping for fresh produce and dry goods for the next few weeks.

“Our blood sugar is right on target!” Jamie announced when I returned to the hospital in the late afternoon after dropping off the food boxes at Dougal’s house.  He showed me the little notebook where they had marked down Perkaj’s pre-meal blood sugar level, the amount of insulin, the number of servings he had eaten, and then the mid-afternoon blood sugar level.

Perkaj seemed to be tired by then, but Jamie continued to sit by his bed holding his hand as the boy’s eyes repeatedly blinked and then closed.

I stood behind Jamie, massaging his shoulders as I watched the little boy sleeping.

“Not exactly what you pictured as your first child, is he?” Jamie whispered, rolling his head back and forth and groaning as I hit tight muscles.

“A little bigger than I expected,” I joked, smiling as Jamie grabbed my hand and kissed it.

“Are you okay with this?” Jamie asked, turning to look up at me. “I'm the one who deals with kids most of the time. You want a baby, but our baby.  This is different, to be sure.”

“I’m terrified, honestly,” I responded, leaning forward and putting my arms around Jamie’s shoulders, my cheek against his as we both stared at Perkaj.  “I know we’re capable, but this is such a responsibility.”

I could feel a lump growing in my throat and I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.  “And I was so looking forward to being alone again.”

Jamie chuckled and brought his hands up to rest on my arms. “That day will come.”  He pressed his cheek against mine as he looked at the little dark-haired form in front of us.  “This will just be a season, like your da said.”  He took a breath and then began hesitantly.  “Now, I was thinking Perkaj will do better if he doesna wake up all alone.  Can I stay here wi’ him tonight?”

“Of course,” I responded.

“So do you want to stay here wi’ us, or go to Dougal’s house?”

“Dougal will need their car in the morning,” I said with a sigh, looking at the narrow guest couch edging the window. “And all our groceries are there at their house.  I’ll need to pack them up before we come to pick Perkaj up for the ride on the Jolok boat.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, then?” he asked.  As he stood and took me in his arms I closed my eyes, breathing in his familiar scent, listening to the reassuring thump of his heart.

“Yes,” I sighed.  Then I reached up, pulled his face down to mine and kissed him thoroughly.

He chuckled.  “Trying to make me regret my choice?”

“No,” I answered.  “I just love you.”

When I left the room I looked back—pausing just to watch Jamie sitting in the chair next to the bed, leaning his arms on the railing and looking down at the dark-haired form covered by a thin blue blanket.

On to Chapter 28: Just Add Water

Certain things are instant.  Not usually sons.

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper-Chapter 17b: Sugar Sickness

Brand new chapter, but out of sequence.  Posted 10-16-2020

Previously Chapter 17: Bitter Jamie and Claire have different ideas about what being back together should look like.

ISLAND HOPPER Table of Contents

Back to work, we meet someone important, and an illness leads to an early parting.

    “Thirsty.  Lukkuun thirsty.  Alap awa.”

    Perkaj’s mother wiped her son’s forehead with a cool washcloth, looking at me with concern.

    “Lukuun kilep.  Now, bery skinny.”

    A group of children—siblings, cousins, and interested neighborhood kids—crowded around the mat where the little boy lay, feverish and unresponsive.  It had taken me several tries to say his name correctly.  Finally a patient cousin had grabbed my hand to get my attention.  “Him name Purr Gus” the little boy had said clearly, smiling as I repeated it.

    My heart had sunk at her first words.  Perkaj was thirsty all the time?  Just that one word had given me a preliminary diagnosis.  I was almost positive it was type I diabetes.  And how was a person to manage type one diabetes out on an outer island?  Spare insulin needed to be kept at a moderate room temperature. Since it didn’t often get above 85°F in the islands, it wouldn’t have to be refrigerated, but it would last longer if kept cool.  And if he ever ran out of it, he could quickly slip into a diabetic coma from high blood sugar.

    That was what appeared to be happening right now.

    I spread open my black bag—an iconic black leather satchel like the doctor’s bags of olden days.  I located the supplies I needed and pulled out the blood sugar monitor from its protective plastic bag, unwrapping a stiff testing strip and slipping it in the slot in the tester, then twisting off the plastic tip of the lancet.

    I heard the intake of breath as the children saw the gleam of the sharp lancet tip and sensed them all bending closer as I picked up Perkaj’s small hand and firmly pricked his fingertip.

    Watching his face for a response, I was grateful to see a shadow pass over his features at the pain.  At least there was a little consciousness still.

    Turning back to my task, I squeezed his finger and watched as the burgundy swell of blood appeared on his skin.  I gestured with my head toward the tester on the mat, and several pairs of small hands reached for it, one child passing it to me so I could meet the testing tip to the droplet of blood.

    A chorus of “ohhhs” was the response as the absorbent testing strip slurped the droplet of blood off Perkaj’s fingertip.

    “I need to be able to see,” I said, hoping my voice wasn’t too sharp.  I didn’t want to hurt their feelings, but all the little heads were blocking the light from outside.

    “Move,” ordered one of the mamas.  “Etal,” she added in Marshallese.   My little audience backed away reluctantly and I breathed a sigh of relief as a gentle breeze of cooler air from outside swept through the small house.

    My fears were confirmed when the tester flashed Perkaj’s current blood sugar level.  615.  Six hundred and fifteen?  Healthy was under 120.  Elevated was anything over 200.  Four hundred was seriously high.  Six hundred?  No wonder the boy, his features slack in unconsciousness, was so feverish.  Perkaj had indeed slipped into a diabetic coma.

    Although my medical bag held a multitude of items, insulin was not one of them.  The small stock of insulin I had was kept in the clinic in a brick enclosure. There may have been no means of refrigeration, but whoever had built the clinic had realized that caves tended to be cooler than the surrounding area and had created—in essence—a small root cellar for storing medicines that were sensitive to temperature.

    “I have to go get medicine,” I said, my Marshallese failing me in the moment of stress.   “Kottar jiddik—wait a little bit—and I’ll be back.”

    Perkaj’s house was in the town of Ine, just a half mile or so from the clinic.  I broke into a jog, trying to ignore the sensation of sharp rocks under the thin rubber of my flip-flops.  The sooner I got some insulin into him, the sooner Perkaj would recover and the fewer side effects he would suffer.

    “I’m not enough,” I panicked as I jogged.  “I don’t know enough.  I recognize diabetes, but I’m not an endocrinologist.  I need a doctor.  Perkaj needs the hospital.”

    The plans for the coming days swirled in my head.  Jamie and John were working on the solar still.  John would be leaving on the Jolok boat tomorrow—he needed to be back to Majuro on Thursday. Jamie and I had planned to ride the fishing boat with Kona on Thursday evening, knowing that our flight didn’t leave until Friday.  We had scheduled a little time for shopping on Majuro Friday morning.  We wouldn’t need a hotel;  Jamie had mentioned our need of a place to stay Thursday night to Mr. MacKenzie before he left on the final leg of the field ship voyage, at which Dougal had grinned and said Revka would be happy to sleep at a friend’s house so we could have her room.

    I was trotting past the Iroij’s palace when I realized I should call the hospital, remembering that the Iroij had one of the two satellite phones on the island.

    I smiled shyly at the man sitting on a chair by the gate into the Iroij’s property.   “Is the Iroij here?” I asked.  My brain scrambled for the words in Marshallese. “Iroij ijin?”

    He nodded toward the house with a low “Ayet, ijo,” and I walked up the white gravel pathway to the Iroij’s door.

    I’m not sure why I was surprised when the Iroij himself opened his door, but I smiled at the stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair cropped short, wearing a sarong and an embroidered island shirt, his outfit completed with bare feet.

    “Miss Beauchamp!” he exclaimed.  “I mean, Mrs. Fraser.”  His smile was warm, and he urged me into the large open room lit by electric lights.  It was a simple building, but in comparison to most of the dwellings on Arno it was lavish.

    “Thank you, Iroi… Sir… Your honor?”

    “Call me Mayor Timisen,” he urged at my apparent discomfort.  He had gestured for me to sit in one of the chairs in the main room, and he leaned forward once we were both seated, urging me to speak.

    I was grateful he spoke such fluent English as I explained to him what seemed to be ailing Perkaj. Although it wasn’t going to cause an instant death, high blood sugar meant that glucose wasn’t getting into the body’s cells, and organ failure was a possible consequence of elevated blood sugar left too long without treatment.

    “Perkaj needs to go to the hospital,” I said.  “Can we use the satellite phone to contact them and ask what we should do?”

    He nodded slowly, then got up and went to his desk, coming back with the chunky black satellite phone. I eyed it with mixed emotions as I watched him dial a number and then hold the phone to his ear.  Just seeing the phone brought back a flurry of remembered events that had led to my first satellite call out here—

    That dark night after my trip to Matolen with Sharbella, I had ridden with Jamie on his bike back to the clinic… later, lying next to him under our makeshift mosquito-net tent—after he'd said it would be inappropriate to hang out in my apartment after dark —we had been looking up at the stars and talking when I’d accidentally called him Frank…

    I remembered the sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach when Jamie pulled away from me, and the deepening discomfort a few days later when Angus confronted me about my behavior towards Jamie, when he told me the engagement ring on my finger was about the only part of me that was engaged…

    My heart sank at the memory of the night I took care of baby Maxson when he  was sicker than I could deal with in my primitive clinic, waking the next morning to find that the infant was dead.

    I remembered the pain of Jamie discovering me on the beach and trying to comfort me, only having to force him away.  I could picture him seated on a mat with Rupert and Angus across the gravel-strewn yard at Maxson’s funeral, and I remembered trying to convince Anni and myself that I truly didn’t want him.

    I chuckled as I recalled Anni and that crazy midnight run to the fishing dock on the ocean side to see the miracle of the full moon.  But that joy was followed by Frank’s letter—familiar handwriting crushing my soul as he told me he didn’t want to wait for me, that he was breaking up with me.

    That pain had been followed by the comfort of Jamie’s arms, by tender murmured reassurances and his touch when I went to him in the darkness, desperately needing to not be alone.  And later, I had slept in his bed with him, curling in the hollow of his form, reassured by his even breathing, his warmth, and the solid substance of his body behind me.

    The comfort of Jamie's kindness was replaced by Angus’s disappointed, bitter voice the next morning, accusing me of sleeping with—not just ‘sleeping with’—Jamie, telling me that since I wouldn’t stay away from the young man on my own, he was going to have to take more drastic measures.

    And then I could vividly picture the Iroij standing outside my door, handing me a black phone and telling me the person on the other end was Mr. MacKenzie— that I was being summoned to UniServe headquarters.

    Now I looked at the white gold circle on my right hand for a moment and then back at that boxy black phone held by the Iroij and found myself shaking my head, gratefully astonished at how that story had ended; hoping that this sequence of events would have a similarly positive end.

    Mr. Timisen held the phone out to me then, lifting me out of my deep deja vu.  After taking a breath, I quickly explained the situation to the emergency room physician on the other end of the line.

    “We could try to catch the Jolok boat tomorrow,” I said.  “I have some insulin.  I could administer it and try to monitor his blood sugar, but I’m concerned that if I gave him too much, he could die.  And he has a high temperature and is almost unresponsive—he can’t stay at this blood sugar level without doing drastic damage to his organs.”

