A/N: You've all been so great with your wonderful reviews. I wish I had time to thank you all individually, but this will have to do for now. I'm anticipating two more chapters before Christmas arrives. There were some references in this chapter to John's connection with Molesley prior to his time at Downton, and a conversation he had with William that didn't make it onscreen. Both of which were explained in the script books. Thanks to a-lady-to-me, chisoxtam, and terriejane for helping me flesh this out and provide input/editing where it was needed. Hope you all enjoy. Please review :)

Part II

John wasn't sure how long he had been crying but he felt a warmth wash over him that had been absent since Anna had been taken from him. A glow took over the room and a voice that he hadn't heard in years began calling him in a familiar Irish lilt, "Johnny." He still had his head buried in his crossed arms, laying his upper body against the desk. His eyes peeked out a bit to see where the sound was coming from and he noticed the glow had disappeared. John lifted his head from his desk and wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve.

"John, m'boy," the voice said a little more clearly this time.

It couldn't be. John's head shook in disbelief as the vision became clearer and he saw his mother standing before him. He nearly fell out of his chair. "Mum? Wha-I mean how? What are you doing here?" he asked. One question after another came stumbling out.

She looked just as he remembered her when he was a boy. Her dark brown hair pinned back in a bun, her eyes a deep green like his and still emanating warmth and kindness. The corners of her eyes crinkled just like his. The skin on her hands were paper thin and they looked worn from years of hard labor. "I'm your guardian angel, John. I've come to help you; to show you that your life has worth. That you mean something to a great deal of people," she explained.

John was in shock to see the corporeal being speaking back to him, but in that moment he was so desperate for answers that it hadn't occurred to him question his sanity. "How can you say that? When everything I have done has only led to more pain and sorrow for all those I have come into contact with. Especially Anna. Oh my darling Anna. She has paid more than anyone for my sins-past and present-and that includes me.

"That she has John. And while it may be hard for you to see it or even understand, you must realize that you nor she are to blame. You have enriched Anna's life just as equally as she has yours," Margaret replied as she extended a hand out to place on John's shoulder. Her hand merely travelled through him. "You were always so quick to take the blame for others. A righteous and honorable man if ever there was one, even before Anna came along."

John couldn't help but let off a scoff at her words.

"Life has not been kind to you m'boy. To either of you. And I'm so sorry that fate has seen fit to play out the way it has. But you mustn't give up now. Not when Anna needs you the most."

"But I'm all alone. I don't even know how to go on without her," he replied desperately.

"Well, you have your friends. They'll see you through it," she gently reminded him.

"No, I don't. I have no one," he insisted.

"John, I know you are troubled and that right now things may seem bleak, but I can assure you the world would not be better off without you. Least of all, Anna," she said.

"I very highly doubt that," John said. "In fact, I'm doubting this conversation is even taking place right now. Perhaps I drank more of that alcohol than I recall and this is all a dream or maybe I finally went through with it and ended it all like I intended to spare Anna."

"No, it hasn't come to that just yet. I wouldn't let you leave this world without a fight," she added with a gentle smile.

It was a smile he missed so dearly he nearly burst into tears at the sight of it. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"John, I may be dead but I'm still your mother and I can read you like a book. I know what you were contemplating earlier," she replied with a look of disappointment.

John hung his head in shame. "I know it's not right...but I see no other way." John shook his head and the tears came down harder than before. "The only way I can save my wife's life is to sacrifice my own. I won't let her pay anymore for my failings. I meant what I said before. I wish I'd never been born."

"Very well then. If you won't believe me then perhaps you'll believe your own eyes when you see a world without John Bates," his mother said.

Within a blink of an eye John found himself outside in a place that looked familiar but altogether different. "How did you do that?" John asked Margaret.

"I told you I'm an angel," she insisted.

"I don't understand... where am I?" John inquired.

"At Downton, in the village of course. Don't you recognize it?" Margaret asked.

John had to look a little harder. The shapes were certainly familiar but this was not the Downton he had come to know and love. It seemed darker and bleaker somehow. Most of the shops had disappeared and the few that remained had different names displayed in the windows. Most of the farmland that bordered the village looked like it had disappeared in a drought of some sort. There was a small factory that seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere and filled the sky with smoke that threatened to blot out the sun. There wasn't the usual air of positivity and hope dancing on the breeze. The sun hung in the sky but it was hardly noticeable against the fog and dark clouds. "What happened to this place?"

