#farmerscats and I's

[renee-writer]

The Flag

AO3

“We need to do something.” The two children stand n the middle of the Fraser’s Ridge graveyard. All around them are the graves of  the men who gave their lives in the pursuit of America.

 

She tilts her head and looks at him.  “Do what? Daddy and granddaddy say they are in heaven. You don’t need nothing in heaven.” Said with the self assurance of a six year old.

 

“I know Mandy.” Jem replies. “It is their graves. Remember when we were away?” His baby sister frowns, “in the other time?” He prompts.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Daddy and mama took us to the graveyard there. They explained that the man had died to make America, America.”

 

“Just like these!”

 

“Aye. There were flags on their graves. These need some too.” He declares.

 

“We going to get some?”

 

“Nope, I am going to make some.”

 

“How’s you going to do that?”

 

“How am I?” he takes extreme big brother pleasure in correcting her grammar, “you will see.”

 

“You wish to do what, Jem?” His mama questions.

 

“He going to make flags.” Mandy is proud of all he does, even if he irritates her.

 

“He is going to.” Brianna says with a smile, “How are you going to do that Jem?”

 

“Mama, I am going to draw them, one for each grave. I remember that the graves were decorated with them in the future.”

 

She beams with pride at her son.  “Then we shall make sure you have all you need.”

 

“Ink and paint, paper.” Roger goes over the list in his head as he and his father-in-law set out to the mercantile.

 

“Bree doing more of her art?” Jamie asks when he sees Roger’s purchases. Jamie is quite proud that his daughter is taking up the talent that his own mam possessed.

 

“No, these are for Jem.”

 

“The lad is an artist too?”

 

“He wishes to be.”

 

They gather around that night, including his grandparents. Mandy sits in her granddaddy‘s lap watching as Jem starts his first flag.

 

Claire gets it straight off and let’s out a gasp. “What is it, Sassanach?”

 

“He is making a flag, aren’t you,Jem?”

 

“Aye granny. The graves of those who fell in the war, they have no flags decorating them. It isn’t right. When we were in the future, daddy and mama took us to see a graveyard of those that were fallen in war. They each had a flag. These should as well.”

 

Jamie blinks tears from his eyes. What a grandson he has, what a man Mac and Brianna are raising!  “It is a fine idea Jeremiah. What is the design?”

 

“We learned, in school while there, that the first American flag looked like this,” He lifts it up in the candle light, “see, these are for the thirteen colonies.” He shows him the Betsy Ross flag. “There was lots more in the future.”

 

“Lots and lots.” Mandy feels left out. In truth, she was to young to recall much of that time.

 

“But now there be only thirteen. I will make one for each grave.”

 

“Later, we will sew one. Then we can place it on a flag pole to cover them all.” His mama says.

 

“I help sew!” Mandy calls out.

 

“That is what we will do then.” Jamie declares.

[renee-writer]

Harvest Festival

Mood board and idea are from the brilliant mind of @farmerscats . Happy Thanksgiving everyone

AO3

He proudly carries it in by it’s feet. Bree follows, smiling.

 

“Did you really shoot that Roger Mac?” Jamie can’t quite believe it. His son-in-law isn’t known as the best shot.

 

“Aye truly, Jamie. All of Brianna ‘s lessons are finally paying off.”

 

“Very good before Jemmy gets old enough to hunt, his dad learns.”

 

“I shall clean it. We will need to get it baking,” she takes it from him, “it is a good twenty-five pounder.” Bree carries the turkey into the kitchen. Adso, the cat, follows.

 

Claire and Marsali work in the vegetable garden, gathering up the last of the harvest.  Most will be canned, but some will be used for a harvest celebration, their own Thanksgiving.

 

They have a lot to be thankful for. A great harvest, the courtship of wee Ian and Rachel, a growing family with Marsali and Bree expecting again, with the extended family of Murtagh and Jenny with them.

 

Sorrow follows too. Life isn’t all sun without the rain. They lost Ian Sr. to a stroke earlier in the year. That is the reason Jenny is with them.

 

A harvest festival, Thanksgiving celebration is what is needed to remind them all they have to be thankful for.

 

Germaine, Jenny, Jane, and, Felecia are out gathering colorful leaves and pinecones for a centerpiece for the table. Potatoes will be mashed, corn roasted, turkey baked, and fresh rolls made. Pies of yams and pumpkin will be baked.

 

Rachel works alongside Jenny. The younger lass keeps her head down, intimidated by her future mother -in-law. They are removing the pulpy seeds from the inside of the pumpkins.

 

Beside them, Claire and Marsali work on yams, while the turkey is prepared by Bree. The men, meanwhile, are building a fire to cook in. Rollo runs around them, barking at the blowing leaves.

 

“Your hound is insane.” Murtagh remarks to Ian.

 

“Nae, he knows something is different. Can sense it.” Ian whistles and Rollo stops, trots over, and sits by his side, “good boy.”

 

“Claire says they call this time, Thanksgiving, in the future” Jamie says. The fire pit is roaring hot.

 

“Thanksgiving, ouí. It makes sense.”

 

“Showing thanks for the harvest.” Ian says, “and all our other blessings.” His instinct has him looking to the house, where Rachel is.

 

His uncle laughs. “Are you going to marry her, Ian?”

 

“Aye Uncle Jamie. Just waiting for her brother to return so I can ask for her hand.”

 

“A grand thing, that will be. Will lift some of the sorrow from your mam.” Murtagh comments. They all sadly bow their heads.

 

They women work smoothly together. Once all is prepared, it is carried out to the fire. The men help them place the turkey in the middle, with the corn and pies around them. Photos are roasted to be mashed.

 

The big table in the big house is full of food and family. Jamie smiles at them as he stands.

 

“What a blessed man, I am, with such a large family gathered around me. Claire calls this time, Thanksgiving. So, I give thanks for her, for the love we share, for our children and grandchildren. I give thanks for my sister being here, for my Godfather. I thank God for my nephew and his lass, Rachel.  For the harvest bounty before us.”

