Before Christmas, Matthew and Mary and the family came down to see George, minus Jo, she was feeling down with morning sickness. It would be yet another Christmas without him but at least there would be next year. He had six of them to make up for.

What was supposed to be a reunion of sorts was cut down to two people visiting at once, the nurse heckling them.

"If he's to get better." She had explained. But he already looked it.

George was now sitting up more often and his color returned to his face. He was telling Andy that he should be getting his prosthetic soon. "You won't be able to tell the difference."

"Cool. I wish I had some battle scars to show off. Not even a gammy leg. Just a thumb that won't bend right." He was still lucky that the blast had been far enough away; though the energy of it had still blasted his backward and had broken his thumb. "They might have to re-break it."

Matthew smiled as he overheard the conversation. They were strong lads, proudly showing off their war wounds. They can move on from this.

George was taking his injury in stride and more accepting of the news, of the life that would be very different for him. But was he really alright?

He wasn't sure how to ask or even help his son. He would need the help. Or did he not know and was in denial how hard things would be?

Let him be happy. Let him smile and laugh, with his brother and sisters.

He thought back to the old days, when he had tried to convince Mary to leave him. How she had tried convinced him that he had to do his exercises.

"What's the point?" He had asked.

"Keeping your strength up will help cut back your risk of infections."

"It won't by much. I'll never walk again. My life as I knew it, is over."

"No. It's a start of a new one. We just have to..."

"It's not going to be easy. It'll be hard."

"I know it will."

"No, you don't know." He had said in a soft whisper before bringing his voice up, filled with anger and self hatred, "Am I just a project to you to fix so you can feel better about yourself or because..." you want some broken man that you can control?

"It's because I care. Don't you see? I want you to live."

He had chosen to live. He wanted his son to chose the same. Whatever he might be feeling, whatever he might be masking. They'd get through this, together.

Someone put their hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of his memories, he had nearly flinched.

"George is wanting to see you." His wife's lips brushed his ear. He started forward but then stopped, looking back, he realized she wasn't following. He asked if she was coming. "Just you darling."

The curtain was drawn to give them some privacy.

Mary tried to listen in, but all she heard was muttered exchanges, then,

"I need it more often. I'm getting old. That's what you asked last time."

"I was told you were sick. You looked fine when I saw you."

"You were out of it then."

"What was it? What did you have?"

"I'm doing fine. You don't need to worry."

George was too tired to put his energy into hammering his father for answers, whatever it was had been serious, life threatening. Any illness to his father was.

Matthew knew it would come back up later. He talked of his visits from Sybie and Olivia. "Not together. Sybil comes less often. She's still helping with the hospitals, with that doctor of hers. I won't be home for Christmas, which is a big bummer. That word is so American. I have my friend, Jimbo, to thank for that. That's Sophie's brother." Then he stopped, remembering. His eyes blank for a second. "He was killed a few months ago." He said this nonchalantly, a little troubling but it still had yet to sink in. "It was a bomb, they said. He went back to rescue the injured, he got caught up in it. And when everything settled, there was nothing left. A hero till the end." And he had been holed up in the French countryside, safe and warm in a beautiful French woman's bed, with food in his belly. He had been a deserter, living in comfort while his friend had been saving lives and had gotten blown up. Can't be feeling sorry for yourself, old chap. "I'll have to write to his sister but I suppose they have already gotten the news." Dear sweet Sophie. She wouldn't want him like this now but at least he had his family. "I'll be home some time after the new year, they expect."

"A new year. A lot of changes."

"For the better, I hope. Hopefully the war will feel over by then."

"It will be a change for you. A lot of adjusting, but remember we're here for you. Whenever you need the help, just ask for it."

"I won't need..."

"You've been taking all day. We barely got to see him ten minutes tops." Andy's voice carried through the curtain from across the room. "What have you two been talking about?

"Girls." George hollered back. Something muttered from Andy. He turned back to his father, "do you have the time?"

Matthew took out his pocket watch, "Half past six."

"All this talking's made me tired." George said and gave a yawn.

"It's been a really long day." Matthew agreed, get your rest."

The curtain was drawn back and the rest of the family bustled over. Matthew took them to a side a moment and told them George was tired and it was getting late, they should all head back to the Hotel. Some of the children groaned, then said Happy Christmas to him, each of them in turn.

The nurse, seeing the exchange, ran over, practically shooing them out the door.

Before the new year Sophie had come to see him. He had tried to turn her away but she said she was still going to marry him.


31 December 1945, eight months after Germany's surrender the Horse Guards disbanded, and Miles is finally shipped home. The first thing he did was go up the nursery to see his daughter. He committed on how bald she looked.

"Papa says all blonde babies look like Winston Churchill." Miles' eyes watered with tears of laughter, yet reacting as if it was the most sacrilege thing to say. "If you compared Mattie's picture with mine, Kate's and Andy's at that age, we'd all look like triplets. Even Jo's even though she isn't blond."

"I don't think Josephine would appreciate being compared to Winston Churchill." Miles wiped his eyes. Josephine walked toward the room and they both started laughing.

"What?" They only laughed harder.


