HERE IT IS! My (very) belated Valentine story for the Sybil x Tom Valentine Exchange-and for magfreak! Her prompt was simply, the Branson children wish to give their parents a Valentine's Day surprise, like making them dinner...and it all goes to hell. ;o) I couldn't pass this up! And yes *sigh* it's going to be two-parts (I couldn't stop myself from writing on and on about domestic!Bransons) :oP
A quick note! This story imagines the Bransons moving to Boston (after the events of S5)-Tom got a job writing at the Boston Globe, while Sybil is working as a midwife. Sybbie is their oldest (born in 1920) therefore she is 15 in this story. They have four other children: Peter (who is 12, and the last child born outside of America), twin girls Colleen and Patricia (age 9, born in America) and finally, little Michael, who is roughly 18 months. This story is, for the most part, told from the perspectives of the children, which made it a lot of fun! I hope you adore the Branson kids here; I certainly enjoyed writing them! And thank you for your patience with me and my writing; I will work very hard to get part 2 finished soon, but in the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this little belated valentine :o)
Meant With Love
a valentine story for magfreak
by The Yankee Countess
PART ONE
Boston, 1936
Like Roman generals surveying a desolate wasteland, so stood the Branson children, huddled together, their faces weary from battle…only they weren't the conquerors, but the conquered. And the wasteland was none other than their family kitchen.
The once white cabinets that framed the kitchen's oven had been blackened and charred. Smoke still billowed from said oven, and no matter how many windows they opened, there was still a rancid smell emanating from that particular corner of the kitchen.
The sink was overflowing with filthy pots and pans, and a large, soapy puddle had developed just below. The oldest Branson girl held her youngest brother close, ignoring his squirming, because she didn't dare put him down. Where there wasn't water, broken dishes littered the floor, as well as burnt vegetables and raw dough.
How had this happened? Where had it all started to go wrong? WHY had it gone wrong? These were the questions the five Branson children were asking themselves as they assessed the damage done to their family's kitchen.
Tears welled up in their eyes, but not for themselves. While they knew their parents would be furious (and there was no escaping the inevitable punishment), they were saddened more by the fact that their plans to give their parents a much-deserved Valentine's Day treat had backfired in their faces (quite literally). A treat that was not only meant to honor all the hard work their parents had done, but to also…save their marriage.
But now what? Was all hope completely lost?
No time to ponder the answer to that question; the Branson children froze and stared in horror as the house's front door began to open…
Earlier that week…
"Do you think Mam and Da are weird?"
Sybbie Branson's brow furrowed at her brother's question. "What?"
Peter Branson didn't meet his sister's eyes. Instead he kept them focused on the tin can he had been kicking ever since they had left school. "Billy says they're weird," he mumbled.
Sybbie rolled her eyes at the mention of her brother's friend. "Billy also thinks the capital of America is New York City—I don't think you should pay a great deal of attention to anything he says."
Peter now lifted his eyes to his sister and glared at her. "Billy says it's weird."
"What's weird?" Sybbie demanded, exasperation growing in her tone.
"Mam and Da!" Peter answered, his tone every bit as exasperated as hers. "He says it's weird…the way they're always going on with each other."
Sybbie actually stopped walking and turned to face her brother head on. He was growing like a bean pole, but for the time being, he still remained shorter than her, not that she needed height to feel superior to her brother. "'Going on' with each other?" she repeated, her tone now sounding bored (though slightly irritated as well).
"You know…" Peter mumbled, his voice lowering, though there wasn't anyone around them. "Always…hugging and kissing…" his face grew red with embarrassment with each mumbled word.
Sybbie just rolled her eyes (in a rather dramatic fashion) and gave her head a bit of a dismissal flip. "So what?"
Peter frowned, though it was more of a frown of confusion. "But Billy's parents aren't like that! Not all the time, at least."
Sybbie snorted, which only caused her brother to scowl. "According to Billy, his father says it's 'unnatural' for a man to kiss his wife the way Da does."
"Oh stop it," Sybbie snapped, no longer seeing any humor in this ridiculous conversation. "There's nothing wrong with Mam or Da—they're not 'weird' and it's not 'unnatural'. Da loves Mam and she loves him and that's why they hug and kiss so much."
"But..." Peter was making a face at the thought. "Doesn't that…bother you?"
Sybbie groaned and gave another dismissive eye-roll, before turning and continuing on their journey home, not bothering to even dignify her brother's question with an answer. As for Peter, he scowled at his sister's retreating back, hating how she would always do that whenever she didn't agree with him.
Less than ten minutes later, they were walking up the steps that led to their Boston bungalow, Sybbie entering the house first and calling out, "we're home!" before proceeding to move up the stairs that led to the children's bedrooms. Peter waited at the door, waiting to hear his mother answer back at the very least, if not appear and move towards him with her usual "welcome home from school" hug which she always gave to them when she was there…but there was no answer.
Frowning, Peter called out, "Mam? We're home!" Still nothing.
Suddenly the door behind him burst open and Peter was nearly knocked to the ground and trampled by two pairs of overactive feet. "MAM! We're home!" shouted to voices in unison, neither one taking notice of their brother who was glaring at them.
