The Consequences and the Benefits of Spanish Flu
Sybil and Tom returned to Dublin the next morning with mixed feelings. Father Conrad had agreed to marry them, but not nearly as quickly as they had expected. Three months seemed far too long to wait in order to wed, especially considering they'd already waited years.
Nevertheless, they continued their lives in Dublin, with Tom applying to various newspapers and Sybil seeking work as a nurse.
On Sunday, they attended St. Paul's. Sybil found herself slightly more comfortable with the unusual language and Tom's especially hostile cousins. She also met Kieran, Tom's older brother by three years.
"Kieran, this is my fiancée, Sybil," he said just before Mass began. "I don't think I introduced you to her last week."
Sybil smiled brightly and held out her hand to the dark-haired man. "It's nice to meet you, Kieran."
Kieran shook his head and chuckled at Tom. "Honestly, Tommy, I thought it must've been a joke when I heard you were bringing home a fancy English lady." Then he shook Sybil's hand. "You certainly are far away from home, ma'am," he said, much more politely.
Sybil appreciated the man was attempting to be polite, but she bristled inwardly at yet another who didn't take her seriously. Yet she felt warm all over as Tom placed his arm on her shoulder and squeezed. "I intend to make Ireland my home," she said, looking at Kieran straight in the eye.
The church bells rang before he could respond.
OOOOOOOOOOOO
Although the music still moved her, Sybil struggled to pay attention to Mass. She noticed that Mrs. Branson coughed discretely several times. It was shallow, but each time the older woman did so, Sybil would stare in horror, trying not to remember the last time she'd heard a cough.
From Mama. When she'd contacted Spanish flu.
But of course, Mrs. Branson didn't have that deadly illness. She couldn't. People coughed all the time, and it was usually because they'd caught a small cold.
OOOOOOOOOO
On Monday morning, Mrs. Branson's cold seemed much worse, however. Her cough was loud, hoarse, and raspy as she poured the oatmeal into the pot. And Sybil was afraid her future mother – in – law was far too pale, behind the coal dust on her cheeks. Even if it were just a cold, there was no need for her to become more poorly.
"Why don't you let me bake the bread today?" she asked carefully. "You can rest a bit, and I'll bring you a cup of tea."
Mrs. Branson stared at Sybil in disgust and disbelief. "Don't worry; I'm not coughing into the food; I know better than that."
Sybil sighed. "I appreciate that, but I'm concerned about you." She looked deep into the older woman's eyes, hoping to convey how serious she was. "I think you're becoming ill, and I don't wish you worse."
Mrs. Branson huffed and then coughed into her shoulder again, a deep raspy sound that could have been coming from Mama's bedroom a couple of weeks ago. Then she gathered all the ingredients for soda bread. "I suppose you're looking for someone to play nurse, but I don't need your coddling. I know in your world, people lay around moaning and such when they have a bit of a cold, but in the real world, we just deal with it."
"I think it's more than just 'a bit of a cold,'" Sybil protested. Her heartbeat faster and faster, petrified every time she heard that terrible cough.
"I'm sorry, but I have work to do," Mrs. Branson shook her head as she poured the flour into the bowl. "Just as I do every day."
Sybil sighed and scooped out a spoonful of sugar. "Then let me at least help you with bread. I still need to learn, after all."
OOOOOOOOOO
After the bread was baked and they all ate the oatmeal, Sybil and Tom set out to search for jobs again while Mrs. Branson prepared her laundry. Sybil pleaded for each hospital and private doctor to hire her as a nurse. Her fingers itched to bandage wounds and her arms wished to soothe patients in need of her help.
Furthermore, Sybil was desperately trying not to remember Mrs. Branson's cough and unusual pale face. Surely the woman just had a bad cold…
But that afternoon, an hour after they munched on their bread, Tom came out the Irish Times with a bounce in his step and a huge smile on his face. "I did it, Sybil! I'm a reporter! I start at the Irish Times tomorrow morning!"
Sybil flew into his arms and they embraced tightly on the street. "I knew you could," she whispered just before he kissed her.
Tom smiled, looking deep into her eyes as they withdrew. "I know. Your support means everything to me."
