15 December, 1944
Glenn Miller, papa's favorite band composer, had gone missing. Josephine remembers it well because it's the day after her twenty-second birthday, five days after would be Sybie's birthday and six days later on boxing day, would be Caroline's. December 15th was also the day Andy was reported missing in action. Neither of his sons would be home for Christmas.
That evening, Mary felt overwhelmed, claustrophobic. The peaceful convalescence of the soldiers seemed more like the an invasion. She had snapped at Edith when she had asked if she could do anything to help. It wasn't about helping to make sure that the soldier were comfortable and their needs were being met. What Mary was feeling boiled to the surface, blaming her sister that she was lucky that Jay was out of it. If he had been born a year or two earlier.
But she had stopped herself from saying anything further. "I've got other responsibilities I need to manage." And she continued on her way.
As she lie in bed that night with her husband, it was him who comforted her. He held her in her arms as she sobbed.
"They'll come home. One of them will." He whispered, gently to her, as if it would ease both of their pain.
"With both of them go...going missing, and with Sybie putting herself in danger, not to mention along with everything else, it was all too much. I was absolutely horrid to her. I blamed her for Jay not being old enough to go."
"You lashed out at the nearest person and it just happened to be Edith. She'll forgive you. She's your sister." He held her to him tightly. "They'll come back." He repeated. One of them has to.
"And if they don't?" She lifted her head up from the crook of his neck to look at him.
"We'll survive it. Together, and with the girls."
"The three Crawley sisters." Mary slightly laughed trying not to let the tears fall again. "I never imagined saying that again." She paused. "Do you really think we'll have the strength to survive it?"
"The Crawley's are strong enough to face anything."
"If it's meant to be, if it's time to let Downton go, I will." There would be no heir to carry on the line if both of their sons..."None of that matters. You and the girls mean more to me. You always have."
He had shut himself in his dressing room again and wouldn't come down. He would listen to his Glen Miller records on end, over and over.
Mary comes in with a tray of food. She watches as he stares blankly at the record, watching it go round and round. She gets his attention, saying she brought him his dinner. He climbs into the bed and she carries the try over to him but he hardly touches anything. When the record ends, he says, "again"
She plays the record over. Her back turned to him, she lets the tears escape. He's shutting himself off, his mind like a broken record, like the records he plays over and over. She recalls their discussion they had, their first year of marriage, when Sybil had died that winter. She had discovered that the shell shock had affected him in other ways, not just in the form of nightmares. She had asked him to explain it to her, when he 'went away' when he was awake, what it felt like. "It's like I'm losing control of my mind. Like something else takes over. I feel my mind is slipping away, sometimes I think how much I want to stay there, how easy it would be to let it. But I can't let myself because I know you won't let me. How briefly I can let it, it's a relief."
Was his mind slipping away now? Or was this endless playing of records to help him cope or to distract himself from thinking the worst?
With Caroline constantly talking about the wedding, he came out of it, taking interest in things again.
He was in even better spirits on Christmas Eve. Miss Weston had come to stay at Downton, attending their Christmas Eve party, that they, Mary and the girls weren't going to have, but Matthew decided that they should. They needed a little holiday cheer. Miss Weston and Caroline played the piano, Miss Weston singing. Her presence seemed to fill the empty void. Mary didn't have to imagine what it must be like for the young woman, she clearly carried a torch for George.
The soldiers, that were well enough, eventually joined them. Some had even joined along with the singing.
If you were the only girl in the world, and you were the only boy, was one of the next songs. Mary turned her attention to Matthew who was muttering the words. She started singing the words, loud enough to hear because the girls and even the soldiers ushered and cheered for her to sing. Caroline encouraged her father, as well, he pretended to be bashful but his youngest wasn't buying it. "Come on, Papa! I know you have a good singing voice."
He finally relented.
At the end of the song, the girls had had enough, calling it quits. Kate and Olivia were about to take the soldiers back to their beds, when the peaceful atmosphere of the night had been broken.
The whole house rattled as the sound of planes flew of Yorkshire. Everyone stood still. Mary stood close to her husband, as the air siren began. It wasn't till then that some of the soldiers started to show signs of distress. The orderlies and nurses calmed them.
