Thank you to those who left a review for the last chapter - they are greatly appreciated. This is one of those stories that I'm never quite sure until I start writing what each chapter will cover.

1942

May

Mary wanted to scream as her mother went on and on gushing about Edith and the work she was doing for the war effort. And just what was Edith doing in her war effort? Had she given up most of her land to the army? Was there an army camped on her property? Were land girls housed in her attic rooms? Why no … Edith was busy knitting socks and visiting hospitals. Mary scoffed at the notion that any soldier would relish a visit from Edith. Oh and of course holding dinner parties for visiting brass. What a sacrifice Edith was making! I'd say the sacrifice was on those attending one of your dinners.

Looking away from her mother who was still holding the letter from Edith, Mary's sight drifted towards the window. It was amazing thought Mary how varied the weather could be on this day with some years cold and dreary as if winter was still lingering while other years seemed deep in the throes of spring. Seeing the brilliant sunshine Mary thought this year was certainly in the latter category.

"Mary!" She came out of her reverie to find three pairs of eyes staring at her. The same three pair of eyes she saw every morning at breakfast and then luncheon and tea and of course dinner where the same conversations were replayed day after day; her father rambling on about nothingness; her mother fretting about the war and Isobel wondering how she could be more useful. Looking at them she wanted to scream.

It seemed a bit strange being here in the afternoon but she knew Tom wouldn't be coming here again this year so it didn't really matter when she came to the cemetery. While there were a few people out and about in the village, the church yard was still and quiet. Tilting her face upward towards the vivid blue sky she thought this year was definitely one of those glorious spring days with the air warm and hinting that summer was not that far off. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath she inhaled the sweet scent of the lilacs that filled one of her wicker baskets. She stood like that for a few moments, basking in the warm sunshine, her mind thinking of nothing but the warmth of the sun and the intoxicating aroma of the lilacs.

Opening her eyes she looked at her beloved sister's stone tomb and then her towards the other tombstones of those she held most dear. Sybil. Matthew. Granny. Why is it that I find such peace here she thought.

While the sun was also shining in Dublin it was a cool wind that blew off the chilly water of the Irish Sea but Tom and Sybbie appeared undaunted by the weather as they walked along the hardened sand, safe enough away from waves that rushed up on shore before just as quickly ebbing back into the sea, dressed in warm coats with the collars pulled up tight. It was a bit too breezy for hats but neither seemed to mind as wisps of their hair whisked around their faces.

"Your mother loved to come here" Tom said as the father and daughter paused to look out at the dark gray sea. "She loved the feel of the sand on her bare feet and to stare out over the water toward the endless sky. She'd tell me of her grand adventures going to the beach as a child when she visited her American grandmother." He put his arm around Sybbie's shoulder and gently squeezed. "And when we knew about you she'd talk about how we'd bring you here and we'd build sand castles and splash about in the water."

Tom dropped his arm and his voice became softer. "When I moved back to Ireland with you and we moved here with your grandma I'd sometimes come here at night and sit on an old log. Unlike during the day when there would be people walking along here and sea birds squawking, at night it was just me and the only noise was the gentle lapping of the water as it came ashore. I'd look up at the brightest star in the sky and feeling so close to your Ma I'd talk to her. I'd tell her of all things I loved about her. I'd tell her of all those days I'd sit in the garage hoping she'd need the motor car; of how just seeing her would brighten my day. I'd talk of you, of how much you looked like her and how I was trying to raise you the way she'd want."

He stopped talking and watched as the water rushed up the sand and then just as quickly returned to the sea and then repeated the process over again. After a few minutes he began again "We don't know how much time we'll get on this earth. This day 23 years ago when I married your mother I never imagined my time with her would be so short. But I treasure every moment of that time we did have."

Just as she was passing by Crawley House on her way back to the abbey the Brigadier pulled up in his jeep. "Could I give you a lift back to the abbey?" he asked.

Shaking her head no she replied "it's such a pleasant day to be out I think I'd rather walk."

"Aye" he said as he looked up at the cloudless blue sky. "Well about a cup of tea in the garden before embarking on your walk back?"

