Flood my Mornings: History and Proper Usage
This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List
Previous installment: Every Day and Everything (Claire gets a letter from Frank).
“OH!!! Oh, honey, you scared the bejeezus out of me!!!!”
Jamie had nearly come out of his skin, himself, at the skelloch that had greeted his entry through the front door moments before. In fact, he’d reached instinctively for the absent dirk at his belt, feeling an irrational but deep-rooted panic at finding it two hundred years gone.
Even so, he recovered quickly and hastened into the living room. “I’m terribly sorry to have startled you, Penelope,” he said, stooping to retrieve the knitting Ms. Byrd had dropped onto the floor.
“Oh, nothing to fret over, Mr. Jamie,” she said, breathing heavily with her hand over her bosom, but smiling now, eyes crinkled with affection. “It’s just I wasn’t expecting–” She checked the clock on the wall, a flicker of alarm crossing her face once more. “Goodness, it’s only 3:00! Is everything alright. Are you getting sick again? Do you need the doctor?”
“Och, no, dinna fash, a nighean,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Hank (the farmhand with whom I ride to Fernacre, ken?) had an appointment wi’ a Dentist in town for 4 o’clock that he’d forgotten ‘til the last moment. Rather than find me someone else to get a ride with, Tom said just to take the rest of the afternoon ‘for myself.’”
He gave a small shrug. “I’m no’ accustomed to being at my leisure, to be honest… but I wagered you wouldna mind me taking Brianna off your hands for few hours? I was thinking we’d go to the park, perhaps. It’s a fine day for it,” he said, gesturing toward the bay window behind the sofa, which showed the hot, blue day beyond.
Penelope’s face twisted with regret. “Oh, Mr. Jamie, little Bree’s just gone down for a nap. Normally, she’d be waking up right about now, and typically I’d say you could wake her in any case, but, OH, she was ornery as all get-out the whole day, so I really think waking her would be a bad idea, and–”
Jamie cut off this stream of anxious apology and assured Penelope it was no great thing, that she was perfectly correct that the lass needed rest; but in truth he was disappointed. He enjoyed the work at Fernacre and was very glad of it, but he missed his wee lass all the more for being gone from her during the day.
“What can I make for you?” Penelope said, bustling toward the kitchen with the conviction of a woman who knows for a fact that good food can cure anything.
“Please dinna trouble yourself,” he called, following her in haste to prevent her preparing a restorative four-course meal for him. “Truly, I’m not all that hungr—”
“Nonsense,” she said firmly, already preparing a plate for him. “Chocolate chip banana bread fresh from the oven. Warmed with honey butter, it can’t be beat, if I do say so myself!”
“You’re a verra stubborn woman, Penelope.” He took the proffered plate, bending to kiss the dear lady’s weathered cheek. “And if ye ever should leave us, the Frasers would all shrivel up in despair.”
He ate standing in front of the living room bookshelf (she was right—the sweet bread couldn’t be beat, warm and soft, dotted with wee morsels of chocolate) perusing Claire’s collection of a dozen or so books. Most of these were novels, and almost all published in the eighteenth century. Treasure Island. A Tale of Two Cities. Pride and Prejudice. Jane Eyre. He checked once more to be sure. Aye, he’d read them all, now.
“Does Claire keep books anywhere else in the house?” he asked hopefully, poking his head back into the kitchen.
“Not that I know of,” Penelope said, after considering for a moment. “But the library is only four blocks away, if you want something new.”
“Oh, aye?” Jamie said, perking up considerably at that. “I didna realize there was a university so close.”
“No, no, just the local public library,” she said, laughing as she dried her hands on a towel. “Do they not have those in Scotland?”
Jamie could have died a happy man, standing there in the public library. So many books, on every topic imaginable, all beautifully bound and organized. He walked around in awe, reading the placards that denoted the sections.
The history aisles drew him at once, promising knowledge of all of recorded time, of all corners of the world. Asia. Africa. Islands of the Pacific Ocean whose names he’d never heard. Countless volumes having to do with northern Europe: Sweden, the lowlands, France, England, Ireland….Scotland…
His fingertips hovered over the spine of Culloden and the Clearances: the Destruction of Highland Culture in the 18th-19th Centuries.