Sybil breathed deeply, feeling even warmer as he said that. "Our lives are finally coming together here, just like we hoped they would. We should be able to look for a suitable flat once you have a regular paycheck again."
Tom grinned, looking even happier and more excited. "I know." Pausing for a moment, he added, "Let's tell Mam the good news." Slowly, he pulled away from her, their chests no longer touching.
Sybil's body missed his heat, but she took his hand anyway. "Yes. Let's." It would be a good idea to make certain Mrs. Branson was only suffering from a bad cold.
OOOOOOOOOOO
Mrs. Branson was outside her flat, hanging up a row of shirts, trousers, and skirts when they arrived. "I did it, Mam!" Tom shouted as he ran to his mother. "The Irish Times hired me, and I start tomorrow morning!"
"Oh, Tommy, I knew it!" she said, delighted. But before she could throw her arms around her son, she coughed again. Another deep, raspy cough that sounded far too painful to be innocent.
Sybil's heart stopped beating again when she heard it, especially as the older woman looked even more pale now than she did this morning.
"I shall make oatmeal cookies to celebrate," Mrs. Branson said happily, completely ignoring Sybils worrying looks. "Just as soon as I finish this load of laundry."
"Mam," Tom said as he withdrew from his mother's embrace. "Are you certain you are all right? You feel a bit too warm." He studied his mother's face, just as Sybil had done earlier this morning and a moment ago.
Mrs. Branson chuckled, or rather tried to chuckle and coughed again instead. "Don't worry about me, Tommy. I just have a bit of a cold, and if I'm a bit warm, it's because I just took these clothes out of the water." She reached down and pinned another shirt to the clothing line. "They certainly do feel nice and warm today."
Sybil's heart stopped again. A patient feeling chilly while others noticed they were unusually warm was a classic sign of a fever. A terrible cough and a rising temperature were symptoms she'd noticed several times at Downton a few weeks ago, especially with Mama. It was too much of a coincidence.
"Mrs. Branson, this isn't a bad cold; it's something much worse. It's called Spanish flu." She took the other woman's hand gently but firmly, feeling just how hot the other woman's body temperature was. "You need to go inside and lay down. Immediately."
Even though she was ill, somehow the older woman shook Sybil's hand off her. "I've told you before, girl, I don't care if I might be a bit ill; I've got work to do." With that, she picked up another pair of wet trousers. But Sybil noticed how Mrs. Branson clung to them for an extra moment, as if soaking up their warmth, before placing them on the clothing line.
Sybil placed her hand on the other woman's arm. "Mrs. Branson, this is serious. Spanish flu can kill you, and it has killed over a million already." Her mind flashed back to how close her mother came to dying of Spanish flu. And sweet Lavinia, who did die. She was so young…
Dr. Clarkson had said elderly people were a particular risk for dying of the disease, warning them not to invite Granny to the Big House until the illness was gone. Was Mrs. Branson old enough to be in that group?
Meeting Tom's hazel eyes, Sybil saw his shock and panic, and she knew her eyes told him the same thing. "Mam, I know you don't have much respect for Sybil right now, but you need to listen to her on this. She's an excellent nurse, and she saw a lot of Spanish flu cases." He took his mother's other arm just as firmly. "I can't lose you, Mam. Especially not when I've just come home. Go inside and lay down. Please."
"But the laundry!" Mrs. Branson said, although she sounded less certain than before.
"I can do the laundry," Sybil said firmly. "I did plenty of it at the hospital." With that, she and Tom each took one of her arms and brought her into the flat. Sybil couldn't get over how warm her arm was. It was as if her skin was a stove.
OOOOOOOOOO
Placing Mrs. Branson on her bed, Sybil sighed in relief that the older woman was finally laying down. Yet her heartbeat faster again as her future mother – in – law pulled her woolen blankets up to her chin. The woman needed to cool, rather than become warmer.
"Will you get a bowl of cool water and a cloth to help bring down the fever?" Sybil asked Tom softly, wishing she didn't have to worry about such things. This wasn't what she had in mind when she'd wished to be a nurse again. Still, Tom nodded immediately.
