It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone. - John Steinbeck

May 21, 1921

Johnson Mooney and O'Brien Bakery

Kathleen Branson wiped the back of her hand over her damp forehead, pushing the errant wisps of hair off her face. Did everyone in Dublin need pastries on the same day? she thought, and had all the other bakeries in the city closed for some reason?

Of course, it was grand for Mooney and O'Brien, and she was lucky to have work when so many were scraping by these days, but really! It wasn't like she owned the place, after all. And it wouldn't be so bad if Bernadette were there to help.

Kathleen was worried about her sister. She hadn't been this sick, this drawn, with either Connor or Fiona. She knew that every baby was different, but there was just something about this one that had her wishing that the pregnancy would be over and the baby safely here, even though Bernadette's due date wasn't until mid-July.

Daniel felt the same way, and he had finally put his foot down and ordered his wife to stop working and stay at home. "You won't be working for quite a while anyway, darling, once the baby's born. A few weeks more isn't going to matter. And we don't need the money, not with the way the furniture store's taken off. Your baby brother's a genius!" So Bernadette now spent her time at home, resting.

Kathleen was pulled out of her thoughts, back to the bakery and the line of eager customers. The owner had hired a girl to help fill in the gap left by Bern's departure, but training her was just more work for Kathleen, who also had to do the books now. Her days started at dawn and often went into the afternoon. She hardly saw Deaglan at all these days, and on weekends all she wanted to do was sleep. But this too shall pass, she thought. The girl would learn, Kathleen's schedule would ease, and she'd soon be an aunt again. She smiled.

"Well, I wish my girl would smile at me like that!" said the man at the counter.

"Oh," Kathleen, said, flustered. "No, I was just…"

"You mean that gorgeous smile isn't for me?" the man asked. "I ask you," he said, turning to the people in line behind him. "Don't I deserve a smile from a beautiful girl along with my pastry?" People laughed at his humor. "I mean, somewhere out there is a lad who gets that smile all the time. It's jealous, I am!"

"Not so far out there," came a familiar voice. "And I'll thank you to take your eyes off my fiancée!" Deaglan stepped out from behind a large woman and grinned at Kathleen.

The man put his hands up in mock surrender and stepped back. "Lucky cuss!" he said, shaking his head.

But Kathleen was staring at Deaglan. "Fiancée?" she asked. "When did that happen?"

"Oh, did I forget a step?" Deaglan laughed, turning to face the crowd, who were all listening intently now, having forgotten about their pastries. "I'm sorry, I'd better take care of that right away. I've given up on ever getting this lass alone in a romantic place, so I'll just have to do it here, and you lot are all invited to be my witnesses—" he winked at them, "and carry me out, in case she says no." And with that, he went down on one knee in front of the counter, to the delight of everyone in the place.

"Kathleen Nora Branson, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Kathleen was beet red, She continued to stare at Deaglan as tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her face. His broad smile faltered.

"Katy?" he said, sounding nervous.

"Yes, you fool!" she choked out. "Of course I'll marry you. I thought I'd be an ancient old crone before you got around to asking!"

Everyone in Mooney's began to shout and cheer. Deaglan stood up and reached across the counter to lift Kathleen over and into his arms. He crushed her to him, kissing her as if his life depended on it, and she melted into his embrace.

When he looked up again, after a rather long time, Deaglan grinned at the crowd of customers. "The bakery's closed," he announced. "Come back tomorrow for a free pastry, on me!" And he watched as the customers all filed out the door, smiling and chattering about the proposal they had just been lucky enough to watch. In a city at war, light moments were often hard to find, and this one had been a gem.

May 28, 1921

Martha Levenson's Home, New York City

"So, how is the apartment hunting going, dear?" Martha asked Maire, as they shared tea in the drawing room.

"Oh, fine," Maire replied, her tone listless. She avoided eye contact with Martha as she sipped her tea.

"That's nice," said Martha. "But you know you don't have to move out. I enjoy having young people around and I'm not looking forward to the silence of these old halls."

"I know," said Maire. "And we're more than grateful for your kindness, for everything you've done for us. But it's time we learned to make it on our own, don't you think?" She still looked miserable, and Martha tilted her head and gave her a sharp-eyed look.

"Well, I might have done it for Sybil, initially, but you and Evan have become very dear to me. You're family, you know…why, what's the matter?"