She looked at Matthew, who had his eyes closed. Was he praying, that wherever those planes were headed did not reach their sons, not trying to think of the memories of war that haunted him?
Or the devastation of the realization that they were safe, tucked away in the Yorkshire country side, had been a dream, an illusion?
Josephine had noticed and Kate realized it too. He had wanted to keep them safe as long as he could, anyway he could. He had failed.
They would soon realize in the early hours of the morning, that on Christmas Eve, Manchester had once again been bombed.
It had first been raided in September of 1940 around the same time of the London Blitz. Manchester had been where Papa had grown up. He had spend a quarter of his life there, where his life had been changed forever. Their Grandfather, naming him as his heir and future Earl to the estate, wanting to change his and Grandma Isobel's lives.
Kate wondered what his life would have been like if he had never left his home. But home was was not a relative concept to him now. Home was where they were. It did not appear to effect him. It was simply a town filled with sentiment.
Still all those memories, gone up in smoke. Memories of Grandma Isobel and a grandfather that died before she was born.
When he heard that the Palace Theatre on Oxford Street was bombed, his demeanor had changed.
But a last, he was more concerned about London. They had friends there but only their business were destroyed, at least they were spared that kind of pain of losing loved ones but had come close. He spoke of fond memories of his childhood home but he had lived in Downton longer that it felt more like home.
Everyone else were on their toes, wondering where the Germans would bomb next. Yorkshire was not too far away from Manchester.
The Manchester Blitz, the Christmas Blitz, it would be called.
Matthew took charge of this situation.
"Alright, everyone knows were to go. Line up accordingly and stick together." He directed the last words to Josephine. Lightly grabbing her arm, squeezing it. She nodded, taking her sisters by their hand, to make a chain. It felt ridiculous as they were grown women, but they had to stay together. Two Crawley siblings were lost to them, for now. She'd rather now than the not knowing. Matthew nodded after them as his eldest daughter led the charge.
He turned to Mary. Mary saw that he was inwardly panicking, thinking back to the first drill, where he had been on the brink of an episode.
He didn't have another one after that, nor they once more made their way down to the pitch black cellar. Waiting, waiting for the bombs that would not come. Probably just another drill. But one could not be so sure. Morrison handed out jars of rations he and the servants had made up.
Mary drew her attention to her daughters and her niece, and Olivia, who were gathered around each other, planning Carrie's wedding. She had to smile.
Though times could be dark with no light within reach, the Crawley's always found a way.
She could hear Matthew start coughing beside her. It was rather dusty in here and the vibrations from the planes had kicked up some dirt particles, that were swirling around in the air.
"She's only known Miles for three months, that's one less than you've know Jack before your marriage." One of the girl's was saying. It was still too soon for Kate to talk about. She dismissed herself and went over to her parents. She sat down next to her father, she had heard him coughing earlier, that was how she could tell what direction they were in. She sat down next to papa, and her mother who was sitting on the other side of him. They were sitting on a crate.
As she sat down his coughing started again. She felt him accidently nudge her as he took out his handkerchief. The coughing sounded absolutely wretched now.
When it stopped, he tucked it back in his pocket. Kate saw how quickly he had done it. He locked eyes with her for a few seconds. It was too dark to see the panic and fear in his eyes.
He turned to her mother. Mary and Kate both looked at him worriedly.
"It's just a cough." He reassured with a smile. Then he turned away. "No need for you two girls to worry. For any of you."
January, 1945
It was the day of the wedding, everyone, including Edith and Bertie in attendance, had made it, not wanting to miss it for the world. They had no idea that Jay was coming, didn't expect that he'd have time off of school, until he came through into the dinning room. He had grown a few several feet, almost as tall as his father now. He'd be seventeen in a month.
Mary was the first to give him a hug, "Look at you! Edith, darling, how lovely you look as well. Incredible you should be the mother of this fine grown up young man."
"Not grown up yet, according to her. But I keep her feeling young. Don't I mama?"
"For now you do, James, yes. I don't want you growing up any more though."
"I'll try."
"It's hard to believe that both of you are mother's to grown children." Matthew said, then toward Jay, "If you succeed, I hope you'll share your secret with the rest of us. Now, Bertie, why don't you sit next to Mary, Tom's going to be late, detained by some tenants or other, and Jo, you sit here next to me, and then you, young man!" He said to his nephew.
