Chapter 27 - The Last Reason

I'm liking the mood that is set at Lallybroch: the resident Laird returning home to an estate that has been functioning with precision since he left. Jenny has been keeping things running at a smooth pitch, and creating a warmth of family as hers continues to grow.

I also enjoyed the way Jenny and Claire are getting to know each other, going about the business of the day and having a discussion with the "real" conversation going on just below the surface:

“You’ve run the house here alone since your mother died?”
“Oh, aye. Since I was ten.”
I had the nurturing and the loving of him as a boy. What will you do with the man I helped make?“Jamie says as you’re a rare fine healer.”
“I mended his shoulder for him when we first met.”
Yes, I am capable, and kind. I will care for him.“I hear ye married very quickly.”
Did you wed my brother for his land and money?“Yes, it was quick. I didn’t even know Jamie’s true surname until just before the ceremony.”
I didn’t know he was laird of this place; I can only have married him for himself.

Women don't really do that, do they? (Yes. That was a joke).

I was interested to know that the house, built in 1702, had all the most modern conveniences, like a porcelain stove and a brick oven for bread baking. I found it especially noteworthy that there were paintings of the children on the walls; how we take for granted the modern art of photography. And yet, the paintings held special memories for Jamie and Jenny, much like our photos do today.

Yes, yes, I know, it is exciting to find out that Jamie married for love, not just out of duty. Seriously, we needed to hear him say it? Finally, it's one of the most personal things he's shared; no wonder Claire felt shocked when he said it.

You know what else I like, is the way Diana takes a phrase and turns it into a vivid picture, much like the paintings hanging on the wall of the home. Speaking of the busy-ness of the estate, Claire thinks:

For the first time, I understood the stern Scotch strictures against idleness that had seemed like mere quaintness before—or after, as the case might be. Idleness would have seemed not only a sign of moral decay, but an affront to the natural order of things.

Then Diana brings out her paintbrush, and expertly places just a few sentences, like descriptive little jewels nestled within the folds a ruffled velvet backdrop:

There were moments, of course. Those small spaces of time, too soon gone, when everything seems to stand still, and existence is balanced on a perfect point, like the moment of change between the dark and the light, when both and neither surround you.

There it is. Just the slightest of flourish within the larger surface description of the passage that brings depth and beauty to the moment.

I know, I'm supposed to be liking all the battle scenes and guy stuff. But I guess what I really appreciate is the vivid artistry of it all; seeing someone who can effortlessly turn a well-chosen phrase into a novella of expression just as easily as explain the historical facts of herbal medicine, or describe the panic and adrenaline of hand-to-hand combat. This, to me, is what true storytelling is all about.