"I already called out to her!" he hissed at them. "And watch where you're going!"
"Watch where you're standing!" Colleen Branson retorted.
"Yeah, Peter, you should know better than to block the door," Patricia Branson added, a smug smile spreading across her face.
Colleen and Patricia Branson were twins, but only in the sense that they had both been born on the same day, less than an hour apart. Like all the Branson children, they had blue eyes, but that was about it in terms of physical likeness. Colleen was fair, with powder-white skin and flaxen-colored hair. According to their father, she looked like one of his sisters, who had similar coloring. As for Patricia, she was freckled, with brown hair that was much lighter than that of her other siblings (save Colleen, obviously). Again, according to their father, she looked like another sister of his. No one ever believed upon first meeting the twins that they were in fact, twins, but Peter always felt that if someone was left alone with them long enough, they would soon realize that the likeness between the two girls had nothing to do with physical appearance, and everything to do with their mischievous natures. And nothing delighted either of his sisters more, than to vex their brother.
"Where is Mam?" Colleen asked, dropping her schoolbag. Before waiting for a reply, she dashed down the corridor that led to the kitchen, shouting as she went, "MAM!?"
"She's not here," Peter muttered, his ears ringing slightly from Colleen's shout.
"How do you know?" Patricia countered, also dropping her schoolbag and giving her brother a skeptical look.
"She would have answered by now!" he snapped back.
"Maybe she's in the bathroom?"
"Or maybe she's not here?"
Patricia rolled her eyes. "Did you check the bathroom?"
Peter made a face. "Why would I check the bathroom?"
"To see if Mam is in there!" Patricia rolled her eyes, as if she believed him to be stupid.
"I'm not going to poke my head—"
"She's not here!" Colleen's voice rang out, running back to where the others were still standing. In her hands she carried a note that had been left for them. "Says she was called away to help Mrs. Donnelly; says that Michael is next door with Mrs. Magnusson and that we can each have a chocolate biscuit except Peter."
"WHAT?" Peter snatched the note out of his sister's hands. "Where does it—" he scanned the note and then heard his sisters giggling and realized that Colleen was teasing him. "Ha, ha, hilarious," he muttered, tossing the note back at her.
"Alright, that's enough!" Sybbie's voice thundered from the top of the stairs. She reminded her younger siblings of their mother, both in her stern look and rigid stature with her hands on her hips. "You heard what Mam's letter said—homework, now!"
Colleen and Patricia groaned but didn't dare argue with their sister. Grabbing their schoolbags they hefted their way up stairs to their shared bedroom. Sybbie turned and lifted an eyebrow at her brother. "You too, Peter—homework."
"I heard you the first time," Peter muttered, trudging up the stairs.
Patricia poked her head out of her room then. "I'm hungry," she announced.
Colleen quickly added, "me too!"
Sybbie rolled her eyes, but being a Branson, understood the art of negotiation and compromise, and held up a finger to her sisters. "One biscuit, but that's it."
"No, I mean, I'm hungry for supper," Patricia explained, though Colleen was already moving back down the stairs to get the allowed biscuits.
"Well even if Mam were here, you wouldn't be getting supper at nearly four in the afternoon anyway," Sybbie groaned.
"I know that," Patricia huffed. "But when will she be back?"
"I don't know," Sybbie sighed. "But don't worry about that now—homework, off with you!"
Patricia made a face, and Peter couldn't help but smirk, however he quickly wiped that smirk from his face when Sybbie turned her steel gaze to him. Colleen rushed back up the stairs then, carrying what suspiciously looked like more than two biscuits in her hands. Before she could be called into question, the door to the twins' room slammed shut, and giggles could be heard on the other side. Not for the first time did Peter wish his brother were older. He hated being the only boy, outranked by sisters on both sides.
Just then there was a knock at the door. Before Sybbie could say anything, Peter was halfway downstairs, racing to open it. "Billy!" he greeted with a grin at the sight of his friend. His smile only grew wider as he noticed Billy was holding a hockey stick.
"Hey! I just saw Jim O'Connell; he said there's a thick sheet of ice on the pond! A whole bunch of us are going—come on, Branson!"
Peter's smile broadened and he opened his mouth to eagerly reply, but was stopped short by his sister's thunderous warning. "Peter Liam Branson, don't you dare!"
Peter groaned. "Sybbie…"
"No, Peter!" Sybbie dug her feet in. "Mam said to stay here and do homework!"
"I'll do it when I get back, I promise!"
"We won't be too long," Billy offered in an attempt to back up his friend. "Just until the sun goes down."
"The sun will be down in less than an hour!" Sybbie observed.
"Exactly!" Peter grinned. "So I won't be gone long! And I'll be back before Mam or Da—"
"You don't know when she'll be back, she could be coming home as we speak, and…"
Sybbie's words died in her throat and Peter noticed that she wasn't looking at him any longer but at something over his shoulder. Frowning, Peter turned and then let out a groan as he saw the source of his sister's sudden silence.
"Hey, Sybbie…" a tall, handsome blond-haired boy greeted.
Sybbie's cheeks were a bright shade of pink. "Lars…" she bashfully murmured in reply.
Lars Magnusson lived next door. He was one year older than Sybbie, but unlike the Branson children, didn't go to school any longer. He was apprenticing with his father now, who happened to be a baker. Quite often the Magnusson's would send Lars over with something from their shop, sometimes in thanks for something their parents had done, like their father fixing their car, or their mother patching up the younger Magnusson children when they got cuts or scrapes, or sometimes simply because they were friendly neighbors. The youngest Branson, Michael (who was eighteen months) usually stayed with the Magnusson's when Sybil had to step out on her midwife duties as she clearly had to do today. And speaking of Michael…the youngest Branson was right now wriggling in their neighbor's arms.
"Sorry to bother you," Lars apologized, looking a bit sheepish.
"Oh, you're not bothering me!" Sybbie assured him, and Peter had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Billy was doing the same thing.
Lars smiled and Peter wondered if his sister was going to melt into a puddle. "I know Mother said she would look after Michael until Mrs. Branson got back, but…" he glanced over his shoulder at the Magnusson's bungalow, and then back at Sybbie, his expression seeming to grow more and more sheepish. "Mother thinks she's coming down with something and didn't want Michael to catch it."
"Oh!" Sybbie looked concerned. "Oh, I hope it's nothing serious? I'm sure Mam wouldn't mind seeing her, when she gets back—"
"Oh, that's alright," Lars assured, smiling warmly again. "Mother knew you would say that, but it's nothing serious—just a bit of a cold, she thinks; probably got it from my sister; she was sneezing and coughing over the weekend, but seems to be fine now."
Sybbie gave Lars a look of understanding. "Well, that is just the sort of thing a younger sibling would do."
Peter frowned at this and gave his sister a reproachful look. She didn't pay him any heed.
Billy saw this as a good sign, however, and gave a little tug on Peter's sleeve, hinting that he should slip away now, while his sister stood enamored with the boy next door. Sadly, he wasn't so lucky.
"Oh no you don't," Sybbie stopped him, her hand coming firmly down on his shoulder. "Homework—go!"
"But—"
"GO!" Sybbie hissed, and then turned her eyes to Billy, who was already moving quickly away.
Peter rolled his eyes and muttered various things to himself as he trudged back up the stairs, looking over his shoulder and glaring at his sister's back while she took Michael from Lars' arms and offered him a cup of tea, to which he politely declined, but thanked her…and then in a somewhat awkward manner, shuffled from one foot to the other, before mumbling something about several friends going to the cinema on Friday and wondering if she would like to join them? Like any good younger brother, Peter stored the moment away for when he could use it in front of their parents to embarrass his sister.
In the meantime, "Hey!" he called out to Sybbie. "Don't you have homework you should be working on?"
Sybbie whipped her head around and glared at her brother, before putting on a pleasant smile and once again returning her attention to Lars and murmuring, "I'd like that…I'll talk with my parents this evening when they get home," she murmured, to which Lars smiled broadly, before nodding his head and backing somewhat awkwardly away from the house. Peter made a face at the whole scene, before silently vowing, I am NEVER going to be like THAT! However, he didn't linger on the thought, as Sybbie shut the door, and then turned and gave him such a look, he wouldn't be surprised to see fire come shooting out of her mouth when she next opened it. He raced the rest of the way up the stairs, shut his door, and didn't come back out until he heard his father enter the house, a few hours later.
Their mother didn't come home in time for supper. Nor was she home by the time the younger Branson children had to start getting ready for bed. "I'm sure she'll be here soon," Tom tried to reassure his children, who were starting to look a little worried. "Your mother has assisted with long births before, and Mrs. Donnelly and her baby are in excellent hands."
That did bring a smile to the Branson children faces, and Sybbie did what she could to help the younger ones finish getting ready for bed, while Tom took care of little Michael. "Help your sister with the dishes," he told Peter, before leaving to change Michael's nappy.
Of all the chores he had to do, the washing up was one Peter loathed the most. And since Sybbie had gone to help his younger sisters get ready for bed, he knew he would have to start without her. Why did she have to help Colleen and Patricia anyway? They were both nine-years-old! What help did they need to get ready for bed—
The front door opened then and Peter quickly shut off the faucet and hurried from the kitchen to the main corridor to see—"MAM!"
Sybil Branson looked up from the rug where she was wiping her shoes and offered a tired, but loving smile at the sight of her son. "Hello, darling," she greeted, moving to him and bending her head to brush her lips against his cheek. "Oh your cheeks are so warm," she sighed with relief.
Peter grinned, then not waiting to be asked, quickly moved around his mother to help her with her coat. Sybil smiled and thanked him as she shrugged the coat off her shoulders and handed Peter her scarf. "Thank you, darling," she murmured. "Have the others gone to bed—?"
"MAM!"
The twins squealed at the same time, and ran down the steps at top speed, Sybbie following close behind.
"We missed you!" Colleen greeted, throwing her little arms around her mother's shoulders and leaning up on her tip toes to kiss her cheek.
"Da and Sybbie made stew but it wasn't as good as yours," Patricia followed, kissing her mother's other cheek.
"Oh it wasn't that bad!" Sybbie muttered, before turning and smiling at her mother and offering her own kiss. "We saved some for you—"
"Mam, Mrs. Gubbins says I qualified for the spelling bee!" Colleen interrupted.
"I got top marks on my math test!" Patricia added, not to be outdone by her twin. "Wanna see? I brought it home—"
"Let Mam be!" Peter interrupted, glaring at his sisters. "Can't you see she's tired?"
"I'm alright, but thank you, Peter," Sybil stroked her son's cheek before turning back to her daughters. "I'm very happy to hear about your accomplishments, girls, very happy and very proud. But it is bedtime, so we'll talk more about it tomorrow at breakfast, alright?"
The twins gave a somewhat over-dramatic sigh, but agreed to their mother's suggestion.
"I'll be up in a moment—go finish getting ready," she urged them, kissing the tops of their heads before they turned and hurried back up the stairs once again. She turned to her older children and asked, "Where's your father?"
"Changing Michael's nappy," Peter informed her.
"Ah, well far be it from me to interrupt him," she said with a teasing wink, earning a giggle from Sybbie and Peter. Noise could be overheard coming from the upstairs bathroom, and Sybbie groaned, before reassuring her mother that she would take care of things with the twins, and then swiftly ran upstairs to stop the girls from overflowing the sink or worse, clogging up the toilet.
"Sybil?"
Both Peter and his mother turned at the sound of Tom's voice, and Peter noticed the instant change on his father's face, how it seemed to light up upon seeing his wife.
"Oh thank God," Tom murmured. "It started snowing as I was coming home from work, but it really started to thicken over the last hour…"
"I know, it did make it a bit difficult with the street car," Sybil sighed, but smiled as she moved towards her husband, whose free arm (the one that wasn't holding Michael) wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer to his broad chest. Peter stood off to the side, looking back and forth between his parents. It was as if they hadn't noticed that he was still there. Instinct had him wincing when they first began to kiss, but instead of looking away as he usually did, he recalled the conversation between himself and his sister on their walk home from school.
"…Da loves Mam and she loves him and that's why they hug and kiss so much."
As much as he hated to admit to himself, maybe his sister was right? Maybe it…wasn't…"unnatural" or "weird" as Billy or Billy's father had put it. And if truth be told…he hadn't really been questioning his parents' actions until his friends started to tease him about it.
"Ma, Ma, Ma," Michael demanded his presence be acknowledged, and Sybil laughed as she turned her head to kiss her youngest, before taking him from Tom's arms to cuddle in her own.
Tom smiled at the sight of his wife and youngest son, before turning his head and seeming then to notice Peter was still there. "Have you finished the dishes like I asked?" His voice was stern, but not unpleasant. Peter turned a bright shade of red, and then hurried back into the kitchen to continue with the washing up.
While he was there, he listened as his parents continued speaking to one another.
"How is Mrs. Donnelly?" Tom asked.
"Well, I'm pleased to say," Sybil sighed, rather wearily. "She delivered a healthy set of twins—remind you of anyone?"
Tom chuckled. "Lord help her," he sighed.
"Yes, well, unlike our girls, these two are boys, and might be identical, though it's hard to know for certain at this point." Another weary sigh escaped her mouth, followed by a sound that resembled a groan.
"Are you alright, love?" Tom asked with concern. "Here, let me take Michael—have you eaten anything? We set some stew aside—"
"I know, Sybbie told me," Sybil answered. "And I'll be alright—just stiff. It was a long birth, and one that wasn't without some complications, though thankfully everything was fine afterwards, and mother and babies were doing very well when I left."
"Mrs. Donnelly was very fortunate to have such a skilled midwife looking after her."
"Thank you, darling, but my skills can only do so much. I can't perform a surgery, even if I knew how, not in someone's home. A birth, or rather, births, like hers should have been at the hospital. One of the boys had gotten the cord stuck around his neck—I was afraid he was going to choke! Thankfully, with a pair of forceps, I managed—"
"I get the idea," Tom interrupted. Peter couldn't deny he was glad for the interruption. Probably more than any other boy in his grade, Peter Branson knew all about human anatomy, both male and female; his mother wasn't shy in teaching her children such things, and even before he could formulate the question "where do babies come from?" Sybil Branson was already prepared, complete with pictures from a medical textbook.
"Well…as lovely as a piping hot bowl of stew sounds, I'm not sure I can stomach much more than tea and toast."
"Can't imagine why…" Tom chuckled. "I'll set the kettle on for you."
Peter turned his attention back to the sink as his parents entered the kitchen, his mother sinking down into a nearby chair, taking Michael once again, while his father went to fill the tea kettle. Sybil turned her attentions back to her older son and asked, "how was school today?"
"Fine," Peter answered, the typical answer children often gave their parents when asked that basic question. And because the subject of school was never one that he wanted to focus on more than was necessary, he changed the subject and said, "Mr. Murphy at school said he wants to assemble a hockey team! Tryouts are going to be on Monday of next week!"
Sybil groaned at the mention of the sport. "Honestly, I don't understand where this fascination with hockey comes from."
"All the boys play it here!" Peter defended. "And I don't care what George says," referring to his cousin. "It's ten times better than cricket."
"Amen to that," Tom muttered under his breath.
Sybil shot her husband a look, before turning her attentions back to her son. "I'm not so sure it's a good idea," she sighed. "Your marks at school this past quarter have slipped considerably, and I think hockey is distracting you."
"What!? No it's not—"
"Oi," Tom warned, giving Peter a look that told him to watch his tone.
"Darling, I know you love to play hockey, but it's not worth risking your grades—"
"But I'm not!" he protested, and then winced at the harsh way his father spoke his name.
He wanted to say more, he wanted to make his mother believe he could get his grades back up and play hockey for the school, but it was at that moment that Sybbie came back into the kitchen, completely oblivious to the conversation that had transpired between himself and his parents.
"Mam, I wanted to wait to ask until you got home," she announced, looking at both her parents. "Can I go to the cinema on Friday? A bunch of us from school are going—I'd need some money, but just a little!"
Why Peter thought his parents would put their foot down and tell his sister she couldn't go, he didn't know. Instead, his parents exchanged a glance, before Sybil said, "well, I don't see why not—what time is the picture? And what are you seeing, exactly?"
Peter's eyes went wide with horror, and because he was feeling rather sorry for himself, muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, "you should ask her WHO she's going with." A satisfied smirk spread across his face at the way his sister's eyes widened at his words.
Sybil and Tom both arched their eyebrows and turned to their oldest. Peter continued to smirk, ready for his parents to explode before forbidding Sybbie from even setting foot outside of the house. But it was surprise, not delight that greeted Peter, when Tom exchanged a look with his wife, before trying his hardest to ask with a semi-straight face, "Young Mr. Magnusson wouldn't happen to be among this 'group' attending the cinema on Friday, would he?"
Sybil swatted her husband's arm, but Tom only chuckled. Sybbie continued to glow beet red, however she didn't crumble with embarrassment; she lifted her chin and answered, "Lars was the one who mentioned it, yes, BUT THERE REALLY WILL BE A GROUP GOING—"
"Alright, alright, I believe you," Tom chuckled, before leaning forward and pressing his lips to his daughter's brow. "Remind me again on Thursday and I'll make sure some money is set aside."
Sybbie still blushed, but also beamed at this. As for Peter, his jaw had become unhinged as he stared in dismay. "That's not fair!" he all but shouted. Sybil and Tom turned and stared at their son in alarm. "Why is she being allowed to go the cinema with a boy—"
"A group!" Sybbie hissed.
"—And I'm not allowed to try out for hockey!"
Michael started to wail at that moment. Peter immediately felt himself shrinking back at the dark look his father was giving him. Sybil also didn't look to be very pleased, and she murmured that she was going to try and put Michael to bed, before rising and leaving the kitchen.
"Oh Mam, Lars said that Mrs. Magnusson thinks she's coming down with a cold; she had Lars bring Michael back early, not wanting him to get sick," Sybbie told her mother in passing.
"Thank you, darling, I'll be watchful for any signs," Sybil murmured, kissing her son and trying to calm him from his sudden outburst of tears. Sybbie glanced at her father and then back at her brother, then decided to follow her mother out of the kitchen, leaving father and son behind. Despite his earlier hopes of humiliating his sister, Peter now wished more than ever that she wouldn't leave him.
As soon as they were alone, Tom folded his arms across his chest and lowered his voice to a quiet but firm tone, one that didn't allow argument.
"Your mother gave you the reasons to why she doesn't think it's a good idea for you to try out. They're valid reasons and I agree with them. As for your sister, her request to go to the pictures on Friday is not related at all to our decision in regards to you. She's asking for to out for a few hours on one day, which isn't even a school night. What you're asking is a commitment to something that will last for several weeks, and your school work might suffer greatly from it…" Tom knelt down then until he was at eyelevel with his son. His tone had lightened somewhat and Peter could see the concern in his father's eyes, genuine care and concern, as well as a little sympathy and understanding to why Peter was upset. "I know it doesn't help with the situation for right now…but if you work hard, get your grades back up and keep them back up…and then prove to your Mam and me that you can maintain that in addition to 'practicing' with your friends on days when you get all your homework done, of course…then next year, we very well might have a change of heart."
It was an entire year away, but it was the closest thing to a compromise that could be made, and Peter knew he wouldn't find a better or fairer offer. "Alright…" he sighed, still feeling disappointed, but he forced a smile and nodded his head, then returned the offered hug his father gave him.
He finished the washing up, and Tom told him to go and get ready for bed, that he would dry the dishes. Peter didn't need to be told twice, glad to be finished with the loathsome chore, and hurried up the stairs to his room. His mother was in with the twins, rocking Michael in her arms and listening to the girls prattle while preparing for bed.
"…Mam, we have to make valentines for school—can we use the kitchen table tomorrow to work on them?" Colleen asked.
"That's fine, dear," Sybil assured. "But just be sure to have everything cleared away when it's time for supper."
"Will you help us?" Patricia asked rather eagerly. "Please? Can you show us how to cut hearts from lace and make paper heart chains?"
"We'll see," Sybil sighed, sounding a bit unsure. "I have several patients I need to visit tomorrow…and I'm not sure what I'm going to do about Michael if Mrs. Magnusson is ill. But if I'm able, I will," she promised.
"What are you and Da going to do on Valentine's Day?" Colleen then asked, sounding quite mischievous with her question.
"I know the answer to that!" Patricia giggled, before making rather obnoxious kissing sounds with her lips.
"Alright, that's enough," Sybil warned, though Peter could tell she was trying to keep herself from giggling. He had forgotten all about Valentine's Day. His teacher hadn't said anything in class, but that didn't bother him, in fact, he rather hoped nothing would be said because unlike his sisters, the thought of having to make valentines for his fellow classmates was downright embarrassing.
"I doubt your father and I will be doing anything," Sybil sighed. "He's been very busy at The Globe, and my appointment book is quite full this week…" she paused to yawn and Peter suddenly felt concern at hearing the weariness in his mother's voice. He remembered how when had she entered the house, before he rushed to greet her, he had seen dark circles under her eyes. She had been working a great deal, both in terms of seeing patients, but also in terms of reading books and studying. Why was she studying? For what purpose? He knew his parents enjoyed learning (for some strange reason) but…she wasn't attending school, so who and what was she studying for?
Michael started wailing then. Sybil sighed once more and bid her younger daughters goodnight before rising and leaving the room. She was surprised to find Peter standing just outside. "He's doing that a lot, it seems…" he found himself mumbling, recalling how Michael had been crying a great deal the previous night…and the night before that.
"Yes, it seems he's reaching his 'terrible two's' well before he's two," Sybil groaned, but forced a smile and caressed Peter's cheek before turning in the direction of her and Tom's bedroom, which Michael shared at the moment.
"Mam!" Peter called out to her as she passed. Sybil paused and looked back at him. "I…I'm sorry about earlier…just now, downstairs."
His mother's smile was one of gentle understanding. "I know, darling. And I do understand why you're upset."
Peter felt rather ashamed of his near temper tantrum. He may not be the oldest child, but he was the oldest boy, and he knew his parents depended on him just as much as they depended on Sybbie to help mind the younger ones. "Da said that if I can get my grades back up and keep them up and prove that I can handle that, then maybe next year I can try out."
Sybil smiled and nodded her head in agreement. "I think that's a fine idea," she murmured, before wincing at the rather loud shriek Michael gave. "Excuse me, Peter, but if I don't see to your brother, none of us are going to get a good night's sleep."
Peter nodded his head before turning and dragging his feet down the hallway to his own room, which he would someday share with his younger brother. Hopefully by then, whatever caused Michael to cry like that would be out of his system.
"Oi!"
Peter froze and looked up at the sight of his older sister, standing and blocking his way into his room. Like their father, Sybbie adopted the same stance with her arms folded across her chest, but unlike their father, there were no signs of understanding or sympathy in her eyes.
"That was a dirty trick you pulled," she all but snarled at him.
Peter was willing to ask for forgiveness from his parents, but not necessarily from his older sister. "Were you going to tell them about Lars if I hadn't said anything?"
Sybbie rolled her eyes. "It's not like that! It's a group!"
"So he says," Peter muttered.
Sybbie's eyes narrowed. "Are you insinuating something?" Before he could reply (and remember what "insinuating" meant) his sister jabbed him with a finger in the chest. "Lars is a gentleman, he wouldn't lie, and both Mam and Da like him. So yes, for your information, I would have said something to Mam and Da if they asked who was in the group, but seeing how it is a GROUP of us going, it wasn't necessary to tell them at that exact moment—"
"Alright, alright," Peter muttered, rubbing the spot where his sister had kept jabbing him. "At least you'll be out having fun with Lars—I mean, A GROUP, that just so happens to include Lars—" she had jabbed him again, but it was worth it. "—while Mam and Da spend Valentine's Day doing nothing."
Sybbie's frown changed then. Apparently she too seemed to realize that Friday was Valentine's Day. But instead of getting all "gooey" over the realization that Lars had asked her to join him (with a group) to the pictures on Valentine's Day, she seemed to focus on the latter part of what he had told her.
"Mam and Da don't have plans?"
"How could they?" he mumbled, still rubbing where she had poked him. "If you're out on a date—"
"It's NOT a date!"
"If you're not here to look after the younger ones, then how could they go out and do something themselves?"
Sybbie suddenly looked guilty then, and Peter suddenly felt rather guilty for making her feel guilty (much to his annoyance). "Mam also said they're both too busy," he added, in an effort to assuage their guilty feelings.
Sybbie didn't say anything, she just pressed her lips together as she often did when she was contemplating something. She then mumbled a "goodnight" to Peter, before turning into her own room and shutting the door. Peter wasn't sure what to make of that, but decided not to question it further.
Sleep did eventually come to the Branson house, but not without some difficulty. Michael awoke several more times in the middle of the night, and then just before daybreak, an urgent knock was heard downstairs. Tom threw on his robe and Sybil followed close behind, both of them looking sleep deprived when they reached the door. Another one of Sybil's patients had gone into labor, and the woman was terrified as this was her first child and she couldn't get hold of her own mother, and her husband didn't know what to do, other than run to the Bransons house and hope and pray Mrs. Branson could come and ease them all…so without breakfast, or seeing her children off, Sybil dressed and left with Mr. Rohan, leaving Tom to make sure the children had everything they needed before heading off to school.
"Da, what about Michael?" Patricia asked.
"Yeah, if Mrs. Magnusson is ill, who's going to look after him?" Colleen asked.
"I'll see if Mrs. Quinn from across the street can look after him. She's always cooing over Michael at church," Tom muttered as he tried to finish making the children's lunches for school. He glanced at the stove and groaned at the sight of the dirty dishes that needed to be taken care of before he left for work.
Sybbie followed his eyes. "I can do that Da—"
"No, you need to finish getting ready for school—Colleen, finish your breakfast," Tom instructed, trying to keep his temper even though it was obvious to the other children that he was on edge. Peter noticed much like his mother had looked yesterday, that his father had dark circles under his eyes as well.
"Da, do you want me to go over and ask Mrs. Quinn for you?" he asked, wanting to be helpful. "I'm finished with my breakfast," he added.
Tom glanced and then gave a nod of his head. "Thank you, Peter," he called out, while Sybbie urged the younger girls to finish getting ready.
Ten minutes later, Tom was dropping Michael off with Mrs. Quinn, while the rest of the Branson children were heading down the road to school. As soon as they rounded the corner, Sybbie turned to face her younger siblings and once again adopted that stern stance that reminded them all of both of their parents.
"We need to do everything we can to be helpful to Mam and Da—not get in their way, not bother them with questions—"
"But Mam is supposed to help us make valentines for school!" Patricia practically whined.
"You can do that yourself!" Peter snapped, matching his sister's harsh look with one of his own.
"I know Mam said she would help if she were able, but Mam also said that her schedule is very busy this week," Sybbie reminded the twins. "And even if she doesn't have a patient to see this afternoon when we get home, she didn't get a great deal of sleep last night—"
"None of us did," Colleen groaned.
"THE POINT is," Sybbie gave her younger sisters a look that dared them to interrupt her again. "Let's not bother her if we can help it…alright?"
"And Da too!" Peter added.
Sybbie nodded her head in agreement. "And Da too."
"Will you help us with our valentines then?" Patricia asked Sybbie.
"That is if you're not too busy staring out the window and hoping Lars Magnusson passes by," Colleen added, earning a giggle from her twin and a horrified gasp from her older sister.
"Away with you both!" Sybbie growled, pointing in the direction of the twins' school. Peter had to bite the inside of his cheek to suppress his own laughter, but Sybbie wasn't fooled. "One word out of you, and I'll make sure YOU'RE the one helping the twins make valentines!" she threatened. That shut him up for the rest of the journey.
Unfortunately, the stresses their parents were enduring didn't lessen as the week progressed. Tom's editor at The Globe wanted him to cover a special assignment at City Hall, which meant he would keeping late hours at the office, while Sybil was left to not only do what she could for the children, but also look after Michael who didn't come down with a cold, but rather, an ear infection that had him screaming practically every hour. Thankfully she didn't have any births to oversee after the early-morning emergency to the Rohan's, but all of her usual appointments were pushed back to the end of the week, which meant that Valentine's Day would most definitely be a day where neither Branson parent did anything together.
Sybbie and Peter did what they could to help around the house, taking on chores without even being asked. Even the twins stepped up to do their part, and much to Peter's surprise, avoided bothering their mother with their idle chatter. But even with all this, it wasn't missed by Peter Branson that things weren't…well.
Sybil was exhausted, trying to comfort her youngest while also trying to be a good mother to her other children, inquiring after their homework, asking them about friends and school, all the while looking as if she might collapse any second. And yet despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but be a little short-tempered.
"Girls, I asked you to please clear away the table, I'm trying to make supper!" she groaned one afternoon, finding remains of the twins' valentine creations.
"Peter, I nearly broke my neck, tripping over your hockey stick! What is it doing in the house, anyway? Keep it outside!"
Even Sybbie, their parents "perfect angel" wasn't immune to their mother's short temper. "Darling, please, you'll see Lars and your friends soon enough on Friday; come away from the window and help me with cutting up these potatoes!"
But that was nothing compared to the clipped words the Branson children overheard exchanged between their parents at one point that week.
"What do you want me to do, Sybil? You know my editor is breathing down my neck about this story!"
"Oh yes, and heaven forbid you turn down a story!"
"It's my job, love; I'm head of the political—"
"Being a parent is your job as well!"
"I know that! You don't think I know that!?"
"You leave before anybody else in the morning and you don't get home until the children are nearly asleep!"
"Need I remind you that there are many days, such as this past Tuesday, when you leave before the children have had their breakfast, and don't get home until—"
"Well, to quote you, 'it's my job, love'."