"After Mr. Matthew died, the running of the property fell back into the hands of Lord Grantham. He never was much for running business or managing money for that matter. The village suffered as a result," his mother explained.

"But Mary and Tom...they set the estate on a path for success," he filled in.

"That was when you were alive, John," Margaret responded. "Lord Grantham is not the same man you fought side by side with in the war because you didn't go to war."

"But I did, I even have the injury and a medal to prove it," he argued.

"What injury John?" Margaret responded.

John shook his head in disbelief. He bent down with ease and began to roll up his pant leg and that was when it dawned on him that he hadn't been using his cane this whole time. In fact, he didn't have any pain at all in his knee like he normally would have. John continued to pull the pants back and saw that his leg was just as it was when he was a teenage boy. Not a single scar or scratch covered it, there was no gnarled skin or wounds left from shrapnel. He easily ran his hands along the places where the lines once were, years of tracing them with his fingertips had etched them into his memory. "Where did it go?" John asked.

"I told you, you didn't go to Africa and fight in the Boers in his Majesty's Army because you were never born. You never served as a batman to Robert Crawley and you never injured yourself saving his life," she revealed.

"But you said he was alive. So he didn't die in the Boers War?" John sought confirmation.

"Oh, he's very much alive. If you could call that living. He returned from war a bitter man with an injured leg and injured pride. He found solace in alcohol; not much different from yourself. Ashamed of his injury he often locked himself away behind closed doors at the Abbey."

"But surely he needed an heir still?"

"And he had one with Mr. Matthew. But he was more difficult than usual with Matthew. He fought the young man tooth and nail on every decision. Their relationship was strained. Your being gone couldn't change the course of Mr. Matthew's life."

"He still died," John said in a whisper.

"Mhmm," she confirmed with a nod of the head. "Anna and Lord Grantham were there to help pull Mary out of the shadows when you were alive."

"And without me?" he asked curiously.

"Without you here Anna wasn't as hopeful about the future and so she couldn't be hopeful about Lady Mary's either. Lord Grantham was all too happy to have control of the estate back and made one bad decision after another without his trusty valet to pull him out of the veil of shadows," she added.

"Surely, Mr. Molesley could have become Lord Grantham's valet with the passing of Mr. Matthew," John surmised.

"Oh, I don't believe so. Not when he's still trying to put his own life in order."

Looking around John could scarcely recognize a single face from the village. Suddenly his eyes fell upon a tall, gawky figure with a balding head hard at work mending the roads. "Mr. Molesley!" John called out as he began to walk towards him. The sensation was odd without his cane in hand or the altered gait of his step.

Joseph Molesley wiped his brow free of the sweat that accumulated there. His face was smeared with smudges of tar. He took a break from his labor heavy job to turn his head towards the figure ambling towards him.

"Mr. Molesley…" John said a little out of breath after having run for the first time in years. Or at least he thought it had been years. If what his mother said was true, had he never run at all? He wouldn't dwell on the specifics for now.

"Mr. Molesley is my father. Do I know you?" Mr. Molesley asked with a look of confusion.

"You should. It's me, John Bates. We've worked together at Downton Abbey for over ten years," John answered back.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken. While I did work at Downton Abbey I never worked with a John Bates."

"Sure you did. You worked with me and Anna."

"Well, I don't recall you, but I did work with an Anna Smith before."

"Yes, her. She's my wife…" John began to explain before he was quickly cut off by Mr. Molesley.

"You must be mistaken. She was never married."

"But she is...or was...," John said as he scratched his head. "I can prove it."

Joe crossed his hands on top of the handle of his shovel to steady himself. He listened intently.

"How else would I know that you loved her? Even went so far as to start a book club as an excuse to spend more time with her," John said.

Mr. Molesley's eyes went wide with surprise. "How did you know that?"

"I just told you," John said although he still couldn't full wrap his head around the concept that Mr. Molesley had no recollection of him ever having existed. "What are you doing mending roads?"

"I had no choice after Mr. Matthew died. There was no reason to keep me around as a valet and I never had much of a green thumb like my father. I suppose it's all for nothing, I owe money to nearly everyone in the village."

