A/N: Shout out to silhouettedswallow, my awesome Beta, for fantastic turn-around time on this one! Also, I want to thank all the reviewers who have sent me their lovely words of support, particularly the Guest Reviewers that I cannot reply to directly on . Your fantastic messages have made my own heart sing.

The Spotify playlist (User: ChelsieSouloftheAbbey; Playlist: Music of the Heart) has five songs for this chapter, listed below. The title stems from my favorite of the enitre story, and I'm no country music fan myself. You may also be interested to know that The Long Day Is Over is the shortest song of the story, and is the one that spawned this entire, epic thing.

Song list: Sad, Brother Sun; Into the Dark, Melissa Etheridge; Brave, Idina Menzel; I'm Movin' On, Rascal Flatts; The Long Day is Over, Norah Jones

Trigger warning: This chapter does contain images of violence/abuse that may be difficult for some.

Enough long author's notes! Forward we march, followers. I'm sorry for what's ahead, but I'll get our girl to a better place very, very soon.

~ CSotA

I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness,

For once I'm at peace with myself.

I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long ... I'm movin' on.

At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me

And I know there's no guarantee, but I'm not alone.

There comes a time in everyone's life when all you can see are the years passing by,

And I have made up my mind that those days are gone...

I'm movin' on.

~I'm Movin' On, Rascal Flatts

Elsie exited the car that had picked her up from the train station and, suitcase in hand, set off down the walkway that led to the sprawling home where Becky had lived for the past four decades. She approached the building slowly, taking in her surroundings as though she were seeing everything in a new light … dimmer, somehow, than it had been when she'd visited before. The seaside town of Lytham St. Anne's had always been beautiful to her, and Elsie was grateful to have found such a wonderful location for Becky to live after they'd lost their mother to cancer. Elsie had been in her mid-twenties then, Becky just sixteen.

Elsie had gone into service after their father died but she'd remained close to home and managed to visit frequently on her days off. On those days, she and Becky were inseparable. There was a kindness in her sister and a simplicity that Elsie adored after spending most days around the snobbery of the upper classes. Then Mam died, and Elsie was forced to make a decision: stay together on the over-farmed land and potentially starve, or remain in service and send Becky away to be cared for. She had made her decision, and she knew it was the right one. The farm had never been sold and the house now stood empty in Argyll. The cost of Becky's care was great, and it increased annually along with – thank God – Elsie's income. She had lived frugally, managing to pay for Becky's care on her earnings alone, but the farm had always been the cushion, the backup plan for funding should Elsie ever find herself unable to continue working. Like if you'd had cancer … yes, it would have been sold then for sure.

Elsie stopped in front of the home, staring up at what she knew was the window of Becky's room. Her sister's carers were kind and attentive, and Elsie knew that Becky had truly thrived in this loving community. Every time Elsie had visited, their days were full of laughter and hugs, of music and memory-making. Elsie always felt sad about not visiting Becky more often, but it had not been possible. It was hard enough to leave Downton during the Season let alone during the rest of the year, and the financial burden of the travel was great. As she stood staring at it, she thought the house seemed to be covered in a shroud of sadness, an air of stillness around the place. Whether those were truly its characteristics or just what Elsie was projecting from her own heart, she couldn't say. Forcing herself to climb the steps to the house, she opened the door and entered.

"Hello, Mrs. Hughes," came the kind greeting from the woman at the front desk. The woman was slightly older than Elsie, with wispy gray hair that refused to remain set in its bun. She was short and stout, with a slightly-too-cheerful disposition that often reminded Elsie of Mrs. Crawley. Today, however, she was most subdued. "We are so very sorry to have lost Becky, but of course that is nothing compared to the loss you must feel."

Taking a deep breath Elsie managed to withhold her tears at the woman's words, simply replying, "Mrs. Andrews, thank you so very much. How is dear Nuala holding up?"

"Fairly well, considering. You'll find her in Becky's room, sorting through some things for you."

Elsie thanked the woman, leaving her suitcase and handbag behind the front desk. She proceeded down the hallway to Becky's room, gathering her emotions once again before having to address Nuala. The woman had been Becky's primary carer for many years, and Elsie knew the two had become remarkably close. Becky's letters, while simplistic in their composition, were always filled with stories about Nuala and the good times they shared together, and sometimes the letters were accompanied by a dear illustration. Elsie had those secreted away at the bottom of her trunk at Downton. She would pull them out and look at them whenever she felt guilty about going so long without seeing Becky, and it would warm her heart to know that her darling sister was thriving. Elsie knew no one else would understand her pain and loss as much as Nuala.