But before he left the room, he picked up an old, worn necklace of simple beads that lay on top of Mrs. Branson's Bible. Sybil supposed it was a rosary; she'd heard Catholics used them a lot. Tom placed it his mother's hand. "Why don't you pray, Mam," he said, his voice shaking a bit more than he probably realized.
"I'm so sorry, Tom," Sybil whispered to him as they re – entered the living room. "I'm the one who gave your mother Spanish flu! I spent so much time around Mama and even Lavinia when they were ill at Downton, and I never thought…" her voice trailed off as she swallowed a huge lump in her throat. "I should never come to Ireland so quickly."
Brigid's warning appeared in Sybil's head, almost slapping her in the face. "You need to be careful," Tom's older sister had told her, or she could have lots of regrets. It seemed Brigid had been correct. Swallowing another, even bigger lump, Sybil felt her regret overwhelm her.
Tom squeezed her shoulder as they entered the kitchen. "Don't blame yourself, Sybil; I wanted you to come here as soon as possible, especially considering how long we've already waited."
Sybil shook her head violently. "But I'm the one with the nursing training; I've studied how diseases are spread and how important it is to quarantine when you are exposed to dangerous illnesses like Spanish flu." She couldn't stop the tears as they ran down her face. "You say I'm a great nurse, but how can I be if I make mistakes like this? And your mother is so much older than Lavinia." She blew her nose and began crying again.
Tom hugged her tightly filling Sybil with love she didn't deserve. "You made one mistake Sybil; that doesn't make you a bad nurse. Think of how many people you helped, including your own mother who survived partly because of your care."
Wiping her eyes, Sybil nodded. "Your right. Hurry and get that water, Tom. I promised to take care of her laundry."
Tom nodded and dashed down the street to the water pump while Sybil put another skirt on the clothing line. Mrs. Branson would be all right. Just like Mama had been.
OOOOOOOOOOO
The next morning, Tom struggled with his decision to go to his new job. "What if something happens to Mam?" he said, glancing at his mother's room, where she still lay.
Sybil understood his worry, as she felt it just as keenly. In her stomach and in the very air that they breathed. But she couldn't let it overwhelm her. Tom had been right yesterday; if Sybil could help Mama live, she could help Mrs. Branson live, too.
"If something drastic happens, I will tell you, but for now, I think you should go to the Irish Times. You've worked so hard to become a journalist, Tom; you can't throw it away your first day on the job." She reached up and smoothed his suit. The deep forest green made him look even handsomer.
Tom looked from Sybil to his mother's bedroom and back to Sybil again. "She isn't as bad as Mama was," she assured him as the tea kettle whistled, and Sybil poured some into a teacup. That was true. So far Mrs. Branson hadn't suffered any nosebleeds.
Finally, Tom sighed and nodded. Giving her a quick kiss, he picked up his lunch pail and left.
Meanwhile, Sybil scooped a bit of honey into Mrs. Branson's tea. "Here," she said softly as she entered the woman's bedroom. "This should help with your throat and that terrible cough."
Mrs. Branson sat up and grunted, but she accepted the cup.
OOOOOOOOOOO
Sybil lost count of how many cups of tea with honey she gave Mrs. Branson in the next few days. She also bathed the older woman in cool water and a cloth when she became too hot. Fortunately, the other woman still hadn't had any nose bleeds or coughed blood, so it appeared her illness wasn't as bad as Mama's. But Sybil still worried. She constantly demanded that Mrs. Branson needed to rest, even though her future mother – in – law insisted she had work to do.
She cooked oatmeal every morning and bread and stew every other day. Last night, the stew actually tasted good.
There was also the stove. The old coal had to be scraped out, filled with new ones, and it must be lit twice a day, once before breakfast and once before dinner. But Sybil had discovered it wasn't as difficult as she originally thought. This morning it had only taken her three tries before it was lit.
Still, she was most comfortable washing, both dishes and clothing, as Sybil had already done plenty of that at the Downton Hospital. In fact, Sybil could do laundry almost instinctively. She reached into the soapy bucked and pulled out the fancy skirt that was owned by one of Mrs. Branson's laundry clients and placed it in the plain water to rinse. Then she picked up another piece of clothing, this time a pair of trousers, and did the same.
