"Now, where are my great-grandchildren? It is about time I meet them, isn't it?" Martha all but demanded, finally sitting up in bed for the first time in four days, her breathing laboured. The half-empty steaming cup of tea was shaking violently in her hands as another coughing bout wracked her body, the hot liquid getting dangerously close to spilling everywhere with every strained cough.

Carefully, Cora took it from her before the almost inevitable accident could occur. "Are you sure you are strong enough to have more visitors in here, Mother?" she asked with concern clearly evident in her every word when she set the cup down on the wooden nightstand.

"Cora, I am sick, not dying," the elderly woman rasped, shooting her daughter a disparaging look. "They have followed you all the way over here across the ocean, and I do want to see them all. That is why we invited you all to come here. Really, I am much better than three days ago. I just want to see them, please."

Nervously, Cora glanced over at her brother standing a bit off to the side. The basin of cold water he wanted to renew held firmly in his hands, he tried to shrug his shoulders without spillage — unsuccessfully so. A healthy swash of water hit the hardwood floor beneath his feet. Luckily for him, he narrowly missed the expensive rug, or else Martha might have reacted much more furiously than she did. Even though it was just water.

"It's a good thing you're wearing leather shoes, boy. Better set that down and have a servant handle it before you turn my bedroom into a swimming pool," Martha coughed sarcastically. But not without an expression of amusement and glee on her face when she saw Harold's cheeks start to colour. "Now, will you please allow me to meet my great-grandchildren?"

"Mary and Edith took the children out for a walk. They won't be long, not in those weather conditions outside. We'll send them up as soon as they're back. And until then, you rest. Lay back and close your eyes for a bit again," Cora decided, her voice leaving no room for discussion. Although her mother seemed to think it would have been worth debating. If only she were not feeling so tired, maybe she would have tried to argue in her favour, but alas.

Instead, the redhead obeyed reluctantly and let herself sink into her freshly fluffed cushions once more. Only after adjusting her mother's blankets did Cora turn around and follow her brother, who was already halfway out the door.

Just when the last glimpses of her daughter's white blouse had disappeared behind the wooden door, Martha closed her eyes and fell asleep immediately. No matter how stubbornly she kept insisting that she was fine, her body was telling her differently but she would never admit to that. And she would not mention the agony she was in from merely sitting up for the few minutes, she had seen enough of Doctor Moore in the past week, she had decided. They needn't worry more than absolutely necessary.

"Now, remember what we discussed. Granny is still sick, so behave. Talk slowly and loudly or else she won't understand you. No arguing, no unnecessary ruckus, and don't forget your manners. Understood?"

Cora could barely suppress her amused grin as she watched her eldest daughter stand in front of their 5 grandchildren as if she were a drill instructor in the Royal Navy. While Sybbie, George, and Marigold nodded dutifully, Caroline and Peter merely imitated them. Cora knew just from the way they were fidgeting and shuffling on the spot that they had not listened to a word Mary had said. Especially Peter was still far too young to particularly care about all that with his two years of age. He was probably already thinking about what kind of cake he would get to enjoy with his tea after this strange visit to the old woman he had never seen before was over.

"Good, then go on in," Mary sighed, her right hand motioning to the door to Martha's bedroom. Sybbie went ahead, knocked, and went in when Martha's hoarse voice rang out from inside, her cousins following her like little ducklings.

The door had just closed behind them when Mary stepped next to her mother, eyeing the polished doorknob peculiarly, as if it was something she'd never seen before.

Cautiously, she whispered: "Do you think it's wise they're in there all alone without one of us to keep a watchful eye? See that it does not overexert her?"

"Yes, she specifically requested that." At that, Cora turned around on her heel and started making her way to the staircase decidedly. "And I am more than certain that Sybbie will have everything well in hand. Now come, I have a niece to see, and no doubt your father will already be waiting with a steaming cup of tea."

Mary could only shake her head at her mother's antics when she was left standing in her wake. It was not like her to do things this way, half-heartedly and caring so little, brushing off her concerns just like that.

"Mama, wait!"

Cora had just reached the stairs but stopped and turned around to face Mary once more. "Yes, dear?"

"You are behaving rather oddly. What is going on, is there something you are not telling me?"

For a brief second, Cora contemplated lying. Maybe pretending not to know or not to suspect anything would be the better choice just this once, the one causing less premature heartbreak.