The wedding took place in the church. Matthew had looked his happiest that his youngest was getting married. He hoped the same for all his children soon. His daughters seemed to be doing fine for themselves. Kate had finished her nursing training, Josephine was still teaching at the school in the village and Caroline, who had also joined the war effort, having a job at the RAF office, was now going to be married, and with any hope, a grandchild would be soon on the way.
He and Mary had done a fine job raising their children and he was looking forward to the next stage in their lives as grandparents. They had raised three independent, intelligent and capable women. He tried his best not to think of George and Andy. There was still no word from the war office on either of them. He and Mary took turns checking, a revolving door, (not just metaphorical, the war office had a revolving door that brought a fore-looming sense), of endless hope. No thoughts of that. Today is a happy day. He was still worried about Josephine. He caught sight of her, standing beside Kate, waiting for the bride.
"Josephine looks pretty." He turned to Mary sitting beside him in the pew, at the front of the church. "I suppose she will be next. Though she never seems too serious about that sort of thing."
"She's young for her age." Mary replied.
"Do you know if she's set her sights on anyone?" He hoped she would have a man on her mind, and move on from Charlotte. He had seen her broken to pieces. And she had recently ended it with her Duke, which was a relief.
"Not that I know of." Mary was saying.
"You have made me a very lucky man. I have a very beautiful wife and six lovely children. Thank you darling." Matthew leaned in and discretely kissed her cheek.
Six. He was counting Beth. Their child who had never drawn breath. He must be thinking of her looking down on them. Mary thought. All of them who couldn't be here.
Carrie was to meet him at the train station. No doubt her parents agreed to it because it was far away from the fighting.
What if he wasn't coming? What if the wires had been crossed and he hadn't been approved on leave. She would hate having to meet his family alone. She would die of shame and humiliation if she made a fool of herself, giving to much information that Miles didn't tell them. She couldn't face them alone if they hated her.
Then again they invited her, didn't they?
He met her as he got of the platform. "I'm sorry I was running a bit late." He apologized, then glanced at her suitcases. "Is that all your things?"
"Yes. That's all I have."
"Very well, I'll take them for you. I have a car waiting." They walked about of the station, a taxi was parked on the side of the road.
"How was your crossing?" He asked after helping her in and the car pulled away.
"A blur. I was sick for the most of it. Where is it that we're going?"
"We'll be staying at my families cottage. It's not very grand, I'm afraid. It has only one room and an attic that has a bit of a draft but it's nice and clean."
"I don't care how nice it is. Just long as my bed stays put."
"I promise it will."
It was such a relief, with his statement but at the same time was sad that what should be their honeymoon, sharing each other, what should have been special for them. It felt like they would be sharing the same bed as strangers.
Once they arrived, he gave her an outside tour.
"It's my mother's families, her family home. This was my mother's garden. She planted these flowers."
"It's lovely. And that your mother's family is still so close to you."
"Yes. I'm very fortunate. Most other families would have turned me and my father away. I used to think it's because I'm a part of her but I think it's much more than that."
"Do they know about me?"
"I told them that you were beautiful and intelligent. What else is there to know?"
"I mean about..."
"Yes. I did about that. And they agree I'm doing the right thing. They're not very judgmental people."
"Did you lie and say it's yours?"
"It is partly true, isn't it? I told them the father died before you could marry him."
"So you did lie!"
"But they saw right through it. I convinced them you weren't using me, just to legitimize your child or for my money. But they didn't care about that. Family is more important to them. Your family and mine are the same. That's what makes us compatible."
For a few moments she didn't say anything. She looked about, observing every flower. She wondered if orchids had been his mother's favorite and who still took care of them.
"What happened to her? Your mother?"
"She died when I was six. Tuberculosis."
"The grounds are well taken care of."
"My Aunt's handwork. They weren't sisters by blood but anyone who didn't know them would think they were."
A few days after the wedding, after Caroline and Miles had left for their honeymoon, Kate announced that she would soon be going back to the hospital. The house would be empty, apart from Josephine, and Sybie would be coming to stay. She didn't bring her friend Sir Henry like everyone had anticipated. Kate asked about him.