 

Murtagh, as the eldest man at the table, says Grace. They pass around the bowls and platters, filling plates. The children whisper together between bites. Rollo and Adso are handed bites under the table. Ian and Rachel hold hands under the same. The presence of her family lightens Jenny’s  grief.

 

It is a grand first Thanksgiving at Fraser’s Ridge.

[renee-writer]

Grands

From the creative mind of @farmerscats.

AO3

She finds him, sitting on the steps, outside Lallybroch. Taken a seat beside him, she says, “A penny for your thoughts.” Turning, he grins.

 

“Just thinking about my parents.” She takes his hand, and rests her head on his shoulder. His parents were killed in WW2. He rarely talks about them.

 

“What brought them to your mind?”

 

“This place in a round about way. I was thinking about Claire and Jamie, trying to picture them here.” He shakes his head, “I can feel them here. See them in Jem’s stubbornness, in Mandy’s sweetness.”

 

“Me too. There are days I miss them so much, I feel like my heart is breaking.” Bree confesses.

 

“Aye. Mine as well. It is different with my mum and dad. They have been gone so long. But still, I was just thinking about whether they would love Jemmy and Mandy.”

 

“Of course they would!” She calls out.

 

“They are so different  then the children of their generation and even mine.” He chuckles, “My mum would be shocked by Jemmy’s straight forward way of talking. My dad would frown at Mandy’s  way of getting into scrapes with her brother.”

 

His wife nods. “They are unique. Because of their upbringing. Without time travel, they would be children of the sixties or early seventies. That would make them different, as would Jemmy not growing up for the first part of his life, on Fraser’s Ridge, in the past. Still,” she threads her arm through his, “They would adore them because they are their grandchildren.”

 

“I wish they could know them.”

 

She turns his face to hers. “Teach our kids about them. They should know both sets of grands, after all.”

 

He smiles and kisses her. “A wonderful idea Mrs. Mackenzie.”

[renee-writer]

Jemmy Mandy and the Not So Scary Nuckelavee

A/N From the mind of @farmerscats and inspired by episode 7.

AO3

“See Mandy. He isn’t scary.” Jemmy pats the nuckelavee, also known as Buck, on his arm. “Tell her.”

 

Buck, happy to be out of the cabinet and comfortable with the children, is happy to oblige him. “Aye, Miss Mandy, Nae scary at all. In fact, I am your relative, your cousin.”

 

“You are?” The little lass’ eyes get wide and her brother catches his breath.

 

“So you aren’t a nuckelavee?”

 

“Nae, I am a man. Just one that is lost.”

 

The children look at each other. “Like the people in Lost in Space.” Jemmy declares. He turns the telly on. “See… what do we call you?”

 

“Buck. You can call me Buck. All my mates do. You are my mates, right?”

 

“Aye,” the lass says, “we are Buck.”

 

“Buck, see.” He points to the telly, “they are astronauts but they got lost in space.”

 

“Astronaut? If my Latin holds, it means Star traveler. Is that what we are?” He is thinking aloud still the lad answers.

 

“Aye.” Mandy nods.

 

“Not out there is space though. We move through the stars but here on earth. Right?”

 

“Aye Buck. We aren’t supposed to talk about it but you know. You are one of us.” Jenny declares.

 

“A Star traveler.” He is satisfied with that and the presence of his many times removed grandchildren.

[renee-writer]

July 4th

From the brilliant mind of @farmerscats. Thank you love.

AO3

His eyes are full of determination and regret as he dresses for battle. The one thing he wished to avoid is coming true. Oh he believes Claire, Brianna, and Roger Mac that this will be different. They will win but at what cost?

 

It is William that is on his mind. His son. How is he to face him across the field of battle? Even if it is at the expense of his own life, he will not draw on him.

 

Claire has her own concerns. She knows what is coming, the battles to be fought. Bree was schooled in Boston, for goodness sake, and that history, this history, was at the forefront of a lot of it.

 

The textbooks didn’t go into graphic details about the effects, the wounds that will be suffered but, she knows them too. Unfortunately, her experiences in WW2 and the failed raising taught her a lot.

 

He comes up and wraps his arms about her.

 

“I ken. I wish we were at Lallybroch right now and not facing this.”

 

She sighs as she rests against him. “Yes, but it seems we are fated to be a part of this. We are fighting on the right side. We are fighting for Bree and her family.”

 

She feels him jerk. “What’s this?”

 

“The America they live in now is only possible by the battles we are about to be a part of.” She places her hands over his, where they rest on her stomach, “I know it is William you are thinking about, as am I. If it helps, you can also think about our daughter, Roger, and the children. That you are fighting for them.”

 

“Aye.” She feels his tears on her neck, where he rests his head, “I have prayed to Murtagh, for his help. His and Dougal’s.”

 

She turns and holds him close.

 

Two hundred years in the future

 

“It isn’t really celebrated here.” Roger says practically. His wife is undeterred.

 

“Nevertheless, they will see fireworks here. It is important Roger, a part of their heritage. It is what da is fighting for, or has.” Keeping their time straight in her head isn’t easy.

 

“Aye. You are right. Just because we are in Scotland for the fourth of July doesn’t mean we can’t  celebrate America’s independence. “

 

“Stand back.” She orders her children. They hold tight to her and their papa’s hands. Their parents told them they would see fireworks. Jemmy vaguely recalls seeing them once in Boston before they moved to Scotland. Mandy has no memory.

 

“The sky will light up Mandy.” He excitedly told her, “Like star bursts!”

 

“It is to recall the battles that made America free.” Her papa had added.

 

“ Grandda fought in them, probably our cousins too.” Jemmy adds.

 

They keep them alive for the children. They are discussed almost daily and Bree drew their pictures and framed them, hanging them in her children’s rooms and throughout Lallybroch.

