A/N: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! This chapter is quite long (as I'm sure you can tell) and drastically different than any other chapter thus far, but easily one of my favorite chapters to write. I hope you enjoy!
Come Alive
Chapter Nineteen
From what Mary remembered from long church sermons, Heaven was supposed to be a place of eternal bliss. It had the famous pearly gates, St. Peter, a chorus of angels and no problems to haunt you forevermore. But when Mary came to, she was laying down on lush, green grasses. A soft gust of air blew through the air and her gaze was fixed on a blue sky, full of fluffy clouds.
Blinking, Mary pushed herself up, only to stare face to face with Downton. Ordinarily, she would have been pleased by the familiar sight of her beloved home but considering she had just fled it under dire circumstances, she felt terrified. She didn't see Tom anywhere, but... Mary froze, watching the house for any signs of life. When no one emerged from the front doors, Mary rose to her feet, hands reflexively wiping off her skirt.
Mary frowned. This wasn't the dress she'd been wearing... this was a dress she'd owned over a decade ago, the same dress she'd worn to the infamous garden party where her heart had been broken and it had been her own fault. She was wearing gloves as well: a pair of delicate, white lace things.
With trepidation, Mary advanced towards the house. Something wasn't right. How had she been in the car one moment and laying on the grass at Downton the next? It defied all logic— unless she was dead and meant to spend eternity at Downton.
Mary paused. Did this mean she was a ghost? Was she supposed to haunt her home? That seemed like a worse fate than even Hell... to watch her family mourn her, to watch her son grow up without either of his parents, maybe to even watch the Crawleys lose Downton...
Nonsense, a voice inside her head told her. Tom would look after George and teach him what he needed to know to manage Downton properly. He would do that for her, wouldn't he?
But thinking of Tom made her head hurt. She banished thoughts from her mind, advancing towards Downton.
Mary approached the front doors, which opened without her touching them. She frowned and peered on either side, checking for Thomas or a footman... if she was dead, perhaps William would be there. But there was no one— only her.
Mary peered into library, then the drawing room, searching for any sign of life, but nothing was to be found— not even Tiaa. Uncertain as to what to do, Mary walked up the steps. Was she dreaming? Or had the past few months been the dream? All she was knew was that she was confused.
Mary reached the top of the stairs before turning down the hallways, wandering aimlessly towards her room. However, as she passed a closed door, she heard humming. Mary froze, listening carefully. When Mary strained back far enough in her memory, she recognized it as a something Mama used to hum to her as a small child. Carefully, she opened the door, not recalling whose bedroom door she was opening.
The scent of vanilla biscuits wafted throughout the room. The sun streamed through the windows, illuminating the dark haired woman by the window, dressed in a dress shirt and, somewhat perplexingly, a pair of trousers. At once, she remembered this room well; how many times she had she sought refuge here, eager to escape from the watchful eye of her parents and rant and rave about her problems with no threat of judgement? The woman turned around, smiling. "Mary. How marvelous to see you."
She couldn't believe who she was seeing. "Sybil." Her throat seemed to close at the sight of her baby sister. She looked exactly the way Mary remembered her: beautiful dark hair, sparkling eyes, and a smile that lit up the whole room. Tears gathered in her eyes as Sybil seemed to drift across the room, wrapping her in an embrace.
"There's no need to cry," Sybil insisted softly, but Mary wept into her neck. She had missed her so, so much over the last few years. What must she think of Mary, hardened and bitter these past few years? "It's alright," she said soothingly, rubbing her hand against Mary's back.
They gradually parted, tears still streaming down Mary's cheeks. Sybil produced a lacy handkerchief out of nowhere and presented it to her. "You look beautiful," Sybil told her, still smiling. "I love your hair. It's very modern."
A shuddered chuckle escaped her in spite of herself. "Thank you, Sybil darling." Mary continued dabbing at her eyes.
"Are you surprised to see me?" There was a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Very," admitted Mary. "But I don't know where I am or what I am doing, to be honest." The fact that she was here, speaking to Sybil, was enough indication to prove her suspicions of an untimely demise and Mary didn't know how she should feel about that.
"I'm sure you must be confused," murmured Sybil, leading her over the edge of her bed. Mary relaxed against the plush mattress. "I'll try and explain it as best I can. Do you remember much about what happened? Before you woke up here?"
"You mean the car crash?"
Sybil nodded, sitting beside her. "Before you ask, you aren't dead. Just unconscious. For now, anyway. You hit your head."
Mary frowned. "I don't even remember that. I remember my arm hurt, but..." she trailed off, lost. Everything was blur.
"It's not surprising you don't remember. It was quite sudden." Sybil paused, trying to find the right words. "You're in the land between the living and the dead, Mary. You're not going to die," she assured her, "but you need to learn some things before you return home."
Mary's stomach lurched. Of course— there was no way she would be allowed to bask in the company of her sister, not when she had betrayed her so. It wasn't in Sybil's nature to be combative and harsh; she wouldn't start off this interlude by telling Mary how horrible she was... but Sybil wasn't a pushover, either. So Mary nodded warily before professing, "I suppose I deserve it."
Sybil frowned. "Deserve what?"
"Being told off for being terrible."
Sybil closed her eyes and let out a sigh. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that," she said, half scolding Mary. "You're much nicer now, you know. I'm proud of you."
Mary was convinced then that she must be dead. "Then you don't know what I've done." If she had to tell Sybil about the past months of sneaking around with Tom, she knew she had to be in Hell.
"I know exactly what you've done," Sybil informed her. "And I'm not mad at you. Not really."
"How could you not be?" Mary demanded. In spite of her harsh tone, Sybil remained unflinching. "Sybil, I've— Tom and I have—" She couldn't bring herself to say it. Her sister didn't deserve to hear such vulgarities come past her lips.
"I know. And like I said, I'm not angry. I promise." She paused, as if in thought, before adding, "I've had time to get used to the idea... though I suspect you haven't," she added, almost as an afterthought.
Mary's eyebrows furrowed. "What exactly do you mean?"
"I mean... while I've been away, I've seen things clearer than you have." She offered Mary another smile. "And I know how Tom feels." That sentence caused the pit in Mary's stomach to expand. "So I'm not surprised by what's happened, though I can see why you are. You've never liked change. You're like Papa in that way, but you handle it much better than he does. Just because you dislike it doesn't mean you can stop it from happening."
