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Chapter 36
Mary walked with Matthew to the Daimler, her hand on his shoulder as he swung his legs, putting on her brave face in front of the family, and he his. They had held each other in their sitting room, each murmuring reassurances, until they had finally fallen apart, then pulled themselves together. Five weeks until Edith's wedding; they could make it.
They would again be driving to York to catch the train. He and Mary watched as Trent strapped his chair to the back of the car. He still needed the chair, of course, but he was determined to make this trip without using it until they got to London. And he was pretty sure, if someone would lift his legs, that he could step up into the train car, and finally not need to be loaded like luggage.
Bates smiled and nodded to Anna—they had, like Matthew and Mary, said their farewells privately—and climbed into the front seat, as Trent held the door for Robert, after he had bid Cora, Mary, and Edith good-bye. Finally, Trent came around, opening the door and waiting for Matthew.
Mary reached into her pocket, holding up the little dog. "Here," she said, "you're the one who's travelling—you take him."
"No," he smiled, his eyes bright, letting go of a stick to close his hand tightly over Mary's. "He stays with you, dearest, and our child." He kissed her forehead, then tugged her locket.
Matthew turned, and Trent helped him negotiate getting into the car, closed the door and climbed into the driver's seat. Matthew blew a kiss to Mary, and she smiled and waved them off.
Then she brought a hand to her mouth, tears streaming down her face, her other hand unconsciously holding the talisman to her heart, and watched until they were gone.
.
TRAIN LATE LEAVING YORK STOP DELAY DONCASTER STOP MATTHEW FINE STOP WILL CALL WHEN AT CLINIC STOP ROBERT
.
"M'lady?" Anna called from Mary's room, continuing on through to Matthew's. "M'lady? Mr. Matthew's finally tele—oh!"
Anna stopped, startled and dismayed, at the door to the bathroom. Mary had placed an enamel bowl in the sink. She hated vomiting into the toilet. Hunched over, gripping the edge of the porcelain tightly, her eyes shut, she gasped out, "Oh, God, it's coming, I know it's coming."
Clarkson had told her about this, that sometimes "morning sickness" could actually come at any time. And she had felt so well today, in spite of her emotional state with Matthew leaving; she really thought, perhaps, she had turned a corner. Well, she wouldn't be eating dinner tonight.
Anna stepped into the bathroom and placed an arm around her shoulders as she breathed heavily. "M'lady, Lady Edith's talking to him. Let me have her tell him you've gone to bed."
"No! He'll guess something's wrong." She took several more deep breaths and straightened up. "I can do this." She started out the door, then turned. "Bring the basin."
Edith smiled and nodded as Mary approached. "Here she is." But as she handed over the phone, her eyes widened as she took in first Mary's pale face, and then Anna, holding the enamel basin, hovering nearby.
"Matthew?" Mary reached out and held Edith's wrist as she moved away. Don't go, she mouthed silently.
"Darling! Did you receive the telegram?"
"We did. And you've just arrived?" It was a quarter past seven. "That's over three hours late!" She could hardly imagine how he'd survived. "It's exhausting enough when the train's on time! However did you manage?"
"Your father and Bates took great care of me. I'm worn out, I'll admit it, but really, darling, don't be worried. They're putting me right to bed and knocking me out," he said cheerfully. Then his voice softened. "And how are you feeling, my love?"
"I've had a good day," Mary affirmed. Edith and Anna rolled their eyes, and Mary shot them a look: Well, it was a good day—until about twenty minutes ago. A wave of nausea hit her, and she started to hand the receiver to Edith, but then pressed her lips together and shook her head.
"I'm so glad, Mary. Rest well tonight."
"I will, and you, too." She couldn't help tearing up. "We'll be together soon," she choked out. "Just a few weeks.
"Yes, soon. And we're one day closer now. Good-night, my darling. I love you."
"So, so much. Good night."
Mary turned, shoved the receiver at Edith, then grabbed the basin from Anna and moved quickly across the great hall, a hand to her mouth, Anna following closely. Edith cradled the receiver.
.
Matthew closed his eyes and slumped in his chair. Tommy, where are you?
"Mr. Crawley? Mr. Crawley?" He roused himself, realizing that the receiver was talking at him.
"Yes, I'm so sorry Miss Archer. Hanging up now."
The trip had been a nightmare, the train leaving York a half an hour late, an even longer delay in Doncaster, and then, once they were finally on their way again, proceeding at snail's pace until an hour from London, due to everything being backed up. He had taken aspirin alone to get him through the trip, which would have been enough for what should have been a slightly more than four-hour journey. As the hours passed, and the throb of the injury site and the spasms in his back and legs intensified, he finally admitted he needed some laudanum. But the amount he could take, without knocking himself out, wasn't enough to do more than make him able to grit his teeth and tolerate the pain.
