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𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝟏 THREE. the search ends
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boston, massachusetts november 1948
Claire slept upstairs.
Frank slept downstairs.
Except he couldn't sleep.
He sat at his desk, put pen to paper, and began to write a letter:
Dear Reverend,
I find myself in need of your assistance once more. I hope you'll indulge me in undertaking some research regarding an 18th century Highlander who fought in the battle of Culloden. His name was James Fraser...
"Frank?"
His head snapped up in shock to find Claire standing in the doorway. She was in her nightgown, pale and shaken, staring at him with wide whisky eyes. Frank instinctively began shuffling the papers on his desk, tucking the halfway started letter beneath the pile. But then he saw the look on her face.
"Claire." He paused, "What is it?"
"My waters have broken," Claire breathed shakily.
Frank got to his feet, all thoughts of the letter now forgotten, "All right. Uh, I'll warm up the car."
The hospital wasn't a far drive, but it was made in near silence, apart from Claire's quiet groans and pants. But Frank stayed with her, even when the nurses tried to insist he remain in the waiting room. They went together to a private room at Boston General, sterile—smelling and white lit. Laying in the hospital bed, Claire squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe her way through the steadily increasing contractions.
"They're taking their sweet time," Frank restlessly grumbled, glancing quickly at the door. When she groaned in pain once again, he whispered, "I'm here, I'm here... Breathe."
