I wasn't sure how well Saoirse would be received so I was pleasantly surprised by the positive response here and on twitter! I try to respond personally to each reviewer, so thank you to the Guests who took the time to post their thoughts. Enjoy part 2….
Part 2: Mummy
Sybil awoke from her nap, stirred from sleep by the raucous laughter of the neighborhood children playing outside. She looked out the bedroom window from the second story, which gave her a view of the front walk and gate. And swinging on that gate was her daughter, her two little hands gripping the wooden slats and left leg hitched onto the crossbar at the bottom. She watched as Saoirse pushed off the pavement with her right foot and then smoothly position herself on the crossbar. She swung slowly and gently on the gate, her red dress billowing. I must braid her hair, Sybil thought, as she noticed Saoirse's unruly sandy curls flowing freely behind her, her loose ribbon fluttering. Saoirse inherited her wavy mass of hair, not her father's fine straight strands, and Sybil had a devil of a time keeping her long hair neatly styled.
The children's ball bounced into the grass behind Saoirse, and she heard Padraic, their paper boy, call, "Oi, Saoirse…."
She couldn't help but burst out laughing when she saw a long-ago version of herself defying Carson or reacting to a scolding by her governess. If one were to ask Tom he probably would have seen his own rebellious streak in her. Their daughter never failed to surprise her every day, and she saw how very like her she once was – willful, expressive in her likes and dislikes, and never hesitating to scream or say "no" if she was so inclined. She was feisty and quite a self-centered little person, which sometimes meant you got a stuck-out tongue in response to your requests.
x-x
Before Saoirse was born Sybil decided that if the baby was a girl, her name would be Emma Laura. Tom, the deep thinker that he was, wanted a name that was distinctly Irish, to honor his forefathers and one that had some grand meaning. But Sybil thought the Irish names too difficult to spell and pronounce and she stubbornly clung to the rationale, "If I'm the one carrying this baby for nine months, then I'm going to be the one to name it."
One afternoon, during their visit to Downton, where Saoirse was eventually born, she and Tom were meandering the spacious lawns. They had stopped for rest and shade on a bench underneath the canopy of a weeping beech. There he told her about an interview he conducted that haunted him, and he couldn't escape its memory. He told her of a visit to a railway driver's home, and how much the driver's impassioned thoughts on politics resonated with him. "Just imagine, this man could've really been a great influence if he decided to go into politics. The way he was talking about how our people were stuck in the grip of the British government…Ireland can't get extricate itself from the very masters it's dependent on for its economic survival. But this man, he had ideas on how we could do it, and how we could finally free ourselves from that dependency. He really struck a chord in me," he said wistfully.
Sybil's own heart swelled with love and pride for this man next to her. "I had no idea, darling, you never said," she replied, taking his hand in hers.
Then he confessed to meeting the man's daughter Saoirse. Sensing his heartbreak at the memory, Sybil took Tom's face into her hands, and kissed him. She pressed her lips to his gently at first, hoping to give him that peace that he craved, and then fervently, when his response to her quickened. When they parted for breath, Sybil interlaced her fingers with his and decided that she was still going to name the baby, and prayed it would be a girl so she could name her for the little girl in grey.
Sybil had once challenged her own destiny to be with Tom and live in Ireland, and she believed its best days were yet to come. Her only fear for her daughter (as well as for the child to come) was that she might be trapped in a cage—stripped of freedom and choice—but no matter what, she wanted Saoirse to grow confident, to believe in herself. She hoped Saoirse would become a thinking, feeling person, sensitive to the world around her, with an identity carved out of kindness and love. Her utmost wish was that her name not just remain an emblem, but that her daughter would know what it was to be truly free—as a citizen of Ireland, and as a woman. So in the end, she knew that she wasn't the one who gave Saoirse her name, but that it was Tom, and he chose it well.
x-x
Seeing that her mother-in-law kept an eye on Saoirse, Sybil made her way downstairs to get supper ready. The door to Tom's office was ajar, and Ulysses was comfortably napping on the floor, straddling an area of the hallway and the entry to the office. This room, situated between their bedroom and Saoirse's, was supposed to be a spare bedroom. She felt guilty that Ma had to sleep in the sitting room whenever she stayed over; she supposed she could have Saoirse sleep with them, and have Ma sleep in her room. But Ma insisted that she could sleep anywhere and she didn't want to throw the household in disarray when her whole purpose of coming over was to help.
Tom's office seemed small, but it was only due to the volume of its contents. Books and paper warred for prominence in that space. Piled on a desk were the papers that Sybil teasingly described to Tom as "meticulously ordered chaos." On a side table there was a typewriter, on which she often heard Tom tapping early in the morning or late at night, as methodical and purposeful as the ticking of a clock. The collection of books in Tom's office paled in comparison to Papa's magnificent library. But these books, to Tom, were like friends, because to him, they were extensions of him and his ideas. He had books that were worn, with covers that frayed slightly at the edges or pages with sun-stained borders. Some contained underlines and notes neatly scripted in the margins. Every one of his books was read; none was in the library for the purpose of decoration. Sybil enjoyed reading, but Tom was the true bibliophile and the clever storyteller in the family. Sometimes she would stand right outside Saoirse's bedroom at story time and listen to the tales he'd spin. When she heard him tell their baby the story of the lad and the lady, she started to cry and she was almost afraid of being discovered for eavesdropping.
There was also a singular ornament in the room – a heavy brass clock – that presided over the entire office and rested atop one of the low bookcases. It was beautifully detailed with tableaus from Greek mythology, a porcelain face and bold black numerals. It was a gift from her father, given to her and Tom to mark Saoirse's birth. He presented it to them with the usual ceremony and gravity the occasion deserved, including all the servants. He even took pains to note that Thomas had oiled the mechanisms and set the gears in motion. Thomas had inclined his head, looked Tom straight in the eye, and bowed slightly. Tom later had told Sybil that the clock and Thomas' acknowledgement meant a lot to him – it was symbolic, he said, of his acceptance by both her family and the downstairs staff.
x-x
Sybil did not regret any of her life choices, especially the ones that brought her to Dublin. She loved her life with Tom and Saoirse, and she loved her extended family in Ma, Tristan, and Mabel. She still enjoyed her nursing work, even though at times it was difficult not to feel racked with guilt when she made a mistake, not to feel grieved when she couldn't help to heal a patient, and not to feel empty when she was overworked and uninspired. If not for her family, Sybil would have felt no comfort or purpose in her life. She could not complain: she had a happy home life, one full of laughter and love.
She heard the front door open and Tom calling, "Hello! Sybil! Let's look for Mummy, yeah?"