A Rift in the Fabric of Time

Chapter 12: MacGregor the Grump

Chapter 12: MacGregor the Grump

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. . . . .

I lay awake that night, worrit as I wouldna find a source o' income. What was I to do? I hadna horse, nor weapons, nor any o' my kinfolk to succor me. I was obsolete as a jawbone in the World War as Claire was involved in. My pride was already takin' a beatin' and I hadna e'en been in this time for more'n a fortnight.

When Sassenach told me her news, I was truly glad for her, but as the night wore on, the writin' was beginnin' its march across the wall, if ye ken my meanin'. I prayed mightily that auld MacGregor would agree to hire me on. As much as I was displeased to think on it, I wondered if Claire would be best off wi'out me. I kent as she loved me, true enough, but love canna make op for a life lived in poverty. Her respect for me would be snuffed out much as a candle in the wind.

I felt like a millstone 'bout her neck. She was still young, and bonny. She could attach herself to someone worthy o' her, someone able to provide for her needs.

I wouldna succumb to these dark feelin's yet tho'. I'd try ever'thin' in my power to be the man she needed me to be, and if I failed in the attempt, I resolved to leave her, heartbreak or no.

. . . . .

The next morn, after breakfast and Claire packed the lunches, I set out wi' her to where the coach stopped. When it arrived, she got to the door. It opened, but there was no one there ... hmn ... I saw her off, and crossed the road to the opposite stop.

The wait wasna long, and soon I was aboard the coach. Claire showed me how much to give to the driver afore we left the house. Reaching down for my sporran, I colored, as I'd forgotten it wasna there. I handed him the money from a pocket, and he asked, "Where ye goin' Lad?"

"MacGregor's farm. Can ye take me there?"

"Aye. I know it well."

I sat down, and did ride all the way to MacGregor's place.

# # # # #

The coach halted in front o' the gate, and I watched to see how the door opened. The driver pushed on some sort o' lever. Ah ... so that's how it was doon. Leastways, I kent it wasna fairies at work.

A grey-haired man was out in the field, pitchin' hay o'er the fence for his milk cows. I waved, halin' him as I walked through the gate. He threw down the fork, and strode toward me.

His face was set in a scowl. "Who are ye, and what are ye doin' on my property?"

"My name is James Fraser. Didna yer granddaughter tell ye I'd be by t'day?"

"Nay. And I'm busy-no time to talk, so goodbye to ye."

"Wait ... I'm lookin' for work. Would ye be in need o' any?"

He placed his hands opon his hips. "Did I hear ye right? D'ye say yer name is Fraser?"

"Aye. Ye've had acquaintance with some Frasers, have ye?" I smiled, thinkin' he might look favorably on me. I thought wrong.

"Och ... so I have. I dinna fancy handin' a scrap o' work to a Fraser. My family's been stung many a time by yer damn Fraser clan, and I dinna expect to fare much better wi' the likes o' ye."

I stretched out my arms, pleadin' with the man. "Please ... ye can see I'm too young to have wronged ye. I'm good wi' horses, and I need the work. I've come such a long way to see ye."