Politics and Birthdays

Sybil stirred the lamb stew again one evening, trying not to allow any stray hairs land in the food. Then she smiled as the meaty aroma filling her nostrils. She knew her food wasn't as good as Mrs. Patmore's, or even her mother – in – laws, but Tom had told her several times it was more than adequate. But what made so worthwhile was that her own hands created these meals.

Ireland truly had given Sybil a lot. A life with Tom and the opportunity to perform real, hard work daily. Perhaps things in this country would truly succeed, just they way her husband wished. A warm feeling rose in her chest at that thought.

The feeling disappeared as soon as Tom arrived with a scowl on his face, slamming the door behind him. "They've outlawed the Dail!" he shouted. "I don't really know what the British expect to happen just because they've decided our parliament is 'illegal, though," he said his face wrinkling even more with the scowl. "All the members have already proven they'll do anything for our republic."

For the first time since Tom started speaking of the Irish Revolution, Sybil wasn't annoyed by the way he spoke about the British. Instead, hot righteous anger boiled through her. "That's ridiculous!" she said, shouting right along with Tom. "There is no reason why Ireland cannot have its own parliament if the people wish it."

Memories of people who told Sybil she couldn't do perfectly reasonable things floated through her mind, as she scooped the stew into two bowls.

The British government said she couldn't vote, just because she was a woman. Papa said she couldn't attend a vote count. Both her parents said she couldn't become a nurse, even though Dr. Clarkson desperately needed help because of the war. Then Dr. Clarkson refused to listen to Sybil about the blind man, Lt. Courtenay who wished to stay at the Downton hospital And naturally, Papa threw a tantrum when Sybil announced she would marry Tom.

"I'm so tired of this, Tom," she said, as they both sat down to eat. "No one allows people to live their own lives. This is the twentieth century, and people should understand the modern world."

Tom nodded, his hazel eyes meeting hers from across the table with intensity. "Well, I understand perfectly, and as I said, they won't accept the British ruling. Countess Markiewicz has already been to prison once for supporting Irish Independence, and the other members are just as committed."

Sybil nodded; her eyes unable to look away from his. "I know they will succeed, then," remembering how many things people had eventually accepted because she kept fighting for them.

"I've been asked to cover the response to this for the Irish Times," Tom said, smiling slowly for the first time that night. "I'm going to interview a lot of different people on what they think about this and what we can do about it. I might even be able to go to the Dail myself this time."

Sybil reached across the table to squeeze Tom's hand, which felt wonderfully warm. She was so proud of him for continuing to stand up for Irish independence. "I'm certain your article will help."

Ireland had given so much to Tom since they'd arrived, as well, Sybil thought as she ate her stew. An opportunity to show his intelligence through writing and fight for a cause he was passionate. And since Ireland deserved independence, it certainly would happen.

OOOOOOOOOOO

A week later, Sybil pulled two stray hairs from the bread dough, before stirring again. She was still certain Ireland would be truly independent sooner or later, and she loved listening to Tom discuss his latest article.

Sybil sprinkled floor on her hands and began to form the dough into a large ball. A clump of hair fell in front of her face, and she attempted to shake it out of the way. Although Sybil braided her hair to the best of her ability every morning, pieces it fell out constantly throughout the day.

Naturally, it wasn't that big of deal. She knew life in Ireland wouldn't be easy, and it was one of the reasons she belonged here. Smiling she placed the ball of dough on the baking sheet. Then she cut a cross into it, an inch and a half thick, just as her mother – in – law had taught her a few months ago. Last she shoved the bread into the oven.

As she did so, her braid flopped forward, landing in her face.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Sybil dished out two bowls of porridge for breakfast, desperately searching for stray hairs at the same time.

"Hi Sybil," Tom said from behind her, his voice sounding cheerful. Ever since he'd been assigned the article about the British government trying to outlaw the Dail and more importantly, the Irish response to that, Tom had been particularly eager to go to the news office.

She smiled, pride in her husband filling her chest, as she placed both bowls on the table. "I'm sorry if there's any of my hair in the porridge today. I attempt to pull them out, but it happens more and more often," she shook her head, wishing her cooking could be a bit better for Tom. Sybil knew she'd just have to keep trying, and she would improve.

