Matthew offered to help Tom Smith's wife after she was robbed, the only thing missing was the new will. He suspected the brother setting it up, but he claimed he didn't know his brother had a wife. He would have to come up with a re-approach. At Frank Smith's business he asked about Frank's brother. He had no idea that he was married and had a child on the way. Matthew claimed they had evidence that he had hired someone to intimidate Mrs. Smith and steal the revised will (when he didn't have any proof, just going off his own instinct, which turned out to be right), naming his brother's widow and child his heirs. Matthew informed what his reputation would be like if he refused to support his brother's widow and child, a dedicated war hero at that, the papers would smear him.

"I'd like to keep that from happening, if I myself were you."

In the end the wife ended up receiving a reasonable sum and share of the business that would go to her son, she had given birth to a boy, when he became of age.

He was glad that he was able to help someone, when he was unable to help his own son, who was off fighting God knew where. It gave him a temporary peace of mind. Mary had helped talk with the woman when she wouldn't talk to Matthew. They were like a modern Holmes and Watson. He could say that he'd quite miss it.


April 1940 saw big changes come to Downton Abbey once again, it was converted to a convalescent home. This time however it was also accommodated by Generals and Officers as a headquarters. The family was still allowed to live there of course. To help the farms from going under and the villagers losing their homes, Matthew had hired land girls to manage them, with so many young men had gone off. The land girls would have their own cottages, sometimes two to three to one building.

Daisy Parker and her husband Andrew, who had been a footman at the Abbey in the twenties and thirties, whom had been in charge of Mr. Mason's farm since his death, would take the girls under their wing.

Betty Burbage arrived late. She was fortunate not to be turned away, or her aunt would have told her she told her so. She was afraid that the gardener was going to drive her back to the train station himself, but he took her bags and put them in the bed of his lorry.

"It's best to agree with the misses. When she gets an idea in her head. Come on now, it'll be dark soon." The drive to the farm seemed longer. It could have been an illusion of the darkening sky, making the gravel roads stretch out far beyond the eye could see. "Don't talk much do ye?" When she didn't reply he continued, "One rule the misses has is no slacking off or you'll be sent back. Farming's serious work. It's nothing like the city. So best leave that thinking behind you."

"My parents owned a farm."

"They don't anymore?"

"They died. I live with my Aunt."

He offered to take her bags into the house, but she kept them close, hugging one close and the other pressed to her side.

"Suit yourself then."

The front door banged open. There stood a short woman who was a bit stout who had to be the farmer's wife, Mrs. Parker.

"You must be Miss Burbage."

"Betty."

"Betty it is then." She scolded the gardener, asking why he didn't take her bags, who turned out to be her husband. "Don't mind Mr. Parker."

"It's my doing, Mrs. I don't like people touching my things and they're all I have in the world."

"I understand that. We'll make sure no harm comes to them. Have Mr. Parker take them up for you."

Betty hesitated before she relented.

"Tell Ruth to come down to meet Betty." Mrs. Parker called after him as he ascended up the stairs. He mumbled something intelligible.

"I take it you had a rough journey. You sit right down here, and I'll take you a cup of tea." She looked in the direction of the stairs, "Don't mind him. He's not used to teenage girls."

"Ruth isn't your daughter?"

Mrs. Parker shook her head as she poured her tea. "We were never blessed with our own. The other girls haven't arrived yet. They're the ones who are late."

"That's a relief. I'm not late to anything for once."

"For the time being you'll be sharing a room with Ruth."

They had a pleasant time with their tea but as soon as they got up to their shared room, Ruth put her in her place. First, she had taken out a cigarette, offering her one. Betty shook her head. She was appalled when Ruth actually lit it.

"Are you sure you should do that?"

"Why not? I can do whatever I want. You're not one of those religious high and mighty types, are you?"

"I just...think we should look out for each other. We came here for a reason. I doubt we can afford being sent home."

Ruth got up from her bed, towering over Betty, sitting down on her cot, cigarettes smoking between her fingers.

"Look, we're not here to make friends. Just keep your head down and mind your business. Do that, we won't have a problem."

The saving grace not having to share a room another night with Ruth was the arrival of the other land girls the next morning.

Betty surprised the other girls, revealing that she worked a farm before, and offered Mr. and Mrs. Parker to help with them, teach them to be familiar with the equipment. They learned to turn over a tractor. Being the first to get the hang of it, she showed the others the ropes. Ruth was not happy at all. She watched the others from the barn as they cheered each other's success controlling the tractor, smoking her cigarette, (she had been previously scolded for being close to the hay, that could spark a fire) planned her revenge. But it would be long planning and sweet.