Mary was perplexed. "Sybil," she began, "If you're referring to... to what Tom said, I'm afraid it can't be possible." Truth be told, she didn't know how she would define it, but it couldn't be like that.
Much to Mary's surprise, Sybil smiled. "Well, if hearing Tom say it won't convince you, perhaps I ought to show you." She took Mary's hand in her own. "Do you trust me?"
Mary was confused but replied, "Of course I do."
Sybil beamed. "Alright, then. This will feel quite strange, but I need you close your eyes."
Mary let them shut, but felt as if she was being spun around in circles. "Sybil, what—?"
May 17, 1913
Tom waited outside the Abbey, posture stiff as he waited patiently. Mr. Carson has informed him that the three young ladies were going to a dress fitting that afternoon and needed him to drive them to Ripon. He was already acquainted with Lady Sybil— her fitting had been earlier in the week, and unless she was being fitted for yet another frock, he supposed she was going to pick hers up... not that he understood much about the clothing of young ladies.
"I'm just so surprised," an unfamiliar voice said, drawing Tom's gaze towards the door, even as he opened the door to the car. Lady Sybil was walking out with another girl with strawberry blonde hair, though a great deal of it was covered by a black hat with a large brim. "You normally don't care about this sort of thing at all."
Lady Sybil opened her mouth, but she was cut off by another woman that said, "If that's the sort of thing that surprises you, you must lead a terribly boring life." She had much of the same coloring as Lady Sybil, but there was a frostiness to her that was absent in her younger sister. Her face was expressionless, eyes vacant, and she seemed distinctly unimpressed with everything around her.
"Don't be so harsh, Mary," Lady Sybil scolded, though not unkindly. She smiled at Tom, saying, "This is Branson, the new chauffeur. Have either you met him yet?"
"No," the blonde (who, by process of elimination, he determined to be Lady Edith) replied, not sounding or appearing interested at all. "I don't believe I have." Without another word, she climbed into the automobile.
Lady Mary didn't even dignify him with a single word, merely letting her eyes flicker over him before piercing him with her icy gaze and following Lady Edith into the car. Lady Sybil shot him an apologetic look before climbing in herself.
The rest of the ride was, in essence, pure torture. Tom had been optimistic, considering his drive with Lady Sybil the other day had been a pleasant one, but it seemed his hopes were in vain. The other servants had alluded to the long withstanding feud between Lady Edith and Lady Mary, but he hadn't been expecting them to be bickering on the way for a dress fitting. They seemed to find fault in everything the other said— it was enough to give him a dull throbbing in his forehead. He couldn't understand how Lady Sybil could stand it— she was valiantly attempting to stop them from gouging one another's eyes out.
When he parked the car in front of the dress shop, he held the door open for them to climb out. Lady Mary was first, imperious and unaffected. Lady Sybil was second, followed shortly thereafter by Lady Edith. Only Lady Sybil thanked him for his efforts.
"There's no need to be so rude to him!" He heard her say, probably once she thought he was out of earshot. "I hope you both realize you're acting horribly—"
"Oh, honestly, Sybil, he's just a chauffeur," Lady Mary said dismissively. "You needn't get so worked up about it."
Tom felt his blood boil. He reminded right then of why he disliked the aristocracy so strongly. His Lordship had seemed a decent man and his wife kind, and Lady Sybil was extraordinary gracious... but the upper echelons of society were polluted with the likes of Lady Edith and Lady Mary— snobbish, cold, and ungrateful.
Mary's eyes snapped open with a gasp, only to find herself face to face with Sybil. "Are you alright?" Mary felt a hand rest on her back.
"What was that?" She gasped. One moment, she was sitting here, the next she was standing there, in front of the car...
"You saw things from Tom's perspective," said Sybil casually.
Mary gaped at her. She spoke as if seeing things from the perspective from another person was an everyday occurrence. "But why?" Why would he love me? How could he love me? She had felt his disdain just as strongly as it were her own. It was just another reminder of how she wasn't good enough... how she didn't deserve anyone's praise. She was beginning to feel like Ebenezer Scrooge, forced to relive her watch her worst moments. Lord knows how many more of these Tom had been privy to... there were likely thousands of moments of her careless cruelty.
Sybil gave her a sad smile. "You judge yourself too harshly, Mary. You see the worst in yourself and refuse to see the good."
Mary resisted rolling her eyes. "Yes," she said bitterly, "because there's so much of it inside me. I just watched myself treat Tom abominably—"
"That was just at the start!" Sybil interjected, her eyes full of determination. "That was ages ago, Mary! You've changed so much! For the better! Here," she said, "this next one is much nicer."
Before Mary could protest, she was swept away by yet another vision.
May 10, 1914
Ever since the rally, Tom had been in a state of panic. Watching Lady Sybil crumple to the ground like a rag doll was too much for him to bear. He knew it probably wasn't proper, but he'd come to feel a great deal of affection towards her. The fear he felt now only cemented his growing feelings.
All he could say was thank God for Mr. Crawley. Had he not appeared just in the nick of time, things might have been uglier... and Tom had a distinct feeling that they would before the night was over.
Tom's apprehension grew the longer he stood outside the drawing room, listening to the dulcet tones of Lady Grantham and the clinking of Lord Grantham's crystal glasses. Surely he'd be sacked... because of his lack of discretion, their daughter had been hurt.
He didn't envy the person who had to explain what had happened... and that person, he supposed, would be Lady Mary. Mr. Crawley had told him to ask for her, insisting that out of all the members of the Crawley family, she would be the easiest to deal with. "Trust me on this," he'd said earnestly, pressing a handkerchief against Sybil's head to try and stop the bleeding.
"I've fetched you a coat," Gwen said suddenly, breaking Tom out of his panicked thoughts. She had been the first person he had sought out once he returned to Downton; he knew she was friendly with Lady Sybil and she would do anything she could to help her. Lady Mary was now standing between them, having being summoned by William.
"Why? What do I need a coat for?" She asked, even as Gwen helped her into a black coat that looked like it would cost half a year's worth of Tom's wages. Her eyes were on him.
He felt his mouth go dry. "I've come to fetch you, my lady," he found himself telling her, doing the best he could to hide his nerves. He began walking, away from the drawing room and from the ears of the Crawleys. "We've taken Lady Sybil to Crawley house in the village."
He felt a hand— no, more like fingers— brush against his arm, stopping him where he stood. His eyes lingered on the black satin gloves, on the spot of his arm where Lady Mary had touched him. "What's happened?" Though her voice was quiet, Tom heard it as clearly as if she had shouted it, even as he felt the blood roaring in his ears.
