I was dead.

I had to be, didn't I?

I must have had my head slammed into the stone by some unknown force, and there I would be, dead, with the others so callously brought down by Adolf Hitler. Perhaps, in death, it was as if one was sleeping, carried away on a cloud, before Saint Peter found them. My verdict would be swift—to burn in hell for eternity, for all that I could have done in Poland was a black mark upon me, and I would, therefore, never be absolved...

I slowly opened my eyes, staring up at the canopy of red, yellow, and gold, finding that I did not have a head wound, though my head did seem to be pounding severely. Slowly, I got into a sitting position and looked around me; the terrain was the same, that was for certain, and I was relieved to find that my suitcase lay, unopened, beside me. As I brought up my hand to cradle my head, I still felt the golden band of the ring upon my finger, however, once I turned my hand over, I saw that the diamond was now missing.

Perplexing, no doubt, I thought to myself, untrusting of my voice so quickly after what had befallen me, whatever it was. I pushed myself to my feet and retrieved my suitcase, stumbling out of the circle of stones, finding the path from before, and hurried along it. I could feel leaves in my red hair, which I shook in an effort to remove them; no doubt, I would look quite silly if I arrived in the hat shop with leaves clinging to the red tendrils. Decidedly not the best way to make a first impression, Alexandra Hathaway, I admonished myself.

However, once I passed through the trees, I came to a complete standstill; the roads were still the cobblestone ones from before, and the skyline was the same, but that was all that remained of the Pennsylvania I'd arrived in just this morning. I covered my mouth to counteract a scream; the architecture was Colonial in style, as were the dresses, frocks, and uniforms that currently occupied the streets. Military—the British redcoats—guarded many corners, checking papers periodically as they went, and I stumbled backwards, into the first line of trees, as I looked fearfully at the world that was now in front of me.

Sure, I was dressed modestly—I wore a long coat in the latest 1940s fashion, a long green skirt, white blouse, stockings, and low heels. Of course, my skirts were not nearly as broad as those in the 1770s, and I certainly wore no petticoats beneath. How could I go out there, knowing that, what awaited me, surely wouldn't be anything good? I would be stared at, subjected to questions even I didn't have the answers to, and then carted off to a mental institution—madhouse, I corrected myself, as that was the fashionable term in this day and age, if my suspicions about what had happened to me proved correct.

I turned as the clop-clop-ing sound of a horse-drawn carriage filled my ears, noticing a middle-aged woman coming out of it. One of the Redcoats checked her papers and nodded to her, before she came towards me. There was a basket on her arm, and it appeared as if she would be foraging in that area. My mind clicked—that could only mean that she was a healer of some kind and, perhaps, she could help me. My own mother, before she had been swayed by Hitler, had trained as a nurse, and had, begrudgingly, told me the basics of herbs and whatnot, so that, if I ever found myself in the woods, I knew what was safe to eat.

"Pardon me," said a kindly, British accent, and I turned, finding myself face-to-face with the woman I had just seen. Her blue eyes widened at the sight of me as she took me in—my likely wayward hair, pathetic excuse for clothing... "Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

My jaw dropped. "You know of Roosevelt?" I whispered; George Washington wouldn't be the President of the United States for another ten years or more, so the notion that the lady before me knew of President Roosevelt—

The woman immediately came closer, looking me up and down with scrutiny. "I myself wore clothes such as these, while I served as a nurse in the Second World War..."

"The war is still happening," I said quickly, shaking my head. "It is...was...1944..."

"It is 1778," the woman informed me in a patient, soothing manner. "What is your name?" she asked quietly.

"Alexandra," I replied, my voice shaking. "Alexandra Hathaway."

"Here, let me help you," she said gently, unhooking the belt of her coat, which she hastily drew around me, and re-buckled it. "There you are," she said, pulling my hair out from underneath its collar. "That should arise less suspicion. I'm Claire, by the way, Claire Fraser."

"Pleasure to meet you," I answered, permitting her to put an arm around my shoulders. "May I ask what you are foraging for?"

Claire looked pleased that I had guessed what she was up to correctly. "Arrowroot," she told me with a small smile. "It is used to combat—"

"Diarrhea," I answered quickly, and Claire raised her eyebrows. "Forgive me for interrupting; my mother was a nurse," I explained.

Claire nodded, still smiling. "But you are not a nurse," she said. "Forgive me, but you do not have the look of one."

