Chapter 25: Thou Shalt Not Suffer a Witch to Live (Part II)

In this half a chapter, important things happen, but let's talk about me instead.

Pardon my frustration at the end of the previous review. In part, I was annoyed by yet another poorly organized chapter. But I also wanted to split this review in half because this half of chapter 25 is meaningful to me personally, and I wanted to bracket it off.

Time to get confessional! Skip this entry if you don't like it when reviewers talk about themselves.

When I first saw Claire's confession in the Outlander TV series, I never imagined that I would relate to it personally. Then, my spouse came out to me as transgender. Out of nowhere. After eight years of marriage and two kids. I know it sounds like "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" levels of bullshit, but I really and truly had no idea. Things are ok between us. We are trying to make it work. But no joke, a gender transition in the middle of a marriage is a Big Fucking Deal.

Which is to say that I have been part of a dramatic coming out scene involving my beloved spouse in the very recent past, and I simply cannot read this scene in any other context. Jamie, man, I know we haven't always agreed, but I feel you here.

Rain pattered on the water, soothing my swollen face and the rope burns on my wrists.

Claire is in bad shape. Jamie patches her up as best he can, but she's both physically and emotionally battered.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, dabbling my nose on a corner of the plaid. "I—I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know why I can't stop crying."

Poor Claire. Jamie comforts her in his own way, which, per the usual, means talking about his own flogging. I guess it's nice that he has been through something similar? But maybe a little annoying that he always brings things back to himself?

"And when I stopped shaking, Sassenach," he said quietyly, "I thanked God for the pain, because it meant I was still alive." He let go, nodding at me. "When ye get to that point, lassie, tell me; for I've a thing or two I want to be sayin' to ye."

Blarg. On the one hand, I am not in the mood for Jamie scolding Claire for disobeying orders. Again. You can order people around as much as you like, Jamie, but so far, I haven't seen much evidence that your family members have any respect for your commands. Wheedling, charming, manipulating — that's what gets results.

On the other hand, lordy, do I know what it is like to stick a pin in your own concerns so that you can tend to a spouse in crisis. Even if I think Jamie's particular concern is a stupid one, I can give him the attaboy for triaging the situation and putting Claire's immediate needs first.

We learn that Alec, the Master of Horse, is the one who alerted Jamie to Claire's peril. Fuck Colum. Jamie goes off to hunt so they don't starve and Claire takes a nap. They roast some rabbits for dinner, which only reminds Claire of Geilie's death sentence. Then dark comes, and with it, revelations.

He sat staring into the fire for a long time. Finally he looked up at me, hands clasped around his knees.

Uh oh. I hate that moment of knowing that your spouse is working up nerve to say something. My spouse has a pretty reliable tell, a way of rubbing my knee in a particular pattern that never, ever means anything other than DANGER! DANGER!

"Claire, if you've never been honest wi' me, be so now, for I must know the truth. Claire, are ye a witch?"

Well, at least Jamie knows something is up.

"And if I were?" I asked through dry lips. "If you had thought I were a witch? Would you still have fought for me?"

"I would have gone to the stake with you!" he said violently. "And to hell beyond, if I must. But may the Lord Jesus have mercy on my soul and on yours, tell me the truth!"

This sounds nice, and all, but talk is cheap. I mean, yes, he did put himself between Claire and a mob, which is not nothing, but it's the sort of courage he has practice with. We're about to see if Jamie can handle the truth. Not everybody can.

Claire starts laughing hysterically, which is fair enough. Then, she starts rambling, covering topics such as her immunity to lockjaw, Jack Randall's birthday, and Hamish's paternity. Word vomit. Also, she calls Randall "John" — isn't he Jonathan?

Pro tip: If you ever need to come out to your spouse, cut out the page of incoherent rambling. It is best to lead with a short topic sentence. Be as clear as possible, and include only the essential information up top. For example, "I am a time traveler." You can fill in the details about your immunity to various diseases later on. Put yourself in your spouse's shoes; trying to process an impossible revelation is difficult enough when you don't have to wade through a sea of extraneous information. We haven't seen any of Jamie in these past few paragraphs, but I have a fair idea of what is going on in his mind. It only takes about half a second to imagine every possible worst case scenario, and that's usually covered in the pause between "I need to tell you something" and the straight-to-the-point revelation.

Finally, Claire gets enough a grip to say something intelligible:

"Do you know when I was born?" I asked, looking up. I knew my hair was wild and my eyes staring and I didn't care. "On the twentieth of October, in the Year of Our Lord nineteen hundred and eighteen. Do you hear me?"