 

Her eyes alight at the thought. Her mysterious grandda and granny are heroes to her.

 

“They are keeping watch over us, right mama?”

 

Bree blinks her tears away. “Right. Now look up there.” She directs them to the clear sky.

 

Roger found and hired a fireworks expert for this private show. He paid dearly for it but, it will be well worth it to see the awe on his children’s face and to honor Jamie and all the others.

 

“Ohhh!” Mandy’s  exclamation is almost drowned by the boom that brings the next explosion of lights.

 

“And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave prove through the night that our flag was still there.” Roger sings as the fireworks burst overhead and his wife cries silently and his children look on with wonder.

 

The end

[renee-writer]

Faith's Journey Home

A/N My dears, this one's a bit different. A Faith lives story with a twist or two. @farmerscats and I have been noodling it awhile. Enjoy.

AO3

She is gone. Claire knows this, as a nurse, she knows that her child couldn’t survive being born early, not in this time. Her mother ‘s heart now… Her tears flow and her heart breaks. She has had many losses in her life. Her parents, her Uncle Lamb, Frank, but, none compare to losing Jamie and herself when they lose Faith. Faith, that is what the good Mother had christened her before a hasty burial.

“I wanted to see her!” She cries out to the sister that brings her a drink of spirits. “My baby!” She throws her hand out, knocking the glass out of her hand, shattering the figure of Mother Mary, that had been by her bed, “I don’t want that, I want her!”

“But, they had already buried her,” She tells her husband later. Finally let out of the Bastille, he came home to find his wife, still grieving deeply. “They did tell me she had red hair and slanted eyes, like you.” He kneels by her side, tears falling into his prison beard.

“Claire, I am so so sorry.” How can he possibly make it up to her?

“No, I am. For putting Frank before you, us, our child.” He takes her ice cold hands and rubs them between his own.

“If God wills, we shall have another.” He whispers.

“Yes, I want to go home, to Scotland.” He nods, trying to smile.

“Aye Scotland.”

First, they visit her grave. An apostle ‘s spoon is left there.

Modern Time

“I have something important to tell you.” Raymond Masters says to his niece, Faith Fraser. He had been diagnosed with inoperable cancer a few months ago. Though horrible, by any standard, he is glad his adoptive niece is all grown up and on her own. Still, he needs to tell her the major secret he has been hiding before he dies.

“Yes Uncle Ray?” She is a beauty, with her red curls and startling slanted blue eyes. Those eyes have been full of pain since his diagnosis. He prays they won’t be full of disappointment once he tells her the truth.

“Can you get some time off?” She works as a NICU nurse. “We need to go to Scotland.” She frowns.

“Are you sure you are up for it?” She frets. “To be traveling?”

He nods. “Yes, mi’ cheri’. I won’t be soon so we have to do it now. It involves your parents.” She had been told her parents, her dad the brother of Uncle Ray and her mum, were unable to care for her as a pre-mature infant and Uncle Ray stepped in.

“They want to see me now! After twenty-three years?” Her hands go to her hips and he sees her mum, Madonna, in her.

“It is a bit more complex then that. Will trust me?”

“Of course, Uncle Ray.”

Fraser’s Ridge

“She would be twenty-three.” Claire thinks as she tends her garden. She doesn’t talk much about her oldest. Fergus recalls, of course. He still carries guilt from the whole incident with that bastard, Randall. Long dead, may he burn in hell! Jamie, she some times sees him looking distant and knows he is thinking about her. They had told Brianna. She knows of both Faith and Willie. Marsali and Roger do also. The bairns are still to young.

Jemmy runs up to her. “Granny, I help!” She smiles hugely and holds him tight. They help heal her heart.

“Yes, recall what I told you about plants and weeds?”

“Aye.”

Modern Time

They make a stop at Paris first. A tiny cemetery behind a crumbling building. “This used to be Hôpital des anges.” He tells her, “back in the 17th century.”

“Angel Hospital. Why are we here Uncle Ray?”

“There is something I have to show you.” They walk carefully over to the grave. “Look.”

She kneels down. “Faith Fraser. Why, the poor thing had my name.” She looks up at her uncle. “What is this?” The spoon is old, tarnished by the weather and years.

“An apostle’s spoon, one of twelve. The grieving parents left it here before heading back to Scotland. They couldn’t take their child home but wanted to leave part of home with her.”

“How sad!” She has seen them, the grieving parents, at the nursery, when the doctors can’t do anything else. “But how do you know all this, Uncle Ray?”

“Come love. We’ve a plane to catch. I will tell you more on the way.”

They sit together, whispering, as not to disturb the others on the plane, mostly asleep. “She was born to soon to survive in that time. But, there was someone who could help. He took the babe, wrapped tight in a tartan and took her to where I am taken you.”

“Wait, Uncle Ray, she died?”

“No, they thought she did. But, she didn’t. He took her to a place where she could get treatment. Carried her in and handed her to a NICU nurse and waited. Coming to see the babe as he was allowed. Her Uncle, so they let him.”

“Wait,” her blue eyes glow in the orange/ yellow light of the plane’s lamp. “That is our story. And, there weren’t no NICU’s in the 17th century.”

“I know. That is why I had to take you here, to this time.” She looks at him like he has lost his mind. Has the cancer spread to his brain?

“Uncle Ray, when we land, we are going to get you to a hospital. Get you..”

“Faith Claire Ellen Fraser, I am not crazy. You are that babe. Your parents, they live, in a pre- America North Carolina, in a place called Fraser’s Ridge. I want to take you to them.” She just stares, her mouth open.

[renee-writer]

Easter on the Ridge

By the request of @farmerscats, a one shot that imagines a first Easter egg hunt at Fraser's ridge. Happy Resurrection Sunday everyone. He has risen, indeed!

AO3

“What is Roger Mac about?” She looks up from her sewing. Still not really good at it, it takes concentration. “He seems to be shaping wood into eggs.” Her eyes light up.

