#unfortunately I will not be able to project the epilogue in my head onto ao3

[filet-o-feelings]

I'm in the mood to write but I can't settle long enough on any one wip to work on so I'm just sitting here scrolling...

[desperationandgin]

Strawberry Wine - The Final Chapter

Also Read on: AO3

Summary: The end ❤️

A/N: When I started this story, I really didn't think it would take this long to finish! At one point, I posted that it would likely stay an unfinished story forever. But inspiration came in the form of a gifted mood board and playlist, and here we are, at a conclusion. I'm so grateful for everyone who was still interested and came back to read through the end, and I'm so happy that first-time readers have enjoyed it as well!

Thank you to every single person who let me throw the google doc for these chapters at them. To Kris, Danielle, Saba, Beth, Erin, Julia, and Katie - you pushed me in incredible ways and I'm very lucky to have you all. And last but certainly not least, a major shout out of thanks and appreciation to Susan for taking the time to make the playlist that inspired the end of Strawberry Wine. One random gesture meant so much to me that it made me write. I'll always remember that.

Chapter 16: Green on the Vine (Epilogue)

I stood on the front steps of our home, taking in the rolling hills on the horizon beyond the farm. Closing my eyes, I breathed in the sweet smell of fresh-cut hay, relieved to know that Lallybroch’s most recent harvest was finished, making the air feel light and carefree. Around me were the noises of family, children shrieking and laughing. I smiled as I heard a loud giggle of surprise and knew that Jamie had swept up one of them, carrying them like a sack of potatoes.

“Gran!”

I looked up, shielding my eyes from the setting sun as our fourteen-year-old granddaughter made her way up the drive, pushing her bicycle.

“What are you doing here before your parents?” I asked, pleased to see her and reaching out for an embrace once she was close enough. She was taller than her mother, but my dark curls had passed on brilliantly.

“I wanted to talk to you and Grandda. Is he busy?”

I shook my head, looking curiously down at a large manila envelope she held in her hands.

“Never too busy for you,” I promised, leading her inside and calling for Jamie. “Your younger cousins are keeping him entertained.”

When the three of us were settled in the living room, I watched Mandy, realizing she had, unfortunately, also inherited my glass face.

“Is everything alright?” I prodded gently, feeling Jamie tense beside me at the prospect of something being wrong.

“Everything’s fine,” she promised quickly, then hesitated as her hands moved to open the envelope. “Only, I’m doing a project for school. About World War Two.”

Without thinking much of it, my fingers found Jamie’s, holding onto him. It was a lifetime ago, it seemed, those years that we’d gone to war and been separated. As Mandy pulled the contents of her envelope out, I saw my own slanted penmanship and froze, realizing what she held in her hands before she had the chance to explain.

“Mama and I had to prove that these belonged to our family. They’re letters, Gran. The ones ye wrote to Grandda during the war. I wanted to surprise ye wi’ them.” She passed them over and I reached out, holding the weight of our family’s past in my hands and swallowing heavily. For a few seconds, I could say nothing, remembering how desperate my words had become in some of my correspondence.

“I haven’t read any of them,” Mandy promised. “I wasn’t sure how to give them to ye.”

“Darling, you have no idea what a gift this is,” I promised her sincerely, though my voice shook, handing the stack to Jamie so that I could stand and wrap our granddaughter in a hug.

It wasn’t as firm as it once might have been, but I squeezed for all I was worth, pressing a kiss to her temple.

After I released her, she turned to Jamie and bent down to kiss his cheek before disappearing to find her older cousins. Soon, everyone would arrive for Sunday supper, but for now, it was just Jamie and I in the room, the bundle of letters in his lap.

“Ye wrote so many times,” he said quietly, and I pushed a strand of faded copper hair behind his ear.

“I’d wager you wrote just as much. And if my letters were still out there…”

“Aye,” he murmured. “Mine could be, as well. Somewhere.”

It didn’t matter anymore, I thought. We’d shared more between us in half a century than we could have ever fit into letters.

I tugged one of the envelopes free, running my fingers over faded and smeared ink.

“Will ye read it to me?”

“Jamie,” I began, looking at him. “Are you sure?”

He reached for me, and as I curled against his side, I felt him nod and kiss the top of my head. “Aye. I’m sure, Sassenach.”

I pulled out the letter and unfolded it carefully, almost able to hear the sound of practice shots being fired as I wrote it decades ago; the smell of unwashed men and the vibration of military vehicles came back to mind easily. Wetting my lips, I began to read, surprised by how steady my voice was.

“Dearest Jamie,

I’m trying not to panic. I’m trying to calm my own fears by hearing you attempt to soothe me.

‘’Tis war, Sassenach,” you would say if you could. “And letters aren’t exactly a priority.” I know. I know that you’re fighting, that they could send you somewhere with no notice and no way to tell me. But I still can’t help dreading each month that passes without hearing from you. It’s been three now, and I thought perhaps, if you’re too exhausted to write, I could give you something to look forward to instead. When you receive this, if you receive it, you will know I still cherish and want the life we promised one another.

I’ve thought about the number of children you’d like, and four is a good, even number, don’t you think? There’s no telling on gender, but the first boy and our first girl should be named after your father and my mother respectively. Your father will be so proud, toting around his namesake. I hope that my mother would be proud; I think she would. After that, I wouldn’t mind having a wee Jamie. Perhaps even an Elizabeth.

We’ll see.

Today, I met a Scot who was raised in Aberdeen. He sounded so much like you that I wanted to close my eyes and pretend it was. That wouldn’t have been good for the infection in his arm I was attempting to take care of. I wanted it to be you so badly, Jamie.

Where are you?

If I don’t hear anything from you, then I’m going to write to Lallybroch. I don’t want to, I didn’t want to worry your father or Jenny unnecessarily, but if something’s happened to-”

I paused in my reading, the train of thought scribbled through. It was only then that I realized Elizabeth was in the room, her older sister beside her, and their younger brother was cradling our newest grandchild in the doorway.

“Keep going, mama,” Julia encouraged, smiling softly when I looked up at her.

“Aye, Sassenach,” Jamie murmured beside me, squeezing my free hand.

I had no idea how the letter would end, but continued, keeping hold of Jamie while the paper shook slightly as I read once more.

“When the war is over, we’ll pick up our pieces and begin again, Jamie. Wherever we happen to be, whatever we’ve seen and done, we’ll still have our adventures, our life. Think of the days you’ll come home only to find me waiting for you, a child in my arms, and later, children running to greet you. Our home will be warm and filled with a life the war couldn’t take from us. It’s trying, I know it is, but I refuse to give up on what we planned. What we’ve dreamed of together. When this letter reaches you, whether you write back or not, know that you promised me, James Fraser.

Don’t let this be the one you break.

I love you. I will always love you.”

I finished quietly, folding the letter back into the envelope and remembering how desperate I’d been for anything, any scrap of news, any information on where he might have been.

“You did it, Mam. You and da.”

I turned to look at Brian, giving our son a watery, wobbly smile.

“Listen, Sassenach,” Jamie urged, pulling me close so that I could rest my head on his shoulder. As his fingers moved through the silver of my curls, I closed my eyes and did as he asked. There was the quiet fussing of Brian’s daughter, Clara, and the quiet but thumping bass of one of Julia’s children listening to music too loudly a room over. Each one of our hopes and dreams stood under this roof, and I smiled as I let it bring me peace.

I knew for certain, even after all of the pain, death, and heartbreak we’d endured...in the end, the war had taken nothing from us.

It had only made us stronger.