Диана Гэблдон - Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone

JAMIE REMEMBERED THE FIRST Quaker wedding he’d attended, vividly. It had been in Philadelphia, in a Methodist church, and the congregation had consisted largely of Friends—the sort who were for liberty—plus a couple of English soldiers in full-dress uniform, though Lord John and the Duke of Pardloe had tactfully left their swords at home. The service had been unique, and he thought the same was likely to be the case today.

The most striking thing about this one was the number of children present. There were two benches at the head of the Meeting House, with the entire Higgins family seated on one, and all of the Hardmans on the other. Bree and Roger sat down front, Brianna with wee Davy in her arms. Fanny, Jem, Amanda, Tòtis, Germain, Joanie, and Félicité (so aptly called Fizzy) were squirming on the bench in front of Claire and himself, presumably on the theory that a soft but menacing clearing of the throat on his part would ensure restraint on theirs. He hummed a bit, low in his chest, to make sure his voice was in good order, and saw Jem and Germain stiffen slightly. Good.

His breastbone still hurt when he took a deep breath, but he could take a deep breath, and he thanked God for that.

He’d walked all the way to church. Slowly, and his left knee hurt like the devil, but his heart was light. He was alive, he could walk, Claire was beside him, and death was once more a matter that he needn’t fash himself about.

Bobby Higgins abruptly stood up, and the congregation hushed instantly.

“I thank you all for comin’ here today,” he said, but it came out squeaky and he cleared his throat audibly and repeated it, nodding to the congregation. His face was flushed—he was very shy, and no orator—but he stood steady and held out his hand to Silvia, who was pale but poised. She stood, took his hand, and turned to the congregation herself.

“As Robert says, we thank thee for coming,” she said simply.

“I’ve not done this before,” Bobby said to her. “You’ll maybe need to guide me.”

“It’s not difficult,” Patience Hardman said, encouragingly.

“No,” Prudence agreed. “All thee has to say is that thee marries her.”

“Well, but he has to say he’ll feed her—well, us—doesn’t he?” Prudence put in. “And protect us?”

“He might say that,” Patience agreed dubiously. “But he doesn’t have to. ‘I marry thee’ is enough. Isn’t it, Mummy?”

Silvia had her eyes squinched shut and was rapidly turning as red as her husband-to-be.

“Girls,” she murmured. “Please.”

The ripple of amusement among the congregation died away. Bobby and Silvia looked at each other, away, faces flaming, then back. Aidan McCallum stood up from the bench and walked up beside his stepfather. Aidan was thirteen and nearly as tall as Bobby.

“It’s all right, Da,” he said, and turning round he beckoned to his younger brothers, who scrambled up beside him. He beckoned to the Hardman girls, who looked at one another in question, then came to a silent agreement and stood up, too.

“We’re going to marry you,” Aidan said firmly to the girls. “All of us are marrying all of you. Will you— Oh, sorry, will thee all marry us all?”

“We will!” Patience and Prudence said together, beaming. Patience bent down and murmured to Chastity, who turned her cherubic, beaming face on Rob, said loudly, “I mawwy thee!” and, toddling over, clutched him round the middle. “Kith me!” she added, and standing on tiptoe, planted a loud “Mwah!” on his cheek.

It was some time before order was restored.

Jamie’s half-healed sternum hurt amazingly, and he was not the only member of the congregation who had laughed themselves to tears. He found that he couldn’t stop, though. Claire handed him a clean handkerchief and he buried his face in it, remembered grief and present joy and fear and peace all spilling out like cold, pure water.

EVERYONE CAME DOWN the hill to the New House, where we’d unpacked the baskets the women had brought and laid out the rudiments of the wedding feast before leaving for the Meeting House. Now the kitchen was organized—mostly—chaos, as we rushed to slice fruit and meat and pie and bread, to shake the butter from its molds and ladle bowls of jelly and ketchups and sauces and drizzle honey over the roasted yams and chestnuts.

Jamie, Roger, and Young Ian had brought down three barrels of the two-year-old whisky, and Lizzie and Rachel had made enough beer to drown an army of thirsty moose; I hoped it would be enough.

I caught a glimpse of Mandy by the window, her curls tied up with a blue silk bow, earnestly poking bits of food into Chastity’s mouth like a mother robin feeding her brood, though Chastity was quite old enough to eat with a spoon by herself. I smiled and looked round for the other girls, only to find them under my nose, earnestly shoveling succotash into several large wooden bowls, chattering like magpies.

“You’re so lucky,” Fanny was saying, envy in her voice. “ Three brothers! I’ve never had so much as one!”

Prudence and Patience were quite beside themselves, pink with excitement under their new starched caps, and both laughed at this.

“We will share them with thee, Frances,” Patience assured her. “Especially Rob.”

“And we will be thy sisters,” Prudence added kindly. “Thee shall not lack for family.”

I saw Fanny’s face change and she looked down to hide it, realizing only then that she had accidentally dropped a spoonful of butter beans and corn onto the table, instead of into the bowl.

“God damn it!” she said. Prudence and Patience gasped, and I stepped forward, meaning to make intervention, but Patience blinked, suddenly catching sight of something, and I turned to see what she was looking at.

The Crombies had not come to the wedding, feeling that people marrying each other without benefit of clergy was, if not ungodly, at least slightly immoral. Roger had pointed out to them that a Quaker ceremony was essentially the same thing as handfasting, which as Highlanders they abided. To which Hiram had riposted that handfasting was necessary when there was no minister to be had, in order to prevent outright sin and illegitimate children, but as the Ridge had a minister at present, how was it that Mr. MacKenzie was not personally offended at this refusal of his services?

Rachel had sent Ian up to tell the Crombies that they were more than welcome to come to the wedding feast afterward, even if they didn’t feel they could sanction the meeting at which the marriage occurred, but I’d doubted that any of them would.

And most of them hadn’t. Cyrus, however, was now hovering in the kitchen door, his eyes fixed resolutely on Fanny, despite the rich blush on his cheeks. He was dressed in his best Sunday clothes, with what had to be Hiram’s ancient but well-tended dark-blue plaid over his shoulder, and his hair braided formally over each ear.

“Er …” I took the spoon from Fanny’s hand and nodded toward Cyrus, who had a small package wrapped in a linen napkin in one hand. “Why don’t you take Cyrus to give his congratulations to the happy couple?”

Fanny was as scarlet as Cyrus by this time, but she tidied her cap, brushed down the front of her good white dress with the blue and yellow embroidery, and went to meet him with every evidence of self-possession.

“Ooh,” said Patience, with respect. “Is he Fanny’s … suitor ?”

“Does Friend Jamie approve of this?” Prudence asked, frowning at them. “Fanny’s too young for such things, is she not?”

“She’s got her courses,” Patience said, with a shrug. “She told me.”