Tom shrugged, a big smile on his face as she sat down to breakfast. "Don't worry about that, Sybil. Your porridge is still very tasty, and I can pull the hairs out if I need to do so."

Tom's compliment warmed her even more than the porridge. "Thank you," she said. Then she sighed. "I do wish my hair didn't get in the way so much," she sighed. "It's not something I expected to bother me when I first moved here. Maybe because I had so many other things to keep me anxious." Memories of Tom's Mam yelling at her for doing chores incorrectly, the terror Sybil felt when she realized she'd inadvertently given the other woman Spanish flu, and the battle she and Tom engaged in with the priest to be married flashed through her mind.

"Sometimes I wish I could cut it off," Sybil said longingly, as she brushed more stray hairs out of her face. "Maybe even go to the barber for one of those new bob styles Mary was discussing last Spring, where the hair stops at the woman's chin."

Tom studied her hair, as if picturing her with such a hairdo, and Sybil experienced a tingle of delight in his response. Then she remembered their budget and immediately felt guilty. She shouldn't be asking, or even implying, that she should spend Tom's hard – earned money on a fancy hairdo.

"I'm sorry," she said, pausing to take a bite of porridge. "My hair isn't that much of a problem. It can be annoying, but I'm certain I will learn to braid it properly eventually. We don't need to waste money on hairstyles." Perhaps Sybil hadn't adjusted to Ireland as well as she thought if she believed such extravagances were still a possibility.

"I don't think it would be such a waste," Tom said to Sybil's surprise, still studying Sybil's face. "I'm supposed to receive a bonus for my latest article, because its such an important issue, and I was thinking of giving it to you, anyway. Isn't your birthday coming up?"

Sybil's heart leaped at the prospect, and her smile grew wide. "Yes. Next week."

Tom nodded as she took another bite of porridge. "You do so much already without a fuss, Sybil. The laundry, the dishes, and the cooking. You've learned how to make bread and cook porridge all in one morning," He pointed to the oven where they could smell the aroma of the bread." And I think a nice new, modern hair style would be perfect for my modern woman."

"Oh, Tom," Sybil said, her heart melting. She loved that he understood how much being a 'modern woman' was so important to her. She leaned over the table and kissed him in thanks, his mouth tasting of porridge. "Mo ghra," she added as they withdrew, using the special endearment he'd taught her.

They finished their porridge and Sybil gave him his bread for lunch, a wide smile never leaving her face.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

The next week, Tom handed Sybil a draft of his article about the Dail after they finished dinner. Sybil thought it was great as he explained the history of the Irish parliament, even mentioning the creation of such a place in the late eighteenth century before the British government insisted everything would be done in London. Then he continued with how important the Dail was for the new Irish government today. She particularly appreciated the fact that he included a couple of female interviews.

"It's wonderful, Tom," Sybil said, her eyes gazing back and forth from his words to his face, which gleamed with pride and passion for his favorite topic. "You'll really make a difference with this."

"Thank you, mo ghra," Tom said softly, gazing directly into her eyes as well. "And as soon as I get my bonus, you can get your new hairstyle." His warm hand touched her cheek, and their lips followed afterwards.

Kisses continued as love and passion for each other mingled. Deep kisses and little kisses over and over again until there was only one conclusion for them. The bedroom.

OOOOOOOOOOO

A couple of days later, Sybil still smiled when she thought of Tom's passion for his article, even as she did the grocery shopping and picked up the mail. It was also nice that she received a letter from Mama.

She quickly put the groceries away when she arrived back at the flat and then sat down to read her letter. She also found another one of Mama's fancy silk handkerchiefs with her married name embroidered on it inside the envelope. A part of Sybil wanted to roll her eyes at Mama shoving her fancy lifestyle in Sybil's face. Especially with the British government's additude about the Dail.

But Sybil reminded herself of how sentimental Mama always was. To her mother, gifts weren't symbols of status, they were tokens of love, proven by how upset she was that Sybil didn't want to take any of her jewelry with her to Ireland. And the fact that Mama had embroidered Sybil's married name was proof that she was trying to understand.

Certainly, more than Papa.

Sighing, she began to read.

Dear Sybil,

I would like to wish you a happy birthday, and I hope you accept this small gift as token of my love.

