July 1924

Sybil stood with her body braced against the railing that ran around the top outside deck of the ferry. She didn't need to lean into the railing to keep her balance for the sea was surprising quite calm and she wished she felt as calm. Not that she was feeling any sort of sea sickness but rather it was the realization of what she was doing that had finally hit her as she stood here looking out at the horizon.

She had come out on the deck while the sky still retained most of the darkest of night with just faint hints of lighter grays and blues streaks beginning to appear. So deep in thought of what she was doing, she hadn't noticed the blackness turning lighter and lighter until now the gray of the water sparkled like diamonds in places where hit by the rays of the fast rising sun.

To some it might seem that Sybil's decision had been hastily made but Sybil saw it differently. To her it was something that had been brewing just below the surface for quite a while whether or not she wanted to acknowledge it and Edwin's proposal was the catalyst that brought everything to a head. For Sybil finally realized that she was still in love with Tom Branson and that she couldn't be with anyone else, couldn't fall in love with someone else until she settled things with him.

She stood facing Ireland or at least the direction of Ireland since it was still too far away to actually be seen but she thought the sea gulls swooping around the ship indicated land would soon be within sight. For just a moment as she stood on the open deck with the wind softly brushing her hair and that briny smell of the sea tickling her nose she was transported back to those times when, as a child, she had traveled to New York on an ocean liner far bigger than this ship. She had loved those days at sea frolicking on the deck, searching the water for whales, all the while anticipating the delights she'd find in New York. Although she wasn't searching this water for whales and she certainly wasn't frolicking on the deck, she still had that special feeling of anticipation of what awaited on the upcoming shore.

Sybil felt her pulse quicken as land finally came into view.

xxxxxx

Sybil sat on the sofa in her hotel suite fingering the piece of paper with the address of Tom's mother. As she eyed the paper she had a brief moment of panic as she began to have doubts again about her purpose for being here. Before embarking on this journey she had lingered over the possibility that it was too late, that Tom was happily married or even if still single he might no longer have those feelings for her, that she was just a distant memory to him. Those thoughts had been enough to make her consider giving up her quest. But in the end she knew she'd be a restless soul until she knew for sure and that she had to seek him out whatever the outcome would be.

Yet now sitting in a Dublin hotel she wondered if she was actually ready to face whatever that outcome would be. She set the paper on the table in front of the sofa and walked over to the window with its wonderful view of the very lovely St. Stephen's Green. Tom hadn't really ever talked much about Dublin, about the city itself, for when he talked of Dublin he mostly talked about his family or the injustices of people being ruled by an unwanted occupier.

She watched a couple, their arms wrapped around each other, stroll into the park passing a little boy pulling what looked like a wooden duck.

The truth is, I'll stay at Downton until you want to run away with me.

She quietly uttered "but you didn't stay Tom."

She closed her eyes and a tear ran down her cheek. You ran off without a goodbye.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there at the window watching people come and go from the park. Watching but not really seeing. Finally she took a deep breath and turned back towards the room her eyes drifting to the piece of paper lying on the table. Walking over to the table she once again picked up the piece of paper.

Staring at the address she realized it was from so long ago, what if his family had moved? Taking a deep breath she thought that surely the neighbors would know where the family had gone; after all the Bransons had lived there since Tom was a little boy.

The taxi cab driver looked puzzled when the well-dressed lady gave him the address of her destination. He couldn't imagine why anyone that stayed at the Shelbourne Hotel, especially an English woman, would have any reason to visit that neighborhood.

Sybil wasn't sure what to expect. She knew Tom's family had suffered financially when his father died, that he had to leave school because he needed to work to help support the family and that he had faithfully sent half of his Downton pay home to his mother. The taxi cab turned down a narrow street, barely the width of two motor cars, lined with a series of attached small two story light colored brick homes whose front doors opened directly onto the pavement. After a series of five or six such houses there was a small opening, probably used as an alley, and then another series of the same type of houses. The color of the houses and the pavement and the street all blended together and the drabness of it all was broken only by some brightly painted front doors. The taxi cab slowly crept along until stopping across the street from the address she had given him.

The house looked like every other house on the block with only the curtains visible at the windows distinguishing it from its neighbors. The two long narrow upstairs windows had dark blue curtains that had been pulled back to allow what little sunlight that penetrated the street to seep into the rooms while the much wider window to the left of the bright blue front door was covered with a snowy white lace curtain.

Sybil sat in the back of the taxi cab staring at the house so long that the driver finally asked if she was going to get out. After asking him to wait for her, she did have enough wits about her to ask in case it wasn't the right house or if … she shuddered as she didn't want to think about that.

