A/N Sorry for the delay in this update - I've had a terrible case of writer's block with this chapter. I do have the story outlined so I know where it's going but am having a bit of trouble getting there. I've written and rewritten this chapter several times but the upshot of which is most of the next chapter is written. Anyway thanks to everyone for their reviews.

"I'm sorry it wasn't the homecoming you were probably expecting" Oonagh said as she sat down next to Tom on the top step of the tiny porch that was barely wide enough for the two of them to sit side by side.

The steps led to the small back garden of the Branson house. Sitting here alone on the porch Tom had thought about how large this area had seemed when he was a young boy, how many hours he had spent tinkering here with bits and bobs he had found in his wanderings around the neighborhood. From such discarded bits he had crafted toys not just for himself but also his brothers and sisters while pieces of wood or broken furniture had been rebuilt into bookcases or small tables some of which he had actually sold.

Now most of the area was a vegetable garden lovingly tended by his mother fulfilling a long dream of hers. She had always wanted a garden but with six children using the area as a playground that had been a rather futile desire. However, with her children grown and all except the two youngest no longer at home, she had turned to gardening and discovered she had a bit of a green thumb. Some of the dinner Tom had just eaten had been vegetables she had canned or preserved the previous summer or fall.

He had thought how astounded his mother would be to see the fruit and vegetable gardens at Downton. It seemed liked there was an endless array of fruits and vegetables some of which he had never tasted before like asparagus, which was way too expensive for his family, and others that he had never even seen before. It wasn't that the climate in Yorkshire was so much warmer but with the greenhouses the Downton gardeners were able to grow fruits and vegetables that otherwise wouldn't have a chance there.

Leaning her head on his shoulder Oonagh continued "or what you deserve."

Tom turned his head to look at his youngest sister. Oonagh had just turned thirteen when he had left for England six years ago. Yet in some ways he always felt closer to her than his other siblings. Since she began walking Oonagh would follow him around and he had spent many an evening reading to her. She had cried her heart out when he left for England and had religiously written to him while he sent her small gifts of hair ribbons and combs as well as some trinkets and articles of clothing like scarves, gloves, sweaters some of which were hand me downs from Sybil.

"The meal was wonderful. Even though I was always well fed at Downton, so many times I longed for Ma's cooking." Tom gave a slight smile hoping not to betray his hurt at his brother Cillian not bothering to showing up while Brian didn't even appear until everyone was finished eating. At least his oldest brother Sean had the excuse of living on his father-in-law's farm outside of Althone. Nor did he want to talk about his sister Aideen's husband Liam who had made clear his thoughts on the English.

"We don't see Cillian much. I don't know what he does and I'm not sure I really want to know. As for Liam" Oonagh paused and took a deep breath as she looked around the small enclosed garden. "You've been away so long Tommy … and things here have gotten-"

"Ma had tried to warn me what it would be like but I didn't think my own family would …" Tom stopped suddenly wondering what would have happened if Sybil had been here and what would happen when she did get here.

As if reading his mind, Oonagh said "I think it's one thing to talk about the English in general and quite another to talk about a specific person. I'm sure we'll all love Sybil."

She put her arm around Tom's waist. "I'm disappointed she isn't with you. I can't wait to meet her. Ever since you wrote about her coming here with you I've been trying to imagine what she's like."

Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out his worn leather wallet. Tucked into the large side pocket was a photograph of Sybil which had been taken the day of that garden party. That day when they had held hands, when he had been bold enough to ask her if she'd … well he never got to finish that question with Mrs. Hughes suddenly interrupting him and then later the party ending so abruptly with his lordship announcing England was at war with Germany. A few days later he had been in the library to return a book when he spied a pile of photographs from that day sitting on one of the small side tables.

Tom gingerly lifted the photograph out of his wallet and handed it to Oonagh. The photographer had done a wonderful job capturing Sybil in the candid photograph. Whenever he looked at that photograph it reminded him of possibilities … I don't suppose …

"She's even more beautiful than I imagined" Oonagh exclaimed.