"But, I loaned you money to help you pay your debt. Well...technically it wasn't my money, but I got it from the Dowager," John filled in.

"I think I would have remembered getting money from someone to pay off my debts," Mr. Molesley replied.

"If you don't remember that then what about the time we spent as footmen together at a house near Staffordshire? It was before I volunteered to go to the South African War," John commented.

"Look, I don't know how you know all this, but you best be moving on Mr. Bates, if that's your real name."

Just then a supervisor screamed at Joe, "Get back to work, Mr. Molesley!"

Joseph wasted no more time and promptly began shoveling again. He turned his back to John and let his face hang in shame.

"This...this cannot be," John muttered to himself.

"But it is. You see without your intervention Mr. Molesley was never able to dig himself out of debt. He still lives with his father," Margaret explained.

"What about Miss Baxter? They seemed chummy," John commented.

"Phyllis never came to work at Downton because Thomas wasn't there to suggest she take Miss O'Brien's place," his mother said.

"Did Thomas die at war?" John asked.

"No. He returned just as you remember it, but when he acted upon his feelings for Jimmy you weren't there to intervene and help him keep his job. Between Jimmy and Alfred's insistence to involve the cops, Thomas was hauled off to spend time in prison for his crimes."

John was taken aback. His mouth hung wide open as he let reality sink in. "Then where is he now? I have to see him."

His mother pointed her finger to a lowly looking building at the end of the lane that John didn't recognize. He ran over towards the building and peeked in through the window that was covered in a layer of soot. John's eyes travelled back and forth to find the poorest group of people he had ever seen working on various jobs around the room. It looked to be a work house. John let himself inside and found Thomas in a corner attempting to keep warm by a fire and coughing from the moldy stench in the air. The former under butler worked diligently on darning a pair of trousers that had been torn.

"Mr. Barrow," John said as he stood before the pale, homely looking man sitting before him.

"No one has called me that since I first left the Army," Thomas responded. "Can I help you?" his response sounding broken as he set the trousers aside and picked up another set to work on.

"It's Thomas isn't it?" John asked, feigning ignorance.

"Who wants to know?" Thomas responded slowly as he rolled his eyes. But curiosity had gotten the better of him. He wasn't sure how he knew this man or how this man knew him, but he automatically found himself disliking him.

"Just curious," John replied. "You used to work at the Abbey didn't you?"

"How did you know that?" Thomas asked as he froze in place.

"Your reputation precedes you," John replied not wanting to invoke a similar response as Mr. Molesley's. He didn't say it with hate or a tinge of derision.

Thomas sat back in his chair for a moment and ran his hand along the length of his braces as he observed John for a moment. He didn't know this man or owe him anything, yet he couldn't help himself or this urge to open up to him and help him. No one had taken an interest in him before. Not genuinely anyway. The man before him looked like he could have just as easily gotten answers using brute force if he wanted to but instead he spoke to him with kindness and soft words. This was probably going against his better judgement but instead he chose to speak to this man without a name who seemed to know so much about him. "Yeah, that's what I get for trying to follow my heart I suppose. I let my guard down once and someone who I once considered a friend...er...rather an ally I suppose, betrayed me," Thomas said gruffly.

"Miss O'Brien," John stated more than asked.

Thomas nodded in agreement. "I can't confirm it, but I'm fairly certain she was the one the pushed Alfred and Jimmy to turn on me."

"Could you not find work elsewhere?" John asked sympathetically.

"I could have if it weren't for my criminal record. Well...that and my reputation," Thomas said sadly. "I made some professional decisions that comprised my ability to be discreet. When word got out and I couldn't get a reference, I couldn't even get a job with my cousin in Bombay. I had no choice but to turn to the workhouse."

Not for the first time, John felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as he looked on at the shadow of a man.

"Why do you ask?" Thomas said with a tilt of the head before lighting up a cigarette.

"I was trying to find Ann...an old friend," John quickly corrected himself and lied. "Someone that used to work at Downton."

"Well, as I said, I haven't been there in sometime, but I can certainly try to help you," Thomas said. He couldn't understand why but he was warming to the man. Maybe it's because it was the first time someone asked him about his own life, but didn't show any judgement at his admission. "So…" Thomas said as he let out a slinky puff of smoke out of the corner of his mouth, "who are you looking for?"