"No, you're correct, I'm not," I answered. "I'm a teacher of history."

Claire led me through the woods, and we easily found the arrowroot. "I am staying with some friends in Philadelphia, and I think it best if you accompany me."

I bit my lip. "I don't wish to be seen as an imposition—"

"You wouldn't be, I assure you," Claire told me firmly. "It will be nice to have someone to speak with who comes from another time. How old are you?"

"I am twenty-seven," I said quietly, "born in 1917, in England, before my parents moved to Germany, and then to Poland, because of..." I sighed, knowing that I had to trust someone with the devastating information. "They were SS Guards," I whispered.

Claire looked utterly haunted by that, but nevertheless squeezed my shoulder. "I can see from your reaction from telling me that you did not believe in what they stood for."

I shook my head. "No," I answered, "I did not."

Claire patted my face. "Just keep your head down when we get out of the woods," she told me softly as she finished gathering the arrowroot. "I will say that I found you, that you are unwell, and are now in my care. That will explain why you have no papers..." She looked down at my suitcase, and sighed. "We will just hope that they overlook that, and won't search you," she said at last.

"Perhaps we could say it could have measle germs," I said softly. "I was inoculated against it as a child, but I could pretend that my nose is running with constant sniffles, as well as a cough. I believe that that would work."

Claire smiled. "You know your history," she said softly.

I nodded. "In many ways, Claire, in many ways."

Claire led the charge out of the woods, glaring as the Redcoats swarmed us, their beady eyes fixed upon me. "Let us through," she said firmly, her voice authoritative. "This poor girl has got Rubeola!" she declared to the men.

I acted as best I could, sniffling and demonstrating a dry cough as if unprovoked.

The Redcoats immediately flew backwards, clearing a path for us, as the footmen for the carriage warily opened the door, leading Claire to shove me inside, and then she climbed in herself. The Redcoats handed over a paper to ensure us safe passage, and then we were off and away. I felt relieved as Claire pulled down the curtains on either side of the windows, clutching at my hands in the semi-darkness.

"Do you know if you're ill with anything?" she whispered.

I laughed darkly. "Other than with a child, no," I said quietly.

Claire's eyes widened. "Your ring... I only assumed..."

"No, I stole it from my mother before I left Poland," I told her. "I am unmarried; the man that took advantage of me was from another SS Guard family. I told him to stop, but it didn't matter, not to him. It is his child I am carrying, and I know entirely well I could have passed through France to receive an abortion, but I feared my own death, or it getting back to my parents, where I could have been forced back to Poland to marry Christoph."

Claire's gaze darkens at that. "Was that the man who assaulted you?"

I nodded. "Yes. Christoph Hunfried. He was in charge of football, as well as mathematics, at the school we taught at."

Claire cocked her head to one side. "I thought sports had been banned."

"For Polish individuals," I told her softly. "The school we taught at was reserved for German people, however. All prospective workers, once teaching certification was given, were instructed to learn both German and Polish, the former as loyalty for Hitler, and the latter in case we needed to... In their words, 'deal with' Polish people."

Claire squeezed my hands. "You don't need to convince me that you disagreed with Hitler," she told me softly, rubbing my hands. "I know already."

I gave Claire a small smile. "You sound like a mother," I observed, and Claire smiled back at me at my words. "I wish you would have been my mother. Goodness knows you would have been a better one than mine." I hesitated for a moment. "You are a mother, are you not?"

"I am," Claire confirmed. "My husband, Jamie, and I have a daughter, Brianna, together. Brianna and her husband, Roger, left us sometime ago, due to their daughter, Mandy's, heart condition, which required surgery. They are living two hundred years from now, in the 1980s, along with their son, Jem."

"Brianna is very lucky to have had a mother like you," I mused.

"Jamie remarried at one point, while I went back with Brianna for her own safety... One of the daughters of the woman he married, Marsali, married the young man we consider to be our son, Fergus, although we now consider Marsali our daughter as well. They have quite the brood of children between them—Germain, Joan, Félicité, and Henri-Christian."

"That's lovely," I say, lowering my eyes to my own stomach; from my reading, I knew that women began showing between three and four months, which would be any time now. "I can't think I will ever marry, especially given..."

Claire's thumbs gently rubbed the backs of my hands. "Don't despair," she said quietly. "We will figure out what can be done."

