intimacy, I was caught off guard. “Um…”
Abby took pity on me. “Unhand the woman, Bryce. You can woo her on your own time. Today, she’s mine.”
He flushed and stepped back, but he never took his eyes off me. I think I held my breath until we were safely outside with the door closed and locked behind us.
Bryce had brought Abby’s car around to the front of the house. It was a small compact, easy for a petite female to drive. With my long legs I had to fold myself up a little, but I wasn’t about to complain.
I hoped Abby was looking forward to today. People who dealt with depression were often good at hiding their emotions. As far as I could tell, she seemed genuinely lighthearted at the moment.
We were lucky to find a parking place on the street in the historic district. Abby pocketed the keys and grinned. “Okay. I’m going to give you the works. If you get bored, you’ll have to say the word.”
“Never,” I said. “This is such a treat for me.”
We walked for blocks and blocks, stopping to read plaques on one building and the next. I flashed back to a scene at the very beginning of the first Outlander episode. Claire was strolling along the streets of 1945 Inverness, window-shopping. A blue vase caught her eye, and she almost went inside to buy it, little imagining how her life was about to change.
Here I was, decades later, wandering those same streets. Though Outlander was a fictional tale, the city of Inverness was very real. It had existed here in the Scottish Highlands for centuries. I was enchanted with its personality and charm.
Only an average student in school, I was never particularly interested in history, especially not the background of a country other than my own. My world as a teenager had revolved around the usual topics. Boys. Makeup. Fashion.
Now I literally walked in the steps of people who had lived and laughed and loved centuries ago, during a time when life was neither safe nor easy. I soaked up the sights and sounds along with Abby’s running commentary.
“You’re a pro at this,” I said. “I’d never have learned so much on my own.”
She beamed. “Well, ’tis my home, ye know.”
We stopped for lunch at a charming pub. I ordered traditional fish and chips and was promptly won over by the crunchy outside and flaky filet inside. “We have pale imitations of this dish in the States,” I said, “but nothing so good.”
Abby ordered a local ale. I stuck to Coca-Cola. My mother was a teetotaler. I had grown up avoiding alcohol, and mostly the habit stuck.
After lunch we hit up two more must-sees, the Inverness Museum and St. Andrew’s Cathedral. At four o’clock, I had to give up. The indefatigable Abby was clearly stronger than she looked.
“Enough,” I said. “Let’s go home, so I can collapse.”
“Sure,” Abby said. Then she looked at me with entreaty. “Would you mind one more quick stop? You can stay in the car. I won’t be long.”
“Of course I wouldn’t mind. Whatever you want.”
We didn’t go far…only to a walled churchyard on the outskirts of town. Abby parked the car and stared out the windshield. I sensed she was trying to work up her courage.
“Abby,” I said softly. “Is this where your husband is buried?”
She nodded. I saw her chin wobble. “I haven’t visited in a very long time. But I need to tell him I’m okay.”
“Do you want me there? Or would you rather be alone?”
“Come,” she said. “Please.”
The door in the high brick wall wasn’t locked. Inside the perimeter we found a neatly kept cemetery. The gravestones ran the gamut from large to small and everything in between. The dates, at least the ones I could read from a distance, went as far back as the 1400s.
Abby didn’t wander. She made a beeline for a newer section in the far corner. I hung back, not wanting to intrude. As I watched, she leaned down and kissed the marble marker. Then she crouched and ran her fingers over the inscription, her
Abby took pity on me. “Unhand the woman, Bryce. You can woo her on your own time. Today, she’s mine.”
He flushed and stepped back, but he never took his eyes off me. I think I held my breath until we were safely outside with the door closed and locked behind us.
Bryce had brought Abby’s car around to the front of the house. It was a small compact, easy for a petite female to drive. With my long legs I had to fold myself up a little, but I wasn’t about to complain.
I hoped Abby was looking forward to today. People who dealt with depression were often good at hiding their emotions. As far as I could tell, she seemed genuinely lighthearted at the moment.
We were lucky to find a parking place on the street in the historic district. Abby pocketed the keys and grinned. “Okay. I’m going to give you the works. If you get bored, you’ll have to say the word.”
“Never,” I said. “This is such a treat for me.”
We walked for blocks and blocks, stopping to read plaques on one building and the next. I flashed back to a scene at the very beginning of the first Outlander episode. Claire was strolling along the streets of 1945 Inverness, window-shopping. A blue vase caught her eye, and she almost went inside to buy it, little imagining how her life was about to change.
Here I was, decades later, wandering those same streets. Though Outlander was a fictional tale, the city of Inverness was very real. It had existed here in the Scottish Highlands for centuries. I was enchanted with its personality and charm.
Only an average student in school, I was never particularly interested in history, especially not the background of a country other than my own. My world as a teenager had revolved around the usual topics. Boys. Makeup. Fashion.
Now I literally walked in the steps of people who had lived and laughed and loved centuries ago, during a time when life was neither safe nor easy. I soaked up the sights and sounds along with Abby’s running commentary.
“You’re a pro at this,” I said. “I’d never have learned so much on my own.”
She beamed. “Well, ’tis my home, ye know.”
We stopped for lunch at a charming pub. I ordered traditional fish and chips and was promptly won over by the crunchy outside and flaky filet inside. “We have pale imitations of this dish in the States,” I said, “but nothing so good.”
Abby ordered a local ale. I stuck to Coca-Cola. My mother was a teetotaler. I had grown up avoiding alcohol, and mostly the habit stuck.
After lunch we hit up two more must-sees, the Inverness Museum and St. Andrew’s Cathedral. At four o’clock, I had to give up. The indefatigable Abby was clearly stronger than she looked.
“Enough,” I said. “Let’s go home, so I can collapse.”
“Sure,” Abby said. Then she looked at me with entreaty. “Would you mind one more quick stop? You can stay in the car. I won’t be long.”
“Of course I wouldn’t mind. Whatever you want.”
We didn’t go far…only to a walled churchyard on the outskirts of town. Abby parked the car and stared out the windshield. I sensed she was trying to work up her courage.
“Abby,” I said softly. “Is this where your husband is buried?”
She nodded. I saw her chin wobble. “I haven’t visited in a very long time. But I need to tell him I’m okay.”
“Do you want me there? Or would you rather be alone?”
“Come,” she said. “Please.”
The door in the high brick wall wasn’t locked. Inside the perimeter we found a neatly kept cemetery. The gravestones ran the gamut from large to small and everything in between. The dates, at least the ones I could read from a distance, went as far back as the 1400s.
Abby didn’t wander. She made a beeline for a newer section in the far corner. I hung back, not wanting to intrude. As I watched, she leaned down and kissed the marble marker. Then she crouched and ran her fingers over the inscription, her
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