"As it happens, I had to end it." Sybie answered. "There were far too many things we didn't have an understanding on. A great number of things." Her voice shown evidence that there had been some unpleasantries between them. "I've recently been going with this Doctor. Killian Evans. He's Irish like Da."
Kate tried to stay interested in what her cousin was saying but she couldn't hardly take here eyes off her Papa all through dinner. He looked so thin, his eyes sunken by shadows. For an instant she had a sense that someone else was observing too. Across the table she caught her older sister's gaze that had briefly been focused on their father (from the way her head had been angled) but Jo quickly shifter her eyes away.
"May I be excused, Mama? Papa?" Jo asked. "I want to get some riding in before the sun sets."
An hour later when she came back in Kate asked her if she had noticed anything.
"He is getting older Katie. What is he, sixty?" Jo took off her hat and set it on the floor next to her boots.
Kate would demand her to pick them up so Papa wouldn't trip or wheel over them but for now she had more pressing concerns. She'd probably say something snide like, that's what the servants are for.
Jo continued on before she could say something else, "You're looking too much into this because you're a nurse." Perhaps she was right, Kate thought. "Papa, would tell us if he was ill, wouldn't he? And Mama would know." She said to her younger sister.
"You think she doesn't?"
"I don't know. Time is not so kind on most war veterans, isn't that what they tell you?"
"Depending on their injuries."
"Well, I'm sure it isn't that. A lot has been going on. With George and Andy still missing, all the while managing to keep the family together, worrying about the rest of us. He has all that he has to deal with. Maybe it's affected his immune system."
"Maybe." That was quite possible. Though in the back of her mind there was a shred of doubt. "Now, who's the nurse?" Her compliment seemed to roll off her older sister.
"If it worries you that much just ask him. I'm sure it's nothing." Jo struggled with her coat. Kate didn't have anything else to say, and Jo wouldn't want her help, so she left her to it.
Josephine tried hanging up her coat, jumping to try to place it on the hook. She had the looks of her mother but she wasn't as tall as the rest of the family. She and Caroline were short. Finally she managed to get it on the hook but it knocked down her father's coat. She picked it up. His handkerchief was sticking out of the pocket. The one he'd been using in the cellar? She pulled it out and saw the dried spots of blood. Her eyes widened. She was no expert but that couldn't be good. She heard noises not far away and then her mother calling in the distance.
"Jo, is that you? Come join us in the library, darling."
"Coming Mama."
Hurriedly she shoved it back into the pocket as if any moment it could burst into flames.
It's nothing. They have enough things to worry about. If something was wrong he would tell us, wouldn't he?
She composed herself as she made her way to the library. She gave her best smile as she entered, giving the impression that nothing was amiss.
A few hours later the others dismissed themselves up to bed. Matthew was the only one left up. Kate decided to come back down a half hour later. The library was the families place of solace. Mainly hers, her fathers and George's. Jo hardly picked up a book if it didn't have to do with her teaching. Andy wouldn't be caught dead reading. Dead. She shouldn't use that term.
"Papa, you're still up." She said with a bit of surprise. Normally it wouldn't be surprising to see him in the library late at night. But lately he had seemed tired and had been going to bed much earlier.
"Couldn't sleep?"
She shakes her head. "Do you mind if I join you?"
'I would enjoy the company." He smiled. He got out two glasses and a bottle, filling them halfway. He offered one to her but she put her hand up, shaking her head again.
"No thank you, papa." She looked down and then away.
Matthew frowned. Something was troubling her.
"How are you, my dear?"
"Alright."
"Something is obviously troubling you."
She shrugs. Her body slightly sways. A habit from her childhood that had not entirely dissipated. "Just thinking about the boys, had me thinking about Jack."
"I know it must be hard. Almost a year ago you were married. And with the wedding." He'd been concerned about how Katie would handle it. It was not easy to see others happy. He had felt guilty every time he'd let himself enjoy things, even the small things, like spending time with the children when they were little, taking them for ice cream, them falling asleep on his lap, or taking them for a carriage ride through the trail, littered with fresh autumn leaves. Many times, he had felt guilty. When he had survived the war. When he had learned that he was the only one left of his regiment. When Beth had died. And especially now, with his sons missing. Something has to happen soon. The war office has to have something, on Andy at least. It's only been two months.
