Josephine had been substituting the class at the schoolhouse, that eventful day of 7 July of 1945. She wished her brother could be here. She had already grieved for him, she and her sisters. They were no longer holding on to hope. Papa would hold onto it the longest, till his dying day, she believed.
She had thought of several situations that could have happened to him. She and her sisters would gather and speculate. "He could be in a field hospital somewhere and he could have forgotten who he is and doesn't have any identification." Had been Jo's first thought.
"He could have died, in any number of ways. The best we can hope for is that it was quick and painless. He could have been taken prisoner." Carrie had suggested.
"There could be no body to be found, like Jack." Kate had become weepy eyed, thinking of both of them. The three sisters had become silent. They stopped once they came to that conclusion. It wasn't healthy. So they didn't speak of it again.
She could live her whole life not knowing. At least she would have wanted to know how he died, where he had fallen. All her childhood memories with George played back in her head like a picture film, as she walked the path to the little school house.
Thinking of George still brought tears to her eyes. As she had arrived at the classroom door, she shook the tears away. She had to be brave.
The children had all missed her, insisting that she come back, that her replacement was strict. She didn't quite believe them. She'd be staying in the village only for a few weeks. They talked about America and asked what it was like. It was a good topic for them to discuss, other than talking about the war.
"Are you really going to leave us again?" Six year old Maggie Newhart gave a sad pout.
Before she could reply, the new teacher returned. She didn't know why but she was surprised that it was a man.
She went home afterwards, just as if it were any other school day.
After her day she'd always take Hotspur out for a ride for about an hour. It was good timing. Carrie was about to have her baby. Babies didn't interest Josephine all that much. She did love teaching children however, not children in general. She hadn't even liked herself as a kid. Just like animals, children were easier to talk to, they didn't judge you as much. Not that she was comparing children to animals.
Two hours Carrie was still in labour, she had been most of the day. Jo hoped her own diagnosis was wrong, but she had already missed two cycles. It could be the stress over Papa and George, and the excitement about Andy safe return.
A few more turns on Hotspur, then she'd got over to the telephone exchange where Claire and Connie worked. A few more hours spent, surely there would be a yowling baby in it's mother's arms.
She found her sisters and her parents in the sitting room. Carrie was holding her newborn baby, who was soundly asleep.
"Family meeting?" She asked, pulling off her gloves.
"A telegram came." Her father started but couldn't finish. He didn't know how to tell his daughter without upsetting her. Usually he did know how. And he knew how to calm her, but now, he was at a loss. This shouldn't feel like a loss. In a way, it was like his own all over again. Will George ever be the same? Will he go through what he had? George is stronger than him.
" George was hurt." Her mother was the one to speak. "It's not too serious." But her voice eventually dropped off, not sure how to continue.
"His leg's been injured." Kate informed her. "He'd been taken prisoner."
"He'll...he'll be alright."
"Of course he will. They'll have to watch for infection." Her sister continued.
"Where...where is he? Does it say what hospital?"
Kate tells her. "I could go, help him get better."
"You know that's not possible, darling." Mary started but was cut off.
"I'll go with her." Matthew said, his voice without a waver. "She'll come with me to see him. We can stay near him."
"You most certainly will not! Do you know how unclean those places are? They have nurses there to take care of him. He'll have the most excellent care. You need to build your health back up for when he comes home."
"Mama's right, Papa." Kate finally agreed with her mother. "You could get an infection, it being so close after you stopped the radiation. And even if you hadn't, it would've been too risky. He needs to get better so he can come home."
Josephine was still quiet. The new information sinking in. Her eyes fell on her newborn niece or nephew. "Can I see...?"
"It's a girl." Carrie said. "You have a niece!"
"And I'm an Auntie. It's hard to imagine it."
"It's even harder to imagine that Mama is now Grandmama."
"Was I meant to hear that? What is your dear Papa, chopped liver?"
"Are you saying I'm old?" Matthew asked with a smile.
"Most certainly not, Papa." Carrie almost blushed.
"Can I hold her?" Josephine asked, sounding a bit unsure.
"I just got her to sleep. You'll wake her."
"Actually, that's a good idea." Kate made her way over, arms stretching down toward the bundle in Carrie's arms.
Carrie tried to edge away.
"What are you doing? You'll wake her. She's so peaceful now."
"We have to wake her up. It's time for her feeding."
"Yes. You must listen to nurse Crawley." Their mother said in a matter of fact voice.
"What better way to celebrate the news than with a baby." Josephine said as her sisters left the room. Her parents were awfully quiet. They never were. They were keeping something from her. "What aren't you telling me?"
"They had to...they had to amputate...his leg." Mary nearly choked.
"We must not fall to pieces over this." Matthew was speaking now. "This wouldn't be what he'd want. The important thing is, he's alive. And he'll be alright. We need to remain positive, so that he'll get better." Josephine went over to hug him and he put his arms around her. "It's going to be hard for him. And I know it will be on you."
"For all of us." She pulled back, took hold of his hands, and smiled. Then her smile dropped as the thought came to her. "Has anyone told Sybie or Miss Weston, Aunt Edith..."
"I was just getting on to it." Her father said, your Aunt's on her honeymoon, getting their new home ready."
"You don't have to worry about my dear sister, darling, or any of that. I'll tell her the news soon as I can. I was going to write to her once they've gotten back."
Josephine decided to leave the room, "I'll check to see how the others are getting on." But they didn't seem to hear her, as they continued talking, starting to argue. As she walked down the long hallways, they no longer felt warm. They were a breathing, frightful thing. She felt as if there was a shadow, hanging over her, watching her back. She couldn't shake the feeling. They were keeping something else from her.
14 July, 1945
Edith was going over the Holcomb Castle. It wasn't as extravagant as Downton but she was grateful for the downsize. All that great open space, though filled with servants and soldiers had been so lonely. She wasn't lonely anymore now that she had Hugh. She who loves last loves longest. She had always wanted a husband and children but that had all slipped away from her. She had thought of herself as unattractive, the 'ugly' sister all her life. Now she thinking back she thought she had been ugly on the inside, having stooped down to her sister's level, always trying to one up her.
Now she had the life, not quite how she pictured, but it was hers, she had wanted. A husband who loved her and thought her beautiful, inside and out, a vision, as he put it. And Henry, sweet Henry was like a son. His mother had died of influenza shortly after he had been born. Hugh had remarried but the marriage hadn't lasted. His first step-mother, he never really bonded with her, though he didn't really get the chance. He believed nothing would have changed if they had worked things out and had stayed. Edith didn't pressure the details but apparently it had been a nasty divorce. Henry was glad to have Edith in his life.
