Ok, here it is...the last chapter! Though I will write up short epilogue too, and will try to post that late tonight. But other than that, this is it! Thank you for reading and following this story! And happy new year!
Chapter Nine
All was still.
Tom sighed and lifted his eyes to the gray horizon. The morning he left for France was like this; still, quiet, gray. He had thought it perfect at the time, as leaving Sybil was like leaving color, music, and life behind. And in all honesty, he couldn't recall one day when the sun rose and shown warmth down upon them since he had arrived. He found it fitting, in many ways, that whatever lay beyond for him was equally cold and gray. It would be without Sybil, so…it just made sense.
"…And that was the last time you saw her," William whispered.
Tom didn't answer right away, but eventually gave a little nod of his head. "We did write," he told William. "I tried to pretend it was like the summer when she was in York," he chuckled to himself. "She told me about how she and Mrs. Crawley championed the cause to turn Downton into a convalescent home for recovering soldiers, about how Lady Mary and Mr. Matthew had formed an attachment again, and what was happening downstairs, such as Anna and Mr. Bates getting married. But mostly…" he paused, feeling a lump lodge in his throat and did his best to swallow past it. "Mostly…she wrote about her hopes and dreams for when I returned."
"And what were those hopes and dreams?" William asked.
His face still tilted to the sky, Tom closed his eyes, Sybil's lovely face immediately appearing.
"She talked about the jobs we would have…she would receive more training, take on more courses, become a 'proper' nurse; sometimes she imagined me working with cars, owning a garage and the two of us living in a flat above it…other times she imagined me going into politics—she thinks I have a talent for writing," he explained, chuckling again as he recalled that sweet letter. "She talked about our future home…the flat we would keep. Usually she envisioned us living in Ireland, but sometimes she talked about York…how York had such fond memories for us, that if we had to live in Britain, she felt we should live in York. And sometimes, she talked about us traveling…moving to America, or Canada, or even Australia…" his voice trailed off as he recalled another letter, one that tugged at his heart. "She talked about the family we would one day build together…the children we would have; sometimes she wanted a lot, other times she wanted our family to remain small." He opened his eyes then and looked back at William. "She did tell me that she wasn't pregnant," he explained with a deep blush. It was a personal matter, but the Catholic in him felt he needed to confess this bit of information, especially to an angel.
"And you've continued to correspond?"
Sadness filled Tom at the question. He knew that there could be a great number of reasons to why he hadn't received a letter from her in three weeks, and Lord knows he wasn't always able to write to her, but…he couldn't help but think something had happened to suddenly bring her letters to a stop. Was it Lord Grantham? Had he stopped her? Confiscated the letters? Had his letters been reaching Sybil? What if Lord Grantham had confiscated them? Oh God…what if Lord Grantham had told Sybil he was dead, and thus that was the reason to why he hadn't received anything in three weeks?
"Tom?"
He looked back at William, who was still waiting for an answer. "We have," he finally answered, his voice shaky. "We…we've tried…" he murmured, softer but also a little truer to reality. "It's been three weeks since I last heard from her," he finally confessed. He had received letters from his mother; he had even received that bottle of whiskey from Kieran as a Christmas present. But Sybil? Something must have happened…
"War can sometimes make correspondence difficult…" William murmured, as if offering Tom some kind of "consolation", but it sadly wasn't working. It also didn't help the fact that he was dead now, and would never see her again.
"Do you doubt that she still loves you?"
The question caused Tom to whirl his head and stare at William with a mixture of shock and horror. "No!" he answered quickly, shaking his head almost violently. "No, not at all, I…I worry that something may have happened, an explanation to why her letters suddenly stopped, but no…" he shook his head again. "No, I don't doubt her or her feelings to me. Perhaps that sounds 'frightfully full of myself' but…just as I've asked her to 'bet on me', I bet on her too. Always."
At this, William smiled, and then rose from the place where he had been sitting. "By the way," he changed the subject. "That was a very brave thing you did."
Tom frowned. "Brave thing?"
William nodded. "For the boy, Marcus. You saved his life."
A small smile did curl at the corners of his lips at the mention of that. "He's a good lad. And he's so young."
"War makes all men 'young'," William whispered. That was true, Tom thought. At least Marcus would live another day, and God willing, be able to return home and see his family, including the girl he loved who thought of him as her sweetheart.
"As for your absence of letters," William spoke again. "I wouldn't worry too much. I'm sure, like with most things, there's a reasonable explanation." He stood in front of Tom then, his back straight and his hands clasped firmly behind his back. "Well…thank you, Mr. Branson," he said at last, a sincere smile on his face.