Just after the new year, and Kate's birthday, Anna Bates made her way up the snowy path. She hadn't been to Downton in almost two decades. The shadows cast from the large castle, looming over her, did not feel menacing. It was home, were she had sought refuge all those decades ago. It was to be her refuge again. She thought, looking up at it, her suitcase banging against her knees.

Mary, was the first to great her old friend, and eagerly welcomed her back. They got caught up on old times. She told her about how Matthew was, that he was doing much better, that he had been ill but she didn't go into further details. "How's Bates?"

"He died, a few years back."

"Oh, Anna, I'm so sorry." She pulled her dear old friend into an embrace.

"I would have told you, but I felt it would be better this way, and then with the mail. It had been hard to get anything through." She had thought that telling one such things over the phone or in a letter was tactful.

"Yes, of course."

"He had cancer. That's why Johnny went off." A lump went to Mary's throat. The fear that it might come back and claim Matthew's life this time gripped her. She could lose Matthew to this as Anna had lost Bates. She was glad she hadn't brought Matthew's cancer up to Anna. Anna might feel jealous, even outrage, that Matthew had survived it, and Bates had lost his battle. No. Anna would never think that.

"I haven't heard from Johnny in quite some time." Anna continued. "With the war over, it will be any day now." Any day now that they might tell her that her only son is dead.

Why does bad news have to accompany the good in three fold? Mary thought.

"Andy and Johnny were always such good friends. Are."

"I was always telling you, wasn't I?"

"Last time I heard from you, your boys were missing."

"They're home now, safe! With George it will take a little adjusting." Mary looked around as if to see if anyone was listening.

"Do you think they would know anything? Anything little that might help?"

"Andy hasn't seen him since they trained together. I could ask. But first, let's get you settled in."

"I was thinking of staying in the village."

"Now I won't have that. You're not going to stay in one of those drafty, old cottages. I don't know why Jo had insisted. Privacy, I guess." She lead Anna down to the servants quarters.

They weren't the only ones down there. Ms. Mac, Mary called her, the cook was doing the dishes. She introduced the two woman. Mary went on to say that they'd been short handed since the young servicemen had went off to war, the young women joining the war effort. The kitchen maid and the rest of the servants had the day off.

"I'd be glad to help out, wherever I can for as long as I can. As I'm needed. I don't plan on staying indefinitely." Could she just step back into her old life as easily as stepping into a pair of shoes? Or would the memories and echo of her husband in these halls haunt her? Johnny had spent the first two years of his life here, not old enough to remember or form an attachment to it. It was a beautiful place.

"You're not staying?" Mary had to ask, to be sure.

"I don't know if I can just go back to being a maid again."

"Anna, you were hardly ever just a maid. You were a lady's maid to me, and a friend. And you still are. "

Anna smiled. "Yes mi'lady."

"You can call me, Marry, when no ones around." A moment passed between them, they had recaptured from their youth. Anna was the same age as Matthew but still had a youthfulness about her, it seemed she had hardly aged except for a few lines, and strands of grey, her blonde hair lighter. Mary hadn't had a grey hair yet. And she was dreading that day. "I'm not talking about being a maid again. My housekeeper doubles as the cook since we'd been short handed it's become rather tiring for her. And I need someone to fill her other position."

"I don't know how much use I'd be in the kitchen."

"No. Not in the kitchen. She'll stay on as the cook."

It took Anna seconds for it to sink in.

"Me? As housekeeper? You want me...I...I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing. Take time to think about it."

"Thank you. Thank you, so much." She headed toward the old servants quarters. She needed to lay down, not from the long journey, but from the excitement.

"Oh and Anna, you'll always have a job and a home here, for as long as you want it."


At the end of January George was finally able to come home. They had dinner as they normally would, their usual guests, the Napier's, some other important figures from the House of Lords. He could tell that his father would have wanted a quiet affair but mother no doubt had to have her way.

The surprise almost had been too much for him, the applause almost making him dizzy, causing the room to spin. He was thankful that he was sitting down in his wheelchair, that he'd be confined to until he was strong enough to walk on his own. The sooner to get rid of it the better. He knew what it was sort of like, being confined to this contraption like his father must have felt but he felt sort of guilty to be able to free of it, shed it like a snake's skin, while so many people would be confined to such a life forever.

His father didn't seem entirely whole because of it, though he had it all, his wife, children, now a first grandchild, soon to be two. Josephine pregnant, who would have imagined? She didn't necessarily read maternal but maybe teaching the school children, she had developed the patients. His father tried hard but he would never be truly complete.

He understood. The difference was maybe he would never find what his father had. Doomed to be a bachelor for the rest of his days. Maybe he could ask for a teaching position at the school, tutor the young boys. But who would want to look at him. Andy's family could have the title. If he died without any children, the title would go to Andy and then on to his sons.

Enough of this doom and gloom, I will try to enjoy myself. They put all this together for me.

The gong sounded and they lined up for dinner. He hoped no one would draw attention to his 'bravery' and his return but of course it was a vein hope.

"We should start a toast before we start eating." His mother said. "Celebrating our sons return when we thought we lost him and he made it home, receiving his wounds while trying to avoid capture, he managed to make his way home to us."

"Here. Here."

George had no choice but to go along with it, forcing a smile. Was this how his father felt all the time when he had returned? He was afraid to ask.