He had felt so confident at the start of journey, able to get onto the train, with assistance from Robert and Bates, without being "loaded like luggage." But he had had to be lifted off and into his chair at the end, and it had shaken him, how it had all gone to hell, how fragile everything still was. Well, he had managed, hadn't he? He had made it without shitting himself or moaning in pain. That was something.
As usual, Bates was wonderfully attentive, and he had been so touched by Robert's concern throughout the trip, his wanting to make it better for him when there was nothing much that could be done. When they had at last arrived at the clinic, and Rosamund's chauffeur, Burns, had gone in to find someone to collect him, Robert had turned to him, his eyes glistening: My dear chap, I feel that I'm abandoning you.
On the contrary, you've seen me through.
And then Tommy was there, and he was being lifted out again, Robert promising to visit at the end of the week, and he was wheeled into the clinic, and his visit home would have felt like a dream except he got to call Mary, he got to hear her voice, he would hold onto that as he fell into his drug-induced sleep.
Tommy had left him with his back to the door. Hearing footsteps behind him, he called out, barely turning his head, "About time, Tommy. Dope me up and get me to bed, but first, take me to the crapper."
He felt a hand on his shoulder, but it wasn't Tommy's. "Got it. Crapper, dope, bed."
He turned his head to find Coates smiling down at him.
"Dr. Coates, I . . ." He started to apologize, and then they both burst out laughing as they shook hands warmly.
"You're here rather late," Matthew observed.
"I couldn't leave until you arrived, Mr. Crawley. I'm so sorry it was such an ordeal for you. It's what we worry about when our patients travel, and I'm afraid you've had the worst of it this time." He turned Matthew's chair and started pushing. "I know you enjoyed your time at home, and hope that your wife is doing well."
Matthew nodded, smiling. "I can't begin to say. It meant so much to me and my wife. And yes, she is doing so much better, although she's still battling nausea and vomiting, which is why she didn't return to London with me. That and, well, the risk of influenza."
"Ah, yes, very wise." Coates continued pushing Matthew down the corridor. "My wife was quite sick with three out of our four children. It did get better, eventually."
Matthew was silent for a moment, then said, "It was very hard to hear about Mathis."
Coates sighed. "Losing him hit very hard, yes. I'm sorry you weren't here for the memorial service. His parents appreciated it very much."
"Dr. Coates . . . I've inherited some money . . . I'd like to talk to you about how it could be used . . . to help patients like Mathis . . ."
Coates stopped pushing and came around to face Matthew. "Why, that would be wonderful, Mr. Crawley. There is such a need. Yes, once you've had a chance to settle back in, we'll talk."
.
Dearest Matthew,
Just a short note, as I'll confess to being tired—but not too tired to write how much I love you, my darling. It was wonderful hearing your voice tonight—you sounded well and strong, even though you must feel thoroughly beaten up, and I do suspect you were putting on a good front!
Being here without you is going to be very different from when I first came home. Then, I was so busy with Sybil and the aftermath. Now, the days will drag on, although helping Edith with the wedding preparations should be a distraction. And, of course, I'll be working with Langdon on estate affairs. But you must let me feel a bit sorry for myself!
I'm writing this at your desk, it makes me feel as if you are sitting here with me. All day long, I've been remembering our time together, and those memories will keep me going until you're back. As you said, we're one day closer now.
I love you so much,
Your Mary
PS. Please don't worry—I'm feeling so much better!
Mary put down the pen, jumped up and ran to the bathroom.
.
Matthew set the spoon down on the tray, leaned back against the pillows, and closed his eyes. He was almost too tired to finish the soup and toast they'd brought him; he wasn't very hungry, the laudanum always made him slightly nauseous, but it would only be worse if his next dose was on an empty stomach. Tommy had said he'd slept for fifteen hours. You were a regular Sleeping Beauty, you were. He opened his eyes and looked around the empty ward, then at Mary's picture, and lost himself thinking about her and the baby, remembering every change in her body that marked the life growing within.
"The Beauty's awake!"
Matthew turned, grinning, to see Manning wheeling himself into the ward. "Just barely, I'm afraid. And my head's pretty thick, so don't hold it against me if I don't make sense."
"And what's new about that?" Manning joked, as they both shook hands, laughing.
Matthew's expression sobered. "Coates said there was a memorial service for Davy. I'm sorry to have missed it."
