I'm back! Sorry for the missed week - we were moving, and without internet for most of the week. The horror! The schedule should go forth unbroken from here, though.

October 1915

The arrival of the mail was always an event. The servants looked forward to news from their families, or the chance to hear from old friends, or a newspaper from their homes, in the case of those who had grown up far from Downton. Today the bundle held a letter for Anna from her mother, and a letter for Mr. Bates from his. Both women were feisty and strongly opinionated, and by mutual accord Anna and Bates saved their letters for tea time, when they could steal a few minutes alone in the courtyard while enjoying the autumn sunshine. Winter would close them in before they knew it.

Anna was already outside when Mr. Bates managed to escape the house. He sank onto his crate with a sigh, stretching out his leg. Anna glanced at him in concern. "Is it getting worse?"

"No. It isn't getting better, either."

When he was short with her that way, she knew to leave it alone. He bore the pain as well as any man could—better than most, certainly—but he wasn't immune to it. Anna let him be while he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. After a few moments, his eyes opened again and sought Anna's. "I'm sorry."

"You needn't be. It was a silly question."

Mr. Bates shrugged. "It could get better one day. It didn't always bother me the way it does now—just as the shrapnel shifted to make it worse, it could shift again someday to make it better."

"Do you think it will?"

"I don't know."

"Have you thought to consult Dr. Clarkson about it?"

He shook his head. "No. The regimental surgeon looked at it long ago and told me there's no chance of getting the shrapnel out without destroying the knee entirely. Can you imagine me more lame than I am?" he asked bitterly.

Quietly, Anna ventured, "It wouldn't matter to me, you know that."

Mr. Bates looked at her, their eyes meeting and holding for a few minutes. Anna tried to put everything she felt for him into hers, and his softened under the onslaught of her emotions. "You're sweet to say so."

A tart response hovered on her lips, but there was no point in it. She hadn't been able to convince him of the enduring strength of her love for him yet; there was little chance another comment would do so. Instead, she took her letter from the envelope. "Shall I start?"

"Please." Mr. Bates smiled at the prospect.

Dear Anna,

I hope all continues to be well for you at Downton. Have they made you housekeeper yet? Tell that Mrs. Hughes of yours if she gets tired of her place, you'll be happy to take it on for her.

They both smiled at the idea of Mrs. Hughes' reaction to that comment.

"Why does she think you want to be a housekeeper?" he asked.

"I don't know. It's her idea of real advancement. At least she's stopped asking me when I plan to be married." The word hung between them, and Anna blushed, bending her head over the letter again.

Things are quiet here. Your father works as hard as always, which is a good thing, because I don't think I could bear to have him underfoot all day. The neighbors' boy just got called up, and she's carrying on like he's going to save England single-handed. How he'll do that, I can't imagine, since as you know, the lad has a hard time finding his breakfast without getting lost on the way. I remember the days when I thought the two of you might grow up to make a match of it, but I suppose it's all for the best now. At least you haven't a young man at war you have to cry yourself to sleep over.

Anna couldn't look up, sure that her cheeks were absolutely flaming red now. Mr. Bates knew she'd never written her mother about her feelings for him—Anna would never hear the end of it, if she did—but being twitted about her unattached state like this, in front of him, was almost too much to bear.

Time to get this into the post and get a good start on my day. Make sure you eat well and bundle up warm, and write to me soon.

Love, Mum

"Now yours," Anna said quickly, before he could comment on her mother's words.

"Very well." He took his letter from his coat pocket, slitting it open and removing the sheet.

Dear John,

Looks like another winter's coming on. At my age, you always have to wonder which one will be your last. I don't intend to go any time soon, but if I do, I want you to know I've put some savings by for you, in addition to the house. I hope you'll use them wisely.

Mr. Bates looked at her over the top of the letter. "Cheerful, isn't she?"

"Practical, I would say." Anna reached for his hand, feeling his fingers close warmly around hers. "She just wants to make sure you're taken care of."

"She needn't. I'm a grown man."

"But she loves you—and who else does she have to care for?"

He let that one go, turning to the letter again without letting go of her hand.

I hope you'll say hello to Anna for me and remind her that she owes me a letter. She always brightens my day.

Mr. Bates smiled, his thumb stroking the back of her knuckles as if to say she brightened his, too.

News of the war makes me remember what it was like when my boy was out there, and I pray for the souls of those who are fighting today, that as many of them as can will return home to those who love them. I am thankful that you returned in one piece, at least, from your war and that at last the darkness inside you seems to have gone. You are never far from my thoughts, my son.

Your loving mother

He folded the letter one-handed, his grip tightening on Anna's hand. They sat in silence for a long time, thinking of their mothers and holding on to each other.