"I'm doing better, Papa." Her eyes shift to the gun in his hands, lied flat in the palm of his hand, his fingers curled around it. Her eyes widened. Surely Papa wouldn't. No. He was too proud for that. She swore if she saw another gun, she would throw every last one of them in the river, if she could. Little did she know, he hadn't been thinking about it, but it had drawn him back to that dark day, where he had thought about it.
He must of read her worry. "My old service revolver." He said, putting it back in the drawer. "I was just cleaning it." He had gotten rid of everything else apart from it, his red mess jacket, and his old war medal. He had opened it the drawer one day and there it was. Mary most have gotten it back from Mr. Mason before or after his death and placed it there.
She then noticed the box on the table. It contained a medal of some kind. "Is that a Victoria Cross?"
"I received it in 1919. I didn't want it. I felt like a coward. I let my mind become weak. I wanted to show them, so they'd be proud of their old man, but I felt also felt shame." He paused before shutting the box. "I let it break me. I don't know how I'm going to tell George or Andy that, if they..."
"They will. I have a feeling."
He nodded. He had that feeling as well. They'd both be fine. They'd be home soon, and this war would end. "George...I don't know if I could...tell him."
"He'll understand." Kate continued. "They both will, if I can. You can practice with me." She sat in a chair opposite him. "You can tell me all about it."
He leaned back in his desk chair, a daunting look on his face. In earlier pictures that she saw of him, in his youth, it had been rounder. Mama had told them once, he looked like a damn cherub. Kate could tell that her mother missed that look of his when she had said it. It looked even thinner now.
She's seen the horrors. At least what it can do to a man. I can tell her.
"I never... told any of you what happened in the war. Or your mother much of anything." It was taboo back then, it was still now. He didn't know how to talk to her about the shell shock, if he'd be able to. He'd start slow. First he'd start with how he'd gotten injured. "I never told you how I got my injury."
Kate recalled it being vaguely explained to them by their mother over the course of their childhood. Papa's back was hurt, and it makes his legs not work right sometimes.
"I was blasted back by a shell," He continued. "and I was thrown up against something."
With her studies and firsthand experiences, she knew what type of injury he had sustained. She had been assigned to various wards, one of them had happened to be spinal cases. She wasn't going to tell him that of course. Firsthand, she knows that he wouldn't want her sympathy.
"It was an incomplete fracture of the spine with some minor swelling and bruising. Which prevented you from walking for some time. You retained some sensation in your legs but no feeling. Most don't regain the mobility you have." What most could do was just stand. "You are fortunate you can walk at all."
"You've learned quite a lot." He beamed proudly. But then he was suddenly afraid, what if her nursing knowledge is extensive enough for her to notice how sick I am? No. She'll just think it's the old war memories. "It's not just the psychical injuries. The shell shock. It still scars me."
"They're calling it battle fatigue now. It's from being under those conditions, the traumatic situations without a reprieve in-between, the mind doesn't have enough time to process it all."
He smiled again, but this time at her reasoning. He had just been weak and unprepared. Emotionally. He hadn't blocked off his emotions from the start. And yet he felt it would have made no difference. He had gone numb to his feelings later on, after all the killing and seeing all the death. He could never forget. Some parts of the war were still jumbled even after twenty years.
"It's not your fault, papa. And you weren't a coward."
"You know, there are somethings you forget and other things you can't. The shells and what they did. The fields would be covered" the mud running like a stream streaked with blood "and the trenches..." He paused for a moment, wanting to leave as much graphic detail out as he could. But then he realized, she isn't a child. She doesn't have to be sheltered from this when she has seen such brutality, in the form of the maimed and dying soldiers that she cared for. "They were so packed with the dead. Sometimes we had no time to lift them out. There would be nowhere to step." We'd have to step on them, their bones splintering.
She saw her father flinch a bit.
"And you'll never forget the stench..." How could he tell her this?
His voice was shaking with emotion as he recalled the memories, as if he was reliving it, as if it were recent. In a way it was, with this current war. Those same things were happening. She came over to him and squeezed his shoulder, "Go on, Papa." telling him that it was ok. "I witnessed some of those things. It changed me too."