He would be coming to stay with them soon and he would be bringing his fiance. She worried that it would be awkward with Sybie, since she once had a relationship with Henry, but they were both now engaged to other people. A cause for further celebration.
She tried to take her mind off the thought, that all would be well, that things would go back to normal. The world had barely recovered from the first war, her brother in-law and many others had barely or had become unrecognisable. They boys returning would find it hard to return to a changed world, as as much as the boys who survived the first. But they would not be thinking about the hard times ahead. War was over.
Many people were celebrating with loved ones and here she was, getting her mind off it by decorating.
She was thinking about taking out the old furniture, fixtures and wallpaper. But she knew Hugh would be reluctant to part with any of it. He was so old fashioned and as bull headed as her father had been. Today was also her father's birthday, what would have been his eighty-ninth.
Her thoughts went to her family. She hadn't heard from them in quite some time. The war was over now, but the mail still took ages. Mary had intended to sent a letter once her honeymoon with Hugh was over. But there had still been no word. No word of her nephew George. Andy had been gracefully returned to them, only have to be turned out to danger once again. What was the likely chance that he could have survived?
It's only been a week since the honeymoon. The letter could come with in a few days. The post hadn't yet come today either.
When it was brought in, she instantly recognised her sister's scrawl on the envelope. Instinctively she knew she should sit down for this.
Her niece had given birth to a healthy baby girl, Mattie. George had been in a prison camp, and was in hospital. He would be sent home once he was well enough. And Matthew was ill. It was serious. Mary feared that he didn't have much time. She wanted her son home.
It might look like that might not happen. So I think I will take him to visit George, though I know how risky it is, that he could get an infection but I might come to regret it. Kate wants to be nurse to Matthew, much to his refusal. He's' not that bad now but it could. She even wanted to go to the hospital to take care of George but I assured her he was getting the best nurses there. I want all the children here, if anything were to happen. They're all so grown now. Carrie and Josephine are both married, it's hard to believe! And also I think Jo might be expecting! It's such good needed thought.
How could such good news come with the bad. Hadn't they had enough for a lifetime? This should be the joyous time of their lives, their children home safe, becoming grandparents.
"Sitting down on the job?"
"What?" Her eyes flitted to her husband, almost not registering him.
"You seem distracted, dear." Hugh looked from her to the letter in her hand, "Is that from your sister?"
"Yes. There's not very good news, I'm afraid. But some good as well."
"I think we all could use some."
August 1944
On 15 August, in the northeastern suburb of Pantin, 1,654 men (among them 168 captured Allied airmen), and 546 women, all political prisoners, were sent to the concentration camps of Buchenwald (men) and Ravensbrück (women), on what was to be the last convoy to Germany.
He engages the men in conversation, encouragement, trying to turn their fear into hope. Who was he kidding? He was just as scared. We're all the same.
A young boy, about eighteen, approached him. "They pointed rifles at us and shoved us in here like cattle. How can you be so calm?"
George thought of his father, how he would handle things, what he would say in this situation. Thinking of him made him smile, kept him going. "Let's do what we're told. We need to survive. For our families."
"Do you have any family? Kids?"
"No." George was surprised he would ask such a he looked older than he was. "I'm not even married. I have a brother and sisters." He thought of his sisters smiling faces, and his brother...he didn't know weather he was alive or not. How much would he have changed? Would he recognise him if he saw him? One of his fears was if he saw his brother in this cattle car with them.
"Parents?" George nodded. "It's just me. My parents are elderly." The kids parents had him later in life. "The Germans raided their business...they forced me to come, to work..." He wouldn't go into detail what happened to his parents. Maybe he didn't even now. George could imagine it. They forced him at gunpoint, just like he had said, and maybe promised that they would spare his parents. They would not be able to work as they were old. They could have killed them, once he was put on the train. "anyway, you should must have someone special. I wish I had."
There had been Sophie, the other Sophie. They were not to be in the village at certain hours, but he had lost track of time. She had found him behind a bin, Germans nearby.
She had brought him to her home, conveniently out in the country. Her husband was dead. She lived with her father and her daughter.
"Take off your clothes."
"Pardon?"
"Your uniform. Take it off. Quickly." What was she planning to do with it? She had to get rid of it. If they see her with it, there's no telling what they'd do. And if she burned it, it would be seen if a German plane were to fly over.
He does quickly what he is told, almost tripping as his the leg of his trousers got caught around his ankle. She would have laughed, he could tell, if this had been a different situation. Never had he imagined a woman to ask him take of his clothes in that context that she had done. He also handed his ID tags over to her.
She hid him behind a wall.
Her father must not see him. Her daughter was only four and she could not keep a secret. He could come out after she took her to school and her father was at work.
"What if I need to...you know."
She handed him a chamber pot. A fine porcelain one with a flower print. "Thanks." He had said it if it was the most precious thing in the world, a luxury. He flushed red, embarrassed by it and he saw that she was too. But it wasn't in the way he thought. She'd forgotten the simple pleasures, hers had been wine and his was a chamber pot.
It it dark when she come back. It must be night. Everyone else asleep. Had he been asleep? Where had see been? It was dangerous to be out at night. The Germans can come seize this property any time they wanted.
"Monsieur, are you there?" She whispered, her voice filled with hesitation. Perhaps she thought he had left.
"Yes, Miss." He replied.
"I got rid of your identification tags and uniform." She was risking her life for had already risked too much. He hadn't told her he'd been part of the uprising and they were looking for him. "Tomorrow I will get you my fathers clothes. They will fit well." Her english was almost flawless. "You won't draw attention to yourself."
"What is your plan?"
She didn't immediately reply. "You're not safe here."
"I gathered." He smiled. It must have made him look younger, for her demeanor changed, scolding him like he was a child.
"Wondering the village."
"I know how not to get caught. My brother and I used to play hide and seek when we were lads." By her face he knew that she didn't have a clue what he was talking about. "If it makes you feel any better, I killed a lot of Jerries." It was meant to make her feel better but it didn't.
"We need to get you back to Britain." They didn't know that the allies were already on their way, to start the liberation of Paris and the Northern cities. Out here they were isolated.
"I can't agree more but how? The whole coast line is fenced off with barged wire and dogs. I can't exactly leave France by boat or by air."
"I have some friends. We go see them tomorrow."
"You are very brave." He smiled again and she acted like it annoyed her. She reminded her of Josephine. She secretly liked it when he smiled.