Seeing the door slightly ajar, Elsie knocked softly and entered. She found Nuala sitting on Becky's bed, crying, her back to the door. Realizing she'd not heard the knock, Elsie spoke quietly.

"Nuala? I'm here, my dear." She circled the bed and Nuala stood, Elsie enveloping her in a fierce hug. Both women just stood there, crying, Elsie finally able to let go of the feelings she'd pent up again since leaving Downton. Anyone passing by would have seen two women holding on to each other as if for dear life: one older, with graying hair, dressed in a blue suit that was crumpled from an afternoon of travel; the other younger but of the same height, with flaming red and blond hair contained in a long braid, wearing comfortable, informal clothing so that she might blend in with the residents of the home. They stayed like that for a while, gently patting one another's back, each needing time to regain some semblance of control.

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes – Elsie – I am so relieved that you've come!"

"Nuala, if you are able to, please tell me what happened," Elsie said. "No one was quite willing to communicate the sequence of events over the telephone, and … well … I would like to know." I NEED to know. This past summer, Becky was thriving … and now she's gone.

Nuala swallowed a couple of times, pulling herself back into her professional identity, and took a moment to answer. "The doctor thinks she was stricken with a heart attack," she explained. "A few days ago, Becky was outside with me and suddenly she collapsed. Tuesday, I think … it's all somewhat of a blur. But she'd awoken quickly, and seemed back to normal within several minutes, so the doctors did not feel you needed to be notified. Then, two days ago, it happened again. That time, however, she did not regain consciousness. Becky was rushed to the hospital ward, and then yesterday afternoon … " The poor girl couldn't continue, and sat heavily on the bed, grasping at Elsie's hand as she did so, and looked her directly in the eye. "I remained by her side the whole time. She was never alone, I promise."

That one statement brought more comfort to Elsie than any other she'd heard these past two days: She was never alone. Thank God. Becky hated the thought of being alone, she feared the darkness and the idea of not having constant companionship, and it had gotten worse with age. A few years ago, the home had even allowed her to have a cat, so that she could always have something close by her throughout the night. Wait … where IS the cat? Elsie was curious … there was no sign of it here. I'll have to remember to ask later.

Elsie dragged herself back to the present. "Nuala, there are no words to express my gratitude for the love and care you've given Becky."

With a nod, Nuala wiped her eyes once again and turned to the box beside her on the bed. "I was going through her things. You know how untidy Becky could be," she said with a chuckle. "I wanted to sort them a bit before you arrived, but perhaps you'd like to do that with me … or instead of me?"

"Together, I think," said Elsie, sitting on the bed next to the box. "Let's see what we have here, shall we?"

Two hours later, all of Becky's belongings had been packed. Becky hadn't been as tall as her sister, so Elsie decided to donate all of the clothing to the home so that it could be put to good use. The box Elsie would be taking home contained sketch books, full of childlike pictures that she couldn't bear to part with. There were also Becky's hair pins, including the butterfly pair that had been her favorite, the ones with a small blue stone in each to match her eyes – they'd been a gift from Elsie for Becky's 40th birthday. There was a lovely, framed sketch of Elsie and Becky together as young girls, some others of her with various residents, and even a photo from last Christmas of Becky, Nuala and the cat. Added to the mix were various trinkets that Becky had held dear: seashells and sand dollars, a few polished stones, a dried flower, and some books from her childhood.

Suddenly remembering her earlier train of thought, Elsie asked, "Nuala, where is Cow?" Cow. Of course. Because it's white with black spots. Dear Becky – it was really the only possible name for that cat.

"I've no idea. The night Becky fell ill, he disappeared. I think that in all the confusion, someone let him out unintentionally and he got lost. I was terrified at first, knowing if Becky woke she'd be looking for him, but …" she trailed off.

"Yes, well …" replied Elsie softly.

Nuala cleared her throat. "I'm sure you'd like to get some rest," she said. "Shall I call for our car to bring you to your hotel? The memorial service will be here, at ten in the morning."

"Thank you," said Elsie. She picked up the box, then paused and put it back down again, extracting something. "Nuala, I'd like for you to keep this," said Elsie. It was the photo of Becky with Nuala and Cow. Elsie handed it to Nuala, who had tears in her eyes.

"You're sure?" the girl asked.

"Absolutely," Elsie replied firmly. "Becky was so happy in this photograph, and she was so very happy here … thanks a great deal to you. It's only fitting that you have something concrete by which to remember her."