"I took her to Ripon for the count," he told her, meeting her brown eyes. Instead of meeting the coldness he had come to expect of her, he found concern. He didn't bother explaining that he hadn't meant to take Sybil to the count— he would be losing his job regardless of his intentions. Still, he didn't feel any anger or dismay over this possibility— only guilt that she had been hurt. Refusing to examine that thought any further, he pushed on. With shaking hands and a wavering voice, he informed Lady Mary that, "She got injured in a fight."
The cool, calm, and composed Lady Mary vanished before his eyes as she gasped, her hand coming to rest on his in an attempt to sooth him before flying to cover her mouth. "Take me there at once," she demanded, not as an authoritative noblewoman but an anxious sister. Her hand fell back down to reach for his, and she gripped onto it as if it were a lifeline as he lead her outside.
"See?" Sybil beamed as Mary's vision began to focus again. "That was better, wasn't it?"
"I suppose," Mary murmured. Had she really held his hand? The memory had escaped her over the passage of time. She remembered her own fear clear as day— but any interaction with Tom had been shoved to back of her mind. Given that he had been the chauffeur at the time and she had been a terrible snob, Mary supposed that wasn't a surprise. She could still hear her own voice ringing through her ears: He's just a chauffeur. Even though another memory had passed, she still had an urge to travel back in time and throttle her younger self.
"This next one... well, it's not the best, but it's still important," Sybil assured her. "Are you ready?"
No. "Ready as I'll ever be," Mary replied with a sigh.
May 10, 1918
Sybil climbed into the bed, beaming. "It's so exciting, isn't it?" She asked, pulling the covers over herself.
"I can hardly believe it's happening," Tom admitted, taking his place in the chair. He had told her he would sleep there during the night, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. Besides, by tomorrow they would be married... "I've been dreaming of this for years. I never thought it would happen."
Sybil smiled sweetly at him. "Do you want a blanket?" She asked. "I've plenty, and I don't want you getting cold—"
Before Tom could answer, there was a knock at the door moments before it was thrown open. He began to jump to his feet, ready to fight whoever was breaking in, only to be shocked at the sight of Lady Mary and Lady Edith. "How did you find us? How did you know?" He found himself asking, stunned.
"Never mind that," Lady Mary dismissed him. Her eyes moved back and forth between his position at the chair and Sybil in the bed before saying, "At least nothing's happened, thank God."
"What do you mean 'nothing's happened'?" Sybil demanded, rising to her feet. Tom glanced at her, confused before she said, "I've decided to marry Tom, and your coming after me won't change that."
Relieved, he stepped closer beside her. He loved her and trusted her, but a part of him had been worried that she would balk when confronted by her family. For the first time since that fateful day when he had confessed his love, he knew for certain that this was happening, that she would be his wife.
"This isn't the way," Lady Edith said, more gently than Lady Mary's tone had been.
"She's right." Tom was stunned that Lady Mary of all people was agreeing with her sister. He wondered if Hell had frozen over. "Of course Mama and Papa will hate it—"
"Why should they?" Tom interrupted. It wasn't that he wasn't aware of the prejudices held by the upper class, but he was sick of acting like his career and class was a stain against his character. The way he saw it, Lord and Lady Grantham were lucky to be gaining a son-in-law who loved their daughter with every fiber of his being and was devoted to ensuring her happiness. Had she been born the daughter of a farmer or a shop owner, he would be seen as a welcome choice of a husband— why should it be any different just because she was the daughter of an Earl? He might not have money, but he had morals— which was more than some gentlemen could claim.
Lady Mary dismissed him with the roll of an eye and a derisive, "Oh, pipe down," before returning her attentions to her youngest sister. "Sybil, can't you let them get used to the idea? Take your stand and refuse to budge, but allow them time. That way you won't have to break up the family."
Tom had to confess that he was impressed by Lady Mary's efforts. To the untrained ear, she sounded perfectly reasonable. When he had first met her, he had seen her the way he viewed all aristocratic ladies— but through his own observations and Sybil's stories, she had been humanized to a degree. No longer could he see her as an unpleasant character in a novel by Dickens, but he could see glimpses of the woman lying beneath her cold façade.
He knew she loved Matthew Crawley, in spite of her engagement to Richard Carlisle. The day he arrived to hospital after being injured, Tom drove her down to see him, and he saw the worry etched on her face. She hadn't bothered to hide her apprehension, staring down at her lap and nervously gnawing on the bottom of her lip. When he drove her back that evening, she had wiped away tears that had welled up in her eyes during the short drive. It made the news of her engagement days later all the more surprising.
Sybil was equally perplexed as he that she would wed someone that she clearly did not love. "Aunt Rosamund said something about his money, but I don't think that's it," Sybil told him once when she visited him in the garage after dinner, after griping about the man. She shook her head, saying, "I know that Matthew is engaged to Lavinia now, but I wish she wouldn't settle for Carlisle."
Tom wondered, in the back of his mind, if Carlisle wasn't blackmailing her for something— though he doubted Lady Mary had ever done something so horrid to warrant being published in one of his newspapers— that is, if you could call them newspapers. Still, he knew that Carlisle was a formidable man, and he wouldn't be surprised if he was holding something over her head.
Sybil had told him stories of their childhood as well, paining a clearer picture of Lady Mary. "She always used to read me stories before bed," Sybil recalled fondly, "My favorite was Alice in Wonderland, but she loved reading me stories from mythology as well. She's always adored Greek myths..." Lady Mary, he also learned, loved riding horses, playing charades, singing, and solving riddles. She was clever as well; Sybil told him about how she once had corrected their nasty governess, Fräulein Kelda, on her mispronunciation of a word in French.
It was all of this that let Tom know that Lady Mary wasn't going to give up easily. She was intelligent and she would use it to her advantage.
"They would never give permission," Sybil protested.
"You don't need permission, you're twenty-one," Lady Mary countered. "But you do need their forgiveness if you're not to start your new life under a black shadow."
Tom saw that her words were causing Sybil to waver. Knowing he had to act fast, he said, "Don't listen. She's pretending to be reasonable to get you home again."
"Even if I am, even if I think this is mad, I know it would be better to do it in broad daylight than to sneak off like a thief in the night."