He got the answer in his father's pale blue eyes, boring into his. It was like staring back at a mirror.

After the rest of the guest departed the family had presents for him, and took part of the family tradition of 'The Game" a.k.a Charades but George hadn't joined in, claiming he was too exhausted. Bertie and Jay were the winners as always.

"We're the masters of the game." Bertie said, cheekily. He asked about George.

"His same mopey self as usual." Caroline said.

"Bertie's lost an arm and he gets around alright." Said Aunt Edith.

"Yeah, but it's not the same as losing a leg. He has to re-learn how to walk." said Kate.

Jay said he was thinking about joining the army.

"You're not thinking about dropping out of school...When it's all been paid for." His father said, his voice poorly masking his strictness.

"Of course not, sir." Jay answered. Everyone went quiet, looking down at their glasses, anywhere else or at the floor.

Andy broke across the awkward silence. He wanted to throw George a proper welcome home party, dinner with just the family, "after he's settled in"

"Not just yet." Matthew said. "It might take some time. He needs all the rest he can."

"Yeah, but he can't stay in bed all day. Can't argue with that. Doctor's orders." Andy patted his father on the shoulder.

Jay would go up to see George, and his mother and father. Everyone else would tiptoe around him when he was in one of his 'bad moods'

Jay read him the letters he received but the warm, kind words of praise and thankfulness of his service and his survival, did not penetrate his walls that he had put up.

Sophie had come to see him for the first time since he'd been home. No one had known that she had come to see him at the hospital. Once more he turned her away. She said she would try to convince her parents, but it was no use. On her way home back to America, she had written him that her parents were right. She was too young and had a life ahead of her. She was marrying someone else, that she would feel better if he would forgive her and hoped that they could be friends and wished him the best of luck.

He didn't come down from his room for a few days after that. Matthew was more concerned, the efforts to bring back his son brought back the memories of own dark days. He had become a stranger the six years he'd been gone. They were all strangers to each other. He wanted to get to know his son again.

George told only his father and Jo about the real reason for Sophie leaving. Her parents' badgering and bullying hadn't budged her but when the nurse had told her the reality, it would be a long hard road ahead for George, she had bailed. She had written to him to say that she was engaged to someone else and that they should both move on. She had wished him the best.

"What a crock isn't it? That's a term Jimbo used."

"Just as well. I never liked her anyway." His father said. "It wasn't to be."

"She wasn't good for you." Jo more than agreed. "My big brother deserves better."


After visiting with George, Andy and Jay went for a walk. "I intended to go to Paris in the summer, work on a bit of poetry before I sign up for the army." Jay said.

"How on earth would you get your father to agree to such a jaunt?"

"I keep many things hidden from him."

"That means your dropping out? Last time you were up here you were boasting about becoming the youngest student to graduate law school in the history of history and all that."

"Surely one can write poetry and pursue a reasonable career. I haven't entirely given it up. I can always come back to it. I could always use my inheritance. I got in to please Uncle, now that he's better, it wouldn't be right."

"In that case, if you're giving up your spot, I'd like to take it."

"You mean...you a lawyer?"

"But of course, I'm going to need you to show me the ins and outs. If you want me to keep your secret."

"Blackmail!" Jay playfully gasped.

"Never. I just don't want you to go."


Johnny returned one wintery evening. The sun's warmth barley escaping through the clouds. He approached the gate; there stood a young woman with auburn hair.

"Kate! Kate Crawley is that you?" The sun finally breaking through the clouds, the light making her hair look bright red. "By Jove, it is! You've grown!"

It took her a moment to resister that it was him. He was so thin but still gangly as ever. He and Andy could be twins. She momentarily thought of Beth. A passing thought. It was still too sad, though she had barley been old enough to remember. "So have you!"

"What have you been up to?"

"I signed up as a nurse during the war. I'm finishing my studies at nursing school."

"Really? I thought you'd be one of those boring university girls."

"So did I." They hugged and laughed, then broke apart. She suddenly lifted her arm and reaptedley swung at his shoulder. "Johnny Bates, where have you been? We've all been worried sick about you!" She said between punches.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Alright. Alright. I'll tell you." She stopped and he looked at his arm. His other arm was hidden in his coat. "God, that's going to leave a bruise. Should've been a rugby player." She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for an answer. "I was in a German prisoner of war camp."

"Oh, Johnny..."

"Nobody wrote to me while I was there. No letters. Nothing."

"Nobody knew you were there. We didn't know my brother was in one." She turned her face away and looked up at the sky.

"Kate, I'm so sorry. If I'd know he was listed as missing, when he was really in the same camp with me, I would have demanded he write. It would have been worth the risk of my own life."

"He was there with you?"

He nodded.

"Why hadn't he contacted us?"

"He was injured. And I imagine that he felt shame? Most of the men expressed that they would have rather been blown to smithereens than caught be the enemy." He saw her go ridged. "Not that George was one of the sort. All he wanted was to get back to you."

"He didn't tell us about you."

"He had no way of knowing I was still alive."

"He still could have written to your mother or have us do it."

"And give her false hope? I don't know if he made it out or not, but here's hoping? He would've known I would have hated that." She could only nod again. George would have to explain it to her. When he was ready.