Nuala took the frame from Elsie with a smile and a nod of thanks. She walked Elsie to the front desk, offering to carry the suitcase. Together, they made their way to the chairs on the front porch, waiting for the car that would bring Elsie to her hotel. Neither woman said another word … there was no need.

The next morning, Elsie awoke in the most comfortable bed she'd ever slept in. Bless you, Lady Mary … first-class train and a comfortable hotel. She had finally managed a good night's rest. Breakfast was delivered and Elsie was happy to discover that she was ravenous. She made quick work of the hearty meal and then dressed and gathered her things, noticing through the spacious windows of her room that it appeared to be windy and chilly outside. Life by the seaside …

Elsie was not sure what to expect for the memorial event at Becky's home. She knew some of the residents had wanted to do something, and the only things Nuala had mentioned were that it was their typical way of observing a resident's passing and that it would not be a religious service. Elsie was curious. After the service finished, she would return to the train station to head further north to Argyll, where Becky's body had been sent to be buried alongside their parents. She was dreading that with every passing moment.

Elsie had not set foot in Argyll since her mother's death, and being several years older than Becky she had assumed she'd never do so again. She couldn't help but see the irony of her situation, of the timing of it all: she had spent years trying to escape her past, burying it deep within her, and after Charles's confession of love she had precious few moments during which she could envision finally having the life she'd always dreamed of. But Becky's death meant returning to Argyll, and Elsie was terrified. She knew that coming to terms with her secrets would be necessary if she had any hope of an honest and open relationship with the man she loved. And after this visit, Elsie was sure she would never be able to reconstruct even a part of the shield she'd built around her memories. Perhaps, in its own way, Becky's death was helping her on her path toward happiness, but Elsie found herself dreading that journey. She knew she'd return to Downton – to him – a changed woman, for better or worse. She also knew that revisiting the farm would be a bloody walk through hell, and Elsie wasn't sure she was ready.

Just before ten in the morning, Elsie was delivered once again to the group home. For the last time … She was intrigued to find Nuala and several other women seated on the front porch, the chairs arranged in a circle. She had expected the event to take place indoors, but she wasn't really sure why. As she climbed the stairs toward them, Nuala stood and approached her.

"Good morning, Elsie," she said softly, taking her arm and turning so that the others couldn't hear. "These women were all dear friends of Becky, and wanted to participate in a remembrance of her this morning. Due to the nature and delicate needs of our residents the service will be fairly short and not very involved. I will read a poem that I've chosen and then we'll move throughout the circle, each person having a chance to speak in some way. Most will share a fond memory of Becky, and those that cannot or have chosen not to speak may have some other way of communicating their memories to us. It seems simplistic, but it serves the needs of our community in that it's not overwhelming with detail. Many of the ladies have trouble focusing for too long, and so a typical service doesn't really work for us." She paused, then asked Elsie, "Are you ready for this?"

Elsie nodded and closed her eyes for a moment, a smile coming to her face. Her heart sang as she realized how everything was to play out. This is EXACTLY how Becky would have wanted things … surrounded by friends at last, by all the ones who loved her most. She opened her eyes and looked around the group – eight in total – and took a seat in one of the two empty chairs.

"Please let me introduce Elsie to you all," Nuala said as she sat, addressing the group with the name Becky always used when talking about her sister. Of course … they'd have no idea who 'Mrs. Hughes' is … Elsie smiled and nodded silently as she was greeted in soft voices by those around her. A tear slid down her cheek – she paid it no heed.

When everyone was seated comfortably, Nuala read the following poem:

Dream of a Blessed Spirit, by W.B. Yeats

All the heavy days are over;

Leave the body's coloured pride

Underneath the grass and clover,

With the feet laid side by side.

One with her are mirth and duty;

Bear the gold-embroidered dress,

For she needs not her sad beauty,

To the scented oaken press.

Hers the kiss of Mother Mary,

The long hair is on her face;

Still she goes with footsteps wary

Full of earth's old timid grace.

With white feet of angels seven

Her white feet go glimmering;

And above the deep of heaven,

Flame on flame, and wing on wing.

Elsie loved Yeats, and recognized the poem immediately as a newer one. She realized that Nuala had chosen it because the poem spoke to Becky's beautiful but delicate nature using very concrete and easy to understand examples: her long hair, her wary footsteps, her mirth, her grace. No wonder everyone loves this woman … she is so good at what she does. She's not babying any of these women by choosing something infantile. Elsie found herself respecting Nuala even more.

After a pause, Nuala continued. "We will now move throughout our circle, beginning to my right with Clare. As is our custom, you are all free to share something of your choosing about Becky, and we will listen in silence and respect. Should you not wish to contribute, please just say so."

