“I’m obsessed with acting, but my first love was dance. Dance is so exacting. Acting is more liberating in a way—there’s no one right way. Dance taught me what hard work really is: I’m grateful for that disicipline. I know that whatever comes at me, I can handle it—that’s my secret weapon.” –Sonoya Mizuno for Uniqlo Sport
Tears spilled over, and I wiped them away angrily. Not again—not ever again.
I’d instinctively grabbed my mobile to get an Uber before I remembered there was no signal. Bloody fuck. I thought to my original plan to get a castle employee to call me a cab, and was just about to search for one when Jamie burst through the ballroom doors, frantically pulling his hands through the beautiful red mop of hair.
No, it’s not beautiful, you can’t think like that anymore, Beauchamp.
He spotted me immediately and I ran again, clumsily pulling up the hem of my dress.
“Sassenach—would you listen to me, please, it’s no’ what ye think—”
A/N: It’s a mid-week update! I am loving all the great comments that this story is receiving. Thanks SO much for reading! So many great questions, too, all of which will be answered. Some in the next chapter, some along the way after that. Stay tuned! After all, this is J&C…y’all know how they always end up. lol!
Several have remarked upon how quickly the marriage is happening. In the old west (think pretty much anything west of the Mississippi), women were not plentiful. In fact, most men headed west to make their fortune in some way or other, lured by the promise of land in the land rushes when Indian Territory was opened for purchase. Our own land was part of that just prior to the Civil War (we have the original deed that shows that…it’s interesting to look at).
As men settled their acreage, they often sent for wives in the East who were looking to escape the city life (or their families) or who were considered “old maids” or widows in their mid to late 20′s. These marriages of convenience were often business arrangements, rather than love matches. The men offered them marriage and homes. The women offered them help on the farm and someone to do the cooking and cleaning. And to be honest, they offered them the chance to start a family and provide more help around the farm.
Things usually moved rather quickly because, even in those times on the frontier, scandal was still scandal. It wasn’t seemly to shack up with someone. Many “mail order brides” met their husbands for the first time at the alter.
So that leaves us with Claire being caught red-handed in a room that held a cradle and a rocking chair. On with the story…..
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Claire put a hand to her heart that was beating right out of her chest. “Jamie! You startled me!”
“I’m sorry. I was just calling ye. Ye didnae answer. Will and Mary are here.”
“Oh. I was just…just…well, I was just tidying things up and looking around the house. I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy.”
“I have nothin’ tae hide, Sassenach. Come on down and meet my brother and his wife.”
Nothing to hide, eh? Claire couldn’t guess what the cradle and rocking chair were for, but she sensed now wasn’t the right time to get into it.
Standing in the dark, my back against the exposed brick, my hands by
my side, palms against the wall. I’m warmed by your touch, the stone
holding your body-heat. I breath in the smell of fresh paint and look
out into the dim auditorium.
Silence.
So quiet – you can hear the “tick, tick, tick” of a bold stage light
from the fly floor overhead. As the electricity passes through its
veins, bringing light to the raked stage. The audience hold their
breath, “listening” to the actress, spell-bound by her loss and sadness.
The “sound” of an audience “listening” sends a shock through my body,
like being caressed by a silent lover. You cradle the auditorium in your
arms. I am addicted to your embrace. I want you in my life forever and
have pursued you ever since.
We first met when I moved to Edinburgh aged 12. Preview nights were
free, under the condition, we the audience, knew that something could
and invariably would, go wrong. A stage manager poking their head from
behind the curtain or the house lights would spring on. A brief delay.
Each new production, I’d line up and receive my free ticket. The first
production I saw at the Lyceum was an adaptation of Merlin by Tom
McGrath (would love to re do this David, just saying!?) Powerful, dark
and sexy, the cast in modern army dress, they fought next to burning
braziers and burnt out cars. Live music wooed us from the gods. I
strained forward in my free seat and hung on every word, Arthur you
fool! A few years later I joined the Lyceum youth theatre, next door,
just yards away and almost within touching distance. If I couldn’t be on
your stage, at least I’d be next to you. I wanted more and decided to
dedicate myself to you, wearing your colours – black trousers and a
purple (or was it pink?) shirt. I became an Usher and found myself
sitting in the dark once again, admiring my favourite actors and
actresses, repeat the lines and rhythms yet always holding me in their
power. Matinees were a form of time-travel, an escape from reality, a
day spent with you, stopping time and escaping the daylight. It was
here, after a shift selling programmes and melted ice cream, I’d sneak
back into the plush red warmth and breath you in. Behind the boxes,
partly veiled, hidden by the soft light, your gold veined mural winked
at me. Alone in the space, I’d dare myself to walk to the stage edge and
look into your black mouth. Up to the gods, the lighting desk (no
Hamish), stories of the grey lady who haunted the upper circle. I love
your side passages, secret stairs and double doors. You had my heart now
and I was longer scared.
Months later, our relationship had grown, I found myself now sitting
on stage, at the same table as Macbeth (which is not to be
recommended!). Banquos ghost appeared, haunting him for the second time
that day. Macbeth hurled the fake clay drinking vessel into the wings
with fury. The lords at dinner, including myself, were bemused and
confused by MacB’s behaviour, whilst secretly sharing an update on the
live football game. A member of the youth theatre and aiming to go to
Drama school, I was lucky to be cast as “2nd spear-carrier” in several
productions at the Lyceum. Macbeth, The Shaughraun and Three Sisters –
it was here I would stand in the wings every night and watch Carolyn
Devlin prepare herself, then thrill the audience without using a word.
As she came off stage, cloaked by the dark, I would hope she would give
me a look. Somehow acknowledging the spell she had cast. Electric.
Thinking of you now, sitting there alone and quiet. I know you’re
just waiting. Not just for me but for the throng and mass of voices, wet
coats and torn tickets. The bell sounding shrill as the laughter and
murmur subsides. Passion and warmth filling your empty space. You’re the
heart of Edinburgh, for me, beating. I cant wait to be taken in by your
darkness again, as you comfort us in your embrace.
That’s pretty damn amazing.
Incredibly evocative, poetic and descriptive. A multi layered paean to what is probably his first love – the theatre.
Sadly, the cult of Jamie Fraser and Outlander, along with the Eye Candy promotion by Starz/LG/Sony/Parnell/Hirsch have reduced him in the public eye to a cardboard cut out of the person deep within
Tori