Thank you so much for your reviews. Now we get a little more background on Thomas and the Barrow family. So enjoy the chapter.

Emma's first train journey and her very first trip outside of Downton were filled with excitement. She pressed her little nose against the window pane, watching the landscape whizzing by. Eager to know where the train would take her, she fidgeted with her legs and even turned around on the seat. The wooden bench was far too uncomfortable to sit upright and patiently wait like her father and the other adults did. In this train compartment, the 5-year-old was the youngest. Perhaps it was because many mothers were now alone with their children, as the fathers were away at war, and only a few mothers dared to take a train journey or lacked the funds to do so. Taking a closer look around the compartment, one would notice that it was mostly occupied by soldiers, whether on a brief visit home or on their way back to the front.

"Emma," Thomas whispered his child's name, hoping to convey with a slight shake of his head that she should refrain from all that fidgeting. After all, many soldiers had their eyes on them. Emma sighed and settled down on the seat next to her dad. Her head rested on his upper arm, but it wasn't long before she started fidgeting with her leg again.

"Dad?" Emma drew out the word 'Dad' unbelievably long. "When will we finally arrive?"

"When the train stops... and please, stop fidgeting," Thomas replied, smiling faintly as he observed his daughter's impatient movements. He understood her excitement and couldn't blame her. After all, it was her first train journey and a new experience outside the familiar walls of Downton Abbey.

As Thomas was busy putting on his hat and taking down the suitcase from the rack, the young child ran out of the train. Curiously, she looked around the platform. There was an older lad distributing newspapers, two children polishing shoes, and an older frail gentleman sitting on the ground with his dog.

"Emma!" Thomas called out. The bustling crowd on the platform made it difficult for him to locate the girl. And amidst the sea of adults, her little black wool coat didn't stand out. "Emma Grace!" It was only when the train they had arrived on departed, and many people either boarded the train or bid farewell to their loved ones and left the platform, that he finally spotted the child in the distance. Emma was squatting down, petting a dog that evidently belonged to a homeless man. As he reached for Emma's arm, intending to lift her up, the homeless man grabbed hold of Emma's jacket sleeve. "What right do you have to take the child away?" he growled.

"That's my child," Thomas asserted sharply. With a stronger tug, he freed his daughter from the stranger's grasp. The man now held his cap upside down in the air, containing a few pennies. Pulling the child behind him, Thomas left the station premises. He didn't see the need to give his meager money to a homeless man.

"The dog's name is Cooper," the girl recounted, struggling to keep up with her father's brisk strides. "Cooper doesn't have a home anymore." Suddenly, she even stumbled over her own feet, but her dad didn't care. He didn't pause or slow down his pace. Emma continued to ponder over the homeless man. Not only was he incredibly dirty, and his clothes torn—she doubted they would be sufficient for the cold—but what troubled her most was his appearance.

"He didn't have a leg," Emma realized. "But how can he walk?"

Thomas swallowed hard. He had been trying to shield his daughter from such horrifying images for the past six months. The girl was not allowed to go upstairs or play near the terrace. Emma was meant to experience a carefree childhood without worries, suffering, or grief. Thomas tried to protect her from the cruel world.

"You're going too fast," she whimpered.

"Well, you were pretty quick to run off," Thomas retorted.

"But I waited!"

"You didn't wait," Thomas hissed, angrily turning to face the child. Emma looked as if she were about to burst into tears. Thomas sighed, placed the suitcase next to him, and crouched down in front of his daughter. "You can't just disappear like that. I worry about you." He sighed and took Emma's little hand in his own, gently stroking her hand with his thumb. "When we're out and about, you must always stay with me. I don't want to lose you, do you understand?" He explained gently.

Emma nodded hesitantly. Thomas now rummaged in his jacket pocket for the woollen hat. "The last thing I need is a sick child," he said, placing the hat on her head and pulling it down over her eyes.

"I won't get sick," the defiant 5-year-old declared. Despite the frosty temperatures, she had forgotten both her scarf and hat on the train. She readjusted her hat so she could see her surroundings again. Thomas proceeded to wrap the scarf around her neck. Luckily, Anna had the brilliant idea of attaching the gloves to each other with a string, so they simply hung from the jacket sleeves.

"Daddy, why didn't the man have a leg?"

"I don't know. Maybe he fought in the war and got injured."

Emma looked pensive for a moment, then hopped on one leg.