Tom felt as if he could cry. He had been so close— so close to marrying his Sybil. It was all he had wanted for years now, to be loved by her in return, to call himself her husband. He had been so close to that reality that he could taste it, but Lady Mary had been prepared. She sounded so perfectly logical that even he was having a hard time finding fault in her answer. What could he say to Sybil to change her mind? He glanced to Sybil, whose eyes were full of apologies, and he knew he had been defeated by Lady Mary. He let out a sigh, before turning to Sybil and saying, "Go back with them, then. If you think they can make you happier than I will."
"Am I so weak you believe I could be talked out of giving my heart in five minutes flat?" Sybil breathed, and at once he felt like a fool for doubting her. "But Mary's right. I don't like deceit and our parents don't deserve it. So, I'll go back with them. Believe it or not, I will stay true to you." She kissed his cheek softly.
Tom could only stand there, rooted to the floor as Lady Edith gathered Sybil's luggage. He watched her go, his heart crying out with each step she took, until finally he was left with emptiness as she disappeared down the stairwell. "I'll return the car in the morning," he told Lady Mary, who was the only soul besides him in the room now. He hesitated before asking, "You're confident you can bring her 'round, aren't you?"
"Fairly. I'll certainly try." Tom had no doubt about that. Lady Mary was certainly persuasive when she needed to be. He only hoped she would not be successful. She walked towards the door before pausing to ask, "Do you want some money? For the room?"
His jaw tightened. No doubt, this was some sort of aborted gesture to seem decent... or worse, her attempt at pity. "No thank you, my lady," he told her coldly. "I can pay my own way." She left without another word, and Tom found himself moving across the room, numb inside. He closed the door, catching a glimpse of Lady Mary walking down the steps before shutting it. He cast a glance at the bed, the very same bed that Sybil had been planning on sleeping in only minutes ago, and he felt something break inside his chest.
The shock back into reality was no less startling than before. Mary found herself looking at Sybil, just as she had before. "I really wasn't that much better, was I?" She said, more to herself than her sister. She could still feel the pain in his chest as acutely as it had been moments ago. While it was relieving to know he hadn't completely hated her at that point in time, she still hadn't been privy to a flattering image of herself... nor should she have been.
"Maybe not," Sybil admitted. "But don't you see how much you had already changed in his eyes?"
"Not really," admitted Mary, still hung up on the way she'd rolled her eyes.
Sybil let out a sigh. "Try not to think about what you've done wrong and instead focus on how Tom's feelings towards you have changed. If anything, you should be glad that you see now how you were behaving was wrong. I'm sure back then you wouldn't have been able to recognize that."
It was a small comfort but Mary nodded regardless. "Is the next one any better?"
"Not really," said Sybil apologetically. "But that will change soon. I promise."
April 12, 1919
Tom had feigned illness earlier in the evening, allowing himself the chance to change into a nice suit. He wasn't naïve enough to believe the Crawleys were going to accept him with open arms but he did want to make a good impression of himself... if for nothing else, then to prove that he was a respectable man and more than just the man who drove them wherever they wished to go.
Anna knew his plan; when she caught him going up the stairs, she gave him a knowing smile and said, "Good luck, Mr. Branson." The You'll need it was left unsaid but Tom heard it loud and clear anyway.
When he pushed open the door to the drawing room, his eyes inexplicably landed on Lady Edith's. He knew Sybil had already told her and Lady Mary about their plans for the evening, but even if he hadn't, he would have figured out based on the haunted expression on her face.
Tom felt several pairs of eyes rest on him, but Lord Grantham was the first to speak. "Yes?"
Tom found Sybil, finding comfort and familiarity in her eyes, even though he saw her fear. He didn't blame her; truth be told, he was likely as nervous as she was, though for different reasons. He would only be losing his job; she might be losing her family. "I'm here," he told her, both announcing his arrival and reassuring her. He would stand beside her, never abandon her, no matter how ugly it was...
"So I can see," Lord Grantham said, clearly confused and oblivious to what was going on.
Tom's heart thudded as Sybil approached him, all tense and worry in her gaze. "I don't think this is such a good idea," she told him hurriedly, joining his side. "We mustn't worry Granny."
Tom couldn't help but feel as if she had slapped him. They had planned on this for over a week now, he had lined up a new job, and now she was starting to have doubts? Tom loved her with everything he had and he was willing to fight for her... even if he had to face off against her. "You've asked me to come, and I've come," he told her levelly.
"Would someone please tell me what is going on, or have we all stepped through the looking glass?" tittered the Dowager Countess, drawn to their hushed conversation just as all the other members of the Crawley family were.
"Your grandmother has as much right to know as anybody else," said Tom, louder this time.
The Dowager Countess's expression darkened. "Why don't I find that reassuring?"
"Will someone please explain what's going on?" Lord Grantham asked, glancing between Tom and Sybil. "Why is Branson here?"
Sybil hesitated, for a brief moment. Finally, a new voice entered the fray: Lady Mary's. Eyes closed and looking exasperated, "Oh, for heaven's sakes, Sybil, just tell them."
Maybe, for the first time in his life, Tom felt a rush of gratitude towards Lady Mary. He wasn't foolish enough to believe her words were meant indicate support, not when she looked annoyed at the entire situation, but she had moved things forward. There was no going back. Not now.
"Tell us what?" Lord Grantham demanded, this time towards his eldest daughter.
Sybil nodded, almost to herself, before saying, "There's no easy way to say this..." she shook her head, before taking Tom's hand. "No, that's not true. It's simple, really." Sybil glanced up at him, smiled softly, before turning to her family. "I've fallen in love with Tom and I'm very lucky to have earned his love in return." Her words, so full emotion, warmed his heart, even though he felt as though it was opposite way around. "So I wanted to tell you all that we plan to marry soon."
A deafening silence fell over the room. Lady Mary and Lady Edith seemed to be bracing themselves for something. Mr. Crawley's mouth had fallen open as his eyes flickered between Tom and Sybil, the Dowager Countess had grown quite pale, Miss Swire—
"What?" The words seemed to explode from Lord Grantham. Red faced, veins protruding in his forehead, and rage evident, he zeroed in on Tom like a lion would a gazelle.
This exclamation seemed to detonate a frenzied pandemonium. Mr. Crawley had let out a soft, "Cousin Robert," in an attempt to quell the older man's fury whereas Sybil repeated her prior statement, this time with more confidence and a "And you won't change my mind."