"I... Even though I don't...can't want this child, I could never..."

Claire shook her head. "Of course not. Especially given the fact that I'd have to forage for some time to collect the right herbs. Although pennyroyal, a common one used for such things, does grow here, it is always looked upon unfavorably if anyone dares to collect it."

I shook my head. "I wouldn't want to bring a blight upon you," I assured her. "You have saved me, Claire Fraser, and I shall be forever in your debt."

Claire kept me sane as he continued our ride in the carriage; she only had to temporarily hand over the papers from the Redcoats in Bangor to the ones in Philadelphia, and then we were sent onward to the house she was staying at. We reached the house and quickly, with Claire knocking at the door, and a black woman answered it, smiled at Claire, and looked curiously at me. "This is Miss Hathaway," Claire introduced. "She will be staying with me."

"A pleasure, Miss Hathaway," replied the woman, giving me a kind nod. "I shall inform Mrs. Woodcock about our new guest."

Claire smiled at the woman, watching as she shut the door behind us, and led me through the hallway, up the staircase, and into a bedroom. "You'll have to change," she said, taking her coat from around my shoulders and hanging it up. "I have some dresses that should work for you, for the time being, and we'll get you a bath as well."

My bath took a good thirty minutes to be prepared, and then Claire watched over me as I washed myself. "This will take some getting used to," I said with a smile.

"You have indoor plumbing where you were?" Claire guessed.

I nodded. "Yes, we did. My parents were given a very nice house in Treblinka. It once belonged to some noble family, but I'm not clear on who. They'd only changed the water closets to accommodate indoor plumbing. Other than that, they kept everything—the artwork, the furniture, and the like." I pulled my knees out of the bath water and upwards, towards my chest, wrapping my arms around them.

"That was considered the second-deadliest concentration camp," Claire breathed. Her eyes stayed riveted upon me until I slowly looked up at her. "What horrors you must have witnessed, Alexandra... You are lucky to be alive."

"They tried to make me hate them," I whispered, my hands gripping my legs so tightly that I thought my fingers would snap. "I couldn't. It didn't matter to me if someone was Polish. I was always kind to them, or attempted to be, even when others were around..."

"That was very brave of you," Claire said quietly.

"Brave?" I asked her, turning around and showcasing my back to her for the first time. "Or very, very foolish?"

Claire gasped aloud as she took in my back. "Oh, Alexandra..."

I kept my arms wrapped around my body; I had heard it all before, the sympathy... Of course, only those in the inner SS circle had known what my parents had done, what they believed to be a worthy punishment for daring to be kind towards those braded as the enemy. I could still hear the whip as it sliced through the air, before delivering its unforgiving blows onto my back. Then came the brief hesitation, before the pain hit as the skin of my back sliced open, and blood oozed from within, marring my pale skin with the redness of blood—

"They're not fresh," Claire whispered.

"Learned to keep quiet, didn't I?" I answered, my voice shaking.

"Do they hurt?" she asked.

"No. Just the memory of them, and how my parents could be so cruel as to believe kindness was something that warranted punishment." I stiffened then as Claire took me by the hand and guided me out of the bathtub; my body was still steaming from the warmth of the water, and the coolness of the room as it kept warming up.

Claire then wrapped me in a woven sheet of linen to keep me warm, guiding me to a bench on the opposite side of her room. "Sit down and relax, while I find you a dress," she told me gently, but a knock on the door stopped her. "Just a moment," she said, placing a kind hand upon my shoulder, before she walked over to the door and opened it a bit. "Oh, Daphne, come in," she said gently, standing aside, and the woman who had granted us admittance to the home of Mrs. Woodcock entered the room.

"I've spoken to Mrs. Woodcock, Miss Hathaway," said Daphne as she bustled forward, her arms filled with different-colored fabrics. "She has some dresses that would suit you. Begging your pardon, Madam Fraser, but, as Mrs. Woodcock is younger—"

"Yes, Daphne, I understand. Please, don't apologize," Claire said gently, smiling at her. "I think that Mercy's dresses will look just fine on Alexandra."

Daphne beamed at Claire as she set down the bundle of clothing onto the bed, before looking at me for a moment, and nodding her head decisively. "I know just the thing," she declared, and went through the pile. "This green dress will be fine for evenings, with your coloring, Miss Hathaway, and I should think the dark blue will do for now, while the brown will be perfectly suitable for church on Sunday." She also rifled through the pile and produced a long, white garment, "This will be your nightgown."