"Yes, it was very nice. His parents seemed quite touched." He shook his head. "I still look for him, you know, expect to find him . . ." His voice drifted off.
They were silent a moment, remembering the gentle soul, then Manning smiled.
"So, aside from pining for your lovely wife, how are you feeling?"
"Not too bad, all things considered. Enjoying sitting up at the moment. After I finish this," he gestured at the tray, "I get a session in the whirlpool, which will be heavenly, then it's face down again, but by that time I'll be so drugged I won't notice. Coates thinks I can be out of bed some tomorrow, and God, I hope so. I feel like I'm losing ground every hour."
Manning smiled sympathetically. "You'll be roaring around on your sticks soon, don't you worry."
"Thanks. That's what Coates says, too."
"Well, then!" Manning nodded.
"Yes. I . . . well, it just sometimes feels that, just when you think you've turned a corner, there's always a setback," Matthew sighed, remembering his fall, and now the train fiasco.
"Don't I know it," Manning responded, an edge to his voice that Matthew couldn't help noticing.
"How've you been?"
"Oh, just fine," Manning replied, his quick smile not reaching his eyes.
Matthew looked at his friend with concern. "Peter."
Manning's shoulders sagged. "They've got me in leg braces when I'm at the bars now. I had managed to move myself a bit without them, but they said I need them to make any real progress, my legs are still too weak."
"I know it feels like a defeat, but—."
"Yes, right, that's what Coates and the therapists say. Well, it does feel like a defeat! I can't move myself now. They're so heavy, nothing's working, I stand there and stand there—." He broke off, looking down, shaking his head, then looked up. "Sorry."
Matthew reached out and gripped his arm. "It was the same for me—you remember how I struggled—and you'll get there, too. Don't give up."
Manning's mouth tugged up. "If it weren't for Lizzie, I just might. But, no, I won't give up."
.
My beloved Mary,
I can't begin to say what a lift your letter gave me as I'm trying to settle back into the routine here at the clinic, while missing my wife desperately! I find myself daydreaming about our past days together, thinking of you and our child. And I count down the days until we're together again.
There is, as you can imagine, an emptiness here when we think of Davy. I've spoken to Coates about setting up a fund, and I'm going to talk to Murray about how best to go about it. Something permanent, a foundation, perhaps.
I've had sessions in the whirlpool and massage—I'm being quite pampered, I'm afraid. They're easing me back into my physio, and I'm eager to get going full speed ahead. All in all, I've recovered from the trip, so you mustn't worry!
As I close, I'm looking at your picture, my darling, and will fall asleep thinking of you and the miracle that you carry.
All my love,
Your Matthew
Matthew folded the letter and slid it into the envelope. He started to write the address, but his eyes closed, and the pen dropped out of his hand as the latest round of narcotics hit their mark. He roused a moment later when Tommy carefully took up the lap desk.
"We need to get you on your stomach, sir."
"Hang on, just let me . . ." But he was out.
.
"Lizzie!"
Matthew smiled in delight at seeing his friend's wife, sitting in the otherwise empty reading room. She stood up and met him, as he wheeled toward her. He stopped, and she took his outstretched hands, leaning down to kiss his cheek.
"Matthew, it's so good to see you! Peter said your trip back here was awful. How are you, then?"
"So much better. They've finally let me start using my sticks again, although only in physio. Another day or so, and I should be back to my full regime." He wheeled over to where she had been sitting.
"Are you meeting a visitor, then?" Lizzie asked, retaking her seat.
"Yes, my father-in-law is coming today. I'd love for you and Peter to meet him."
"Yes, certainly," Lizzie nodded, smiling. "I'm here a bit before visiting hours, but the receptionist said I could come in and wait. When do you think Peter will be down?"
"Not for a while yet. He's finishing occupational therapy. I'm still on limited activities, so I'm done early." He took in Lizzie's strained face. "Is everything all right?" he asked gently.
She pressed her lips together and looked at him. Finally, she shook her head. "No. But I don't know what it is. There's something Peter's holding in, I can see it in his eyes. But when I ask him if anything's wrong, he insists it's all fine." She looked at Matthew beseechingly. "What is it? Has he talked to you about something he's not telling me?"
Matthew hesitated, then asked, "Has he told you that he's been fitted with leg braces?"
"Yes, but he hasn't been wearing them."
"No, first you only wear them during physio." He lifted his leg, setting his foot down with the shoe on its heel, so that Lizzie could see how the bars attached to the high-topped shoe and kept the foot at a right angle. Lizzie's eyes widened, and she nodded mutely.