When the girls were on their lunch breaks, they often snuck into the room where the soldiers were and flirt with them.

Ms. Mac would often scold them.

"Now, Ms. Mackenzie, I think they're on to something here." The Earl had come across such a scene. "It might do good for morale." He smiled mischievously, as if he was still the young man that he once was.

Ms. Mac decided not to argue. It was a welcome change to his mood, since his son had left.


He had survived a massive artillery barrage from the Germans, hours and hours of incoming shells.

Shells exploding all around and on top of his bunker. By pure luck he survived the barrage (the bunker intact) but many of his fellow soldiers did not. Those that did survive were blown apart in a landscape that was cratered and looked like part of the moonscape.

There were body parts lying all over the place. There were mangled men crying out in agony and in various stages of dying. There were stunned and shocked men staggering all around the place.

The idea that you can prepare for any and all situations in combat isn't realistic. People are also only as strong as they can be and, sometimes, they aren't strong enough for all the chaos and evil that they witness. This is when they overload mentally or breakdown. This is what leads to combat fatigue and other problems." His sister Kate explained to him.

Seeing the worst of what humanity can do to one another wears on the psyche. Every person has a different breaking point.

At what point did my father break?

The horrors were greater than his war. Innocent people, civilians getting bombed, murdered in camps, gassed, women and children being raped by Nazi's.

He hadn't seen those acts being performed but he had heard of them and believed them or at least not too far from the truth.

But the horrors he had seen; it was a wonder that he hadn't broken down. Perhaps he had been prepared for it, his father hadn't been. Not everyone was the same. Just because he had doesn't mean that he or his brother would, if the war went on long enough for him to join up. George hoped not. He was more likely to get killed straight off with his poor impulses. That could change in three years, he still had a lot of growing up to do.

His mother hadn't believed in the atrocities they were doing to the Jews, (if his mother and step-grandmother weren't at odds, they were now more than they were before) just that they were being deported, not until they started to remove the Jews that had lived there for centuries.

He had seen her crying in his father's arms when she realized the truth.

He hadn't seen them in almost two years. They wouldn't recognize him now.

I have failed you father.

He had survived the horrors of Dunkirk with only an injured arm to show for. And a dead German he had shot, lying on top of him, had a hold of him in a death grip before he was pulled off and dragged off that God forsaken shore.


On May tenth, France was occupied by the German army. The Maginot line had failed. And by 14th of June, Paris had fallen. Sybie was fortunately in the unoccupied zone of France, but they still worried about her daily, along with George and Bertie. The family hadn't heard from either one of them. It would be hard to get in and out of the country, let alone send letters or anything across.

Then in September, the German's started bombing London nightly. It would be weeks before word came of the many casualties sustained in the Blitz, including large loss of civilian lives and homes and business. Dot Pearson was listed as the casualties early on. Her baby daughter survived, staying with her grandparents at the time. She had been a product of her affair with a Nazi soldier whom her brother had set her up with.

Dot's brother had been listed among the fallen on the beach of Dunkirk, months previous. Though no one was very fond of the boy, the Crawley's thought it would be the right thing to go support the family. The Pearson's had lost not only one but two of their only children. Dot's six-month-old daughter was being bounced on the nanny's lap.

Poor little mite is without a mother and had a Nazi for a father who had abandoned her or was already dead. She had tried to pass it off as George's, but no one had fallen for it, as how smitten with the enemy she was. It was to stave off shame, but half the village had already shunned her and her family for their children's mistakes.

"No one should go through all that alone." Matthew had said. And so, they had joined the somber funeral procession. Mary paid condolences to the family, but what could one say? She was thinking of her own son and family, her friends and family in London, with still no mention of their whereabouts. Not knowing whether the Bates's and her sister had gotten to a bomb shelter in time, if George was in hospital somewhere. If he wasn't listed, then wouldn't he be listed among the missing or injured? The last they had heard from him was that he had survived Dunkirk, which seemed impossible, given the seventy-thousand lives lost and it was so far one of the bloodiest battles of the war. But he had survived and now she didn't know where her son was.

"It's still too early." Her husband had whispered to her in the pew. "It will take some time to get things sorted. They'll all be alright.

The girls were sitting behind them.

Shortly afterward they had heard Edith's newspaper had been one of the buildings destroyed. It would take weeks before they learned about the Bates'. They had been made it to a bomb shelter in time, their shop intact but the stores around them had been reduced to nothing but brick and motor.

Bertie was still missing from weeks previous (listed Dunkirk's among missing) and there was no word of Edith. The hospitals were checked but there was no sign of her.