He took in a shaky breath before it equalized, touching her face briefly, as she bent down in front of him. His Katie girl; she was stronger than she looked. She would never change. Oh, but she had. His girls were all different people now because of the war; he could see it especially in Katie's eyes. He would see it in his sons if they returned. He mentally pulled back from his thoughts. But the change did have a purpose. He could tell her because she was a different person and could understand.
She was right. He couldn't stop now.
"The stench of the rotting corpses..." He spoke with more control. "It was worse after it rained. When it rained it washed away the mud off the shallow graves." He swallows as if he's trying to swallow the gruesome details, he was about to say next, to keep them from her. But he didn't hold back. "The fires from the shells would still burn, the bodies would still burn, what was left of them. I've never forgotten their faces. The faces of the people that I...I killed." His face was ashen, almost shattered. "But that was good. I'd tell myself. I deserved..."
"No one deserves that papa."
Kate wanted to stop this; feeling guilty, forcing him to relive it, making him reveal the worst parts of himself. No. Papa never let anyone force him to do anything that he didn't want to. Still, she should never had brought it up. But they were making progress. It would help him heal.
"I've...never told your mother."
It all came back to him in a rush, the things he hadn't forgotten as if they had happened yesterday. He could never forget the German boy he had killed. He could see the boy's face as clear as day, begging him but it's too late. Just a boy who happened to be on the wrong side. All of them someone's husband, father, son. He had thought it a cosmic joke that he was able to live the life of someone who would never live it, because he had snuffed that away.
It had turned out the young lad had been a ploy to lure them out. The moment he had let down his guard the boy had tried to shoot him. Wrestling over the gun, it went off, the bullet leaving a hole in the boy's head, his helmet having been knocked off in the scuffle. That still hadn't changed a thing. He had felt guilty about it. He still did and would for ever. The other things he had felt guilty of he had let go, accepting they were things that he couldn't change. But this, he felt he had to hold on to. The gun hadn't gone off by accident. He had pulled it willingly, maliciously in cold blood. He had blocked it out. The day his mind started breaking. There had been gaps here and there, before that moment but this had made a deep wound to his psyche and his soul.
He recalled felling relief, the same relief he had felt for Edwards, for the fresh pair of clothes after finding a part of one of his buddies in his uniform. He felt sick. It wasn't just the memory.
He told her about the boy, about all of it, how he had felt the relief about his friends, how he had been glad that they had died, "better getting their head blown off than another day in the trenches, I'd say...and I was glad."
"You weren't thinking clearly. There's no shame in that. And in those situations,..."
"But that wasn't even the worst part of it. You want me to tell you?"
"You don't have to. You can stop now papa" She saw the tears in his eyes. They were clouded with something that she noticed all too clearly. They were clouded with grief and guilt.
She got up and went around his chair to place her hand on his shoulder again. He held her hand there, squeezing it gently. A few tears fell onto her hand. She started to pull her hand away to wipe it, but he held her hand in place. She knew what he was doing, he needed to feel her in fear he'd slip away.
"No. I need to tell you." He had already gotten this far, had already told her this much, probably far too much. But he felt that she was the only one he could tell this to. "You know what the worst of it was?" He sniffed. "Feeling nothing at all. I felt cold, numb. After a while, I didn't let myself feel anything. It changed me. I left part of my mind there that I will never get back. The man I was, he died in France. I wish you could have met him." He smiled, sadly, like missing an old friend he hadn't thought about in a long time.
"I think I see a part of him sometimes."
"No. It's just an illusion. That's what it does." He sniffed again and looked away, finally letting go of her hand.
"I don't quite believe that." She said softly, grabbing hold of his hand this time.
He continued on as if he hadn't heard her. "I had hoped that it would go away. The shell shock. But it'll always be there. It'll always be a part of me. I've learned to come to terms with it, how to live with it."
"It doesn't effect you as much as before? With this one?"
"No, but it could" He lied. He didn't remember much between the time George and then Andy had been reported missing. He remembers bits and pieces, Christmas, the cellar, Caroline's wedding. "I've come a long way." Which was true to a point. He seemed to have conveniently remembered all the important stuff. But it could still all unravel.