Matthew lifted his leg, set his foot back onto the foot rest, and sighed. "It's a hard adjustment, Lizzie. They're so heavy—the shoes, too—the straps chafe, and sometimes, if your legs spasm, you feel like they're something from Torquemada—I exaggerate, but not much. What Peter's having trouble with is, you see, he was able to move himself a bit down the bars before the braces, but now that he's wearing them, well, he can't yet. It's like he's having to start over again. And it's massively frustrating, of course."
"And, of course, he's keeping it to himself, because he doesn't want to worry me," Lizzie's eyes filled, and she dabbed at them with the back of her gloved hand. "You men," she added with a half smile.
The rear door to the room opened, the reading room becoming the visitors' room as patients began to arrive, most wheeling in, a few on sticks.
"He'll be all right, Lizzie. I'm sure of it. I was in the same spot. It just takes time."
"You'll tell him that?"
"Yes, I have already, and I'll keep saying it. I promise."
"Thank you for letting me know. I won't say anything. I'll—." She broke off, a smile transforming her face as Manning entered the room and wheeled over.
"Stop flirting with my wife, Crawley," Manning grinned, leaning over and kissing Lizzie's cheek. "Hello, darling."
"I'll leave you two lovebirds to your cooing," Matthew teased with a wink.
He wheeled his chair away, taking up a newspaper to read until Robert arrived. He glanced over at Lizzie and Peter. Peter was removing her gloves, his eyes never leaving hers, then their fingers intertwined, their yearning palpable. Any troubles were momentarily forgotten.
Matthew looked away and sighed as memories of Mary's visits flooded him. He tried to read, but quickly gave up and just let himself remember.
.
My darling,
I had a grand visit with your father today. He got to meet Peter and Lizzie, and spoke with several of the fellows. Do you remember Philip Carey—he's a ginger, with a scar on his chin? Anyway, his father was in the Boer War, but, as one would expect, never spoke of it, and died just after Carey was sent to France. And now that Carey's been through it himself, he's found he's been wishing badly that he could talk to his father about what he went through. He and your father talked at length, it meant a great deal to Carey, and I think it did your father good, as well. We're all looking forward to his next visit.
I think your Papa is wishing that he had opened Grantham House, rather than staying at Rosamund's. (Although we must all be glad at the savings!) His eye-rolling rivaled yours when speaking about your aunt. I gather the main issue is that she is still keeping company with that Lord Hepworth, or "Rosamumd's pal," as he put it. She continues to maintain that they are just friends, but he thinks otherwise and is quite concerned.
He seems to be limiting his social schedule, but did mention he was at a ball this week and saw Binky, who expressed such disappointment that none of the Crawleys were attending his daughter's wedding that your father wondered if he was completely oblivious to any of the awkwardness about Carlisle—no sightings of him, thus far, he was happy to report.
I'm nearly back to my full physio schedule, although they still won't let me use my sticks to get around outside of therapy, but that should change soon. Still working on moving my legs independently, of course, and it's slow going, I'm afraid. But tomorrow, I start trying to get myself up and down steps by placing the sticks and hoisting myself up or lowering myself down. It will be such a victory if, no, I'll say when I can learn to manage stairs, so say a prayer, darling.
I miss you so much, Mary. I couldn't help but think of our visits here, as I watched Peter and Lizzie today. I find my mind wandering all the time, thinking of you and our child, and praying that you continue to feel better. Take care of yourself, my darling, and know that I love you every minute of every day.
Your Matthew
.
"That's right. Good. Good . . . get your balance . . ." Connelly coached Matthew as he placed his sticks on the practice "step," a platform two inches high. They had started at the bars, Matthew lifting himself up and down a platform of the same height, which he did easily. But that was very different from keeping his balance and hoisting himself up using his sticks.
Connolly tightened his grip on the padded belt around his waist. "Picture what you're going to do."
Matthew closed his eyes, then nodded. "Right."
"Ready when you are."
Matthew took a deep breath, leaned forward slightly, and pushed up with his arms. He started wobbling and lowered himself.
"That's all right, that's all right," Connelly encouraged. "Rest a moment."
Matthew nodded, then placed his sticks and pushed up. He started wobbling again, landing back down heavily. The next attempt, he stayed steady, but he couldn't quite lift himself high enough, the toes of his shoes catching on the edge of the platform.
He exhaled in frustration. "Dammit." A standard stair riser was eight inches high. How the hell was he ever going to manage that?
Connelly patted his back. "You came very close that time."
Matthew nodded and tried again. And again. And again. "Fuck it all. Fuck."