Jay had been staying with the Crawley's. Mary thought herself reasonable for her nephew and that she should be the one to tell him that his mother was missing, possibly dead, essentially making him an orphan, at least until one of his parents were found. He was down in the kitchens with Ms. Mac. She hated that she was about to shatter the twelve-year old's world. But this was war.


That afternoon, the sisters, mainly Jo was arguing and complaining about rations. They were sitting down to a meal while their parents were out.

"Isn't there any meat?" Jo asked, picking at the potatoes and cabbage.

"We used all our meat rations last week. Because someone wanted a Sunday roast." Carrie retorted.

Jo's expression changed from surprised to hurt. "But it's tradition to have a roast on Sunday. You're not even twelve, you're not supposed to be here. Go sit in the nursery with the others." She was referring to Nathaniel and Jay.

"Yes, I am."

"What?"

"I am twelve. And Nathaniel picks his nose." Nathaniel was their 'cousin', the son of Evelyn and Adelaine Napier, though seven years old, still picked his nose.

"Oh well, in that case, I guess you can stay then. If you don't interrupt our adult conversation next time. As I was saying, isn't this just awful? You can't get a pair of decent stockings anymore and chocolate is so scarce it might as well be gold."

"It's for a good cause." Kate said, we have to keep that in mind."

"Oh, I almost forgot. A letter came from George today!"

"Let me see." Carrie got up to see. "It isn't even written by him."

"He might have injured his arm. Maybe he can't use it yet."

Dear sisters,

I can't tell you how much I appreciate your letters. They keep my spirits up around here. We've been moving around a lot, so I've haven't had the chance to get caught up and the mail's awful slow these days. I think I'm the envy around here with the piles of letters I receive. I tell the other fellows that some of them are from my sweetheart, if you don't mind. As you can tell by the handwriting, I've injured my arm I still can't use it but I'm better off than most of the chaps here. I'm not in any danger of losing it. This would have been a beautiful country if it weren't at war. But it gets cold here in the winters, if you could get mum to have the WI to knit me a pair of socks, that would be great. He can't tell much else, but I heard they'll be sending me to London next. I hope mum and dad are being alright. I've written and received tons of letters from them too. They try to remain positive and that I'll be coming home soon. And keep Andy out of trouble, will you? Once my arms healed up, I hope I can go back to the front, do the Germans some real damage after what they did to our boys at Dunkirk.

"It's dated a few months ago. He's been sent to London." Carrie's eyes widened and her heart dropped. "Where the bombs are!" She whispered.

"If anything's happened to him, we'd have heard from now. They're still evacuating." But Kate's words seemed to fall on deaf ears. "He's so brave. After all he's went through wanting to go back."

"Then he's stupid." Carrie said with her arms crossed around her small body as if trying to keep her anger inside her. "It's all stupid."

"It's not stupid. It's necessary." Kate said. "And George IS a hero. He's doing it to protecting democracy, that means protecting us."

"I hate this war. I hate this war." Carrie stormed off. The anger too much for her child body to contain and to fully understand. "I... hate...this...war!"

"Leave her." Jo said. Then after the stomping footsteps stopped, "Our dear sweet brother isn't telling us everything he knows. Can't you tell he's hiding something? His letters. They're all so vague. They always are."

"Of course, he's hiding something. He can't very well tell us what's going on over there. And he is brave. He's, our brother."

"I hope you're right. For her sake. I hope you're right."


France

Sybil was almost at a breaking point with Doctor Evans. She could not fathom what she had done to make him hate her. They never a/greed on anything; her recommendations and treatments were 'wrong' she couldn't do anything right in his eyes.

"What did I ever do to you?" She had finally snapped.

"I know your type. You stopped yourself when you were going to say Da, as if you were embarrassed. If being Irish is something to hide. With all your fancy teaching, they brainwashed you to be ashamed. As if being English is somehow more dignified."

"You're wrong!" She had felt like an outcast her whole life, not knowing where she belonged, and this man wasn't going to tell her.

"They made you forget who you are. You've turned your back on who you are." He had grabbed her hand. She forcefully pulled away.

"You don't who I am!" She stormed out of the surgery. Not caring at this point if he reported her to Matron and sent her home. That wouldn't be the last she'd see of Killian Evans, not only was she stuck working with him (she tried to see if she could assist a different doctor, but Matron said they were too short staffed and they would just have to find a way to put aside their differences.

"But...I can find you another position perhaps. I'll let you know if something opens up."

He was everywhere. She couldn't avoid him, no matter what she did.