"How...did you end up there?"

"I was captured by the Germans on the first offensive. I ran too far ahead. The next thing I knew there were Germans running at me, then I was blasted back by an explosion. The next time I woke up, I was being lugged by two Hun into a cattle car. That's where I ran into your brother. A year and a half in that miserable place. I was all alone."

"You weren't alone. You had my brother to keep you company."

"We were kept in separate blocks and they barley let us talk to each other, even in passing."

"In case there were spies that could pass along information."

"Or because they could. If they caught us talking, they'd beat us with the butt of their rifles or worse. Those who did something wrong or something they didn't like, they'd shoot us just for fun, for no reason at all. And you were here, safe and cozy, playing nurse."

"It wasn't playing nurse! And it hadn't been easy. For any of us! Almost everyone in this village has lost a husband, a son or a brother. I lost the man that I...that I loved! So, I sighed up to do my bit, to sooth someone else's pain. I sacrificed my own grief for others."

"I'm sorry. That's rough."

"No, Johnny. You know what's rough? Your so-called love for me. Your love has always been selfish. Jack's love was..." Pure, innocent, and it had all but been destroyed. She'd keep part of it in her heart forever.

"I do love you, Kate. Maybe I see that now..."

"You do know I'm going out with Lord Wroughton."

"So, I've heard. If he asked you to marry him, would you say yes?"

" I might. What choice do I have?"

"You do have a choice. Right in front of you."

"You see, this is exactly what I'm talking about. If you loved me, you'd let me make my own decision and respect it. I know you think you're in love with me. But I know what true love is. I had it once. I don't think you know what it truly means. This is my chance..." To move on. Maybe find happiness again.

"I am. I do. But you don't feel the same way. If you give it more time..."

"Please, let us not fight. Your mother will be waiting to see you. You've kept her waiting long enough."

"Wait? She's here?"

"She's working for us again. She's the new housekeeper." She smiled as she led him up to the house.


George wanted to be up and about. He said he didn't want a party for himself. "Let's have it for Johnny."

Johnny was returned home safely, not unscathed, like Andy. He had a few fingers missing from his hand. He had told nobody else but George and always kept it bandaged.

"The Germans chopped them after they caught me thieving. I'm lucky that's all they chopped." He had been caught stealing a loaf of bread, little did they know, he hadn't been stealing it for himself but for a little Jewish boy. He had passed by his block everyday while working. "It would have been much worse if they knew. I felt like Jean Valjean."

"Who?"

"With a big room full of books you'd think you'd own it. Like every book ever written." He exaggerated. "You never once read Hugo's "Les Miserables?"

"No thanks. There's been enough Les Miserables."

Johnny nodded. They were soon joined by Andy.

The house had a going away party for the soldiers and celebrating Johnny's return before the house would return to normal. They were having a 'proper' party at Downton, celebrating George's return, among them, the few soldiers that remained. Including Roy. It was their big send off before the Abbey returned to a private house again.

After asking Kate to dance, Roy asked her to come outside with her, out to the balcony, where he proposed.

"Kate."

She didn't know what to say.

"You're the only one I can marry. It wouldn't only be suitable, but people would expect it. And in time, I hope we can get to know each other again and come to love one another. I've always admired you and we are friends. What beter way to start? We would make sense. People would be expecting it. I do really care for you." He took her hands as she remained silent. "I'm sure that in time that we could come to love each other. And if you need time, because of Jack, I'll give you time." She could only look at the ground at her feet. "Please, say something."

"No. I mean, I don't mean know. I'm just shocked is all." Which shouldn't be. They would make sense. As children they had been close and her one constant, although he had annoyed her half the time with his persistence, always being by her side.

"Don't you think it was just the war?" She asked him. "Taking care of you. Being dependent on one another?" She had taken care of him because at the moment she couldn't help take care of her brother. It was all so she could not think about him.

"It brought us closer together. It doesn't necessarily mean a bad thing. I'll wait, if you need more time, for Jack. It doesn't have to be right away."

She thought for a moment.

"You're right. I just need some time."

"It's settled then." Like it was a business transaction, maybe because it was. But she was sure they could easily come to love each other. She just wasn't ready, though she was starting to fall for him, she was afraid to let Jack go; not just yet. She was not sure what her feelings could mean. It's been over a year and yet it felt like she was betraying him, his memory.

Jack would want her to move on with her life.

She considered his proposal, telling him that she'd think about it. In truth, it wasn't that she didn't want to, or that she wanted to wait for something better to come along, (she thought that maybe she could fall in love with him in time) she didn't want to let go of Jack's name yet, although, she never really had known him. She voiced her worry and concern to her mother.

"You're afraid of your feelings for him."

Thanks mother, for stating the obvious. "I know it will be a big change. The challenges..." Even though they came from the same background, they had different interests. Not only that, but there was also an oddness about Roy. She supposed most of it was the war. And then there was his injury. It was as hard on him, almost as it had been for George. But Roy still had his leg. That was the other thing. She appeared to be coping with it, not letting it hinder him, but she just didn't now. If it was a play, all just for her. She did feel something for him.

