May 1925

It had been so careless of her to leave the photograph lying on her dressing table. She hadn't even been looking at the photograph; it had been stuffed in an old calendar book that she had rummaged through this morning and, leaving in a hurry, she had forgotten to put in back in the book. And what were the odds that her mother, who rarely set foot in Mary's bedroom, would on that day of all days decide to return a pair gloves leaving them on the dressing table.

Her mother must have been watching for her because as Mary parked her small truck in front of the house one of the iron-studded doors opened and Cora hurriedly came out onto the gravel drive. "We need to talk" she said curtly as Mary stepped out of the truck.

"I need to take a bath and change clothes. I must smell of hay and-"

"We'll talk now Mary." There was no disguising the anger in Cora's voice. "I want to talk about this" she said as she held out the year old photograph of Sybbie.

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It was late but Mary couldn't sleep. Finally wrapping her silk dressing gown around her she headed down the staircase. Her silk-slippered feet made no sounds on the plush carpet as she walked across the lighted grand salon to the libary.

Instead of turning on one of the library's lamps, she left the door open and the light from the grand salon cast a pale swath across that end of the room. It was enough light for her to find the drinks tray. In the dimly lit room, which she thought matched her mood, she poured a glass of brandy and took a deep sip before sitting in the lounge chair. Leaning back she rested her head on the back of the chair.

How could you do this Mary? How could you see my granddaughter all these years and never tell me?

She'd tell Tom first thing about Mama wanting to see Sybbie and would leave it up to him whether or not he'd meet her mother.

He won't come to the house. He won't come to the place where Sybil died. And he won't see Papa.

If Tom agreed she'd have Mama meet them in the garden after lunch. Mary took another sip of her brandy and let the warm liquid slide down her throat. Mary wouldn't ask Mama to have lunch with them for that was her time with Tom and she had so much to talk to him about. Was that being selfish of her? Mary took another sip of brandy. She didn't care.

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The mist that had engulfed Liverpool quickly disappeared as the train left the city and sped eastward away from the Irish Sea but it wasn't until they left Manchester, its tall industrial chimneys filling the air with smoke, that the gray sky became a light blue and the scenery became more rural. A few puffy clouds cast shadows here and there on newly plowed fields or pastures green with spring grass and dotted with grazing sheep. Tom had intended to read the morning newspaper but it lay folded on the seat beside him; instead he passed the time looking out the window at the Yorkshire countryside streaming by. The gently rolling hills and stone walls that separated green fields often filled with grazing sheep reminded him how much this countryside resembled Ireland.

On this fine spring morning the world outside his window looked fresh and clean and draped in the colors of spring; it was quite a contrast to the brownness of Liverpool. His thoughts turned to those long ago days in Downton when he drove down country lanes dappled in sunshine filtering through banks of trees, of spending his half-days off sitting in the shade of a tall oak reading a book, of sitting by one of the ponds enjoying the sunshine and eating his packed lunch. It wasn't long before his musings of Downton turned to her. The blue of her eyes were as beautiful as the sky on a lovely spring day, her skin as soft as down and always faintly smelling of the scent of sweet lilacs, her smile as dazzling as a field awash in the pinks and purples of flowering azaleas. Her smile … in his dreams and thoughts he always saw her smiling and her smiles had never been more radiant than six years ago today when she had become his wife.

In looked down at his daughter who was nestled beside him, her head resting against his side, her eyes closed as the gentle swaying of the train had prodded her to sleep. Most would think the anniversary of the day Sybil died would be the worst for him but that day had given him this precious gift, his daughter. While those first years of Sybbie's young life, when she had no concept of death or birth, that day had been more about Sybil's death but as Sybbie had aged it had become more of a celebration of Sybbie's life. So in many ways this day, his wedding anniversary, was the hardest of the year for Tom because he was reminded how the hopes and dreams of that day, the promises of love, had been shattered. He leaned his head and kissed the top of Sybbie's head.

Xxxxxxx

"So what do you think?" Mary turned her head to look at her brother-in-law who was staring straight ahead off into the distance. Instead of repeating herself she stared intently at him. There had been something different about Tom today, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. It wasn't about her mother for he had calmly accepted that; no there was something else that was bothering him.