    There was static on the line and I wondered if the connection had been severed, but then the doctor’s calming voice came back on.

    “We can’t do much until you get the patient here, unfortunately,” the physician said. “Administer insulin and monitor his blood sugar. Perhaps the Iroij could charter a private flight so you could get here sooner.”

    The conversation was loud enough that the Iroij heard the request.  He nodded to me reassuringly, reaching for the phone and bidding the physician farewell, then dialing another number and having a brief conversation in Majel.  I assumed he was calling the Majuro airport.

    “The plane could meet you at the landing strip beyond Jabo.  Are you able to transport the patient there by truck?”

    I nodded, then told the physician that we could get him to the landing strip within an hour and a half.  Mayor Timisen smiled reassuringly at me, going into the hallway and calling out into one of the other rooms.  In a few moments, a young man entered.  At Mr. Timisen’s terse command, he quickly trotted away, I assumed to go locate the island truck.

    “Can you travel with him?” the physician asked me over the phone.  “The plane has room for the patient and a parent, but a doctor or nurse should go along as well.”

    “Don’t you send a nurse or EMT out on the plane?” I asked.

    “Not unless it’s a heart attack or severe injury.  We’re understaffed as it is,” he responded.

    With a few last directions, the doctor and I hung up, and Mr. Timisen assured me that they would bring the truck to the clinic to pick me up and then take my patient to the air strip on the way towards Arno Arno.

    As anxious as I was feeling, I was actually grateful to run the rest of the way home. I felt calmer knowing that I would soon be getting Perkaj to a hospital where he would have the round-the-clock monitoring I was incapable of providing on my own.  

    After unlocking the clinic, with shaking hands I removed the vials of insulin from the medication locker.  Making sure I had syringes and a few glucose packets to counteract the effects of accidentally giving Perkaj too much insulin, I locked up the clinic and entered the apartment.

    What was I supposed to take with me?  I hadn’t yet packed my big suitcase for Guam, so I threw a few dresses, bras, and pairs of panties in a backpack, along with my conditioner and skincare bag. Then I pulled my larger suitcase from under the bed and loaded it as quickly as I could, though I couldn’t tell if I had what I needed for our trip.  I’d been planning on a leisurely evening of packing once I had been done for the day at the clinic. An evening of packing, followed by some more quality time with my husband…

    My heart sunk at that thought.  My memories of those days of sadness without Jamie had made me long to be close to him again.  As I remembered that night when Frank broke up with me, I could almost sense Jamie’s warm comfort next to me in his bed.  And today, helplessly looking at Perkaj lying limp and unresponsive on the mat on the floor had brought back those feelings of powerlessness I had felt with baby Maxson.  I could feel my need for Jamie in the pit of my stomach, but I steeled myself. This was a time I was going to be strong without him.

    But I couldn’t just leave without telling Jamie where I was going.  I went out to the side yard where I discovered him and John working, the two men standing in remarkably similar positions with arms crossed, heads cocked to one side, looking in puzzlement at the structure in front of them.  It looked a little like a terrarium or sunroom, with a slanting glass roof on top of an enclosed wooden box. As I watched, they each moved a few steps to the right, resuming the same quizzical posture when they stopped. I chuckled at their incidental resemblance, the tall, broad-shouldered, auburn-haired Scot and his slighter, dark-haired Marshallese friend.

    “Claire, come see,” Jamie said, ushering me over and pulling me under his arm.  “We put an inch or so of well water into the reservoir there,” he explained, drawing me toward the structure and pointing at the shallow pan that stretched the entire length and width of the base of the still.  “The water soaks up into the black cloth draped over those blocks, which heat in the sun and then the water evaporates from the fabric, traveling upward as the heat rises.”

    “But the sloping glass ceiling traps the moisture inside the still,” John continued as he came close on my other side, “and as the air outside is cooler, it condenses on the inside of the glass.”

    “We’re trying to figure out the right angle for the glass,” Jamie said, “so that the water doesn’t drip back into the pan but instead dribbles down the glass and finally into this channel,”—here he pointed at a sloping half-pipe near the lowest part of the glass, cupped upward underneath a line of something that looked like clear caulk, where the droplets of water that had snaked their way down the glass-collecting surface were stopped from sliding further, growing into larger and larger reservoirs until their weight overpowered the surface tension and gravity forced them to fall.  I could see a thin stream of water in the bottom of the pipe, slowly flowing toward the place where the pipe exited the still and entered flexible tubing threaded into the top of a large water jug on the ground.

    “It looks great babe,” I said, finally grabbing Jamie’s arm to stop him.  “But I don’t have time right now.  I have to take a plane to the Majuro hospital,” I said quickly, before he could speak.

    “What?” he exclaimed with an involuntary squeeze closer to him, looking me up and down as if I were the one injured.  “Have ye been hurt?”

    “No, it’s Perkaj,” I said.  “You’ve mentioned how Rupert said he’s been losing weight the last few months and hasn’t had much energy at school.  Well, there’s a reason for it.  I’m almost positive he’s diabetic!”

    From the look on his face, I could see it hadn’t completely sunk in yet, but when the truck pulled up in front of the house at that very moment, Jamie questioned me again.  “Truly?  You are leaving now?  You are going to Majuro? Today?”

    I nodded quickly, slinging the strap of my backpack over one shoulder. “I started packing my suitcase for Christmas, but I’m sure I’ve forgotten something.  Can you finish packing for me?

    Jamie had his hand around my upper arm, a grip that expressed what he couldn’t seem to be able to say.  His forehead was wrinkled, his face clearly communicating that he objected to my departure.

    “I’ve gotta go, babe,” I said, beginning to move toward the truck. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening when you get to Majuro on the fish boat?”

    Jamie still looked bewildered, but a sudden certainty flooded over his face and he took two quick steps to me and crushed me in his arms.

    “Be safe,” he murmured into my hair. “I canna believe I’m losing ye again so soon.”

    Gently pushing me out to arm’s length, he met my eyes.  “I love ye, hen,” he said, stooping to firmly kiss me on the lips once more before urging me toward the waiting vehicle.  John and Jamie followed me as I went to the truck, and Jamie offered a hand as I climbed up into the bed of the pickup.

    “I love you too,” I mouthed, blowing him a kiss as the truck drove off nearly before I’d settled myself on the truck bed.  He watched, waving until I couldn’t see him anymore.

    Once at Perkaj’s house, I waded through the crowd of concerned well-wishers, thankful for Mayor Timisen’s ability to translate and explain to Perkaj’s family what we were doing.  The biggest challenge was determining which family member should travel along with the boy.  Perkaj’s mother was eliminated as a good option because the boy had several younger siblings, one of which was a nursing infant.  I couldn’t follow the entire conversation, but Mr. Timisen also explained to me that Perkaj’s father was out fishing and wouldn’t be back until dark.  After some rapid fire conversations in Marshallese, it was determined that his auntie Maria—a lovely girl of around twenty—would come along with Perkaj so he had family to watch over him.

    As the family had debated who would travel with Perkaj, I had re-tested his blood sugar.  Finding it still over six hundred, I gave him eight units of fast-acting insulin, hoping that each unit would drop his blood sugar by about 50.  I knew the ride to the air strip would take a half hour or so, and expected the helicopter ride to Majuro to be about the same.  I would continue to monitor Perkaj’s blood sugar level as we traveled, but I could feel my agitation easing at the promise of a more updated facility and an ICU where my young patient’s progress could be closely monitored.

    The process of transferring Perkaj to the truck was accomplished by a group of four young men who gripped the corners of the woven pandanus mat on which Perkaj had been sleeping, and using it like a stretcher, carried him out to the truck and unceremoniously slid the mat into the bed of the truck. I had grabbed a blanket from my house so we could cover him and then his auntie and I sat on either side of him to keep him from rolling as the truck drove down the bumpy island road.

    When we reached the air strip, I got out of my cramped sitting position.  I tested Perkaj’s blood sugar again and was pleased to see that it had dropped, but not with such rapidity that I would have to worry about his sugar level getting dangerously low..  

    I’d traveled over the air strip several times since my arrival on the island.  Each time we’d gone on the Jolok boat, the time I’d heading out on the Field Ship trip, and then returning back home again all necessitated driving through that narrow stretch of the island.  But this time it wasn’t as green as I remembered from my first arrival on the island.  The grass on either side of the wide-open swath of land was yellowed, a sign of the continuing drought.

    Maria smiled at me as I stretched and bent over to touch my toes, preparing for another half hour or more of sitting in a cramped position before arriving in Majuro.  She was patting Perkaj’s hand gently, her forehead wrinkling as she looked at his expressionless face.

    “He will be okay?” she asked.   “Ejjab mej?”

    “Ejab malele,” I said sadly, shaking my head.  “I really don’t know if he will die.  But I hope not.”  I tried to smile for her.

    By the time we had been loaded onto the plane with Perkaj strapped onto a gurney that was then locked into place, he was moaning.  Though it sounded worse, and though his face wrinkled more furiously when I again pricked another finger to test his blood sugar, I was relieved to see the gradual signs of a return to consciousness.  

    Before we landed at the Majuro airport, Perkaj’s blood sugar had dropped to 420, which although still horrible, was a significant improvement.

    There was an ambulance waiting for us on the runway. As we rode the twenty minutes to the hospital, I briefed the EMT on Perkaj’s symptoms.  He tested Perkaj’s blood sugar again and I was glad to see it had dropped yet a few more points.

    By midnight I was beyond tired.  I had sat, holding Perkaj and Maria’s hands, trying to understand the Marshallese explanations given by the medical professionals, trying to reassure the young Marshallese girl that her nephew was going to recover.  I was weary but grateful that Perkaj’s blood sugar was at a reasonable level.

    “Lass, why dinna you come to our house for the night,” said a familiar voice.

    “Mr. MacKenzie?” I asked.  This time Dougal seemed completely unsurprised when I stood and hugged him.  In fact, he even patted my back gently before releasing me and picking up my backpack. Speaking briefly to Maria, he took me by the hand and led me from the hospital.

    I was so exhausted I refused the offers of food made by Moneo.  I simply slipped off my sandals, lay down on the couch in the living room, pulled a light blanket over myself and fell asleep.

    Something about being on Dougal’s couch brought back such intense memories that all night I dreamed of cuddling next to Jamie the night after we got engaged.  One dream-memory was so vivid that it startled me awake.

    In the middle of that night after our sudden decision to get married I had found myself tossing and turning on the mat on the floor in Revka’s room. You’re an impulsive idiot, my brain told me. This is a rebound.  You don’t really want to marry Jamie—you just didn't want to lose him as a friend.

    I had gotten up as quietly as possible and slipped through Revka’s door, standing in the darkened living room trying to let my eyes get used to the darkness.

    “What’re ye doin’?” a deep voice murmured from the couch.

    “You’re awake?” I asked, moving a few steps forward.

    “Canna sleep,” he responded.  I could see a faint movement as he scooted over on the couch, and I tiptoed to him, finding his hand reaching out to me to guide me around the coffee table.

    “Here,” he said, drawing me down to lie on the edge of the couch in front of him and covering me with the blanket. “Though I dinna ken whether having ye next to me is going to make sleep come any more readily.”

    “I’m not out here to make out with you,” I said bluntly. “I’m just… having second thoughts.”

