Once again, I want to thank those readers who have sent such encouraging reviews! And I would like to dedicate this chapter and the remainder of this story to my beloved grandmother who passed from this world into the next a few days ago at the amazing age of 96. She grew up poor but worked her way through both high school and junior college, quite an accomplishment for a young woman growing up in rural Appalachia during the Depression. She sent three daughters off to college, all three of them completing their education and two of them going on to receive Master's Degrees. Her love of reading, gardening, and singing runs through my veins, as does her never-ending desire to learn new things. You will all understand her character immediately when I describe her quite honestly as the Hillbilly Dowager Countess! She always had a comeback, had no tolerance for laziness and did not suffer fools. What an honor and blessing it was to have her as a part of my life for as long as I did. So here's to you, Mimi! I hope you're kicking your heels up at that Big Ol' Heavenly Square Dance!

Chapter 4

She had dreamed of Matthew again.

There seemed to be no point to it, just a series of fleeting images and memories that played out in her sleeping mind. Mary awoke as she always did—missing him fiercely, aching for his touch, yet knowing that he was forever out of her reach. She allowed her fingers to ghost over his pillow a moment in remembrance, indulging herself for a fleeting moment as she imagined he was there beside her, smiling at her with that lop-sided grin of his and stroking her hair. But a moment was all she would allow, for she refused to give in to the familiar desire to remain in bed and block out the world around her. It was time to get up and live. Mary was amazed to feel a new determination burning within her, one that gave her a purpose. She had decided to make some changes and take charge of this new life she was now living.

And she knew exactly what she wanted to do first.

When her breakfast arrived, Mary quickly ate her fill, wanting to tell Anna of her decision before she lost her nerve. When it was finally time for her to get dressed, Mary took a deep breath and plunged ahead, shocking her lady's maid when she declared, "Anna, I'd like you to cut my hair."

Mrs. Bates was frozen to her spot, looking at Mary in utter disbelief.

"How much would you like me to cut off, mi'lady?" the maid asked, uncertainty creasing her features.

"As much as you can," Mary replied, looking away from Anna as she rubbed lotion into her arms and hands. "I'd like one of the new, modern looks."

"Are you certain about this, mi'lady?" Anna finally asked, taking Mary's long, dark tresses into her hands, allowing them to fall through her fingers. "You have such beautiful hair, and you told me once that you thought you would never cut it short."

Mary looked at Anna in the mirror, her determination allowing for no argument in the matter. "That was because Mr. Matthew liked it long," she replied, immensely proud of herself that she actually said it without crying. "But I have decided that it is time that I begin to move on, Anna. I must make some changes in my life if…"

Her voice faltered momentarily, and she drew a deep breath. "If I am ever going to heal," she finished, her eyes silently pleading with Anna for understanding.

Anna gave her smile, nodding her head in affirmation as full understanding took root. "I think it's a brilliant idea, mi'lady," she agreed, "and I agree with you. The new look will suit you."

Mary smiled, showing more courage than she felt as Anna fetched a pair of scissors. "You're certain?" Anna asked once more, unwilling to touch the shears to Mary's head without decisive permission.

"Absolutely," Mary affirmed, clasping her hands tightly together in her lap to keep them from shaking. She forced herself to keep her eyes open and watch Anna snip off the first piece at her shoulder.

"For God's sake, Anna, I said I wanted it short," Mary stated, looking over her shoulder at her friend.

"I know, mi'lady, but I wanted to make sure before I cut off too much," Anna replied, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of making the first cut on Mary's hair.

"Here, give them to me," Mary insisted, taking the scissors in her own hands. She pulled a strand of her hair straight, and cut it off just at the level of her chin.

Both women froze for a moment, staring at the image in the mirror with owl-like expressions before a lone tear trailed down Mary's cheek. She lightly clutched air where hair used to be, allowing herself one moment to grieve as she let go of a piece of herself, a tangible connection to her past. But a moment was all she would tolerate as she drew a deep breath, sat up taller and turned away from the looking glass.

"Do you think you can manage now?" she asked, her voice surprisingly steady as she held the scissors out towards Anna. "I really can't yell at you now that I've made the first cut."