After giving orders to the cook, he escorted her out to the garden. "Surely the army doesn't supply a gardener" Mary said as she took in the well-kept flower beds.

He laughed. "I am the gardener." Noting her raised brow, he continued "Behind these stone walls I find I can escape the war even if it's just for a little while."

As they took their seats at the round cast iron table that had been here as long as Mary could remember, he said "I may not be in the front lines of this war but I was in the last one. I know what it's like being cold and wet and hungry and …" he stopped talking as he gazed off towards the sky. It didn't seem like a moment for Mary to comment so she kept quiet.

The tall stone walls muted the sounds of village life making it seem as if they were some distance away while the chirping of an unseen bird sitting on a branch of the sprawling oak tree provided a closer noise.

"My job here may not require the valor or just sheer nerve of being at the front but it is important work Lady Mary" he finally said.

She nodded. "I might not have considered that when you first came here but I see it now."

Further conversation was halted as the cook, a local girl paid by the Brigadier himself, brought out their tea tray. "Thank you Belinda" he said as she set it on the table. "I think we can take care of it ourselves."

"So have you been in the army since the last war?" Mary inquired.

"I'm the third son of a Baron so I was expected to make my own way. Law or the diplomatic corps didn't interest me as a career. Guess I've always had a bit of interest in gardening, well landscaping actually but I'm not sure that would have provided the income I wanted so you might say I just drifted into a military career. But I don't regret it. I was in India for a number of years and then the far east so I've seen quite a bit of the world."

Mary lingered talking to the Brigadier far longer than she would have thought she would but to her surprise she found him quite interesting now that their conversation wasn't confined to estate matters. The tea pot had long been empty when one of the Majors interrupted them on a business matter.

"I'm sorry but I'll have to attend to this."

Rising from her seat Mary replied "I shouldn't have taken so much of your time."

"Nonsense" he replied "it's been quite nice."

Escorting her to the front gate Mary stopped and turned toward him. "Would you and your men here at Crawley House consider coming to dinner at the abbey on Sunday?"

July 1942

Dear Aunt Mary,

This is a thank you note for your wonderful graduation gift. You can imagine my surprise when I opened the small box from Dublin's finest jeweler (that in itself was a surprise) and found the most beautiful wrist watch. I was actually speechless (you're probably thinking that's surprising!). I'll admit I teared up a bit at the lovely note. While I may be the first Crawley woman to graduate from university I'm sure I won't be the last one.

I wish you and Grandma Cora and grandpa and George and Caroline could have come here for the party which was such jolly good fun. I thought it would just be Daddy and Mum and the kids and of course Grandma but over forty people came! We had music and dancing and for the first time in ages CAKE (now that you Brits have started sending us flour in exchange for our beer – a sure win for both sides! – we can start having real bread and cake again). My Uncle who lives on the old family farm roasted a pig which was another treat. The party lasted far into the night or as Daddy tells it early morning (I swear the sun was nowhere to be seen although the sky was turning a light gray) when we had another feast of eggs and bacon and smoked fish and proper TOAST (again thanks to those much welcomed flour imports).

Everyone is asking what's next for me and to be honest I'm not quite sure. I may continue with my schooling since jobs are rather scarce at the moment but I have a month or so to decide. I think Aoibhinn can really use some help around the house. My youngest brother Aidan (who you've never met) has been quite sick as has Uncle Darragh who is also living with us.

I hope everyone is doing well at Downton. I do pray every night that this war will soon be over. I look forward to when we can visit again.

Enclosed are a few photographs from the party – they need no captions!

Love, Sybbie

May 1943

The day had begun quite overcast with dark clouds threatening rain and so, in hopes of the weather improving, Mary had decided to wait until after lunch to do her annual cemetery visit. She smiled as she approached the Monks Garden thinking that the weather had cooperated as the clouds had disappeared leaving the afternoon bright and sunny. She had never really appreciated the various gardens of Downton thinking that gardens were only the domain of old women. She had viewed flowers only as something that men sent as tokens of their interest and as such she wasn't really interested in the type of flowers as much as the size of the bouquet. Of course this changed a bit as she realized some flowers were much more expensive than others but still she scoffed at a puny bouquet of roses against a large arrangement overflowing with flowers.