On her day off, she saw him with a woman. They were standing underneath the entry way of a restaurant, shielding themselves from the rain. She was going to confront him, not caring if she embarrassed him in front of his lady friend.

Then she stopped as the woman shouted at him, "No, you can't have it back. It was a gift, and I'm keeping it!" and stormed off.

"It was when the woman walked away, she approached.

"Another woman you think that should listen her male overlords?"

"That was my fiancé." He wasn't in a foul mood. Unlike him.

"Was?" She probably was fed up with his behavior too, and finally opened her eyes.

Words started flowing out of his mouth as he told her all about Dorothy. As she listened, she could hear the heartbreak and sadness in his voice.

She was a lady of position who had turned her back on him and her heritage after her mother had married into money. "That's all she seemed to care about. Funny how you think you know someone, even though knew them your whole life. We grew up together. Our families were close, we were close, practically joined at the hip. We'd always say we'd marry each other one day, that we were destined to, "written in the stars", as they say. But not in this God forsaken world, at least for the moment. The way things are."

"They say war changes who a person is, it can happen for other reasons. People's priorities change."

She was called to Matron's office. He was still where she had left him. "Matron has another position for me. This will be our last day working together." His eyes, the only thing visible behind his mask flickered up, the palest blue, staring back at her. He continued to suture a soldiers wound.

She would be assisting with the ambulances and fixing them.

"I didn't know you knew how."

"What? You thought there was nothing to me other than a pretty face? My father is a mechanic."

"I wish you all the luck." He genuinely sounded sad to see her go. "Nurse Branson." The first time he had called her nurse.


They had finally gotten a letter from George. He had been on leave in London, when the bombing had started. He had left out why he hadn't written to them, other than the excuse that mail was delayed, which had been true. He did however write that he hadn't received any word about their aunt and Uncle.

They were going to extend his leave, due to his heroic acts, he claims, bragging that he might get a promotion and about his arm. They told me I was a fool and lucky, I could have lost it. Risking more damage. It's only merely a graze. But I couldn't leave those people to burn to death, trapped under rubble, could I?

They're sending me home on bed rest, just for breathing in a bit of smoke and my arm to fully heal.

He asked in his letter if he should try for Captain to compete with dad.

"I'd be the youngest Captain ever!"

Jo's eyes watered with joyful tears, relieved that he would be coming home.

Papa had looked alarmed when he saw her. He asked her what was wrong. She hugged him, not caring in that moment that anyone saw.

"He's coming home! He's alright. He's coming home!"

She looked up at her father, there was happy tears in her father's eyes as well. He put her arms around her.

George was to stay on bed rest, but of course he wouldn't. He would make the rounds of the soldiers' beds, chatting with them. Andy was talking enthusiastic about the war, hoping one day he'd be old enough to join, as always, it was still all he talked about these days, his dreams of beating back the Germans alongside his brother.

"I'm not sure that's not allowed. Mama said they don't allow brothers in the same regiment."

"If you saw what Dunkirk was like, you wouldn't feel the same way. Never more grateful in my life." George said in response to his younger brother. George's demeaner was the polar opposite from a year ago, as if trying to discourage him. "Those blokes in their boats did an amazing job. I came home on someone's yacht. This bloke crammed about twenty of us on. I thought we were going to capsize. After he dropped us off, the mad blighter turned round and went back for more. Takes guts, that. Don't get me started on the Blitz."

"You're in one piece though." Andy replied.

The soldiers quieted down when they noticed their host, the Earl of Grantham, standing before them, to some of them he was a pillar of strength to look up to, if he could live with life alternating injuries, so could they. George continued on talking, not aware of his father yet, in the midst of telling a joke. Josephine's eyes were on her father.

When Papa saw him, it was like he was seeing a ghost. Like he couldn't believe that his son was home.

The two men locked eyes; George caught off mid-laugh at his own joke to a fellow soldier. It was like the world stopped, was how Jo and Kate could describe it, as they looked on.

Papa made the first move, walking slowly toward George. They stood face to face, almost matching in height. Neither of them speaks, as if they didn't know what to say. An unspoken, unspeakable knowledge and understanding seemed to pass between them.

Matthew outstretched his arms, enveloping his oldest in an embrace, albeit awkward one. He was glad, more than glad, to have his son psychically here, to physically touch him, to hear his laugh again.

"C'mon on dad, not in front of the guys."

"Go on, hug him. You don't know when you'll see him again." One soldier called.

"How long did they give you?"

"A week and a fortnight."

