There are none so blind as those who will not see. Tom Branson's mother had told him and Kieran that over and over when they were young. He had ignored her as most young boys do. However,as of late his Mother's words were rebounding in his skull like a rubber ball colliding off of walls.
Mary was in need of help. He tried drawing her out at breakfast only to be intercepted by Lord Robert. For Tom this was par for the course, he had never played golf but being around all the starched shirts he had picked up the vernacular.
That night he dreamed he was in his dark green chauffeurs uniform, driving around Sybil. She knocked a fist on the roof to garner his attention.
He turned and smiled at her in relief, "Are you here for me my darling?"
Her hand stroked his cheek, "Not yet, but I need you to listen to me."
Tom nodded hurriedly and bullied his brain to commit what she was going to tell him to memory.
"It's Mary, you need to help her." Sybil began.
At this Tom shook his head in resignation, "I've tried, it's your father that is being the obstruction!"
Sybil regarded her husband, she had been warned by the others the changes that could occur to a loved one after a passing. She had truly believed that her husband would remain the steadfast-political-rogue. What she saw before her was a man who had all but accepted defeat.
"It never stopped you before" she whispered.
At this he dissolved into sobs, "I miss you so much! Sybbie looks so much like you. I go on for her but I miss you so."
Sybil took his hands, "Will you help me?"
"Of course I will, just promise me that it will be you who comes for me."
Sybil kissed his lips, "Only when it's time. Until then you need to live, be the Tom that I fell in love with. Read your socialist papers and conveniently leave them where papa will see them."
He chuckled weakly at her words and swore that he would do as she asked.
Anna had taken Mary's black shawl claiming it needed cleaning. She was determined that Lady Mary have some color no matter how small. Not wanting to overwhelm her she laid out a pearl grey shawl. Lady Mary's eyes raked over the offending item yet she took it. She was still mostly clad in black. She went outside with Tom to escape her parents.
As the two walked along Tom bent down and retrieved a twig and began snapping it into pieces. At the noise Mary stopped walking and watched him.
"why are you doing that?" She asked in an annoyed tone.
Tom inwardly smiled, "It's fun" He bent down and retrieved another twig and handed it to her, "here you have a go."
She rolled her eyes at him but nonetheless began snapping the twig, he was right it gave an feeling of satisfaction.
Tom waited, he watched her break the up twig. When she was done he could tell her hands were itching to do it again. "Not many twigs here, better ones to the North."
"You're an expert on twigs are you?" Mary asked.
"No, but I've come across a lot going from farm to farm with the sheep." He informed.
Mary's memory sparked, she had been walking with Matthew. They had made their way across an abandoned farm, equipment eerily still. Matthew had been adamant that they only way to keep the estate was to farm the land properly and actually have the land earn money instead of spend it. A chilling thought occurred to her with Matthew's death her father would be in charge of Downton Abbey. Would he too abandon all the changes that Matthew had thought necessary in order to keep it?
The modest estate her mother had nicknamed Downton Place came to mind. Was that to be her new home?
"Tell me about the sheep. Tell me about the farms." She demanded.
Tom was still smiling when he came back into the Abbey only to be met by the stern and dour face of Lord Grantham. "What were you and Mary doing for so long?"
"She wanted to know about the estate so I told her." Tom said cheerfully.
Lord Robert shook his head, "She is far too fragile."
"I don't think so" Tom replied.
Lord Robert scowled, his foot twitched as though he was going to stamp it in a tantrum. "I'm here father, I know what she needs."
Tom refused to be scolded, "With all due respect you have no idea what she needs."
Lord Robert's eyes narrowed, "And you do?"
Tom spoke softly, "Yes, I do. I know what it is like to love someone so fully. To marry that someone, to make a new life only to gain a child and lose your spouse in the same breath!"
That night Sybil came to Tom to thank him. As Tom saw Sybil drift towards him he didn't ask her if she was here for him he simply enjoyed her presence.
Also in the night Matthew came to Mary. Instead of them picking up where they had left off Mary kept her distance from him. Matthew saw this, "Are you angry that I left?"
Mary huffed out a breath, she had been angry that he had died. Angry that he had left her alone with a new child to care for. She had been angry again when the dreams of him had begun to fade away. "Oh Matthew, don't you remember? I was angry that you came. I was angry that you stayed, then you left and I was angry. It's what I'm good at."
Matthew's face shifted into a grin, "Yes! You are good at that but you can transmute that into other things." He came closer to her and kissed her mouth blindly as he had done the night before their wedding. "I'll be here."
Mary knew he was not bidding a final farewell merely that he would see her another time. As he walked away she knew it was time for her to re-enter the land of the living. The next day was the farmer's luncheon she dressed before Anna came to her and entered the luncheon wearing a soft purple ensemble.
Slowly the lives that had been tied to Matthew Reginald Crawley began to move as they once did. Years passed, one particular winter Isobel developed a cold. She ignored it and went about her duties. When it morphed into bronchitis she still carried on. Richard had heard the changes in his wife and began treatment. No matter what he did the bronchitis would not abate. He knew pneumonia would be next, he also knew that he would lose. Sybil had visited him wearing her nursing greys. Isobel was now wheezing in her sleep, no matter how many pillows Richard piled behind her her lungs still whistled. He sat vigil next to her in a chair combating her fever. Isobel's fever brought dreams.
In Crawley House Richard could see the pattern of her labored breathing begin to lengthen. He bowed his head next to his wife's ear and whispered, "Go."
Reginald and Matthew were waving to her and she waved back. Their hands beckoned to her and she went to them willingly.
Isobel was buried next to her son, with her death Doctor Clarkson retired. His retirement lasted a week, long enough for him to box up what was left of Isobel's things from Crawley House before Isobel came for him. In his dream he was once again caught in the rainstorm, his bicycle leaning up against the wall of the building he was taking shelter under. She appeared beside him, he turned and emitted a low cry. She held out her hand and he took it eagerly. As they waked out into the rain together it stopped. The stone and dirt path soon gave way to the smooth paved roads of the village. Together they walked until they came to an obstacle just outside of the hospital. What looked like an army stood before him, as he looked over each face he saw that these were the people that had died under his care. Off to one side he saw, Matthew, Reginald and Sybil. He looked back towards the hoard of people gathered. Was he going to be shouted at? Was he going to be reprimanded in some way?
It was young Scottie Freeman who came forth from the crowd. He came up to Richard wearing a broad smile and held out one of his trucks, which Richard took before Scottie asked, "Are you going to come and play?"
A/N: Thank you to all who have read and reviewed. I do hope you enjoyed it all.