Mary stood under the brick archway and surveyed the Monks Garden. When she was young the nannies would bring her and her sisters here to enjoy the fresh air although now Mary suspected it was really in hopes of tiring the girls out. But how tired can you get from sitting and reading a book she thought. It was only Sybil that would run around, preferably barefoot, often chasing bunny rabbits or butterflies, sometimes just running for the sheer joy of it. Why couldn't I have been like Sybil Mary thought appreciating the sheer joy of the feel of grass on your bare feet or the beauty of a butterfly or, looking at a peony bush covered in big fluffy red blooms, the beauty of a flower for just being a flower.

"Oh my lady!" the old gardener's voice rang out. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"It's quite fine Mr. Jameson" Mary replied hoping to allay the old man's obvious distress. "I wanted to spend a few minutes enjoying the garden." She looked around at the beautifully kept grounds. "It's looking quite beautiful."

At her words his face beamed with pride. "I've picked some peonies that are doing especially well this spring. Of course I also have all the usual flowers you want."

She nodded in reply secretly delighted that she actually knew what a peony was. "If you don't mind taking the wagon up to the front of the house, I'll spend a few more minutes here admiring your work."

Her new found appreciation of the gardens was due to the influence of the Ashley. How long had it taken her to finally call him Ashley instead of Brigadier! Not that she herself was spending time weeding and well whatever else it was that gardeners did but she had come to appreciate the gardens as a soothing oasis.

Sitting down on one of the garden benches she took a few minutes to look around the garden which seemed to change from week to week as to what was in bloom. The peonies that Mr. Jameson had commented on were flourishing with huge flowers in an array of shades of pinks and reds and purples. She'd ask him to cut a few for inside the house.

Satisfied with what she saw she finally pulled the envelope from her pocket.

Although the letter from Tom had arrived in the morning post she had decided to wait until she came out here to read it. Through his letters she had come to realize the toll this war was taking on Ireland even though Ireland was officially neutral. Like in England, there were shortages of some items, most notably coal and petrol, and some food items like flour which Sybbie had written about last year. Luckily for Tom and his family they had a sizeable plot of land and were able to grow a variety of vegetables and some fruits as well as having a cow for milk and chickens for eggs and meat.

This letter seemed a bit thicker than his usual letters and she was happy to see that he had enclosed a few photographs. The two older boys were still looking much like Tom while Valerie favored her mother. Of the two younger ones, whom Mary had never met, seven year old Sinead seemed to resemble the Bransons more than five year old Aidan. Mary fingered the edge of the photograph of Sybbie, a candid shot of her looking at something or someone outside the range of the camera, her dark chin length lightly tousled from the wind. Dressed in those wide trousers that were so popular now Mary thought Sybbie seemed modern and stylish and she couldn't help but smile at that.

As always Tom began his letter asking about her and the family before writing about his own family. He shared a few antics of his children and sounded as a proud papa as he wrote of their school achievements before writing of other things.

I am certainly glad to see the back of winter although here in Dublin it may come back at any time. With Rian and Connel's help I've gotten the ground ready for our spring plantings. Luckily we've been able to eat well through the winter on our fall harvests although other than chicken meat has been rather scarce. Of course we do have the sea here so seafood graces our table most meals.

My nephew Billy and I go up to the mountains and fish on the lakes and streams there. Billy says he's written to George to tell him that I've greatly improved as a fisherman although my rowing skills are still somewhat limited. I told Billy he'd have to skipper his own boat next time.

Sybbie has gone north to work for the Americans. I must admit I wasn't in favor of her doing so but she does have the stubborn Crawley streak (unlike we Bransons who are much more reasonable!). It's not that I was against her working for the Americans, heaven knows they are needed in this unrelenting war, but it's the thought of her being in Northern Ireland. Well maybe I do have a bit of reluctance with her being around all those American men so far from home!