"Let's take a break," Connelly suggested, toweling the sweat from his brow.
"No." Matthew placed the sticks. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, then nodded. Leaning forward, he inhaled pushed up hard, a kind of strangled grunt escaping him, and found himself standing on the platform. Panting from the effort, his mouth pulled up in a smile, as Connelly clapped him on the shoulder.
"Well done, sir, well done."
"I hope going down is fucking easier than going up," he grinned. It was. Twenty minutes later, after several more successful attempts (and a few failures) at lifting himself up and then getting himself down again, Matthew agreed to call it a day.
"Wonderful start, sir. Tomorrow we'll try three inches—we add an inch at a time you see, until you can manage a standard stair. You'll get there"
"That seems impossible now, but I'll take your word for it," Matthew laughed.
He set a stick against the wall, gratefully accepting a glass of water from Connelly, and watched as Manning wheeled himself into the physio room and joined Winters at one end of a set of bars. Winters fastened a belt around him, and then Manning quickly and easily stood. Matthew's heart sank as he observed Manning try and fail to lift himself. His shoulders would slump, he'd give himself a shake, take a breath, grasp the bars and strain—and nothing moved. And then, he'd try again. It was like watching himself from weeks ago.
"Here's your chair, sir," Connelly nodded.
Matthew hadn't taken his eyes from Manning. "I . . ." He frowned and handed his empty glass to Connelly. "Just a minute." He grabbed his stick up and set out over to Manning, who was resting his forearms on the bars, his head down, breathing heavily. Winters, still holding the belt, gave Matthew a smile, inclined his head toward Manning, and then nodded: You give it a shot.
"You can do this, Peter," Matthew said quietly.
Manning turned his head, his eyes moving up and down, taking in Matthew standing with his sticks. "That's easy for you to say."
"Maybe. But it wasn't easy for me to do. If I can do it, you can to."
"You can't know that. We're all affected differently."
Matthew was silent. He was right about that, of course. He tried again: "You know Coates wouldn't have you standing there, if he didn't think you could do it. And I was just as frustrated and discouraged as you are."
Manning looked down, and his mouth worked. Finally, he said tightly, "You've . . . adjusted to wearing these fucking things better than I have. It's like they're holding me to the floor."
"Peter, that's in your head."
"In my head? You're saying I need to see a head doctor?" Manning shot back, his eyes flashing.
"Stop! Of course, I'm not saying that. What I mean is, you're focusing on how your legs feel, and it's keeping you from paying attention to the rest of your body, and what it needs to do. Your legs aren't holding you to the floor, and they're not what's going to get you moving, anyway." Matthew smiled encouragingly. "Come on, old man. Let Winters help you move a few times, and try to forget about your legs. Then you give it a go again."
Manning exhaled and nodded. Winters worked him through the drill: reach, push up with his arms, thrust his torso; each time he guided Manning's hips to move him forward. When they were about half-way down the bars, Manning said, "All right, let me try."
Matthew smiled and lifted a stick, pointing to the far end. "Your beautiful wife's right there, her face lit up with that same smile she had yesterday, when she saw you come into the visitors' room, although," he added, shaking his head, "what she sees in you, I'll never know."
Manning snorted, grinning, but his eyes filled as Matthew continued softly, "She's holding onto the bars, holding you up, lifting you up."
Taking a few deep breaths, Manning closed his eyes, then opened them, and staring at the end of the bars, he inhaled, reached, and pushed up with a groan, straining until he finally lowered himself. But: "That was different. It was." He immediately reached out and pushed up again, lowered himself, then tried once more, and this time, he moved himself forward.
"You're on your way now, sir!" Winters congratulated, clapping him on the back.
He moved himself forward twice more, then had to stop, breathing hard, his arms shaking.
"Let's call it a day, sir."
"No," said Manning, straightening up. "I'm not done." He started again.
Matthew watched, his throat tight, as his friend kept going until, with a cry of triumph, he reached the end.
.
Dearest Matthew,
Your latest letter arrived this morning, and I'm thrilled to read about your progress—up to six inches now on the steps! You're almost there! And it's such good news about Peter making it on his own all the way down the bars in one go. I got a letter from Lizzie, yesterday, who reported the same, and she says he credits you with keeping him from giving up. It's wonderful that you can be there for each other.
I also received a letter from Alice—she says you are planning an afternoon in the park Sunday next. I'm so glad, and I'm so envious! I wish I could see your reunion with Teddy.