"Or foolish. I have been told I am ambitious and unruly. I imagine I will hear that from my friends."
"Well, you won't hear anything else from me."
Her friends refused to help. It was too dangerous. They, he and Sophia, would have to think of another way.
He didn't know how many days he had stayed with her. They didn't leave for days once, then one day she went out, and when she came home, she was deeply worried. He could see it written all over her face. She was trying to hide it over the joy. She had informed him about the liberation of the Northern cities and it would be no time before the southern ones were next. That had been a week ago. The 25 August. It was now September. He would have been reported missing, perhaps feared dead, by his family. He had more than himself to think about right now.
She was talking about how they were starving in the Northern cities, and they would most likely here. "The money my husband has left us is almost gone. And winter will soon be among us. How are we to survive, to feed Vianne, and keep her warm?"
"You will not starve this winter, Madame. That's one thing you can be sure of. Your daughter will be warm and fed. I'll find what I can do." He grabbed her hands, their gazes met. She wanted to look away but couldn't. "You look beautiful Madame, perhaps it's been to long since you've heard that."
"You should not do such things. Flirt."
"I'm sorry. I forgot about your husband. It must have not been very long ago."
"I am much older than you.'
"How much older? You can't be much older than me." He had never thought to ask.
"Forty-three."
He couldn't help but gawk. Almost twenty years difference. He simply could not believe it. She was still good looking, attractive even. The German officers would find her the same. (if the Americans didn't come) They would do anything they wanted with her. If they wanted, they would have their way with her. He knows what they do, when their men are not around, or say they only had an elderly father that could not stop them. What they do to children, little girls. He wanted to protect her, them. But he cannot stay here.
He had laid with her, an experienced woman. They lay in each others arms afterword.
"You'll tell my parents, if necessary."
She sat up, adjusting her shawl around her. "It won't be necessary."
He was out in the fields, sitting cross legged, meditating, when he heard the voices. German voices. He could hear Sophia shouting for him to run.
He could hear the firing of guns. He looked back and saw the daughter, wailing on the front porch, her face red. He willed himself to look away and continue running. Another gunshot.
He never looked back again.
He didn't know what happened to them. They weren't on the train. He hears they had the women in different cars. But what about children?
Men start to argue. Buckets filled with piss and sick, among other things, spill all over the floor. George pulls his feet up so it doesn't slosh all over his shoes. He feels like he's going to be sick himself. It's strange that he felt like that now and had not when he had seen dead bodies. A large man yells at them to get out of the way and throws himself against the wagon.
"Don't waste your energy. If these walls could be breached don't you think a cow would have done it by now?"
The man angrily takes a step toward him.
He closes his eyes, waiting for the man to swing at him but nothing happens.
"Fancy man, think he knows better than everyone else." But it isn't a French voice. It was a fellow English one. He opens his eyes and immediately recognises him. Johnny Bates. Oh no. What is he doing here? No. You can't be here. He must have said it out loud.
"Don't worry." Johnny said. "Think of it this way, we'll be in this together."
In other words we'll die together. George thought.
Some of them were loaded onto a convoy. Others were shot. They shot them dead. Nothing should surprise him by now but it does. They younger boy he had been talking to. He had been Jewish. I wish I had a sweetheart. He would never know love. George vowed to know it for him, live a life that should have been lived.
He was taken with Johnny, sitting beside either side of them at the back of the jeep were two armed Germans. One warned George if he tried anything what happened to the others will happen to him, only he might not be as kind.
15 August 1945, a year after the liberation of Paris and D-day, the Japanese had surrendered. There were soldiers still deployed cleaning up the mess in Germany and other countries. Carrie's husband had not yet come home. He'd be staying with the military until at least the new year. Carrie was sitting in the day nursery with her mother. She and the baby, there was still no name, would be living at Downton until Miles came back and they would be moving to London. They would be near Kate.
Nothing about George. Or Andy. They had not heard from him since April and had been starting to fear the worst, that his life too could have been claimed the last few days of the war.
News had finally got to Andy in June (his reply had been delayed for several months) that George had been injured and was being sent home as soon as he was healthy. Even though the war was over, Andy wanted to stay in the army for a while. That's what George would have done, hadn't he been injured. He wanted to do it for George. All those people would need all the help. He wouldn't be home for his niece's birth (but didn't seem to sad about it, What young boy would take interesting in such things?) predicting that he wouldn't be home on leave till after the new year.
He was about Andy's age when his father had started getting sick. It was before he left for University. He had joined his father at the kitchen table. Reggie had always been the first one up.
"Good morning, father." He had greeted him.
"Come and sit. Eat. I am in no mood for small talk. This morning was a rough start and we have business with my solicitor at ten o'clock sharply."
"We?"
"A friend of mine I was hoping could show you some ropes before you go off to that fancy school of yours." His voice was not condescending. He was genuinely proud but he also sounded troubled, "So you'll be ahead of the others." His father scarcely looked up from his plate. He had hardly eaten.
"Aren't you going to eat?" His father had always been on about how breakfast was the most important meal of the day.
"The doctor has prescribed me stomach powders for my indigestion but they are useless. The tea eases the stomach pain. Eat your meal. But do so in silence I have a splitting headache that threatens to ruin the day."
He remembers that morning well but not what his father's last words to him had been, or his last words to him. What would be his lasts words to his children? He didn't want to leave them, at least not yet. He had to make sure they would be alright.
It was one October day, Mary was with Carrie in the day Nursery. It had been three months since George had been found. It would be another three till he could be sent home. Mary had been the one to visit him. On her first visit, seeing her son like that, his left leg gone, it tore at her heart. But he's alive. He is a living testimony, because he should have never made it, but by the grace of God, he did. She still couldn't help to think what sort of life he'd be coming back to. And with Matthew ill, she didn't know how to hold the family up, if he became worse. She knows he will. She pushes it to the back of her mind.
"How was George when you saw him?" Carrie asked. Her voice sounded far away. She must have been thinking about him too.
"Not very talkative." Mary replied. "With all the morphine they have him under." She hadn't been sure if it had just been that.
"I'm so glad that Miles works for the House Guards." Carrie displayed her relief."and didn't have to go to the front. With Jack and what's happened to George and everything. I'm glad that Papa was too old to go, and had his injury so that he couldn't have volunteered."
Mary pressed her lips together, quickly hiding it by taking a sip of tea. "When is Miles due back?"