It didn't seem anywhere near long enough. Yet, this might be the longest that they will see him. "See your mother, will you? She's been wanting to see you."

He took tea with mother.

"I might stay in the military for a bit. Until I can get promoted to Captain. If I don't make the cut before the war ends."

"Why would you want to stay with the army after the war?" Mary asked.

"It would look good on the resume." His mother looked at him puzzled. "For being the future Earl."

"You don't need to do everything your father does."

George rolled his eyes. Couldn't she tell that he was joking? "The world will be a rather broken place, mother." He never called her Mama or his father, Papa, like his sisters. Andy called her mum and father, dad, like him. "It will need all the help it can get."

"Your brother says the exact same thing. His reasoning for wanting to join up."

"I agree with father, that the American's should join."

"Don't let Andy hear you say that. He's rather set on it that we don't need help. I'm starting to grow more concerned for him."

"How so? How has my little brother managed to find ways to misbehave this time? He's neglected to tell me." Andy had been quite the troublemaker of the bunch when he was younger, unlike Jo who had liked to test the adult's limits, mostly their mother. While Andy liked to test his. They had often seemed to take turns. Since the start of the war, his antics had been put on the back burner though he always had a streak of recklessness that was not likely to go away. He actually feared for his brother, if it came for his turn to be called. He wouldn't wait. He'd probably go right into a fire fight without a plan or consequences before it was too late.

"He's been hovering over the wireless since you went off. I don't partially mind when it keeps your father away from it."

She had a point. Listening to it all could bring it all back for him. His father, whom he hadn't seen in months. None of them. It felt so strange, being away from them all. Soon he'd be gone again.

"They might be sending me back to France." It was a definite that he would be going. He did not want to tell them just yet.

Mary sat upright, determined to hide her fear. So soon?

"Do you think Paris will ever be the same?" He asked his mother. "I don't think we'll be able to go back there for years. Maybe when you're grandparents?"

""Hopefully not for years." Mary couldn't imagine being a grandmother just yet, and George was still eighteen, in another month it will be his birthday. Still way too young to get married. She preferred if he'd wait till, he was twenty-four. Twenty-four sounded like a good age. Matthew would be over the moon as a grandfather, just as he was when he became a father.

Mother and son, smiled at each other, before giving into fits of laughing. His eyes crinkling around the corners just like his father. Speaking of, it was time she looked for that handsome man.

They had also heard from Edith that evening. She had showed up out of the blue, no word or warning. Matthew was the first one to race out to see her, giving her a hug, right there, in Downton's driveway. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

Mary went outside, just in time to hear their exchange.

"Got hit in the head. I'm afraid I forgot who I was for a couple of days."

"Thank God, you're in one peace." He wrapped his arms more tightly around her.

"Any word from Bertie?"

Matthew shook his head. "No. Nothing. Sorry. We'll keep praying for him.

Mary heard her sister sniffle, her head nestled under his chin.

Mary stepped forward. "Alright, you had your turn. Let me see my sister."

The two sisters embraced.

"Who are you and what have you done with Mary?"

They laughed with bitter-sweet joy. Jay had his mother back, but his father was still missing. She was greeted by the rest of the Crawley brood, save for George who was supposed to be resting, even her son, who stopped dead in his tracks, before running to her, throwing his arms around her.


That night, George was sitting around, playing cards with fellow soldiers. A few of them had been smoking. Kate had to chase them off.

"Do not smoke or allow others to smoke around you." She demanded at her brother. "You're supposed to be getting plenty of rest and on cough drops or hard candy to soothe a dry or sore throat, take cough medicine ...and most of all avoid things that may irritate your lungs!"

"Yes nurse!"

"I'm serious...you..."

"Relax, alright. I'll sleep when I'm dead."

"Kate's eyes start to water, till she could no longer look at him. She turned on her heels and ran towards the double doors.

"I was just...oh come on...,,"

Josephine was nearly knocked over by her younger sister as she was entering the day room. She looked at her sister bustling past and looked at George.

"What did you do? " She asked. She could only get Carrie to cry like that.

George just sighed and huffed and turned back to the magazine he was reading.

Restless, George wandered the halls. He decided to go find Andy. He was avoiding him like the plague, it seemed. And he was avoiding Kate. He would hate to have to talk to her with the water works going.

Andy was on his bed, under the sheet with a torch. He could hear him fiddling with the dreaded wireless.

"It's not healthy to obsess over."

"Why do you think I listen to it every day? I hope not to hear names of anyone we know, to hear yours!"

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I? C'mon, budge up a bit."

Andy scooted over on the bed and George sat down next to him.

