Downton Abbey - The Story of Emma Barrow

Moving Forward (Sept - Oct 1921)

AN: Thank you for your comments. I always love hearing from you. The chapter may be relatively short, but I hope you still enjoy it.

We're finally making a time jump again. We find ourselves in the middle to end of the chapter in October/November. We are now between Season three and four. Season four begins in February 1922. I have planned two or three chapters for the period between Season three and four.

There have been some requests for a playlist. First of all, I want to tell you that the song "Sparks" by Coldplay fits well. This was suggested to me by one of my diligent readers a few weeks ago. And by now, I've also created a Spotify playlist: DA Story - lenchen.la

The feet dangled gently from the old wooden crate, almost as if they were hesitantly wanting to touch the ground but not quite reaching down. She could have been sitting in the circus right now – next to her best friend – but instead, she sat alone in the backyard. At least the rain had stopped.

The door opened. Emma silently watched as her father entered the backyard, a cigarette between his fingers. The match scratched, smoke rose, and she could almost hear the hiss as he took the first drag. Thomas seemed lost in thought as he leaned against the rough wall, slowly exhaling the smoke.

Emma remained motionless as she observed her father. She was pretty sure he hadn't noticed her, although her heart was pounding with excitement. It was unlike her to be outside. Usually, she preferred to retreat under her duvet to sort out her thoughts and hide from the world.

When Thomas finally glanced in her direction, Emma felt exposed, even though she knew she wasn't really trying to hide. Emma tried to gauge what he was feeling from his thoughtful expression. Was he angry or just contemplative?

Thomas slowly raised his hand and beckoned her over. Emma hesitated for a moment before jumping off the crate and slowly approaching him. She noticed the furrows of worry on his forehead as she stood a few steps in front of him.

"At the front..." Thomas began hesitantly, "...a soldier once said that if your name is on a bullet, there's nothing you can do. That is fate, you know?"

"It's not a war anymore," said Emma, who didn't understand what Thomas was getting at and therefore looked at him with a furrowed brow.

Thomas sighed and dropped the half-smoked cigarette to the ground before crushing it with his shoe. "What I mean is, there are things that happen that we can't control." He gently placed a hand on Emma's shoulder, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I understand your feelings, truly," Thomas continued, "but you have to understand that you're not to blame. You couldn't have done anything, Emma. Life is unpredictable."

Emma wanted to believe him, wanted to take the burden of guilt off her shoulders. But it was so hard to let go. "Lady Mary probably thinks I'm to blame too," she explained sadly, but Thomas shook his head.

"Lady Mary is grieving, just like you. She didn't mean it like that," he explained. At the funeral earlier that morning, Lady Mary seemed distant and closed off as the servants offered condolences. While Lady Mary accepted Thomas's hand, she refused Emma's condolences. