Orla Branson sat at the kitchen table, her right hand mindlessly fingering the letter, her eyes looking not down at the letter but staring vacantly across the small room absorbed in her thoughts. She had been pleasantly surprised to find a letter from Tom in the morning's post but rather than the comfort of knowing he was well mixed with the ache of missing him that his letters usually brought this letter left her shocked and astounded.

Coming home … Marry … Lady Sybil …

It was only the shrill whistle of the tea kettle that awoke her to the passing time. As she poured the boiling water into her tea cup she was startled at how long she must have sat there transfixed by Tom's words for most of the water had boiled away leaving barely enough to fill half the cup.

She stared down at the thick dark stoneware cup. Had Lady Sybil ever seen such a plain cup? No doubt she drank tea from delicate china cups decorated with patterns of colorful roses or lilacs sitting on a matching saucer and with an ornate silver tea spoon she stirred her tea laced with spoonfuls of sugar. These days sugar, like so much else, was too precious and Orla didn't waste any in her tea.

Orla set the kettle back on the cook stove and then looked around the small kitchen. She prided herself on keeping a neat and clean home but no amount of cleaning or scrubbing could brighten the worn linoleum floor that had faded to a dull gray or hide the chips and water stains in the sink basin or the scratches on the sturdy wooden table that filled half the small room. Nor was there any mistaking the chairs surrounding the table were a mismatched collection of shapes and sizes as well as woods. The only bright spot in the room was the colorful patterned cotton curtain that covered the top half of the room's sole window. Beneath that curtain the glass panes glistened but it was a daily battle with the soot and grime that billowed from Dublin's many factories into the air to keep them sparkling.

Oh yes I can see it now. Lady Sybil dressed in a fine silk dress trimmed with delicate lace, maybe an emerald or diamond on a gold chain around her slender neck, sitting in this tiny drab kitchen daintily drinking tea from a chipped stoneware mug. Orla closed her eyes, shook her head, and emitted a deep sigh. What in heavens name was Tom thinking?

It was late but Tom couldn't sleep and he finally gave up all pretense of trying to do so. Plodding into the sitting room of his cottage his eyes were drawn to the framed photograph sitting on the small wooden table sitting next to the well-worn sofa. He leaned over picking up the photograph that had been taken that last summer before he moved to England and stared into the smiling faces of his mother and his brother and sisters. He recalled it had been taken at some celebration, his mother's birthday maybe, and all the family had gathered and his cousin Daithi had impressed them all with his new box camera.

He'd miss too many celebrations and family gatherings, he had nieces and a nephew he had never met and sadly there were a couple of uncles and aunts and cousins he'd never again see on this earth. There was so much he had missed about Ireland. He longed to hear the pipes and fiddles and dance to their lively tunes, to spend an evening sitting in a pub drinking a fine ale, to eat those familiar dishes from his childhood.

There was so much in Ireland he wanted to show Sybil.

The ill-fated attempt to elope had made Sybil and him realize the need for a well thought out plan not just for getting married but for their lives afterwards. As part of that plan they determined they couldn't press forward with marriage until Tom had secured a job in Dublin and to that end he had begun applying for jobs with various Dublin newspapers. Another vital part of their plan was for Sybil to live with his mother until their wedding.

It had been over a week since he had mailed the letter to his mother asking her consent to let Sybil live with her and she had yet to reply. Running his finger across the photograph he paused on his mother's face. Oh Ma! Why haven't you responded to my letter?

Orla Branson stared at the envelope before finally setting it down on the table. She didn't need to again read the letter it contained for she could probably recite it from memory since for the past week all she had been able to think about was that letter. She straightened the blank paper lying on the table and picking up the ink pen she wrote Dear Son. But the next words wouldn't come to her despite spending the past week thinking over and over what to say. Setting the pen back down on the table she reached for her cup of tea. It had been over a week since she had received his letter and she knew Tom was anxiously awaiting her response but still that didn't make it any easier.

Orla had been disheartened that, like so many of his fellow Irishmen, Tom's opportunity for a better job had been in England. It was just another way for the English to hold down the Irish. And like so many other Irish mothers she waited patiently for his letters home. In those long letters he sent home Tom showed his writing skills describing his life and that new world around him. Those letters buoyed her as he seemed well and happy and she thought his lordship's fancy motor car and well-stocked library were the appeal to keeping him at Downton. Although she greatly missed him, since the Easter rising Orla had been glad that Tom was in England well away from the danger in Ireland. She didn't want the awful fate that had taken his cousin to befall him.

Yet it hadn't been the motor car or the library that had kept him in England as this letter certainly shattered that idea. Once the initial shock had worn off she had a gnawing sensation that Tom's professed love for the Earl's youngest daughter shouldn't have been such a surprise. Hadn't there been hints of such in his earlier letters? Maybe not of love but certainly of interest in Lady Sybil. Lady Sybil the beauty of the family. Lady Sybil with her interest in women's rights and politics and books. Kindhearted Lady Sybil who helped the young housemaid obtain a secretarial job. Compassionate and caring Lady Sybil who became a nurse.

Orla had saved Tom's letters and during this past week had re-read them and with her new found knowledge Tom's words in those earlier letters took on a deeper meaning. She also had no doubt that Tom was in love and had to assume that Lady Sybil felt the same. After all the lass was willing to give up her fancy life as Lady Sybil to move to Dublin to become Mrs. Tom Branson.

Fools … the pair of them she thought. Love didn't put food on the table or fuel in the stove or clothes on one's back. Whatever job Tom eventually found certainly wouldn't provide for servants and dresses of silk and all the other luxuries the made up the daily life of Lady Sybil.

She snorted and once again thought fools … the pair of them. Although Sinn Fein had recently formed a government and declared Irish independence it didn't mean Ireland was free. The British weren't leaving that easily. Blood was spilling on both sides and Orla feared they hadn't yet seen the worst of it. Sybil … an English woman and a daughter of an English Earl … how could either of them think she'd be readily accepted here? And what Dublin hospital would even consider hiring someone like her? Tom who professed to keeping up on politics certainly had to have some awareness of how things were now.

Yet, despite how much she hated the thought of her son making a life in England, she'd implore him to reconsider his plans and find a place somewhere there that would be more hospitable to a pair like them.

Orla Branson once again picked up the ink pen.

"I hope Branson this is the post you've been so anxiously awaiting" Carson said as he handed the envelope to Tom.

Not much escaped the butler's notice and he had noted how for the past week or so the chauffeur had magically appeared in the servants hall about the time of the delivery of the post. But if Carson expected an explanation he was sorely disappointed for Tom took the envelope and quickly and quietly left the servants hall.

The walk to the garage had never seemed longer Tom thought. Once or twice he paused thinking he couldn't wait but whatever his mother had written he wanted to read it in private and so he hurried on towards the garage.

He sat on the bench he had put alongside the outside wall of the garage. It was a fine spot to sit in the sunshine although as he sat there today he wasn't aware of the warm sun or the slight sweet smell in the air of early blooming cherry trees. He hadn't been sure what to expect from his mother, whether she'd send a simple note agreeing to Sybil staying with her (something he was so sure she'd agree to) or something a bit longer exclaiming her surprise (certainly she'd be happy he was in love) but joy that he was returning to Ireland with his intended bride. Upon opening the envelope he was astonished to find not a short note but three pages filled with his mother's beautiful script.

I think the pair of ya are very foolish … Love isn't always easy in the best of circumstances …

Tom stopped reading and leaned back against the brick garage wall and ran his hand through his hair. His mother was known for speaking her mind and she had certainly done so in this letter.

I beg you to reconsider your plans and find a place in England that might be more hospitable to a pair like the two of you.

He thought back to that night, it seemed so long ago now but he could still picture Sybil standing at the garage door wearing her nursing uniform. And what about your people? Would they accept me? Her question had taken him by surprise because he had never truly considered his family wouldn't accept her. How could they not love this beautiful, wonderful, kind hearted woman? Yet now his mother was making quite clear that not everyone would be so willing to accept Sybil.

Regardless of how foolish I think you're being you are my son and I love you. If this Lady Sybil is your choice for bride I'll accept your decision and open my home to her.

Tom took a deep breath and then smiled in relief. He knew his mother would accept Sybil. Just like he expected his lordship and the rest of Sybil's family would accept him for he had no doubt they loved Sybil as much as his mother loved him.