I guess our biggest news here has to do with the wedding, and there's good news (I suppose—I'll explain) and bad news. Bad news first: Sybil will not be able to come, and not because they can't afford it—Papa has said he'd pay her passage, I'm happy to say—no, she simply can't get the time off from the hospital. Right now, her days off are Sundays and Tuesdays, and the wedding, of course, is on a Thursday, and she can't find anyone to trade with her. We are all so disappointed, but, she wrote that it took her so long to find this job, it might be for the best not to call attention to herself. Apparently, her head nurse doesn't particularly care for the English—and the woman's Anglo-Irish! Well, I guess we can console ourselves that by the time she is able to visit, the sensation of her marrying the chauffeur will have faded. Perhaps Tom will become a famous journalist by then! I miss her so much.
The good news is that we have finally heard when Grandmama is arriving, and what her plans are—always a complicated affair. The reason I say, "I suppose" it's good news, is, well, I'm sure you've gathered that Grandmama is a force to be reckoned with, and her visits are always stressful. You should have seen Granny's face—she and Grandmama always put on a good show, they are like oil and water—as Mama read her letter aloud. And whenever Papa says, "Your mother," he draws his brows together, like he already has a headache. So, you are forewarned! And the good news for you is, she's arriving only two days before the wedding, then leaving the day after to go to London to see her best friend's daughter, Lucy Morris, marry Gerald Gore, Lord Deaver's son. Yes, as you might have guessed, the marriage is bailing the family out—they're teetering on bankruptcy, apparently. Then, she and Mrs. Morris will travel together to Switzerland to visit friends who always summer in Vevey. So, you'll hardly see her during your time home. She'll come return to us, eventually, for a few weeks, but you'll be back at the clinic by then, perhaps the only time you'll be glad for having to leave your wife!
And speaking of your wife, I've really been doing very well, gaining weight—Clarkson's pleased. So, you mustn't worry, darling. I've tried to convince Mama that she should go to London, even if just for a few days, but to no avail, so far. That makes you happy, but she really could go. Edith and Anthony are arriving day after tomorrow—I know they plan to visit you. I'm so glad Papa has become a regular visitor. He mentions his visits in every letter and has so enjoyed seeing you and getting to know the men.
I must close now, as I'm driving out shortly with Linden to survey the Coulter farm—he says he can't wait to show me how it's coming along. We have been meeting regularly, and his wife came to tea earlier this week. She is a lovely woman. I'm going to introduce her to your mother, as she's clearly like-minded about improving the lives of the less fortunate.
Just a bit over three weeks now until I can hold you in my arms, my darling!
Your Mary
.
"I was sure we were going to have to cancel, but the weather gods are on our side," observed Jack as he shook Matthew's hand in the crowded visitors' room. Sunday was always the favorite day for visiting.
Matthew nodded, "I was watching the clouds all morning." But the weather gods had, indeed, favored them. Whatever storm there was had moved past Kensington; the sun shown brightly now, and the sky was blue.
"A good thing that. I think Teddy would have exploded, if we couldn't have come to see you today. He was running to the window every five minutes, making sure it hadn't started raining."
Matthew grinned. "Then let's get going, before the gods change their minds."
Jack paused to take in his friend, sitting in his chair, a lap rug covering his legs. And he was holding his sticks.
"And why are you bringing your sticks?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Because I'm going to get out of my chair and sit on a bench, of course," Matthew answered easily.
"Ah, right, right," Jack replied, starting to push the chair.
The fresh air hit Matthew, as it always did, like a restorative tonic. He breathed deeply, as Jack waited to cross the street, the early August sun warming his face. As usual, the traffic was light, and they were quickly across the street and up the drive into the park. At the arched stone gateway, Matthew grabbed the push wheels and stopped the chair, setting the brake.
"What's the matter?" Jack queried, frowning.
"Hold on a minute." Matthew handed a bewildered Jack his sticks, then folded the lap rug and tucked it behind his back. He lifted his legs off the foot rest, then holding the arms of his chair, he pushed himself forward to the edge of his seat. He took the sticks back from Jack, holding them in his left hand, while he gripped the arm rest with his right and started to push up.
"Hey, hey, hey, my fine fellow!" Jack protested, pressing a hand to his shoulder. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"What the hell does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting out of my chair. Here, give me your hand, it's easier for me that way." And he held out his right hand, looking up at Jack expectantly.
"Now just a minute. You've practiced walking outside like this? On uneven ground?" Jack asked skeptically.
"Of course, I have. Connolly's taken me out," Matthew answered blandly. Once, but who's counting? He looked up at Jack and held out his hand. "Come on. Teddy's waiting."
Jack shook his head. "You'd better not fall, or Coates will have my hide for abetting this scheme." He grasped Matthew's hand and helped him to stand.