But Sybil barely had time to breathe, much less listen to Tom when he returned from the Irish Times. Most nights, she fell asleep directly after dinner.
And yet, something was happening to her and Mrs. Branson. The woman no longer scowled or grumbled just by Sybil's mere presence. Yesterday, she thought the woman had almost smiled when Sybil had handed her the tea with honey.
OOOOOOOOOOO
On Friday afternoon, Mrs. Branson stopped her as Sybil picked up her empty teacup.
"Sybil," the other woman said with a sigh. She was relieved Mrs. Branson's voice no longer sounded so raspy. Nor did she cough after she sighed. "I still don't approve of you for my son, but I admit, you're a very good nurse….If you're still looking for a position, perhaps I can give you a recommendation."
Staring at Mrs. Branson for a moment, Sybil tried to contain her shock. She could barely remember the last time she'd thought about finding a position and becoming a professional nurse again; she'd been too busy to think. Still, she knew what a big step it was for this woman to admit such a thing. "Thank you," she said softly, with a smile.
"Now, I've done enough dilly – dallying this past week," Mrs. Branson said firmly. "I have work to do." She swung her feet to the edge of the bed, preparing to get up again.
Sybil shook her head and pushed the older woman back toward the bed. "Yes, and I will do it for you. You may be recovering, but you aren't healed yet. If you don't continue to rest, your flu could come back, even worse the next time."
She heard Mrs. Branson grumble as she returned the teacup to the kitchen, but Sybil knew it wasn't truly directed at her this time.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Sybil insisted she and Mrs. Branson stay inside the flat during the next week, even as the older woman recovered. She'd learned her lesson and wouldn't spread the deadly illness to any more people.
But that meant Sybil and Mrs. Branson clashed all the time now and the air in the tiny flat was constantly tense. Sybil was no longer her friendly self. "Move out of my way, I've got to clean the coal from the stove," Sybil said on evening.
"As it is my kitchen, I believe I'll stand where I want, and I can clean the coal better than you, anyway" Mrs. Branson said, her look harsh.
OOOOOOOOOOO
"You put too much hot water in the laundry," Mrs. Branson said another afternoon as she examined a dripping wet yellow blouse. "The color has run. How do you think my costumers will react when you've ruined their clothing?"
"I think your costumers will be happy their clothing is clean," Sybil said, shaking her head at the woman's foolishness. "And the yellow on that blouse is still bright."
OOOOOOOOOOO
It was only a matter of time before the tense atmosphere in the flat affected Tom as well. "What do you think you're doing, putting your teacup in the sink like that?" Sybil said one evening, shouting the words at him even though he stood right next to her.
"It's how I've always put it in the sink," Tom said, shouting just as loudly.
"Well, it's the wrong way to do it," Sybil said, shaking her head violently. "The teacups go here," she pointed to the little pile of teacups she'd stacked up in the sink. "And the bowls and plates go there." She pointed to where he'd just put his teacup.
With that, she began scrubbing the dishes with extra vigor, trying to exert all her anger.
After a few moments she sighed. "Tom," she said, hoping her voice sounded as sorry as she felt. To her relief, she heard his feet return to the kitchen. "I'm sorry. Things are so tense in this flat that I seem to be cross all the time…I hate it. And it's certainly not helping my relationship with your mother, either."
"I know," Tom said with a sigh. "But it cannot be helped, mo ghra. And you're a good nurse to insist on it." He placed his arms around her, letting Sybil feel his love from all sides.
"Thank you," she said, turning to face him and enjoying the way his eyes stared into her soul. "What does 'mo ghra' mean? I've never heard it before."
Tom's eyes lit up and a huge grin spread across his face. "Oh, it's the native Irish language, Gaelic. Some of the reporters at the Irish Times speak it, as well as a few of the railroad workers I've been interviewing for my next article. We're hoping for Irish to be the official language someday." His voice exploded with passion, just as it always did when he spoke of Ireland and independence.
"Will you teach some to me?" Sybil said, eager to share in more of his passion.
