Claire listens patiently, trying to stay objective. Asking someone outright and not getting a straight answer—especially when it involves you—is understandably difficult to get past. The fact that it's someone she deeply cares for adds another layer to things.
"Before I answer your question, I'd like to ask you one of my own," she says gently, reaching for Hilda's hand and holding on.
"As your best friend, is it possible that he had the best of intentions in mind and was trying to protect you? Regardless of whether it was right or wrong, is that what he might have been attempting to do?"
She thinks of the twenty years she didn't tell the truth to Brianna, and how awful that had gone when it all finally came out. It wasn't just that Frank forbade Claire from speaking about Jamie; she would have found a way if she'd truly wanted. But it wouldn't have done anyone any good, and then her daughter would have had unanswerable questions, so what was the point? Except that there was a wedge between them that grew and grew, until a canyon existed between them, filled with the secrets of Claire's past.
At Claire's touch and words, Hilda immediately stills. It's not so unlike moments she'd had with her own mother growing up when she had been having some kind of outburst or was upset. All it took most of the time was a soothing voice, and safe space to bring her back down to earth.
But even Claire's very rational question isn't enough to dispel the hurt and doubt that had been festering in Hilda's body for the last several months. For the first time since her fight with Claude, Hilda can't help but feel unsteady even as she grips Claire's hand in return. "He admitted as much," she starts, shifting slightly in her seat. There's a reluctance in her voice, as if she can't bear to bring herself to forgive him.
"Back home -," she starts haltingly as her other hand clenches into a fist in her lap, "he was just planning on leaving after the war. He wasn't going to say anything to anyone. Not to our friends, not to me."
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"Before I answer your question, I'd like to ask you one of my own," she says gently, reaching for Hilda's hand and holding on.
"As your best friend, is it possible that he had the best of intentions in mind and was trying to protect you? Regardless of whether it was right or wrong, is that what he might have been attempting to do?"
She thinks of the twenty years she didn't tell the truth to Brianna, and how awful that had gone when it all finally came out. It wasn't just that Frank forbade Claire from speaking about Jamie; she would have found a way if she'd truly wanted. But it wouldn't have done anyone any good, and then her daughter would have had unanswerable questions, so what was the point? Except that there was a wedge between them that grew and grew, until a canyon existed between them, filled with the secrets of Claire's past.
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But even Claire's very rational question isn't enough to dispel the hurt and doubt that had been festering in Hilda's body for the last several months. For the first time since her fight with Claude, Hilda can't help but feel unsteady even as she grips Claire's hand in return. "He admitted as much," she starts, shifting slightly in her seat. There's a reluctance in her voice, as if she can't bear to bring herself to forgive him.
"Back home -," she starts haltingly as her other hand clenches into a fist in her lap, "he was just planning on leaving after the war. He wasn't going to say anything to anyone. Not to our friends, not to me."