"That's hard," she remarked when she lost her balance. Just in time, she clung onto Thomas's coat. Taking this as a cue, he reached out with his uninjured hand to hold Emma's, continuing their journey on foot. After traversing several streets and turning corners, they finally arrived at a small residential building with a shop on the ground floor: Barrow & Son. Curiosity filled the child as she looked up at her father, who simply ignored her and silently pulled her into the shop. In doing so, a small bell rang in the back room.

"Today is closed!" a male voice growled. Letting go of his daughter's hand, Thomas took a few steps towards the curtain, behind which the living space was hidden.

"What do you want here?" a gruff voice questioned.

"I came because of what happened," Thomas replied, placing the old brown leather suitcase beside him. "After all, she was my sister."

The old man snorted. "You're definitely not staying here."

"Don't worry, we'll be leaving tomorrow afternoon."

"We? You dare not bring your kind – abominable foul souls – into my house!"

"I won't make that mistake again," Thomas smirked now, amused. "However, it's a matter of interpretation as to what you consider as 'my kind'," he said, drawing the curtain aside. Emma Grace Barrow stood in the middle of the shop, gazing at some watches in the display case. She pressed her fingers against the glass, leaving smudgy marks, which particularly pleased Thomas as the child managed to dirty the perfectly polished glass cases within minutes.

"My daughter, Emma Grace Barrow," Thomas proudly announced. He had waited for this moment for a long time. His father clutched his heart, collapsing backward into his chair.

"You didn't dare! You despicable scumbag... You can't possibly carry on your damned life!" the old man exclaimed.

"Now, Father... such words shouldn't be uttered in front of a young lady. Where are your manners?"

"You disappoint me more and more. You're a disgrace to this family. And I doubt your sister would have wanted your presence."

"I've come not only for the funeral but also to finally collect my share. Mother promised me her heirloom jewelry."

"For your wife, whom you'll never have, which is why you'll never receive the jewelry."

"Indeed, but Mother didn't know I would have a daughter, and I'm sure she would want her only granddaughter to have the jewelry," Thomas retorted, nodding in Emma's direction.

"She is not our granddaughter. It's a bastard", the older one growled.

Thomas's infamous pout did nothing to change the situation. He would have liked to give his old man a piece of his mind, but that would involve using many unpleasant words, and Emma was within earshot.

"Mother would have loved her granddaughter, unlike you," he said instead, walking past his old father, deeper into the living room where the jewelry was kept in a small box in the cupboard. Thomas quickly found it since his old man never considered storing the jewelry anywhere else.

"You're my grandpa," Emma dared to start a conversation with the old grey-haired Barrow. "Dad has never mentioned you."

"Where is your mother? Did she abandon you with Thomas because she can't stand the fact that you're just as foul a soul..."

"Don't speak to her like that!" Thomas growled, now standing protectively in front of his daughter. "I can live with you hating me, but at least treat my daughter with respect."

"I'm just wondering what happened to the mother, or is she just a street child that you promised some money to play the role of your daughter to deceive me?"

Emma peeked out from behind her dad. "My mommy is dead, and I'm not a street child! Why are you so mean to me? I haven't done anything to you," she said, sounding disappointed.

He packed the box into his suitcase before reaching out for Emma's hand. "Come on then, I'll give you a tour of the house."

Thomas gently led Emma through the old rooms of his parents' house. The atmosphere was different from home, and Emma could sense that this was a place full of meaningful memories and stories. Her father eventually led her to his former room, located on the top floor. It was a small room with a simple bed, a desk, and some books. Old toys adorned the shelves, and Emma could imagine her father playing here as a little boy.

Suddenly, she realized that her father wanted the same thing for her when he had the idea of moving with her to the village. He wanted a small home filled with memories and stories. No Mr. Carson barging in every moment and assigning tasks. No grumpy chambermaid who hates children and makes silly remarks. A place where they could both live freely and do whatever they pleased.

"What was it like for you growing up here?" Emma asked curiously as she sat on the bed.

Thomas smiled gently and sat down beside her. He thought for a moment before responding. "It was all right. I have good memories of my mother and sister but it wasn't always easy, my little dwarf," he began cautiously. "My father and I didn't have a good relationship. He was a strict man and had high expectations of me. It was hard to live up to them."

Emma looked at her father with empathy. She had only just met her grandfather a few minutes ago and felt the tension between them. "Why doesn't Grandpa like you?" she asked softly.