"I think by the end of the year." He had not yet seen his daughter. She looked nothing like her real father, thank goodness. She had the Crawley blonde hair and blue eyes. Although the blonde hair could fall out and become darker, brown like Miles' and her eyes had yet to change to their permanent color. They were all betting on blue. Her hair was so blonde that she looked almost bald.
Morrison, the Butler came in, "Telephone for you, My Lady." Mary stepped out into another room to answer it.
Mary listened to the doctors words carefully.
"Mhmm. I see." There was a pause on the other end or had the doctor said anything else?
Then he asked, "would you like me to speak with him?"
"I'll tell him. Thanks." She had time to wipe her eyes on the way back to the nursery.
"Who was it Mama?"
"Papa's results have come in." Carrie waited patiently. All Mary could do was shake her head before she could reply, "No change. That doesn't mean it's necessarily bad but things can..." She went over and hugged her mother, before turning her attention back to the baby.
"I want to name her Mattie, after Papa."
"Would it be short for anything?"
"No. It's just Mattie." The baby cooed and wrapped her fingers around her mother's hand. "You certainly like that name, don't you? Yeah, I think it suits you."
Mary and Matthew had not discussed what course of action to take next, after she told him the doctors findings. Then onward they never breached the subject. They could just sit and wait till things got worse. A few more rounds of treatment might raticate it completely. Life had always been a series uncertainties. But not all uncertainties were heartbreaking or life shattering.
He was blessed with a grandchild. Mattie. He knows he shouldn't take pride in her being named after him. Pride cometh before the fall and all that. Mary was a little self conscious about being a grandmother, though she tried every chance to sneak away and spend time with her. Time she didn't get when she was younger with her own children, stuck in her traditional ways back then. Grandmama's duties are different." She had told him when he had caught her. And they had laughed. He had never seen her more beautiful, in this new role. He imagined what it felt like for her, what she would have to say, "Being a grandparent doesn't make you feel old after all; it makes you feel glad to be the age you are. It makes you feel you've actually achieved something."
The feeling was different for him than it had been when he had first became a father. He had always been looking forward to grandchildren, especially since Caroline had gotten married. She had already been pregnant, but that didn't matter to him. No words could ever accurately explain the emotions he had felt. Ecstatic to say the least, would have been an understatement. A new life and a love beyond words. Being present at her birth, he had such a strong attachment. Seeing this child and falling in love immediately was an experience like nothing else. He wanted to protect her, never stop holding her. He wanted to be there for every moment, big or small. Every milestone. Always. But he might never be.
Grandfather. The new role he took honor in, because it was a role not everyone had a luxury to have. Rather recently he had thought he would have never lived to see that day, since his diagnosis. His father hadn't lived to know his grandchildren. He wished he could have known them, feel the joy of his first grandchild, had gotten to know George.
She was planning her next trip to see George and wanted him to come with her. Out of the few times she had been able to see him, she had never asked, because she had refused him to go, fearing it'd take a toll on his health. And he had accepted that. He had wanted to stay well enough for when George came home (it wouldn't have done any good for George's recovery) But now, was she accepting that this might be the end, that he ought to see his son, before the worst happened?
When they arrived at the hospital, he could feel the anxiousness, the anxiety, radiating off Mary. He wanted to say something, to reassure her, but he couldn't. He'd never been a loss for words. It would be lying to her. He wanted to go home and lie in their bed, with his arms around her. He had to get his bearings. He'd comfort her afterwards. George was waiting. They had both been longing for this moment, their son returned to him, though not in one piece. Knowing he was safe, that was enough for him right now. It would be difficult for him most of all. George and everyone else had to go first. They would have to put George before him. He was old. Sixty was still relatively young. His son had a life ahead of him, he would have to find it. And his three month old granddaughter, her life was just beginning.
She had been fearing that he could be in the same state as before. The same state that her husband had been in the first few days he received the devastating news that he was paralyzed and would never walk again. They had been wrong. There was no being wrong about this. George would never walk, or so she had thought at first. Recovery would be long and hard. The amputation sight had to heal before he could be fitted for a prosthetic, then he'd have to get used to it before he could start learning to walk with it. It would take a long time before he could get back to a semi-normal life. That hadn't seemed to bother Matthew. They had their son back. Back here psychically, Mary thought, what would be replacing him? Matthew, had been replaced by something else when he had returned. But he was still her Matthew but not quite. She had learned to love this different part of him, the man he had become. A little jaded and prickly around the edges, that had smoothed out over time, more reserved than he had been before. And at the same time he was kinder, it made him take things at face value, not see them as so black and white. That she had to be thankful for. He was still her Matthew in a way, just a bit different. He would always be her husband. And her son would always be her son, no matter how he has changed. She would still mourn the people that they used to be.
Just how much will he have changed? It still kept nagging at her. What if he was like before? She thought of Olivia. Maybe if they couldn't 'wake' him up, bring him out of it, maybe she could. She didn't want him to see his son like that, like he had been. Please, let his father be enough.
"Lieutenant Crawley, you have visitors." The nurse led them to his bed, drawing back the curtain. Mary held in her anticipation. She was relieved that he was awake.
"Dad, why are you in your chair?"
A question, promoted by the morphine. He probably things he's at home. Matthew knows how to answer. He knows what not to do, look at Mary, or the injury sight.
"You know I'm getting old." He smiled at his son, not looking at his leg that ought to be there. "We had to travel a ways." There are so many things he wants to tell his son. He knows what he will be thinking. The loss in not a punishment. You are still who you were before. All of that will have to wait for later. My son. He wants to bend down and kiss his sons forehead. But he doesn't. He wouldn't want to be coddled. He's a grown man. Under the influence of morphine are not, he would not want to be treated as if he was a baby. You'll always be my baby boy, my first born. It took every ounce in him to not cry. My son. My boy, how can I help you? By being here. Simply just being here for him. He waits for anything from George. But his mind is foggy from the sedative. It must wear off soon as he had been able to respond. He hadn't seemed too incoherent. George doesn't say anything more. He closes his eyes. It's then Matthew turns back to Mary.
"I think he's still out of it." He was unsure but he was hiding it. He knows the feeling, of being in between one place and another.
"I can ask the nurse when it should wear off."
He feels his son gently squeeze his hand. "Mary, wait."
George tries very hard to listen. He closed his eyes because it's hard to focus that way. He thinks, that voice belongs to his father. He can't believe that they're both here. Where ever here is. He could be at home. This wasn't his bed though. He could be dreaming. Dad never came to see him. Mum had been worried he'd get sick. But Mum having visited him before could have been a dream as well. If they were real, he was determined to like. He wanted to wake up.
