Decisions

Tom was still worked up about Sybil having been in danger by helping Rory.

"If the police ever found out, you would go to jail," he said.

"Honestly Tom, what was I supposed to do with an injured boy at the door," Sybil replied.

Tom grumped and growled but in the end he escorted Sybil back over to his mother's in a week and a half to remove Rory's stitches. The police were still looking for Rory and he hadn't left the upstairs of Mrs. Branson's for the entire time.

"I have some news for you," Sybil said. "I heard back from my family. There is a job for you if you'd like it. Nothing too glamorous I'm afraid."

"Doing what?" Rory asked.

"There's a farm that has no workers near where my family lives. They've all left for the war. The couple there would be happy to give you a job. Even happier if you could drive the tractor."

"I've never been on a farm before, but I guess I could learn," Rory said. "Has the man ever been a soldier?"

"No, John Drake has a bad heart. Besides he wouldn't hurt a fly. You shouldn't have any problem at Drake farm. They'll treat you well," Sybil said. She had finished pulling out the stitches and Rory was putting his shirt back on.

Sybil handed him an envelope. "They've sent ten pounds towards your fare. This is the contact information and directions on how to reach the farm."

The seventeen year olds eyes widened. "Mrs. Branson, Sybil, I… thank you."

"Your welcome. Just don't go getting shot again."

"I won't," Rory said bashfully.

A week later Rory Lester arrived at Drake farm with a satchel over his shoulder. He had worked his way over on a small boat. He had avoided the ferry in fear of the police. Mrs. Drake had shown him to a room in the farm house and John Drake had been only too glad of his arrival as there was not an able bodied farm hand available in the entire district.

"Lady Sybil's recommendation was good enough for me," John Drake said as he shook Rory's hand.

"Do you mean Sybil Branson?" Rory questioned. "She contacted her father about finding me a job."

"Yes Lord Grantham was by and said Lady Sybil had a young man from Ireland she could recommend for a position here. The word in the village is she married a journalist from Ireland and is living in Dublin now. She's Lord Grantham's youngest daughter."

Rory paled slightly. He'd had his supper spoon fed to him by a member of the aristocracy. It would make a tale to tell his grand children someday and he was determined he was going to live long enough to be alive to see them.

Two months after Rory left for England Sybil finished up the courses she was taking and was busy looking through the course catalogue for another training when she started feeling sick to her stomach. She went in the washroom and promptly lost the contents of her stomach. She felt ill all day but put it up to a stomach flu that was circulating at the hospital. After three days of feeling ill with no fever she decided to speak to one of the doctors. She was in shock when she returned home and sat quietly in one of the armchairs in the flat.

"How can we bring a baby into a war zone," she said to herself. No matter how much they tried to deny it in their personal lives, Ireland was in a state of upheaval and the streets weren't safe. Tom was trying to hide the dangers of his work from her, but she had read between the lines enough to know things weren't as rosy as he tried to lead her to believe. The police had been to their door twice asking questions about meetings Tom had attended in his role as a reporter. They had left after questioning him, but Sybil knew it was only a matter of time before one of his articles upset the wrong person enough that they came after him. Her child, their child needed it's father. Her protective instincts were welling up and she wanted her family safe.

Tom returned home that evening to find Sybil sitting staring into space with no super started.

"Sybil, what's wrong," he said rushing to her. He knelt in front of her and began checking her over.

"Oh Tom, you're back," she said. "Nothings wrong. I was just thinking."

"About what? You gave me a fright."

"I was thinking about when we first moved here and we talked about not being tied down to one place."

"What's brought this on?" he said with a serious look on his face.

"I was thinking about where we would want to raise our children."

"Why are you thinking about that now?"

"Because in seven months or so we are going to be parents."

Tom sat back at her news. His emotions were running wild. Fear, happiness, and disbelief were bundled together inside him and making his stomach churn.

"Are you happy?" Sybil asked him at his silence.

He nodded and stood up to pull her into an embrace.

"I can't believe how protective I feel at this moment," he said. "It's good news but I can't think what to do first."

"Neither can I," Sybil said. "I guess I'm going to have to learn to knit."

"Leave that to my mother. You have other things to do."

"Like what?" Sybil was snuggling herself into his chest.

"Like helping me decide where we are going to live and figuring out how we're going to tell your parents."

"We have to tell your mother first."

"Later, right now you need to put your feet up while I fix you something to eat."

Sybil kissed him on the mouth.

"You are so good to me. Why did I keep you waiting so long?"

"Because you wanted to do what was right and it made me love you more."

"I was being foolish. I couldn't be happier than I am when I'm with you."

"It's done now," he murmured as he lowered his mouth to hers. Dinner was forgotten as passion took over and pushed all thought except each other from their minds.

Tom's mother was overjoyed at the news she was going to be a grandmother. As Tom had predicted his mother was soon turning out booties, bonnets and layettes at a frantic pace. The end of the Great War arrived in November but it had little effect on their daily lives. The hospitals were still full of the wounded and the fight for Ireland still raged outside their door. Sybil would have another month or two at the most before she would be forced to stop working.

"We have to let your parents know about the baby," Tom said one day.

Sybil had been corresponding regularly with her mother and grandmother but there had not been a hint of a visit or an invitation.

"I don't know how they'll take the news," Sybil said. She was always a little sad when they talked about her family.

"How they take it won't change the fact that a baby is on the way. I've made some inquiries at work. The paper needs someone to go to London and report on the happenings in Parliament. The position comes with a raise. I was thinking we could go down and try it for a while. We could stop and visit your parents. Test the waters so to speak."

Tom was tensed slightly while waiting for Sybil's reaction.

"Yes," she said after a moment throwing her arms around his neck. "I've been wanting to go somewhere safer to have the baby. This could be just the answer."

"You mean you don't like Dublin?" Tom teased her. He knew very well the violence was getting to both of them.

"I like Dublin, just not the violence and unrest," Sybil replied.

She went and got her writing materials and sat down at the kitchen table to write to her parents about her pregnancy.

"There," she said when she had finished it. "I can write them later about the visit when we have the arrangements made."

In January they were ready for the trip to England. They packed their bags and returned the keys to the landlord. If they returned to Dublin they would need a larger place for the baby anyway. They hadn't accumulated too many possessions as they had planned on the flat being only a temporary home when they first moved in.

"What's the matter?" Tom inquired as they walked away from their flat for the last time.

"It was our first place. I hate to see it go," Sybil said nostalgically.

"Now then, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Fading with every inch my stomach grows," she replied.

While they were saying their goodbyes at Tom's mother's house, Rory Lester's mother stopped in and made Tom promise to check on him.

"He hasn't written in over a month. I don't like to think of him there surrounded by English."

"I survived just fine for four years," Tom said. The look on his face wasn't too kind. "Rory's got a good place with decent people if he doesn't mess it up."