Chapter 36 – The Changing Seasons

A/N: I've had the ending for this story floating around in my head for the past month or so but have been putting it off, not solely because RL is craaazzzy busy, but because I am going to miss writing this tale. It's funny – I started my DA fanfic journey with my Chelsie epic, A History of Moments, last summer, and posted the last chapter of THAT fic almost a year ago this week.

When I first started writing AHoM last spring, I had no idea how much, how VERY much, it would enrich me, in so many ways. Life's funny sometimes, isn't? The stories, the fandom, the FRIENDS I've come to know through this medium.

Unbelievable. Awesome, in the truest sense of the word.

This has been a great reminder that little things can be big things, great things. So, this chapter is dedicated to chelsietx, who was my very first reviewer on the very first chapter of AHoM. From one chapter and one review to something that brings such contentment to my day, in so many ways.

Thanks, chelsietx, for that first word of encouragement, and thank you ALL for reading and sharing this journey with me.

Xoxo, CeeCee

As the four of them left the little courthouse, a gust of wind nearly lifted the ladies' hats off. She and the freshly minted Mrs. Clarkson both clapped their hands atop them simultaneously, then started giggling. The just-married couple exuded as much happiness and contentment as any of the other pairs she'd seen wed this summer, and that joy was contagious.

"I believe autumn has arrived in Yorkshire, ladies," Charlie intoned. He had been a surprise guest at the little ceremony that had just made Lady Isobel Grey into a doctor's wife, again, for good.

"You maybe right, Mr. Carson, but I don't mind," Isobel grinned at him, then squeezed Richard's arm. "It's a rather lovely day, is it not?" She smiled at the other three, then shifted her gaze to the bustling, late-afternoon pedestrians crossing the village square, the branches of the trees swinging and swooping wildly in the wind, still filled with dark green leaves, so soon to turn, and fall, and scatter. But not yet, not today.

"I cannot imagine a lovelier one, to be honest," Richard Clarkson interjected, gazing over at his new wife and Elsie took that moment to look closely at her fellow countryman. The doctor had always been a pleasant, solid sort of person, exactly the type you want sorting out all of the things that could go wrong with a body. He'd been a steadfast figure in the village and at the grand house for so long, it was almost easy to overlook his presence.

But not any longer; the man was so clearly overjoyed by the day and his new bride and how his life, at least, had seemed to settle exactly where he'd wanted it to. Love transforms us, it does. She'd thought it, or something like it, many times this summer. She was surer and surer of it each time.

"Mr. Carson, I must thank you for standing up with me, and on such short notice," Richard began as they crossed the square. His friend Peter, another doctor at the hospital, had been waylaid, as doctors often were. He was going to meet them for an early supper, though, at the -

"It was my pleasure, Dr. Clarkson," Charlies smiled, cleared his throat, "And, I must admit, I've a bit of curiosity about this new establishment, The Red Lion. I'm glad to hear their serving supper now, of a sorts, so I can satisfy it."

"Ye'd not care to join me at a lock-in, then, Charlie? After-hour cocktails in the wee snug in the back?" Elsie rejoined, and Isobel started giggling with her. She couldn't help it. Charlie raised his eyebrow at her, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.

"Hardly," her husband responded, his mouth twitching with repressed mirth. "Though, I suppose if I change my mind, Elsie, I'll advise you of the same, as you seem rather well versed in the place."

"Nae, Charlie, I'm only scandalous enough in my thoughts to be mildly entertaining," she squeezed his arm as the two couples headed up the hill towards the waiting, red door. "There are no real skeletons in my closet, I'm afraid."

She caught Isobel' eye again, and the pair of them did their best not to burst into laughter.

oooOOOooo

Jenny was delighted to see them. She greeted Isobel and Richard with kisses on each cheek, leading them to their usual corner, though there was a slight difference she noticed right away.

The tall barkeep had set a long table for their small party that nearly took up the entire nook, insisting that they have room to spread out, and given the early hour, there'd be no rush for them to leave. There was a tall vase of end-of-summer wildflowers gracing the table, along with bottles of wine waiting to be poured.

Impulsively, Isobel turned toward Jenny and handed her the small posy of flowers Richard had presented her with earlier today. Her new husband grinned at her as she did.

"For me?" Jenny's eyebrows went up, then grinned at the pair of them as the Carsons got settled behind them. "Izzy, I'm not sure the likes of me will ever get married, so…"

"Well, that's the traditional interpretation, but times change, don't they, Jenny? Let's rather say they'll give you good luck, in love, if and when you're interested in finding it," Isobel finished up.

The younger woman beamed, then laughed, and hurried off to get their drinks.