    “Ye dinna have to marry me,” he said without hesitation, though his muscles had tensed at my words. “Dinna feel guilty if you’ve thought better of it and have changed your mind.”

    “Are you having second thoughts as well?” I asked him.

    He hesitated.  “No,” he said calmly.  I could feel him shaking his head behind me.

    I scoffed in disbelief.  “Why not?” I asked.

    He sighed, and I could feel his chest expand against my back. “Do you believe in providence?” Jamie asked slowly.

    “Providence—like a good coincidence?” I asked.

    “Not exactly… Providence—as in, an act of God.  Something that canna be explained away with logic.”

    “Maybe,” I responded.  “I’m not sure.”

    “In the month before you came to Arno,” he said, his voice a husky rumble in my ear, “I found a letter from my ma.  She had tucked it inside the Holy Bible she gave me on my first confirmation.”

    “What did it say?” I asked, curious.  I knew his mother had passed away when he was a teenager, so I knew her words would matter to him.

    “She told me that while I should have in mind the things I wanted in a wife, that I might be surprised at what God provided. But she also told me that she had prayed for the partner of my future, and that I should do the same.”

    “And did you?” I asked in surprise, turning my face to look at him over my shoulder.

    “I did,” he said simply.

    “You started praying for your wife a month before I came to Arno,” I repeated, stunned.

    “Aye,” he said. “Every day.” I could see the smile on his face despite it being dark in the living room.

    “So I appeared, and you saw an answer to your prayers?” I asked, amusement edging into my voice.

    “No, actually.  I thought he would choose a local girl for me,” Jamie explained.  “When you arrived, I mostly saw a kind nurse who was clueless about island mores and desperately needed a friend.” At that, he leaned in and kissed me on the tip of my nose.

    I pushed him away in mock disgust. “You pitied me?"

    “Ye didna need to be pitied?” he asked, pulling me closer.

    “Well, I was clueless,” I agreed, settling into his arms again, only slightly perturbed at him.

    “And engaged,” Jamie added.

    “That too,” I said. I felt a sudden ache in the pit of my stomach. “Unavailable, as far as you were concerned.”

    “Well…” Jamie continued, “As for that, I wasna exactly convinced.”

    I remembered the way he had asked me about Frank on the ocean side dock the day we did laundry together… And how I couldn't answer him, how I couldn't bring myself to say that I loved my fiance.

    Jamie caressed my arm, running his fingers lightly from elbow to shoulder to neck.  When he brushed my hair aside and leaned forward to press his lips beneath my ear, I shivered.

    “Dinna fash,” he said.

    “What does that mean?” I had asked, turning to him again.

    “Don’t worry yourself,” he answered.  “Trust.”

    “Trust?” I had asked.

    “Providence doesna always make sense, but I believe this has all worked out as it should. And it will continue to work out because He is in it.”    

    With that reassurance again running through my mind, a ghost of his kiss on my neck, I wrapped myself in my blanket and slept the rest of the night.

Next chapter is officially  Chapter 18: Hopping to Guam Jamie loves plane trips about as much as he loves boat trips.

[betweensceneswriter]

The Madame, Part 6: La Rousse (The Redhead)

Previously:  Part 5: The Smugglers

The channel crossing to France brings nausea and memories…

The Madame: Table of Contents

Book 2 of Second Wife.  Jamie has left Laoghaire to find work in Edinburgh with Fergus.  Multi-viewpoint.  Lots of Claire memories.

Book 1–Second Wife

Mme Jeanne,

   Bonjour from your homeland.  We return a fortnight hence, bringing many lovely Guests with us.  We hope you will have Quarters for our Visitors, about thirty in all--five of Whom are to stay with you permanently, and the others to find Homes of their own.  We expect to reach your Establishment on the evening of the sixth and after a long Journey the Ladies will be weary.  We are hoping that you can have several discreet Gentlemen meet us to help us Escort them to their lodgings quickly.

    Now that you are prepared for those Guests, I beg that you may Prepare a room in the Garret for an additional Member of our party.  Elle n'a que onze ans--she is but eleven years of age, and is not to join your Jeune fille.  I simply need lodgings for her for the one Night, and then I intend to Travel on to the North to reunite her with her Family.  

Mr. Malcolm

He shouldn't have gone there. La Hopital de Angles’ brought up too many painful memories.

But it was right next to the chapel and the little graveyard where Faith was buried, and Jamie wanted to visit her… for Claire’s sake, certainly, but also for his own heart.

He was alone, as he had left Lesley, Hayes, and Fergus at Cousin Jared’s home.  

Jared was in his mid-seventies now--gray-haired and shrunken--and still a shrewd businessman. Despite Jamie’s letter requesting a kind bargain, it had taken quite some haggling to bring Jared down to a price at which they might actually turn a profit. Having finally agreed, though, now he only needed to secure the ship for their return voyage. The men had asked for the afternoon off, and he had consented, knowing he had solo plans of his own.

As he entered the cemetery, he took a deep breath.  

He felt guilty in Paris. Before Claire, guilt wasn't an emotion he much bothered himself with.  Growing up, he had always gone to confession with a spring in his step and a half-smile on his face.  On long travels as young men he and Ian had often amused themselves by debating which of the sins was most severe --which would keep them out of God’s favor or make the Blessed Virgin turn her back on them. 

Impure thoughts and self abuse were only venial sins--they would weaken the soul, but not kill the grace within.  Fornication, however, was a mortal sin--and that had been enough to keep Jamie from visiting the brothels like the other mercenaries did when they were fighting in France. 

Depending on the circumstances, killing another man could be a mortal sin.  But killing was a necessary evil at times in order for a man to protect his family.

A man might feel defending his honor was worth that necessary evil, Jamie thought with a shudder, but he must count the cost before allowing his pride to determine his actions. 

It was precisely that consideration that brought him such guilt in Paris. He had not counted the cost all those years ago when he had challenged Jack Randall to a duel even over Claire’s desperate objections.   To protect his own honor he had broken his wife’s heart--in essence murdering his first born--and then kept himself locked away while a bereft Claire had needed him after Faith was delivered stillborn.  

Jamie looked around the graveyard. Why had he come here? He could never recite enough Our Fathers and Hail Marys to assuage himself of this guilt. Nevertheless, he had come.

With one more sigh, Jamie stepped through the gate and walked toward his own broken heart.

Some of the grave markers were grand sarcophagi, white marble carved into the form of bowing angels, the Virgin Mother, or a patron Saint.  However, the grave marker he sought was humble, flat to the earth, hidden toward the rear near a copse of trees.

Jamie sat down when he reached Faith's gravestone.  He traced the name with his finger.

“Wee Faith,” he murmured aloud. ”I have thought about ye much since yer ma and I left France…”

He took a deep breath, gazing across the grassy expanse as if he could see through time.  “She said your hair… was a red halo... about your wee face.” With a hiccup of a laugh, Jamie shook his head sorrowfully, a smile playing about his lips. “For that I'm sorry,” he said seriously, patting the marble reassuringly, “No wee lassie should be saddled with orange hair.” He sighed, looking down at the stone, again running a finger gently over the carved letters. “I wish you had had dark curly hair, like your ma.  She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen.” He furrowed his forehead. “Dinna fash yerself, though. My step daughter Joanie has red hair, and she is precious to me despite it.”

He shook his head.  He wasn't doing this very well.

“I came here, Faith,” he finally choked out, “to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my stubbornness, for my pride. I have done my penance, truly I have.  For I sent your ma and wee baby brother away through the stones to keep them safe.  It broke my heart, but I did it. I learned my lesson too late to spare you, but I spared them the pain of the years after the Rising.  I even kept myself hidden away at Lallybroch to keep the rest of my family safe. For seven years, mind. Seven years alone. Seven years to be sorry for it all.”

Jamie closed his eyes, for a moment feeling the devastating desolation of those years—all the years he spent in silence—so much time to rehearse in his mind what he would have done differently had he been able to do it all again. 

“Since you, wee lassie, I have not spared myself at the expense of another.  I turned myself in and went to Ardsmuir to keep yer Auntie Jenny and Uncle Ian and their wee bairnies safe. And I stayed at Helwater as long as I could to watch over... your brother Willie.”

Jamie cleared his throat, taking a ragged breath.

“Will you forgive me, lass, for not protecting you? I didna put you and… Claire… above myself, and that was a terrible mistake.”

As if in answer to his question, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearest tree, making them dance in a way that drew Jamie's eyes upward.

It was at that exact moment that Jamie saw the flash of red.

He shook his head and looked down, certain the tears in his eyes were playing tricks on him.

But when he looked up again, the red hair was still there.

A small girl, thin as a wraith, was picking her way through the graveyard.  She was dressed in ragged gray clothing which made the nosegay in her hand and her fiery hair stand out even more vividly.

She did not see him. He wondered for a moment if she was a spirit.  He believed in the afterlife, and Claire had appeared to him often enough.  But he had never seen…

“Faith…” He breathed in a whisper.

But then he noticed that her eyes were focused on a plot of freshly turned earth some yards to the north of him. He could almost see her tremble--from cold or sorrow, he didn't know.

“Maman,” the child whispered, falling to her knees, laying the bouquet gently down.  

Her red curls spilled over her shoulders, obscuring her face.  She wasn't the correct age, but he had to know.  He stood slowly, so as not to frighten her.

“Petite fille,” he said quietly, “comment tu t'appelles?”  She looked up at him, her eyes swimming.

“What did ye say?” she asked. Her accent was Scots.

“What is your name, child?” He asked again.

She spoke so quietly that he couldn't hear her well.

“Martha?” He asked.

“No,” she said, clearer now.  “Maitha.”

He reached a hand toward her, and she shrunk back as if afraid.

“Keep yer hands from me,” she said firmly. “I amna starving.  I am no’ for sale.” Her voice quavered despite the brave jut of her chin.

“Your parents called you Maitha?” he asked again.  “Aye,” she agreed.  “I dinna ken who my da is. But my Gran--she's from Aberfeldy.  And she wrote and told me ma to name me Maitheanas.” She lifted her chin proudly. “And when I'm old enough and have enough money I shall travel to be wi’ my family in Scotland.”

“Maitheanas?” Jamie repeated.  He felt a tremble deep in his gut at the word. “Do ye ken, child, what maitheanas means in the Gàidhlig?” 

“Of course,” the little lass said, a hint of pride lifting her chin. “Me mam loved to tell that story.  For it meant a lot to her, coming from me Gran after she had run away from home wi’ me da.”  

She was leaving now, confidently tossing the information over her shoulder.  “Of course I ken what me own name means. Maitheanas means... forgiven.” 

[florencemachines]

Lord John Grey in Outlander  //  4.11 “If Not For Hope” 

[betweensceneswriter]

Lord John, you are impossible not to like!

[gotham-ruaidh]

What is your top 10 (or 5) list of heartwarming fics (or chapters of longer fics)? I am going to need some comfort fics and hot chocolate this afternoon.

Readers - please add your suggestions!

—

Flood My Mornings by @bonnie-wee-swordsman

So Long As I’m With You by @claryclark

Loving Jamie by JillianK (on AO3)

Come Hell or Helwater by @lenny9987 

Bean Sidhe by @kalendraashtar

Escape by @notevenjokingfic

Chain of Command by @mybeautifuldecay

Jimjeran by @betweensceneswriter

Shifted and Uitlander by @gotham-ruaidh (shameless self-promotion)

[betweensceneswriter]

Hey there, @gotham-ruaidh! Thanks for the mention!