Tom's face erupted in a broad smile as he looked at the photograph Oonagh was holding. "Aye she's beautiful but it's not just her physical beauty she's kind and caring. I mean not many of her kind would ever consider working but she wants to continue with her nursing."

Even in the faded light of the setting sun, Oonagh could tell Tom's face lit up just talking about Sybil. "It might be hard for others to see but we're so much alike. We have the same interests in books, justice, women's rights."

"I knew she'd have to be wonderful for you to fall in love with her."

"She believes in freedom for Ireland" Tom proudly remarked.

Oonagh handed the photograph back to her brother and then surprising him by kissing him on the cheek. "I'm so happy for you Tom."

The pair sat there quietly on the small stoop, her arm around his waist and Tom's arm around her shoulder, each lost in their own thoughts.

It was Oonagh who finally broke the silence. "I'm not sure I've ever properly thanked you for all you've done for me. If it wasn't for you I'd probably …"

"You're doing well on your job?" Tom interrupted her feeling a bit uncomfortable with her expressions of gratefulness for after all he was her older brother and he should help provide for her. He had paid for her training as a bookkeeper because he wanted her to be something more than a servant or factory worker, he wanted her to have a chance to make something of herself.

She nodded her head. "So well I got a raise last month!"

Tom grinned as his arm around her should pulled her closer. "Now that's something good to hear."

"I love the work Tom. I know others might think it's boring but I really enjoy it."

xxxx

Tom was already awake and starting to dress when the small alarm clock sitting on the small nightstand separating the two beds rang. He wasn't sure if it was the excitement of starting his new job or the narrow single bed with its well-worn mattress that caused him to wake early. While it wasn't his childhood bedroom, all four of the Branson boys had bunked in the largest of the three bedrooms, the mattress felt like it was probably from his childhood days.

"What time is it?" a sleepy voice called out. Tom glanced over at the room's other bed and saw the form of his younger brother Brian buried underneath a blanket.

"It's almost seven" Tom answered.

He saw the figure move and stretch out before finally his brother's head popped up from under the covers. "Big day for you big brother" Brian said amiably to which Tom nodded while finishing buttoning his shirt.

Tom gathered up his shaving kit and made for the bedroom door.

"Despite anything I may have said last night I'm glad you're home and I do think your work at the paper is important. Ma and Oonagh have been talking about nothing else for weeks although" Brian paused and looked at the framed photograph of Sybil dressed in her nurse's uniform Tom had set on the nightstand. "Most of that talk has centered on Sybil" he finally continued while his eyes were still looking at her photograph.

"She really wants to get a job nursing here?"

"Aye. She did it during the war."

"It's a war zone here." Brian's words were said matter of factly. He looked up at his brother "I just hope neither of you get caught in the crossfire."

Anger flared up in Tom as he glared at his brother. "I …" Tom started then stopped. He didn't want to fight at least not now. He turned and opened the bedroom door.

"Tom" Brian called out as he rose from his bed and walked towards his bother. "I didn't mean that against you or her." He reached out and patted his brother's arm. "I just meant that you'll have to be careful ... there's a lot of anger and resentment and some are going to hate her just for being English and they'll not give her a chance nor for that matter will they think much of you for consorting with her."

His brother's words were hard for Tom to hear and even worse he feared Brian might be right. Tom focused on the photograph of Sybil. Kind, caring wonderful Sybil who believed in Irish independence as much as him. If only people would focus on that rather than her accent. He looked directly into his brother's eyes. "Will you give her a chance?"

"I don't have to big bother I already know I'll like her. I see the way your eyes light up when you talk about her."

"And Tom" Brian grinned "if you can persuade a beautiful rich English aristo to marry a poor Irish lad like yourself I can't wait to read your articles!"

xxxxx

Tom stood as he had almost 24 hours ago in the doorway of the small kitchen watching his mother as she deftly prepared breakfast. Dressed in a plain dark blue cotton dress most of which was covered with a flowered apron and her blondish hair pulled back into a low loose bun she looked as he always remembered her although there may have been a bit of gray hair that wasn't there before.

"It smells good Ma" he said.