That's still a bit wordy, but at least it's getting somewhere near the point.

"I hear," he said softly.

All this time spent hiding the truth, realizing that I could never tell anyone, and now I realized that I could tell Jamie, my beloved husband, the man I trusted beyond all others, and he wouldn't — he couldn't believe me.

As much sympathy as I have for Jamie in this situation, I have to point out that coming out is incredibly brave. Not knowing what your spouse will do, or even whether they will believe you at all, must be beyond wretched. It takes guts to tell the truth when the truth has so much potential to blow up your marriage and your safety.

I looked up at last, thinking that perhaps he had simply risen and left me, overcome by my revelations. He was still there, though, still sitting, hands braced on his knees, head bowed as though in thought. The hairs on his arms shone stiff as copper wires in the firelight, though, and I realized that they stood erect, like the bristles on a dog. He was afraid of me.

If I could say anything to Jamie in this moment, I would probably share a quotation that has been useful to me recently:

"Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom." - Viktor Frankl

Then, I would buy him a drink and commiserate. Because, well shit. The other fun thing about your spouse revealing their giant, life-altering secret to you is that you literally cannot talk to a single other person about it. Not your family. Not your friends. Not just because they won't really understand, but because you can't out your spouse to other people. You need a drinking buddy who has been where you are. And good fucking luck finding one. At least I can pay a therapist to listen to me.

"Jamie," I said, feeling my heart break with absolute loneliness. "Oh, Jamie."

But Jamie chooses the path of light.

"I believe you," he said firmly. "I dinna understand it a bit — not yet — but I believe you. Claire, I believe you! Listen to me. There's the truth between us, you and I, and whatever ye tell me, I shall believe it."

Forget all the Blood of My Blood stuff. This is what I need embroidered on a pillow. "I dinna understand it a bit — not yet — but I believe you." That is the foundation of a strong marriage, not the fancy vows.

This is particularly powerful because of the gender dynamics between Jamie and Claire. How many times in this book has a man ignored Claire? Or talked over her? Or overridden her decisions? To me, Jamie promising to listen to Claire and to believe what she tells him is far more important, romantic, and radical than any number of promises to protect her. I'm finally ready to begin forgiving him for the beating incident.

Jamie calms Claire. He reassures her. It is lovely. And yet, my heart is breaking for him. Because, having chosen a loving response, rather than rage or running away, Jamie has just learned a very hard lesson. Namely, that you, the supportive spouse, are deeply, heart-wrenchingly alone. You can't speak to anyone. You can't even speak freely to your spouse who, up until five minutes ago, was the one person you could burden with your sorrows. Your sobbing, terrified spouse needs you to cradle them. They need you to be strong. They need you to stroke their hair and tell them everything will be ok. They need to hear, "I believe you;" "I love you;" "I am still here." They don't need your weakness or your doubt or your pain. And that means you have to swallow, "Are you fucking kidding me?" and "Are you sure about this?" and "What the hell am I going to do now?" Hopefully, this is a temporary situation — once you've gotten past the initial conversation, you are going to need to be able to express ALL of your emotions, not just the supportive, affirming ones. If you can do that — get back to a place where you are both taking care of one another — your marriage has a shot at surviving. If not — if you love and support your spouse even when you are hurting, but can't dump your own shit on them — you are not a partner, you are a parent.

Jamie, pragmatist, asks a matter-of-fact question: How old is Claire? Turns out, it's her 28th birthday. Jamie is surprised and not entirely pleased, but never fear. Modern nutrition and vaccinations make 28 the new 18.

A long time later, he spoke.

"All right. Tell me now."

Oh, Jamie. You are a good listener. This chapter is making me like you way more than anything in previous chapters.

"Frank," he said softly. "then he isna dead after all."

"He isn't born." I felt another small wave of hysteria break against my ribs, but managed to keep myself under control. "Neither am I."

Shoutout here to Davina Porter, the narrator of the audiobooks, who plays both of these parts wonderfully, and delivers Claire's lines here with an exquisite near-hysteria.

"When I took ye from Randall at Fort William," he said suddenly, "you were trying to get back. Back to the stones. And . . . Frank. That's why ye left the grove."

"Yes."

"And I beat you for it." His voice was soft with regret.

Ok, this is a bit icky. Now that Jamie knows that Claire was trying to be a dutiful wife and return to her owner/husband, he feels bad about beating her. Gross.