[suzannevvale-deactivated2022051]

What is your top 10 (or 5) list of heartwarming fics (or chapters of longer fics)? I am going to need some comfort fics and hot chocolate this afternoon.

Where You Lead by @mo-nighean-rouge

Flood My Mornings by @bonnie-wee-swordsman

There’s a collection of Faith ficlets that @lenny9987 wrote a million years ago that I think is on ao3 under the title Faith Fluff Days

Jimjeran by @betweensceneswriter

Tales From Fraser’s Ridge and McTavish and Beauchamp by @curlsgetdemgurls

All the Loss ficlets by @missclairebelle

[bonnie-wee-swordsman]

Blaire

[surana17]

and BEAMIE…

[bonnie-wee-swordsman]

ahahah YES @surana17​!! 

my personal favorite version of Beamie ….

[surana17]

ohmygah aaahhhhaaaahhhaaa

[flockof]

I CANNOT TAKE THIS. 😂😂😂

[bonnie-wee-swordsman]

[the-perceptorverse]

OMFG!!!

[surana17]

and…

[surana17]

and more..

[surana17]

[bonnie-wee-swordsman]

@surana17, forever my partner in DisneyCrossoverCrime: I’ll stop when you stop 

[surana17]

 nah, no stopping us now @bonnie-wee-swordsman  3:)

[surana17]

I hope it will make people smile today :)

[outlanderadvocacy-blog]

Bless you Disney Crossover Criminals - guilty! For making me smile on this dark day I happy to aide & abet by encouraging you to practice your craft some more. Please!

[surana17]

well if you insist :)

[monaksharp-deactivated20231017]

Always brings smiles!

[bonnie-wee-swordsman]

[surana17]

[thesketchingwitch]

This post just get better and better. I bow down to the brilliance of @bonnie-wee-swordsman and @surana17. Ladies, you rock!

[surana17]

[bonnie-wee-swordsman]

I’ll see your gallant Beamie bow… 

…and raise you a heartbreaking Beamie “goodbye,-I-love-you-more-than-life-but-I-cant-say-that- because-you-need-to-go-away-back-to-that-person-you -loved-first-and-I-care-about-you-enough-to-make-you-go-imma-go-cry-in-the-darkness -because-#despair”  hair caress 

(x) (x)

[labyrinthmr]

Love it all!

[labyrinthmr]

Don’t forget Mrs. Fitz!

[bonnie-wee-swordsman]

Bahaha, PERFECT!!!!

[ecampbellsoup]

MY LIFE IS COMPLETE.

[301francesca]

This is so cute! I love, love this!

[foldingstars295]

Reblogging because I came home to my hubby watching BATB (🤷‍♀️😂) & I remembered this thread so showed him. He wasn’t very impressed but gave me a smile again 😄

[clairebeauchampfan]

best thread ever

[whiskynottea]

LOVE THIS POST!

[thebrochtuarachs]

JUST WOW 😍

[betweensceneswriter]

This is tremendous!  Amazing!  So sweet and fun!

[betweensceneswriter]

Bringing this out of the archives.  Super fun!

[jamiedornaniseverything]

[betweensceneswriter]

One of my favorite Claire & Jamie kisses.  And their hair!!!

And Dougal’s grumpy response: “I said kiss her, dinna swallow her!“

[betweensceneswriter]

Reblogging just because...

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper: Chapter 22b- Cave Men

After Tarzan Falls, before Cocos Island, both John and Jamie have to use their raw masculine power.

Island Hopper Table of Contents:

    “So he truly just stayed hidden for twenty-eight years, even though he realized the war had ended?” Jamie looked back at us, swiping aside some bamboo leaves to clear the overgrown pathway for us.

    “The Japanese sense of honor during World War II was incredible,” Seth explained.  “I mean, you'd have to be committed to be a kamikaze pilot and use yourself and your airplane as a bomb, right?”

    We nodded in stunned agreement, sipping from our water bottles and resting in the shade of the glossy green jungle plants beside the path.

    Today’s jaunt was to Yokoi’s cave, the re-creation of the underground hideout dug by a Japanese soldier after the end of World War II.  He had stayed hidden there in the Guam jungle, sneaking out to take food from neighboring farms and fishing in the nearby river, weaving his own clothing from plant fibers.  He was finally found in 1972, almost three decades after the war had ended.

    “For those Japanese soldiers, dying for their country was more important than their own lives,” Joe said, shaking his head.  “That’s incredible devotion.  I mean, I’m a patriotic American, but still!”

    I offered, “I remember that if they were about to be captured, there were some officers who would fall on their swords rather than be captured--what was that called?  Harry Carrie?” I offered hesitantly.

    “Har-A kIr-i” Jamie corrected me.  I turned toward him, raising my eyebrows. Since my arrival out on Arno I’d been corrected by him plenty of times in private, but I wasn’t sure how it felt to be corrected by him in front of other people.  

    “You ken Japan occupied the Marshalls as well, Ri-pālle, and there were Japanese officers in the Marshall Islands when the Allied powers took it back during World War II,” he lectured.  “I’ve lived there four years.  And I also took Pacific History at the college of the Marshall Islands.  Ye ken I’m not a dimwit, don’t you?”

    Joe eyed the two of us, and I felt my cheeks flush at Jamie’s irritated response to me.  It wasn’t like I didn’t think he knew anything, but having spent a number of years growing up on Guam, I’d always felt like a bit of an expert on World War II in the Pacific, impressing stateside college classmates with my knowledge and horrifying them with descriptions of the group suicides of Japanese soldiers when the United States reclaimed Guam, lines of men standing at a cliff’s edge, pushing the next person off, the final officer taking his own life rather than be taken prisoner.

    “I really can’t imagine it,” John said, stepping between me and Jamie in a subtle attempt to dispel the tension.  “Either they believed that the Americans would be truly cruel to prisoners of war, or they were convinced that it would be a horrible shame to surrender or be captured.”

    Shelly was scrolling through something on her phone as she walked slowly ahead on the trail.  "Men had been indoctrinated with the notion that it was dishonorable to be captured,” she read, after which she stumbled on a root, caught her balance and then looked back with a sheepish grin.

    “Ye shouldna text & walk,” Jamie joked, just as Seth said, “Been walking long?”

    “Didja have a nice trip?” added Joe.

    John sighed with a wry smile as Shelly looked to him, eyebrows raised in resignation.  “I’m not in the habit of insulting young ladies,” he intoned, grinning when the three other guys made exasperated noises and Jamie scoffed, backhanding John’s bicep in irritation.

    “Tryin’ to make the rest of us look bad, are ye?” he teased.

    “I was saying,” Shelly said insistently, “That Yokoi felt it would be humiliating to go home.  In fact, the Japanese people coined a famous saying from his words on his arrival back in Japan: “It is with much embarrassment that I return.”

    “It is with much embarrassment that I return,” repeated Seth, shamefaced.

    “I don’t know about that,” Joe responded.  “Seems to me being able to avoid detection and capture for nearly thirty years is pretty darn incredible. What did he have to be ashamed of?”

    “Just goes to show you we can’t even comprehend the mind-set of the Japanese soldier,” Jamie concluded.

    We soon reached the re-creation of the original cave, a hole in the ground walled with bamboo.  We leaned over the opening, peering down into the darkness.  To the side, John inspected the primitive diagram of the cave painted on a sign and shuddered.  “It was only 9 feet by three feet,” he said. “I can’t imagine being trapped in a space that small.”

    I looked at the drawing, which depicted Yokoi seated in his cave, a small fire built at one end and a chimney/air hole leading up from it.

    “And this says he came out only at night to avoid detection,” Shelly commented, still reading from her phone.  “So he was stuck in that small space all day every day.”

    I squatted down, trying to see farther into the cave.

    “I just can’t imagine it,” I said.  “I’d get so lonely.”

    A man wearing a khaki uniform stepped toward us, a smile on his face.

    “It was lonely, though Yokoi wasn’t the only Japanese soldier who went into hiding after the war,” he said.  “There were a group of ten originally, though they split up realizing that they’d be too easy to track and find if there were too many of them.  Yokoi had two friends who lived nearby, but after twenty years--still eight years before he was discovered--he went to their cave only to find them dead.”

    My stomach hurt at the thought.  Twenty years spent virtually alone, with eight years of interminable solitude left. I sighed and apparently inched closer to Jamie, only realizing what I’d done when I felt his arm around me and looked up to see him smiling down at me.  

    “Who found him, then?” asked John, stepping forward.

    “Two fishermen who were out on the Talofofo River,” the ranger answered. “They captured him, and though he begged them to kill him, they took him home, fed him some dinner, and then took him to the police.”

    “Did he stay on Guam long after that?” Shelly asked.

    “After discovery, he was only here two weeks.  He went back to Japan to a hero’s welcome.”

    “But he was embarrassed?” Seth asked, forehead wrinkled in confusion.  “Shelly read something that said he was ashamed.”

    “‘It is with much embarrassment, but I have returned?’” the guide quoted with a smile. “Yeah.  I heard you guys talking.  I really don’t understand it any more than you do.”

    “That’s crazy,” Joe said, shaking his head as he looked once again into the bamboo-lined hole.

    “Thanks,” we chorused, as the guide wandered off to the next group to answer questions.

    “Wanna take the monorail?” Seth joked, pointing at the rickety little train mounted with plastic folding chairs.

    “It canna be more than half a kilometer to the trailhead,” Jamie laughed.  “Why anyone would need to ride there is beyond me.”  

   As I followed the others back down the trail, I took one last backward glance at the hole in the ground, no more than a darker spot camouflaged by the sunlight dappling the underbrush. The thought of that unending isolation was heart-wrenching.

    I had just sighed and shook my head when Jamie took my hand in his. I stopped us where we were, put my arms around him, and buried my face in his chest.  He wrapped his arms around me and didn’t let me go, not even when Joe yelled back at us, “Are you guys coming or not?”

      “In a canyon, in a cavern, excavaaaaa-ting for a mine,” I yodeled, the sound of my voice expanding in reverberating echoes. I knew Jamie was somewhere in the eerie darkness, and singing made me feel better, even though I had the sneaking suspicion that any second he might jump out at me.

    “Jamie?” I called out, wading gingerly into the water.  Seth, Shelly, and Joe were behind us and I knew I could wait for them, but I also wanted to catch up to Jamie.  We had been filling our days with multiple touristy experiences--always with other people--and I was beginning to feel disconnected.  We had even been up late several nights in a row, staying up talking or playing games until the wee hours, and we hadn't gotten to bed at the same time in at least three days.  It wasn't very easy to maintain an active sex life when your husband was asleep when you came to bed or gone on an early morning job when you woke up the next morning.

    “Dwelt a miner, forty-niiii-ner,” I sang, splashing a little deeper into the cool water of the wading pool of Pagat Cave.

    Suddenly a large hand came from behind me and after several furtive movements, succeeded in covering my mouth, lips quickly coming beside my ear to whisper, “Jab keroro, Ri-palle.”  He pulled me backward around a rock outcropping and then stopped, his hand still over my mouth.