Maire had burst into tears. She put her face in her hands and sobbed as if her heart was breaking. After a startled look, Martha waited, settling back into the chair and sipping her tea as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Finally Maire looked up, sniffling.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, "what you must think of me!"

"It was when I said "family", wasn't it?" Martha asked her in a calm tone.

"Y-yes," sputtered Maire, "but it isn't as if I don't feel like your family, or that I don't feel the same way about you—I do, but—"

"But you miss your own family, don't you? Well, what kind of person would you be if you didn't?"

"I miss my mother!" It came out in a rush. "It was wonderful of you to send us over to Ireland for Christmas, and I'll never be able to repay your kindness, but seeing them all made it worse, somehow. Leaving them again was almost the hardest thing I've ever done!"

"Almost?" said Martha, curious. "And what, pray tell, could be harder than that?"

Maire stopped sniffling and looked at her benefactor. A small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. "Well, the hardest thing was admitting I was in love with an Englishman," she said. "But leaving the first time wasn't so difficult. After all, we were running away from the law, and I'd just found Evan again, and then you were here to take us under your wing. And after that we were so busy getting settled, and finding jobs, and getting Evan into medical school, that none of it had time to sink in for a while. But when we went back, when I saw my m-mother, and my b-brothers and ss-sisters, it just all came at me at once." She was crying again.

Maire made a great effort and pulled herself together. "It wasn't so hard for Evan, though he understands how I feel because my family is his now too. His parents are dead, and his brother was killed in the Great War so he has no one in England. But it's not the same. He's used to being alone. He's better at it than I am because it's all he's had for so long. And I'm glad I left with him—I love Evan more than anything, and I'd do it all again in a minute, but—" and she broke down again, "I m-miss my m-mother!"

Again Martha waited her out. When Maire had quieted again, she put her teacup down on the tray and looked squarely at the Irish girl who had become like a daughter to her.

"Well, dear, then it appears I have some good news for you. My granddaughter Mary is expecting, and the baby is due sometime in July. Assuming all goes well…and when you meet Lady Mary," she said this in a lofty British accent with her nose in the air, "you'll understand why nothing will be permitted to go wrong—she simply won't have it…" she trailed off and sat looking at Maire with a smile that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous.

Maire was now studying her with a perplexed look on her face. What did all this have to do with anything?

"So," Martha continued in her normal voice, "sometime in August there will be a christening, and I am going to drag myself over to take part in it. I haven't been back to Europe since Sybil's wedding, and wasn't that a fine fiasco!" She snorted. "Let's just hope we don't have a hullaballoo like that one this time!"

"W-we?" Maire said, sitting up straight.

"Why yes, we. You and Evan are coming with me. I'm too old to do that horrible journey by myself anymore, and I believe you said something about missing your mother?"

"Yes, but she's in Ireland, not England," said Maire, confused.

"You young people think you know everything! She'll be in England for the christening. Cora has written and invited us, and what's more—she's invited your mother and your whole family as well! Oh, Lord," she said, her eyes crinkling in evil mirth, "I simply cannot wait to see my son-in-law's face when we all pull up to Downton Abbey!"

June 19, 1921

The Branson Flat

It had been a quiet Sunday for Tom and Sybil—as quiet as life with a ten month old could be. Abby was crawling all over the flat, and taking her first steps around the furniture, chirping with joy at her success. It wouldn't be long before she was walking on her own. Sybil was proud of her daughter, and wanted her to walk, and talk, and do all those other things toddlers do. Really, she did. But she knew that when that happened, her baby would be gone forever, and she wasn't sure she was ready for that.

Tom came in with the baby draped over his shoulder, upside down. Both were laughing, and Sybil couldn't help but join in. Well, she was being maudlin anyway, feeling sad about ridiculous things, when she should be enjoying this moment, right now, with the two people she loved most on this earth. She got up and went to them, kissing her daughter's pudgy belly until she squealed, moving upwards with her lips until they met her husband's. With Abby squished happily between them, they stood this way until they heard a knock on the door.

"Daniel?" said Tom, as he opened the door to the flat. "What brings you over on a Sunday? Hiding from the kids?"

"Um, it's really Sybil I need to see," said Daniel in a low voice. He came into the sitting room, twisting his hat in his big workman's hands. His face was pale and drawn, and the circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual. Tom and Sybil knew that Daniel had been under a lot of strain recently, since Bernadette hadn't been feeling well, and he'd been taking time off to take charge of his boisterous children. Connor and Fiona were as delightful as a five and two-and-a-half year old could be, which is to say they were adorable heathens who gave all the adults in their lives a run for their money. It was plain to see that their father had run out of steam. But there was more to this, Sybil could tell.