Anna finally pulled herself out of her frozen stance, shaking her head slightly as she took up the task presented to her. "I'll remind you of that if you don't like it in the end," she replied as more thick clumps of black hair began to fall to the floor.

Mary rubbed her neck, feeling nothing but skin where her hair used to lie. She could not get over how such a small thing as cutting one's hair could stir up so many varied emotions. She felt absolutely thrilled and horrified at the same time.

But more than anything, she felt lighter.

Physically lighter, emotionally lighter…Mary knew that cutting her hair had just released her from more unnecessary weight. She continued to stare at herself in the mirror, shaking her new bob, admiring how it twirled freely with the motion, and how nicely it went with the emerald dress she had chosen to wear for the day.

Her mother and grandmother were right: it was time to put away the black and allow some color back into her life. Mary closed her eyes in a silent prayer that somehow Matthew would understand. And suddenly, her dream on the train filled her memories, blocking out everything else for one ethereal moment.

Be happy, Mary.

"I am trying," Mary whispered to herself in response, smiling softly as she opened her eyes.

"Do you like it, Anna?" she finally had the nerve to ask, looking to the other woman for her reaction.

Anna could not help herself as a beaming smile broke across her face, exclaiming without a doubt, "I love it!"

"So do I," Mary announced hesitantly, gazing at her reflection a moment more before she stood, squaring her shoulders as she prepared to face the rest of her family.

"I wonder what Mama will say," Mary mused before walking to her door.

"I think she'll be pleased," Anna returned, giving Mary an encouraging smile. "After all, Lady Edith cut her hair a long time ago. She shouldn't be too shocked by your new look."

"Goodness knows I've done many more shocking things in my life than this," Mary quipped, smoothing her dress and feeling her neck once again, still so unused to the new sensation of short hair. "And wouldn't Edith just die if she knew that I had done something like her."

"I think she would approve," Anna returned, walking towards the nightstand beside Mary's bed and retrieving a small package.

"Here, mi'laday," she spoke as she handed it to Mary. "This came for you yesterday from New York. It's from your sister."

"Yesterday?" Mary exclaimed, examining the package and looking at Anna. "Heavens, I must have overlooked it with all of the activity. I do hope everything is alright."

"I'm sure that it is, or we would have heard otherwise by now," Anna answered, as she opened the door. "She probably just wanted to wish George a happy birthday. I'll leave you to your package, mi'lady," she stated before taking her leave and closing the door behind her.

A letter from Edith was truly the last thing that Mary had expected, much less a package from her stateside sister. She opened the box, finding a book entitled The Magical Land of Noom and a letter addressed to her. She held the parchment close to her and began to read.

Dear Mary,

I did my best to post this letter from New York so it would reach you and Georgie in time for his birthday. I do hope it did. Regardless, please give my nephew a big hug for me. He is such a sweet boy, and I miss him so. I do hope he enjoys the book. I know it is a bit old for him yet, but I also know just how much you like to read to him in the nursery at bedtime. This is a newly published book that I thought would do well for him as he grows. If he is anything like his mother, he shall be quite a great reader.

Life for me in New York is going quite well. The pace of it suits me better than life at Downton, I must say. Having a story published in "The Metropolitan" has certainly opened doors for me and allowed me some time to really work on my craft. Things are so different for women here, Mary. I knew that all American women have the vote, regardless of whether or not they are over the age of 30 or married, but to see the way they carry themselves here is amazing. Life is not about whose daughter you are or how well you marry. Here, you can create the person that you want to be into your own reality. You cannot imagine just how much I love that sort of freedom.

I want you to know just how sorry I am that Matthew is not there with you, today of all days. My heart still breaks when I think of how everything happened one year ago. We all miss him dreadfully, but I know that no one's grief can compare to yours. I just wanted you to know that I have never doubted your strength or spirit, and I am so proud by how you have been raising your son under such dreadful circumstances. I know we rarely see eye to eye on anything, but if I were with you today at Downton, I would give you a hug whether you liked it or not and tell you that I love you, my sister. For as much and as often as we fight, we are still family, and I do want you to be happy.

Grandmama sends hugs and wants you to know that she would very much like it if you and Georgie could come for a visit when he is a bit older. I do believe he would really enjoy an outing to Coney Island. It is such an interesting place. Please give everyone my love.