"Of course," Tom said, in the same passionate voice. "'Mo ghra' means 'my love." She felt his breath on her cheek as he spoke, suddenly realizing how close their bodies were. And his words made her tingle as never before.
"Mo ghra," she said back to him, hoping she pronounced it correctly.
They pressed their lips together at the same time, and the tense atmosphere from all week was finally released. Everything exploded more intensely than ever. They kept kissing over and over each one longer than the last, even allowing their tongues to discover the inside of their mouths. She felt his warm hands move up and down her back, encouraging the kisses to continue as she clung to Tom as tightly as she could.
Finally, they withdrew with a sigh. "Mam is still in the next room," Tom said.
Sybil nodded, wondering how she'd momentarily forgotten that. "How can we wait three months to get married, Tom?"
His face turned from the happy passion to frustration. "I don't know."
"And it's not just because of that," she said although wishing they could do more than kissing was certainly an issue. "I just watched Mama almost die last month, Tom. I watched Lavinia die. Your mother could have died. It's clear to me that no one knows how long they'll live. What if… something happens to one of us before we're able to marry?"
Tom grasped her arms tightly again, with his hands twitching subconsciously. "Don't think like that, Sybil," he said firmly. "We will get married. We will persevere, remember?"
Sybil tried to believe his words, just as she had in the past. But it wasn't as easy this time and given how his hands shock a bit as he spoke, Tom struggled with this worry, too. Still, she sighed. Hopefully things would improve when Mrs. Branson recovered completely.
"I need to finish the dishes." She pointed to the sink, still full of bowls, plates, and teacups.
OOOOOOOOO
Eventually, they were finally able to leave the flat. Mrs. Branson had been well for a while, and it brought Sybil so much joy to feel her skin at a normal temperature and hear her clear voice. Mrs. Branson was clearly happy to leave as well, especially as they were going to St. Paul's today.
"Just to be in the Lord's house," Mrs. Branson said as they walked. "The organ music, the altar, and most importantly, the Eucharist." She looked up at the sky for a moment. "Thank you, Jesus."
"It's so nice to see that you've recovered, Mam," Tom said, the relief in his voice obvious.
"Thank you, son," Mrs. Branson said, turning to look at her son in the eye. But to Sybil's delight, she nodded in her direction as well. "And it's such a wonderful day for a walk," the older woman continued, as if she couldn't stop talking. Sybil was beginning to think that was what this woman did when she was especially happy. "The good Lord is smiling on us today."
Sybil certainly hoped that was the case, especially as she had decided that she and Tom should speak to the priest again today. "After Mass, you and I need to talk to Father Hayes again about our wedding," she said softly, as Mrs. Branson chattered on about what she would see in church. "I mean it, Tom. With what just happened to your mother, and Mama and Lavinia…It's so clear that life can be short, and I can't waste my time with you. I cannot wait three months."
Tom didn't answer for several moments, but just squeezed her hand and seemed to be studying his mother as she spoke about the stained-glass window they would soon see at the church. "I get what you're saying, Sybil. You know how long I've waited to marry you seeing Mam ill…it shocked me in a lot of ways. But Father Hayes already told us a firm 'no," he said, grumbling.
His entire body seemed to tense as he remembered Father Hayes reaction to their engagement, and Sybil remembered a difference between her and Tom. They were both stubborn and had fiery tempers, but Tom tended to hold his anger longer than she did.
Caressing his arm gently in attempt to comfort and calm him, Sybil said, "I know, but we accepted his response too easily. Papa would have never given us his blessing or any money if we accepted his first answer. We both knew we'd have to fight for our relationship, but sometimes I think we underestimated how hard we'd have to fight…'mo ghra," she said, loving how Tom's eyes lit up when she used the Irish endearment.
"When did you become the one who told me to fight for our relationship?" Tom chuckled, looking at Sybil with awe in a way that warmed her from head to toe. "I remember a time a year ago when I told you that 'it all came down to whether you loved me or not, and the rest is just details.' It seems I've forgotten that."
"Then we'll both be here to remind the other when we forget," Sybil said as they approached the church.