    Unable to avoid the juvenile impulse, I stuck my tongue out, tasting the salt and dust on Jamie's hand, pushing the tip of my tongue between his fingers.  He squeaked in an unmanly fashion, and suddenly I felt a firm grip on my left breast.

    “Stop it,” I hissed, wrestling my mouth free from his strong hand.

    “Sorry, lass, I slipped,” he fibbed. “‘Twas just an accident.” The subtle caress of his hand stated quite the opposite.

     Light shone against the far wall, and when I peeked around the rocky corner I saw the bobbing approach of a bright blue trio of lights.

    “Claire? Jamie?” the voices called out through the darkness.

    “She was just singing a second ago.” Shelly’s voice carried clearly to us.

    I leaned my head back against Jamie’s chest as he continued with his cave explorations, feeling lightheaded and dying for more time alone, wishing there weren’t three people heading in our direction.

    “You’re going to drive me crazy,” I whispered, letting my breath out in a shudder.

    “That’s my plan precisely,” Jamie murmured, his lips tracing the curve of my neck and shoulder.

     I was feeling faint and just about to reach back and grab something solid to help steady myself when the lights came around the rock.  Jamie released me, moving forward into the center of the channel and only then turning on his flashlight.

    “Hallooooo,” said Seth once his headlamp trained on us.  “We really should be staying together, I think.”

    “It’s not like there are any real arms of the cave where we could get lost,” Shelly offered.

    “Yes, but Pagat Cave is filled with water.  That adds a hazard level of its own,” I added, splashing out of the shadows, only to see several apparent knowing smiles pass between the others.

    “Come on,” Jamie said, turning away from the entrance and lighting the way with his flashlight.  “I think it’s only a wee bit farther to the Lake room.”

    It was slightly challenging to maintain footing on the rocks in the thigh-deep water of the wading pool, but soon we had maneuvered through a narrow passageway that finally opened up into the arched ceiling of the indoor pool.  For a few minutes, we used our flashlights to illuminate the corners of the room.  Several half-melted candles were perched on the sloping rock shoulders of the room and the rock spires sticking up out of the water.  

    I turned off my flashlight and put it on a flattish rock that seemed secure and waded the rest of the way into the pool. It was refreshing and cool, a relief after the humid little hike we’d taken to get there.

    “Wait for me,” Shelly said, putting her flashlight down as well and lowering herself into the water.  

    Soon the rest of the flashlights and headlamps had been stowed, and with the last light turning off, the room plunged into darkness.

    “Marco,” said Shelly.

    We laughed, but I listened intently and swam towards Jamie when he said, “Polo,” in his deep voice. The darkness didn’t feel as oppressive with him next to me.  Still about five minutes was all most of us could handle in the pitch black.  Shelly was the first to cave, paddling back to the entrance rocks and turning her flashlight on, finding the other four of us paddling around in the water.

    It didn’t take long to start feeling completely chilled, even with my natural heater close by with his arms around my waist.  When another group of voices started filtering into the cavern, we decided our turn in the lake room was over and headed back to the entrance again.

    “It’s too bad John couldn’t come,” Joe said offhandedly as we clambered up the steep rocks out of the cave entryway.

    Jamie smiled in response. “He said he would have loved to join us, but he’s a wee bit claustrophobic, AND his nieces had claimed his afternoon for a tea party.”

    “He has my pity,” Shelly said.  “Those girls are adorable, but they were exhausting!”

     As we hiked back up from the caves, I fell into step with Joe. I was dying to be nosy but did my best to show restraint and let the conversation flow--if it was going to.  Of course, a few minutes of silent walking and Joe turned to me, shaking his head. 

    “Go for it,” he said with an eye roll. “Ask me what you’ve been thinking about for the past five minutes… or five days.”

    “Do you like him?” I asked.  “You like, him, don’t you?” I almost skipped in my eagerness to keep up with him and hear his answer.

    “You are so not subtle, honey,” Joe laughed. “I don’t really need you to match-make for me.”

    “He’s such a nice guy,” I campaigned.  “And good-looking, too,” I added.

    Joe shook his head and looked down at the trail, a smile playing around his lips. “Why do you care so much, babe?” he asked. I didn’t answer, so Joe continued, “It’s because he’s in love with your husband, isn’t it?”

    I stopped in my tracks.  “Not still.  Is that what you see?”

    “He is so focused on Jamie I can tell that there’s some history there.  Unrequited, as far as I can tell from Jamie’s vibe.  But I don’t think he’s over him.”

    I frowned and sighed.  “I could swear John seems excited to see you.  I think he likes you.  And you asked about him just a little bit ago, so I know he’s on your mind.”

    “Yeah,” said Joe.  “He’s a great guy.  And gorgeous, too.  But there’s something off. Things are different with gay men.  Usually attraction is a little more straightforward.  We don’t play all those games that women and men have to.  And... I don’t understand, cause he’s not responding to me.”

    “Ohhhh,” I answered, thinking back to the conversation I’d had with John on the field ship. “I think he and Jamie have something in common…”

     This time it was Joe who stopped short.  “He’s a virgin?”

     “In a manner of speaking,” I answered quietly, looking around to make sure no one was in earshot.  “He came from a small island… fell in love with Jamie their freshman year… I just don’t think he has that much experience.”

     “Hm,” Joe grunted, a frown clouding his face.

     “He needs a caveman,” I said.

     Joe looked at me in amused confusion.  “What do you mean by that?”

     “He needs you to take the initiative.  Make it clear what you want… and that it’s him.”

     The frown was back again.  “I’m not going to force myself on him.”

     “That’s not what I mean,” I said. “I can only speak for myself, but here are my thoughts, for what it’s worth.  Sometimes a woman wants a gentleman who woos her.  But sometimes she wants a caveman who drags her to the cave and exerts his strength.”  At the skepticism on Joe’s face, I explained further.  “Not force, not aggression.  Just openly expressed desire and bold action. Something that makes it clear what his intentions are.”

     “And you think that it’s time for me to bring out my inner caveman?” John asked.

     I shrugged, wincing slightly.  “I don’t know, hon. It could be absolutely terrible advice.  You know my track record with relationships.”

    Joe shook his head in amusement, looking ahead toward Jamie who was leading the pack, a good head taller than my siblings.  

     “Worth a shot,” he concluded.

       “Want to watch ‘Elf’ with us, Claire?” Shelly called from the couch.  Joe had made his farewells, so it was just my mom, dad, and Seth who were lounging in the living room with snacks, waiting for the DVD to start.

     “In a minute,” I answered, heading into the kitchen.  Mom had left out the Christmas cookies, along with a tub of multi-flavored popcorn.  I was scrounging in the refrigerator for veggies and dip when two hands suddenly planted themselves firmly on my ass.  

    I shot upright and squeaked, checking the archway into the living room to make sure no one had seen.

    Jamie’s arms went around my waist, pulling me firmly back toward him.

    “Christ, I'm starving for ye, Claire,” he whispered in a husky groan. He let me go long enough to swipe my hair away from my neck so he could nip my ear. 

     Then he whirled me around with his hands on my hips, took the plate from me and set it down on the counter.  “We havena gone this long wi’out being together since we married,” Jamie insisted.  “Well, save for the field ship. But not when we were in the same place.  I must have ye.  Come wi’ me.  Now.”

     It was an order, not a request.  Jamie's eyes were narrowed, his gaze intently on me. And my body was on high alert, my arms peppered with goosebumps, shivers going up my spine. I felt suddenly weak in the knees.

     I stuck my head into the living room.  “I love this movie, guys, but we’ve been hiking and going and doing so much, I really think I should get a good night’s sleep.”

     “Sure, whatever,” said Seth, his eyes not leaving the screen.

     “Night, kiddo,” said my dad.

     My mom looked at me with a knowing smile but waved me away.

     I turned to see Jamie’s intense gaze on me. His words were sparse but his intent completely clear as he ordered me up the stairs.  

     “Come, woman.”

[betweensceneswriter]

Movie Recommendation: The Exception

On Amazon Prime, this is a movie that I didn’t expect to love--but I did.  I love Jai Courtney’s subtle expressions and Lily James’ Mieke. I’d never heard of it before, but I’ve watched it twice in the last few days and may just watch it again tonight.

[betweensceneswriter]

The Madame Master List

This is a continuation from “Second Wife,” a novella exploring the untold time between Hellwater and Claire’s return.  At the end of Second Wife, Jamie has set off for Edinburgh, certain that he can no longer stay in the same place as Laoghaire, as much as he loves Joanie & Marsali.

Book One: Second Wife on Tumblr   on AO3

The Madame on AO3

Part 1--The Madame Madame Jeanne is intrigued to meet young Claudel’s Highlander foster father.  He is not what she expected. 

Part 2--Le Monsieur He is a gentleman.  What is he doing living in a brothel?

Part 3--The Purchase Jamie and Fergus need a legitimate business as cover.

Part 4--The Eavesdropper Unexpected friends change the course of Jamie’s night.

Part 5--The Smugglers The channel crossing to France brings nausea and memories...

Part 6--La Rousse (The Redhead) Paris is full of ghosts and spirits.

[betweensceneswriter]

The Madame - Part 5: The Smugglers

Previously: Part 4: The Eavesdropper

The Madame: Table of Contents

Book 1--Second Wife

Dear Cousin Jared --

   It has been Some Years since last you left your wine business in Paris in my Charge.  Before the Rising, before the White Rose had to go into hiding, back when my life was still graced by the Presence of my Beautiful wife Claire.

   I have fond memories of those days in your gracious house in France, of the honest work as a wine Seller… of playing chess with the minister of finance… Of the Bouquet of a thousand different Spirits...

   I now find myself desirous of doing Business with you again, and hope that you will Welcome your nephew along with my men (who can sleep in the stables, should the Smell of Fish cling to their persons) a Fortnight hence.  

    That said, with the rough crossing of the Channel this time of year, do not expect me to smell as fresh as a Sachet of Spikenard when I first arrive.  You may wish to send me to the Stables as well, to be doused thoroughly with Water before I am admitted to your Drawing Room.

     My intent is to purchase Wine and Spirits to import to Scotland.  I do not expect the Bonds of Kinship to exert unseemly Influence upon your Prices, but I do hope that our first Purchase can be at a cost that will allow me to build up capital for future Business. 

Your affectionate Cousin,

James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser

“MacDubh,” said Hayes, his brows furrowing as he watched a man with a cask of wine walking down the gangplank.  “Why do ye Scots feel the need to smuggle when spirits can be walked freely on and off of a ship?”

Jamie smiled down at the shorter man--fair skinned, with hair the color of a gently ripening apple.  “For the same reason the Irish smuggle. And the English. Because excise taxes make it impossible for the common working man to buy any wine or whisky worth drinkin’!”

“But I still dinna understand,” Hayes objected loudly.

“Hush yer gaping gob,” Lesley scolded affectionately, and Hayes quieted his voice for his next questions.  

“So we go to France, and we get whisky and wine.  And we come back by boat. Do we not then get taxed when we dock here in Edinburgh?”  