He had been quiet, pensive even, at the graveyard and Maeve had led her and Sybbie away on a walk giving him some time alone at Sybil's grave. When they had returned almost thirty minutes later his broad smile and outstretched arms that beckoned his daughter couldn't quite mask his tear stained deep blue eyes. Kneeling down, he had hugged Sybbie tightly and kissed the top of her head before finally looking up at Mary and asking "So what lunch plans do you have for today?"

During lunch he had been a bit quiet but that might have been because, much to Mary's amusement, Sybbie had been quite chatty and careened from one subject to another, some rather mundane (why don't we have sandwiches like this at home Daddy?) and some rather unexpected such as looking overhead at a passing cloud and asking Aunt Mary what do you think it would be like riding on a cloud? As she listened to her niece prattle away in her pleasing lightly Irish accented voice Mary realized Sybbie had left all vestiges of the toddler years and was now a little girl.

"She's quite a bundle of energy" Mary commented as Sybbie hopped and jumped and skipped towards the old wooden fence that separated this field and the one beyond where ducks lazily glided across a pond.

Looking at his daughter Tom chuckled. "Sometimes I get tired just watching her move."

"And quite a conversationalist too" Mary laughed.

"Aye she is. My Ma says I was always a talker and I don't imagine Sybil was shy so I guess Sybbie just comes by it naturally. Certainly keeps me on my toes."

Tom leaned back, propping himself on his elbows, his face tilted upward as if soaking in the sun's rays. "It's a treat being out in the fresh air and sunshine. I remember when I first came to Downton I wasn't sure I'd get use to the open spaces and the quietness but now I often find myself longing for those afternoons I'd find some quiet place on the estate to eat my lunch or read a book."

Mary chuckled. "I guess I never really appreciated the estate until I took over running it. I used to dream about living like Aunt Rosamund in a grand house in London but now I find when I go to London after a day or two I'm ready to come back here."

"So how are things going here these days?" he asked and like that the conversation turned to Mary's trials and tribulations running Downtown.

He had listened while she talked about estate matters and as always provided pithy comments and suggestions. She valued his insights as he was the only person who truly listened to her in regards to the estate. Papa, she had learned, had no business acumen and if Downton was to be a viable concern in the coming years it was truly up to her. From estate matters she had veered the conversation into falling in love again but as she had talked about Tony, Charles Blake, and Henry, she sensed Tom drifting.

"Tom?"

He looked at her. "What?"

"Have you even been listening to me?"

He wouldn't admit that he had only been half listening, not really concentrating on what she was saying.

"It's hardly my area of expertise Mary." That sounded like a safe thing for him to say.

"I'm sorry if I'm boring you but I just have no one to talk to Tom."

He had started to say you're in a house full of people but then remembered that Sybil had also complained of having no one to talk to and so he remained silent letting Mary rattle on.

"I can barely talk to Papa about the estate let alone any private matters and Mama … well I never have confided in Mama."

"And Edith …" Mary snorted. "Never could talk to her. Still fluttering back and forth to London for that magazine. Oh! Guess I should say that Gregson chap is dead and he left her the magazine."

Mary couldn't read the look on Tom's face and she looked away remembering he had once been a journalist. She quickly moved on "she hadn't seen him in over a year but when she got word of his death she moped around as if she was the only person to ever lose someone. Now she's taken in that child from the Drewes and is so consumed with her. I can't imagine how she'll be if she ever becomes a mother. But then again it's Edith so I doubt-"

This time Tom's stare caught her cold.

"Maybe we should get to the garden" she said as she began packing up the remains of their luncheon.

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Tom, standing just inside the open iron gate built into one of the stone archways, looked out across the Monks Garden. He thought this walled garden with its manicured lawn and elaborately trimmed yew bushes was another sign of the waste of the aristocracy as the family rarely visited it. Even the annual garden party hadn't been held within these stone walls but rather in the broad lawn in front of the house. When he had lived here as the chauffeur he had occasionally come here despite it being off limits to the servants. Walking around the perfectly manicured lawn he'd envision those long ago monks who had lived here walking along these same paths within these stone walls contemplating life and the hereafter or whatever it was that monks contemplated. He, however, contemplated her.

"Daddy look!" Sybbie exclaimed. Spotting the yew bushes that had been formed into arched tunnels she made a mad dash for the nearest one quickly disappearing inside. Popping out of the other end she yelled at her father "come catch me" before disappearing once again. The doting father willingly obliged and the two of them played a game of cat and mouse with Sybbie's shrieks of laughter shattering the garden's silence. They played until Tom, hiding just outside one of the openings, quickly snatched her and held her up in the air, her hardy laugh ringing throughout the garden.