"Izzy's Choice," Richard spoke up next to her. She turned to him, aware of the close proximity of the Carsons, but remembering where they were. The Lion. Their place. A place that takes you as you are, in the moment. And right now, I am a blushing bride. She stepped closer to him, kissed him briefly on his mouth, thought of the evening ahead.

"Yes, you are, most definitely, Dr. Clarkson," she said, her voice teasing, but warm underneath. "At last, but completely."

"Better late than never, I say," he answered, grinning. Then his face turned serious. "Are you worried, at all, in any way, Isobel?" Did she regret him, this decision. That's what he meant.

"No, I am certainly not. Do I have all of the answers, Richard? I think I am finally aware enough to say, again, certainly not. I do know a few things though, a precious few: that I love you, and I must have done for a long time, because it doesn't seem like a new feeling to me. And I will go on loving you, as long as I can draw breath. And…and I know I need some purpose again, helping other. I'd…I'd like to work with you, or at the hospital at least, do whatever it is I need to do to get certified as a nurse in these modern times."

His face split into a huge smile. "Why not tackle a full medical degree itself, while you're at it?" She wasn't sure he was teasing.

"Two Dr. Clarksons? Could Downton handle it? I'm not certain."

"Neither am I, but I certainly could."

He kissed her again, and they went to join the Carsons. It was time to celebrate.

oooOOOooo

The four of them walked into the Lion after dinner at Francis' small but lovely home. Phyllis looked around everywhere, taking it all in. After a summer of considering a visit, she and Joe had, impulsively, decided to join the other pair for a drink.

Then a trio of older couples caught her eye, at a large corner table. Two of them she knew, and they were bidding farewell to the pair she didn't.

"Joe! It's the Carsons. And Dr. Clarkson, and Lady Grey," she exclaimed, thoroughly tickled. "We really are late to the game, aren't we?" She glanced over at Francis and Thomas, who were grinning at each other.

"Well, I'll allow that the Carsons' being here is a bit of surprise, even to me," Thomas' smile broadened. "We've been spotted, by the way. Mrs. Hughes – Carson – is waving us over." The four of them giggled like schoolchildren caught out by a favorite teacher. "The other pair, however…" he trailed off, looked at Francis again.

"Rich regularly serenades us all with off-color Scottish tunes," he answered breezily. "And Izzy, or Lady Grey I suppose, to you lot, has been in here a time or three this summer with the good doctor. Actually…hold that thought. She mayn't be Lady Grey any longer." He laughed at their expressions. Even Thomas raised an eyebrow at him. "Come, all, we're being summoned by Downton's housekeeper, and I know it's best not to keep her waiting."

They all headed over to the corner together. The unfamiliar couple had left, and the others stayed on their feet to greet them. Phyllis was trying to keep up with everything that was going on.

"Good evening, everyone!" Francis boomed, and grinned. Thank goodness for Francis. Everyone liked him, and he was so good at putting everyone at ease. "Mr. and Mrs. Carson, what a pleasure to see you again. And Dr. Clarkson! Might I congratulate you, sir!" He reached over and shook the other man's hand, who took it warmly, laughing.

"Did you take out an ad, then, Richard?" Isobel asked dryly. Elsie Carson laughed, whilst her husband and Joe seemed perplexed.

"Congratulations for what?" Thomas interjected.

"I got married today, Mr. Barrow, which Mr. Holmes knew, as he made this suit for this very occasion," Richard Clarkson looked as pleased as anyone Phyllis had ever seen. Then it suddenly dawned on her, what he'd just said. And her eyes slid over to Isobel, who most certainly was no longer Lady Grey.

"You never did, Doctor! To whom?" Joe. Oh, Joe. She caught Thomas' eyes, which he rolled, but not in an unkind way, towards her husband.

"To me, Mr. Molesley," Isobel Clarkson replied, delighted at revealing the news. "And I would be delighted if you all joined us for a celebratory drink."

Everyone agreed heartily, and they arranged themselves cozily around the table. She found herself next to Charles Carson, who was staring at her intently.

"Mrs. Molesley," he leaned over to be heard. "I'd been hoping to find the time to say something to you in the past week or so, though I can safely say, this wasn't the time or place I'd had in my mind." She smiled and waited.

"I want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, Mrs. Molesley," he started, and then surprised her: he reached out and placed his large, shaking hand over her much smaller one. She grinned up at him, this formal bear of a man, who was a rule-following traditionalist to the last, but who, somehow, fathered them all at the big house without many of them really noticing, with his steady, stoic, strict but fair ways.

"You are so very welcome, Mr. Carson," she began. "It was such a lovely idea of Mrs. Carson's." The both turned to gaze at the woman in question, who was deep in conversation with Thomas and Francis. She caught them looking and tipped them a mischievous wave. She continued. "It was such a lovely idea, and this is going to sound mad – but I miss it, your tapestry, your family tree. I miss it so much, I've started my own, our own, Mr. Molesley's and mine."

