She had taken the first boat home as soon as she could. It had been a grueling two days. Anything could have happened. No, she mustn't think like that. Matthew would pull through. She smiled upon seeing him, though it was more of a grimace, trying to hide her frayed nerves. He had deep bruising around his eyes, and cuts on his face, that would leave small scars. He looks pale, almost deathly, even though he was in the clear. At least to their standards. He could be at risk of depression. He needed to be checked on regularly. And his health could still be at risk from infections, that were common in paralyzed people, but it wasn't as high a risk as if the injury had occurred higher in the thoracic. She went into 'nurse mode' just as Matthew would go into 'lawyer mode' when something was troubling him, they were both alike in that way other than their shared stubbornness, even Reggie had been the same. But he would have had the sense to tell his son, to not feel sorry for himself or he wouldn't get any better. He often told that to his patience, using it in a more sterner way with his family. Focus on what you do have. She doesn't have the strength to use her husbands words, at least right now.
She wanted to tell him the next course of action, that it'd be alright but she can't find the words. She knows not what to say to someone that is paralyzed. This was not just someone, this was her son, her independent boy, he had been since he was a small child. He preferred to do things on his own. He would have to rely on the care of others for the rest of his life. She knew this will be harder on him than anyone else.
"Mother!" He says with a smile, a little bit of joy but there is something awful behind it. She sees that he is utterly broken, both in body as he is in spirit, which was more apparent. His nostrils were flaring, holding it in. She already knows the pain that is there, that he is feeling, not just the psychical kind, what he must be thinking. That he's worthless. That his life was over.
He would need reassuring. But for now she could say nothing other than offer words of comfort.
"My boy, my darling, darling boy." She embraced him, pulling him to her, as he was too weak to sit up on his own yet, and he put his arms around her. She listened to the sound of his crying, like a helpless child, the sound nearly ripping her heart out of her chest. This is all she can do for him right now. Nothing else needs to be said.
They had told her the extent of his injury. The loss of the movement in his legs seemed to pale in comparison to the loss of his ability to father children. It was especially cruel. He had always wanted to be a father. He would have been a great father. Now all that had been ripped away from him. It is hard to explain to someone, even to a grown man. She had been thankful that Mary already had, that she had been taking such good care of him. She had become quite the nurse, but of course Mary had been modest about it, that it had been her sister. It had been partially that. She wasn't sure if Matthew would have had the will to live if he didn't have her.
Later she would learn that Matthew had tried to 'free her' from their engagement but Mary stubbornly refused to let him go. He would need that. She had been there for her son when she wasn't. There would be many days like that when they were married. A part of her felt that it wasn't right, that a young woman should settle for this life. She would have stuck by it if war hadn't taught her that tomorrow wasn't always promised. You have to live like it was your last.
It wouldn't be the last for Matthew, not for a very long time. Though she couldn't pretend that she didn't know what that would feel like to him, that death being better hadn't crossed his mind. Did she believe he was capable of hurting himself or taking his life? Of course not. He would think it but he would never act on it. He had people who loved and cared about him. A lot of wounded soldiers come home with no families, no one to care for them, loved ones who left, unable to come to terms with how they were now changed. Matthew would never change, too much. He was still her son. And he needed her now more than ever. He needed all the love and support he could get. There would be dark days ahead. She just didn't know how dark.
What he had revealed about the previous heir and that he could still be alive, she could hardly believe his demeanor. She had never seen him this bitter, when he had been in his brooding moods, but this was pure utter bitterness, directed toward the family. There had been a coldness about him that was so unlike him.
He had not wanted to get out of bed, those four of the five days he stayed with her at Crawley House or take care of himself, he refused help. What was the point? He had said to her.
Eventually Ethel had got him to. She was sweet when she wanted to be, well mostly to Matthew. She would lay out his things in the mornings, take things to him, lay out his shaving tackle, mend his shirts. Bates or Molesley would do the rest, help him get in and out of bed and with getting dressed.
The fourth day he was out of bed, in higher spirits, after Johnathan Buckley called from his old law office, offering him a job. Isobel urged him to rethink it before taking it. A sudden change could lead to a set back. She didn't tell him that of course. She dreaded to think what his life would be like without Mary. She was the only thing keeping him truly grounded.
What had been the most hard for her in that first month was when he started the first round of exercise with the nurse. The first thing was for him to practice pulling himself up in a sitting position with his arms.
It was extremely difficult to watch, as he tried to sit up in the bed. The nurse had him on his back and concentrating on throwing one arm over the other to roll on one side. It took several tries. He pushed down with his hands to raise his upper body incrementally to a shaky sitting position for the first time. His body tottered back and forth in a battle of balance. He eventually steadied. He leaned forward and planted a hand on each side to steady himself as he tried again.