Tom straightened too, as if he were standing before a commanding officer, but he didn't return William's smile, in fact he felt rather confused.
Recognizing his confusion, William chuckled and explained himself. "Thank you for sharing your story with me, and thank you for answering my questions. I asked for your help in 'guiding you', and you have certainly done that."
Tom wasn't sure what this meant exactly. How had he helped William in "guiding him"?
"Are you ready then?" William asked, his expression turning a bit more serious.
Tom swallowed. "Ready?"
William nodded. "To move forward?"
Move forward. William had come to guide him to where he was to go next. And he had been standing in this place for…he wasn't sure how long exactly, but he had been waiting here, waiting for this very moment, and now the moment had come…and he was suddenly afraid.
"You have nothing to fear," William murmured, as if reading Tom's thoughts.
But I do, Tom thought. He looked at William, desperation filling his being as he reached out and gripped his friend's shoulder. "My family…Sybil…I…will I ever see them again?"
William gazed back at him, his expression unreadable. But his words did provide some comfort when after a pause, he whispered, "of course."
Of course. What did that mean exactly, Tom wasn't sure. It could mean a great number of things—did the dead watch over the living? Or did William mean that someday, they would all be together again, as he had been reunited with William now? He didn't know, yet…the simple answer was enough to satisfy him. And what more could be done? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before nodding his head finally. "Aye," he whispered at last. "I'm ready."
William smiled at this and held his hand out for Tom to shake. "Good luck then, Mr. Branson."
Good luck? Tom's brow furrowed in question has he took William's offered hand—and then gasped as he felt something like a bolt of lightning fill his being and suddenly, he was sitting up, gasping and coughing and sputtering as if he had just surfaced above the water.
Unlike the foggy trench where he and William had been talking, everything here was bright…and noisy. His eyes squeezed shut and his ears ached at the sounds and sensations. There was even some strange smell filling his nostrils.
"Tom? TOM!" a voice cried out. "HE'S AWAKE! DOCTOR!? HE'S AWAKE!"
A rush of footsteps, and then suddenly someone was grabbing his wrist, pressing their cold fingertips against his pulse, while another hovered over him, pressing a cold stethoscope to his chest. He heard several voices speaking to him at once. "Pvt. Branson? Pvt. Branson?"
Tom shook his himself, willing the strength to shake all of them off and away from him. What was happening? What was going on? WHERE WAS WILLIAM?
"William?" he croaked, his voice hoarse and his throat dry. "WILLIAM!?"
"William?" a voice murmured over him. "That's a new one; the only word I ever heard out of him was 'Sybil'."
"Nurse, get some water!"
Tom blinked, trying to see despite the brightness, and then he felt the rim of a glass at his lips, and he instinctively parted them, welcoming the water's coolness to his aching throat, coughing a bit as it went down, hearing more voices telling him to "take it easy". When he finished, his vision became a little less blurry and finally…he began to make sense of the faces that surrounded him.
Only they were all strangers…save one.
"M-M-Marcus?" he stammered, and the boy grinned back at him.
"Oh you gave us a fright, Tom!" Marcus chuckled out of relief.
Tom frowned. "W-w-where…?"
"Pvt. Branson," the voice of a man who wore a stethoscope drew his attention away from Marcus. "I'm Maj. Anderson; I'm also the head surgeon here," he explained.
Here…looked very much like a hospital.
"Do you know where you are, Pvt. Branson?"
Tom swallowed and shook his head. This couldn't be heaven, and it didn't dare ask if it were the alternative.
"You're in a hospital not far from Calais," Maj. Anderson explained. "You were shot…do you remember being shot?"
He'd prefer not to remember it, but yes, he did. Tom nodded and Maj. Anderson continued. "It's remarkable, really…when you came to us, the wound looked very bad," he explained. "But in truth, it was a clean shot, well, clean in the sense that the bullet came straight out, and…amazingly, despite its location, didn't strike any vital muscles, organs, arteries…it's rather…miraculous."
At this Tom's head lifted.
Miraculous.
"We cleaned the wound and stitched you up…but you've been in a coma since before you arrived."
Tom's brow furrowed. "A coma?" he whispered. "How…how long?"
"Oh, not that long, less than forty-eight hours," Maj. Anderson explained with a dismissive wave.
"You missed Christmas," Marcus added, still sitting close by. "Today's Boxing Day."