“Oh, he is making them!” Her husband looks at her, his eyes crinkled. “Easter eggs for the children to search for.”

“What are you going in about?” He takes a seat beside her.

“A custom from our time. Eggs are boiled, painted before they are hidden for the children to find.”

“Why?” He can’t see wasting perfectly good eggs on such silliness.

“Jamie, you must recall, in our time, eggs were much more available. It was fun for the children. Roger and Bree don’t want Jemmy or the other children, missing out. So he is carving out eggs as they are so dear here. Easter, after services, they will be hidden for the bairns to find.”

“I still can’t see how this makes sense but, as they aren’t using real eggs, I don’t see the harm in it.”

“You will see. It will be a grand time for them.”

The bairns sit, in their best Sunday best, and listen as Roger talks to them about the reason they celebrate Easter. Marsali holds Henri-Christian while Fergus keeps Germain, Joanie, and Feleciti, still.

Besides them, sits Brianna with Jemmy beside her. His grandpere sits on his other side. He is quite well behaved. Claire sits on the other side of Jamie. Behind them, the other residents of the ridge, mostly Protestant though a few Catholics come as it is Easter.

“They came to anoint His body for burial. Quite shocked they were to find the place where they had laid Him empty, at least of Jesus. An angel sat there. “Why do you seek the living among the dead. He is risen as He said He would.” That is what they were told. Can you imagine! They saw Him crucified just three days before. They ken’d He was dead but now they are told He was alive, by an angel no less. Mary of Magdalene, she left weeping. It was hard for her to understand, ye ken. That was until she ran into Jesus Himself. She thought Him the gardener as He hid His true identity from her. That is until He said her name. Then she saw Him!

When God calls your name, you will see Him. You canna help it. Dying He saved us, taken our sin. Raising, He freed us to raise also, into new life, a life lived for and in Him. One day, He will return, He will return and raise us that ken Him, that have really seen Him, into glory with Him.”

He gets a lot of compliments about his sermon. The children, freed from their forced church stillness, are ready to expend their energy. An egg hunt is the perfect thing. Roger and Bree go ahead of the others, to hide the painted wooden eggs. Claire and Jamie walk with an excited Jeremiah. The younger Fraser’s follow behind. “Daddy says her and mama have a special surprise for me and my cousins.”

“Yes, you will have your first Easter egg hunt.” His granny says. His grandpere snorts.

“You don’t like Easter grandpere?”

He lifts the lad onto his shoulders. “I love Easter, my lad, I just don’t understand what hiding and finding eggs has to do with it.”

“I dinna ken either but it sounds like fun.”

They all arrive and Bree hands out woven baskets. “Close as we could get to Easter baskets. No Easter bunny here.” Jamie overhears what she says to her mama.

“What is an Easter Bunny?”

“Well da, it is just a representative of Easter to the children. He leaves a basket full of eggs and sweets for the children to find on Easter morning.”

He shakes his head. “First Santa Claus and now this. Your time sure had a lot of strange things for the bairns.”

Both Claire and Bree laugh.

“Alright, ready to find eggs?” Rodger asks the children. They all jump up and down. “Alright, you find them and place them in your baskets. They are throughout the yard. Now, to the older children, let the younger ones have the ones in plain sight, eh?”

“Aye daddy.”

“Aye Uncle Roger.”

“Very good. Now, go find them.”

They take off at a run. Squeals start echoing back as the young lasses find their first ones. Wee hands pick them up and place them in the baskets. The lads run past them, searching in trees and bushes, cries of triumph echo back as they catch sight of the eggs.

Marsali and Fergus laugh together as they watch their children have so much fun. Roger and Bree hold each other. She has a secret she plans to tell him tomorrow. Her parents stand and watch, smiles on both their faces as their grandchildren have their first Easter egg hunt. Jamie gets it now. They are having fun! Their joy is contagious. Soon everyone is laughing, including Henri-Christian, watching from his mam’s arms. Easter at the Ridge is a success.

[renee-writer]

Under the Door

A one shot based on an idea from @farmerscats . Thank you darling. Happy Valentine's day everyone.

AO3

He has thought about it a long time. Since he saw her walk in for her audition, there was a type of magic. For him. But does she feel it? Sometimes he believes she does. When they are rehearsing and their eyes meet and there is an awareness. During photoshoots where they are posed in seductive ways. But is that just acting or her professional model coming out? He doesn’t know and is to shy to ask.

It is Valentine’s day. A day for lovers. Time to find out if what he is feeling is just restricted to him. Still shy, he decides a card slipped under her door is the way to go. He thought about what he wants to say carefully. A romantic quote. One that says exactly what he is feeling.

“I don’t know if I will ever be complete, but I know whatever I am, you will always be the rest of me.”

Was it to sappy? Maybe but, ' you complete me’ has been done to death since Jerry McGuire. She really does. A missing part of himself has been found in her. With a bit of trepidation, he adds, “ It is true. Ever since I first saw you, I knew. Knew that you were who I wanted for the rest of my life. Insane, eh? I know it is but magic does happen. We are magic Cait. True magic. If you don’t feel the same, I understand. Or will try to. But you needed to know. Happy Valentine’s day.

Sam.”

He slips the card in the envelope and slips it under her door. He then hurries away like he is leaving the scene of a crime. Was he? Should he have done that? Would it make it awkward between them if she doesn’t, if she does? He is full of self doubts only her answer can remove.

Cait doesn’t notice the envelope until she starts to leave her trailer. Someone has sent her a Valentine. How sweet. Leaning against her door, she opens it. As she reads, her heart begins to pound. Sam! Sam sent this!

He notices her as soon as she walks in. They have a read through today and the room is full of their fellow cast and a producer. Despite the crowd, she walks right up to him, takes his face and, whispers, “Yes Sam. I feel it too.” He, despite the audience, kisses her for the first time as himself. A cheer goes up from their cast members with a few, “I knew it’s and I told you so’s’ They ignore them.