"Absolutely, mo ghra," Tom said, still looking at her with awe. His expression caused her to feel almost ten feet tall. No mere priest could defeat them.
OOOOOOOOOOOO
The Latin felt a bit more familiar this week, and Sybil enjoyed the Mass, especially as she still felt ten feet tall.
Afterwards, Tom took her hand and together, they marched towards Father Hayes. "We'd like to speak to you about getting married again." Sybil said firmly, looking directly into the priest's green eyes.
"In three weeks," Tom said just as firmly, before Father Hayes could say anything else.
Father Hayes had begun shaking his head as soon as Sybil had spoken. "I've already informed you that I won't be able to perform such a wedding. Please see yourselves out."
Planting her feet securely on the floor, Sybil shook her head. "No. In the last month, I've watched my mother almost die and my fiancé's mother almost die. I've watched a close family friend perish. I've become all too aware how fragile life can be, and I cannot wait to marry the man I love any longer."
Folding his arms across his chest, Father Hayes shook his head again, but Sybil continued.
"I've shared all my deepest secrets and hopes with Tom. I trust him more than anyone I know, and I love his passion for Irish independence." He squeezed her hand as she said, "I know my life will be different here, but it's exactly what I want, and Tom is the only man for me."
"And I've shared just as many hopes with Sybil," Tom said. "I don't know anyone more courageous or more selfless than she is. She's the only woman for me, too." He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, making her feel warm and another ten feet tall.
Father Hayes sighed. "That may be what you think now, but it won't last. There are too many differences."
"You see the differences," Tom said, his voice becoming louder and his face exploding with passion that made Sybil's heart race. "We don't, and neither does God."
"Tom has taught me a lot about Ireland and I'm learning more about it all the time," Sybil said, her own voice perhaps becoming louder. "It's a country of hard – working people that I admire. I know how to make Irish stew and fried fish already. You are the athar of this eaglais. Tom has two deirfiurs." She hoped she pronounced the gaelic words for Father, church, and sisters correctly; she'd only learned them yesterday. "I'm certain I'll learn more soon."
Father Hayes eyebrows rose as she spoke those words. But then he shook his head. "But you're still not Catholic."
"But we could marry in this back room, instead of in the sanctuary," Tom said, obviously remembering what Father Conrad had told them. Sybil squeezed his hand in thanks.
"But how could Sybil promise to take you as her husband by the rite of our holy mother church if she isn't a member of our church?" Father Hayes said, his eyes staring hard into both hers and Tom's.
Sybil stared back into his, just as hard. "I appreciate the Catholic Church, because it is a part of Tom, and I can promise anything that will allow me to marry the man I love." The Catholic Church would also not force her to obey a man just because he was her husband, but she didn't say that now.
Pausing, Father Hayes looked off into the distance, as if he were thinking for several moments. Excitement danced inside Sybil, as she wondered if he would finally agree. Tom began to grin as well. "Would you agree to raise any children Catholic?" the priest finally asked, staring straight at Sybil this time.
Last week, that question surprised her, and Sybil was a bit offended by Tom's automatic answer. But today, she was prepared. "Yes," she said. "If that's what it takes to marry Tom."
Father Hayes looked from Sybil to Tom and back to Sybil again for several moments. "Well, I suppose that's acceptable, then."
Sybil and Tom jumped into each other's arms and squeezed each other with all their might. "Thank you, Father, no Athar Hayes," they said at the same time.
OOOOOOOOOOO
Sybil felt as if she were floating as she came out of the priest's office, and Tom's grin spread all over his face. "Father Hayes has agreed to marry us," Tom said to his entire family, most who were still talking amongst themselves in the pews.
Complete silence filled the church as Tom's family stared at them for several moments, but Sybil still felt ten feet tall, remembering Tom's awe and passionate defense of her.
Finally, Tom's one of Tom's uncles shook his head and said, "I won't listen to this nonsense," and left. Sybil's heart sunk, but she was relatively certain he was the one who'd lost his son in the Easter Rising. Perhaps it was unrealistic to expect more of him.