"I can't imagine where I'd be if it weren't for you children and your mother. I..." Her father stopped. He looked ill, as if he was about to throw up. She knew if he got sick all over the floor he would be embarrassed and if she offered to clean it, even one of the maids.
"I know you're sick Papa. That you've been feeling unwell. Just tell me what it is."
"It's nothing."
"Papa..." She was almost scolding him. Her nursing manner reminded him of Sybil, who had helped nurse him after he had received his spinal injury. She and Ethel had played key roles in his recovery not just Mary. It dawned on him that he might not recover from this, whatever this mysterious illness was. He was starting to think it was something other than the doctor's initial diagnosis of bronchitis. For now, he wouldn't worry Mary or the other children with it. If things were to get to the point where he needed care, he wouldn't let his daughter be his nurse.
"The doctor said it was just an infection."
He was becoming irritable. Proof that he was seriously ill and hiding it? She wouldn't argue with him about it. He'd just shut her out.
"I'm more susceptible now that I'm getting older, due to my old injury. But it's all managed now. He's got me on a round of antibiotics."
His reassurance did little to ease her mind. But she had to take his word on it. He wouldn't lie to her. "Good. Then all you need to do is rest and take care of yourself Papa. Take a break from the estate and work. I mean it. Go straight up to bed." She kissed his cheek. "You've been running yourself ragged."
They were sending Palo to another farm today. He asked her that when the war was over if she would marry him and they could run his restaurant together and until then he asked if she'd write to him.
"Of course I will."
Downstairs she was in a rather somber mood and Ms. Mac was the first to notice.
"What's got you so down in the dumps today, my child?"
"Palo is being sent to another farm. I hope he'll get my letters...you see he asked me to marry him."
"And is that such a bad thing?"
"You weren't too happy about the display at dinner when I made that Cacciatore"
"Yes. And I ask you if you could forgive me for that. I was wrong."
"Ms. Mackenzie, why did you never get married? I'm sure you were beautiful once."
"Thanks for that. I should think that was a compliment?" Betty nodded. "My fiancé died in the Great War. I was a nurse. He wasn't on my ward but we'd meet everyday in the gardens. One day he asked me to marry him. He wanted the wedding straight away but I wanted to wait. He was killed on the Somme."
"I'm so sorry, Ms. Makenzie."
"After that, I couldn't love anyone else like my Alfie. It wouldn't have been fair to any man I would have married. That's why it's important to tell him how you feel, write to him while you can. Precious time can't be wasted. Don't make the same mistake I did. Waiting too long."
After the long day managing hospital business, Mary wanted some down time with her husband, so she came up to talk with him or to rest. She heard the faint hum of music from down the hall. He was playing his records again. When he told her 'again' to start it over, she put on a different one this time. He was too far away to notice but she hoped that with this that she could reach him.
Zip goes a Million.
"You remember this song, don't you darling?"
She walked over to him, where he is sitting on the edge of the bed. Still silent, staring through her.
She helps him stand up and leads him to the middle of the floor, placing her hand on his shoulder, one around his waist. And they dance.
She imagines them young again. Is that what he is thinking, somewhere in his mind, he must be aware.
He is young again, dancing in her arms, as she holds him close. The music sounds far away but yes he hears it. He's dancing without the need of his braces or her stick, or her support. She's spinning her around, faster and faster to the rhythm as it becomes louder and louder.
Those were simpler times. Back when his body was whole. He wants to remember themselves that way and not let go. Recalling the feeling of when his body had been strong, before it failed him yet again. It was failing him. How did he tell her when all this was happening to their sons, not knowing where they were or what became of them? He couldn't tell her that he was sick because he did not know with what, if it was slowly killing him. He couldn't help but think that the doctor's got it wrong. He doesn't know if he would want the right answer, if he could go in peace without knowing what became of George and Andy. He must believe that he will see them again in this life. But one day the truth might come.
He doesn't want to face any of it. He wants to stay this way, stuck in this moment. He wants to sleep till the war is over. But he cannot. They will need him. His wife needs him. For however long he has. He finds his way back through the thick dense fog of his mind.
She looks back up at him to see that he is smiling at her.
"I love you, my darling." He kisses her fingers.
The corners of her mouth tug upward. He's come back to her, like he always has. She kisses his lips.