Sincerely,

Your Sister Edith

Mary was stunned. She loved Edith, too, yet those words so often went unsaid between the two of them, too often replaced by quips or sarcasm as they so often strove to one-up each other. She stood in wonder at the kind letter that her sister had taken the time to write, touched by the sentiments and thoughts expressed. She and Edith had quite a history of poor dealings with each other in person. Perhaps they could establish a better relationship through the post. Intrigued by that notion, Mary folded her letter and opened her smallest drawer to place it inside.

She was then staring directly at her oldest photo of Matthew.

Mary plucked it out, gingerly holding it against her breast with trembling hands as she put the letter away. This was the photo she had gazed upon every night of their engagement before she went to bed, eagerly awaiting the time when they would go to bed together. She had prayed for him every night when he was at the front, staring at this picture as she begged God repeatedly to keep him safe. And God had brought him safely home from the war.

But not from the hospital.

Mary suddenly wondered if she had not prayed enough…perhaps, if she had continued her vigil every night, even after the war was over…perhaps…

No.

She would not begin this self-declared first day of her new life with self-doubt or reproach. She looked upon his face in the photograph a moment more, tracing her thumb across his cheek as she stated, "Wish me luck, Matthew. I shall certainly need it."

Such good luck…

Mary returned the picture to its special place, hesitating a moment before she closed the drawer, rubbing her neck again as she tried to smile. She then turned towards her door and made her way into the rest of the house…and her new life.

Her family's reaction to her drastic new hairstyle had been more enthusiastic than Mary could have predicted. Her mother had come as close to jumping up and down as she had ever seen her, and her father had been rendered nearly speechless. He actually beamed at her before setting out to visit the cottages as Mary prepared herself to walk George into town for a luncheon with Isobel. She was also planning to post a letter she had composed to Edith of heart-felt thanks for her thoughtfulness. The content of her sister's letter had caught her so completely off-guard, but Mary did not want to miss this opportunity to extend the olive branch back to Edith. If there was one lesson she had learned in spades this past year, it was that nothing in life was secure.

I don't want to take us for granted. Who knows what's coming?...

If she had known, she would have told him she loved him more frequently. She would have spent less time fussing with her wardrobe and more time taking walks with him. And she would not have wasted so much time worrying about her pride or trying to make sure everything was certain. No—if she had been aware of what was coming, she would have grasped happiness with Matthew as soon as the opportunity presented itself to her.

Mary was all too aware that she could change none of that now, and that knowledge still lay as a dead weight upon her heart. But she could make certain that she did not build such regrets with her son. George was in many ways her saving grace.

The sky was blue as she set off on her journey, but the wind caused her continued difficulty, gusting so strongly at times that she could barely keep George's pram on a straight course. Was a storm blowing in? There was certainly no observable evidence yet in the sky, but Mary could somehow sense that rain would be arriving soon. She made a mental note to call for a ride home from Crawley House, not wanting to take a chance that she and George could get caught in a storm.

The pair finally arrived for luncheon a bit worse for wear. George had purposely dropped his teething ring on the journey to town and was absolutely furious with his mother for not returning it to him. Isobel heard the child's screams from upstairs before Moseley ever managed to open the door.

"Oh dear, what is all this ruckus about," Isobel called from the stairs good-naturedly as she made her way down to greet them.

She froze at halfway down, staring at Mary with dark eyes widened by momentary shock.

"Good heavens," she whispered, only half-believing what she was seeing in front of her.

"Mary—your hair…"

"Do you like it?" Mary interrupted, feeling suddenly like a child getting caught with her hand in the biscuit tin. Somehow, in her mind, Isobel's opinion of her new hairstyle represented what Matthew would think. And no matter how many times she told herself that no one's opinion mattered but her own, Mary knew that was outright lie. Isobel's opinion mattered dreadfully.

She began to rub her neck self-consciously with one hand, standing in silence as she awaited the verdict. Isobel walked towards her, laid a hand of reassurance on her shoulder and said, "I think it's simply marvelous!"

"Do you really?" Mary gushed, small tears of relief welling in her eyes as she released a breath she had not realized she had been holding.

