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magnoliasinbloom · 5 years

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The Midwife

AO3 :: Previously

The soreness was still there as I sat gingerly at the dresser, while one of Jared’s maids—Suzette—attempted to tame my hair into a semblance of matronly respectability. Jamie had nuzzled me awake, his mouth trailing kisses down my body and asking with pleading blue eyes for a repeat of the previous night.

“I ken once is enough to make it binding, but would ye mind verra much…”

I hadn’t minded.

Dressed in a cheery yellow dress, I thanked Suzette and made my way downstairs where Jamie was waiting for me. He had had to leave earlier to settle his affairs at the university and arrange for our passage out of France. His dazzling smile at the sight of me made me bashful, as he took my hand to help me down the last steps.

“Sassenach, ye look lovely.” His lips grazed my knuckles. “No longer my wee milkweed puff.” I recalled his words when he had tangled his fingers in my hair, the curls wild on the pillow. Desire kindled in my belly, and I remembered that Jamie was now mine to enjoy when I would. We would have that night, and every night after that.

“Suzette tried,” I said ruefully, touching the up-do carefully. “And it was kind of Jared to find me a dress more suitable for meeting your family.”

“I have something else for ye, Claire.” Still in his kilt, Jamie reached into his sporran and drew a small velvet sack. He tilted it and poured its contents into the palm of his hand. Bright pearls interspersed with gold roundels twined in his fingers. “These were my mam’s. I’ve had them since I left Lallybroch. They are meant for my wife, a bride gift.” He stepped behind me and laid the necklace around my neck, fastening it at the nape with a kiss. I touched the cool pearls, the significance of this gesture weighing on me like the ring on my hand. “Do ye like them?”

“They’re beautiful, Jamie. I shall treasure them always.” I turned my head, and caught his mouth. Jamie’s hands rested on the bodice of my dress, but with a sigh he pulled away, mindful of the time.

“Are ye ready then? We canna miss the tide.”

“We sail at noon. I can ask Mother Hildegarde for some seasickness remedies.” I was determined to continue my work as a healer, and Jamie fully supported this. We were going back to l’hôpital to gather my meager belongings; after that we would board a coach courtesy of Jared that would take us the port city of Le Havre. After that, we would be bound for England on another of Jared’s ships. Jamie dreaded this—he had admitted he suffered from crippling seasickness, but there was no other way across the channel.

We gripped hands tightly as we climbed the steps to the hospital entrance. He placed a kiss on my temple once inside, in the vaulted foyer; I could hear the hum and bustle of patients and healers down the stone hallway. We veered away from the main sick room and closer to Mother Hildegarde’s chamber. Jamie planned to thank the abbess and lay down our new plans, as well as leave a small donation to the convent for the keeping of l’hôpital.

Repeated knocks on her door were met with silence. I frowned. “Perhaps she is tending to a patient. Or at the convent. I shall pack my bag and ask one of the sisters where we can find Mère Hildegarde.”

“I will meet ye by the garden door, is that alright?”

“I won’t be long,” I promised. I watched the back of him briefly before turning to the passage leading to the novices’ cells. I stepped into my room, noting the bare plastered walls, the tiny bed, the dust motes floating in the shaft of sunlight from the window. I noticed everything for the last time, before I took my other old dress, a blanket, stockings, and small trinkets that had belonged to Maman from a small chest at the foot of the bed. I folded them inside the same burlap sack I had first brought them in, shutting the lid of the chest with a muted thump. With an air of finality, I bid farewell to the room and left.

Malva was waiting for me in the corridor.

I halted in my tracks, my heart beating hollowly in my chest. Fight or flight? I had no time to waste on the petite salope, and made up my mind to walk past her quickly and hope she did not try to stop me. Malva hadn’t uttered a word or attempted to get close to me. I held the sack in a white-knuckled grip, prepared to use it as a weapon if I had to. I met her eyes with as much steel as I could muster. I brushed against her shoulder when she spoke from behind me.

“I can smell him on you.”

Malva’s voice made my blood run cold. At the same time, white hot anger flared in the pit of my stomach. She had wilfully murdered a woman who had done no wrong—nothing but cross Malva’s path in her vendetta against me. I took a deep breath, turned to her, and slapped her with my left hand, forcefully. Her head rocked sideways, with a satisfying crack.

Malva faced me, hand to her cheek. My wedding ring had cut her, blood seeping slowly from the wound. Her grey eyes were pure hatred. She looked haggard and disheveled since the last time I had seen her. Her hands were dirty—something unacceptable in the Hôpital des Anges—and her apron stained.

My voice hissed across the silence in the narrow corridor. “Do not ever speak to me again. Good riddance, you murdering bitch.” I backed away, wary of turning my back on her after our confrontation. Malva could only stare, the palm of her hand dotted with blood. I hoped it left a scar. I hoped she would look at it every day and remember what she had done.