When she saw him sitting in the garden, observing the way the sunlight shown through his hair, she suddenly thought, he really wasn't that bad looking.

From that moment, she was in love.

But now, while she was sitting in the drawing room with her mother, she was having second thoughts. Maybe it had been just that, just the trick of the light, the war having ended, emotions still running high. Things had seemed to start dwindling down. Being his care giver. Rose colored glasses, one of the other nurses had called it.

"Of course we'd move to his estate." She was telling her mother. "But I don't feel like I could ever leave here or give up my nursing. He feels that I should have to, as my duty as a countess. If I truly love him, I would follow him wouldn't I?" She asked her mother.

"I can't answer that for you. Falling in love is a risk that only you can decide when you want to take it."

There was a knock and Morrison entered. "Mr. Bates has come to call on you Miss Kate."

"Thank you, Morrison. I will see to him."


"Did you say yes? I wasn't eavesdropping or anything. It's obvious he asked the question. It's written all over your face. So did you?"

"What if I did?"

"Come take a walk with me. Or is that out of bounds?"

"I always have time for a friend." They walked side by side, a bit awkwardly but fell in step comfortably like the old friends that they were. "I'm sorry for how I acted. I don't know why I said those things. When I saw you..."

"It was a shock. I get it. You thought I was dead and when you saw me you didn't know how to react."

"That and you've never written to me."

"So, what do you see in him? I'm curious."

"He's nice...charming. I think I could love him."

"So are you..."

"He said he'd give me more time."


Josephine examined her form in the mirror, her hands on her hips, her hands hesitating over her expanding stomach. How could anyone want this or think this attractive?

"I feel disgusting. Did you ever feel that way when you were pregnant?" She gave a quick glance at her sister Carrie, then back at her reflection. "Never mind. Look who I'm asking."

"No. Not at all. Not really, at least till the morning sickness passed. Don't worry once you see you're little precious thing in your arms, you'll be in love and never want to let her go. It'll all be worth it."

Josephine wasn't so sure, that she could be a good mother, especially now, with her marriage being on the brink of being over.

Carrie decided not to announce her pregnancy yet. This was her sister's first and didn't want to spoil it for her. The first time was something special.

On 14th of Febuary, Valentine's day 1946, Josephine gave birth to a baby boy, weighing six pounds, seven-ounces named Noah Crawley Forsythe. George was a proud uncle, not that he wasn't of Mattie, being able to be present at her birth.

Her father was still adamant if she still wanted to divorce he would stand by her. "It worked well enough for Wallace Simpson." It would be good enough for his daughter.

"Papa, don't make me laugh." She still hurt a little from pushing out a life out of a tiny space and the stiches from being sewn up.

She drifted off to sleep.

"Rest now, my girl. You earned it."


June 1946

It had been five months since George had come home. He was still having trouble with his prosthetic and claimed it chafed him terribly.

Mary took him to get it refitted.

George slouched in his wheelchair as they entered the waiting room. He sat up immediately when the doctor called them in. Mary swooped in behind George and grabbed the handles of his chair just as the boy laid hold of the wheels.

"I can do it, mum." He was trying to be nice, not trying to sound like the annoyed son.

"Of course. Of course you can." She sounds way too perky, even for her. His mother was always cool under pressure, calm when everything around her fell apart, was able to fire back a rapid fire response. He never saw her lose it. Ever.

The doctor led them into a large examine room, holding the door open for them.

"You're mother tells me you've been experiencing some things with your prosthesis."

"He's been complaining of pain..."

"It's not a big deal. It hurts after I practice standing."

"Have you been working on your mobility and exercises as you should?" George shakes his head. "Well, there, I think is the most of your problem.

"The wheelchair's more convenient. With the crutches my hands are all tied up and it's like I have four prostetics instead of one. And it's hard. Walking, I mean."

"Well, how about we take a look anyway?" He rolled George's pant leg back, but then stopped to look up at Mary, Mrs. Crawley, would you mind if you could step out for a moment?"

"No. It's fine. She can stay."

The doctor unstrapped the prosthetic.

"The area is still a little raw. Are you experiencing any pain, anywhere else?"

"Not in my...not there. I get this pain sometimes, in the day but mostly at night, before I go to bed. Tingly sensations. Phantom pains, they explained it. They told me I could expect that, once the real pain went away after the operation."

"Phantom pains is the brain's way of trying to create input to the nerves to the limb that is no longer there. Practicing your walking will help with that. I'd like to get a few x-rays to rule out bone spurs or stress fractures. You can wait in the waiting room until the nurse calls you."

George wheels out but Mary turns back, shutting the door behind her.

"I was wondering if you I could talk to you, while waiting for the x-rays." She paused, "Did he seem a bit depressed to you? Would counseling be right for him?"

"Well, what do you think about it?"

"I think he ought to be seeing someone, talking to someone. If you recommended it, I think he would listen."

"I am a physician Mrs. Crawley, not a magician. I can't convince my patients to do anything simply because I recommended it, not unless their life was at risk."

He is at risk. She wanted to shout. But she didn't want to make a scene.

"What makes you think he would listen to me?"

"You were in the military, I heard one of your nurses."

"I was in the Guards."

"You still have some understanding..."

"And I'm hardly a psychologist."