He opens his eyes again. He reads his father's expression, or there lack of he was hiding behind a smile, where his gaze refused to go. This had to be real if he could characterize every detail.
"I know they amputated my leg." As he says it, he feels the pull of darkness.
Matthew's face threatened to crumble but he held fast. "You'll be alright."
I know that now that you're here.
George didn't want any visitors at times, when it was a bad day, which was quite often. Now that they were lowering the dose of morphine. Quickly he changed his tune when it was Sybie, (she came when she could, she was still helping in France) even Olivia, he didn't protest. He needed to see a friend.
"My dear, friend, what did I do to deserve you?"
"It's really great to see you too." She pulled up a chair, sitting next to him. They got caught up on old times, she talked about what she had been doing to help the war effort, making care packages from the soldiers that were still prisoners of war.
"You can't leave out books."
"Of course, how could I not? Not what the Germans banned of course."
His voice dropped into a serious tone, but it was also boyish, and filled with worry, a hint, perhaps of panic and quilt. "Johnny was there with me. I didn't look out for him. I said I would. I went to see him one day in his block, they said a young boy died of fever. I don't know if it was him."
"There was no way of knowing if it was. I'm sure things will be known soon."
That's what he was afraid of. He didn't want to know the fate of his friends. Or Sophia, and her daughter, wailing, red faced on the porch, as Germans swarmed the house. He dared not think, put he did hope that they were taking prisoner as he had and had survived. It was a small stone in a small pond of hope. But it was something, better than letting his mind drown in a deep sea of despair. He let himself think that. That they were safe. And she had a life of her own now, free. Now he must live his.
"Was my mum and dad here?"
"Yes. Your mother was here. She's been to see you four times in the three months."
"I must have been out of it for that long. Have you been?"
"No. This is my first time."
"My dad was here too, wasn't he? I wasn't dreaming that?"
"No. He was here too."
With that he was satisfied. He was too worn out now to ask anything else. He sunk back into the pillow and back into sleep. He didn't fear sleep. He did not dream. To him sleep was a blessing. Sleeping had been a curse for his father when he had come back from the first one.
He wasn't doing well. He was ill. He remembers being told. He knows what that meant for someone like his father.
Father.
Would he be alright?
He dreamt he was a little boy again, in his father's arms. Three years old, pushing his father's chair around, trying to reach his truck that had fallen under the settee, with his stick. He didn't know if it was real. But for now, he didn't care. He was free of pain.
Jo walked past her parent's bedroom, stopping as she heard her father's voice. She expected for her mother to reply back but no one spoke back. She peered through the crack of the door.
He was praying. She'd never really seen him to do it.
"I never asked for forgiveness, for the things I've done. I'm not asking for a miracle." He stopped, straightening as he hear the sound of the door.
She knelt down and prayed with him, silently.
"What is it that you have done Papa?"
"Things I've done in the war." He wasn't telling her the whole story.
"Papa, I have to tell you something." She didn't have the exact words to tell it, as all words evaded her. She showed him, pulling back her petticoat, to reveal her swelling stomach.
"This is wonderful, wonderful news!" He looked back up at her. "How long are you?"
"A few months I expect."
"Nick must be thrilled."
Jo shrugged. "Nick and I haven't been speaking."
"Everything alright? He hasn't been mistreating you I hope."
"No. He's a gentleman. He's been very kind. I love him. Just not in that way."
"If you're unhappy, I can help you get a divorce. You can come back here and you and the baby will be looked after."
"People will talk."
"They do about Carrie."
"But that's Carrie. She doesn't care what people think. I do."
"You can go to America and stay with your Aunt and Uncle Harold. You could have a better life in America. Either way it doesn't matter. I won't see it."
"Don't talk like that Papa."
"You know, I might not." She could see the moisture in his eyes. "Has your mother told you?"
She shook her head. She found herself praying to a God she didn't know if she could believe in anymore. She had knelt for his benefit. Papa would always believe in God, even though he gave him the cancer that was slowly killing him.
"She's been taking me to get treatment near George. We won't get the results back for a week now."
She nodded subtlety. "How is he, our little Georgie?"
Before he could make a reply, her mother had entered.
A week later, after weeks of anticipation, and anxiety, the results were in from the doctor's office. Matthew had been the one to answer the telephone as was glad that he was the one who did. The nurse on the other end was being vague, while she sounded charismatic. Over charismatic people had something to hide, was one of Mary's motto's. He didn't want Mary to expect the worst. The nurse didn't discuss the results over the phone, his doctor wanted to see him and go over it in person.
"Who was on the telephone, darling?"
"It was the nurse from Kent."
"Is it George? Has something happened?" She was hopeful that he'd been making a better improvement.
He shook his head. "The results. She asked if somebody could come with me. I don't think if it was good news I would be seen so quickly. "
"Oh,my darling,you know I'll be with you every step of the way. You remember when told me, there is always a silver lining?"
He nodded "But for this?"
"Even for this. We just have to keep looking for it. Whatever the outcome is." She squeezed his hands, desperately she wanted him to see. See what? That it would be alright? She couldn't promise that exactly. Live, I want you to live. She had told him all those years ago, when he had seemingly given up, after his injury.
That doesn't apply to this. Or does it? Yes, of course it does. They could still make the best out of the time, the little time he might have.
Keep looking. Just like she had tried to keep looking for the real me, after the war had changed me. He wondered when it was she had stopped looking, and accepted the man he was, in order for him to move on. That had been the first step toward accepting and loving himself.
Mary was such a pure, beautiful soul. The first instant we caught each other's gaze, though we used to deny it, we connected. Looking into her eyes filled me with comfort and calmed my fears. Mary loved me so much, and I loved her too. But I hated myself even more. The love I had felt unworthy of. It is easy to explain yet hard to understand for some. It's feeling shameful about who you are. Feeling guilty or embarrassed about who you are, deep in your core. You feel 'different'. Damaged or flawed in fundamental, irreversible ways. You don't love yourself. Alas, there's no return policy in life. We're stuck in this skin forever, and the hate, the self-pity – it gets us nowhere.
I didn't believe I was worthy. She could see the man I was, beyond the shit-storm that was my life. She saw through my shame and self-hatred.
Mary, had to think that I was perfect and wonderful at all times. She had been my entire support system.
Now he needed her support more than ever, and the childrens, but they had enough on their mind. He wouldn't let himself fall down that deep dark rabbit hole, the pain and depression, like a dark, heavy, thick blanket, that he had finally shaken off all those years ago.