I gave Daphne a small smile. "Thank you, Daphne. That is most kind of you. I will, of course, be thanking Mrs. Woodcock as well."

Daphne set to work in dressing me, and, following that, produced a bone comb, which she used to painstakingly curl my wavy hair, so that it flowed freely down my back. It was then pinned a bit, creating a level atop my head, and two curls, one for each side, were twirled expertly and placed just so just above each ear. Daphne stood back and looked at her handiwork as I stepped into fashionable black leather shoes with silver buckles. "Thank goodness you wear the same size as Mrs. Woodcock," she added breathlessly, seemingly relieved that a trip to the cobbler wasn't in order.

"Thank goodness," I agreed, returning Daphne's smile.

"Come along," Claire said, once Daphne had left to see to her chores, "my nephew, Ian, should be back by now. He and his betrothed, Rachel, haven't left the other's side since he asked her to be his wife."

"That's lovely," I said, following her.

"Ian keeps a dog, Rollo, who is half-wolf," Claire continued, watching me for a reaction. "Do you like dogs, Alexandra?"

"I've always preferred cats," I admitted, "but I do like dogs, yes. Animals are lovely and I think it's wonderful when people take them into their homes."

Claire took my arm in hers and led me down the stairs, bringing me into a parlor where a young man and woman sat before the unlit fireplace, a large dog on the carpet between them. "Ian, Rachel, this is Alexandra, a dear friend who will be staying with us."

I smiled at them both; Ian appeared to have been temporarily in the care of American Indians, while Rachel looked like a Quaker, given my information on both. I stepped forward as they both got to their feet; Ian had engaging, kind eyes, with red hair, while Rachel had soft, brown hair and light brown eyes. "Pleasure to meet the both of you," I said, putting out my hand, which Rachel immediately stepped forward to take.

"I am so pleased to meet you, Alexandra," Rachel said, her tone warm. "Are you from England like Claire?"

"Yes, I was born and educated there," I confirmed with a smile. "I was born in London, but I was fostered out to a family in Bristol for my education," I answered a bit quickly, remembering my professors informing me that that was the location of the oldest girls' school England had on offer, which had opened in the 1600s.

Ian, however, looked at Claire askance for a moment before he, too stepped forward and clasped his hand in mine. "If yer a friend of my Auntie Claire, then yer a friend of mine, as well," he said after a moment, giving me a warm smile. "Ye will have to meet my Uncle Jamie, as he's due to return any day now."

"He was seeing off his stepdaughter in France in her new nunnery," Claire explained, "but he should be with us shortly, as Ian said."

"I've heard France is lovely," I said softly, "but I've never been. I can speak the language, however... I was always gifted at languages..."

"Are you?" Rachel asked, clearly impressed. "What languages do you speak?"

"Well, in addition to English, I can speak Latin, Gaelic, Ancient Greek, Italian, German, and Polish," I said softly. "I spent quite a bit of time in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, where I taught German children history."

"Ye speak our language?" Ian asked, clearly impressed.

"Yes, my mother was Scottish," I answered. "It was my father who was from England."

"Alexandra's father was an associate of my uncle, who raised me," Claire informed Ian and Rachel, almost as if she'd rehearsed this bit in her head. "She always hoped, one day, to settle here, which is why she's come to us."

"Will ye come to the Ridge with Auntie Claire and Uncle Jamie?" Ian asked.

"I..." I said softly, turning to Claire.

"Of course she will," Claire declared warmly. "She is most welcome."

"Well, I should like that very much, then," I said with a smile. "It all sounds lovely. Where is your home, then?"

"North Carolina," Claire told me. "I'm sure you'll feel right at home eventually."

Rachel checked the clock on the mantel before her jaw dropped. "Oh, dear. I've got to get to the market before they've run out of things Denny needs," she said quietly, and turned to me again with a soft smile. "My brother. He is a doctor, like Claire."

"Rollo and I will escort ye," Ian said, and Rachel threw him a thankful smile.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I'll just tell Denny we'll be off, then." She reached outwards and took my hand again. "It's been lovely meeting you, Alexandra. I'm sure we'll talk more in the days ahead."

I nodded. "I'd like that very much, Rachel. It was lovely to meet you, too."

Ian watched as Rachel hurried out of the room before turning back towards us. "She is like ye, is she no', Auntie Claire?"