In answer to Sybil's knock, the front door was opened by a woman that Sybil immediately thought had be Tom's mother for there was no mistaking the resemblance to her son. Her hair, pulled back into a loose bun, was the same dark blondish hair with wisps of gray but it was the blue of her eyes that so nearly matched Tom's. There was nothing fashionable about her light gray dress that was mostly covered by a flowered print apron.

The smile that had been on the woman's face when she opened the door quickly disappeared as she stared at Sybil yet Sybil was too nervous to have noticed.

"Mrs. Branson?" Sybil smiled pleasantly as she waited for the woman to confirm her identity.

The woman's gaze darted to the waiting taxi cab and then back to Sybil.

"I'm-" Sybil began hesitantly in response to the woman's coldness.

"I can guess who you are" the woman abruptly interrupted.

Indeed Mrs. Branson had instinctively known the moment she opened the door and saw the beautiful young woman standing there that it was Lady Sybil and the posh English accent only confirmed it. Although Sybil was dressed modestly in a green and white print dress with a darker green v-neck collar and sash around the drop waist, there was no mistaking the expensive fabric and the fine tailoring that silently spoke of someone out of place on this street. And though she was now several years older she still looked like the girl in the nursing uniform in the creased picture that Tom had once stashed in the top drawer of his bedroom chest.

Sybil nervously nibbled her bottom lip as she looked down at the pavement until deciding that she had come all this way and she wouldn't be deterred by this woman's unfriendly manner.

Raising her head to look directly at Mrs. Branson she spoke as pleasantly as she could. "I'm trying to find Tom."

And that confirmed Ena Branson's fear.

Recognizing Mrs. Branson's apprehension, Sybil reached out to gently touch the woman's arm. "Please Mrs. Branson I need to speak to Tom."

For a moment, Sybil sensed a subtle shift in Mrs. Branson's demeanor, a softening in her eyes, but then just as suddenly any such changes disappeared.

Mrs. Branson removed her arm from Sybil's touch. Her hand took hold of the door. "He's not here" she finally responded as she made to close the door. "He no longer lives here."

Sybil grasped the doorknob to keep the door from closing. She nodded her head slightly as she licked her lower lip. "Could you tell me where he is?"

Then locking her gaze on Mrs. Branson's eyes she implored "Please Mrs. Branson."

"Ma" the unexpected voice coming from behind Mrs. Branson startled both women.

Sybil caught a glimpse of a young woman's head peeking out from behind Mrs. Branson before the older woman moved to block her view.

Firmly and defiantly Mrs. Branson filled the small space formed by the now partially closed door. "My son spent years in England because of you. And then I lost him again when he …" she abruptly stopped as her mask of defiance began to slip and tears formed in her eyes.

"He doesn't need any more of the likes of you" and with that the door slammed shut leaving a dumbfounded Sybil staring at the closed door.

Sybil stood there a few minutes before she began knocking on the door hoping that the young woman, one of Tom's sisters she supposed, would open it.

The taxi driver had curiously watched as Sybil had walked across the street to the house. His curiosity had risen as he watched her hesitate as she stood at the front door staring at it but not raising her hand to knock. When she finally did and then began talking to the older woman who had opened the door, he turned his attention to his newspaper yet periodically he turned to look at his fare.

He had just so happened to glance up when the older woman shut the door. Putting his hat once more on his head, he stepped out of the car and stood beside the passenger door waiting to open it but the young woman didn't move towards the motor car. Instead she stood there with her back to him staring at the now closed front door.

When she finally turned and walked the short distance to the motor car she avoided his face as she took her seat in the back of the car. But before settling into her seat she turned to look at the house and he noted the tears in her eyes.

xxxxxx

For so long he had been a man adrift. During his travels across the globe he had never stayed in any one place for more than a few months. Sometimes it had only been for a matter of weeks before he felt the need or desire to leave while a few times he thought maybe he had found a place to put down roots but then that urge would hit again and he'd pull up stakes once more. He couldn't really say what it was that propelled him to move on. It was a restlessness that he had never had before.

Yet after all the travel, drifting from one place to another, working an assortment of jobs, he had finally found contentment.

Although some days he thought he'd never get rid of the grease stains, Tom wiped his hands on the rag as he stood back to admire his handiwork. The motor car was so clean and shiny it looked as if it had never been driven. Gone were the few dings that had marred the driver's door, the new bumper gleamed, the worn tires had been replaced.

As he stood there admiring his handiwork, the quietness of the garage was jarred by the ringing of the telephone.

"Branson's Garage" he spoke into the telephone and he listened as a stranded motorist asked for help.

A/N: Thanks as always for taking time to leave a review.