When they were young, to bring him down to earth, she'd remind him how much life there is to live right now, in this moment. This moment, between the two of them. She'd kiss him, hold his head in his hands. Tousle his hair and look deep into those blue eyes she loved so much. And say, 'I love you for exactly who you are, right now'. He is enough. Those first few bleak years after the war, she had told him to chose life.
Words like that wouldn't do now. Life, and live, were too delicate a word. He might not have much of a life left to live. There was no choice over this. He wanted to chose life. If it's his time to go, he must accept it.
There had been the questions, concerning his health, in the beginning. Being a paraplegic, even a particle one, there were risks. Such as a common cold could kill him if it turned in to pneumonia. His life expectancy, even after he had regained his countenance, and no longer had to use a catheter, they had thought would be cut in half. He hadn't been expected to live past his forties.
He was fortunate to have made it to sixty. He said to Mary.
"Let's go to the day nursery. Mattie's about to be up by now." It will be a good distraction. It would brighten his spirits. "What were you and Jo, talking about?"
"We're going to be grandparents again." Her eyes sparked at this, and he returned her gaze with a smile. "There's your silver lining." They came to the nursery door and entered. He wheeled up to the cot, while Mary pulled up a chair, but didn't get the chance to sit down, as Matthew caught her hand. "You taught me how to live again, and to accept myself, and made me oh so very happy, and richer in my mind and body and my soul than I ever could have imagined. I know why God, brought me back. For this." He smiled down at his granddaughter, then pulled on Mary's hand, signaling her to bend down. He kissed her cheek, then the top of her head. Mary felt the warm tear drops fall onto her head but she did not yet look up. He clung to what was most precious to him.
Still a small voice in the back of his head.
The mistakes he had made had led to more shame and guilt. If he told her who he really was, what he had done.
He was not ready to die.
The dreaded day came, the visit to the doctor's office, later that afternoon. They sat in that dreary room, (maybe it felt that way because they were going to receive the life changing or life ending news) gripping each other's hands tightly, as they waited for the doctor, telling each other that 'whatever happens" for what felt like hours.
As the doctor laid his chart and files over the table, explaining, he might have been speaking a foreign language. The cancer was gone. If it didn't come back with in the next five years, it most likely never will.
It didn't seem possible. That daunting past two weeks, greated with unexpected news.
Good news had to accompany the bad, didn't it?
Before Christmas, Matthew and Mary and the family came down to see George, minus Jo, she was feeling down, with morning sickness. What was supposed to be a reunion of sorts was cut down to, two people visiting at once, the nurse heckling them about it. If he was to get better. But he already looked it.
George was now sitting up more and his colour was returning to his face. He was telling Andy that he should be getting his prosthetic soon. "You won't be able to see the difference."
"Cool. I wish I had some battle scars to show off. Not even a gammy leg. Just a thumb that won't bend right."
Matthew smiled as he overheard the conversation. They were strong lads. They can move on from this. George was taking his injury in stride and more accepting of the news, of the life that would be very different for him. But was he really alright?
He wasn't sure how to ask or even help his son. He would need the help. Or did he not know or was he in denial how hard things would be?
Let him be happy. Let him smile and laugh, with his brother and sisters. It all seemed to mute, when he thought back to the old days, when he had tried to convince Mary to leave him. How she had tried convinced him that he had to do his exercises.
"What's the point?" He had asked.
"Keeping your strength up will help cut back your risk of infections."
"It won't by much. I'll never walk again. My life as I knew it, is over."
"No. It's a start of a new one. We just have to..."
"It's not going to be easy. It'll be hard."
"I know it will."
"No, you don't know." He had said in a soft whisper before bringing his voice up, filled with anger and self hatred, "Am I just a project to you to fix so you can feel better about yourself or because..." you want some broken man that you can control?
"It's because I care. Don't you see? I want you to live."
"You want me to chose life?"
"Yes."
He wanted his son to chose life. Whatever he might be feeling, whatever he might be masking. They'd get through this, together.
Someone put their hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of his memories, he had nearly flinched.
"George is wanting to see you." His wife's lips brushed his ear. He started forward but then stopped, looking back, he realised she wasn't following. He asked if she was coming. "Just you darling."
The curtain was drawn to give them some privacy.
Mary tried to listen in, but all she heard was mermerd exchanges, then,
"I need it more often. I'm getting old. That's what you asked last time."
"I was told you were sick. You looked fine when I saw you."
"You were out of it then."
"What was it? What did you have?"
"I'm fine now. You don't need to worry."
George was too tired to put his energy into hammering his father for answers, whatever it was had been serious, life threatening. Any illness to his father was.
Matthew knew it would come back up later. He talked of his visits from Sybie and Olivia. "Not together. Sybil comes less often. She's still helping with the hospitals, with that doctor of hers." He then went on to say that Sophie had come, his ex fiance, apparently wanting him back. But he had sent her away. When the nurse had told her the reality, that it will be a long hard road ahead for George, it might take a year or longer for him to recover, depending if he did his exercises right away, and started to walk again as soon as possible once he stump was healed, he might not walk at all.) She had left then, and several weeks later she had written a letter that she was engaged to be married to someone else. Just as well. She wasn't good for him, like Mary had been for him.
"I won't be home for Christmas, which is a big bummer. That word is so American. I'd have my friend, Jimbo, to thank for that. That's Sophie's brother." Then he stopped, remembering. His eyes blank for a second. "He was killed a few months ago." He said this nonchalantly, a little troubling but it still had yet to sink in. "I'll be home some time after the new year, they expect."
"A new year. A lot of changes."
"For the better, I presume. Hopefully the war will feel over by then."
"It will be a change for you. A lot of adjusting, but remember we're here for you. Whenever you need the help, just ask for it."
"I won't need..."
"You've been taking all day. What have you been talking about? We barely got to see him ten minutes tops." Andy's voice carried through the curtain from across the room.
"Girls." George hollered back. Something muttered from Andy. He turned back to his father, do you have the time?"
Matthew took out his pocket watch, "Half past six."
"All this talking's made me tired." George said and gave a yawn.
"It's been a really long day." Matthew agreed, get your rest."
The curtain was drawn back and the rest of the family bustled over. Matthew took them to a side a moment and told them George was tired and it was getting late, they should all head back to the Hotel. Some of the children groaned, then said Happy Christmas to him, each of them in turn.
The nurse, seeing the exchange, ran over, practically shooing them out the door.
31 December 1945, eight months after Germany's surrender the House Guards disbanded, and Miles is finally shipped home. He committed on how bald his daughter looked.