Matthew adjusted the sticks, found his balance, then turned to his friend. "Thanks." He made a face. "Don't look at me like that." His eyes surveyed the park, taking in the "civilians" out for a stroll, the children and families playing on the lawn, and a few of his fellow patients and their visitors, until he spotted Alice and the children. Their bench was farther down the gravel path than he had hoped for, but he could make it. He started out, pausing each time he placed his sticks before he swung his legs forward carefully. Jack followed pushing the chair.
"Sorry it's so far away," Jack muttered. "Alice needed the shade, and I didn't know you were going to pull this stunt."
Matthew nodded to an elderly couple, who gave him a sympathetic smile as they passed. "It's perfectly fine, it's not that far," Matthew assured him, then returned to concentrating on the task he had set himself.
But he didn't have to go far. Alice had spotted them, waved, and then pulled Teddy to her and pointed. With a whoop, Teddy threw down the book he had been looking at, and took off down the path, his sturdy legs pounding the gravel. Charlotte started toddling after him.
"Teddy," Jack cried. "Don't—."
"No, no, Jack, let him come." Matthew held onto both sticks with his left hand, holding out his free arm. "But get behind me and hold me up, or I'm a goner."
And Jack finally understood that this was all about Teddy not seeing him in the chair. Jack moved quickly behind him, his arms coming around his waist, just as Teddy launched himself at Matthew, who hugged him tightly.
Teddy looked up at him happily. "I knew you could learn! I knew you could!"
"You were right, Ted," Matthew laughed, as Jack continued to hold him steady.
Charlotte trotted up, latching onto to one of his legs.
"All right you, two," Jack admonished. "Don't knock Uncle Matthew down."
"Did I hurt you?" Teddy asked with a concerned frown, taking a step back.
"Not at all," Matthew smiled, ruffling his hair before transferring a stick back to his right hand. Jack waited until he was sure Matthew was balanced, then moved away. "But I'm still learning, so I have to be careful."
Teddy nodded, taking in the sticks. He looked down. "What are those things on your shoes?"
"They help me walk."
Teddy nodded. "Good." He looked up at Matthew. "I guess we can't play Cowboy Ted yet?"
"Not yet, Teddy," Matthew smiled. "Maybe one day. What about your daddy? He makes a fine bucking bronco, I'm sure."
"Daddy tries, and he's good, but he's not as good as you."
"I'm not?" Jack asked, looking sad.
Teddy turned to Jack. "I'm sorry, Daddy, but it's true." He was so sincere, Jack and Matthew tried very hard not to laugh and almost succeeded.
Teddy spied the wheelchair. "Why do you have your chair, if you learned to walk?"
"Because, I do still need it, sometimes. And because," he leaned down closer to Teddy, saying in a stage whisper, raising his eyebrows. "I thought you might like to play Car!"
"Yes!" Teddy cried, hopping up and down. Charlotte started hopping up and down, too, calling, "Car, car, car!"
"Well, climb up, then," Jack laughed.
They made their way slowly down the path to a beaming Alice.
"You must forgive my not getting up, even for you!" Alice said, ruefully, gesturing at her round stomach that her smock couldn't hide.
"Believe me, if anyone understands not being able to get up, I do!" Matthew smiled. He turned to Teddy. "Ted, put that rug on the bench so I can sit on it, would you?"
Teddy grabbed it up, and Alice took it from him, refolding it and setting it down next to her.
Jack moved to Matthew, helping him to lower himself to the bench, while Teddy climbed back up into the chair and started making car noises.
Matthew sighed as he sat back, mopping his brow. "I made it!" he grinned, kissing Alice on the cheek.
"Daddy, come on," he ordered.
"Be nice to the engine," Jack admonished, as he removed his suit coat, handing it to Alice. "Here we go." He shoved off at a fast clip, to the delight of the children.
Matthew and Alice watched them make their way, then turned to each other.
"Look at you," she smiled, pressing his hand. "And Jack says you're even going up and down steps, now?"
"Yes, look at me," he returned, quietly, shaking his head. "And I am, the steps I mean. And look at you! How are you feeling?"
"Like a beached whale," she laughed. "Don't worry, Mary won't get this big, not with her first!"
"You're as lovely as ever, Alice," Matthew affirmed sincerely, with a soft smile. He couldn't help but try to picture Mary, he ached to see her now, as he took in Alice's rosy cheeks and round face, her hands cradling her belly.