He gave his little brother some brotherly advice. How to survive the war, because it didn't like it was going to end anytime soon.

"Never forget where you come from. When you're over there."

Andy gave him a confused look. "Our social status? Why would that matter?"

"Us. Think of who WE are. Us Crawley's are made out of strong stuff. And you know who's the stronger out of all of us?"

"Grandmother Violet?"

George laughed, recalling fond memories of the late Dowager Countess. "No." He whipped the drops of moisture from the corner of his eyes. He waited till it subsided, after a moment and rested his hand on his brother's knee. "Dad."

"It was almost three a.m. when Kate burst into all of their rooms, waking them, well just her sisters and her mother. Mary instantly thought something happened to George; he took a turn.

"George is fine." Their middle daughter assured, as if reading her thoughts, "But it's..."

"It's not Lord Wroughton?" Mary inquired. "He told me he was joining the RAF. Training alone can be dangerous."

"No. It's not him. It's..." Kate hesitantly looked at Jo. "It's the Duke." She whispered, peering into their parents' bedroom door, around Mary. "Is papa awake?"

"No. Let him sleep. I'll tell him when he wakes." Mary went out into the hall and softly shut the door behind her.

"He was caught in the bombings in London...he's..."

"What was he doing in London?" Josephine was masking her fear with anger. "He wasn't stationed at the home office."

"I don't know. Maybe he was transferred last minute."

"Is he...he's not..." Mary hesitated on the word dead, as if spoken in war time, was a signal of bad luck.

Kate shook her head. "He was in hospital. They want to move him so he can convalescence."

"Here? He's coming here?" Jo was shocked and surprised, hiding her feeling of guiltiness. Not so long ago she had turned him down.

"They're moving him now?" Mary asked, wide-eyed.

"This morning, just now. He should be arriving shortly. They have nowhere else. They're full up and need more beds."

"It mustn't be that serious then." Mary didn't know who she was reassuring.

"And Downton is closer. And I thought that he should be closer to you. I put a word in with matron."

Jo's own eyes widened, bewildered that she would do that for her, when she had always treated Kate horribly. "Thank you."

"I expect you want to be with him when he arrives."

Jo nodded. "Do they know anything?"

"He's been unconscious since they had him. We won't know anything until he arrives. You'll have to stay back if the doctors still need to work on him but once they're done...you can stay with them for as long as you like." Jo took hold of her sister's hand, Kate gripping it tight as she led her to the soldier's ward.

He was going to be alright after all. He was concussed and had a cut on his head from flying debris. But he still needed to be kept a watchful eye on because of the concussion.

"Made such a fuss about me.." He smiled up at her.

He asked her then to marry him. She felt horribly about refusing him, saying that he was drugged. He was thinking clearly. But the next day he seemed to believe that they were engaged. "is all the more reason now...That I have no one."

"What are you...?"

"My parent's...their summer house...there's nothing left..." It took a moment to sink in, what he was saying. Oliver's parents had been killed in the bombing.

"Shh, there, there now. You do have someone. You have me."

He stopped weeping, asking her if she really meant it. She nods. "Yes."

"Will you marry me?"

Yes. Yes, I will marry you." How could she refuse him now? She would have to wait till he got better.

"Well, I am the luckiest man on this earth. I'll let you arrange where you want to have it. You can even chose were we honeymoon. When this is all over, of course. There isn't really any rush."

He fell asleep, holding her hand. And hoped when he woke that he'd think he dreamt about the proposal.


It had been nearly a year now since Sybie had been working as a nurse. Hard to believe, already a year into the war. It was hard to imagine the life before this. She recalled her first week after being shipped out. The same feeling she had about joining the war effort, the euphoria young soldiers had when they joined the fight, was wearing off. But there was one thing that remained the same.

Once she had graduated and was officially a nurse, she felt somehow, that she finally belonged and wasn't in the way or being judged and it was better than she had imagined. Despite being surrounded by dead and dying, wounded soldiers.

She owed her inspiration, in part, to her uncle and doing this more for herself, more than for a mother that she had never known.

Uncle Matthew had a rather a wild and tempestuous youth but credited special role models (along with his parents, his many teachers) that set him straight and on the right path. He went to Cambridge University and fell in love with reading Shakespeare and had grown a genuine interest in law. There was irony in the fact that the rebellious youth in him found a love for law and order. She was finding it in medicine.

Her Aunt didn't want her to go. The last conversation Sybie had with her; they had argued.

"You think I'll grow board? Like I did with my toys?"

"No. I don't. I'm overjoyed that you want to be a nurse. Your mother would be so proud. But I think it'd better if you remained close by. We can find you a program, then you could work at the hospital..."