"Yes, I do," Isobel affirmed, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "It really suits you, Mary."

Mary quickly embraced her mother-in-law, effectively squeezing George between them, relishing the love and acceptance she had found in such an unlikely source. Her son was not pleased by this move, however, and he vocalized his protest quite loudly.

"Come hear, my dearest boy," Isobel coaxed, taking the lad from his mother's arms and carrying him upstairs. "I see you are a bit cranky this afternoon."

"Yes, he is," Mary confirmed, following Isobel's lead up the steps. "I believe the combination of his new tooth and all of yesterday's excitements have made him a bit out of sorts today."

"That is understandable," the boy's grandmother responded, looking at him intently. "Do you think he would nap if I rocked him?" Mary smiled at Isobel's eagerness to just that.

"I'm not sure, but I certainly have no objections is you wish to try," she replied, rubbing his soft hair and kissing his forehead.

"Well then, make yourself comfortable, my dear," Isobel stated, already moving towards the small room she had refurbished into a nursery for her grandchild's visits. The room had just been completed a few days before they boarded the train for Scotland. How Matthew had laughed at his mother's determination to have a place for George to call his own at Crawley House.

Oh, Matthew…

Mary stood in the very room where she had seen him for the first time. He had followed her down the very stairs she had just ascended practically begging for her forgiveness and understanding as she cut him off with one statement.

You're right. The whole thing is a complete joke!

How could she have known that afternoon that two years later she would have walked through hell itself to have the opportunity to spend her life loving him, that she would have to wait for eight years in order to finally hear him ask, "Lady Mary Crawley, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"You fool," she stated to the empty room, shaking her head at her own stupidity.

Just then Moseley interrupted her thoughts, entering quietly and stating, "I have a message for you, Lady Crawley."

"Thank you, Moseley" she replied, taking the note from him that he handed to her and opening it at once. But the man servant remained rooted to his spot, watching her intently. "That will be all."

"I beg your pardon, my lady, but I was instructed to wait and send your reply," Moseley uttered, taking one step away from her nonetheless.

"Alright," she sighed in reply, walking towards the windows in order to afford herself a bit of privacy as she read.

"Ah, it's from my grandmother," Mary stated, somehow knowing that before she ever opened the message. "She would like me to stop by for tea before we go back to Downton." She paused, wondering if this was to become a continuation of last night's conversation. Mary rather hoped not, but she also knew that it was very difficult to refuse Violet Crawley anything.

"Moseley, please inform Her Ladyship that Master George and I will be happy to come for tea this afternoon," Mary replied, turning towards the butler before continuing, "but that we shall require a car to return us home afterwards."

"Very good, my lady," Moseley answered, bowing slightly before he exited the room.

Her mind still occupied by thoughts of what her grandmother might want to discuss, Mary hardly noticed when Isobel re-entered the room.

"He fell asleep so fast," she smiled, offering Mary a seat and taking one herself.

"I'm so glad," Mary stated in relief. "He's been a bit off all so badly needed a nap."

"More than he needed lunch, I daresay," Isobel replied. "But I am sure that you could use some food, my dear. Lunch should be ready very shortly."

"Thank you," Mary said, so thankful for the opportunity to have some time alone with her mother-in-law after last night's conversation. Isobel had remained uncharacteristically silent both during and after the rather ridiculous discussion over possible suitors. After Mary had bowed to the wishes of her mother and grandmother concerning the guest list, she had truly believed that Isobel might speak up for her and offer a show of support in her rebellion against the idea of allowing another man into her life.

But Isobel had said nothing.

Mary decided to tackle the topic directly rather than skirt around it for the remainder of the afternoon. She knew that frankness was a quality that Isobel both appreciated and admired.

"I am sorry you had to be party to my disagreement with Mama and Granny last night," Mary began, looking to her mother-in-law to gage her reaction. "I was truly quite unprepared for this entire house party idea, as you became well-aware, and you know me: I don't particularly like for others to meddle in my affairs."

"Oh, yes," Isobel agreed without hesitation. "That's a quality that you and I share. Matthew grew up with a mother who did not hesitate in voicing her opinion, so I was not surprised that he chose a wife who knew her own mind."