Alice stuck her feet out. "I've had to buy new shoes! It's ridiculous! I've never had to before." She shrugged and continued, "But everything's going well, my doctor's pleased, so I shouldn't whinge—but I will!" They both laughed. "And how is Mary? In her letters, she always says she's 'so much better'—I hope that's the case?"
Matthew sighed. "She is better, yes, nowhere near the state she was in that sent her to hospital. So, yes, 'so much better,' which is how she always puts it in her letters to me, so I won't worry. What she doesn't know is that Cora has been writing to me every few days, keeping me posted on how she's really doing. She's still dealing with nausea and vomiting nearly every day, which is why Cora wouldn't come to London, bless her. And now, everyone's returning to Downton in a few days, anyway." He exhaled heavily. "It's been so much harder to be apart this time, Alice, knowing she's still sick. I want to be there to help her through it."
"Not much longer now, though, right?" Alice asked sympathetically.
"No, just a little over two weeks," he nodded. "I guess I can manage that, although sometimes, I don't know how."
"And how long will you be allowed to stay this visit?"
Matthew sighed again. "Only a bit more than a week, this time."
"Oh, I am so sorry," Alice said softly, squeezing his wrist. "Mary wrote that you had set up a room with therapy equipment at Downton. I had hoped that meant you might be able to stay home."
Matthew gazed out over the park, watching as Jack pushed the children around the circuit of the gravel path, stopping now and then as Charlotte would stand up. "It keeps me from losing ground when I'm away from the clinic, and I am hoping it means I might get released earlier, but I've still a ways to go, Alice. Yes, I can heave myself around with my sticks, and that gets easier every day, and yes, I've started being able to haul myself up and down stairs. And it's wonderful, please understand, and if that were all I could ever do, well, it's a miracle, and I'd be fine." He turned to her. "But I'm learning to move my legs independently, you know, really walking."
"But that's wonderful!"
He smiled and shrugged. "Yes, it is. And Coates thinks I can get there, maybe not need braces or even sticks, one day." He shook his head. "Do you have any idea how many muscles you use to lift your leg up to a stair? I didn't, and most of mine aren't working very well yet." He exhaled. "So, yes, I have to come back, and the sooner I'm back, the sooner I can come home permanently. It's going to be so hard to leave, again, though." He gave himself a shake. "All right, enough of this. I'm walking, and Mary's pregnant. Two miracles. I have no complaints."
He smiled and held out his fist, and she tapped it with hers. They sat in companionable silence, watching Jack pushing the children. After a moment, Alice turned to him.
"It will be a year for you this Friday," she said softly.
He nodded. "It will, indeed. The eighth of August. It doesn't seem possible, it's already been a year. It doesn't seem possible, it's been only a year." He looked at her intently. "How's Jack been doing? He says better. What do you say?"
Her eyes filled, as they always did when they talked of Jack like this, and Matthew squeezed her hand, but she managed a smile. "Yes, better."
"I'm so glad."
They both looked up at the sound of shrieking from the lawn, as Charlotte slid down from the chair and started running, followed by Teddy, and then Jack. They both laughed as Jack corralled first Charlotte, then Teddy, one in each arm, spinning them around. Matthew tried very hard not to be jealous.
.
"Matthew? Is everything all right?" Mary clutched the receiver.
"Yes, darling! Everything's fine. I told Carson to be sure to tell you that, when he went to get you."
"He did, he did. It's just . . ." She started to choke up. "It's just, I've been thinking of you all day long today, my darling. . . and remembering that day, and what came after." The memories had come flooding back: getting the news; the awful waiting; seeing him brought in, reading the tag, cutting off his clothes. All of it so real again. And she had been cold, so cold, and at just the same moment as when it had first happened, a year before. Why? It was just another day, and yet it wasn't.
"I knew you would be, dearest, and that's why I'm calling. So you could hear me and know, I'm all right. And I think it's harder for you, so I needed to hear you, too, and know you're all right."
Mary exhaled heavily. "I am now. And you? Be honest."
"Besides worrying about you, I've had my moments today, of course. Mostly thinking of William. But really and truly, I'm fine."
"How can you think about what happened to you and be fine?" she sniffed, wiping her eyes.
"Because," he said softly, "a year later, I have your love, which gave me back my life and sustains me every day."
She squeezed her eyes shut and suppressed a sob.
"Mary? Darling?"
"I'm here. Oh, Matthew, thank you for calling. Hearing you has made all the difference. I'm all right now. I love you so much."
"So very much." There was a pause, then, his voice scraping: "Only ten more days."
"That's nothing," she whispered.
"Nothing," he agreed. "I'm almost home."
Thank you so much for reading-reviews are like sparklers on the Fourth of July!