The rest of the family watched him leave and then turned back to Sybil and Tom, still obviously uncertain what to say. Finally, Sheena looked at Sybil and said, "I hear you helped save my mother's life." Then she shifted Jimmy to her other hip so she could offer Sybil her hand.
She was also the person who allowed Mrs. Branson to become ill in the first place, but Sybil didn't want to mention that if Sheena didn't. Instead, she accepted the other young woman's hand gladly, her insides dancing with excitement.
"I still have the wedding dress Brigid and I wore, if you would like to see it. It definitely needs some mending, but if you are looking for something to wear…"
"I'm certain Sybil would prefer a much fancier dress than old thing" Mrs. Branson said, a bit sarcastically.
Sybil sighed. They were getting along better now, but apparently, Mrs. Branson wasn't completely over her previous assumptions of Sybil. Nevertheless, she smiled at Sheena and said, "I would love to see the dress." Then she turned her attention to Jimmy. "Hi. I'm going to be your Aunt," she said, shaking his tiny hand.
"Great," Sheena said. "I can bring it over to Mam's sometime next week. Mam, you'd love to spend extra time with Jimmy while Sybil and I examine the wedding dress and mend clothes, wouldn't you?"
Mrs. Branson smiled at her daughter and her grandson. "Of course."
"Thank you, Sheena," Tom said with a nod, the gratitude in his voice clear.
With that, everyone exited St. Paul's.
OOOOOOOOOO
With their wedding day at St. Paul's finally confirmed, Sybil and Tom eagerly set to work planning.
Tom searched for a flat the two of them could rent after the wedding when he wasn't working at the Irish Times. He eventually found a nice, four bedroom place, about half a mile from the newspaper.
In between assisting Mrs. Branson with laundry, cooking, and dishes, Sybil wrote and mailed invitations to everyone in their families, carefully explaining that their wedding would take place in the back of the church instead of the main sanctuary. She knew it wasn't what anyone expected, but at least they would be told beforehand.
She giggled a bit as she wrote the invitation to Downton, thinking how many times her own vision of her wedding had changed in the past couple of years. When she was eighteen, Sybil had pictured herself marrying a young lord, wearing a fancy dress, with Papa escorting her to her groom. When she'd first accepted Tom's proposal, they'd decided to elope and planned to wear no special clothing with none of their families present. As they arrived in Ireland, Sybil then pictured a nice, Catholic wedding with Tom's family present, and hopefully hers as well.
Now, Sybil knew she would marry Tom with Catholic vows but without the full ceremony in the back of St. Paul's. She would wear a simple dress that was special because both Brigid and Sheena had worn it to their weddings. And she had no idea how many of their family members would attend.
But those details weren't important, in the end. Marrying Tom was what mattered.
OOOOOOOOOO
Sheena arrived at Mrs. Branson's flat a few days later, with a cheerful smile. On one hand, she held her son, who was currently chewing his mother's blouse. On the other hand, she held a basket of sewing materials. On her arm draped a few different pieces of clothing. "H, Sybil," she said. "I've brought some things I need to sew for Jimmy, too. I thought we could do them at the same time."
Sybil nodded brightly, wondering if this woman was truly extending her friendship. "Come inside."
"Hi, Sheena," Mrs. Branson said, rinsing out a pair of trousers. "Oh, Jimmy!" she said, her eyes lighting up as she reached for her grandson. "Come to Grandma!"
Jimmy looked at his grandmother but continued to chew on his mother's blouse. "I think he's hungry, Mam."
"Does he eat bread yet?" Mrs. Branson asked, drying her wet hands on her own clothing. "Grandma has some nice bread for you, Jimmy." She picked up the boy and handed him a small piece of the bread they'd baked this morning.
Jimmy shoved the entire piece in his mouth, and all three adults laughed.
"Here's the wedding dress, Sybil," Sheena said, still smiling. She pulled the largest piece of clothing off her arm. It was a white, ankle length dress made of cotton. It had short sleeves, and wide neck that Sybil knew Tom would love. But it was plain. There were no flowers, lace, or tiny pearls sewed into the fabric, as had been for Sybil's coming out gown.
It was real. It was perfect. "I love it, Sheena," Sybil said holding the dress to her chest.