When they must breath, he breathes against her lips, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Indeed.”

It really is.

The End

[renee-writer]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of the last 10 people that reblogged from you!

Thank you @escapadeist.

(1) My God

(2) My family

(3) My writing

(4) My pets

(5) My friends

As a reminder to count our blessings, I am tagging ( cause it is easier)

@ladymeraud @sawatz46 @farmerscats @iwasbdcjesus @jclovely @auburncurlslass @mrsd79 @writerscreed @samcaitshipper-becauseican @sassenach4life

[renee-writer]

Mistletoe ( a Samcait One Shot)

A/N Many thanks to @farmerscats who's brilliant idea this was. She also provided the pictures for the mood board.

AO3

The Christmas music plays in the background as she wraps the last of the presents. With the amount of nieces and nephews she has, all her brothers and sisters, their spouses, Sam’s family and their Outlander family and all their friends, it is a lot.  This is why she is still wrapping on Christmas Eve. The tree, unmolested without Eddie to.. She pushes the thought of her lost baby away. This is the season for joy. She smiles, a bit ruefully, at the thought of the gift she has for Sam.

 

Sam watches her, out of the corner of his eye, as he wraps on the other side of the room. She is trying so hard, bless her. She wants to hide, in this season of joy, the grief she feels at the loss of Eddie. But he sees her grief in the tears she brushes away when around her family, in the deep sighs as she comes across another toy, batted and forgotten, under the couch, in the way she clings to him, her eyes haunted, when it is just them.

 

“Oh the biscuits!” She jumps up and runs into get them. They are making a set of Christmas biscuits to take to her parents house for  the traditional Christmas Eve visit with her family. His smaller family will be joining them. Christmas day it will just be just them.  He joins her in the kitchen, to do his job in this task, decorating them.  She sits down beside him, after placing the next batch in the oven. Bing Crosby drifts into them and she bursts into tears. He drops the peppermint and draws her into his arms.

 

“I miss her too babe.” She nods, her face buried in his neck. He pats her back and hopes that his own present for her will be well  received.

 

After a joyful chaotic time with all the Balfes and Heughans, they find a spot of peace in midnight mass. Chrissy gives her son a wink as they get ready to part. Yes, his present for her daughter-in-law is ready. He winks back.

 

They wake languidly the morning of the nativity. Snow falls outside their Scottish windows. He grins at her. “Happy Christmas, babe.”

 

“Happy Christmas.” They kiss and then head to the tree and the presents waiting there. They exchange presents. First are the ones they know about. Ugly sweaters, matching, a tradition. On boxing day they wear them out as they walk about their neighborhood.  She gifts him with a new watch, he gives her a ring. Now comes the special ones.

 

“Me first, please. I have been looking forward to giving you this for weeks.” She requests.

 

“Okay babe.” He  agrees even though his.. She hands him a small rectangular box. He lifts the lid and stares, without understanding, at first. Then he gets it and looks up from the stick with the blue cross on it, with eyes full of wonder.  “Cait, does this mean..?”

 

“Yes papa. We are pregnant!”  He woops and draws her to him. They are both crying. He almost forgets. If the present  herself, didn’t remind him.  “Am I losing it or am I hearing a meow?”

 

“You are.” He stands, on shaking legs, she is pregnant! They are having a baby!, and walks over to the animal crate, hidden behind the couch. “Meet Mistletoe. Missy, meet mammy.” He carries the small crate over. The big eyed kitten looks at her new mammy, who’s eyes are full of tears of joy. “I ken Eddie can’t be replaced but I thought..”

“She is perfect Sam. Simply perfect.” She removes the kitten out of her crate. “Hello Mistletoe. I shall spoil you rotten.” Sam laughs as he encloses his family in his arms.

“As I will your gift, Cait.” She sighs in contentment as she rests against him. It is their best Christmas together until the following one, where their baby joins them.

[renee-writer]

Tiny Baby Chapter 1 Birth

A/N A request by @omgbarbiegurl that I have been thinking about for awhile. As Chasing Waves will be on a week's hiatus, as my co-writer @farmerscats spends time with family, I thought now a good time to start it. As always, let me know what you think.

AO3

She thinks about him. Her husband. As the pain, the to early pain, runs through her, she thinks about the way he would kiss her stomach, gently cradle it, pray over her. She says her own prayers as the contractions rack her. To early, runs through her mind as the pains get closer together. If only the fool would have listened to her. No, she can’t really say that. It was herself that put Frank before her family now.

Now will her child pay for it? There seems to be no way it wouldn’t, born so early in this time. The nuns would do all they could but..

“Oh God, please don’t punish our child for our sins.” She prays over and over as she feels the contractions reach their peak and the urge to push overtake her. All she can do is give in.

She must have passed out. When she comes to, all give her sober looks. “My baby! Where’s my baby?”

The Mother Superior herself comes over. “Child, your daughter is such a tiny thing. You need to name her so we can baptize her. I fear she will be with the angels soon.”

“Give her to me.” The tiny body is placed in her arms. She looks down at the tiny face, her blue eyes, so like her daddy’s, her red hair, just like down on her head. Her breathing is fast and her mama can feel her heartbeat under her hands. She lives, for now.

They hadn’t discussed a lass’ name. Jamie had been sure it would be a lad. “Julia Ellen Faith Fraser.” She tells the waiting nuns.

She is baptized in her Mama’s arms. Claire won’t let her go. Little Julia may not be with her long. As long as she is, her mama will hold her.

She gives her, her body heat, loosening her bodice to hold her up against her bosom. She is shocked when the tiny mouth starts rooting.

“Try to feed her Claire.” She is advised.

She guides her mouth carefully over to her nipple. A squeeze gets the colostrum flowing and the tiny baby starts to nurse.

The nuns are shocked. They all thought that the baby would have died. It is still a possibility. But for now, Claire nurses her first born.