"What? You expect me to stay? Here, where nothing ever happens? Where I'm just the granddaughter of an Earl whose daughter married the chauffer? Don't pretend that class doesn't matter because it does. To them I'm just a peculiar little thing. I hear them. That's what they say. I hear them talking behind your back! Your little protect, that's what they call me. Well, I'm done with that. I hope someday that it will change, but for now...I want to be more, go where I am useful. I'm never going to find my self-worth if I just stay here. I don't want to be looked over anymore. I want to be somewhere where I'm wanted."

"Darling you are..."

"I want to be where the fighting is, to actually make a difference."

"I suppose you're doing this for your mother."

"That's where you're wrong. I'm not doing it for her, or for Da or anyone else. I'm doing it for me!" She had stopped to catch her breath. "Uncle Matthew said that in order to find happiness, I have to find it for myself and be happy with myself first, by doing something that I love."

"Of course, he did." Her Aunt was still clearly upset and hurt. Sybie understood that it was because she was her mother's only child and that's why she was doing it. But that didn't have the right to decide for her. Though Uncle Matthew had been disappointed that she hadn't at least reconsider, he was still supportive and proud of her decision, as was her father right from the start. "And what does Lucy say?"

"She supports me. Look Auntie, I don't want us to fight about this anymore."

"But does it have to be you?"

"Yes, someone has to. Think off all those soldiers, who are alone, out dying in the fields, they're going to need someone."

She hadn't imagined that she would be doing the same for civilians. She was in an ambulance assisting two older women. They pulled out two children and a grandmother from the rubble, who was calling for her daughters.

As Sybie bandaged the old woman's hands in the ambulance, Sybie reminded her that there were two small, terrified children who needed her, who were counting on her and were going to need her strength.


George invited his fiancé, Sophie, to dinner. He had met her at a dance, through his American Friend "Jimbo." He had written to Josephine about them quite a lot, never talking about much else.

The girls' interests seemed to lie in herself, not much different from Dot Pearson, rest her soul. She took to her role in society but had no interest in country life. It was apparent. Josephine and their mother knew that she wasn't the one for him and wondered what he saw in her.

After dinner, Ollie asked Josephine if she would like to show him around the rest of the estate and by the end of the evening they were almost engaged. He surprised her, in the library. Her face had gone pale.

"I had it sent for. I wanted to do this right."

As he pulled out the ring, it was all a blur.

"Would you say something?"

"What?" She looked down at her hands, trying to imagine a ring on it, then back up at him.

"I asked if you would marry me."

"Oh." She turned away and stood up. Her stomach hurt and felt like she was going to be sick. It wasn't that he wasn't unpleasant to be with. She tried to come up with an excuse, any. She was only seventeen, just having turned, and he was twenty, too young to make a decision like that but he'd see a way to get out of it. Then there were her studies for her teaching career. There was no way she was going to give it up for a man. Maybe he would understand, see reason, if..."There's a war on. People are getting married left and right...if you do get called away..."

"That's all the more reason to."

"We barley know each other. What if we hate each other, or you come back, and we don't know each other at all."

"We will know each other. I will write to you."

"You can hardly know someone from a letter." She scoffed. Her brother had been fairly distant in the letters that he had written.

"You said your parents are deeply in love with each other, and I can see that, from what I've seen in a short time. What is it that are you afraid of?" He was becoming increasingly impatient. She had never seen him this way.

"It's because that they're too in love that I'm afraid." She gave a sigh, exhausted. She took off her shoes as she sat down on the sofa. "I know it doesn't make any sense..."

"We've known each other for a year." There was an impatience in his voice, "if you need more time. I'll understand. I want you know that I love you."

"I think I..." But she couldn't say it, not knowing if she even felt the same.

Before she knew it, he took her face in his hands and was kissing her. He was kissing her all over, her face, her cheeks.

"Please, say yes."

She remembered the way her father used to do that and tickle her on the sofa with his stubble and tickle her stomach just to get her to laugh or admit to something. She almost did laugh but fought back the urge.

She should feel something for this handsome, charming, kind and caring man. All she felt was revulsion. This wasn't right. Was it because he reminded her of her father just now? She was nearing eighteen. She didn't much care for men at all. Billy had only come close.

"I can't."

"There's someone else. Isn't there?"

She nodded, turned away from him and stared straight ahead.

What was wrong with her? She should like being kissed. All the girls raved about it. It seemed like it was all they talked about. Though she liked Billy's kisses, but it was more out of boredom, maybe on both their part.