Thomas sighed. "Sometimes people just can't understand each other, Emma," he answered thoughtfully. "My father could never fully accept me for who I was."

Emma felt the sadness in her father's words. "But now you have me," she said gently, placing her hand on his, "And I promise you, Daddy, that I'll always be your little dwarf!" A warm smile spread across Thomas' face, and he gently squeezed his daughter's hand.

Thomas's culinary skills were limited to heating milk or water for making tea. However, he made an effort to cook a stew with the available ingredients so that his daughter wouldn't go to bed on an empty stomach.

"You can decide," Emma spread three options for activities on the dining table, where the grumpy old man sat at the head. A book for reading aloud, a deck of cards, and a doll. He looked up and glanced at Emma with a slightly skeptical expression. "Not now," he replied with a hint of impatience in his voice. "I'm reading," and he disappeared behind the newspaper again.

Emma frowned and approached him. "But I want to play."

The old Barrow shook his head and set aside the newspaper. "Why don't you just go to your so-called father?"

Thomas, who overheard the conversation in the kitchen, stepped forward. "Emma, let it be. Some people just don't want to play. If you like, you can help me instead."

"No," Emma turned back to her grandpa. She fixed him with a stern gaze. "Why don't you want to play with me?"

"I like to have peace and quiet and read," he replied.

Emma let her shoulders slump, but she didn't feel discouraged. "But Grandpa, it's fun to spend time together, and we're leaving tomorrow!"

"Thank goodness," the old man sighed and observed Emma for a moment. Reluctantly, the grandfather agreed to Emma's suggestion, and they began playing cards together.

Thomas watched the scene with astonished eyes. He had never thought his own daughter would be able to connect with his father. But here stood Emma, with her innocent smile and warm-hearted nature.

"There were rumors that the youngest Turner child died during childbirth, but the Turner family denies everything. They say there was never a newborn and that Martha was seriously ill," the older one explained, "But she is the child, isn't she?"

"What are you getting at? That I am - as society likes to say - the father of a bastard?" A heavy moment of silence hung between Thomas and his father as the words lingered in the air. Thomas felt a mix of hurt, anger, and disappointment welling up inside him.

"Yes, exactly," he confirmed, "Isn't it enough that you already rotten and bring shame upon the family, but you had to go and have a bastard child too? Couldn't you have just given her away to an orphanage? Or at least never shown up here with the child. People will find out who the child is. And then they will shun me."

"It's just a word. It doesn't matter to me," Thomas replied firmly, though his emotions churned inside. "Emma is my child, and I love her unconditionally. It doesn't matter how she came into this world, only that she is here and she is my daughter."

"A gay father raising a bastard child, whose mother died during childbirth... under such circumstances, she won't have a future..."

"Enough, Father," Thomas interrupted. "It's enough! I have stood in your shadow and let you judge me for long enough. But now I stand up for my own family, and I will protect and love my daughter. Unlike you ever did."

"How am I supposed to love someone like you? It's impossible. You're a perverted..."

Thomas regarded his father for a moment. He left the room and went out into the garden, where he lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag and felt the wind on his face. His gaze fell upon the little girl squatting on the ground, her hand moving over the cobblestones. Curiously, Thomas took a few steps forward. In the glow of the candle, he noticed a piece of chalk in her hand, with which she drew little flowers, animals, and trees. Beside her was also the jump rope that belonged to his sister.

"Have you been outside for long?" he wondered. By now, he regretted not bringing his coat, as the air was quite cold.

"Since dinner," she replied.

"Then let's go inside," he said, reaching out his hand to her. Emma sighed, let go of the chalk, and took hold of her father's hand as he led her into the warm house.

Thomas sat on the edge of the bed while Emma sat on the floor in front of him. He had brushed her medium-length hair.

"Daddy, can you braid my hair like Anna always does?" Emma asked.

"I've never done it before," Thomas replied.

"That's okay, you just have to take three strands of hair and weave them together," Emma explained with a cheeky smile.

"Well, it sounds really simple when you put it that way," he chuckled.

Emma giggled with excitement. She grabbed the hair tie that was resting on her wrist like a bracelet and handed it to him. Thomas examined the small elastic band and tried to recall the braided hairstyle.

