Episode 807: Evidence of Things Not Seen

Well, well, well. After twelve years this series still manages to find ways to surprise us. Let’s dig into this thing, shall we?

Warning- Contains spoilers from Outlander Episode 807: Evidence of Things Not Seen

I know I am posting this out of order, as I am quite behind on recaps (work, PTA, mom life, sports team manager, general middle-age, etc), but this episode felt too important to wait to discuss. And as it has proved to be quite polarizing within the fandom, I’m betting that everyone else wants to discuss it as well.

For book readers this episode came as quite a shock. That is entirely the point. But from my perspective we needed this episode the way it was written, so I’ll try to explain.

First, we only have a few hours to wrap up this story that (television-wise) has spanned more than a decade. Changes likely had to be made to neatly tie-up a story that is not nearly close to being finished within Gabaldon’s own canon (let’s hope).

Second, we have a prequel to think about. Was it a coincidence that a new trailer for “Blood Of My Blood” dropped right before this episode? Probably not. This is a story about time travel, and last we left those characters, they were still in the eighteenth century. And doesn’t the second season of that show look very similar to the second season of this show? I don’t doubt that this episode serves as some story-building for the BOMB universe.

Lastly, our shock is thematically the point. Because this is an episode about what happens when—literally and figuratively—the ground gives way beneath our feet. Most overtly, the roof of the printshop collapses and kills Fergus. Less obviously, this is an hour of television that examines what happens when the world we thought we knew turns out so, so much differently than expected. I thought my happy marriage would last a lifetime. We thought we had lost a daughter forever. I thought these people were very kind strangers. I thought I knew the father that raised me. For Marsali, Jamie and Claire, Fanny, and William, the ground of the world they thought was stable has suddenly shifted. And for novel readers, it’s a readjustment of the story we thought we knew as well.

As much as this episode diverged from what was expected, it was exceptionally well-executed and beautifully acted. It would be a strong episode for Lauren Lyle to submit for awards nominations, and from start to finish it was tightly crafted and thematically on-point.

The episode opens with Jamie climbing the high ground of Kings Mountain, trying to imagine the battle as written by Frank. It feels like truth, he tells Claire, and that perhaps is the first example of subversion of expectations this hour. Maybe Frank did not write his book with any intention other than telling the truth. Maybe, generously, it was actually written not from a place of torment (as Claire has wondered) but rather from a place of love. Here is the truth as history has told it, he seems to be saying, it is up to you to change it. And isn’t knowing the future the highest ground one can have?

In Savannah, Fergus teaches Germain and Henri Christian how to work the printing press in a scene that is both adorable and feels heavy in foreshadowing. Here Fergus imparts three crucial lessons: it is okay to be different, his love is unconditional, and our words have meaning and power.

But words are not without consequence, as Marsali and Brianna learn when a few mouth-breathing turnips decide to throw tomatoes at Marsali as retaliation for her assumed politics. Later, when Fergus and Marsali attempt to laugh it off, we are witness to the near completion of Fergus’s character arc. It is easy in this world to be the type of man who throws tomatoes at a woman and hurls insults from a distance. It is much, much harder to do the work of everyday, honest living—raising children with kindness and empathy, supporting your spouse with humor and generosity, and rising each day to do work that is important but often thankless.

Elsewhere in Savannah, William confronts Amaranthus about Ben’s turncoat status and then apprises Lord John of the situation. And Lord John just seems…exhausted. How often can one incredibly handsome man be expected to clean up everyone else’s mess? In the words of the world’s most famous Mathlete, the limit does not exist.

In any case, the reveal that Ben is actually alive and Amaranthus has been deceiving everyone is another example of the bottom sliding out beneath our character’s worlds. And it must be said, Amaranthus does a lot of stomping and huffing around for someone who has lied to everyone for the entirety of the time we’ve known her.

She’s unfortunately not alone in her tantrums, however. When Percy later arrives to inform a beleaguered Lord John of Captain Richardson’s whereabouts, William walks in and discovers them in passionate embrace. And I do feel a bit sorry for William here…in a matter of weeks he has had significant upheaval to his life as he knew it. His biological father was not who he thought it was. His cousin is not the man he thought he knew. His stepfather has been keeping secrets. The rug keeps getting pulled out from underneath him.

On the Ridge, Fanny becomes distraught when she and Claire are at Jane’s cairn and Fanny discovers a piece of lace is missing from her treasured collection of Jane’s items. Fanny is in a safe place, but as far as she is aware she has lost her entire family. The loss of any small item—any small thread in the lace—feels like a tragedy…like a rent waiting to be torn in the delicate fabric of her life.

And such things do feel like a tragedy when you’re a child. When we are young, the small things feel like the big things because we have had relatively fewer “things” happen to us. Later in the episode, Claire and Jamie’s conversation about their time in Paris serves a nice coda to this scene. Their loss of Faith did almost break them, and it was never a small thing. But they’ve lived long enough to know that grief cannot break them. Over thirty years ago the ground gave way beneath their feet, but they’ve learned that eventually you will find your footing again.

A letter arrives from Ian, and enclosed within is Jane’s narrative of the events of her life as told to the reporter on the eve of her execution. The mystery of Faith is apparently resolved…there are too many coincidences and evidence to draw any conclusion except that Faith lived and she is Fanny’s mother. Once again, Claire and Jamie feel their world slide out from under them, but this time it’s the grief of what could have been. Faith has joined a long line of Outlander children who were raised by people other than their parents, and this detail seems deliberate and thematically relevant. The Frasers have found one child this hour, only to later lose another. Just when we think the ground is stable, we find ourselves tumbling again.

It’s a lesson tragically driven home when Fergus’s family wakes to their home set afire. What is there to say about this scene…we thought we knew the pain to come but we did not know it at all. That is the point…that is life. We expect one thing and brace ourselves with expectation, only to be surprised and unprepared for our grief.

As Claire explains to Fanny, lace serves as a strong metaphor for family this hour—empty in some areas but difficult to break. Lace is made by intertwined threads and knots, so while it is patchy it is also strong. And isn’t that the realization that is hurling us toward the series finale? Although we lose loved ones, a family’s strength is in those intertwined connections and bonds.

And so Fergus’s death serves another purpose for this season as a whole: everyone is coming home. Brianna and Roger and Jem and Mandy. Buck. Ian and Rachel and their children. Fanny. Marsali and her children. And where might William be headed at end of this episode? Three guesses and the first two don’t count. Kings Mountain looms large, but the Fraser family, one by one, is finding their way home.

And that, mark my words, is what will save Jamie. The lace of the Fraser family has many holes: Angus, Rupert, and Murtagh. Fergus. Ellen and Brian and Julia and Henry. Faith and Jane. And in the broader fabric of this world, we can count Frank, Dougal, Colum, and Geillis. They are all family (however flawed), and they are intertwined and knotted within the lives of these characters.

Goodbye, Fergus. You were a pickpocket that stole our hearts and an orphan who taught us the meaning of family. And in the broader context of the new country emerging from this story, Fergus is a reminder that any child is our child. When a child is in need of love or shelter or nourishment, the best among us give freely and without conditions. Because someday it may be ours who is lost, and we will count on kind strangers to hold them, sing to them, and give them family.

Slàinte.