"Sybil," Lady Grantham finally spoke, voice tremulous and shaking, "surely you don't mean this—"
"But I do!" Her grip on Tom's hand had grown near constricting. Tom's gaze was still locked on Lord Grantham, who was still glaring at him with a look that bordered on something homicidal. "Why is that so hard for you to believe?"
"Sybil, darling, now is not the time lecture us all," Lady Mary said, oddly disengaged. She looked weary, tired even.
Tom had thought he would be the first one to earn Lord Grantham's unmitigated ire, but instead he watched as the Earl of Grantham turned on his eldest daughter. "How is it that you know so much about all this?" He demanded. "Did she tell you she was planning on making this grand announcement? Why didn't you tell us so we could put a stop to it?"
Lady Mary froze up, seeming stunned. She clearly hadn't been expecting this; Tom almost felt sorry for her. Maybe that was why he found himself by speaking up and saying, "Why would you put a stop to it? Don't you care about your daughter's happiness?"
The look he earned from Lord Grantham was full of disdain as he glanced over his shoulder to yell, "This is none of yourconcern! Be silent!"
Tom bristled at his words; when he had begun working at Downton, he had thought Lord Grantham a good man and decent employer, but now he saw that the man was as snobbish as the rest. He preferred Tom as a silent observer in his life, someone who only spoke when Lord Grantham deigned it the proper time. Tom was ready to fire back when he felt Sybil rest a hand on his arm: Don't say anything. Not yet.
Lady Mary had leapt to her feet. "It's no good, Papa. I've known about this for weeks, months now, and nothing I have said has made a difference. For better or worse, Sybil wants the chauffeur." It was hardly a blessing, but it was a warmer reception into Crawley family than Lord Grantham was willing to give.
"What do you mean, "you knew"?" he thundered in response, ignoring the rest of Lady Mary's statement.
"I hoped it would blow over. I didn't want to split the family when Sybil might still wake up!"
"And all the time, you've been driving me about, bowing and scraping and seducing my daughter behind my back?" Lord Grantham sputtered, turning back to Tom.
Tom felt his blood boil. To belittle his feelings for Sybil in such a way was inexcusable, and to insinuate he was some sort of mindless puppet at Lord Grantham's beck and call was insulting. This time, he wouldn't hold back. "I don't bow and scrape! And I've not seduced anyone! Give your daughter some credit for knowing her own mind!"
"How dare you speak to me in that tone. You will leave at once!"
"Oh, Papa!" cried Sybil, squeezing Tom's hand even tighter.
"This is a folly!" he all but shouted, though Tom detected some amusement, much to his irritation. "A ridiculous, juvenile madness!"
Surprisingly, the Dowager Countess was the next to addresses them. She held up a hand, succeeding in silencing everyone else in the room before calmly inquiring, "Sybil, what do you have in mind?"
"Mama, this is hardly—"
The Dowager Countess raised her hand again. "No. She must have something in mind. Otherwise, she wouldn't have summoned him here tonight." The room was once again silent as she directed her attention to the both of them.
Taken by surprise but clearly grateful, Sybil said, "Thank you, Granny. Yes, we do have a plan. Tom's got a job on a paper. I'll stay until after the wedding; I don't want to steal their thunder," she said, gesturing towards Miss Swire and Lady Mary. Tom was half surprised to note that at the mention of her impending nuptials, the latter looked rather green. It was a stark contrast to the joy he felt at being able to marry his Sybil... but then again, Sybil had insinuated that she thought Mary was dragging her heels. "But after that, I'll go to Dublin."
"To live with him?" asked Lady Grantham, looking and sounding so scandalized that Tom was half positive she would faint. "Unmarried?"
"I'll live with his mother while the bans are read. And then we'll be married..." Sybil trailed off to meet Tom's gaze. At once, Tom felt the full extent of her adoration, her love... and felt overwhelmed. He'd never imagined it would feel like this; he never knew love could feel so consuming, how wonderful it would be. Here she was, an aristocratic lady with all the privilege and opportunities in the world, and she wanted him. As she dropped her gaze, Tom still felt her adoration, still felt her love, even as she faced her grandmother once more. "And I'll get a job as a nurse."
"What does your mother make of this?" the Dowager Countess asked him, addressing him for the first time that evening.
Tom hesitated, wondering if he should tell them the truth or not. Finally, he said, "If you must know, she thinks we're very foolish."
She let out a laugh. "So at least we have something in common."
Before Tom or Sybil could react to that remark, Lord Grantham suddenly whirled around. "I won't allow it! I will not allow my daughter to throw away her life!" He shouted.
Unintimidated and fearless, Sybil exclaimed, "You can posture it all you like, Papa, it won't make any difference!" He felt pride burn within him. She was marvelous...
"Oh, yes, it will!"
"How? I don't want any money and you can hardly lock me up until I die! I'll say goodnight. But I can promise you one thing: tomorrow morning, nothing will have changed," Sybil told her family, utterly defiant and not taken aback in the least by their stunned expressions. "Tom," Sybil said gently, leading him out of the room as she took her hand in his.
Mary didn't quite know how to feel when she came to again. She'd been in the background mostly... but still, she could help but admire how brave he was. He'd never worried about himself nor his job, not for a minute. "It was a bit strange, reliving that," said Mary, uncertain of what else to say to Sybil, who was waiting patiently for some sort of reaction. "A bit more frightening, really. I'd never manage with Papa like that."
"Of course you would," Sybil countered without hesitation. "And you will."
"What do you mean I will?" asked Mary, folding her hands on her lap. "Can you see into the future, too?"
Sybil shook her head. "I know you don't think you are brave but the truth is you are strong, Mary. You've endured much worse things than telling Mama and Papa how you truly feel. And no matter how bad it might seem in the moment... you'll never regret being true to your heart. I know I never did." Her gaze was unwavering.
Mary bit back a sigh. "Sybil, darling," she began, trying to phrase it carefully, "I know that all of this is all to help me but I'm afraid you are mistaken. I don't feel that way towards Tom."
Sybil just shook her head, smiling. "Mary, you know I love you dearly, but the horrible truth is that you are so oblivious sometimes, especially when it comes to love." When Mary stared at her, she arched an eyebrow and asked, "How long did it take you before you finally realized you were in love with Matthew?"
