Faith Unbroken, an Outlander Fanfiction

The Colonies

"Faith!" Murtagh yelled across the small blacksmithing room. I appeared in front of him with the pieces he'd requested moments ago.
"No need to yell, old man. I'm right here." I scolded, dipping one piece into the fire while handing another to him.
"Mind ye manners, lass. I may be old but I can still knock ye down with one hand." Murtagh laughed, dipping his own piece into the fire.
"Please, I've been trained in the art of sword fighting. We could duel and I'd kick your ass." I pulled out my piece from the fire and began to hammer the metal. He did the same, glancing up every once in awhile to check if my metal was being formed correctly. We stayed in silence for hours, crafting our metals into their final forms for many customers.

It was rare for a woman to be found working in the blacksmith. I was different, I was bought. My labor was free. Murtagh Fitzgibbons had bought me at the market in the colonies. He needed help at the blacksmith. He used the last of his coin to buy me. I came to work here for months before he freed me. I remained here for another year, working for free as he fed and housed me. He also protected me, essentially becoming my father in this society. Men would ask Murtagh for my hand in marriage, to which he'd reject. He taught me blacksmithing, the ways of Scots, told me tales of his adventures in Scotland, of the Jacobites, of Jamie and Claire Fraser. These names were familiar. My mother had told me about them when I was young.
Jacelyn, a nun, my mother, had told me of Claire Fraser. She was my birth mother. She'd given me up at birth. Jamie was in jail for dueling and Claire didn't want to be a mother. So, she gave me to Jacelyn who raised me as her own. She passed from fever when I was 10.
Murtagh knew not of who I was to Claire and Jamie. He didn't need to know. I knew why I'd been given away and didn't need any excuses. For now, I was the daughter of an English nun from France and he needn't know anything else.

"What's for dinner?" Murtagh grunted.
"Anything from the tavern." I laughed. "Not much here. I'll have to go to the market."
"Aye." Murtagh pulled some coin from his pouch and set it on the table. "Dinna forget the Iverson's need you to go check their wagon. One of their men say the axel is cracked." I nodded, scooping up the coin. Murtagh continued working and I cleaned up the sweat and dirt from my hands and face.

The market was busy as I made my way down the wet cobblestone streets. I bought meat, bread, and fruit from the older lady I always bought our food from. She was a Scottish woman who worked her son's stall. Her son was a farmer who lived on a small part of land owned by an English man. The Englishman was cruel, frequently demanding the rent and never giving a break. The woman's son had a wife, four children and had taken in his mother. I felt for the family, the colonies were a hard place.

Murtagh was hard at work, finishing orders for our customers. He only grunted at my presence. He'd saddled one of our horses for me, expecting me to be off quickly. All my supplies were in a bag attached to the saddle as well. In no time, the food was put in it place and I was off to the Iverson's. They lived about a half days ride from town. I knew I'd most likely be riding home through the dark or staying the night. It all depended on how Master Iverson was feeling this day. The ride felt quick but it was because I was deep in thought.

Was it strange that Murtagh hadn't made the connection of who I was? Where'd Claire gone after Culloden? Was Jamie really dead? Should I tell Murtagh? Did they really give me up? These were the questions that'd plagued me for months, if not a year since he'd told me the stories of my parents.

Before I knew it, the big white house in the middle of fields came into my view. The dirt road leading to the house was full of slaves and the task masters. The slaves cleared the road as I approached. I bowed my head to a few, acknowledging them. They kept their eyes low. I wasn't one who approved of slaves, being one myself at one point. The curse of being an African slave in the colonies was one I could never fully understand, but I understand some of it. I spotted some familiar faces as well, slaves I'd met the last time I'd come to fix the wagons. They gave me small, discreet head bows as well.

I hurried my horse to the house where I dismounted, handing the reigns to Jon, one of the stable slaves.
"Can you make sure he's fed and given some water, please?" I asked, pulling my bag from the saddle.
"Yes, ma'am." Jon bowed his head and took my horse towards the stable. I turned towards the house where Tate, one of the slaves from the house welcomed me.
"Miss Tanner, welcome, Master Iverson has been expecting you." Tate smiled, offering his arm to me. I hurried up the front steps to the white house and gently wrapped my arm into his.
"Good day, Tate. Please take me to Master Iverson so I can get started on my work and hopefully return home before it's too dark."
"Yes, Miss Tanner." We both entered the house as he escorted me to the study where the master of the house sat flipping through papers. Tate cleared his throat before announcing me and backing up to the doors. Iverson peeked up from behind his glasses.
"Tate, please take her to the stables where the wagons are. Miss Tanner, I trust you can examine and fix the cracked axels?"
"Yes, sir." I responded.
"Yes, Master Iverson." Tate nodded, leading me out of the study and towards the front door again.
"I know where the stables are, Tate. Please don't worry about escorting me there. I'm sure there's other things that need your attention." I glanced up at the large man. His skin was lighter than most of the slaves in the Iverson's employ. His skin barely darker than caramel. His eyes were dark like wet earth, but his smile was bright like the sun. It lit up a room, lifting anyone's hearts. He was honestly a beautiful man. I patted his large hand as I released his arm again as we made it to the door. He opened it for me and watched me go before returning to his own work.

I made my way down the stairs of the house and towards the stables. The fields were being picked bare while others were being plowed. I didn't understand much about crops except for they earned a pretty penny. Little children ran from field to field with water and other things. From what I'd heard, Iverson bought slaves in lots, buying families and keeping them together. This wasn't a nicety he did, it was to use the families as leverage if a slave stepped out of line. Iverson was a cruel man. His wife was sweet and good natured. I don't believe she loved the ideas of slaves either. They had a son, Patrick, who was a little older than me and a red coat. He was almost as cruel as his father but sweet on me.

Jon stood at the stables, feeding my horse and petting him gently. "Hello, Jon. How have you been since last I saw you?" I asked, walking closer to the stables.
"Good, ma'am. And you?" He asked. His english wasn't great, but he had been trying his best. He'd learned more since the last time I'd come to the Iverson's.
"Good. Your english is better." I smiled, petting my horse's snout.
"Mama Lucy teach me." Lucy was Mistress Iverson. She taught the slaves whatever language they wished. Because most of these slaves were brought here from other countries, they weren't taught english. Lucy knew many languages. She also educated them as much as she could without her husband's knowledge.
"Well, let me get to work on these wagons!" I smiled before exiting the stables and coming around the outside. Three wagons stood broken. I knew they were broken, not just cracked, from the awkward angle they sat in. I began my work, checking out each wagon to figure out exactly what was needed.

My day was interrupted by a scream and many yells. It came from the slave quarters area. I grabbed the loaded pistol Murtagh had packed me and bolted towards that direction. Many of the slaves had gathered into a semi circle around a slave who laid curled into a ball on the ground and a white man with a whip and pistol.
"Get up, you disgusting slave." The man with the whip yelled. The slave let out a small whimper. As I got closer, I saw it was a young girl, about the age of 15.