They settle down to rest. Claire ask if Jamie really believes her.

"Aye, I believe ye, Sassenach. But it would ha' been a good deal easier if you'd only been a witch."

Amazing. Not only do I need this stitched on a pillow, I need it tattooed on my body.

Seriously. I'm getting a notecard to write this down and put it in my wallet right next to Viktor Frankl.

brb

In the morning, Jamie continues to take care of Claire. Gets her to eat, packs up camp, gets them moving. Claire is completely passive and I'm ok with that for once. She has been through a lot and is letting someone else take care of the nitty gritty details like, "Where are we going?" and "How will we get there without starving?" I imagine that Jamie is pleased to have some concrete things to focus on. They ride on for a few days, higher into the mountains.

He woke me sometime in the darkness and made love to me, slowly and tenderly, not speaking. I watched stars winking through the lattice of black branches overhead, and fell asleep again with his comforting weight still warm on top of me.

Interesting. The famous fingerbanging scene in the TV show read a bit differently. I somehow got the impression that Jamie wouldn't sleep with Claire once he knew she was still married to Frank. There's the whole thing where she keeps reaching for him to kiss him and he pulls away — playfully, but still, he avoids kissing her directly until the very end of that scene. 

One other thing: If you are having goodbye sex, I think both people should be in the know. Kind of not fair to have that be one-sided. One thing I wish Spouse had done differently in coming out to me is that I wish they had given me a chance to say goodbye to their beard. It was not a secret that I was a fan. But, instead, they shaved it clean and came out to me the same day. As in, "Why did you shave your beard?" "Because I'm a trans femme." Yeah, it was not great. So the last time I ran my fingers through the stubble, I didn't know it was the last time. It's a stupid little thing. But a sad one.

At some point, Claire realizes that they are headed for Craigh na Dun. She is not thrilled.

I swallowed hard. I had tried for nearly six months to reach this place. Now that I was here at last, I wanted to be anywhere else.

I mean, probably not Cranesmuir. Or Fort William. Or the Tolbooth. Really, I don't think you've thought this through.

Up at Craigh na Dun, Jamie tests the stones.

"Careful! Don't go too near it!" He glanced from me to the rock, clearly skeptical. Perhaps he was right to be. I felt suddenly doubtful of my own story.

Too real. This is a major fear of mine: that any skepticism or negativity on my part will encourage self-doubt. It is a real problem.

They discuss possible logistics of time travel. Is it only women who can travel? Only on certain days? Only certain people?

Jamie gets impatient and grabs Claire's wrist, forcing her to touch the stone. I get it, Jamie. You are holding yourself together with threads and can't bear to draw this out any longer than it needs to go. But tone down the grabbing FFS.

Chaos reached out and grabbed me. 

The sun stopped whirling behind my eyes at last, and the shriek faded out of my ears. There was another persistent noise, Jamie calling my name.

Ok, well, at least now he believes her completely. Not that he didn't before, but anyone would be a teeny bit skeptical. 

Jamie tries the stones for himself, but nothing happens. Are we ever going to find out exactly why Claire (and the other travelers) is special? I wonder what Jamie is thinking here. For him, with his classical education, the parallels would probably be most striking in tales of demigods and mortals. So, Claire is Helen, Jamie is Menelaus, and Frank is Paris? Maybe? Perhaps the other way around, at least from Frank's perspective.

An interesting note on navigation: Claire could perceive both Frank and Jamie when she was in the void. She "had been thinking of Frank" and experienced him as "a tiny pinprick of light." So perhaps she can navigate from one place to another. Though how she got to 1743 in the first place is still up for debate. Was she thinking of Black Jack? If so, can focusing on anybody in a particular time draw you to that time? Or does it have to be someone you have a relationship with?

I knew also that there had been another point of light, one that sat still beside me, staring at the stone, cheeks gleaming with sweat in spite of the chill of the day.

He's not sweating, dumbass.

The moment is upon us:

"My lady," he said softly. "My . . . Claire. It's no use waiting. I must part wi' ye now."

"Claire," he said urgently, "it's your own time on the other side of . . . that thing. You've a home there, a place. The things you're used to. And . . . and Frank."

"There's nothing for ye on this side, lass! Nothing save violence and danger. Go!"

In all of this, Jamie refuses to say explicitly that he loves her. Claire probes, she asks, but he holds back. This is understandable. He wants to give her the freest choice he can, not influencing her to stay. But it gives me all the sads.