"I suppose he was surrounded," Mary mused, remembering several lively discussions they had had during their all too brief marriage. "But he never seemed to mind. I suppose you did have him well trained in that regard."

"I am afraid you just made him sound rather like a puppy, my dear," Isobel replied, shocking Mary as she noticed the grin on the other woman's face.

"Oh, I suppose I did," Mary admitted, her surprise over Isobel's comment readily apparent on her face. "He would not have appreciated that at all."

Then together they did something that they had not done in a year: they laughed together while discussing Matthew.

Isobel and Mary had shared many tears over him, holding and consoling each other after many emotional discussions. They had both shared their anger, frustrations, and fears over his passing. Their talks had been angst-ridden and somber in their tone, even when they were attempting to encourage each other. But they had not yet been able to laugh…until today.

And somehow, the room seemed lighter.

"I rather agree with you on that one," Isobel nodded. She then paused and thoughtfully gazed at her daughter-in-law. "I am so very proud of you, Mary. You have truly taken some rather large steps on your road to healing over the past few days, and I am so very glad to see it."

"Thank you," Mary replied, hesitating slightly before she voiced her concern. "I was a bit afraid that you would think that by cutting my hair I was trying to forget him, but I could never…"

"Of course you couldn't, and no one who knew you would ever believe that," Isobel replied, moving to the settee to sit directly beside the younger woman. "What you and Matthew had was very special, and he will always be a part of you, just as Reggie is still a part of me."

You will always be my Mary…

She was still his, attached to his memory by so many cords that were still fastened tightly around her. Some of those cords had been severed brutally the day that he died, but others still bound her fast to him. Mary began to wonder just how many would have to be loosened in order to truly consider herself healed and if she would have the continued strength to complete the task.

But she had to—for George's sake.

Isobel paused, choosing her words very carefully before plowing ahead. "There comes a point in grieving someone you loved that you are finally able to accept the truth of the situation, no matter how difficult or unfair." A lone tear broke free crossing a pattern across her cheek as she continued. "What you have had to endure has been ghastly, Mary. I don't believe Matthew faced anything worse in the trenches during the war that what you have been through. But you have borne it admirably and survived."

"I'm not sure that I have ever done anything admirable my entire life," Mary returned, fighting the swell of emotion in her breast as she sought to be strong.

"I disagree," Isobel stated, almost daring Mary to disagree with her. "You have faced more than your fair share of difficulties, even before Matthew's death." Her gaze softened again as she voiced, "Matthew so admired your spirit and resilience. And so do I."

"Oh, please don't try to make me over into some sort of saint," Mary breathed, covering Isobel's hands with her own. "Many of the trials I faced were of my own making. I've been a very foolish person quite frequently during my life."

"We've all made foolish mistakes, Mary, but you are no fool," Isobel returned, clasping Mary's hand tightly. "You are a remarkable woman that I am proud to call my daughter."

She then hesitated slightly before adding, "And I do hope that you will allow me to consider you in such a manner always, even if you do meet someone else and marry again."

Oh, God…not Isobel, too! Was everyone in the entire village of Downton determined to marry her off to the first desirable suitor?

"Isobel, I do not know if that will ever happen," Mary began, not wanting to offend this woman who was so very dear to her, but wanting to be quite clear with her intentions. "There is one thing of which I am certain, however, and that is that I shall never meet nor love another man like Matthew."

"No, you will not," Isobel agreed, her demeanor quite calm. "But there are other good men out there, and you are still a young woman with a great capacity for love. I do hope that when you are ready that you will not needlessly punish yourself and run away from that possibility." Isobel then smiled softly to herself, her voice cracking slightly as she uttered, "Having someone by your side can make these rough journeys a bit less daunting, my dear."

Mary froze, realization hitting her with a force that nearly knocked her over. Dr. Clarkson! Of course—he and Isobel had been spending more time together for months now, but Mary had never suspected anything more than a close friendship. But the slight glow that seemed to radiate from the older woman was suddenly unmistakable. She wanted Mary to find love again because she had finally found it herself. And somehow, that love was making the loss of her son slightly more bearable.

Try as she might, the only word Mary could formulate was, "Oh."