Sheena's eyes met Sybil's as her smile widened. "Great. It needs some mending both here," Sheena pointed to a small tear in one of the sleeves, "and here," she pointed to the back, where it was missing a couple of buttons. "You should probably try it on, as well, in case you need to adjust the length. You're a bit shorter than Brigid and I."
Nodding, Sybil bounced into her bedroom to try on her wedding dress. She loved the sound of that. A few moments later she admired herself, thinking how well it fit her new life in Ireland and her current expectations for her wedding. "What do you think?" she said almost tripping as she bounced out of the room to see Sheena.
Sheena smiled as she examined Sybil in the dress. "The sleeves fit nicely, as does the chest. But I was right," she pointed to the floor where Sybil had almost tripped on the dress. "It's a bit too long. You'll need to hem it a bit." She paused and studied Sybil's face for a moment. "You do know how to do that, right?"
"I know how to sew," Sybil said firmly. All her family knew the basics of sewing, although Mama was the best at it, as everyone admired her embroidery. But hemming a dress couldn't be that different than that, could it?"
OOOOOOOOO
Discretely watching Sheena as the other woman carefully measured fabric for her son's clothing, Sybil realized it may not be exactly the same at all. What if she ruined this wonderful, special dress as she tried to hem it?
Forcing the doubts aside, Sybil held the cotton fabric carefully and measured, as Sheena said, "I think you need to hem it about an inch and a half."
OOOOOOOOOO
A half hour later, Sybil decided she finally had the handle of the correct way to hem a dress.
From the kitchen, they heard Jimmy and Mrs. Branson giggling. "Jimmy sounds as if he's having fun," Sybil said.
"Yes," Sheena said with a nod. "I hope Mam doesn't give him too much bread, though. He's already growing so fast, and I can barely keep up with making and mending clothes for him."
"At least that means he's healthy," Sybil said softly, remembering what Tom had told her about the last two 'Jimmys' in their family. Pausing she looked down at her stitches and realized she was not following a straight line. She quickly corrected herself and continued sewing.
"Yes, you're right," Sheena said, as if she knew exactly what Sybil meant.
"As a nurse, it's so important for me to make certain everyone is healthy, so it's nice to see." She paused and took a moment to appreciate how Mrs. Branson healthy giggle and saying "peek -a – boo!" "That's why I'm looking forward to finding a nursing position again."
Shenna stopped her sewing as she stared at Sybil for a moment. "You're still pursuing that?"
Bristling, Sybil put her sewing aside. She'd thought Sheena was someone who actually supported her. "Of course, I am. It's always been my plan to get a nursing position in Ireland, either at hospital or in a private doctor's practice." Her hands flew in the air again, as they often did when she became cross, and her voice became louder. "Even your mother has offered to give me a recommendation, since I nursed her when she had the flu."
Sheena shrugged. "Yes, I've heard about that, and you know how much I appreciate you nursing my mother when she was ill. But I don't see how you'll have time for a job like that once you're married. I certainly don't, between all the cooking, cleaning, sewing, mending, and caring for Jimmy."
A hollow feeling settled in Sybil's stomach as she thought about what Shenna had just said. It was something she'd wondered about subconsciously while she was taking care of all Mrs. Branson's chores as the woman was ill. But she'd brushed it aside then, and now Sybil brushed it aside again. "I like to keep busy," Sybil said firmly. "Besides, it will be different for me. I won't have as much laundry as your mother does or a baby to care for."
"So, you don't want to have children?" Sheena said, her mouth dropping in shock and staring at Sybil in horror.
"Oh, of course I do," Sybil said, remembering the manner she'd already seen Tom with his nieces and nephews and what a great father he will be to their children. "But those kinds of things don't occur right away, and I can work until then."
Sheena picked up her sewing with a shrug. "If you say so."
"I do say so," Sybil said, returning to her own sewing. She had adjusted her expectations for her wedding, but she refused to do the same for being a nurse again. It was too important.
I'm thinking of bumping this story to "M" after the wedding (although I don't know whether that will be chapter four or five). My "M – rated stories are a bit tamer than some on this site, but still, what would you guys think of that?