"Anna Smith," John said a little too eagerly.

"Oh yeah, I remember her. It's hard to forget a girl like Anna. Sweet face, very kind. We weren't enemies, but she kept to herself so she wasn't much help to me," Thomas acknowledged. "I don't know what happened to her, but the one time I saw her in the village shortly after my release she didn't look the same."

"Didn't look the same how?" John asked. His whole body almost leaned forward with peeked interest.

"I don't know how to describe it really. Like all the light had been sucked out of her eyes. In fact she barely looked up at me and couldn't even manage a smile. At first I wasn't even sure it was her," Thomas reported.

John sat back, trying not to let his face portray his emotions. What could have happened to Anna that she would look that way? This wasn't what he had hoped to hear. John had thought that his absence would mean a secure future for Anna with a husband that could make her happy and a house full of children. John realized Thomas was still watching him carefully. "Thank you, Mr. Barrow. You've been most helpful. I hope you find the happiness you were looking for," John managed to say as he excused himself.

Nighttime was upon them. As John stood outside of the workhouse he walked back and forth in circles searching for answers and questioning his sanity. "This can't be. Thomas in a workhouse, Molesley mending roads. It's like the world has gone mad," John said aloud. His mother was standing behind him, seemingly unaffected by the snow that was falling down around them. "He said he saw Anna in the village even after he left. So she must still be in town," John assumed. "Maybe she fell in love with another servant," he guessed. But before he could give his mother a chance to answer John ran off in a sprint towards the Abbey, he turned off on the path that led to the lane of cottages that had once been their home.

John nearly lost his footing on a patch of ice as he approached the cottage that he had come to know and love. The lights weren't on inside, but he knocked on the door anyway. The knocks progressed to pounding despite his mother's protests until the door opened on its own. John went inside and found the cottage just as dilapidated as it had been when he and Anna had first come to see it right down to the mangled blanket and weathered settee. He felt a tear prick at the corner of his eyes as he was reminded of the way his beautiful Anna had laughed when they came tumbling down on that settee. The walls weren't painted anymore and the picture from their wedding wasn't sitting above the fireplace mantle. The tears silently slid down his cheek.

"What's the matter John? You look as though you are upset," his mother asked as she placed a hand on his back.

He turned to face her. "It's gone. All of it gone. The happy memories and the bad ones too," he said in a whisper. He was reminded of the times that Anna had been awakened by horrible nightmares from that night or the month that she had spent living at the Abbey. He looked to the center of the parlor where they had often spent nights in front of a roaring fire, huddled up under a warm blanket as they read to one another. Of course it was usually John that did the reading at Anna's insistence. She'd run her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp or massaging his knee as his recited poems from Robert Burns. He stared at the small stove in the corner of what was the kitchen and remembered the few times Anna had insisted she cook on their half day, even though Mrs. Patmore always had an extra plate of food available up at the Abbey. John's smile disappeared just as quickly as it bloomed across his face. "We were happy here. For a time. I miss her. I just want to make sure she's alright."

His mother began to speak but they were quickly interrupted by the sounds of one of the neighbors shining a lantern into the dark cottage. "Who's there?" the voice demanded with a cock of a gun.

John squinted his eyes, trying to discern a face in the shadows. He held his hands showing he meant no harm, "I'm John Bates. I'm just...I was trying to find the owners."

The gun was lowered halfway and the lantern raised a bit more, "That would be Mrs. Bow, or was anyway. She doesn't live here anymore. I'm Mr. Chirk, the neighbor. I never heard of you, Mr. Bates, but you best be on your way before I contact the authorities."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry to have startled you," John apologized to the older neighbor. "I'll just see myself out."

John braced himself against the wall outside of the cottage. He tried to get his bearings. It was so odd seeing the place they had made into a home standing like a hollowed out shell, shrouded in shadows, and filled with silence. "I need to get to the abbey."

When John reached the outside of the courtyard it dawned on him that he was no longer a servant at Downton, nor had he ever been. At least not in this universe. He would need to find a way to get in. John proceeded to the servants' entrance and knocked on the door, where he was met by Mr. Carson. The butler looked more cross than usual and met him with an irritated tone as he stared down his nose at him. "Can I help you?" the older man asked with a pointed look.