Isobel took pity upon the woman sitting before her, smiling as she said, "It may yet be too soon for you, Mary. Only you can know that for certain. But I daresay that one day, perhaps sooner than you think, a man will suddenly capture your attention. There will be something about him—perhaps his eyes or his smile—that makes you feel something you thought forever lost."

Warm dark eyes, a beguiling smile, dimples that caught her attention…

Mary's hand moved like a shot and covered her mouth before she had the foresight to control her actions. She stood abruptly, unable to face Isobel as she moved towards the windows.

"Mary, I am so sorry if I have upset you," Isobel apologized, stepping quickly towards her daughter-in-law to appease her. "Please look at me, dear. It's alright—I won't mention it again if it makes you feel better."

Mary closed her eyes, suddenly feeling quite hot as she pressed her hands to her cheeks. She turned slowly to face Isobel who was startled to see that the younger woman was blushing furiously.

"Mary?" she asked with great hesitation, knowing that her daughter-in-law was feeling quite trapped yet hoping she would share what was so obviously distressing her.

"Oh, God," Mary exclaimed, striding quickly to the other side of the room, attempting desperately to cool the heat of mortification ravaging her body.

But she knew that Isobel was not a woman to be easily fooled or put off. Perhaps it would just be better to say it and be done with it. Hadn't the woman just told her that she wanted her to move on? She turned slowly until she was facing Isobel again and breathed, "I just noticed someone yesterday…a man."

Even saying it felt like a betrayal to Matthew, her words tasting bitter as they left her mouth. But her stomach began to flutter again and a nervous rush of warmth raced through her veins. How utterly ridiculous that her own body seemed to be at war with itself!

"Why, that's marvelous, Mary," Isobel affirmed, her voice quiet and soothing even as Mary's insides raged in turmoil.

"It hardly matters as I'll probably never see him again," Mary replied rather quickly, swallowing hard and breathing slowly to calm her racing heart. "He showed me a kindness on the journey home from London. That is all."

"The man on the train," Isobel deduced, realization suddenly dawning as to where Mary's discomfort over that discussion from the previous evening had sprung. "The one who retrieved George's teddy bear…he wasn't a porter, I take it."

"No," Mary admitted, hanging her head momentarily as she attempted to gather her thoughts. "Oh, Isobel, please do not mention this to anyone—especially to Mama or Granny! They would make more of this than there is to make, and I cannot deal with them right now. I hardly know how to deal with myself over this."

The words flew out of her mouth before she had time to consider their impact, but she felt so horribly powerless all of a sudden! How dare that stranger waltz into her berth and make her notice his blasted dimples, make her somewhat hopeful, make her feel that she might be able to actually feel again.

How dare he make her feel anything!

"You do not worry yourself over it," Isobel instructed calmly, somehow having crossed the distance between them without Mary's awareness. "These are just the first signs of spring after a long, difficult winter, Mary. There is still some coldness to endure, but the warmth will be arriving soon. You are healing, dear."

"I'm not sure if I'm strong enough for this," Mary whispered, the flash of anger that had assailed her now burned out.

"You are stronger than you realize, Mary," Isobel returned, her eyes full of confidence in the young woman before her. "You have already braved the worst of this storm, you know."

Mary nodded wordlessly, closing her eyes yet again. She could see him, standing beside her after that late-night search for Isis when he had finally convinced her to tell him about Kamal Pamuk. She relived the physical impact of his words when he told her that no—he could never despise her. And she heard his voice so clearly, almost as if he were standing behind her.

You're strong…a storm-braver if ever I saw one…

Oh, Matthew! Why had he left her to face this storm on her own? She was so tired of standing up to the rampage, of fearing what might come next, of always feeling the need to be brave. But she would continue to do so for Matthew's sake, for George's sake…

And for her own.

Yes—maybe she did deserve to heal, to experience the beauty of life re-awakening after feeling so wretchedly the cold touch of death. And even though the calendar declared it was September, Mary began to wonder if Isobel could be right. Perhaps spring was closer than she had realized. She then smiled as she made a promise to herself. When her heart had finally thawed and healed, she and George would go and sit in her mother's garden.

And they would paint the tulips together.