Julia survives the night and the stunned nun’s send her home. Fergus comes with the carriage.

He carefully helps her and the petite fillé out.

“Mílady will she survive?” he asks.

‘Well Fergus, she has so far. We will pray she continues.”

“Mílady, I will pray hard. It is my fault Mílord fought the bad man.” He confesses.

“Oh no Fergus..”

“No Milady, it is. If I hadn’t screamed. It just hurt so bad.”

“Good God!” Claire whispers as her son weeps against her as he tells of his rape by that bastard Black Jack. The baby holds on, nursing as she comforts her brother.

“It is his fault, that horrible man’s. Not yours and not Jamie’s.”

A week passes, then another. Julia slowly gains weight. Her hair thickens. Her mama holds her constantly, sure her own heart beat keeps her alive.

She and Murtach work to get Jamie released. The testimony of Fergus, against Black Jack Randall, helps. The man survives his gelding via Jamie’s sword and is ordered out of the country. Six weeks after he is thrown in prison, Jamie is finally released. All he knows is that his child was delivered. He, like his wife, assumed the child would die.

He carries himself inside, head down. The weight of causing his child’s death weighs him down.

He finds his wife sitting in the parlor. He falls down beside her. “Do you hate me?” he asks.

“No, Fergus explained what happened. I understand you were provoked.”

“But our child? How can you forgive what happened to our child?”

He hadn’t noticed the basket sitting beside her. Until she reaches inside it, that is. She draws Julia out. His mouth falls open.

“Meet your daughter, Julia Ellen Faith Fraser “

“She lives!”

“She does. A miracle, they say.”

“May I hold her?”

“Yes, of course.” She transfers the tiny lass. Tears fill his eyes as he cradles the tiniest live baby he has ever held.

“I wasn’t sure what to name her. We had barely discussed lads names. The nuns needed a name for the baptism. They really didn’t think she would live.”

“She must been so wee.”

“Yes she was. So wee that her skin was transparent.”

“Oh. A very big miracle she is.” He looks down at his child. “Julia Ellen Faith Fraser. I love her name.”

[renee-writer]

Chasing Waves Chapter 1

A/N Happy New Year and welcome to @farmerscats and I's newest story. Jamie a surfer. Claire a reporter sent to interview him. He finds her beautiful. She finds him intriguing. Here we go..

AO3

“He will be cocky. They always are.” Claire Beauchamp sits, her feet crossed at the ankle, her arms crossed over her chest, and stares at her editor and best friend, Geillis Duncan. She has been a reporter for the Scottish Sun for close to ten years now and knows of which she speaks.

 

“Undoubtedly. Your job hen, is to get past that, to the real person under his professional persona.”

 

The he in question is raising surfer, Jamie Fraser. Scotland doesn’t boast many surfing champions and their paper had been lucky enough to be granted an interview with the lad. Geillis wants her best reporter on it and that is Claire.

 

“I will do my best.” Claire is resigned. Geillis gets her way and that is that. Besides, a lot of her fight was a part of her reputation, as Geillis also well knows. To peal the onion that was this bloke’s persona was a personal challenge. One she looks forward to.

 

A smirk from her editor. “I know you will.”

 

 

“You ken I hate the PR bullshite.” Jamie Fraser tells his Godfather and manager, Murtagh Fraser. “I don’t feel comfortable with it. I would rather be catching a wave.”

 

Murtagh understands. Jamie has been shy since childhood. He really only feels comfortable in the water. “I ken it well. I am nae nutter. The Scotland Sun wants to do a feature on you. Ye ken how important that is?”

 

He nods. He understands it is just he fears saying something that will make him seem a clodheid. Reporters always made him nervous. He had never made a shambles out of an interview but he constantly fears he will. “I will talk to him.”

 

Murtagh grins as he delivers the news. “Her. They are sending a lass out, an English woman.”

 

Jesus, Mary and, Joseph as if he wasn’t nervous enough! “A lass?”

 

“You will be fine. Just be yourself.”

 

She has the background and makes an outline, noting the history of the sport near the top. It will be combined with the surfer, Jamie Fraser’s personal  surfing history and, she sincerely hopes, a bit of his personal history too. The Scottish Sun is no rag. They don’t search for the rubbish on their featured people but a bit of color is always helpful.

 

Gathering up her notebook and recorder, she heads off to meet her newest interviewee. She is meeting him at Stoer Bay.  The drive takes a good hour. During that time she tries to line up her questions. She finds it helps to have an idea what to ask and, more important, the sequence to ask them.

 

A lass. A bloody lass. The only lass he has ever been able to be himself around is his sister, Jenny. Now he is to impress this reporter, Claire Beauchamp. He paces up and down the shore line, his mind struggling to calm his racing heart. The waves are beautiful and he longs to be riding the face of one instead of…

 

“Jamie Fraser?” her accent is a mix of English and several other things. He stops pacing and turns. Then totally loses himself. For she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

 

He is taller then she expected with amazing curls, of chestnut color that seem more red in the sun. He turns when she calls him but doesn’t speak. “Jamie, I am Claire Beauchamp. I believe you are expecting me?” Still he stands, mouth slightly open. Goodness, is he a dullard?

 

Speak Jamie before you really throw a spanner in the works. She is already looking at you like you’ve nae sense! His mental arse kicking finally engages his mouth. “I am. I am sorry mistress. I didn’t expect someone so..” So what Jamie? You can’t say beautiful or she will think you a pervert. “Young.” He mental let’s out his breath.

 

“Well I thank you. I am not that young. You may call me Claire. May I call you Jamie?”

 

“Aye Claire.”

 

“Wonderful. We can do this one of several ways. We can sit down here.” She nods to the table, “Or we can walk the shore. Whatever you are more comfortable with.”

 

He chuckles. “I honesty Claire. I am more comfortable out in the water. But I doubt your little machine is water proof.”

