A/N: I got some really great feedback on the last chapter. You guys are all so great for continuing to stick with this.

I do have to address a guest review though and I'm sorry to do it like this, but I can't address it privately since I don't know who it is. Dear guest, I'm sorry if you don't like the story now and that you feel this is "just another miscarriage story involving Anna and Bates." To my knowledge there are only two other miscarriage stories and I thought they were both handled beautifully and they are very different from what I wrote. That being said, putting out an ultimatum that you will "read a little longer, but will stop if it doesn't get better," seemed a little harsh. I can respect that this piece may not be your cup of tea but no one is forcing you to keep reading. I never promised it would be all fluff, the story was always rated as "drama."

In response to Driftingwithoutananchor's question of if they did burials for miscarriages in the olden days, I tried doing some research on this and I know for a fact they did it for women that carried later into their pregnancy. But I was only able to find one piece of material that said they performed burials for babies that were a few months into pregnancy.

Again thanks to A-Lady-To-Me and Terriejane. Please review and enjoy!

Part XI

The day they buried their baby was the hardest day of both their lives. At least, when he had been sentenced to life in prison he had some hope to still see Anna every fortnight. Her letters and her picture kept him going while they were apart. And he had convinced himself that if she were to find someone else and leave him he would still find a way to be happy for her, because she had found happiness. But with the loss of their son there would be no visits, there would be no communication, or pictures even. John wasn't even sure that Anna would be able to go on after this. Sure she would still be around, but a piece of her had died with their son.

John had never thought he'd be able to call himself a father or to say he had a son. Now that he could, there was no happy sentiment attached with the word. He imagined that Anna felt much the same. They walked hand in hand, despite the doctor telling her to stay in bed a little longer. Anna had insisted she would not allow some stranger to put her child to rest. He deserved a proper send off and John couldn't argue with that logic. But John insisted that if she felt tired she was to take it easy. Her mother had surprisingly agreed about Anna's attending the funeral and had gone along with them.

Anna stood in the middle with John on her right and her mother on her left. Mrs. Hughes had shown up to pay her respects and be there to support the valet and lady's maid. Mary had wanted to go, but John was strongly against it given her condition and how it might upset Anna. She sent flowers and a letter to Anna instead. Robert arrived to be there for his old comrade in arms and of course for "our Anna" as he so often referred to her.

They stood beneath the weeping willow tree just outside the church. The grass was damp from the rain in the previous days, the sky was cloudy and dark, but it made no difference whether it had been sunny or not. It didn't take the chill out of the air.

Anna's mother had said to John the night before as he laid his suit out that no parent should have to bury their child. Something about the way she said it had struck a chord with John, her voice sounded just as pained as Anna did when she spoke of their son. When he looked up from his task of ironing he saw a touch of sadness on her face that was undeniable. It was then that John remembered she had buried her son, Peter, only a few years before.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he had said. Helen's eyes shot up on surprise as she looked over at John. "Anna and I weren't more than friends when Peter passed, or I would have come with her."

"I'm sure you would have. I can see how much you care for her," Helen said as she laid out Anna's dress for the next day's events.

"I'm glad of that," he replied. A thought suddenly struck him that it had taken losing their son for Helen to show some semblance of acceptance towards him. The thought made his stomach turn. John set the iron aside and took a seat at the table. He clenched his hands into fists of rage as his jaw tightened. Tears threatened to spill out but they didn't. He let his eyes close as he tried to remember how happy they were when they found out about the baby. Then he felt a pair of hands set themselves on top of his own. He looked up and saw Helen.

"I lost a baby once before too," she said softly.

His eyes widened in surprise. This was the first time he had heard of this. "You did?" he asked.

"What can I say? You were right to call me out when you said we all have a colorful past," she answered back. John smiled weakly at her remark. "Anna doesn't even know about it, it was about a year and a half before we had her," Helen continued. "There was no explanation for it and it happened in much the same way. My husband wasn't as understanding and supportive as you are, but he did hurt and mourn in his own way."

John couldn't explain it, but he felt a sense of relief that she had acknowledged his efforts to be understanding and supportive of Anna. The last few days he had felt useless. "Were you like Anna?"

"I was. But I already had a baby to take care of and a farm to help run. Mourning for an extended period of time just wasn't an option," she said.

John nodded his head as he contemplated what else he could do. Their circumstances were different. There was no other child to keep her occupied and returning to work as a means of keeping her occupied wasn't a possibility. At least not anymore. "I don't know how to help her. I'm scared of losing her," he opened up to Helen.

"Then tell her that," she insisted.

"I have," John replied as he rubbed his eyes tiredly with his free hand.