With cautious fingers, he divided Emma's hair into three equal sections. His hands were a bit clumsy. Sometimes the strands would slip, but he did his best to hold them in place. With a little effort, he began to overlap the strands and braid the hair.

When Thomas finished the first braid, he turned to the other side. It took a bit longer, but he didn't give up. With patience and care, he completed the second braid as well. When he finally finished both braids, Thomas looked at his daughter with pride. Although the braids weren't perfect, they didn't look too bad for a first attempt.

"I expected worse," Emma grinned cheekily, pointing to a few loose strands that couldn't be braided. "We'll have to practice more."

"If you didn't squirm around so much, I could have managed to braid those too," Thomas teased.

"I was perfectly still!"

"You were squirming," he chuckled.

Emma pondered her next move. She reached for the pillow and threw it at her father. Thomas laughed as the pillow hit him. "Oh, my little dwarf, that was a big mistake," he said with a playful expression on his face.

He grabbed another pillow and began teasing Emma with giggled and tried to shield herself from the pillows. A fun pillow fight ensued between father and daughter, with them throwing pillows at each other and struggling to contain their laughter.

After a few minutes, exhausted from their playful battle, they both sat down on the bed, breathing heavily.

"That was a lot of fun," Emma grinned.

"You really are a cheeky little dwarf," he said, smiling as he wrapped his arm around Emma and pulled her close.

"I know" she giggled, "but you know what, Daddy?" and snuggling up to him, "I love you so much!"

Thomas froze for a moment, his heart racing. He looked down at Emma, her innocent eyes filled with love and trust, waiting for his response. He wanted to say the words she longed to hear, to express the depth of his affection for her, but something held him back. The weight of his past, his struggles, and his fear of vulnerability kept him from uttering those three simple words: I love you.

Instead, Thomas tightened his embrace, holding Emma even closer. He buried his face in her soft hair, breathing in her sweet scent. The overwhelming surge of emotions threatened to spill over, but he fought to keep them hidden. In the depths of his heart, Thomas longed to say those three little words, to express the love he felt for Emma. So he just kissed Emma's forehead gently.

That night, Thomas and Emma slept in the old room, surrounded by the memories of Thomas' past. As Emma gently drifted to sleep, she heard her father's voice softly telling her loving stories of his mother and sister.

Thomas stood with his head bowed at his sister Margaret's gravesite. A heavy veil of sorrow enveloped him as he noticed the somber faces of those gathered around him. The cemetery was filled with muted murmurs and the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Emma tightly held her father's hand, her little fingers clenched with uncertainty. The scene was foreign and intimidating to her. She couldn't understand why everyone seemed so sad and why they were here.

Thomas felt the gazes of the people upon him. He lifted his head and met the surprised eyes of the attendees. Some of them knew him from his childhood, while others were friends or acquaintances of Margaret. It was evident that they were taken aback to see him with a child.

Gently, he bent down to Emma's ear and whispered, "The people are sad, which is why they look that way. But you don't have to be scared, I'm with you and I'll take care of you."

Emma squeezed her father's hand tighter and nodded in understanding, although she was still confused. Thomas straightened himself up and tried to process his own grief as he paid his final respects to Margaret.

After the burial, he led his child a few graves away. The atmosphere was calm and contemplative. Thomas carefully placed a flower on the grave and gently traced his mother's name.

"Em-mel-ine Bar-row," Emma remarked. With her curious eyes and innocent smile, she looked up at her father. "Who is that?"

"My mother - I've told you about her," he spoke softly. "She was a good and kind person... so full of life, open-hearted, and tolerant... that's why I named you after her," he paused briefly, leaning down to embrace Emma lovingly. "The moment I saw you for the first time, I knew you must have inherited her good qualities... well, almost. She wasn't quite as cheeky as you are," Thomas grinned.

"I'm not always cheeky!"

"Oh, yes, you are," he teased.

As Thomas and Emma slowly walked away from the cemetery, he noticed the presence of the Turner family from the corner of his eye. His heart skipped a beat upon seeing Martha's parents. It was no secret that they blamed Emma for the death of their daughter and spread false rumors about the existence of their granddaughter.

The eyes of the Turners met Thomas and Emma, and a mixture of disdain and bitterness reflected in their gazes. It was evident that the pain and rejection still ran deep within them.

He held Emma's hand tighter as they passed each other. Emma felt the tension in the air. "Who were they?"

"Terrible people. Just some very terrible people."