One of my favorite scenes comes late in the series. The relationship between Jamie and Claire has long been established. They have had the time to get through the honeymoon period and have moved on to true married life. We get to see their love blossom and grow through the events in their everyday lives. Usually, we hear scenes through Claire’s thoughts and feelings, but every once in awhile Diana lets us hear what Jamie is thinking and feeling.
The scene I’m thinking of takes place on Fraser’s Ridge. Roger Mac has collected flowers for Bree and Claire has told him it was very romantic. With her comments fresh in his mind Jamie watches Claire from the edge of the woods. She is busy with her “back home” routine hurrying to check out her precious garden. Jamie looks about and sees the woods for their aesthetic beauty for the first time. He picks Claire a “posey”, a bouquet of color from the woods. He calls her name and presents her with his gift. He is warmed and pleased by her response. As moved as I am by his reaction, I am more touched by Claire’s response to this poison ivy filled bouquet. She treasures it!
As usual, I make connections with the events in Outlander and my own life. This is one of the reasons I love the series; it is so relatable. This particular connection is also about posies. My husband, like Jamie, is a leader of men. His jobs have always involved making decisions for many and having people follow his guidance and instructions. He was a football player (American style, big boy positions) and then a coach for over 30 years. He is the “go to” guy for fixing things, building things or solving problems. People look up to him and everybody knows him.
One day in early summer, he showed up to the house with a very large bouquet of purple flowers. I recognized the flowers. They were wild flowers that grew along the side of the road near our house. Claire and I must have been struck by the same realization; my big burly manly man saw flowers and thought of me. I can just see my husband noticing the flowers, making the decision, parking his car and picking flowers by the side of the road for all the world to see. And, like Claire, I know he had me on his mind; not work, not responsibilities, me.
This “posey” is the one I remember. This is the gift I treasure, not the dozens of roses or pieces of expensive jewelry that followed, but this lowly, lovely, loving bouquet. Like Claire, I know there will never be another “posey” quite like this one and I treasure its memory.