Tom looked at Marcus with wide eyes. Only a day? But it felt like so much longer…
Had it all been a dream? Seeing William? Had he not been visited by the angel of his old friend? But then he remembered what Maj. Anderson had told him about his bullet wound.
Miraculous.
…Maybe it wasn't a dream?
Tom looked at Marcus then, noticing how the younger soldier was a bit more bandaged up than himself. Marcus must have noticed, because he smiled and shook his head at Tom. "Oh, don't worry about me, it's not as bad as it looks. A few cracked ribs and a broken my wrist," he sighed, lifting his bandaged arm. "But it's much better than the alternative."
Maj. Anderson nodded his head. "Pvt. Simmons would surely have died if you hadn't helped him as you did, Pvt. Branson," the officer smiled at Marcus and then at Tom. "You should be commended for your bravery."
Tom felt his cheeks flush at the man's words. I wasn't brave, I was just doing what was right, he thought to himself, but he did offer a small smile and nodded his head at Maj. Anderson.
"Oh, and…there's one more thing," Maj. Anderson murmured, glancing at Marcus and then back at Tom, his brow furrowing as if he were troubled with something. "Pvt. Branson…when you received your medical evaluation, did the doctor find anything…unusual?"
Tom frowned. "Unusual?" he repeated. What did he mean? "No…no, he…he didn't say anything, simply told me to report to Richmond for training."
Maj. Anderson's frown deepened and he looked down at what looked to be some sort of file. "Most strange," he mumbled to himself, before lifting his eyes back to Tom. "Pvt. Branson…you shouldn't be here."
None of us should be here, Tom wanted to say, but he was too confused by the doctor's words to retort so. Without being asked, Maj. Anderson explained.
"Perhaps you are unaware, private, but you have a heart murmur."
Tom blinked. Had…had he just heard the man correctly?
"To be more specific," Maj. Anderson continued. "A mitral valve prolapse is causing a pansystolic murmur."
Tom's face paled. What…what did that mean?
"Is it dangerous?" Marcus asked, to which Tom was thankful because he honestly didn't think he had the voice to ask that very question.
Despite the seriousness of how it sounded, Maj. Anderson shook his head. "Only under high, intense levels of stress; most men who have such things are able to go on and live perfectly normal, long healthy lives. However, as I mentioned, under intense levels of stress and physical excursion, it could cause one to have a premature attack…which is why men who have such things are turned away from the army."
Tom sat up a little straighter, practically leaning forward at the mention of this. "What are you saying?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention in anticipation of what he thought Maj. Anderson was about to tell him.
"I'm saying…" he looked at Tom and Tom wasn't sure what the emotion was on the doctor's face, but the man did lift his hand to salute, before finishing, "you are dismissed from his Majesty's army, private."
Dismissed.
He was finished.
He didn't have to come back.
"You've done a great service to your king and country, and to that we are eternally grateful," Maj. Anderson continued, but Tom was too shocked from the revelation to even think about retorting that it wasn't his king or country he had been serving. All he could think about was the future…and hurrying back so he could start it.
He threw the blanket that was covering his body off and tried to get up, but two nurses appeared and gently pushed him back down onto the bed. "Easy, private, your body is still healing from the coma!"
Tom gritted his teeth in frustration and looked at Maj. Anderson frantically. "When can I leave?" he asked. "How soon?"
"Soon enough," was Maj. Anderson's answer. "Just a few more days."
Tom groaned and flopped back onto the bed, which did earn a chuckle from those around him.
"Don't worry, Pvt. Branson," Maj. Anderson told him. "We'll have you back in Ireland by New Year's."
Tom looked at Maj. Anderson and shook his head. "Not Ireland, sir."
Maj. Anderson's brow furrowed. "You have someplace else to go?"
Tom simply nodded his head…while a knowing smile spread across his face.
New Year's Day, 1918
Downton Abbey
Sybil lifted a hand to wipe her brow and push a few fallen strands of hair out of her eyes. "Nurse Crawley?" She lifted her head at Nurse Miriam's voice. "Sorry, I know you're busy—"
"I'm almost finished," Sybil told Nurse Miriam, smiling at the young woman as she tucked the end of a sheet under the mattress. "There, see? All done. And I finished the others too," she pointed at three other beds, now all fitted with clean sheets.
Nurse Miriam nodded her head in approval. "The post arrived…something came for you."
At this, Sybil's eyes widened. Was it…could it be…?