"I was hoping to see Lord Grantham," John said. "I'm an old comrade in arms. I fought with him in the South African war."

"The Earl hasn't been one for visitors as of late, but if I give him your name perhaps he'd be inclined to see you," Mr. Carson said. "Might I have your name?"

John was now becoming accustomed to how this worked. Instead of his own he gave the name of a man who had served in the unit that he and Robert had both known. "Reginald Ellis," John lied.

"Very good, let me speak with his Lordship. For now you can have a seat in the servants hall," Mr. Carson said with a wave of the hand.

"Thank you," John replied as he walked in the direction that Mr. Carson had pointed to.

He sat in the servants hall alone, something seemed amiss but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Much like the village the atmosphere seemed gloomy, highly unusual for this time of year. John didn't have long to ponder before his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Daisy talking to a familiar voice he hadn't heard in some time. John turned his head to see a tall redhead standing in the corridor heading down the stairs that led to the servants quarters. Her accent was thicker than he remembered it, but without a doubt it was Gwen Dawson. He must be imagining things, Gwen hadn't worked here in years. She came into the servants hall and set the typewriter down, "Sorry, I wasn't aware anyone else would be down here this late."

"It's quite alright," John answered back with a gentle smile. She replied with a smile of her own. He had always liked Gwen. Something told him that she initially liked him more than as friends when he first arrived at Downton, but his heart had already belonged to one woman and one woman only. A woman who was inexplicably missing from this dream land he was living in. "What are you doing there? Working on a novel of some sort?"

"Oh no, just practicing...although for what I'm not really sure anymore," Gwen said. She began to work on some transcripts from an envelope, but they look old and worn from years of use.

John knew exactly what they were for. A typing course that she had signed up for long ago. He suddenly remembered a time when he was looking for Anna in one of the rooms upstairs and had found her consoling Gwen after being turned down for a job as a secretary. What was it she had said? She was born with nothing and she'd die with nothing. He had told her that she could turn her life around just as he had. But surely he couldn't have been the reason that she tried again for another opportunity at being a secretary for the telephone company. If that was true that meant Gwen never met her husband either. John felt sorry for her as he listened to her type away softly.

He looked up when he heard the clatter of dishes being set down in front of him. A thin, pale hand set down a small plate and a cup on top of it. "Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked in a small voice. Her dark hair was pulled back and her blue eyes stood out against her mouse like features. It was Daisy.

"Yes, please," John replied.

"Would you like something to eat while you wait?" she asked in a kind voice.

"Um, no thank you. You wouldn't happen to know if An…"

Mrs. Patmore's shouting cut him off. "Daisy, stop the chatter and get back to work. I sent you to fill a cup of tea, not a trip up the Nile."

John was jolted back to old times, Mrs. Patmore's scolding of Daisy was much like it had been when he first arrived at Downton. She began collecting the dishes that had been discarded from the dinner that had been served earlier, a task that was normally reserved for scullery maids and not an assistant cook. As her hand dipped down to retrieve one of the pitchers of water he saw her wedding finger was free of a band. He had been there the day they were married, the day William took his last breath, and had gone to the funeral with Anna walking beside him. Now he realized that she too had achieved no more in life than before. He wanted to ask her about it but didn't have a chance as the butler cleared his throat and Daisy scurried off back into the kitchen.

"Lord Grantham has agreed to meet with you in the library, but you'll have to keep it short. He's a very busy man," Mr. Carson reminded him with a huff.

John walked up the stairs to the library with ease. He knew his way without instruction, but pretended he didn't so as not to tip off Mr. Carson. On the way up Mr. Carson informed John that due to his injury Lord Grantham did not care to see visitors face to face so he would have to keep to the shadows. This worked out just fine for John given his need to keep his identity secret. Once he was in the library John couldn't help but notice the curtains were drawn and the lights were all out except for the glow emanating from the roaring fire in the large marble fireplace. Mr. Carson motioned for John to walk no further and stay by the door. He walked a little ahead of John and announced the arrival of Reginald Ellis. On his way out the butler leaned in towards John and whispered, "Go no further than the red floor rug unless he asks you to." Then Mr. Carson spoke up again, "Ring if you need anything further m'Lord." Mr. Carson excused himself and John was left standing by himself in the dark corner of the room.

