Day by Day & Stone by Stone

Chapter One

The best loves are built slowly. Both people hardly noticing how drawn to one another they have become until something happens to change their reality. That instead of muddling through life separate, they bond, to face the uncertainties of the future together. Much like a house made of stone, each rock carefully considered, set in its place with due consideration, by two sets of hands working unknown to the other, until the day of completion when they finally meet as the last stone is trimmed and fitted. So it was that Tom Branson and Mary Crawley built their love stone by stone, and day by day.

Their story starts in the nursery, though they hardly knew what would happen to them. It was a few weeks after Tom became the Godfather to George that one can say their story truly begins. Tom was feeding the baby as his daughter Sybil played with the building blocks in the middle of the floor. He sighed wistfully, fighting down the weight in his heart as he missed his wife for the uncountable time.

But baby George would hear none of it. As Tom held the bottle the baby reached up, grasped Tom's nose and pulled.

"Hey there partner." Tom took the bottle away. George smiled just the way his father had done. One side of his mouth turned up as if to wink, his eyes betraying an active mind.

"Papa look!" Sybbie stood up from the blocks she had arranged in color order, the blue ones next to blues, red to reds, and so on.

"That's wonderful darling!"

Nanny stepped in from the other room where she had been folding sheets. She looked at Tom with an expression of embarrassment, surprise, and frustration. "Oh My Lord, he's finished his bottle that one? Already now?"

Tom turned George up to his shoulder and started patting the boy's back. He smiled at the flustered woman, "Don't go promoting me now."

The woman dropped her eyes as she realized her mistake. "Oh my pardon Mr. Branson, I'm fairly overwhelmed between feeding schedules, and the other chores."

"How many today?" Tom squinted as if he already knew the answer.

The woman hesitated. "Well…" she shifted from foot to foot nervously.

"Don't answer, I know," Tom sighed, "All of them."

Nanny bowed her head. "It's not my place to say anything."

The conversation sputtered to an uncomfortable silence until Sybbie's laughter filled the room as she scrambled and kicked the blocks to start over rearranging them.

Tom's face reflected his relief, as if glad for the interruption his daughter provided. He continued patting George's back, just as he had Sybbie's when she was his age, until the boy released a long rumbling burp that made Tom laugh. He checked his shoulder just to make sure that George had lost none of his meal.

Hearing Tom, seeing his godfather, George joined in the fun. Tom held the little boy in front of him as they both laughed.

Tom made a face, blowing a raspberry into George's stomach that made the little boy laugh harder. He kicked and danced in Tom's hands. "Whoa there you little prince." Tom gripped George tighter as the baby kicked, bounced, and batted.

"He's such a happy baby." Nanny smiled, preparing George's crib. "You're such a good 'burper' sir." She turned to take George from Tom.

"He should have his mother here." Tom looked out the window to see Mary crossing the drive in a wandering and aimless gait.

Nanny saw Mary as well. She turned to Tom, worried. "Oh no, she'll want to hold him. He won't nap and he'll be cranky later. He needs a set schedule of feedings, and sleep."

Tom winked. "Then we call in the cavalry." He looked down to his daughter. "Sybbie darling, can you show George how to take a nap? Would you do that for me pet? Pretend to go to sleep so Geory gets the idea?"

He turned back to Nanny to explain. "Lady Mary will be reluctant to wake Sybbie."

"Okay Papa." Sybbie went to her own day bed next to George's crib. "Geory, we night-night now." She slipped into her own bed and turned her eyes to George's.

The baby did not stop fussing until Tom wrapped him up, hugging him and gently kissing the top of his head. "That's a boy." He patted George. "Not a word now." He stroked the baby's stomach. George's eyes grew heavier, fighting sleep but succumbing to the inevitable a few minutes later.

Mary stepped into the nursery then. She did not acknowledge Nanny or Tom.

Sybbie sang a gibberish about Angels, babies, sleep, and Tom knew not what else. "Hush now my darling." He bent low kissed her forehead.

Mary walked up to the crib, picked George up and held him in her arms. Startled, the baby let go a howl of indignation and protest. He reached for Tom, as if his godfather could protect him from alien hands.

Mary turned to Tom with a look of haughty surprise. "It's as if he doesn't know me. This is you. You're always up here, around him. Small wonder he hardly knows me." She thrust George into Tom's hands. The baby cried, calming down only when Tom rocked him back and forth. He glanced to Nanny. "Would you take the child please?" He met Mary's stare with his own look of anger. Tom delicately handed George to nanny. The woman carefully rocked George in her arms as Tom lay a gentle hand over the boy. "Someday my little prince, I'll tell you all about your father and I'll always be here for you." Tom bent, kissed George again. He faced Mary. "Now kiss your son, and follow me."

"You do not tell me…"

"As a parent I do." Tom snapped.