Jamie smiled patiently. “We sail as far as Eyemouth, not Edinburgh, for I have an acquaintance there wi’ a smaller vessel.  He will help us transfer our goods to his ship, from whence we sail on to Dunbar, moving our goods into casks and crates labelled as supplies for the print shop as we travel.  We put in there and then journey on to Edinburgh by cart and horse as legitimate buyers of paper and books and ink. We unload our printing goods at the print shop, and then under cover of darkness the remaining supplies to the cellars at Madame Jeanne’s.”

Fergus gravely scratched his chin with the tip of his hook.  “But, Milord—what if we are found out?”

Jamie furrowed his brow, glancing around the docks where hawk-eyed excise men stood about, attempting to do just that.  Then he smiled at his foster son.

“Och aye, but that's where your discovery of Madame Jeanne is a tremendous gift to us.  The madame has acquainted me with the names and faces of several excise men who are willing to look the other way.”

Hayes stared at him wide-eyed.  “Why would they do that, MacDubh?”

Lesley elbowed him in the side. “Coin, of course, ye wee dolt.”

“Oh, coin …..” Hayes said, a look of understanding dawning on his moon face.

“Come along, men,” Jamie said with resignation, his face already taking on the faint green pallor of nausea. “From here we are on to France.”

Despite his bravado, Jamie Fraser knew it was not as simple a matter as he made it seem. There were too many moving parts, too many ways their journey could go wrong.  And yet he knew from his years of leading men at Ardsmuir that he must remain outwardly calm, no matter the inner turmoil he was facing. His men would respond to what they saw, and if he was nervous they would be ten times more so--and nervousness would set the excise men upon them more than any other tell. So shoulders back, head high, he walked confidently up the dock to the waiting sloop that would take them to France.

  It was every bit as torturous as Jamie had remembered: the tossing of the ocean, the rolling movement of the waves. He felt weak and nauseated, and he could not hold down a bit of food.  He curled miserably up in a hammock in the crewmen’s quarters while the others did what they could to help aboard the ship.

They were traveling to France, heading to meet with Jared, setting off on a venture to sell spirits.  How could his thoughts not go to that day some twenty years’ previous when he and Claire had set out across the same sea? When she had told him that she was with child, pregnant with their daughter Faith…

He had been so broken, still physically weakened by Randall's torture tactics, his hand stiff and aching at any accidental movement.  But his heart and mind were even more broken--broken to the point that he still lacked the faith that he would ever recover.

Murtagh had talked him out of taking his own life.  Certainly as a Catholic Jamie had known that self-murder was a mortal sin, but he had already felt dead inside--and the blessed bliss of eternal sleep was the only way he could imagine feeling at peace again.

I couldna even stand to have a person close behind me, he murmured to himself, recalling that horrible sense of violation and fear that had clung to him like a shadow in the months after the events in Wentworth prison.  In the cramped quarters of the lower decks on the ship to France, a person couldn’t keep from others running into them, especially when squeezing by each other in the narrow passageways. He would cringe when the foul-mouthed seamen would barrel into him, drunk and belligerent.

And his troubled response to touch had Claire keeping her distance too, though he could read her glass face like a book.  She was afraid for him, afraid of him, and yet she longed for him. In their berth at night he would hear her sigh and knew she wanted him, wanted the warmth of his body, wanted the comfort of his touch.  But he couldn’t give her what she needed.

One day when they had been becalmed for a second day in a row, Jamie was grateful.  Despite the lack of progress toward Paris, he was grateful for the utterly still ocean, for rest for his weary stomach.  With his constantly upset wame, he had managed to run out of clean shirts, and Claire had firmly ordered him up to the main deck to draw buckets of salty wash water so that she could scrub their clothes clean.

“I’m tired of having nothing to do,” she had said. “Let me take care of you.”

When Jamie returned to the room, he found his wife stripped down to her shift standing in front of a large washtub that looked remarkably like a cooking pot.  He wondered what she’d had to do to get the cook to let her use it.

She had tied up the sides of her skirt and rolled up her sleeves, her ivory arms exposed.  Her hair was tied up as well, tendrils of curling brown wisping out of the knot at the top of her head.  She looked thinner, but who could eat on a ship, anyway.

Once she bolted the door, she had gestured toward his shirt.  “Take it off,” she had ordered.

He had avoided nakedness as well since that day. But he didn't defy her, pulling his shirt off over his head and handing it over.

Their berth was hot. There was no porthole, and Claire had heated the first batch of water he brought down so that the room filled with moist, hot air. He felt lightheaded, and sat down on a bunk to watch her.

As she bent over the tub, thrusting her arms deep into the water, she had started to hum.  It pleased her to work--he could tell. She worked with efficiency but determination, agitating the white shirts and soap with single-minded focus.

The neck of her shift gaped when she bent over, and he could see the curve of her breasts, the darker shadow between them, the rosy hue of her nipples.  He could swear they were already darker and her breasts larger, her body filling with his child, her breasts preparing to feed his bairn. He felt a slight stirring as he watched, and he tried to dwell in the sensation of desire for a moment.

He loved her, Christ he loved her.  But Claire was all that was beautiful and holy in his world, sanctified by marriage and blessed by the church, their joining a sacrament.

What he had done with Jack Randall haunted him--for it had not just been done to him--and he could not touch her with his hands; could not join with her with his body. Not when he had been used… Not when that most sacred part of him had been ravaged.

Jamie rolled over in the hammock in an awkward thrashing motion. Why was he remembering these painful things? He rubbed his hand over his face.

Claire… Oh, yes, Claire.

He had watched her--wanting her, yet unable to express that desire, incapable of reaching for her--and then she had looked up.

He had smiled at her. “Our child grows within you,” he had said, awestruck.

“He does,” she agreed. And then as if reading his mind, she reached to the neck of her shift and untied the string.  She watched him as she drew the thin fabric off over her shoulders, exposing the full roundness of her breasts, the jut of her ribs under her flesh, and then the subtle, beautiful curve of her belly.

He had smiled then. He had forgotten Randall, forgotten Wentworth, forgotten his scars and shame and pain in that moment.  And he reached toward his child--his son or daughter--now growing within Claire's womb.

He stroked the smooth, soft skin of her abdomen, closed his eyes, holding his breath as if in silence he might be able to feel the child within her. He kissed her body, this welcoming home for the fruit of their union. He suckled her, and found himself oddly comforted as she held his head against herself, as she stroked her fingers through his hair.

He could not enter her; no, he would not taint their union with those horrific memories still fresh in his mind.

But he could tell from the way she pressed herself toward him, the subtle opening of her legs, that she needed his touch.

He had reached his hand between her legs and found his way to that silken warmth, that place that had always welcomed him. She had gasped, a lovely wee breathy sigh that made him harder without a single touch.

He was hard now, by God.  He wished he didn't respond to memory like this. And yet to feel… This was a gift. To be able to still feel desire for her when he hadn't seen her in 18 years… to recall her touch as if she were with him now... to remember the way she writhed and moaned, her eyes closed. And then to feel her sweaty cheek rest on his head as she shuddered and gasped... And wept.

Thank you, she had whispered. 

He glanced over his shoulder at the entrance to the room. He wished he could touch her again, but he did the next best thing.

And then he prayed for her.

That she may be safe… She and the child.

Next on The Madame:  Chapter 6, La Rousse (The Redhead) There are many ghosts in Paris.

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper-Chapter 25: Honeymoon Sweet

Previously on Island Hopper:  Chapter 24: Stag Night Seth wants to give Jamie a stag night, and Joe and John have a bachelorette night with Claire.

The Sheraton was amazing, the lobby high-ceilinged and grand, with a chandelier in the entrance and checkerboard black and white marble flooring.  Even in our fancy club wear I felt underdressed, and particularly foolish when the valet took the keys to my mom’s rusty Honda with a slight wrinkle to his nose and curl to his lip.

“John and Joe had my mom pack a bag for us,” I whispered to Jamie, cringing slightly as I brought the small backpack out of the car before the valet left us at the entrance.  “I’m kind of dreading looking in it to see what she thought we would want.”

He grinned and shook his head, turning to open the entrance door for me.

“They canna truly have paid for us to stay here, Ri-pālle,” he said then, gazing with wide eyes at the spacious lobby. I felt nearly as awestruck as he appeared.  I’d stayed in a few nice resorts through the years, but never anything as glamorous as this. Finally he shook off his awe and squared his shoulders, looking down at me with a sly smile.

“Come along, woman,” he said, taking me firmly by the hand and leading me to the check-in desk.

“Reservation for Fraser,” he said confidently to the suited concierge behind the desk, who, after tapping on his keyboard and asking twice how we spelled our last name, found the reservation.

“A gift, it seems,” the clerk said.  “With an open tab for room service if desired.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly—not so much that the suited gentleman noticed, but enough that I did.  I squeezed his hand.  This was quite decadent enough without taking undue advantage of John and Joe’s generosity.

The concierge signaled for a bellhop to come assist us, and after an awkward moment as the young man held out his hands before I surrendered the backpack, the two of us followed him from the lobby into a towering ten-story atrium. The hotel rooms opened out to balconies overlooking a geometric fountain surrounded by stately palm trees in pots.  I tried to minimize my astonishment, gripping Jamie’s hand and trying to direct his gaze toward the stunning surroundings as we entered the elevator and waited in awkward silence as it climbed to the seventh floor, until the bellhop had opened our door and Jamie had scrabbled through his wallet for a wrinkled five-dollar bill, after which we entered the room and closed the door.

“So, this is what you would have preferred for our actual honeymoon?” Jamie asked, taking in the smooth white bed linens, the glossy furniture, the gentle glow of bedside lamps.  He ran his fingers through his hair, then stepped hesitantly into the center of the room and looked back at me, eyebrows raised.

“It is pretty decadent,” I agreed.  “But our wedding night and honeymoon were much more memorable.  Anyone could have their wedding night in a hotel…”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed, moving over to the bed and untying his deck shoes, wiggling his toes gratefully once he had shoes and socks off. I kicked off my spangly heels, padding over to the sliding glass door that led out to a balcony.  I opened the door and went out, stunned for a moment by the lights of the island and the view of the infinity pool eight stories down, lit up for nighttime swimming.  It was surreal, to say the least.  Jamie didn’t follow me, so I went back into the room to find him still sitting on the bed.

He was looking at me wistfully.  “I do love your family, truly, Ri-pālle,” he said.  “And this room is amazing… But somehow I canna wait until it is just you and I in our little apartment.”

“With the geckos and mosquitos?” I asked teasingly, shutting the door behind me.

“Them I could do wi’out,” he smiled, winking at me.

“I know what you mean, though,” I said, walking up to him and stepping between his knees, resting my arms on his shoulders.  “Until now it's kind of been  just the two of us.”

“Wi’ a little Rupert and Angus thrown in,” Jamie added, linking his hands behind my back and smiling up at me as he pulled me toward him.

“But not too much,” I mused, imagining our friends noisily tromping into our apartment.  

Our apartment.  I felt a pang in my stomach and as I realized what I was feeling, pushed away from Jamie and exclaimed in surprise, “Babe… I think I’m homesick!”

His look of discomfort softened, and I leaned forward to kiss him gently.

“I am as well, mo chridhe,” he whispered, drawing me down onto his lap.  “Sit wi’ me for a bit, and I ken both of us will soon feel better.”

He drew my head to his shoulder, tucking it under his chin, wrapping his arms thoroughly around me.  I breathed deeply and melted into him, slipping my shoulder under his arm, curling my body against his.  I found myself humming contentedly and closed my eyes with a sigh.