He looked up and smiled when he heard her clapping along with the nurse. He seemed surprised by, and glad for, this very small thing. It was very far from small.
His recovery seems like a miracle. A year and a half after his injury, he was able to stand but not walk. It was uncertain that he ever would. Mary took him to see a specialists in Leeds, doctor Jacobson. He was optimistic that Matthew could walk eventually, though he still didn't want Matthew to get his hopes up as he predicted that Matthew wouldn't be able to walk normal again, at least without some form of assistance.
But this news was greater than any. After they were able to do an x-ray, which had been impossible during the war, as many were being used in ambulances, they were able to find that it hadn't been a complete transection but a partial fracture and there had been spinal bruising and swelling that had impeded his leg function considerably.
He could only recover as he would allow on the surface, his mind however, was what troubles her more. She had brushed it off in disbelief when Clarkson had said the words. She had doubted that he even believed his first guess. But she couldn't tell Clarkson about it. She didn't know if she could trust him about this yet, if he would want to send her son away. She wouldn't let anyone. She didn't want anyone to know. For as long as possible.
Being here, surrounded by a support system was best for him. But now things were becoming more clear.
Her son has shell shock. She can no longer deny it, after she had seen the episode in the drawing room. She had been hoping that it was nothing more than the nightmares. She had seen soldiers in the Boer war that had been inflicted with it. But he wasn't violent as some of them had been, acting out the battles in their mind. He'd just stare blankly when something reminded him of the war, or someone said something about it, or shake uncontrollably when he heard a loud noise. But not always. They were becoming unpredictable.
The night of Matthew and Mary's engagement announcement at dinner it had happened, right in front of everyone.
He had announced that the wedding would be going forward, as soon as he was well enough, and the doctor's prognoses that it was possible for him to have children, but rare. The family then had moved on to the drawing room to celebrate the news, applauding when he stood up, using the fireplace mantel.
Then there had been gunfire outside. Hunting season had begun early. That was when he began to shake. She quickly shielded him with her body as he collapsed back into his chair but the others had thought it had been from his effort to stand. It was much more than that.
He told her she was fine. As they waited for the car, there was that blank stare.
No one could know.
But what would this mean for Mary and Matthew? Perhaps it was alright for Mary to know. He should at least tell her. He tells her that he would. She did not know if he had meant it. He couldn't hide things from Mary, keep it bottled up. That could affect a marriage, stunt its growth. There were more factors than that to consider. The shell shock and the nightmares would be the least of their problems.
A little over a year, after his injury, she still had the thoughts, what risks he could still have. If he didn't exercise the muscles would began to shrink and atrophy. If that was allowed to go on to long, his legs would be permanently damaged and then he'd never be able to walk again. There were a lot of problems and health risks. Among many health risks, pneumonia stood out, a leading cause of death—along with suicide. She didn't want to think of it. Any thought of that should have long passed by now, if he had ever had thought it. She couldn't ask if he had ever thought it.
He was starting to get back to his old self. She didn't want to destroy any progress that was made. He has almost come to terms that he would need assistance for the rest of his life. That he still was and always will be, in medical terms, partially paralyzed. He had more periods of good moods and was hardly agitated anymore.
His outlook on it all lately had been a positive one. She hadn't been expecting it when he had said, "Let's work out what I can do. I can do more if I exercise properly, get my strength and muscles built back up. I'll practice on my crutches with walking. Eventually I can hopefully move on to a stick. I might be more independent but by much. I might have to rely on the wheelchair most of the time but at least I won't be in it all the time."
It could take at least another year, Isobel was predicting, to get to that goal. He was determined to cut that time in half. She urged to him to take it a little as at a time, set a pace he was comfortable with.
That's what she had thought, that he was accepting and never had anymore angry outbursts, until Mary approached her about it.
"He still has bouts where he gets irritable and angry and shouts at me. One moment he's happy. I thought that he's accepted...I don't understand him.
"No one truly does, even when he was a little boy. Reggie did but even he didn't understand him. That's the depression."
"You think he's depressed?" When Isobel gave a small nod she gave a look of disbelief, "How could I not have known?"
"That's how it is. Sometimes there is no telling. He is going to feel that way about himself but not all the time. This is another big change for him." Mary nodded and looked away from her mother in-law. "The best thing we can do for him now is not fall apart as we've always have through all of this. We need to continue being his support system and remind him that we are there for him and he's cared for and loved."