A few seconds later Mary joined Tom in the hall. Tom had visibly simmered down from its high yet his anger still rolled.

He saw his sister in law as if she had just buried Matthew all over again. "Mary my sympathy for you is limitless." He spread his arms and dropped them. "My empathy for you is as deep as that well at the world's end in that Morris novel." He stepped close to her. "But it's been six months Mary. George needs a mother, not a nanny. He needs you. You need to spend more time with him."

Mary glared at Tom. "He also needs a father and every time I look at him I see Matthew." She bowed her head and looked away wagging a finger in the process. "We've become good friends, Tom Branson, these past two years. Do not presume to tell me how to be a mother. I am still missing Matthew. You know that."

"Mary why is your son uncomfortable in your own arms?" Tom declared rather than asked. "He barely knows your smell, the smoothness of your hands and arms, the feel of your skin. That's why he cries when you hold him. You're unfamiliar to him." Tom checked the hallway for family or staff. "Oh why not? I'm in trouble with you already Mary so I'll go all in: As Geory's Godfather I'm telling you that he needs you in his life more than you've been, and as Matthew's Best Man I'm saying to you Matthew would expect you to overcome your sorrow, to focus on your son, and buck up."

Mary's slapped Tom with her open palm. "How dare you!"

Tom rubbed his cheek. "It's true. High time someone told you; you're failing George. God, do you honestly think I see only me in the eyes of Sybbie? Do you know how much that hurts?"

She raised her hand to strike him again.

Tom caught her wrist wrestling it back down to her side. "I go to Sybbie. To spend time with her, I see him, looking at me with those eyes that only two people I know so well and admire so much could create. He watches how Sybbie and I laugh, how we cuddle, and it breaks my heart to see him left alone, consigned to watching love, instead of getting it. So yes, I spend time with him because you do not."

Mary struggled but Tom held her fast. She twisted, shook, but could not writhe out of his grip. "Are you going to release my hands?" She hissed.

"If you promise not to hit me," Tom growled.

Mary grunted.

"Promise." Tom hissed.

"Alright." Mary stopped struggling. She squinted. She dropped her head as if defeated. She shook her head from side to side, and, as if she turned a corner, she cracked. She opened and closed her hands, she squinted, twisting her face to keep her tears at bay but it was no use. She choked out a sob.

He acted instinctively, the way he had when Sybil's grief over the way her father treated their marriage became too much for her. He did the only thing he knew how to do.

He folded Mary into his arms.

Tom felt her tears as they soaked his cheek. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he stroked her hair. He looked like he felt he should say something, that he should finish her statement, 'that she felt adrift without Matthew' perhaps. He could have said all these things. Adding that he knew she was ashamed of deserting George, she was afraid of a life alone, and that she didn't want to wear black for the rest of her life.

He could have said all these things. Instead he just held her, letting her weep.

Her muffled sobs racked her body. "Cry it out." Tom whispered as he stood like an oak as she collapsed deeper into his arms.

Anna Bates was passing down the hall. Tom nodded to an unused guest bedroom. Anna opened the room. He led Mary in where she filled the space with wails and cries. Anna laid a hand on Mary's shoulder. There are times when there is no social distance between a lady and maid.

Tom looked at Anna. "I'll keep everyone away from the hall. Would you take Lady Mary to her room? I don't want anyone seeing her like this."

"Yes Sir."

"Anna, you can call me Tom."

"Yes sir."

Anna tried to move Mary but she would not budge. Tom tried to release her but Mary kept her hands tightly wrapped around his neck.

After a good deal of prompting and prying Mary released him, she reached up to caress his cheek where she had struck him. "What have I done?" Her eyes reflected sorrow.

Tom smiled, "You do pack a wallop – I grant you that." Tom winced while rubbing his jaw and cheek.

"I'm so sorry." Mary caressed his face much in the same way Sybil had done.

Tom cast his eyes down. For the second time in an hour he was reminded of Sybil and how badly he wanted to hold her again. He lifted his head. "Mary, I understand."

Anna walked with Mary down the hall. They stopped mid-way where Mary turned around, walked back to Tom and touched him on the shoulder. "I'm so sorry Tom."

Tom shook his head as if to dismiss her concern. "I understand. I used to hit a punching bag for hours after Sybil died. It's still in the stables if you'd like to borrow it."

"Does it end?" She asked.

Tom sighed. He asked for no clarification. He would know what the 'it' was: the hurt that spoils the ability to live life fully. "The best I've been able to do is hope that it dulls to a point I can live with her loss. What keeps me looking and moving forward is Sybbie."

She walked down the hall again turning back to smile at him one more time. Tom rubbed his cheek lightly. A serene smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he stepped down the hall to his office. He periodically touched his cheek where Mary had struck him. He smiled every time.

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