"EXACTLY! And yet I don't try to purposefully guilt you—"
"I am NOT trying to 'purposefully guilt'—"
"Oh no? Then what ARE you doing?"
"I can't do this by myself, Tom! Sybbie and Peter and even the twins do what they can to help around the house, but it isn't fair to ask them to take on so much, in addition to everything they have to do for school—"
Their parents had rowed before, but this was unlike anything they had heard before. They were all gathered in the twins' bedroom. Colleen and Patricia started to cry and huddled close to Sybbie who tried to offer what comfort she could. Peter stood near the door, and even though it was closed, they could still hear everything. Just then Michael started to scream, and Sybil shouted at her husband, saying that he had woken the baby when she had finally managed to get him to fall asleep, while Tom muttered that he wasn't the one who had been shouting, then added, "no, I'll see to him, milady—far be it from me to allow poor Lady Sybil to have to lift another finger!"
This earned a gasp from the children, who knew that their mother wasn't fond of being reminded about her old life as an English aristocrat, especially in the way which their father had muttered.
The next day, Tom was there to share breakfast with the family, but it wasn't missed by Peter that while his parents seemed a great deal calmer and spoke in softer, more even tones, they didn't exchange any of their usual touches or kisses. What was so second-nature to the Branson parents was now completely foreign. And despite what Peter had said to his sister earlier that week, he now missed seeing his parents embrace.
"Are Mam and Da going to get a divorce?" Patricia whimpered after they left the house for school.
Sybbie's head spun so quickly at her sister's words, Peter thought for sure she had given herself whiplash.
"No! No, of course not!" she firmly stated. "All couples argue; Auntie Mary and Uncle Matthew argue, Gran and Donk argue, but they didn't divorce—and Mam and Da would never do that!"
"Because we're Catholic?" Colleen mumbled.
"Because they LOVE each other!" Sybbie growled.
"But they didn't kiss…"
All three of his sisters turned to look at Peter then.
He shrugged his shoulders and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "They didn't kiss," he repeated again. "Mam and Da always kiss…and touch one another, whether it's their hands, or shoulders, or…" he sniffled and kicked a stone on the ground.
Sybbie sighed and shook her head once again. "They're just tired; it's been a very busy week for them, and Michael getting sick hasn't helped. They're under a lot of stress, but soon everything WILL be better," she insisted. "It will; Michael was already much improved this morning, and Da will be finished with his article by the weekend."
"But Mam has all those appointments to work on tomorrow," Colleen murmured.
"And tomorrow is Valentine's Day," Patricia added.
And that was when the idea struck Peter.
"We'll make them dinner."
Again, his sisters all stared at him. "What?" they said in unison.
"We'll make them dinner! We'll give them the nice, fancy, Valentine's Day celebration they should be having!"
Sybbie folded her arms across her chest. "You don't know the first thing about cooking," she pointed out.
"But you do," he said rather pointedly, shooting a glare at the twins who then began to snort and giggle.
"Oh, so you're suggesting I cook Mam and Da some kind of elaborate Valentine's Day feast?"
"We'll help!" Peter encouraged, now looking at the twins with an expectant look. "Right?"
Colleen and Patricia exchanged an uncertain look. "But…what about Sybbie?" Colleen looked at her older sister. "She's going to the pictures tomorrow—"
"No…" Now the three younger Bransons looked at their sister with surprise. Sybbie sighed and shrugged her shoulders, before forcing a smile. "They'll be other times…and…and I think Peter is right; both Mam and Da have been working really hard, and it just isn't right that they not have any kind of 'special' celebration for Valentine's Day, so…" she looked determined now. "I say we do it."
Peter grinned broadly and the twins even started to cheer.
"BUT!" Sybbie pointed a stern finger at her younger siblings. "ALL of you are helping me with this—I am not making this meal all by myself, understand?"
"Of course!" Peter answered for them. "We'll be the 'Daisys' to your 'Mrs. Patmore'," he chuckled, recalling the now retired cook and former kitchen maid from Downton Abbey.
"Alright…" Sybbie sighed resolutely. "Then after school today, we'll meet in my room and make our plans…we won't have time to go out and buy anything fancy, so we'll have to use what we have at the house."
"Colleen and I can make decorations!" Patricia insisted. "We still have plenty of supplies left over from our valentines!"
"Good, we'll talk about it in more detail later after school." The twins nodded their heads at their sister's words, then hurried down the street to their school, while Peter and Sybbie continued up the road to their own.
"It's a good idea, yeah?" he asked, looking at his sister and hoping she would agree with him.
Sybbie smiled and nodded her head. "It's a good idea, Peter; you do have them on occasion."
He rolled his eyes but laughed and raced along beside her the rest of the way to their school. He did what he could to concentrate on the lessons his teacher was giving the class as the day went on, but all he could think about were the surprised faces of his parents when they entered the house tomorrow evening after their equally long days of work, seeing the place all decorated, and the nice meal prepared. They would gasp, hug each of them, thank them, before finally turning to one another, and embracing, while murmuring "happy Valentine's Day" to one another before they kissed.
It was going to be perfect!
…Or so he thought.