"Have you indeed? I think that's a fine idea," Downton's former butler took a sip of his wine, and she saw tears, just shimmering, in his eyes. "And your family tree, Mrs. Molesley, as inspired by mine, created by that wife of mine there, won't be terribly different, in many ways, from each other, will they?"

"No, not very much at all, Mr. Carson," she replied, and they both smiled at the group gathered around the large table.

oooOOOooo

"What do you suppose they're on about, Mrs. Carson, your husband and Phyllis? They look rather maudlin over there, don't they? Do you think they're about to burst into song?" Francis teased, his leg pressing familiarly against Thomas' under the table, as he leaned conspiratorially over towards Elsie.

"Your cheek, Mr. Holmes, is only outmatched by your charm, luckily for you," she retorted.

"Won't you call me Francis, Mrs. Carson?" He looked from Downton's housekeeper to Thomas, then back again. "Or does that complicate things? It would be rather odd, I suppose, for you to use my given name and bash on calling Thomas 'Mr. Barrow.'"

Elsie Carson's laughter made everyone at the table pause momentarily, including her husband, who looked at her with such tenderness Thomas could forgive the man's rigidity in other matters. But he's sitting here, with you, at this table. He greeted your lover with friendliness, even familiarity. It's time to move forward, completely. Everyone seems to be doing so, and you're no exception.

"It wouldn't turn a hair on her, Francis, as Mrs. Hu – Carson – called me 'Thomas' for many years whilst we worked together at Downton. And she's welcome to, again, at her discretion," he caught the older woman's eye, who was gazing at him warmly.

"Aye, Thomas, I do believe I've a few brain cells rattling around upstairs, at least enough to remember when 'tis appropriate to call you by your Christian name. I do believe in this fine establishment is one of those places." She glanced around, curious and pleased. It was getting later, and the crowd was becoming more varied as the evening turned into night.

"How do you like it, then, Mrs. Hughes?" He called her the name that felt right to him, no disrespect to her husband.

"I like it quite a lot, Mr. Barrow," she replied. "As I am sure the pair of you do, as you met here, did you not?"

"That we did, Mrs. Carson," Francis responded, shooting him a warm look. "I will be forever grateful to my meddlesome, match-making junior tailor, to the end of my days."

"I hate to do so, but I believe it's likely time for Mr. Carson and I to retire for the evening," she took the last, hearty swig of her wine, and Thomas was surprised to feel regret at her announcement. "And, Francis, you were wondering what Charlie and Mrs. Molesley were discussing earlier. I believe I have a feeling…."

She trailed off, explaining to Francis in detail the project Thomas had seen, half-finished, on the train to London last month. The beautiful, unexpected tree, with its multitude of fabric leaves. His own branch on it. How it had startled him, warmed him, to be included.

"It sounds extraordinary!" Francis exclaimed. "That Phyllis Molesley, she's certainly one-of-a-kind."

"It is extraordinary, Francis, and so is the seamstress who created it," she rose from her seat at last, grinned down at them. "You'll have to come to dinner one evening, with the Molesleys, when Thomas and I feel we can leave Downton in Mrs. Powell's hands."

Thomas' heart leapt in his chest. Francis gazed up at Elsie Carson, then over at Thomas. His eyes were warm. "I'd be delighted, Mrs. Carson. Simply delighted."

"Well, it's settled then. Leave it to the butler and the housekeeper to sort out. And the former butler," she chuckled. "It will be the most organized dinner you've ever attended, Francis. And you must come, for many reasons, but certainly to see Charlie's tapestry. Because, you see, you are on it." And her eyes slid over to Thomas' with a smile.

"I am, Mrs. Carson?"

"Indeed you are, Francis, as you'll see soon enough. There's a brightly patterned leaf on Thomas' branch, the exact colors of a pocket square you've been missing for a few weeks. Goodnight, gentlemen." And with that, she leaned over, kissed them both, in turn, on their cheeks, and was gone.

Phyllis was suddenly across from them, with the Carsons' departure. "You put Francis on Mr. Carson's tree." Thomas said, rather stupidly, he felt.

She laughed. "I did! Francis, forgive me – you left your handkerchief at ours a few weeks ago and I couldn't help myself. So now you are affixed, forever, for posterity. I hope you don't miss it too much," she concluded.

Francis gazed over at Thomas, squeezed his knee under the table. "A pocket square seems a small price to pay for all I've gained this summer. More than a fair trade, wouldn't you say, Thomas?"

"More than. Worth a hundred pocket squares, a thousand," he grinned at them both.

"It's worth everything," Phyllis sighed. Thomas couldn't disagree.