On and on the aisles went. Literature. Science. Periodicals. Children’s books. It was a small building, but it must have housed thousands upon thousands of tomes. A posting in the entry hall had boasted dozens of libraries throughout the Boston area. The sheer wealth of knowledge available to any person that cared to walk a few paces from his home to inquire after it…
But dinna let your eyes outstrip your wallet, man.
“Begging your pardon, miss,” he said to the nearest employee, who was occupied with restocking the shelves, “Might you be so kind as to direct me toward a price schedule?”
She looked puzzled for a moment, no doubt surprised by his unusual accent, then she smiled back. “A library card is ten cents, sir.” She gave a kind nod of the head and turned back to her work.
“And the volumes?” Jamie pressed patiently, “What is the rental fee per book, if ye please?”
She gave him a look of dumbfounded amusement, speaking slowly (but in no way mocking) as though to a young child. “Well, once you have the card, you can check out any book for free.”
Jamie stared at her, now he the dumbfounded one. “Truly?”
“Yes, of course!” she laughed. “As many as you want… as long as you bring them back in two weeks.”
Good God, what a time this was…. when ten cents gives a man access to practically all useful knowledge of the known world.
An hour later, when the same kind lass assisted him with purchasing a library card and stamping the books he’d chosen, she gave him a bemused look (something of a specialty with her, it seemed). “You’ve got quite the selection here!”
He had limited himself to a half-dozen books for this excursion, including: The Industrial Revolution: how the nineteenth century changed the world; The World Wars: (1914-1946); and Recent Innovations in Communication Technology. She placed Flora and Fauna of South America in the paper bag she’d been kind enough to provide for him. “Are you going on vacation or something?”
“No,” he said with a smile, handing her the final tome (a novel, with the most intriguing title of Journey to the Center of the Earth), “it’s just that I’ve a verra great many things to learn.”
As Jamie passed the park on his way back to the house, he checked the wristwatch that Claire had bought for him: nearly 5:00. Claire would be home soon…but he was far too excited to wait.
He sat on a park bench and reached into his sack for the book he’d been most elated to find: The Automobile: its History and Proper Usage (1949 edition).
He flipped through the pages hastily. He would come back to read about the events of the machine’s invention later; the only one thing he wished to learn about at present began on page 68.
The carburetor is fitted with an automatic choke which correctly proportions
the fuel mixture during the starting and warm-up period.
1. Place gear shift lever in neutral position.
2. Depress clutch pedal, and–
He felt his enthusiasm being stabbed by the tremors of doubt such novelties always provoked in him at first meeting. The words on the page might as well have been a foreign language to him.
“But no harder than Latin or Greek or Hebrew, Fraser,” he muttered sternly to himself. “And ye didna learn those save by study and hard work.”
He removed the small notebook from his pocket and opened to the most recent entry. It was naught but a few lines jotted down in the men’s room after the lunchtime conversation with Tom and some of the other lads; a conversation during which he’d nodded and said a great deal of “Aye, certainly,” but kept quiet:
America’s President: Trueman (sp?)
President= powerful minister in lieu of king; elected by the peoples’ vote; only keeps power for (x) yrs [ask Claire]
He’d been making notations in the wee book for the past several weeks, now, taking care to write always in Gaelic against the possibility that his notes should be discovered and raise questions that had no answer. It was the only way he knew to chip away at the overwhelming immensity of things to be learned, and so far, it had helped tremendously.
Jamie turned to a new page, and utilized the book’s glossary to make sense of page 68.
Carburetor: “a device in an internal combustion engine for mixing air with a fine spray of liquid fuel” ((no apparent relation to the driving of vehicle just makes the thing move; same for “choke”))
Gear shift lever: “Should always be placed in neutral position before starting engine. Raise knob and move lever forward for reverse gear and rearward for low gear. Move lever to neutral, depress and slide forward for second gear and rearward for high gear.” ((found on right-hand side of steering wheel))
With a small laugh, and with the remembered reek of what the three Americans had called “weed” in his nostrils, he jotted a title at the top of the section:
Horseless wagon of certain death.
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