He wasn't sure why, but he was suddenly very nervous. It wasn't as if the Earl could see him or identify him properly. Perhaps it was because he was essentially lying to his oldest friend and it felt wrong somehow. John wasn't sure what to say now that he was here, he wanted answers but it all seemed fruitless now. Clearly, things had not worked out as he hoped they would in his absence.

"Reginald, so good to hear from you," Lord Grantham said from his spot in the arm chair. But it didn't sound heartfelt. It sounded rancorous and sardonic. Robert's back was facing John and his eyes never left the fire as he guzzled down a glass of brandy.

John could easily see from his spot across the room the Earl's right leg had been amputated from the knee down even with a blanket draped over it. The right side of Robert's face was scarred from what John could only assume was an explosion of some sort. Without him there to shield Robert with his own body it appeared as though he had taken more than his fair share of the brunt of the blast. "I'd offer you a drink but it appears I've drank the last of the alcohol," Robert said with a gesture towards the empty bottle.

"It's quite alright, I try not to touch the stuff anymore," John said.

"I take it you made it through the war unscathed then?" Robert asked.

"Yes, I was very lucky m'Lord," John replied with a bit of a cough to make his voice more gruff like Reginald's.

"Lucky indeed," Robert replied back, his voice laced with anger.

"Surely, you must be happy to have returned home to your family," John replied.

"What family?" Robert scoffed in a slurred tone. The scent of alcohol filled the room. "Take a look around you, Reggie," Lord Grantham said with a wave of his hand holding the glass. The liquor sloshed back and forth but never fell on the floor. His eyes met with John's for a moment but he was too far gone in a drunken stupor to recognize Bates or call his bluff about Reginald. "Cora, never loved me the same way she did before I left for war. Kept telling me I wasn't the same man anymore. Who could blame her? Look at me," Robert nearly yelled as he motioned towards his stump of a leg. "We argued constantly. She refused to give me anymore chances after she caught me having an affair with the maid, Jane."

John's memory was jarred when the name popped into his head. Jane Moorsum. He knew she had left Downton rather unexpectedly and that Robert had taken an interest in her boy Freddie, but he never understood why. Now it all made sense.

"She went back to America to live with her mother and brother, Harold, after...after Sybil died," Robert said, taking a deep breath. He was on the verge of tears now. "Matthew died," Robert added.

How odd, that John barely had to utter more than a few words and the words flowed out of Robert like water.

"I'm sorry to embarrass you, Reggie," Robert said as he dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief.

"I'm not embarrassed, m'Lord," John replied.

"Edith left for Munich to find her editor Michael Gregson and I never heard from her after that," Robert muttered.

"And Mary?" John asked.

"She never really recovered from her husband's death. There were suitors that followed of course, but that all changed when those damn letters from Freda Dudley Ward to Prince Edward were leaked. The Crawley name had been drug through the muck one too many times at that point. I suppose Mary and I are quite the pair now: bitter, alone, her with her injured pride and myself with my injured leg."

"I'm sorry m'Lord," John said in all honesty.

"I've no one to blame but myself," Robert said as he began to pass out; the alcohol having taken its intended effect.

John walked over to him slowly in the dark and removed the empty glass from his former master's hands and placed it on the side table. John moved Robert's wheelchair closer so that it would be available when he woke. Then he grabbed a blanket he had found covering his Lordship's legs and pulled it up higher to keep Robert warm.

Without another word John left the library and found his own way out of the Abbey undetected.

"I need to sit down," John said as he took a moment to sit on a crate just outside of the courtyard. He looked around to make sure no one else was around to hear them for fear it would throw this universe into upheaval or land him in the looney bin. "Alright, let's just…" John ran a shaking hand through his hair nervously, "Let's just start from the beginning. Gwen Dawson is still here."

"Yes, without you to intervene and give her that little bit of encouragement she made no further attempts to move beyond her station," Margaret confirmed.

"And Daisy? I played no part in her becoming an assistant chef," he pointed out.

"Oh but you did. Indirectly of course. But do you remember that conversation you had with William when he was broken up about Daisy?"

"Vaguely," John answered back.

"It was in this very same spot. He asked why people get drawn to those who have no interest in them."

"Yes, but I didn't exactly push him towards Daisy."