She's working directly for the brother-in-law of Aoibhinn's sister (which is how she got the job) so that does give me some comfort. I'm not exactly sure what she is doing but suspect it is some type of clerical or secretarial work. The pay is very good especially in comparison to any work she might have found here.

She was so wonderful to come and live here to take care of Aoibhinn's Uncle Darragh who passed away in November. It wasn't easy after his stroke but she very much reminded me of Sybil in her compassion and I guess I harbored thoughts that maybe Sybbie would decide to go into nursing. From the time Sybbie met Aoibhinn, Darragh had become part of our life. She loved listening to his telling of the old Irish legends and through him she learned to speak Gaelige. I think her grief in his dying led her to want to go away for awhile.

I went up north to research for some articles I was writing on the Irish-Americans who have come back to Ireland as American soldiers. I talked with some whose parents or grandparents came from Ireland while others were born here in Ireland. I did get to spend some time with Sybbie and meet her boss so I feel much better about the situation but I miss her very much.

My articles were very well received and were published by some American newspapers and I've been asked to do some follow-up articles. So that's been very good for my bank account which has suffered these past couple of years. I made more money from those American newspapers than I made all last year.

This will be the first time on Sybil and my wedding anniversary that I will be without either you or Sybbie. So that will seem strange but I will visit our local church to light a candle for her and to spend some time alone thinking of her. Although many might say it's strange to still be honoring that day especially when I am very happily remarried. But as I told Sybbie when Darragh died those we love never really leave our lives and certainly not our hearts. Just as important as our memories of them is the effect they had on our lives.

This day has brought about a friendship between us Mary that I could never have imagined and for that I am very grateful. I know Sybil would be very pleased at that.

Mary closed her eyes as she clutched the letter to her heart. Oh Tom I too am grateful for your friendship.

"Twenty-three years ago you were the most radiant of brides Sybil" Mary quietly uttered as her hand tapped against the stone tomb. "Your smile and the gleam in your eyes lit up that dismal looking church." Mary chuckled "I know I can hear you say Maaary. My dear I've changed a lot but …" she shrugged her shoulders.

Then with the remarks on this day from Tom's letter playing around in her head, Mary remembered a long ago conversation she'd had with Sybil.

It had been a day much like today with the sun shining brightly but cooler and she had wrapped a thin coat around her before leaving the house. Pausing just outside the entrance door she pondered where to go. Normally she'd head for her bench under the giant Lebanon cedar but today she felt the need to go somewhere else, somewhere she would be alone.

As she had thought the Monks Garden was deserted and rather than sit she thought a walk around the perimeter would be just the thing to calm her nerves. She hadn't walked very far when she heard what sounded like muffled crying coming from someone hidden behind some dense lilac bushes. Curious as to whom it could be, Mary tried to silently creep towards the sound stopping just on the other side of the bushes. Moving a branch aside, she deeply inhaled when she realized the cries were coming from Sybil.

Rushing around the hedge to her weeping sister, Mary called out "Sybil dear whatever is the matter?"

Her abrupt appearance startled Sybil who tried to wipe away her tears. "What are you doing out here Mary? Aren't there wedding preparations you should be doing?"

Ignoring Sybil's questions Mary sat down beside her on the stone bench that felt surprisingly warm from the sunshine. Taking one of Sybil's hands and rubbing it gently with her own, Mary quietly again asked "Whatever is the matter?"

Sybil stood up, her eyes glaring at Mary, her tears now replaced by defiance. "I thought when we got the money it meant that Papa wanted us to come here, that he was willing to accept Tom. But … but … instead" Sybil stopped speaking, looking around her as if she was unsure of where she was.

"Papa is going on and on about Matthew and what a wonderful man he is and how lucky the family is to have him while he just ignores Tom."

Sybil's anger now caused her voice to quiver a bit. "No one is giving him a chance. No one is trying to get to know Tom."

Looking once again at Sybil's tomb Mary said "Oh darling Sybil I have gotten to know him and realize the wonderful man he is. I consider him my closest friend. And I'd like to thank you for bringing him into my life."

Mary smiled broadly as she turned her face up towards the sky. "That should have you dancing up there."