I do worry about you Sybil, especially now. We've heard that there is disagreement between the British government and the Irish over there, and there may be riots. I fear it will be more than you can handle, and I do wish you had chosen to live closer to home.

Sybil fumed as she read those words, her fists slamming on the table. "Disagreements?" Is that what Mama thought the British government outlawing the Dail was? Or is that what Papa told her, and it didn't occur to her to think perhaps the Irish had good reason to be upset? And naturally, Mama immediately worried it was too much for Sybil to handle.

Sybil shook her head, her stray hairs flying in her face. She couldn't wait to get her new hairdo when all she had to do was brush her hair.

Mama had always been incredibly overprotective of her. She worried nursing training and working for Dr. Clarkson would be too much for Sybil, too. What would Mama think of Sybil now, with her calloused hands from cleaning and her face that was often covered with coal smudges?

Or her plans to cut her hair in a modern style that would keep her hair out of her face as she performed her many chores?

But I will always be your Mama and do my best to support you, no matter what.

Love,

Mama

Sighing, Sybil folded the letter and braided her hair the best she could again. Then she opened the coalbin under the stove, preparing to clean it.

OOOOOOOOOOO

A few days later, Tom received his bonus, and Sybil walked home with a huge grin on her face in her new modern hairstyle. Her dark hair bounced and swished at her chin, making her feel lighter. It was a great way to celebrate her birthday, and she couldn't thank Tom enough for it.

A few stray hairs moved in front of her face as she cooked dinner, but as there was less of it, Sybil easily moved it behind her ears. And no dark hairs landed in the stew, even as Sybil sniffed the tasty aroma of beef, carrots, and turnips.

"Sybil," Tom said as he entered the flat.

Her heart leaped at the sound of his voice, and she turned to face him. "What do you think?" she asked as she shook her bobbed hair a bit.

Tom's face broke into a huge grin, and he rushed to embrace his wife. "I love it, Sybil." One of his hands reached up to stroke her hair, while the other held her tightly in his arms. His eyes studied her face, as if he were caressing her skin "It looks beautiful on you."

"Thank you, Tom," Sybil said, feeling her heart warm and leap at the same time. "It was a perfect birthday present." Then she sighed and reluctantly withdrew from his arms. "But we should eat the stew before it burns this time."

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Much later, when dinner was all finished, as were the dishes, Sybil and Tom entered their bedroom. Tom played with her short, loose hair while covering her neck with warm kisses. "Happy birthday," he whispered, tingling her neck even more with his breath.

Sybil giggled as she placed her hands on his chest, trying to undo the buttons of his shirt while he continued kissing her. "I love you, Tom," she said as she finally removed it, revealing his naked chest.

"I love, you, Sybil," he said, as he paused from kissing her neck. "And I want your first birthday as a married woman to be very special." He gazed deep into her eyes as he said that his eyes sparkling in the dim light.

Sybil chuckled in response; a bit confused by that comment. "You've already made it very special, with the money for my new hairstyle." She shook her hair around to demonstrate before returning her eyes to his chest.

Tom smiled and kissed her before she could do anything else. "Yes, and as I told you before, I think it looks beautiful on you. But I was thinking of something else. Something new we could do… in the bedroom."

Sybil felt herself blush as she finally understood his meaning, but excitement built up inside her as she tried to think of possibilities. "I like that idea."

"Great," Tom said as he pulled her into his arms again. This time his warm, tingling hands unfastened her dress and corset.

"You're becoming quite good at that," she said, giggling as she stepped out of her clothing completely.

"I've had great motivation," Tom said in a mixture of laughter and seriousness. Sybil felt her lips move toward his magnetically. An explosion occurred in their mouths as they tumbled onto the bed, still kissing.

Then Tom moved his lips down from her neck to her chest, to her stomach. His lips felt even warmer as they moved lower, and it felt delicious. But when he put his lips... in that perfect spot, Sybil couldn't begin to describe how wonderful it felt. She didn't know why she'd never thought of doing it this way.

"Happy birthday," he said again when he'd finally finished, and she'd come back to herself. That smug grin was on his face again, but Sybil didn't mind this time.

"That was the perfect birthday present," she said happily, even knowing it would make her Tom smugger.

I know this chapter is rather short, but I wanted to post a nice, fluffy chapter, especially as I won't be posting another chapter of this until November.