 

She returns his chuckle. “Not that water proof or am I dressed for it.” She wears casual clothes, knowing she was doing an interview on the beach. Jeans, with a blue button down blouse, tucked in. Kicks on her feet. Her hair, a mane of dark circles that perpetually drive her crazy, are in a high tail.

 

“Aye, I see you aren’t.” He is. With swim trunks and a t-shirt that clings to his muscles, he is the picture of a healthy Viking male.

 

“No. So here or..”

 

“Let’s walk.” She thought as much. He seems the type that needs to be active. They start out. She asks him how he came to enter the sport. “By pure accident. My da gifted me with a boogie board when I was five. By the end of the summer, I was riding small waves with it. Riding the faces just came natural. Like I was born to surf.”

 

She has her title. “Born to surf.” Or so she thinks at the time. “So you went from a boogie board to a surf board when?”

 

“I was ten and two. My da keep gifting me with bigger boards until he saw I needed the real thing. Saved up for half a year. For my birthday he gave it to me.”

 

“What a wonderful gift.”

 

“Aye, I wish he could have seen me use it. Before I could get in the water, he was felled by a stroke. It came out of nowhere.”

 

She stops, dumb for a moment. That wasn’t in any of the background she had looked up on him. He stops beside her, looking down and kicking at the sand. Now why had he told her that? He hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t a secret it just wasn’t discussed. “I am truly sorry Jamie.” A shrug as he continues to examine the sand.

 

“Twas a long time ago.”

 

“Eleven years. Not so long.” She was right. It wasn’t. The ache he feels when he thinks about him.. Murtagh had done his best and Jenny saw that he was raised as right as she could but..

 

“I started competitive surfing when I was thirteen. Won several competitions before I finished upper school.” His head is back up and he is walking again. Moving on. Alright.

 

“Did it become your life or is there something or someone else that occupies your time?”

 

He grins as he looks out at the ocean. The waves are stunning. A sigh as he turns back to Claire. “Chasing waves is the majority of my life but there are two lasses that own me heart and soul. Maggie and Kitty.” Now he is referring to his nieces but doesn’t make that clear. Murtagh wants him to have more of a ladies man persona.

 

“Do the ladies have knowledge of each other?”

 

He grins slyly as he prepares to stretch the truth a bit more. “Well Maggie is aware of Kitty but Kitty isn’t aware of Maggie.” Or anyone else as she is only a week old.

 

“Living dangerously Jamie.”

 

“I am a surfer. It is in my blood.”

 

“Anyone else or is it just those two? No ladies on each shore?”

 

“Those are the two I love.” Oh Jenny will want to kill him for using her lassies such but, he doesn’t wish to straight out lie.

 

It is enough to get her started. Unlike some of her colleagues, she doesn’t like to do long, drawn out interviews. She prefers short, quick ones, ones that keep her subjects on edge. The last one she will do, will tie everything together. That will be long. It is a surprise to Jamie when she announces that is it for today. A welcome one. Now he doesn’t have to keep telling little half truths. One reason he dislikes interviews.

[renee-writer]

To Dance with My Daughter

A/N For Father's Day, an idea from @farmerscats, Bree teaching Jamie a modern dance, the mashed potato, on her wedding.

“It is easy da.” He turns his head and frowns. The lass wishes to teach him a dance from her time. He barely kens dances from his time. “I promise.

Her wedding day and she wishes a dance with her daddy. How can he deny her. “Alright lass, tell me what to do.” In the shadows, he sees Claire, holding Jeremiah. Crips! He prays he doesn’t make a fool out of himself in front of her. She just smiles.

“Okay da, watch my feet.” She places her left foot tilted up, behind her right foot. She then swivels her foot, from the ball, her heel swivels out, causing her waist to turn. She repeats the process with the other foot. “See, it is a type of twist, of the hips.”

He frowns but tries it, managing not to get his feet tangled. She laughs and corrects his stance a bit. “Like this?” he tries again.

“There you go. Your kilts should swing.”

They work it again and again until he gets the hang of it. Forgetting his inhabitations, he dances side by side with his daughter. It isn’t how h imagined dancing with her, but, then again, he never dared to imagine, dancing with her. On her wedding day or any other.

He hears Claire and Jemmy laugh from the shadows. He and Bree are laughing too as they do the mashed potato. Who care how silly he looks. He is dancing with his daughter.

[renee-writer]

An Inheritance Chapter One

AO3

A/N This one came to me yesterday as I was playing one of the games on my tablet. As Lost is heading to a finish, it seems the right time to start it. @farmerscats and I have a collaboration story we will be starting the first of the year also. So, lots to look forward to. 😁😁😁😁

She is a city girl. How she ends up here, standing in front of an old farm house, kilometers away from a store or any other sign of civilization, she doesn’t fully understand. Uncle Lamb, of course. This property was his. He intended to restore it, turn it into something when the stroke took him. She still can’t believe he is dead. More then an uncle, he was father and mother to her after her own parents passed. There is no one else she would think of living in the country for. But, this place had been his dream and now it is hers. She had inherited it and all his other processions. With a trembling breath of apprehension, she walks up to the front door and inserts the key. A turn, a push, a step, and she is inside.

 

A layer of dust greets her. She fans it away, placing the handkerchief she had brought for this, up over her nose and mouth. She looks around. Structurally it looks sound but, she knows she will need an inspector out to make sure. Then a cleaning crew.  A few more steps in as she examines the old wood that makes up the walls and floors. Nice. The banister framing the stairs, lacks a few poles. She walks up it gingerly. The stairs she finds solid, to her relief.

 

The upstairs hosts three bedrooms and a bath. There is also a small office. Perfect. She will use it to keep up with her work while supervising the restoration.  She claims the bedroom closed to it and the bath. A chuckle that echoes through the empty space. “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, you could claim any. This is all yours.” Her voice, breaking the silence, is a bit freaky. She makes a note to get some music in here and pronto.