Mary knew precisely the moment when it had hit her; it was the same night Sybil had been injured at the count, the same night Tom had driven her to Matthew's home to fetch her. She'd seen the tender look in Sybil's eyes when she'd gazed at Matthew, bit back a surprising sting of jealousy as she had watched her younger sister lean on him, and then wondered why she felt that way. But it wasn't until they sat at the dining room table and she found herself asking him if flirting with her was a duty. Once the words had fallen out of her mouth, she'd realized that she desperately wanted to know the answer... and that she would be crushed if the answer was yes. At that point, she'd known him for roughly two years.
Her mouth fell open for a moment before she closed it. Sybil smiled almost triumphantly. "It's not the same thing," Mary insisted, though the response almost sounded weak to her own ears.
"There's no need to have any great epiphanies quite yet," said Sybil almost teasingly. "We have plenty more memories to go through."
"Need I remind you that we are talking about your husband?" Mary said, sitting up straighter and adopting the "older sister" tone. It had been quite some time since she'd had to use it; Edith had never bothered listening to her.
"Mary, you can't honestly think I care about all that," Sybil said, half amused yet irate.
"Why not? I certainly would."
"Would you?" Sybil challenged. "What if it was you? What if you and Tom had been the ones to leave Matthew and I? Would you be mad at us, if we grew closer? If we became good friends... if loved one another?"
Mary opened her mouth. Reflexively, she wanted to hate the idea of Matthew being with another woman. She had watched him with Lavinia for years, enduring the torturous pangs of heartbreak at watching him be happy with someone else. But if were Sybil... she recalled her own stirrings of jealousy at Crawley House, but if Sybil had lost Tom as well... if she felt as lost and as lonely as Mary had felt, if Matthew were the only person to understand how she felt...
Mary finally said, "Not if it were you. If it were some... some horrid woman who wasn't right for him, I might protest, but not you." Unorthodox as it was, Mary knew that if the situations had been reversed and something had come of Matthew and Sybil, her sister would at least treat him well. George would have a loving maternal figure, someone that would make sure tell him all about Mary...
"You see?" Sybil beamed knowingly. "So you don't have to carry all that guilt with you. I'll never hate you, Mary. You're my sister and I love you. And," she said, clasping one of Mary's hands between her own, "I know Tom does, too. And if you care about him, as I know you do, you'll keep your mind open when you see the rest of his memories."
Mary let Sybil's gaze. She still wasn't certain why Sybil was so insistent that she was in love with Tom but she would do it for her... and for him. She supposed that after running from him like that, she owed him that. "Very well. What is next?"
Sybil didn't give her a verbal description. Mary felt the tugging sensation and felt herself whisked away again.
June 5, 1919
This was it. The day he had been dreaming about for years. The day he would marry Lady Sybil Cora Crawley, the woman he loved. His heart felt ready to burst.
Tom glanced in the mirror in the side room before adjusting his tie. He'd arrive early to church to dress in his nicest suit, waiting until someone fetched him and told him it was about to start. He couldn't help but feel nervous; he knew Sybil loved him but he also understood that she had sacrificed a great deal to be with him. As irrational as it was, his mind was filled with nightmarish fantasies of Sybil realizing that she had made a mistake and leaving him at the alter.
There was soft knock on his door. "Come in," Tom called out, expecting Kieran to enter and impart some encouraging words before the ceremony. Instead, Tom was surprised to find Lady Mary, wearing a pale green dress and a smile. "Oh. Hello."
He had only spoken with Lady Mary once since she had arrived to Ireland. He and Sybil had met them at the port, where she and Edith had greeted him politely and succinctly, but they had spent most of the evening inquiring after Sybil and astonished by her new life— "You mean you really did your own laundry?" to "What do you mean you haven't ordered a dress for the wedding? What will you wear?" If it weren't for biting the inside of his cheek, Tom would have laughed at their scandalized expressions once Sybil informed them she would be wearing one of the many dresses she already owned instead of wearing one of the latest fashions from Paris.
"Hello," Mary said. "Sybil is almost ready. Edith is with her now."
"I see. Thank you, Lady Mary."
"Oh, never mind with all that now," she said, shaking her head. "We're about to be family. There's no need for all those formalities, not now."
"I know that," said Tom, relieved she had said so regardless. "It's merely a habit."
She hummed in agreement before saying, "I'm afraid it will take us a while as well before we stop calling you Branson— though I hope you do realize we really will be trying."
Tom stifled a bit of laughter, privately astonished that the high and mighty Lady Mary— no, just Mary, he reminded himself— was conversing with him as an equal. It wasn't that he thought any less of himself but he had assumed she did. "I don't know how much of a problem that will be. I don't anticipate being invited back to Downton Abbey anytime soon."
"Oh, I don't know about that," she replied, still smiling, albeit strained. "I'll be marrying at some point in the near future, and I get a say in who is invited to my own wedding."
"And you want me there?"
"I want Sybil there," she said, though not unkindly, "And you two are a package deal now."
"Not quite yet," he said, trying to sound light but failing miserably. "You've still got a few more minutes to try and change her mind."
Mary's smile froze on her face before fading entirely. "I'm not going to do that," she told him, now serious. "I might have been mistaken before, but I see now that our sort of life wasn't what would have made Sybil happy. But you do." The smile returned. "And I hope that we can get along better in the future... for her sake, if for nothing else."
At this Tom couldn't help but feel his indifference towards her start to thaw. He saw the Mary Sybil had so often admired; a bit cool, but loving and caring beneath. "I hope so, too," he found himself agreeing, before being rewarded with a smile.
"Well?" Sybil's expression was hopeful as she came back into focus.
"Well what?" Mary wasn't deliberately trying to be obtuse, but she kept finding herself more and more confused with every passing memory.
"Wasn't that much better?"
"Oh, I don't know." Mary felt like tearing out her hair. Instead of finding answers, all she had were more and more questions. "I suppose I'm not a total monster in this one, but he clearly didn't think much of me."
"What do you mean, Mary?" Sybil's brow furrowed, a small frown appearing on her face.
"He was so... so shocked that I would treat him decently." The words tasted bitter in her mouth.
"That's because he didn't know you very well at that point," she reminded Mary gently. "You were growing, Mary."
Mary shook her head. It wasn't good enough— there were no excuses for her behavior. How on Earth could he go from thinking of her like this to proclaiming his breath? It made no sense.
"I know you must have so many questions," murmured Sybil, seeming to sense Mary's thoughts. "But trust me, you'll see." She paused before informing Mary, "This one will be hard but I know you can handle it."