He does give her a choice, though. He tells her to leave, but points out the ruined cottage where he will make camp. He promises to stay there until evening "to be sure that you're safe." But, really, he's not doing any protecting from down at the bottom of the hill. Just giving Claire the chance to choose him if she wants to.

"Goodbye," he said, and turned to go.

Then, Claire's all, hey, hold on a minute, buddy. I have some important info about the Rising and whatnot. And Jamie's all, are you serious here? I am struggling to control my emotions and do the whole "if you love her set her free" thing and you want to talk about my shitty uncles and their political shenanigans?

"Claire . . . no. I can't." The wind was bringing the moisture to his eyes.

Goddammit, Claire, stop attributing Jamie's emotions to meteorological phenomena. Let the man fucking cry.

"Jamie, stay out of it!" I begged him. "Keep your people out of it if you can, but for the Lord's sake . . . Jamie, if you—" I broke off. I had been going to say "Jamie, if you love me." But I couldn't. I was going to lose him forever, and if I could not speak of love to him before, I could not do it now.

Good save, Claire.

Jamie walks away, not looking back. Now, Claire really must decide for herself. She makes lots of pro-con lists and tries to sort out her feelings. She spends hours and hours thinking and weeping. But, in the end, how does Claire make decisions? Not rationally. Not emotionally. Physically! 

As the evening star began to glow among the black pine branches, I concluded that in this situation reason was of little use. I would have to rely on something else; just what, I wasn't sure. I turned toward the split rock and took a step, then another, and another. Pausing, I faced around and tried it in the other direction. A step, then another, and another, and before I even knew that I had decided, I was halfway down the slope, scrabbling wildly at grass clumps, slipping and falling through the patches of granite scree.

For better or worse, Claire has fully embraced matter over mind.

She goes to the cottage, where she finds Jamie asleep on a bench. Good job, Starz, keeping the drying tears on his face in the TV series. Essential.

For some reason, Claire decides that surprising Jamie is the way to go here. She snuggles up to him and he embraces her in his sleep. Of course, he eventually wakes enough to be surprised and they fall over onto the floor. And then lots of kissing.

In response to Jamie's "Why?" Claire goes with, "I had to." How about, "I love you"? Christ on a cracker.

"You don't know how close it was. The hot baths nearly won." And I wept then, and shook a little, because the choice was so freshly made, and because my joy for the man I held in my arms was mingled with a tearing grief for the man I would never see again.

This is all good. The ambivalence is speaking to me.

As they snuggle, Claire tells Jamie that starlight takes thousands of years to reach Earth, and that sometimes the stars that emit the light are dead by the time the light reaches us. This sounds like it is meant to mean something, but I guess my brain is done with this damn chapter, because I've got nothing. Something about time lapse and reality and perception, no doubt, but I can't get a firm grip on it.

"Lay your head, lass," he whispered. "In the morning, I'll take ye home."

And with that, the chapter . . . 

CONTINUES???????????

God God Damn Damn Damn. Diana Gabaldon, Queen of Drop-the-Mic-and-Inexplicably-Pick-It-Back-Up-Again.

In the morning, they head off for whatever home Jamie has in mind.

"I wish I could have fought him for you,"

says Jamie, continuing with the Iliad parallels.

"If I'd fought him man to man and won, ye'd not need to feel any regret over it."

Well, that's one theory. A pretty stupid theory, but thanks for sharing.

Jamie:

"I'll never understand why."

Claire:

 "I bloody well can't do without you, Jamie Fraser, and that's all about it."

Look, I respect the decision to be sparing with the "I love yous." But at this point, it's becoming a bit of a thing. I get that Claire's feelings are complicated. Saying "I'm here because I love you" implies that you don't really love Frank. But come on. You chose to stay. You still can't tell Jamie you love him? There was that one time, but it was not a serious declaration. Now I'm super curious to see what, if anything, might spur Claire into a sincere declaration of love.

"I prayed all the way up that hill yesterday," he said softly. "Not for you to stay; I didna think that would be right. I prayed I'd be strong enough to send you away."

Thanks, Jamie. I think most of us got that already from reading the scene, but thanks for making it explicit. This reminds me of all the voiceovers in the TV series that just narrate the emotions we are already seeing onscreen. 

"Hardest thing I ever did, Sassenach . . . So now I suppose I can do the second-hardest thing."

Which is go home. To Lallybroch.

Two final thoughts:

1) Parts of this chapter meant a lot to me personally.

2) Fuck this chapter. The organizational issues are ridiculous.

Body Count:

Jamie: 5 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Claire: 1