“Claire!” Sister Angelique’s voice rebounded from the stone ceiling. She turned the corner and found us, clutching her habit and out of breath. I noticed that Sister Angelique was not her usual impeccable self. Her wimple hung limply, covering half her head. Much like Malva, she had a worn-out expression on her face and had a handkerchief tied around her neck loosely. I recognized it as a face mask, a policy implemented by Mother Hildegarde years ago. The scent of vinegar permeated Sister Angelique, as she looked at me imploringly. “We need your help!”

* * *

“It’s smallpox.”

I found Jamie at the garden gate, stopping five steps shy of him. Sister Angelique had taken me to the main hospital sick room, filled with pallets of ill Parisians. After donning a face mask of my own, I had looked around me in horror. Many of them were sailors, but others civilians, a red rash covering what could be seen of their face and hands. Some were fevered, others vomiting into nearby clay basins. Sisters Minèrve and Celeste were also infected, lying side by side. And most frightening of all—Mother Hildegarde was among the sick, her broad and sweating form still beneath a woolen blanket.

“Smallpox?” Jamie’s brow furrowed as he tried to come closer. I jumped back and he stared at me in confusion. “What is it, mo nighean donn?”

“You—you shouldn’t touch me. I could be carrying the disease.” I swallowed hard. All round us, the garden lay dormant in hues of gray and brown, awaiting spring to bloom again.

“Not touch ye? Lass, we are bound for Scotland in mere hours!” Jamie said pleadingly, his hand outstretched, trying to bridge the gap between us. I clutched my hands inside my cloak tighter, the smell of vinegar steadying and familiar.

“I can’t Jamie. I… we can’t go to Scotland yet. I could make you sick, or the ship’s crew… we cannot risk it.”

Jamie was quiet, considering. “Ye say ‘yet’,” he responded finally, a resigned expression on his face. “When could we go?”

“I’ll need seven days. Then, if I am not ill, we can depart.”

“Seven days? Ye mean to stay, love?”

“Jamie, I am needed here. Mother Hildegarde is also ill.” Tears slipped unheeded, knowing what I must do. “Give me a week, so I can help the sisters. Go to Jared, and wait for me. You may already be infected, but if you are not, in one week we shall go to Scotland as planned. We cannot wait and also risk your uncle Dougal’s wrath.”

“I canna imagine Jared will be well pleased either,” he said with a brief smile. “He has already risked much by helping us.”

“’Tis the sailors who brought the illness here,” I replied with a shiver. “The same sailors Jared recommended come here to be healed spread the smallpox. We did not see what it was.” His look of horror helped steel my resolve. “It is my duty to help, Jamie. Please understand.”

He took a deep breath, resigned. “We can wait seven days. I understand this is who ye are, mo chridhe, and I would not for the world tell ye to be otherwise. But can I not stay here and help ye? Another pair of hands would be useful.”

I shook my head. “I would not risk your health, Jamie, or your life.”

“Ye risk yers, why not mine?”

“I need to know you are waiting for me, and that will be enough to get me through.” I was weeping openly now, fear coursing through me. This could go badly for me, but I had to put my faith in God and Maman’s memory and believe that we would prevail, and we would go to Scotland together.

“Malva, she’s a wicked woman, a murderer—”

“Do not worry. I will steer clear of her, and try to never be alone with her. I will be safe.” I drew a shaky breath. “And… you must promise not to come back to l’hôpital. It is dangerous, you could fall ill. Promise me, Jamie.”

Jamie reached me in three strides, despite me trying to push him away. He held me tightly to him, and I surrendered, gripping the back of his coat as though my life depended on it. “I promise lass, if it means this much to ye,” he whispered. This is what it felt like, to be torn between duty and love, and my heart ached, with the knowledge that I might not see him again.

“Ye will be safe. Ye have my name and my family, my clan, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well.” He kissed my hair, whispering words of comfort. “I will wait, Sorcha.” Light—Claire. “I love ye, dinna forget it.”

I set him firmly away from me. Jamie’s face was white and strained, what I was imagined a mirror image of my own. His eyes filled with yearning. With a final kiss to my hand—the one that wore his ring—he let me go. I made my way out of the garden, walking slightly hunched as though I were in great pain, as someone who knows she must keep moving, but feels her life and soul ebbing slowly away. I dared not turn around.

I prayed for the strength to let him go, if only for a little while, and not fall on my knees and beg him to stay or take me with him. Let me be brave enough, I prayed. Let me love him enough to see him away safe while I committed to my responsibility as a healer.

“Go wi’ God,” Jamie murmured behind me.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander au #jamie and claire #the midwife xv #dinna hate me

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