Elsie listened in rapt attention as Clare began, telling an amusing story of the day Becky dropped her cup of milk in the dining hall and the cat came over to lick it up before anyone could get a rag. Evidently the look on Becky's face was priceless, and everyone laughed uproariously at the story, Elsie included. As each member in attendance took her turn, Elsie marveled at the variety of the things they shared. There were a couple more stories involving Cow, followed by a story about the Christmas a few years back when Becky shared her favorite chocolates with everyone and only kept two for herself, and yet another about getting caught in the rain together but being happy at spying a rainbow in the process. One woman sang a song instead of speaking, and one simply passed Elsie a lovely pencil sketch of the two sisters, dancing in a field under an enormous tree. This took Elsie aback, knowing Becky must have told the woman all about those cherished days long ago – the detail in the background of the drawing was extraordinary, as were the looks of happiness on Elsie and Becky's faces. Elsie had been unsure of what to say when it came around to her turn, but after listening to these wonderful voices reflecting on her dear sister, the words flowed effortlessly from her mouth.

"When Becky arrived here, I remember she was so sad. Our Mam had just died, and I needed to keep working to support us both. Becky had to move from the only home she'd ever known. She was so frightened, but then we arrived and she met some of you. None of the others in our town of Argyll had ever understood Becky for who she was, no one outside of our family, but you all welcomed her in. You became her friends – she'd never had any friends before, you see. She was crying when I left her here that first night, but the following week I got the happiest letter from her, telling me of the new people she'd met and the fun she was having. You have all been her family while she's lived here, being present for her when I could not. I will never stop missing my sister; I will love her always and I know that you will, too."

When Elsie had finished, Nuala closed the service with a short prayer. Bowing her head, hands clasped and eyes closed, Elsie barely heard the words … but once again she felt a force of love surrounding her, knowing it was the same one that had surrounded Becky during her time here, and she was comforted. As the prayer came to a close, Elsie heard a murmur pass through the group, and she felt something brush up against her leg. She opened her eyes … Well, hello there, Cow. Look who's finally found his way home. She smiled at the cat and he promptly jumped up on her lap, curled into a ball, and fell asleep. He was purring away loudly, the steady rumble soothing Elsie's heart … Just like someone else you know.

The train ride to Argyll was long, and Elsie dozed off and on. Despite its brevity and simplicity, the emotional content of the memorial service had taken its toll on her. She was jostled into wakefulness mid-afternoon when the train came to a stop. A porter helped Elsie down with her suitcase, but she refused to relinquish the box of Becky's things.

Yet another car was waiting to drive Elsie from the train station to the Hughes farm in Argyll. Lady Mary really doesn't do things by halves, does she? Chauffeured here, there and everywhere in between! Elsie was grateful for the cover of the automobile as it started to drizzle. Of course it would rain today … you're in Scotland now, lass. Only it's not "home" anymore, is it? She settled into the car, and gave the directions to the driver.

As the car passed down narrow roads and rolling, green hills, Elsie tried to prepare herself for it all … to see the farm, visit her parents' graves, and pray for the sister who now lay beside them. Becky loved her home in Lytham St. Anne's, and in truth Elsie would have preferred to have buried her there, but she knew her baby sister would want to be home at last even if burial elsewhere had been possible. Plus, it was what her mother had wanted, and Elsie would not go against her wishes.

Over the years, Becky's rather simple mind kept her from remembering much about life with their father. She had told Elsie of a few memories, however, focusing on the fun times she'd had when he'd bring her into town or help her ride the pony. But Elsie, several years older and always wiser than her years, had very few fond memories. And quite a few awful ones … As she neared the farm they started coming back in waves ... fetching Da from the local, walking him home as he got sick by the roadside … shouts and screams as their parents fought … hiding with Becky in their room, under the covers … their Mam's bruises, carefully hidden from the neighbors' spying eyes … the switch on her backside for the time she couldn't stop Becky from crying in church, because he'd NEVER lay a hand on his dear Becky, and thank the Lord for that.