But he hadn't come here to this garden to play chase with his beloved daughter. Still holding his daughter in his arms Tom looked at Cora sitting on a wooden bench placed between two of the yew arches. He took a deep breath as she rose and walked towards him.

Her smile was wide and seemingly sincere as her hand reached out to touch his arm. "It's good to see you Tom."

"My la-" he began before correctly himself. "Cora."

"And this" Cora said, her face beaming, "this must be Sybbie."

Tom set Sybbie down and knelt beside her. His voice was gentle betraying none of the emotions he felt at seeing his mother-in-law. "Love remember I said you'd meet your Grandma Cora today."

Sybbie vigorously nodded her head as she looked at Cora. "You're my mummy's mum" she proclaimed to Cora.

"Yes I am" Cora responded as she leaned over so that her face was only inches from her granddaughter's. She playfully ran her hand down one side of Sybbie's head. "When she was your age she liked to play here too."

"Did you chase her around the bushes?"

"I did" Cora nodded her head. "And she was hard to catch just like you were."

"Sybbie" Tom interrupted them "why don't you take your Grandma and sit on the bench."

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Leaving Cora and Sybbie talking and laughing with Maeve watching over them, Tom quietly exited the garden for there was another place he wanted to see on this visit. In just a matter of minutes he was standing in front of the garage surveying the sight as critically as if contemplating buying it.

"There's been no changes to it." He turned in surprise for he hadn't heard Mary's footsteps on the gravel drive.

"At least not on the outside" Mary smiled. "I have no idea what Pratt has done with the inside."

One of the garage doors was open and she nodded towards the empty space. "It's not here now, as I told you Papa's in York, but last year Papa bought a Sunbeam limousine.

Tom raised his brow. Mary chuckled "he does like his motor cars."

They stepped through the open garage door. "You know I don't think I've ever been in here before" Mary said as she looked around. "Pratt either brings the truck up to the house or leaves it out in the courtyard for me."

The garage was neat and clean. The tools that Tom had hung on a pegboard on the wall looked as if they hadn't been touched since he had left. He had always kept spare parts neatly boxed on the work bench and oil cans and spare tires stacked against the far wall but the work bench was empty and there were no oil cans or tires in sight. Tom wondered if Pratt even did any work on the motor cars. As if reading his thoughts Mary said "Judging by the bills he gives me unlike you Pratt doesn't do much of the maintenance himself."

Tom chuckled. "Maybe you should remind your father you didn't have such bills when I was the chauffeur."

Mary snickered. "He'd probably respond that at least Pratt isn't stealing one of his daughters."

"And can he be sure of that?"

"Oh please Tom. Pratt must be close to 70 and dull as dishwater!"

"So not one of your merry men vying for your attention?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "I think good morning my lady is the longest sentence I've heard him say."

"I probably didn't say much more to you either."

Mary's eyes widened. "No I guess you didn't." She looked around the almost bare room as if trying to find something of interest. "I guess I wasn't very pleasant to you back then" she finally said.

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "You saw me only as the chauffeur not as a person."

"But it wasn't like that for Sybil was it?" She turned to face Tom.

The smile disappeared from Tom's face as he seemed to search the garage. Looking around he didn't see the emptiness; he saw the wall rack neatly filled with his tools, the window with a couple of pictures of his family tucked into its metal frames, the 1911 Renault all shiny and sparkling taking up half the floor space, and Sybil …

"It was here" he began quietly as he took a few steps across the garage floor "where she accepted my proposal and we first kissed." He looked back at the doorway. "I can still see her as she looked that night…"

His description of her sister that night was so vivid Mary looked towards the doorway as if expecting Sybil to be standing there.

"We have our memories Mary. You of Matthew. Me of Sybil. We were lucky to have such loves. Some people might never know the kind of love we had. If you're ready to love again … it won't be as it was with Matthew … but that doesn't mean it's any less."

"So you were listening to me earlier."

"Of course Mary I was listening."

He walked over to her and put his arm around her. "It isn't up to me whether this one or that one is the right one for you or even if it's the right time for you love again. That has to be up to you and no one else. You may never feel the kind of love you had with Matthew but that doesn't mean it isn't love or that you can't be happy."

Mary took a deep breath. "But you're not ready to love again."

He shook his head. "Just as love is different for everyone so too is grief."