"Papa says all blonde babies look like Winston Churchill." Miles' eyes watered with tears of laughter, yet reacting as if it was the most sacrilege thing to say. "If you compared Mattie's picture with mine, Kate's and Andy's at that age, we'd all look like triplets. Even Jo's even though she isn't blond."
"I don't think Josephine would appreciate being compared to Winston Churchill." Miles wiped his eyes. Josephine walked in and they both started laughing.
"What?" They only laughed harder.
Matthew was very fond of Winston Churchill and believed that the man knew what he was going, that he was smart and tactical. The family had all gathered round the wireless on 10 May,1940, on Matthew's birthday, to listen to his speech. It had not been long after Churchill had been sworn in as Prime Minister. As far as world leaders went, the president of the United States, FDR, their mother had committed "if the man can run a country from a wheelchair, you can run an estate." He'd been worried about getting older, that he might be confined to his chair. The early to mid-nineteen thirties, he'd occasionally be self conscious about it. It would always be there. Mary would assure him.
Once she had told him, "It's the mind who makes the man. Not the body. Who was it who said that?"
Matthew had smiled at the misquotation." It is the mind that makes the body rich. Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew, act four."
"Am I supposed to be the shrew in this situation."
"It did take me awhile to tame you." He teased.
"Sea Monster." Then he had pulled her onto her lap and gave her a kiss.
Just after the new year, and Kate's birthday, Anna Bates made her way up the snowy path. She hadn't been to Downton in almost two decades. The shadows cast from the large castle, looming over her, did not feel menacing. It was home, were she had sought refuge all those decades ago. It was be her refuge again. She thought, looking up at it, her suitcase banging against her knees.
Mary, was the first to great her old friend, and eagerly welcomed her back. They got caught up on old times. She told her about how Matthew was, that he was doing much better but she didn't go into further details. "How's Bates?"
"He died, a few years back."
"Oh, Anna, I'm so sorry."
"I would have told you, but I felt it would be better this way, and then with the mail. It had been hard to get anything through." .
"Yes, of course."
"Cancer. That's why Johnny went off." A lump went to Mary's throat. The fear that it might come back and claim Matthew's life this time. She could lose Matthew to this as Anna had Bates. She was glad she hadn't brought Matthew's cancer up to Anna. Anna might feel jealous, even outrage, that Matthew had survived it, and Bates had lost his battle. No. Anna would never think that.
"I haven't heard from Johnny in quite some time." Anna continued. "With the war over, it will be any day now." Any day now that they might tell her that her only son is dead.
Why does bad news have to accompany the good in three fold? Mary thought begrudgingly.
"I know, Andy and Johnny became great friends. Last time I heard from you, your boys were missing."
"They're home, safe now. With George it will take a little adjusting." Mary looked around as if to see if anyone was listening.
"Do you think they would know anything? Anything little that might help."
"I could ask. But first, let's get you settled in."
"I was thinking of staying in the village."
"I won't have that. You're not going to stay in one of those drafty, old cottages. I don't know why Jo had insisted. Privacy, I guess." She lead Anna down to the servants quarters.
They weren't the only ones down there. Ms. Mac, Marry called her, the cook was doing the dishes. She introduced the two woman. Mary went on to say that they'd been short handed with the young servicemen off to war, the young women joining the war effort. The kitchen maid had the The rest of the servants were on their day off.
"I'd be glad to help out, where ever I can for as long as I can. As I'm needed. I don't plan of staying indefinitely." Should she just step back into her old life as easily as stepping into a pair of shoes? Or would the memories and echo of her husband in these halls haunt her? Johnny had spent a year of his life here, not old enough to remember or have an attachment for it. It was a beautiful place.
"You're not staying?" Mary had to ask, to be sure.
"I don't know if I can just go back to being a maid again."
"Anna, you were hardly ever just a maid. You were a lady's maid to me, and a friend. And you still are. "
Anna smiled. "Yes milady."
"You can call me, Marry, when no ones around." A moment passed between them, they had recaptured from their youth. Anna was a year older than Mary, but still had a youthfulness about her, it seemed she had hardly aged except for a few lines, and strands of grey, her blonde hair lighter. Mary hadn't had a grey hair yet. And she was dreading that day. "I'm talking about being a maid again. My housekeeper's retiring. And I need someone to fill her position."
"I...I don't know what to say."
"Say nothing. Take time to think about it."
"Thank you. Thank you, so much." She headed toward the old servants quarters. She needed to lay down, not from the long journey, but from the excitement.
"Oh and Anna, you'll always have a job and a home here, for as long as you want it."
At the end of January George was finally able to come home. The family had presents for him, and took part of the family tradition of 'The Game" a.k.a Charades but George hadn't joined in, claiming he was too exhausted.
Andy wanted to throw him a proper welcome home party "after he's settled in" but Matthew devised against it.
"It might take some time. He needs all the rest he can."
"Yeah, but he can't stay in bed all day. Can't argue with that. Doctor's orders." Andy patted his father on the shoulder.
Much to his surprise, George wanted to be up and about. He said he didn't want a party for himself. "Let's have it for Johnny."
Johnny was returned home safely, not unscathed, like Andy. He had a few fingers missing from his hand, he had told nobody else but George and always kept it bandaged.
"The Germans chopped them after I was thieving. I'm lucky that's all they chopped." He had been caught stealing a loaf of bread, little did they know, he hadn't been stealing it for himself but for a little Jewish boy. "It would have been much worse if they knew.I felt like Jean Valjean."
"Who?"
"With a big room full of books you'd think you'd own it. Like every book ever written." He exaggerated. "You never once read Hugo's "Les Miserables?"
"No thanks. There's been enough Les Miserables."
Johnny nodded. They were soon joined by Andy.
Over the next few months, he didn't waste time sitting in bed. There were a few times where George would not come down and he'd been worried. But when Olivia had ccme to visit, he got out of bed, more and more. When he was in bed he'd prefer sitting up more, than laying down. He still resided in the sitting room. He could not yet navigate the stairs. That was still a far way off yet. Matthew understood his son's anxiousness. He needed to be encouraged to be patient. He went down to see his son, expecting him to be wheeling around the house, like a man on a mission, (he had joked with him that they could have a race. George had responded, which I'd win, old man.) or taking breakfast with the family as he frequently did.
But today however, on a cold, May day, (the first days of the month were unusually cold.) in front of the fire. His leg must be bothering. The weather even had his back flaring up. He'd take some pain medication for it later, which would mean, he'd be out for the rest of the day.
"I know the feeling son." He sighed and sat down of the bed.