"John, I know you are trying to be strong for her, but you need to show her you're hurting too. Right now she probably feels like she is mourning her baby on her own," she said.

John was quiet for a moment as he considered her words, "Does it...does it get any easier?"

Helen stared back at him trying to find a way to word it best. "Time helps. The pain lessens little by little. I still think about the baby I lost and wonder what could have been. And there are days where I'll catch a whiff of Peter's soap or I'll run into someone in the village that looks like him from behind. It's like my brain still hasn't accepted he is gone. I used to go to the fields hoping he would pop out trying to scare me like he used to...but then I remember. And it's just as hard as it was the day we got that telegram. I guess, they're never really gone, not from my heart," she answered sadly.

"And what do you think will happen with Anna? She doesn't have those memories like you did," he noted.

"No. She doesn't. Instead, she's left with unfulfilled hopes and dreams. Which can be even worse? She won't have anything to cling onto. So it's up to us to get her through today and the next, and the day after that," she replied. Helen came up to John and handed him Anna's dress. "She doesn't want my help right now. So you'll have to dress her in the morning," she said as she dabbed at her eyes and excused herself from the sitting room.

Pastor Travers from the church had arrived and offered his condolences to them both. He didn't waste anytime getting started as It looked like like it might begin to rain again soon.

"The book of Psalms says, 'For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.' The fact that we did not get to see this boy take his first breath, light up the world with his smile, or climb a tree does not make his life any less significant to those that have to bear his loss," he said.

Anna cried into John's shoulder the whole way through. How she managed to keep finding tears to give he could not fathom. How they had aged in just a matter of days. He was sure that even after a year and a half in prison he had not looked this haggard. John squeezed Anna's hand gently as she continued to cry through the service. He hoped that somehow he could transfer some of his strength to her, that she could feel the comfort radiating from every fiber of his being.

"It is never easy to say goodbye to a loved one. But let us take comfort in the fact that little David is with his maker now where he holds court with all the angels. For it says in the book of Matthew that Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.' Let us bow our heads and pray," the pastor said.

They all bowed their heads. Everyone but John. He did not know that he could believe in such a God that would take a child away from someone like Anna. How could the Lord let one of his loyal servants suffer the way she was, and after giving so much of herself to others? Where was the justice? What was the lesson to be had in all of this? If he had the chance, he would have brooded even more but then the pastor called upon him because John had expressed his wishes to say something on behalf of he and Anna.

John had the notes in his pocket but he had already committed it to memory. "I am not one for many words, but I am sure you all know that. I am also not a religious man but I am a man of faith. I believe in my wife more than anything or anyone really. We are both so thankful for the outpouring of love and care you all bestowed upon us at this time. Having never met my son I couldn't tell you what he was like or what great things he would achieve. So I'll have to settle for the way we envisioned him." John felt the tears building in his throat and wiped at his eyes while still holding Anna's hand. "Anna and I have always loved reading. She prefers novels and I prefer poetry," he said with a small laugh. "I tried to find something that best described this moment and I think I found it in Shakespeare. 'When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.' Know that you were loved before we even knew you, David." John felt Anna tug on his sleeve harder than she had before and pulled her in for a hug.

"That was beautiful, John," Anna sighed through her cries.

"It was all for you my darling. And for him," John said with tears in his eyes.

Before they said a closing prayer John pulled a Saint Christopher medal from his pocket. The small medal token depicted an image of Saint Christopher carrying a small child on his back. It had belonged to his mother, she had told him Christopher was the patron saint that would keep travelers safe during their journey. His mother had given it to him before he went off to fight in the Boer's War. When he had returned home injured he had remembered giving it back to her with a shrug and motioned to his leg, "Lot of good it did me." To which she quickly reminded John that it had brought him home safe and in one piece. She went on to tell him that God worked in mysterious ways and that this injury might just be a blessing in disguise. John could only scoff at her before returning his attentions to a bottle of alcohol. But when she died the medal had made it's way back to him. And then John realised that had he not been injured he never would have arrived at Downton or met his beautiful wife. For that he would eternally be grateful.

Now as he held the medallion in the palm of his hand, with his mother's words echoing in his head, he pressed the cool metal to his lips to place the softest of kisses upon it and handed it to Anna. She did the same with tear filled eyes before handing it back to John. He softly placed the medallion into the small cedar box that served as a casket and quickly shut the lid. His eyes met with Anna's the entire time, not wanting to have the memory of their son in that box ingrained in his memories. "Safe travels son and God bless you," John said in a voice filled with emotion. It was the same words his mother had said to him when she bid him good luck as he shipped off to Africa. John rubbed his hand across the top of box once more before he and Anna returned to the cottage.