Each of them lost in their own thoughts neither said anything for a couple of minutes.

He took a few steps away from her, his back towards her as he ran his hand along the work bench. "I had a reason for coming to the garage today. It holds so many memories for me and I wanted to see it one last time." He turned to face her "I'm moving back to Ireland."

"What?" his statement taking her by surprise.

"My mother is ill and she won't come to live with me in Liverpool." He spread his arms and raised his face as if looking at heaven and imitating a female with a heavy Irish accent said "I didn't live through the rising and the rebellion to finally see an Irish Free State only to die in England."

Mary laughed at what she assumed was his imitation of his mother. "Sorry Tom I didn't mean-"

Tom waved his hand. "My mother can be quite dramatic. I don't really think her illness is that serious but she's alone now with all of us gone."

"What about your business?"

"It's in good hands with Kiernan and to be honest we're not quite seeing eye to eye on where to go from here. The garage was a refuge for me after Sybil died and I'm thankful for him offering it to me but I've always wanted to do something more."

He leaned against the work bench. "About three months ago I was walking home and I saw this motor car that had trouble and I stopped to help. The man driving had just bought the thing a month before and wasn't too pleased with it and we began talking about various kinds of motor cars and well" he looked at her and smiled. "Funny thing is it turns out his brother-in-law owns a local Liverpool newspaper and offered me a job writing a bimonthly column on motor cars."

"That's wonderful Tom that you're back to writing again."

"Aye. He wanted to broaden the appeal of the newspaper so at his request I've written a few articles of particular interest to the Irish living in Liverpool."

"But now that you're writing why go back to Ireland especially if you're mother isn't really ill?"

"I don't know. Call it homesick. I want my daughter to be raised in Ireland. I just need a change."

"But what are you going to do for a living?"

"I'm still going to write for the Liverpool newspaper. I've used some of my writings to apply for jobs with newspapers in Dublin and I have a couple of interviews lined up."

"Well that's wonderful news Tom you being a journalist again." Mary was genuinely happy for him.

"Even if I don't get one of those jobs I'll keep trying and I can always work in another garage. With the money from your Grandmother I don't have to worry about Sybbie and we'll live with my mother for until I get something permanent."

He looked at. "I'm feeling good about making the changes … it's a new start but this time on my own terms. And who knows maybe there's some Irish lass that …" he shrugged.

He moved towards the doorway and Mary followed. On the gravel courtyard in front of the garage he stopped and turned around to look at the brick building that had once been part of the stables and that had been a part of his life for so many years. He stood silently looking at the garage and Mary wondered what he was thinking.

"I just wanted one last look at the place" he said softly as he stood looking at the garage. Then, blinking his eyes, he saw Sybil, looking as lovely as ever in a dark blue skirt and purple blouse, standing at the open garage door. Giving a slight nod of her head, she smiled at him.

xxxxxx

Clutching her stuffed teddy bear, a present from her Grandma Cora, in one hand, Sybbie's other hand took hold of Maeve as they walked into the railway station leaving Tom and Mary to alone.

There hadn't room in Mary's truck for Cora to come to the railway station with them so they had said their good-byes in the garden. Cora's voice quivered and tears had filled her eyes as she hugged Sybbie. Just as warmly she had hugged Tom and thanked him for bringing Sybbie to see her.

I'm sorry for everything that happened Tom.

It was a long time ago he had replied.

Her eyes full of hope she'd said please come back.

Cold and heartless, Mary knew that most everyone thought that of her and maybe for too long she had prided herself on not showing her emotions. Yet as she looked at Tom she had a hard time keeping her composure.

"Will you be back next year?" her voice was almost a whisper.

Tom shrugged slightly and ran his hand through his hair. "I'll try but being in Ireland in may not be so easy to do."

Mary nodded her head. "I truly hope everything works out for you in your move back to Ireland."

"I feel it's the right time and the right decision. A part of my heart will always be here." He looked away from her and towards Maeve and Sybbie who were standing on the station platform. "Will you sometimes leave some flowers on her grave for me?"

Mary reached out and grabbed Tom's hand. "Of course Tom."

He leaned in and kissed her cheek and she hugged him. "I may not be back next year but I will be back sometime."

"I'll look forward to seeing you again Tom."

He started towards the station but after three or four steps he stopped and turned around towards her. "You have a good strong mind and heart Mary. Make your own decisions … only you know what's best for you."