Mary sucked in her breath. "I don't mean that you should counsel him. You've already gone above beyond as it is. There's still such a stigma and prejudice around mental health. My sister and I were thinking about starting a group for ex-veterans." She could just imagine, how she would try to convince George to talk about it in a room full of strangers, let alone Matthew. "His father was the exact same way." after his war injury. He had wished that he had someone, others to talk to, that had been there.

"I think it's a great thing you're doing. But I don't think you need to look any further. If his father could talk to him about it, I think it would help a great deal. He needs to be encouraged. Or he won't be able to walk at all."


Over the next few weeks, George didn't waste time sitting in bed. There were a few times where George would not come down and Matthew had been worried. But when Olivia had written to him, he started to get out of bed, more and more. When he was in bed he'd prefer sitting up more, than laying down. He still resided in the sitting room. He could not yet navigate the stairs. That was still a far way off yet. Matthew understood his son's anxiousness. He needed to be encouraged to be patient. He went down to see his son, expecting him to be wheeling around the house, like a man on a mission, (he had joked with him that they could have a race. George had responded, which I'd win, old man.) or taking breakfast with the family as he frequently did.

But today however, on one cold day in May, George was lying in bed in front of the fireplace. His leg must be bothering him. The weather even had Matthew's back flaring up. He'd take some pain medication for it later, which would mean, he'd be out for the rest of the day.

"I know the feeling son." He sighed and sat down of the bed.

George moved nothing but his head, "Do you? You would."

"How's the..." He nodded toward the stump. He still had the prosthetic on.

"Still hurts like hell." The prosthetic always chaffed. It almost looked raw again, a few days ago when he'd last taken it off. He was afraid to now. He was afraid to look at it.

"You're supposed to take it off every few hours."

"Where did you get that information from Sybie or Kate?" George didn't hide his disapproval. He let his anger known.

"Sybie's written to me." He admitted.

George's eyes narrowed, accusing. "You mean you've written to her and she wrote back."

"Only because I couldn't ask Katie. And I know Sybie's worried about you. I am. We all are."

"We'll I'm perfectly fine. Apart from the chaffing." He turns on his side, his back to his father, pulling the blanket tighter over him.

He knew what his son was doing. He didn't want the help or support, not because he didn't think he deserved it, because he wanted to do it on his own, and not have people 'baby' him. At least that's what it appeared. He had made further progress than he had with his own injury, it had taken him much longer. But it worried him how easily George had immediately accepted it.

"If it persists, we can make an appointment."

George turned back to him and nodded. "I think I might do that." He lied down on his back and grunted, "it's been four months. I was starting to get used to it. It feels like a setback. I can't get out of bed when it's hurting.

"These things take time. You must be patient. That's part of the healing process." After a moment, Matthew smiled and huffed out a laugh.

"What?"

Never had he thought saying those words to his son or imagined being in a position similar to those who had helped him recover. "You're handling it better than I would have."

"I wouldn't have been able to, if it weren't for you, if you were able to walk normally. Because I've seen you do it. I can handle it alright." He thought a moment, "if you hadn't been injured, you would've been too old to join up. "You'd have probably joined the house guards like Miles. Lazy tosser." He muttered the last words under his breath.

"Eh, that's your sister's husband."

"Who says in-laws are to always get along? " He took another pause, then shrugged his shoulders. "He's fine for Carrie, I guess."

"What do you think of Jo's husband?"

"The American. Have to meet him yet, don't I?"

"What? You have nothing to say? I thought you would have. Unless you suspect that she's left him or not telling the whole truth."

"Knowing Jo, when things get too tough or complicated, she runs away from them."

"What do you mean?"

"Forget I said anything, alright? She wouldn't let me here the end of if, if she knew I told you. Let her figure things out on her own." He shook his head, before changing the subject, "I think you would have worked with the war office."

"I practically did for a bit, and when you went missing. And your brother."

George hung his head for a moment, feeling guilty. He had been living with a woman in the French country side for two months when he was missing, regretting not sending them word that he was alive; then he had been captured.

"It's not the worst that could have happened to me. You and mum must have thought the worst."

"We've been through a lot."

"We've all lost a lot. I lost someone."

"Your friend Jimbo?"

George looked puzzled and then shook his head. "I told you about him, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"I don't want to talk about him now. But no, that isn't who I lost." Matthew tried to make sense of what George was saying. Maybe it was the pain or he was just tired. "I've forgotten some things, but don't think I don't remember me telling you that I knew you were sick."

"You don't want to talk about your friend, I don't want to talk about this. It's..." he hesitated on the word over. "I'm fine now." Omitting for now.

"I want to know what you had." A sinking feeling in George's stomach indicated that he had the slightest notion...

"I was dying."

"Was?"

"Cancer." George sucked in his breath. "It's gone now. There's nothing for you to worry about." He took his son's arm. "I guess I'm not ready to die just yet." He smiled, his eyes crinkling around the corners.

George couldn't believe what he was hearing, though he'd been expecting it. He could have died. After the hell he and his father had been through, there were still blessings. He hadn't seen his father in over a year, all of them. If his father had died when he was still in the hospital, he didn't know how he could live with it.