"We can take a year if you want to. To figure things out. We all know who will win in the end. I bet he won't stand a chance."

Jo swallowed if only he knew that it wasn't a man he was competing with, but a woman.

Charlotte had been the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, blonde hair cropped short into a Christopher Robin type haircut. She had family in Yorkshire. Her parents had sent her to distant cousins, thinking it safer for her to learn on the countryside. She also wanted to become a teacher. Whatever this was with Charlotte, she thought, it was nothing but a curiosity. It could never be more.

"I want you to know that my offer still stands."

She and George went out driving the following week, a day before he was due to leave. He had been teaching her to drive before the war started, even though she had only been fifteen. She'd rather have her horse or her bike. Just his constant looking over at her made her palms sweat.

"Easy on the breaks."

"I am." Every inch, she was pressing down on it. She soon got the hang of it but was still turning corners too sharply.

"More carefully. Think of it as a horse."

With that, she drove more smoothly and faster down the country roads, the wind blowing through her hair. She thought of her horse Silver, the dappled grey her father had bought for her.

"Go faster!" George shouted. He took something out of his pocket, holding it up to his face, "I say, you're as boring as ever."

She saw that he was holding a comb to his upper lip, imitating the Duke, remembering she had told him about the white feather. They both burst into a fit of laughter. She was laughing so hard that her side began to hurt that she had to take one hand off the wheel to hold it. The car started veering off the road.

"Watch it." George righted the wheel. They pulled over to switch places.

She told him that the Duke and proposed.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing yet. But I suppose I will have to, eventually. It's expected of me."

"Not from mother and father. They married for love."

"Which we both know is rare. Because of the circumstances that brought them together."

"What do you see in him anyway?"

"I can say the same about you and Sophie." He dropped the subject right then and there.

The morning after Ollie and George had departed, Jo went out riding to clear her head. She took the path she usually took, that lead to the pet cemetery; across from it was an open field.

She pretended to be agitated when she saw Billy, leaned up against the fence, like he owned the land.

"You know that I own this land, don't you?" She shielded her eyes from the sun, scowling at him, only breaking into a smile when he did.

She dismounted and they went through the gate, where he had the nicest picnic set up, sprawled around on the blanket and books and papers. He studied them while they ate. After they were done, he moved his papers out of the way.

"Here, I'll move my lawyer papers out of the way." He had been kicked out of the army years earlier due to his drinking. He never drank in her presence. It was a wonder that he hadn't been kicked out of law school yet.

They laid down on the blanket, observing the morning sky. At least he wasn't going anywhere. There was no chance of him getting blown up tomorrow. Neither would Charlotte but she wanted to be with someone that couldn't see through her right now, and not demand her to share her feelings.

Their peace didn't last, however. A hoard of pigs stampeded through the gate. Jo screamed, scampering up, taking the blanket with her, wrapping herself up in it, all the while Billy was laughing at her. She scowled at him.

Several of the farm girls were coming in all directions, trying to round them up.

"Well, looks like I ought to go help."

"Yes. You do that." Disappointed that he was leaving her.


Betty went back to the pens to investigate, swearing that she had locked the gates behind her. Then sticking up out of the hay was a glint of something shiny. She picked it up. She'd recognize that pendent anywhere. Finally, she had her answers who had been sabotaging her. Before she could think of a plan, the overseer, the head of the Woman's land army was calling the girls for a meeting. Betty getting the full of her wrath.

"First you sewed the sacks wrong, and they had to be re-stitched, making us all fall behind and you've failed all the other tasks I have given you..."

"Perhaps I did leave the gate open but..." She briefly made eye contact with Ruth. "I could perhaps make it up. I'm good at other things besides farming."

"Give me one good reason or you'll be out on your ear tomorrow morning."

"Please wait. I can't go back to my aunt." In one last desperate attempt she shouted, "I can cook!"

The woman pondered this. "Very well. I can see if I can put in a word to Ms. Mackenzie. After that, she'll decide what to do with you."

Afterwards Betty went looking for the real culprit. She entered the potting shed, knowing exactly where she would be.

"I knew it was you."

"The raven-haired girl's back stiffened.

"Oh yeah? Prove it?"

Betty dangled the necklace in front of her and Ruth snatched it. "Then why... why did you lie if you knew it was?"

"We all have our stories. Some we would like to keep secret?"

Ruth approached her, jaw set. Suddenly her features softened, outstretching her hand. "Shake on it?"

They shook hands.


Nearing the end of September, Bertie Pelham was found and safely returned home, given commission and validated out. Praised for his service after losing an arm.