May 16, 1920
His lungs ached. "Please, love. Please wake up," he begged her, words incoherent in between his sobs. She couldn't leave him, this couldn't be the end of their story... Lady Grantham was by his side, weeping as well. He'd heard Dr. Clarkson's words, but he still couldn't believe it was true. His Sybil couldn't be dead. She had so much to live for... "Please wake up, Sybil."
Please.
Her limb hand was pressed between his palms. Her flesh was already starting to cool. But surely this wasn't it... her life couldn't be over. A new chapter of their life had just begun and they had fought so hard for their happy ending... they had a baby, a darling little girl...
How was he supposed to go on without her?
"Please," he rasped, hoping that one more word was all the needed to convince God to bring her back to him, but nothing happened. Sybil remained cold and still and Tom remained broken and defeated.
He would have stayed there all night pleading with her or God if it hadn't been for the hand that came to rest upon his shoulder. "It's over," a voice that was both broken and strong said into his ear. It took him a moment to realize it was Mary. "We can't do anything for her anymore, Tom."
"No," he protested. "She can't leave me, she can't leave me alone, I can't be without her, it's not possible—" His words ran together and were chopped apart by his loud, painful gasps that hit his chest like daggers.
"It's time to go." This time it was Matthew. He sounded just as full of sorrow as Mary. "You need your rest in order to face the morrow."
His words were too poetic, his speech too composed to understand what Tom was feeling. But when Mary's grip on his shoulder tightened, something inside him prompted him to rise to his feet. He let go of Sybil's hand, using the edge of the bed to pull himself up.
Mary stood behind him. She had shed her tears— he saw the twin wet patches shining on her cheeks— but somehow she was still standing upright. Her dark hair, so like Sybil's, was braided, resting on her shoulder. She was only in her nightgown and dressing robe, Matthew in his pajamas.
Focusing on them helped Tom come back to reality. In between his hiccups, he realized Lord Grantham had left the room. Dr. Clarkson and the nurse had vacated as well, along with that crook Tapsell. Lady Grantham was over in a corner, hugging Edith fiercely.
He felt another hand, this time at his elbow. Matthew has reached out, barely touching him but just enough. Mary's hand has slid down to his arm and they were gently guiding him to the door.
Tom felt like an automaton, forcing himself to pick his feet up as he was lead down the dimly lit hallways. His tears were subsiding now, the shock settling in, but his throat felt as though he'd swallowed glass. At a certain point, Matthew's hand fell, but Mary's remained. It was like a lifeline, holding him in reality.
As they came closer to the bachelor's corridors, a thought entered Tom's mind. "Is Tapsell still here?" The trio came to a halt as Mary and Matthew exchanged a look. Tom had his answer from that alone. He couldn't bring himself to muster up the indigence that he would still be under the same roof as Sybil's— her cor— her bod— her, after what had happened. "That bastard killed her," he muttered, simultaneously dispassionate and furious at once.
"Tom," Matthew began as they approached his bedroom door, "as tempting as it is to blame Sir Phillip, it won't help. Not in the end. And don't blame yourself, either," he added, opening the door. "Because that will be what you'll do next."
What Matthew was saying was rational, but Tom was reminded of Dr. Clarkson's insistence that Sybil had eclampsia. Lord Grantham had somehow been certain that Tapsell had all the answers, and Tom, persuaded, had followed the London doctor's advice...
"I don't want to upset you," Matthew continued, somehow sensing his self deprecating thoughts, "because God knows you've been through hell— but there is no sense on dwelling on what you might've have done...
"I'm not a doctor but my father was and I'm familiar enough the condition to know that even if you had listened to Clarkson, the chances were slim." He swallowed, averting his eyes to the floor. "Even if we tried, we would have likely lost her anyway."
Tom wanted to cry. Matthew's words were, in their own twisted way, a comfort, but hearing that she had been fated to die was still an impossible notion. She had been full of life. His eyes remained dry but he clenched them shut, trying to breathe in and stop himself from breaking down.
"Lie down, Tom," Mary murmured, leading him over to his bed. His opened his eyes only so that he could clamber on top of it. "We'll take care of things for tonight— you won't have to worry about anything until tomorrow—"
Her voice was like a balm to his bruised and battered soul. To know all responsibility could be thrown into the wind, to know that he could submerge himself in his grief for a period of time was a relief. He would have to be strong the rest of his life, for his baby, for their baby...
"The baby." It was the only words he could manage.
"Do you want her in here with you?" Matthew asked. There was an uncertainty in his eyes.
"I think so." She needed him, his baby, his daughter... She had nobody else in this cruel world, just him...
"Fetch her, Matthew," Mary told him, leaning against the bedpost. "We can see about setting the nurse up in the room next door instead of the nursery, in case Tom needs help."
Matthew nodded, his movement jerky, before exiting the room. Mary remained, standing beside him. He was surprised at the lengths she was going to help him... over the past few months, Mary had warmed up to him to a certain extent but Tom had thought that it was for Sybil's sake. Maybe it still was— maybe she wanted to remain loyal to her sister, a parting gift—
"Can I see about fetching you something? A glass of water?"
A cool glass of water sounded lovely. His throat was raw from weeping. He opened his mouth to tell her just that when he instead muttered, "I want that bastard gone."
Mary froze. For a moment, Tom wondered if he had offended her. He'd spoke the word in the hallway, not thinking before he spoke. He doubted it was the coarsest word she'd ever heard, but even Sybil had sometimes gasped whenever he used certain words— usually the ones his mother had threatened to wash his mouth out with soap for using. But as if compelled by some other force, he found himself continuing on, "He fucking killed her— I know he didn't mean to do it, nobody would have, but she's dead because of him—"
"I understand, Tom," said Mary, kneeling at his side. "And don't worry. We shall handle it." After a pause, as if considering it, she amended, "I shall handle it. You don't need to deal with it right now. Just try and rest."
Tom was struck dumb by her willingness to help him— maybe this wasn't just about Sybil. Maybe she cared about him as well, in her own way...
Matthew entered the room then, a small bundle in his arms. His baby... "I spoke to the nurse. She's making the plans to set up in the room next to Tom's." He was speaking mainly to Mary, but as he lowered the baby into Tom's arms, he offered him a weak smile.
"Thank you," Tom whispered. It hurt, knowing that his little girl would grow up with no mother, but at least he had a piece of his wife left behind. He was under no delusions that she would be exactly like Sybil but every day he would be reminded of her. But they would have each other.