"Probably not what you're used to these days" she responded as she placed plates of fried bacon and eggs on the table alongside a loaf of freshly baked brown bread the aroma of which perfumed the air as it had through so much of his childhood.

"Actually breakfast was the worst meal of the day at Downton" he chuckled remembering that breakfast was usually oatmeal or porridge with toast and tea. The only luxury being fresh fruit in season like strawberries or blueberries to put on their oatmeal or porridge.

"Surely that's not what she ate" his mother remarked when he told her of his usual breakfast fare.

Tom put down his fork and took her mother's hand. "Ma Sybil knows things will be different here but that's what she wants. She doesn't want the life she had before the war."

Claire Branson looked into her son's blue eyes so full of love and hope and wished she was as confident as her son. Oh Lord she silently prayed don't let him be disappointed.

xxxx

While Cora seemed to be on the road to recovery, she was now alert although still weak and confined to her bed, Sybil was worsening. At first the worry was just over the nasty hit on her head she had sustained when she fainted. Mary, who was so often considered cold and uncaring, took one look at the blood pouring from Sybil's head wound and screamed for help as she quickly knelt beside the unconscious Sybil and tried to stem the flow of blood with the hem of her own skirt. When the young housemaid had appeared, Mary ordered her to find someone to carry Sybil to her bed as well as to immediately fetch Dr. Clarkson.

As she later told Dr. Clarkson, Mary wasn't sure if Sybil had just tripped and fell or if she had actually fainted. "I think she might have talked about how tired she was" Mary started explaining to the doctor as he stitched the gash on Sybil's head which required seven stitches.

"And then of course there's all the-" Mary had started to talk about the drama with Branson but stopped herself just in time. She wasn't sure how far the news about her sister and Branson had spread and now that it seemed Sybil had come to her senses, at least regarding Branson since she hadn't left with him, Mary didn't want any further gossip. In fact that's why Mary had the footman take Sybil to a guest bedroom rather than her own.

Her first concern had rightly been the gushing wound on her beloved sister's head; however, Mary's wits had recovered enough that when one of the footmen arrived to move Sybil, she directed Sybil be moved to a guest bedroom where there would be no bags or trunks with Sybil's belongings filling the floor. Mary didn't want Dr. Clarkson or a nurse or any other staff wondering why it looked as if Sybil was moving out.

For the next three days, Sybil slept most of the time watched over by a private nurse her father hired although Mary remained sitting by her sister's bedside much of the time. When Sybil was awake she was groggy, sometimes sick to her stomach, and seemingly unaware of her surroundings. There were periods when she laid with her head on the pillows, her eyes closed and mumbling unintelligibly. A few times when she was awake and appeared a bit more alert she talked about how her head hurt. It's from the blow to her head Dr. Clarkson had said. He noted she was probably also exhausted from tirelessly nursing the others in the household with the Spanish Flu.

"I have such a headache" Sybil finally blurted out one afternoon causing Mary who was drifting off to sleep in the chair beside Sybil's bed to sit up.

Smiling she grabbed one of Sybil's hands with both of hers. "Oh darling it's wonderful to hear you talking."

Frowning, or at least as much of a frown as she could muster with a gauze dressing wrapped tightly around the top of her head covering much of her forehead, Sybil stared in disbelief at her sister. "It's wonderful I have a headache?"

"Of course not darling it's just that-" Mary hesitated, took a deep breath then continued "you've spent most of the past few days-"

Sybil leaned forward as if she contemplated getting out of bed before falling back onto the stack of plumped pillows.

"Why don't you try eating some of this delicious broth" Mary lifted a bowl from the nightstand beside the bed. "It will help you get your strength back" she continued as she gave a spoonful to Sybil.

Mary was happy to see Sybil down about a third of the bowl of broth before she shook her head at the spoonful of broth Mary was holding signaling she was finished. It was the most she had eaten in days.

"Mama's been eating it now too and she's doing so much better."

Sybil's eyes widen and she creased her forehead as if in deep concentration. "Mama's been sick?"