But this was Mary. Her fierce, loyal, and independent daughter. Her intelligent daughter. Her Mary. Cora couldn't lie to her, she was far too smart for that and she knew her only too well; her daughter would see right through her. Mary was a grown woman who had fought more than enough battles on her own. She could handle the truth, there was no need to protect her from the inevitable. She wasn't the little girl she used to be any more, Cora had to remind herself again.

After taking a deep breath, she finally met her daughter's eye and said: "You are right, typically I would not allow the children to visit their sick great-grandmother, especially not without supervision, but my gut tells me to honour Mother's request. The doctor did not want to give a definitive prognosis, he only said that her case of pneumonia was severe. Something tells me that she won't get better. I have worked at the hospital for years now, I have seen more than enough patients suffering from pneumonia lying in the beds lining the walls, and many of them lost their fight. I have this weird feeling in my gut that she will not survive this. She is old, she is weak, and she has my father waiting for her. It is a tremendous privilege for me to be able to see her again, to talk to her after everything that happened this year, and if I can fulfil even just one of her wishes, then I will not hesitate. And this is really not hard to do in this case, so I let her have her moment alone with them."

Mary gulped. She had known the day would come that they would have to say their goodbyes to her, too. Sooner rather than later. But she had hoped it was still a good bit away. She was not sure if she could handle this. All the things that had happened since her beloved granny's death late last summer had taken such a toll on her already; almost losing her mother to cancer while still mourning for her grandmother was hard enough as it was, and then there had also been the divorce business with Henry. All while taking care of the estate and being there for her children. It just all felt a bit much.

Even if she desperately wanted her mother to be wrong, Mary had to admit that there was truth there. Maybe a bit too much. Thinking about this now, she had to admit that the chances of her grandmother surviving this illness were abysmal at best. Or else the doctor would have said so.

A warm hand softly touched her shoulder, the thumb gently rubbing small circles. Slowly, she looked back up and looked in her mother's face.

There was heartbreak, sadness, worry. All of it was there, reflected in her mother's pale blue eyes, half-hidden behind an encouraging smile. But her eyes could never lie. They betrayed her just like they always had.

"Mama-" she started, but was immediately interrupted by Cora's surprisingly strong and steady voice.

"I know this sounds grim, my dear, and it is. But your grandmother has lived a good and long life and I am sure if we were to ask her, she would say that she has no regrets. She's still here, so let us enjoy this time we're granted with her. And please, don't say anything to the others. Let them soak it all up without burdening them with what is to come before the time has arrived for us to say goodbye. Keep the pressure of this trip needing to be perfect from them, it would take away from what they could experience without all the worry."

Slowly, Mary nodded.

Then she did something that not only surprised Cora, but also herself. She wrapped her arms around her mother and hugged her close, burying her face in her mother's blouse. Even more — against her better judgement, she heard herself whisper only a few seconds later when Cora's hands had wrapped around her: "I don't think I am ready for her to go, not yet. Not so soon after granny."

It was rare for Mary to be so vulnerable, so open about her feelings. To speak her innermost thoughts like this had rarely ever happened. In fact, Cora had had no idea what had really been going on inside her daughter's head probably since she had turned 10.

Cora held her eldest daughter and tried to soothe the grown woman whom she had not held quite this fast in years. This did not feel like hugging an adult, not at all. It reminded Cora of days long gone when Robert had been off to war and Mary had come to her bedroom late at night, saying how terribly she missed him. It reminded her of holding that sad and frightened nine-year-old girl in her arms until she had fallen asleep there, continuing to stroke her braided dark hair absent-mindedly. Back when Mary still believed it would all turn out alright just because that's what Cora told her. This, however, was different and there was nothing she could say to console her, nothing to promise. There was nothing.

In a feeble attempt, she whispered against her daughter's hair: "I know, Mary. No one is ever ready for that, but it is the course of nature. And you will be strong, so strong, I know it. You will keep it together for all of us. You always do."

The two women stayed there like this at the top of the stairs for a little while longer. Neither of them seemed to want to let go and leave this tight embrace and the little bit of comfort it brought, but both knew that they were expected downstairs and so Mary reluctantly drew back and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

"You are right, Mama. We shouldn't dwell on it now, she's still here with us. How about that cup of tea you were talking about?"

Mary offered her arm for her mother to take, a smile now replacing her earlier frown, and Cora could not help but be in complete and utter awe of how much like Violet Mary truly was. Just as disciplined and focused, and almost unflappable.

Almost.

That was something this afternoon had taught her. No matter how put together and sometimes outright cold she might appear, deep down Mary was still the same little girl, caring deeply about things. Too deeply at times. Without ever letting on.