"I want to stick around at least to see you all married, and give me more grandchildren. Lots and lots of grandchildren."

"I don't think there's a chance for me."

"Now, I don't really believe that. You've got the Crawley charm and looks. It would be a shame for some woman to let that go to waste."

It was George's turn to smile and laugh. That was Matthew's new mission, to get him to smile and laugh as much as possible. His son's laughter then stopped; a haunted expression crossed his face.

"There was someone. Sophie."

"You're not still hung up on her are you?"

"No. It's a different Sophie. Sophia." He told him how she kept him hidden from the Germans until they had found them.

"She sounds very special and very brave."

"She was...is." He didn't want to believe she was dead. "I don't know what happened to her. She had a daughter, who's four, and an elderly father..." The man might be a traitor to his country, but he didn't want some horrible fate bestowed upon him. "Her husband was killed early on." Early on in the war. There was still a certain slang when talking about or mentioning the war.

"I still have connections. The war office 'does' know me pretty well. I can put in some favors, and find her and her family for you, if possible. Do you know what her last name is?"

"Durant. She's French. She's a bit older..." He didn't want to disclose her real age yet.

"You sure do have a thing for older women."

"Dad." George said with embarrassment. But it wasn't due to Sophia's age. He'd never be embarrassed by that. Even if they were to find each other again, marry, she'd be too old to have more children, to give him an heir. They could adopt. There would be plenty of war orphans. He shook his head. He had to think realistically. All dreams die in war, or they have to become new ones. "I appreciate your offer but no. I'd rather not know."

"I'd rather know."

"Yeah, well, I'm not you. Sometimes not knowing is better."

"What about Olivia?"

"She's more like an older sister, or a friend. She's what I imagine Beth would have been like." He looked up. Something touched his father's eyes that he could not place. George surprised himself, admitting he never thought of her. "Can we go visit grave? And the others. To pay respect. To all of those who died in the first one and to all the ones we've lost and honor those yet to be buried and those who will never have a grave."

"Yes. Of course."


"Is George doing better or am I just imagining it? He seemed rather cheerful." Carrie said to her mother, they were observing eleven month old Mattie in the day nursery as she sat on the floor, playing blocks.

She could hardly believe that her baby would soon be turning one. In a few short weeks, my baby will be turning one! In her first year of motherhood, she had gone through a roller coaster of emotions, moments of pure joy and moments of isolation. She wasn't far away from her but it seemed that way, with all the attention from the grandparents, especially his grandpapa Matthew. He was no doubt her favorite person right now and probably always will be. From a baby's perspective, she was figuring out who was who and had a prominent fixture in her life, who played what sufficient role.

Her sisters had their own lives and had little to no time to spend with their niece, and Andy was always up to who knows what. She hoped that would change once they had children of their own, at least Andy and Kate. George hadn't showed much fascination with his niece and nephew as she thought he ought to have, (he had once always looked forward to the day of becoming an uncle) but he had had his recovery to focus on and was going through his own isolation.

It had made her think of the three months he had rarely let anyone come up to see him. The last few months, however, he seemed to be in higher spirits, since Olivia's frequent letters. Her mother had the same thing on her mind.

"He is rather cheerful." Mary said with confidence. "Miss Weston does him some good, writing to him. I don't know when she's coming again but I hope it's soon. She's the only one that can get him to walk and unless he keeps trying, he won't get any stronger."

"But doesn't it hurt for him to walk?"

"I believe so, but he has to practice, or he'll never walk at all. I've tried talking to him, but he won't listen to me."

"Did Papa have the same problem?"

"For a little while. It took a lot of persuading from me."

"Well, there you go. All he needs is a woman. And perhaps a change in scenery. The seaside, perhaps?"

"But who would have the time to go with him? I doubt he'd agree."

"You said Olivia knows how to persuade him." Caroline raised her eyebrows, looking eager, giving a little nod.

Mary finally caught on to her meaning. "My dear, that would be wildly inappropriate. It wouldn't be proper. The world is changing but not that fast."

"She's staying in Hampshire with her father remember? If her father's there, it would be proper enough. George used to talk about how Mr. Weston used to be a scholar before he became a banker, and he loves books and so does Olivia. He showed her the library when they first met at Kate's party."

"I didn't know that."

"Sybie chaperoned them." Both mother and daughter smiled. "Anyway, they can discuss that."

"You know darling, I think you may be onto something. You should write to her, see what she says."

"I shall...at once!" Caroline jumped up from the sofa and headed toward the doors.

"And Carrie, darling..." Caroline stopped and turned, "don't try to be too eager. The faster they expect something, that we're trying to put them together, which we aren't, the faster things will work against us."


Nick showed up that evening. Matthew had been the one to answer the door. He told his son in-law that he better have a good reason for showing his face here.

"How is she and the baby?"

"First, you come with me and talk."

They went into the library.

"What took you so long to get here if you thought she was here? Doesn't your family matter to you?"

"Of course, it does! I didn't think she would even want to talk to me. I wanted to give her time."

"And rightfully so. But four whole months?"

"I never had a family. My definition of it was that it always let you down. I know that's not an excuse but...we've both been through things. We both tend to run away when things get difficult...but I don't want it to happen again. I won't do that to her again. It's just..."