"No, but you took a shine to William when he needed a friend. And you shielded him from Thomas as best you could. You showed Daisy not to be nasty like Thomas, but without you there William never pursued Daisy. He ran off to war and never looked back. There was no proposal and when he was critically injured he died in a hospital in Leeds without his father or anyone else by his side."

John felt the tears come again. Emotions filled his voice as he argued back, "But...that's not right. The Dowager and Lord Grantham had him brought back to the Abbey so his father could be with him."

"That was back when Lord Grantham cared. You saw the man he is now. Do you think he or his mother would use their power to help William?"

"I suppose not," John sighed. "It still doesn't explain what happened with Daisy though."

"Daisy never married William, so his father never loved her like his own daughter. Mr. Mason never encouraged Daisy to speak up for herself and demand respect from Mrs. Patmore. He also never encouraged her to pursue an education because there was no farm for her to inherit." Her words fell upon John like a weight pushing against his chest. "You see John, every life has a ripple effect. Our actions affect others, directly and indirectly. Some for better and some for worse."

The tears slide down John's cheek as he was reminded of William's death all over again. He had loved the man like a younger brother. John wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"This isn't right. Surely someone must have benefited from my absence," John said to his mother. "What about Vera? Surely she can't be dead since there was no reason to get back at me for marrying Anna. I'm sure Vera is laughing wherever she is now that she doesn't have a worthless, cripple of a husband," John commented in a snarky tone.

"No, she is not dead. But, I very much doubt she is laughing," his mother said. "Vera had always had bigger dreams for herself. Ones that didn't require her to work." His mother took a deep breath before going any further. "Vera was ambitious, I'll give her that. She tried to find a man to fall in love with her and keep her in life of comfort. But it didn't work out the way she planned. Vera ended up sleeping with nearly every man from your old Army barracks and when she was discovered her reputation was ruined. Vera ended up in a whore house. She's still living, but contracted syphilis from one of her many suitors. Though she would deny it if she knew the alternative, you were the best thing that ever happened to her."

John stood there in stunned silence for a few moments before he inquired about the woman who had brought him into this world...or rather the world that he existed in. "What about you? You must have at least been able to live a happier life without having to worry over me and wonder how you ended up with such a disappointment for a son," John said as he reached for his mother. His hands settled on either side of her shoulders and she turned away so her eyes didn't meet his.

"No. You were my only source of joy. Even on your worst day I could never stop loving you," she replied with tears in her eyes. "I died on what would have been your fourteenth birthday."

John's thoughts were becoming jumbled as he tried to separate the life he lived with the life he didn't. He thought back on his fourteenth birthday and remembered how his father had arrived home late to celebrate. His father had been drunk and he remembered his mother taking him behind closed doors in her bedroom and yelling at him, "You were with her again weren't you?" The accusation had resulted in a hard smack from his father and a welt below his mother's eye. The sound had prompted John to run into the bedroom and jump on his father's back. John had knocked him off balance in his inebriated state and began pounding his fists against anything he could make contact with. His father, being bigger than John, tossed him off with ease but by then his mother had grabbed a gun that his father had kept in the night stand and pointed it at his father. They never saw his father again after that. They only had each other to look after. John became painfully aware in that moment that even at his lowest point he was all his mother was living for.

"He killed you?" John asked. Now it all made sense, why she didn't look old the way he remembered last seeing her. She hadn't lived past what would have been his fourteenth birthday. John clenched his fists and his jaw tightened at the thought. "That bastard killed you," John said more vehemently than before. "Oh mum, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be there to save you," he apologized as he cried into her shoulder. Her familiar scent filling his nose. It felt so good to feel her solid form beneath him; he let out a loud sob as he clutched onto her.

Her hands ran through his hair and rubbed soothing circles into his back. She began to sing and old Irish song into his ear that she used to sing when he was a little boy, but he found it only made him cry harder. John managed to speak through his tears, "Mum? What happened to Anna?"

His mother shook her head back and forth in a no motion. "You don't want to know, John."

"But I have to. I have to know. This can't all have been for nothing," John said angrily as he pulled away. Fear and desperation took over as the wheels in his mind churned a hundred miles an hour. He could almost hear his heart beating through his chest as he asked her, "Where is Anna?"