Lioness // Outlander (Completed)

Penultimate - Chapter 11.

Time.

What a funny thing it is, so fleeting and unattainable. You can't snatch and keep it in your pocket for later, you can't set it free like a bird who's been caged half it's life, you can't wish it forwards, backwards, away.

For all of my life, I've had my hands out, wide open, grabbing at anything I can. Through my pale, calloused fingers slipped the element of time. Slipped my mother. Slipped my father. Slipped myself. I grabbed and grabbed, hoping something would stick, hoping I could have something to hold forever.

October, with all it's cold and pending winter, had bought me everything I had been trying to grab for all my childhood.

Now, standing in what was once my parents bedroom pouring sweet smelling, piping hot water into the bath, I finally stopped trying to grab. I had all I needed.

Ma is wearing the robe that was once hers, she said she'd send for another one to be made for her because it looked so much better on me. She's sitting on the edge of the large bed, Brianna tucked up in a tiny ball, fast asleep under the covers, brushing through her knotted curls and humming a soft tune.

"The bath is almost ready ma, I used some of my oils and theres a bar to wash your hair there." I point towards to sloppily made bar I use to wash my curls through, it's a recipe from her medicine book that I'd twisted and changed over the years, it's the only one that doesn't make my hair knot into a nest.

I had asked uncle Ian if we could wait to bring Da home, should any Red Coats be out waiting, not knowing of the singed contract, thinking he is a lamb for slaughter. He should rest the night in the den and in the morning, I will bring him home.

Ma stops brushing her hair and walks over to me, her cool hands cup my cheek and she drops a light kiss on the top of me head. "Thank you Faith." She smiles, taking off her robe and stepping into the bath. Her skin is pearl white all over and she sinks into the liquid heat of the tub, she goes a scarlet red.

"May I..." I hesitate, not wanting to over step. She's not been here long, I hardly want to bombard her with mother daughter activities.

She looks behind her shoulder at me and smiles again, as if knowing what I was going to say, she nods. "You may."

I take the brush and pull the battered wooden stool behind her, she tilts her head back into my hands and lets me brush through the glossy lengths of her hair. I brush and brush, taking in every second of this moment. Time passes, and I let it, no longer desperate to catch it.

I wash her hair, lather the special soap I'd mastered making, infused with oils that soften the curls, make them shine in the sun and smell like roses. All the time we talk, she rinses her skin with the warm water and tells me about aunties birth, long and strenuous but fruitful, she'd borne a son, I had a new cousin. Ma had checked on her while I was drawing her bath up and brought Brianna, half asleep, up to bed. I talk about my herbs, my shed, how I treat people in the village for grain and goods. I tell her about the gems, how once Charles Stuart is found and paid his price, we can exchange the gems to help fill the pantry, plant more vegetables and herbs, buy more cows and chickens. She tells me about her time, about things called planes and cars, how the medicine there is so different in some ways, but same in the others. When the bath is over and all the soap is washed out, I feel like a daughter with a mother again.

I pull the old trunk out from under their bed, da told me it was important to keep it, anything of hers was proof that she was once here with us. She looked confused when I pulled it out, but when I opened it and showed her all her old Parisian dresses, shifts, combs, perfumes and shoes, she choked on her tears.