"Careful, boy. You're already testing my patients. Use your words wisely, why I should give you another chance. Least you could do is try not to make them sound like excuses."

"I love your daughter. I don't know how to show it. I don't want to end things. I want to see this through unless, it's the end."

"Did you think to try to talk to her before it got to this point?"

"I tried to get through to her. She wouldn't talk to me. After our honeymoon, she didn't want to be intimate. She refused."

Matthew's heartbeat fast in his chest. He didn't want to believe that his daughter liked women because he had planned dreams for her. He had always wanted to see her walk down the aisle, happily married to man who treated her right, wanted to hold her first child. One of those dreams had come true. But at what cost? Nick had always been a close friend to her.

But if she didn't love him and she wasn't happy with him, he couldn't let her continue living a life of such drudgery. There was no reason for her to go on pretending. The decision should have to be her own.

"So, you sought it elsewhere?" He was still desperately secretly trying to find an out for his daughter.

"What? No! I didn't cheat on her. If that's what she's told you. I do admit that I should have put more time aside for her. You don't believe me, do you? You wouldn't believe me over your own daughter."

"Of course, I would."

"I tried talking to her as I've said. She left without a word, without telling me where she was going."

"She didn't tell you?" His and George's suspicion had been right. But he hadn't wanted to jump to conclusions.

"I thought she would come here. You're important to her."

"Important?"

"Don't you know? She thinks the world of you. She's..."

"Her father's girl." Matthew smiled fondly.

"I never had that. I should have never taken her away from you."

"No. She had to go. She had to break free. Or she'd never learn how to fly."

"How is she and the baby?"

"They're both fine. You have a son."

Understandably, Josephine was furious, "What are you doing here? Why did you let him in?" She directed at her father.

"I'll let you two work things out."

They both didn't say a word while they expressed fondness over their child.

"Don't think I'm still not mad at you."

"I came halfway across an ocean for you." She turned her head away. "Josephine, please. I was worried about you. I should have never let you leave your home. If you want to stay here, I can find a theatre here..."

"No. We can go back to New York. Figure things out."

"We wouldn't be going back to New York." Her face darkened and he caught himself. "At least not right away. I got an opportunity in Los Angeles, given that it'll only be temporary."

"Well, then. We'll think of it as an adventure."


Olivia came to visit George, which she hadn't done for a long time. She had given him the respected space after his fiancé had broken off the engagement. It took a long time for a man to mend. What chance did she have now? And there was the fact that she was nearing thirty, three years older than George. She tried to convince her father that no man would want a woman close to thirty, or older than him, and smarter, independent, and educated. It often frightened them or thought the woman was mad.

"You sell yourself short my dear. How you describe this George, I doubt he thinks that. And an Earl's son! Your mother would have been so proud, that you have done so well for yourself. Sure, with his injuries there will be challenges. If I can rise above my own...there's no limit to what a man, or woman can set their mind to."

"He doesn't think of me in any way." But her father didn't seem to have heard.

His room was silent when she entered and the air painfully stifling. She thought it would be like the days in the hospital. Talking about nothing and everything, then they'd fall silent and say nothing for the better part of an hour. She'd seen it in the soldiers she'd pass out books and packages to.

But then he spoke.

"How about some tea? Tea makes everything better, doesn't it?" He winced as he adjusted his position.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore. Though I always thought my left leg was one of my best features anyway."

"That may be so."

"It's below the left knee. So, there's not a lot of damage."

That was the most information that he had ever spoken to her about it.

"I'm so terribly sorry. It's still so bloody awful. What happened to you..."

"There's no reason for you to be. Men came home with worse. A lot of them didn't come home." He stared at the wall for a second. The maid came in with the tea, then swiftly as she came, left. "At least I'm still dashingly handsome."

"There you go then!" She raised in her cup and took a small sip. "You'll get no argument from me." She flushed at her own words. Why was she always awkward around him? She was too old to have a silly schoolgirl crush. As painful as it was, she would wait for him, when he was ready. Maybe she didn't have to wait long.

He had to marry sometime. He was the Earl's son, but she didn't want to take advantage of that. All she wanted was his love. And they were already great friends. Didn't all good marriages start out that way?

He drank his second cup in one long go. "Thanks, for that love. Seeing you has been the best medicine I've had in months."

"What about your family?"

"They mean well but sometimes a bit confining." He sat down his cup on his saucer, reaching toward the side of the bed for his crutch. "How about we go out?"

"Are you alright? Walking?" Last time he had showed such difficulty. He even had yelled at her even though he had offered her to help. But that had been almost six months ago.

"Certainly! This leg serves me better as the other one did."

Olivia thought to ask for help but the last incident still hung in her mind, and she knew that he wouldn't let her. He'd want to try it on his own, practice to be more independent.

"Is the old man home?" He asked her. "I was hoping to stop by for a visit. I spoke to him a lot on the phone, and I've been meaning to see him in person, soon as I'd gotten my strength back of course."

"Yes. Of course."

Why would he want to talk with her father? About her? Maybe to see about a job? She was just glad that he was in higher spirits and was talking to her again. If it was just as friends, she'd be ok with that. But she still hoped.

"He'll be glad to see you."