Halfway up the dirt path that led to the house, Elsie asked the driver to stop. She had to force herself from the seat, so reluctant was she to make this final trek. She asked the driver to wait for her, not sure how long she'd be, and he nodded. The family plot where Becky had just been buried abutted the rear of the Hughes property, and Elsie needed the walk. Slowly, she approached the house … the front steps calling to her, taunting her memory in a silent but menacing voice …

… the year the crops were poor, because there had been too little rain … the desperate hunger that ensued … the following year, fetching Da once again from the pub and listening to him talk of her marrying the farmer next door – the farmer was twenty-six, she fifteen – because they needed the marriage of the two farms to be secure … her refusal and the sharp sting of his hand … her fervent plea with her Mam to not make her go … and the following night …

Elsie stopped at the bottom of the steps. She had no idea how long she stood there getting soaked by the drizzle, but she knew her shivering had nothing to do with the weather. It had been so long, and even when Elsie had returned for her Mam's funeral, she never went near the house itself. She took in its dilapidated state now: drooping shingles, a few broken windows, cobwebs in the corners of the doorway, broken floorboards, the hole just beside the steps. Mam never had that repaired … why?

… Mam shouting at Da, insisting her lass would NEVER be married off to that horrid neighbor, no matter what he had arranged at the pub … the sound of his fist connecting with something soft … then, soon after, his footsteps heading back out onto the porch … Elsie and Becky hiding in the barn, Becky's hands over her ears so that she didn't hear … then the final, outraged cry from her Mam and a hideous, deadly sound … the noise from their heavy iron skillet hitting the floorboards, followed by a deafening silence … leading Becky to the house slowly, calming her with their favorite song … "El, why isn't Da getting up? He's not moving!"… Searching for her Mam, and the understanding that dawned as they gazed into each other's deep blue eyes ... reaching for the woman, the one who finally managed to protect her eldest daughter from a future no different from the hellish present they were living … somehow comforting the woman, but swearing her to silence forever …"He fell, Mam, he fell and hit his head, and that's all anyone has to know." … Becky being tucked into bed with Mam … and, finally, the weight of the skillet in her own hand as she created a hole in the floorboard, the one she'd swear he tripped on before falling down the stairs …

Elsie just stood there, sobbing, as it all flooded through her. She had no regret, she'd done what needed to be done, but the pain of reliving it was agonizing. How will he ever love me after knowing all of this?

When the tears finally slowed, she turned and headed to the cemetery. Halfway there, Elsie discovered that her long-buried burden was lessening, just a little. The haunting, hideous memories that had been pent up for all these years were escaping, breaking their way violently out of her at last, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. But this NEEDS to be opened up, she told herself, needs to be released, so that YOU can be healed. Sending a prayer of thanks to Becky for making her come and face it at last, Elsie moved ahead to the family's plot.

Gingerly sitting on the grass beside the newly-formed mound of dirt, Elsie allowed herself to cry, wailing and screaming into the wind in an attempt to expel all of the emotions that she'd kept buried inside for years. She sobbed, she raged, she screamed and, eventually, when she felt she had nothing left to give, she sat reflecting on her wonderful memories of Becky, the ones she'd never shared with another living soul but that she would tell Charles all about when she saw him at last. She would finally be leaving behind the horror of her childhood once and for all. Leaving it all behind, but not keeping it hidden anymore. She would return to Downton, the only place she'd truly felt was a proper home. She'd return to her other family, to the man she hoped would still love her after she told him about this terrifying trip into her past: of what it cost for her to take it, of the feelings it had brought back, and of where she wanted to be after it was done – right by his side, always.

Having no idea how long she'd sat upon the ground, Elsie managed to get up slowly, her body aching and creaking from age and the dampness of the weather. She made her way slowly across the farm, looking around the property one final time. The moment you get back on your feet, you're selling the goddamn thing to the first person who wants it. Arriving at the car, she saw the driver waiting patiently for her, and she appreciated that he spoke only to check the name of her lodgings. She confirmed the information he had and he drove her there in silence, never questioning her disheveled and muddy appearance, the way her face must have swelled and reddened, or the hoarseness in her voice. Bless him.

At long last, Elsie entered her hotel room, noting that a fire that had been laid in the grate. She kicked off her shoes and peeled off her damp clothing, ran a hot bath, and poured herself a brandy from the decanter on the table. Lowering herself into the deep tub, Elsie drank the brandy slowly, relishing the burning of the hot water on her skin and the sting of the drink in her raw throat. Both were making her feel more alive than she had in days. She felt like the phoenix: reborn. She knew she had gone through the flames of her own personal hell and had emerged on the other side; she was raw, changed, and ready for new days ahead. She realized once and for all that she could accept with thanks this path that had been her life, for it had led her to become the one thing she'd always wanted to be … free.

A true gauntlet with a gift in it … thank you, Becky, for allowing me to be released.

A/N 2: The lovely silhouettedswallow beta-read this chapter and mentioned it sounds an AWFUL LOT like a storyline from the TV show Last Tango in Halifax. I've never seen the show, so that was completely unintentional ... but weird, huh?