 

“All mine. Now what shall I do with it?” she thinks as she inspects the empty rooms. Uncle Lamb envisioned a bed and breakfast maybe a wedding venue. But he planned to live here full time. Retired. Claire was a health care administrator and couldn’t see given that up to run a B &B.

 

“First things first, inspection and cleaning.” She walks back downstairs and checks out the kitchen. She admits it would be big enough for what Uncle Lamb planned. A six burner stove, two full ovens, an island in the middle, with a breakfast nock carved out by a sunny window, the kitchen flows into a big dining room. It has a table that seats twelve. The table, wooden like most things here, is also covered in a layer of dust. The chairs cushions will need cleaned.

 

The loo downstairs contains a surprise. A claw foot tub. It needs a good scrub like all else here. “You shall be first. We shall clean you out and I shall have a nice soak.” She turns on the tap, and after a few seconds of gurgling, it runs strong and hot. Excellent.

 

After looking over the inside, she decides to check out the land.  Walking around the back, she is impressed by the sheer size of the land  that flows out. She knew from the deed it was fifty acres but, that meant little to her. She lives in a small flat in London. Fifty acres in the highlands of Scotland couldn’t be pictured, not until she saw it.

 

“Impressive, isn’t she?” She is jerked out of her thought by the Scottish male burr. Turning, she makes eye contact with his chest, looking up, and up some more, she sees his face. Handsome, with a smile, framed by amazing chestnut curls. “Sorry ma’am, I didn’t mean to startle you. I am Jamie Fraser, your neighbor. Lallybroch,” He points to the manor house to the right of them, “is my family’s.”

 

 

She takes a careful step back. “How do you do? I am Claire Beauchamp. My Uncle Lamb bought this and I inherited it at his passing.”

 

He lowers his head. “Aye, sorry for your lose Mistress Beauchamp. Lambert was a good man. We got to know each other some when he was purchasing Leoch.”

 

“Leoch?”

 

He gives a smile that lifts up half his lips. “Aye. That is her name. She was once owned by a distance relative of mine on my mam’s side, a Mackenzie. She was named after Castle Leoch, that they once ruled. The remains of it still exist. Sorry. When it comes to history, I could talk all day. I just wanted to come and introduce myself as we are to be neighbors.” He put his hand out and she took it a bit, reluctantly. Weariness for strangest was built into her city persona. A country girl she is now though, at least until the house, Leoch, is sorted. His grip is stronger and confident. He squeezes, shakes and, let’s go.

 

“It was nice to meet you Mr. Fraser. I have quite a lot of work to do.”

 

“Aye,” He starts to back away, “If you need anything, just call out.”

 

“Thank you.” He heads back towards Lallybroch and she towards the old barn.

[renee-writer]

Motherhood

A/N Many thanks to the talented artist that made the picture found in the mood board and for @farmerscats for finding it and for the idea. Thank you to the moms, mum's, mam's, grandma's, step-momma, foster mom's, single dad's doing both, aunt's, mom's of fur babies, and our moms in heaven, Happy Mother's day. This one's for you.

AO3

She paces outside the door as she waits to reenter the room where her daughter labors. Jamie watches her, his eyes large at the sound of his daughter ‘s cries.

“Are you sure that she is going to be alright?”

It takes her a moment to focus on him. “Yes, it is perfectly normal.”

“Mama!” her cry has Claire turning and hurrying to her. She stops when she sees he isn’t joining her.

“Come Jamie.”

He turns pale. “She didn’t call me.”

Brianna answers that by screaming out louder. “Mama, da! I need you!” Claire arches her eyes and Jamie follows her on shaky legs. He had told his wife once that he can bare pain but not hers. That, he discovers, goes a hundred percent more when it comes to his daughter. When he sees her withering around on the big bed. Claire is a wonder. She goes over to her, taken her hands.

“I know my love. I am her. We are.”

Her lip trembles. “I fear dying, mama. This pain doesn’t seem survivable.”

Jamie breaks his paralysis and comes over to her, taken a seat beside her and her hand. “Ye shan’t die. Not as long as I am here. I swear it.”

It is the longest day of their life as his women, these incredibly brave lasses, walk around the room. His daughter stops, moaning low as he does as he can, pressing on her back. She swears worse then Claire, screams loud enough to shake the room, and shakes in his and her Mama’s arms.

Motherhood, hard earned, comes slowly as the sun reaches each peak and starts to go down. His wife gets firm with her when she gets to the point where she feels like giving up. She is gentle when the pains cause Bree to weep helpless in her arms. He is awed by them both.

“Mama, I need to push!” He tries to ease out then but,. “No da! You promised that I wouldn’t die as long as you are here. You must stay.”

So he finds himself holding her up as Claire sits between her legs as she grunts and pushes. Her face gets as red as her hair and he reminds her to breath. No, he will never refer to lasses as the weaker sex again. Blowing out hard, she goes again.

“That is it, my love, just like that.” She is as calm as can be, while he forces himself not to shake. “A bit more. The head is almost out.” How can she be so calm! Their baby girl is becoming a mam right in front of them;

“Oh I can’t . It hurts to much.” She moans, her head failing against his chest.

“Brianna Ellen, you are doing it! Now mo mighean, just a bit more. I’ve ye and naught will happen to ye or the bairn.”

He feels her pull in a deep breath before pressing down again. A few minutes later comes the most amazing sound, the wail of a newborn.

“It is a lad. A strong little boy.” Claire announces. He hears the relief in her voice.

“Oh, my son! Give him to me.” Jamie has the incredible experience of seeing his daughter become a mother when his Sassanch places their grandson in her rms.

Later, when they are cleaned and tucked into bed, as his daughter cuddles her son, he holds his exhausted wife up. Tears fall down his eyes as he watches her and as he watches the gentle look on Claire’s face. Motherhood in all her beauty was in the room. He was just a privileged observer. The real strength that keeps him going, that will keep his grandson going, is in the power of their lasses hands.

[renee-writer]

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