I raised my eyebrows as a look of familiarity passed between them. "Oh. He knows, then?"

"Yes," Claire answered, "as does my husband, his uncle, as well as Ian's parents, although his father died just recently..."

I shot Ian a look of sympathy. "I am terribly sorry about that, Ian," I told him softly. "I can see that he and your mother raised a fine young man in you. He must have been lovely."

Ian gave me a warm expression. "Thank ye," he said softly. He lowered his eyes to Rollo, who had been waiting patiently, and said, "Do ye like dogs, Alexandra?"

"I do," I confirmed, and turned my full attention onto Rollo. "Aren't you beautiful?"

Rollo immediately rose from his position lying on the carpet, pressing his nose into my hand, as his tail thumped on the floor.

"He likes ye," Ian said, grinning, as I scratched Rollo behind the ear.

There was a commotion at the front door, and Daphne's voice was heard greeting whoever had arrived at the house. Two gentlemen's voices could be heard—one a Scotsman, and the second, an Englishman. I could feel something prickling along my arms at the latter voice, but I was unsure as to what that was. Heavy footsteps were heard along the wooden floor, and then both gentlemen arrived in the parlor we were all stood in.

"Sassenach," the Scotsman with red hair said, beaming at Claire.

"Jamie!" Claire cried out, leaving my side and rushing toward her husband, as if she was still a young girl, and he caught her in his arms.

I looked past them and saw another tall gentleman, although he did not tower as Jamie Fraser did, instead reaching a height of just over six feet, while Claire's husband was easily that of a respectable Christmas tree. I felt his blue eyes latch immediately onto mine, and I swallowed, temporarily overcome with something I never believed I would have any right to feel, and was unsure with how to proceed. It was Jamie, however, who broke the silence, looking past Claire and seeing me.

"This cannae be Rachel?" he asked, grinning as he released Claire with a quick kiss on her cheek, keeping an arm around her waist as he strode forward, commanding the room. "Ian described the lassie much differently tae us..."

"No, I'm not Rachel," I answered, and I still felt the other stranger's eyes upon me as I spoke for the first time, so I smiled at Jamie in what I only hoped was a congenial manner. "My name is Alexandra Hathaway."

"Alexandra's father was known to my uncle," Claire said, and, as Jamie looked at her, something passed between them, leading Jamie to nod in understanding.

"Aye, I ken what ye mean, Sassenach," Jamie said, approaching me, and taking me by the hand, his blue eyes suddenly warming. "We are very pleased that ye have come to join us, Alexandra, at last. Claire has mentioned that ye would be coming, and it is a delight to have ye."

"Oi, Uncle Jamie, are ye no' going to greet me?" Ian demanded, chuckling ever so slightly, so as to assure everyone present that he was not upset.

"Aye, c'mere ye wee lad," Jamie said, squeezing my hand once more before letting go, and pulling Ian into his arms. "Yer father sends his love, and yer mother hopes to join us upon the Ridge one day."

Claire took me by the hand and led me towards the other gentleman, still standing on the outside looking in at the familial reunions. "John, this is Alexandra," she said with a smile. "Alexandra, this is Lord John Grey."

I blinked, unaware that I was in the presence of someone titled, and immediately swept a curtsy to the man; it was something we girls had been taught to do at a young age, and made to perfect it during our time in school. I also knew, as tradition dictated, that, since I was meeting him for the first time, even though we were in a private residence, I was not permitted to speak to him first, especially due to the notion that he was a gentleman and not a lady.

Lord John seemed to snap out of whatever it was he was mulling over, for he reached outwards and took ahold of one of my hands, causing prickles to erupt on every surface of my skin, and slowly pulled me upwards, so that my eyes met his again. "No need for formalities, Claire," he informed the Englishwoman beside me, although his eyes never left mine. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hathaway."

I swallowed again—I had no idea what was going on with me, as I certainly hadn't looked at any of the male SS Guards like this! Nevertheless, I opened my mouth, knowing that, as Lord John had spoken to me, I now had permission to speak myself. "The pleasure is mine, my lord," I said, inwardly cursing myself for being so formal, despite Lord John's assurances not to be.

Lord John's mouth slowly quirked up on one side, leading me to believe that he didn't take offense to my greeting, and something seemed to thunder from within me, as his hand seemed in no hurry to leave mine.