"What's wrong, Daniel?" she said, touching his arm in concern. The look on his face alarmed her, as she ushered him to the couch and made him sit down.

"It's Bern," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "There's something wrong, I know it…but she won't talk to me. She just says she's tired, and everything is fine. I know her, Sybil, and I don't think she's being honest. I don't know how to help her. Will you come?"

"Of course!" said Sybil. "But…why me? Where's Mam?"

"Oh, she's tried too. I may be imagining things, but I think Bern's worried about something, and I think it's…I think it's something to do with the baby. I'd just feel better if you talked to her, you being a nurse and all. She's been so sick lately. Just come and tell her it's normal, that everything will be all right. Please!"

So Sybil left Abby with Tom. Neither she nor Daniel spoke on the short trip to the Bransons', each wrapped in separate thoughts. When they arrived at the house, Daniel led the way into the parlor, where Bernadette was reclining on the couch, reading a book. No one else seemed to be at home, and the quiet was unusual and somewhat chilling.

"Bern, look who stopped in to see you!" Daniel said, doing his best to sound surprised. "Well, I'll leave you ladies to talk about…whatever it is women talk about." And he disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

"How's Abby?" Bernadette asked Sybil. "Is she walking yet?"

"Not yet, but any day now. She's pulling herself up on everything, and crawling from one end of the flat to the other. I can't take my eyes off her for a minute! Why didn't you warn me?" She rolled her eyes.

"Funny, you never asked," said Bernadette, smiling. But Sybil noticed that the smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and she seemed distracted.

"Daniel says the kids are ready for boarding school," Sybil joked, and watched her sister-in-law carefully. "Three's going to be quite a challenge."

Bernadette looked up at her, and Sybil saw that her eyes were wet. "Bern, what's wrong?" she asked, taking her sister-in-law's hand. "Tell me."

"I can't feel it," Bernadette whispered. "I haven't felt the baby move for almost a week. That never happened with the other two. Is that normal?"

Sybil's heart thudded and dropped. "W-well, it's probably fine, but we aren't going to take any chances. Worrying isn't good for you, so tomorrow morning we're going to the Mater. Dr. Walsh will check you over, and I'm sure he'll tell you everything is all right.

Everything was not all right. Dr. Walsh examined Bernadette, and then called in a colleague whose specialty was maternity. They closed the door of the examining room and spent a long time with Bernadette, while Sybil waited outside.

Dr. Walsh opened the door finally and called for her to come in. "There's no heartbeat, Sybil. The baby has died," he said in a low voice. "We're going to induce labor, but right now she needs you. The nurse is calling her husband."

Sybil sat holding Bernadette while she sobbed out her anguish like a small child.

And later that evening she was delivered of a tiny, perfectly formed little boy.

"He was exquisite," Sybil told Tom as they lay together that night in their huge bed. "He had a rosebud mouth, and long eyelashes…he was beautiful. They named him Aedan." She began to cry, softly, and Tom drew her close.

"She's so strong, Tom! I don't think I could hold myself together like that. To lose a child, before he's even seen the world or looked at the mother who loved him for all these months already. Bern told me that he was her little light, and she would think of him like that always. She said she wishes she had had the chance to meet him, because it's so much darker now without his light than it would have been if he had never shone at all. Oh, Tom…why do these things have to happen?"

Sybil buried her head in her husband's shoulder and cried for Bernadette, and for all the mothers who had lost children throughout time. And then together they went to stand at Abby's cot and watch their own precious child as she slept, healthy and whole. Their own little light, shining bright in the darkness.


A/N: Crossing the Atlantic Ocean in 1921 was not for the faint of heart. By the early 20th century, the liner Mauretania, with a capacity of 2,300 passengers, was able to cross the Atlantic in 4.5 days, a record which was held for 30 years until the Queen Mary reduced the crossing time by half a day to 4. A crossing was also extremely expensive; first class passengers like Martha Levenson would have paid in the neighborhood of $385 for the trip, which is equivalent to about $4,850.00 for the most luxurious cabins on the Queen Mary today. And that was for one passenger, not three!

Pronunciation Guide:

Aedan - aid + an

Deaglan - deck + lan

Maire - my + ra