Matthew and Mary's voices faded into the background before he registered them saying their good nights to him and promising to help him with whatever he needed once the harsh light of day was upon them. He muttered his own good night, focused only on his baby.
"Before we go to bed, there's something I must see to—" he heard Mary say before the door shut.
That night had been absolute hell. Mary doubted she would ever recover from watching what had happened to Sybil. She supposed, in an awful way, she had been lucky when it came to Matthew's death. It was unexpected and unpreventable, save from ordering him to stay by her side at the hospital. Tom had suffered tremendously that fateful night and yet somehow he had managed to carry on with life.
"Do you need a moment?"
"No," said Mary, honestly. "I'm just... thinking."
"About what?"
"About how we handled things so differently." Mary stared down at her lap. "That night— it was the worst I've ever seen him. But in spite of everything, he managed to be there for Sybbie. But I—"
All those months had blurred together. She would stare at the ceiling until she grew weary of it, then would turn on her side to study the wall. If she was feeling adventurous, she would walk to the chair next to the window so that she could watch the scenery. She would hold George for a few minutes before handing him off to a Nanny, already tired.
"Mary," Sybil said gently, reaching out for her hand. "You and Tom are different people. It only makes sense that you should deal with you grief differently. Besides," Sybil pointed out, "you looked awfully strong to me."
"I wasn't. Not really." Sybil's death has, understandably, devastated her. In the months leading up to George's birth, she had been plagued with nightmares that her life would end the same way. She never voiced that thought aloud. The last thing she had wanted to do was worry Matthew and exacerbate Tom's grief, not when he was just starting to get better. "But I had Matthew to lean on then. And I found if I focused on someone else, then I could move through it."
"I'm glad you did." Sybil squeezed her hand before pulling away. "The last thing I would have wanted for any of you is to be sad the rest of your lives." After smiling sweetly, she asked, "Ready?"
Mary nodded.
June 11, 1920
Sunlight streamed in through the window onto his daughter's face. Tom stared down at her. She was the only thing giving his life meaning at the moment. The sight of his beloved wife struggling to breathe while in the most excruciating pain would haunt him the rest of his days.
But he had his daughter now: baby Sybil. Sybil Bronagh Branson. She hadn't been christened yet, but he'd already picked out her name. He and Sybil hadn't settled on any names together... "Let's just wait until the baby's born before we worry about all that..." she would say and he would acquiesce to her. A part of him wished he could have known which names she'd have wanted, but he supposed naming their baby after her was the best possible way to remember his darling wife the rest of his days.
The sound of the door opening startled him. It was Mary, entering the room, dressed all in black. "No, don't get up," she said in a hushed voice. Tom settled back down as she took a seat next to him in the chair. "How's the christening going?"
Over the past couple of days, Mary had been one of the rocks he had clung to. Her support, along with Matthew's, had kept his head afloat as he navigated the unfamiliar waters of Downton. He suspected Matthew had done something to melt away her icy exterior, but he suspected that beneath her veneer of indifference held a heart of gold, deep down.
"It's been arranged with the Catholic church in Ripon."
"Weren't you going to tell us?"
"You and Matthew," Tom admitted as Sybbie began squirming in his arms. He gave her a nervous look before adding, "I didn't think the others would want to know." Lord Grantham certainly wouldn't; of that, he was certain.
"Please give them a chance to behave properly," Mary implored as Tom rose to his feet, carrying Sybbie across the room and gently depositing her into her crib. After a few moments, she joined him, peering down at her niece. Sybil had mentioned to him, only mere days before... well, before it happened, that she suspected Mary was longing for a child of her own. Judging by the soft expression on her face, Tom supposed she had been correct.
He supposed now as good a time as any to ask her the question he had been mulling over in his mind for days. "I wondered if you'd be her godmother," he asked, voice thick with emotion.
"Am I allowed to be?" She asked, gazing hesitantly between him and Sybbie, brown eyes questioning.
"As long as at least one of them is Catholic," said Tom. Kieran had already accepted to be godfather. He was due any day now from Liverpool. "And my brother's coming over. He'll stay in the village."
"No, he won't," said Mary without removing her eyes from Sybbie. "He'll stay here."
He was right; he had misjudged Mary. He ignored the lump in his throat at the thought that, ever since his whole life had come crashing down, that she and Matthew has been the only one who had gone out of their way to make sure he had some kind of support. Edith tried but she was withdrawn and Lady Gran— Cora was as painfully sad as he was these days... and the less said of Robert, the better. The last thing he wanted— or needed— was for a fight to break out. If they all thought he was bad, they would have a hard time adjusting to Kieran. "He's a bit of a rough diamond," he warned Mary.
She turned to him, smiling slowly. "I'm very fond of diamonds," she told him before returning her gaze to Sybbie.
Tom knew then that he had made the right choice and that Mary might prove herself to be a worthy friend.
"I don't know I can even begin to tell you how much I appreciated that," Sybil said, almost startling Mary. She was busying herself on the other side of the room— with what, Mary had no idea. "You were such a help to him. You could comfort him when I couldn't."
Mary swallowed. "Did I really?" She had a hard time believing it... but she had felt his pain and loneliness and even she could admit her family hadn't exactly been the most receptive to his arrival to Downton.
"Yes." Sybil came back. She leaned over Mary's shoulder to say, "It was so hard for him. I was his one lifeline and then I was gone. I left him all alone to navigate this whole new world all by himself. But you helped him."
"There was no other choice," Mary found herself saying. It was simple to her; Tom was Sybil's husband and therefore she accepted him. Maybe she had been hesitant at first, when he was their chauffeur, but after their marriage that bond was there.
"There was another choice," insisted Sybil. "You could have been like almost everyone else. Papa... I love him dearly, but he was about to let Tom walk away. But that would have been wrong."
"It certainly would have," Mary murmured. She couldn't imagine life without Tom anymore...
Mary stopped herself from pursuing that thought any further. She turned back to Sybil, plastering a false smile. "I suppose I'm ready for what is next," she informed her sister, already wondering what she might see. Sybbie's christening, perhaps, or maybe even the cricket match...
Sybil, however, did not meet her smile. "I'm afraid it's not going to be happy," she said solemnly and suddenly married realized what she was about to endure yet again. "But I promise that it is necessary. You can take as long as you need to prepare yourself."
Mary swallowed. Was she ready to relive her months of grieving yet again? She nodded hesitantly before whispering, "I'm ready."