George moved nothing but his head, "Do you? You would."
"How's the..." He nodded toward the stump. He still had the prosthetic on.
"Still hurts like hell." The prosthetic always chaffed. It almost looked raw again, a few days ago when he'd last taken it off. He was afraid to now. He was afraid to look at it.
"You're supposed to take it off every few hours."
"Where did you get that information from Sybie or Kate?" George didn't hide his disapproval. He let his anger known.
"Sybie's written to me." He admitted.
George's eyes narrowed, accusing. "You mean you written to her and she wrote back."
"Only because I couldn't ask Katie. And I know Sybie's worried about you, I am. We all are."
"We'll I'm perfectly fine. Apart from the chaffing." He turns on his side, his back to his father, pulling the blanket tighter over him.
He knew what his son was doing. He didn't want the help or support, not because he didn't think he deserved it, because he wanted to do it on his own, and not have people 'baby' him. At least that's what it appeared. He had made further progress than he had with his own injury, it had taken him much longer. But it worried him how easily George had immediately accepted it.
"If it persists, we can make an appointment."
George turned back to him and nodded. "I think I might do that." He layed down on his back and grunted, "it's been four months. I was starting to get used to it. It feels like a set back. I can't get out of bed when it's hurting.
"These things take time. You must be patient. That's part of the healing process." After a moment, Matthew smiled and huffed out a laugh.
"What?"
Never had he thought saying those words to his son or imagined being in a position similar to those who had helped him recover. "You're handling it better than I would have."
"I wouldn't have been able to, if it weren't for you, if you were able to walk normally. Because I've seen you do it. I can handle it alright." He thought a moment, "if you hadn't been injured, you would've been too old to join up. "You'd have probably joined the house guards like Miles. Lazy tosser." He muttered the last words under his breath.
"Eh, that's your sister's husband."
"Who says in-laws are to always get along? " He took another pause, then shrugged his shoulders. "He's fine for Carrie, I guess."
"What do you think of Jo's husband?" Jo had stayed with Nick after all. She was living in America now and would be planning the trip down for Christmas. Eight months away. The baby was born in February. Little Noah. He would be ten months by then, big enough to travel.
"The American. Have to meet him yet, don't I?" He shook his head, before changing the subject, "I think you would have worked with the war office."
"I practically did, when you went missing. And your brother."
George hung his head for a moment, feeling guilty. "It's not the worst that could have happened to me. You and mum must have thought the worst."
"We've been through a lot."
"We've all lost a lot. I lost someone."
"Your friend Jimbo?"
George looked puzzled and then shook his head. "I told you about him, didn't I?"
"Yes."
"I don't want to talk about him now. But no, that isn't who I lost." Matthew tried to make sense of what George was saying. Maybe it was the pain or he was just tired. "I've forgotten some things, but don't think I don't remember me telling you that I knew you were sick."
"You don't want to talk about your friend, I don't want to talk about this. It's..." he hesitated on the word over. "I'm fine now." Omitting for now.
"I want to know what you had." A sinking feeling in George's stomach indicated that he had the slightest notion...
"I was dying."
"Was?"
"Cancer." George sucking in his breath. "I was getting treatment, while your mother and I were visiting you. It's gone now. There's nothing for you to worry about." He took his son's arm. "I guess I'm not ready to die just yet." He smiled, his eyes crinkling around the corners.
George couldn't believe what he was hearing, though he'd been expecting it. He could have died. After the hell he and his father had been through, there were still blessings. He hadn't seen his father in over a year, all of them. If his father had died when he was still in the hospital, he didn't know how he could live with it.
"I want to stick around at least to see you all married, and give me more grandchildren. Lots and lots of grandchildren."
"I don't think there's a chance for me."
"Now, I don't really believe that. You've got the Crawley charm and looks. It would be a shame for some woman to let that go to waste."
It was George's turn to smile and laugh. That was Matthew's new mission, to get him to smile and laugh as much as possible. His son's laughter then stopped, a haunted expression crossed his face.
"There was someone. Sophie."
"You're not still hung up on her are you?"
"No. It's a different Sophie. Sophia." He told him how she kept him hidden from the Germans until they had found them.
"She sounds very special and very brave."
"She was...is." He didn't want to believe she was dead. "I don't know what happened to her. She had a daughter, who's four, and an elderly father..." The man might be a traitor to his country but he didn't want some horrible fate bestowed upon him. "Her husband was killed early on." Early on in the war. There was still a certain slang when talking mentioning the war.
"I still have connections. The war office 'does' know me pretty well. I can put in some favors, and find her for you and her family, if possible. Do you know what her last name is?"
"Durant. She's french. She's a bit older..." He didn't want to disclose her real age yet.
"You sure do have a thing for older women."
"Dad." George said with embarrassment. But it wasn't due to Sophia's age. He'd never be embarrassed by that. Even if they were to find each other again, marry. She'd be too old to have more children, to give him an heir. They could adopted. There would be plenty of war orphans. He shook his head. He had to think realistically. All dreams die in war, or they have to become new ones. "I appreciate your offer but no. I'd rather not know."
"I'd rather know."
"Yeah, well, I'm not you. Sometimes not knowing is better."
"What about Olivia?"
"She's more like an older sister, or a friend. She's what I imagine Beth would have been like." He looked up. Something touched his father's eyes that he could not place. George surprised himself, admitting he never thought of her. "Can we go visit grave? And the others. To pay respect. To all of those who died in the first one and to all the ones we've lost and honor those yet to be buried and those who will never have a grave."
"Yes. Of course."
The chuefauer had dropped them off near the entrance of the graveyard waiting for them but the would be a while.
They both wheeled side by side, after stopping at each gravestone marking where their loved ones were laid to rest, then on to the memorial, finally stopping at Beth's grave. Her tiny headstone. George wondered how they got all those words on the fine granite without looking squashed or sloppy.
Beth Crawley
1926
beloved daughter and sister
For ever an angel
"I didn't think you'd remember her."
"Of course I do! Not clearly. I was expecting two siblings and you and mum only brought one home."
Saddest day of his life, Matthew realised. Nothing was worse than losing your child. But George and Andy, he had not truly lost of them. He hadn't lost hope that they'd come home to him and they had.
"I remember you looking sad for a time." George continued.
"You thought it was your fault, you and your sisters, because you thought you were bad children."
"I did? Can't picture myself ever saying anything like that." George laughed, thinking it, silly. He glanced over to his father. Seeing his dad smile and laugh with him, warmed his heart. It was a sign that the would would go on, that life could go on.