“Dammit, Jamie,” I murmured. “I was yours from that very first day you held me in your arms.”

In response, he chuckled and tightened his arms around me.  I felt the soft pressure of a kiss on my forehead.

“You looked alluring tonight.” He spoke slowly, his deep voice rumbling under my ear.  “Dancing in your sparkly top and sandals,” he mused as his hand traced over the spaghetti straps of the tank and drifted down my back. “Wearing these jeans, tight as a second skin,” he added, the firm warmth of his palm moving lower until he stopped with it gripping the curve of my backside.

I’d wanted him earlier, but the extravagance of the hotel had stunned me out of it.  Now I felt the glow begin again, warmth creeping from my abdomen outwards.

“I’m taking these foolish wee things off you,” he said, nudging me off his knee and into a standing position in front of him again. He reached for the button of my jeans, his forehead wrinkling in concentration as he undid it, a slow smile creeping over his face as he looked up at me and gripped the zipper.

There was something disconcerting about being undressed.  My heart rate increased and I flushed as I watched him pull the zipper downwards and then slip his hands inside my jeans to spread the tight waistband and push it down over my hips.

He took his time drawing the jeans down to the floor, his hands tracing their way down my thighs.  “You did indeed shave today,” he said. “Your skin is as soft as... a cat’s fur.”

“A cat?” I asked.  “Did you have a cat growing up?”

“Aye, but we arna talking about Bòidheach right now,” Jamie said, returning to a sitting position after holding the jeans down as I stepped out of them.  He ran his hands back up my legs, and the gentle touch stirred me so thoroughly I closed my eyes in response.

“Now these are even more foolish,” he murmured, his hands tracing over the sides of my lacy panties. “But I’ll leave them on you a wee bit longer.”

“Will you?” I asked, feeling breathless.

“This, now,” he mused, and I could feel his hands at my waist, slipping slowly under the tank top.  “The way you moved in it! A Dhia, I felt as if every eye in the place was on ye.”

I backed away from him playfully, raising my arms up as if still at the club, dance moves somewhere between club Claire and dancing-with-the-Marshallese-kiddos Claire. I turned around, facing away from him, still swiveling my hips.

“Come here,” Jamie groaned.  “Before ye kill me… Itōk, Ri-pālle.”

He reached his hand out to me and once again swept me into his lap as I approached him.

“I’m curious, Claire.  Do ye like it here?” Jamie asked as I rested in his arms.  

“I love my family,” I said.  “But it’s so busy and chaotic.”

“I agree,” he responded.  “It is so loud.  So commercialized.  It seems as if it is all about money and what ye have and drive.  What you buy.  What you accomplish.”

“Arno is such a simple place,” I said.  “I’d forgotten the constant barrage of advertising and noise.  The distraction of my silly cell phone dinging all the time.”

I could feel him nodding his head as he spoke gravely, “I havena seen the stars since I got here.  Havena just sat alone in the silence.  Haven't quietly watched the sun rise on the beach.  I haven't read.  And other than lighting the candles at midnight mass,” he confessed soberly, ”I havena prayed.”

I sighed.  “I feel like we’ve lost something being here.  Because I have felt jealous, petty, bitter, possessive--about you, I mean.  I’ve seen all these gorgeous young girls, and unwittingly I've been calling myself ugly, old, frizzy...” At this, Jamie frowned and shook his head.  

“Ye shouldna speak so to yerself,” he scolded.  “I would never say such things.  To me, you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”  

“You’re sweet,” I said.  “But here there is just too much to compare myself to.  Magazine covers in the grocery store, billboards, petite Asians and tanned- skinned Chamorrans.  I feel like I'm clinging to you just to try to feel valuable.  This isn't working, and I’m so glad we will be going home soon.”

“Do you imagine we will ever be able to return to civilization?” Jamie asked earnestly. “I'm serious.  Will we ever be able to tolerate the noise and chaos? The commercialism?”

“Sadly,” I said, “I think we could.  I think if we move to the states or Scotland, we will easily forget simplicity.  But for now, babe, there are far better things for us to focus on.”

“Ayet,” Jamie responded, with such enthusiasm that I sat up and looked at his face. “Such as to finally remove this top!” His smile was blinding, and the crinkle of affection at the corner of his eyes endearing. His arms around me tightened.

I closed my eyes as his lips met mine. Warm, strong hands on my body claimed familiar territory, and I felt firm flesh under my own hands, his skin smooth over the gentle ripple of muscles and occasional jut of bone. I let out a little sigh.

I could feel his lips pull back in a smile against mine, and then his warm breath and insistent lips on my neck and collar bone.

“Will ye have me, then?” he asked, his hand hesitating just under the hem of my tank top.

I pulled away from him for a second, meeting his eyes. “Seriously, Jamie…?”

“I’m no’ confused,” he explained.  “I just want to hear it from your lips.”

“I love you, babe,” I said, punctuating the phrase with kisses. “And yes, of course I want you.  Badly!”

“Good,” he said with a satisfied smile. “I believe I'll be able to accommodate ye.”

Sometime later the two of us were tousle-haired and sweaty in our gorgeous suite overlooking the moon-lit ocean. Jamie was stretched out on the bed looking satisfied and I felt flushed and a little stunned as well.

I looked at Jamie, shaking my head. “That girl at the club wanted you.  And she wasn’t the only one.”

“What are you talking about?” Jamie asked skeptically.

“Seth’s friends were salivating all over you on Cocos Island. When I watch you walk around, you don’t know how many pairs of eyes are following you, how many girls stand up straighter, suck in their stomachs and stick out their chests when you walk by.”

Jamie shook his head sheepishly as if he didn’t believe me at all.

“When he visited, there was one thing that Frank said that did strike fear in my heart,” I said, taking a deep breath and continuing hesitantly.  “I don’t remember his exact words, but what he said was that if you were this young and this physical, that you would get bored of sex with me, or feel like I was too old for you.”

“Oh, lass,” said Jamie empathetically. He reached out for my hand, pulling me into the bed to rest in his arms.

“Was Frank right?” I asked quietly.  “How can I know you’ll always love me? That I’ll be enough for you?”

Jamie looked at me for a moment, brows furrowed. Finally he spoke.  “Claire, what you are to me is more than sex.  Which I do love, don’t mistake me.  I love it now, and I’ll love it if you ever get lukkuun pregnant and bloated.  I’ll love it if you get soft and round like a good Majel mama and even if you get skinny—though, ye shouldna ever get too skinny,” he commented, his hands straying down to my hips. I giggled and shook my head, but  kept looking at him, waiting for him to continue.

“I hope we make our kids groan and plug their ears with the noises we make when they’re teenagers,” Jamie grinned.  “And I hope I’m still taking you to bed when we’re old and gray in our flat in the retirement village.”

By then I was laughing through tears, and Jamie handed me tissues from the dispenser on the bedside table, then took me in his arms again. “And I’ll be creeping down the hall in the carehome even when I’m half senile, climbing into your bed because in your arms I can remember.”

“Are you serious?” I asked him.  “But that’s still just sex.”

“That’s not all,” Jamie continued.  “When I lost my ma and Willie, and then my da, when I left Scotland and Murtagh and Jenny and Ian, I lost my family.  My home.  My sense of belonging.  And ye ken Dougal.  He isna given to much affection.”

“You’re right,” I responded, nodding.  “He’s not much of a hugger.”

“I traveled through school, and the first taste of being loved again was John,” Jamie murmured.  “I couldna be what he wanted, but he still cared for me even after he knew that.”

I snuggled closer to him.

“And my students… they fill me.  Rupert and Angus, the numpties, they’ve been friends to me. But then you arrived.  And ye took care of me, Ri-pālle.  You healed me, looked after me, fed me, enjoyed my company, hugged me.”

I squeezed him and closed my eyes.

“Ye felt comfortable, Claire, like family, even though I was also lusting after ye.  You called me ‘mo chridhe’ by accident once, and my heart ached at the words.  I hadna been called that in a long time.”

“I remember that,” I whispered back.  “I remember the look on your face.”

“And then you wanted me too.  You wanted to save me from being sent back home.  But you wanted me.  My company, my friendship, my body, my love. And when I met your parents, when your da called me ‘son,’ my heart felt like it was going to explode. I… I didna just marry you for your body, Claire. I married you for your company. I married you for your soul. I married you so you could always be my family.”

I pulled him down to me for a kiss.

“It doesna matter where we live, who we become.” Jamie said seriously, looking into my eyes. “Because Claire, you are my family.”

He placed his hand on my breast, over my heart.   “And this right here?” He said. “This, Ri-pālle, this is home.”

Next Up: Chapter 26: Father, Forgive Me... Jamie’s got a lot of built up bitterness toward his father.

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper-Chapter 26:  Forgive Me, Father

Previously on Island Hopper- Chapter 25: Honeymoon Sweet John & Joe’s present means more than they know...

Island Hopper (Jimjeran Book 2) Full Table of Contents

Island Fever (Jimjeran Book 1) Table of Contents

Buy the revised, improved, de-Outlandered version of book one in paperback or on Kindle! 

We had just finished our breakfast in the beautiful sun room off the lobby, a sumptuous brunch buffet of fresh fruit and decadent pastries, with a white-hatted chef making omelets to order. Heading back to our room and definitely toward a food coma, I was slow to realize my phone was ringing.

I didn't recognize the number, so I almost let it go to voicemail, But not only did I not recognize the number, I didn’t recognize the format, which made me think perhaps it was an international call.

“Claire B..uh, Fraser,” I answered, shrugging my shoulders at Jamie's questioning glance.

“Claairrrre… Frrrraser,” the voice on the other end echoed, slow and distinct, the repeated r’s of my married name made more obvious by the heavy Scots accent,

I didn't recognize the voice either, rich and warm. I’d heard Jamie’s brother-in-law Ian speak before, but this voice sounded older.

“Yes,” I responded. “That's me. Can I help you?”

“Ye said Fraser…” The voice repeated.

“I'm assuming you're trying to get in touch with Jamie,” I offered, ready to hand the caller off.

“Aye. Dougal MacKenzie gave me this number as one to reach Jamie, but he didna mention that the lad had married…”

“Do you just want to talk to Jamie?” I asked. Jamie had stepped toward me at the mention of his name and the confusion on my face. “He’s right here, so you can talk to him right now.”

“I will,” the voice responded. “But no’ yet. Ye said your name was Claire? And ye are American, are ye not? But ye said Claire Fraser...”

“That's right,” I said again quite patiently, widening my eyes at Jamie, shrugging my shoulders and shaking my head slightly as he stepped toward me, reaching toward the phone.

“So ye are married, then? Married to Jamie? Married… to my son?”

I stood there dumbly, my stomach sinking as if I had just swum over the edge of the drop off. I felt nauseated. I didn’t want to hand the phone to Jamie, but I truly had no idea what to say.

I wanted to string together every foul word in my vocabulary. I wanted to throw my phone in the ocean. I wanted to yell at Brian and tell him how badly he had hurt his son. I wanted to just hang up the phone and nonchalantly say to Jamie “Wrong number…”. I wanted to protect the man I loved from further injury.

I looked at him, wondering if he could handle it. Would this hurt him more deeply than he had already been hurt?