For three weeks she hadn't heard from Tom, but she refused to think something horrible had happened. I would know; his heart so linked with mine, I would just know…
She moved quickly, though tried not to look "too eager" as she entered the Hall, swallowing the nervous lump in her throat as her eyes met those of Matron Samuels, who was going through the post for the various officers who were convalescing at the house. "Ah, this telegram came for you, Nurse Crawley."
Sybil all but snatched the envelope from Matron Samuels' hand, earning a giggle from Nurse Miriam as she tore the paper open, her eyes scanning it quickly and…her heart sinking just a little.
Nurse Miriam must have noticed, because she asked, "Is something wrong? Not bad news, I hope?"
Sybil took a deep breath, willing the tears of disappointment to go away. "Oh no, no, everything's fine," she told her friend, forcing a smile. "It's from Thomas—Cpl. Barrow," Sybil told her. "His settled in London at the city hospital there."
"Oh, well…that's nice, isn't it? You and Cpl. Barrow are good friends."
Sybil smiled and nodded her head, though it was someone else whose name was similar to Thomas' that Sybil longed to hear from. "Yes, it is nice—it's good, very good," she murmured, smiling at Nurse Miriam and moving past her to go about her next task. Keep busy; by keeping busy you can distract yourself from these thoughts. Oh, if only it were that simple.
"Nurse Miriam, Nurse Crawley, go and see to Sgt. Jennings and Lt. Norris; I think they're ready to be brought back inside," Matron Samuels informed them, indicating to the two officers who were sitting in wheelchairs just outside.
Both Sybil and Nurse Miriam nodded their heads and went to go and do just that, Carson kindly holding the door open for them as they slipped outside. They made their way to the officers, Nurse Miriam telling them it was time to return to the house so they wouldn't catch cold…but paused when she noticed that Sybil wasn't paying attention. Instead…her eyes were fixed down the lane that led up to the house, at a figure that was walking towards them.
"Who's that?" Nurse Miriam asked, but Sybil didn't answer her. Instead, Sybil took a few steps forward, her hand rising to shield her eyes from the sun that was shining down on them.
He wasn't an officer, but he was a soldier, that much Sybil could tell from this distance. And…and there was something familiar about the way he walked…
"Nurse Crawley?" Nurse Miriam called out.
Sybil swallowed and shook her head. "Sorry, I…I just…I thought…" she looked back at the soldier and held her breath as he stopped moving, his eyes seeming to have spotted her.
Could it be…?
Her lips formed his name even before her mind had comprehended the possibility.
"…Tom?"
The soldier suddenly broke into a sprint.
"Nurse Crawley!" Nurse Miriam gasped as Sybil grabbed handfuls of her skirts and started to run down the lane towards the racing soldier, moving faster than she had ever run in her life. Her headscarf came loose, her hair coming free from the bun she had put it in that morning, and tears were blurring her vision, but still she ran, pushing harder and faster, only one goal in mind.
"TOM!" she screamed as she drew closer. "TOM!"
"SYBIL!"
A wild laugh escaped her lips at the sound of his voice, and she leapt towards him, feeling as if she could fly, believing she could!
Her body crashed into his, into the wonderful solid muscle she remembered, and a joyful sob burst from her throat as his arms enfolded her, trapping her and crushing her to him.
The force of their collision caused them to fall down, but neither seemed to notice. The only thing they were aware was that the other was here, alive, and in their arms. Both of them cried, showering the other with tears and kisses, managing to murmur words of love between sobs, and attracting quite an audience.
Nurse Miriam blushed, as did any other nurses who saw, but they also smiled, and a few even sighed dreamily at the romantic sight.
The officers who witnessed the reunion were torn by a sense of disappointment (apparently Nurse Crawley did have a beau in her life) and contented resignation (lucky bastard, to receive such a homecoming).
The Downton staff were, for the most part, shocked by this turn of events, though some (like the butler) were clearly horrified, while others (like Daisy) gasped, "I knew it!"
And then there were the Crawleys themselves…who's faces paled at the sight, and who stumbled to the door and front steps of the house as Sybil and Branson continued to weep and kiss and show their love for each other to all the world without fear or shame. Lady Edith's hand flew to her mouth, and Lady Mary kept glancing between her parents to gage their reaction to this. The Countess of Grantham honestly didn't know what to say as a million different thoughts and emotions flew through her head, and the Earl…well, no one was paler than he. And his stomach began to sink as he realized exactly what this meant. He glanced at his wife, and knew he had a great deal of explaining to do...
Epilogue to follow soon!