Mary tried to conceal the alarm she felt at Sybil's question. "She had the Spanish flu but you …" Mary paused wondering what she should say "you fell in the corridor and hit your head on a table. Dr. Clarkson had to put in seven stitches."

Sybil, her head propped up on a stack of pillows, immediately lifted her arm and felt around her face before discovering the gauze dressing that was wrapped around her head. "I don't remember falling" her voice sounding so weak as she lightly fingered the bandage.

She looked questioningly at her sister "seven stitches?"

Mary nodded her head. "Just there" she said as she cautiously touched the left side of Sybil's head. "I'm afraid he had to shave a bit of your hair but I'm sure Anna can hide that somehow."

"Well I don't think I'll be venturing out soon anyway" Sybil mustered a small smile.

Her words caught Mary off guard and she narrowed her eyes as she looked directly at Sybil's face but Sybil had leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes.

"I'm just so tired" Sybil, sounding completely exhausted, whispered.

"That's why you're in bed darling" Mary replied. "You get all the rest you need."

For the next week Sybil appeared to be gaining strength physically at least while mentally she still seemed a bit shaky. She was awake more often and began eating plain toast along with her broth which she was now able to feed herself. Both her sisters sat by her bedside for long stretches at a time and even her father made brief appearances.

But then late one evening she started having chills and quickly became sick on her stomach. It was only a matter of time before, Dr. Clarkson confirmed Lady Sybil had also succumbed to the Spanish flu and it seemed to be progressing into a rather bad case of it and things weren't being helped with the nasty hit on her head she had sustained.

As O'brien had faithfully attended Cora now Mary did for Sybil. Although a full time nurse from York had been engaged just for Sybil, Mary sat beside her youngest sister's bedside, holding her hand and wiping her brow with clean cold towels. She had to be coaxed into leaving her beloved sister's bedside for meals and rest lest she also become a victim of this horrible disease.

xxxxx

It had been a long day and Tom was tired and hungry so he was quite happy to be hit with an appetizing aroma as soon as he opened the front door of his mother's house. The smells as well as the faint voices coming from the kitchen signaled dinner was probably ready which pleased his grumbling stomach. As he removed his hat he noticed two large battered suitcases sitting on the floor straddling the opening from the hallway into the parlor. Curious, he left his hat atop his leather bag on the sofa in the front parlor and headed for the kitchen where he found his mother, Oonagh and a vaguely familiar looking young woman sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea.

"Tom" his mother spoke as entered the room. "Surely you remember Bronagh Curran."

The young woman in questioned looked up at him and smiled. "It's been a long time Tom."

It had been a long time Tom thought. His mother and Bronagh's were best friends growing up next door to each other and had remained lifelong friends until Muireann's death a few years ago.

Although Bronagh remained seated, Tom leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Of course I remember you. Some of my best childhood memories are of visits to your family's farm."

Claire Branson chuckled as she tilted her head upward, rolled her eyes and made the sign of the cross. "Some of my worst memories of my children's childhoods are those visits."

Both Tom and Bronagh joined her in laughing. "Come on Ma what city child doesn't dream of running through fields or climbing trees or swimming in a pond."

"I seem to recall muddy kids, plenty of cuts and bruises, a few broken bones, almost drownings, disappearing-"

"I think you're just not seeing the fun of it all" Tom interrupted his mother.

A pot over boiling on the stove prevented Claire from retorting. "Supper's almost ready" she said as she hurried to the stove. "Go ahead Tom and wash up."

It was probably the most enjoyable dinner he had had since coming home with a lively conversation flowing freely among them. Bronagh was just a year younger than Tom and he had always found her easy to talk to. She had been that most rare combination of a bit of a tomboy, not surprising since she had five brothers, and a bookworm. The two of them had often escaped the other children to sit and talk about the books they had read. And just as she had then, Bronagh still displayed a sharp wit, a ready laugh, and an interest in a world beyond the boundaries of her neighborhood.

It seemed they talked about almost everything under the sun except for the reason Bronagh was here and it was only when she finally stood up to get the cake she had brought for dessert that Tom had an inkling of why.