I shakily dropped the hand that held the phone and pressed it against my leg to mute it.

“Damn, Jamie,” I gasped. “It's your dad.”

His face went white under his tan at my statement, but he didn't hesitate. He held out his hand and took the phone from me, and then turning his back slightly toward me, raised it to his ear.

“Da?” he said, his voice shaky. And then I turned away, unwilling to watch as Jamie's strong shoulders trembled under the weight of four years of loss and sadness.

The first phrases that I could make out were Jamie asking, “Are ye well? Are ye safe? Where are ye right now?”

I didn't know whether to leave or not, but when I glanced back at Jamie, he reached out toward me, gesturing me back to him, then drew me across the lobby to a love seat, sitting down and putting his arm around me.

“Are you sure you want me here?” I whispered, gesturing toward the call.

“I need ye close to calm me,” he whispered back, hand over the receiver.

I sat next to Jamie as the truth swirled in my mind. The voice on the phone was Brian Fraser--the man who had left his family when Jamie had been in trouble as a hurting teenager who had just lost his mother and younger brother. We’d talked about it briefly, but as open as Jamie was about other things, his father was a subject he rarely broached.

Oh, God, don’t let this wound him more, I found myself pleading. He’s been feeling accepted by my family here.

I could picture Jamie windsurfing with Seth, being embraced by my dad on Christmas eve, letting my mom cut his hair. Teasing Shelly, opening gifts sitting on the floor by the Christmas tree, smiling around the table at all of us over our turkey dinner. Squatting to inspect plants with my mom in her garden, listening to my dad explain the way to install sills for typhoon-proof plywood storm shutters.

You’ve got a family now, Jamie, I telegraphed to him, pressing myself toward him. I’m right here. The Beachams have you.

But Claire, that’s not all he wants, logic responded. His dad’s rejection is a huge trauma in his life.

And so I sat and listened, trying to hear what his father was saying over the pounding of my heart in my ears.

“New Zealand...” Jamie was saying. “New Zealand?”

All I could hear was random snippets of words through the static of the long-distance call. Sorry….. Rancher…. Sheep … Sorry… Visit ye?

“I dinna ken, Da. ‘Tis all rather sudden. I havena even spoke’ to ye in four years.” I couldn’t translate the expression on Jamie’s face--a stunned stoicism. He listened intently, occasionally shaking his head or urging his father to slow down or repeat himself. The only sign of emotion was that when he was listening rather than talking, he was pressing his fist to his mouth, as if trying to keep from tears.

“Dinna make plans yet,” he interrupted at one point. “But I’ll consider it, and I’ll let ye ken.”

Finally the voice on the other end stopped speaking as much, and I could hear the rising timbre of questions. At this, I could feel Jamie stiffen.

“I’m truly no’ ready yet, Da,” he said. “I’m honestly a bit stunned here. Can I have yer number and call ye back? And your address, too,” he was saying. I reached into my bag and found a receipt and a ballpoint pen, and Jamie leaned over the arm of the chair to the end table to scratch out the series of numbers and the address.

I heard his father’s final words before Jamie hung up the phone. “I’m sorry, son. And I love ye.”

Jamie sat in silence once he put the phone down, his hand loosely holding it as it rested on his right leg. When I took the phone from him, he leaned forward with his face in his hands, digging his fingers into his hair. I’d had plenty of emotional moments since we married, but I wasn’t certain how to respond when Jamie was in the midst of one. Tentatively I reached out my hand and began to rub his back. When I did, Jamie drew in a deep breath and then sighed, his shoulders nearly shuddering .

“What was that?” he said, his voice muffled by his hands. “Did that truly happen? Did my father just call me? I was in Majuro for more than two years and I’ve been on Arno since then, but my father calls me on your phone when I’m on Guam?”

I could hear the lump in his throat, could hear the thin veil of masculine strength cracking under this strain.

“Let's go back to our room,” I suggested, feeling like he needed time to react to this in private. “Or if you want to be alone, you can go to the room yourself and I'll come up later.”

At this, Jamie took his face from his hands and looked at me in startlement. His eyes were rimmed with red, his face expressing all the pain he didn't seem to be able to put in words. I saw his forehead clear and his chin square as he gritted his teeth with resolve, and he took my hand.

“Aye,” he said, “let's go up.”

His hand gripped mine all the way up on the elevator to our floor, only releasing me long enough to use the key card to unlock the door, which he held open for me to enter and then came in behind me.

I was gazing at him in concern when he turned from closing the door, but the expression on his face surprised me. He almost looked angry, which startled me enough. But then he strode the few steps toward me and bent to kiss me. His lips against mine were anything but gentle, his bulk pushing me backward until my body was stopped by the wall of the entryway. He bent and grasped my thighs, lifting me easily and pressing himself against me again, kissing my neck, releasing one leg to thrust a hand up my top and firmly grip a breast, his other hand finding its way under my skirt

Despite his roughness he was passionate, and I felt my body responding to his fierceness, could feel his body responding as well as he pressed himself against me, his hips between my legs. I wanted to provide him comfort and I was thoroughly aroused, but a tiny voice in my conscience told me something was wrong with this.

“Jamie, stop,” I said reluctantly, at a momentary pause in his ministrations. He had lowered me to the floor and swiftly pulled my shirt off over my head and was now in the middle of wrestling with the hook on my bra.

“What?” he asked, stunned, finally having succeeded at his task.

“Stop,” I said, pressing my arm against my breasts to hold my bra in place. “It’s not this you want. It’s not me you need right now.”

“What?” he repeated, dropping his hands to my hips and looking down into my face. His lips were red from our contact, his pupils dilated, his face flushed.

“You do need to feel something right now,” I explained hesitantly, looking away briefly before meeting his eyes again. I hated having him upset with me but pressed on. “You need to feel something, but it’s not this. It’s not sex you need.”

“Ifrinn,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes and stepping away from me. He reached down and picked up my shirt, shoving it into my hands. “Christ, Claire,” he swore, glaring at me. “Ye certainly ken how to destroy the mood.”

Quickly refastening my bra, I followed him as he stalked to the bed. I stood a few feet away as he sat down and then glared at me.

“How can ye deny me?” he said. “How many times have I made love to ye when you were sad or upset… when it wasna me ye truly wanted?”

I walked to him, placing myself between his knees, wrapping my arms around him and forcing him to lay his head on my chest. His torso was stiff against me, but slowly relented as I stroked his neck and shoulders.

“I love you,” I whispered. “But you need to tell me how you are feeling right now. You just talked to your father for the first time in four years. Your father, who deserted you when you needed him most, when you were hurting. It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to be hurt, Jamie. But you need to feel it, not mask it with pleasure.”

He let out a breath as if surrendering to the truth of it.

“And because I love you, I’m not going to let you push those feelings away. Babe, you need to feel it.” I closed my eyes, stroking his shoulders and running my fingers through his curls, feeling the heat of his breath against my skin, a lump forming in my own throat as I imagined how he was feeling. I waited.

He took one deep breath, and then he sobbed, his strong shoulders shaking, putting his arms around me and clinging to me as if I was a life preserver and he was a drowning man. He cried great wracking sobs, tears dripping onto my chest.

And I cried too, imagining the pain of a father’s rejection, of losing both parents and well-loved baby brother over the course of a year.

“Please, Claire,” he finally said, looking up at me with welling eyes and wiping the tears from my own cheeks with his thumb. “Please, lass.”

I knew what he meant, and knowing he needed the comfort of my body I slipped out of my skirt and tenderly drew him to his feet, unbuttoning his shorts and taking him by the hand as I pulled back the covers. I made love to my hurting husband until the same familiar fire returned to him, but when he came, he cried again.

We held each other afterwards. My mind was filled with questions, and I wanted him to talk, but I knew I couldn’t pressure it out of him. He was fragile, and the pain he was feeling was something of which I had no understanding.

“He left us with nothing but the clothes on his back,” Jamie said. “He says he went up to the Highlands, to the clan lands of his ancestors. Hitchhiked, slept in the rough, wandered the moors. Got lost. Thought he’d lose his life a few times, he said.”

I stroked his arm, then urged him to roll away from me so I could rub his back as he talked. I glanced at the clock, feeling the urgent approach of our noon check out, but couldn’t interrupt Jamie. He sighed and relaxed against me, rounding his shoulders and pressing himself back against me, briefly putting his hand over my own on his shoulder in appreciation.

“He worked at a few ranches, taking on odd jobs. I guess he worked for a farrier for a time, shoeing horses. No way the man could have known he had a skilled horse breeder and trainer in his employ.”

I leaned forward, touching my lips to the smooth expanse of Jamie’s back, then resting my cheek against his skin, moving closer to him until my body hugged the bend of his legs, his backside against my lap, the soft hair tickling my skin. I held him close as if I could will comfort into him, and I could hear a brief low chuckle from Jamie.

“You’re so wee,” he said. “Generally I find myself spooning you instead, but I can see why you like it.” He breathed deeply, placing his arm over mine where I had draped it over his side. He interwove his fingers with mine, pulling them up to his mouth and placing a kiss on my knuckles.

“So where was he calling from?” I finally got the courage to ask a question, feeling the return of Jamie’s normal good-humored cheerfulness.

“From New Zealand,” Jamie said finally, a twinge of surprise in his voice. “A distant cousin had emigrated when he was a lad, and he has a sheep ranch there. My father couldna explain why he left us, not to my satisfaction, but that’s where he went and where he’s been since.”

“And why call now?” I asked.

“He says he went to midnight mass there,” Jamie said, his voice nearly in a whisper. “And when he lit the candles and said prayers for us--for ma, and Willie, and Jenny and myself, mine wouldna light. And when it finally did, a draft came from somewhere and blew it out.”

I froze. “You’re kidding,” I said. “That’s rather mystical…”

“And my da wasna the believer in the family. ‘Twas my ma.”

“What did he think it meant?” I asked with a shiver. I could feel the hair rising on my arm, having had a few too many mystical experiences of my own lately.

“That I was in danger--that perhaps I was dead.”

“But he knew you were in the Marshall Islands? He knew to call Dougal?”

“No, he called Jenny first. I dinna ken why she didn’t give him your number. But neither of them told him we had married. Guess they thought that was my news to share.”

“Or mine, I guess,” I said, squirming against him.

He chuckled again, then settled against me. It seemed that he didn’t have anything else to tell me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and then finally hugged him and kissed him between the shoulder blades. “I’m sorry, babe, but it’s 11:40. Check out is noon.”

“Why did ye not say something before?” Jamie asked, nearly leaping out of the bed. He scrambled around finding his clothes and tossing mine to me. After shoving spangly tank and shiny heels into the backpack and retrieving the shampoo and conditioner from the shower, we took one last look around the room.

Before I exited, Jamie once again pressed me up against the wall, bending to kiss me. “Jolok bod, Ri-palle,” he said. “I shouldna have tried to mask my feelings by using ye.”

“I do it too often,” I said in response. “But it can be a comfort when nothing else will suffice.”

He held me tight against him, swayed back and forth with me, and then laughed. “I ken this wasn’t our honeymoon suite,” he said. “But I feel more married now than when we came in last night.”

I smiled up at him, lifting my lips for one more kiss, saying simply, “I do, too.”

On to Chapter 27: So Long, Farewell Surprising things await back on Majuro.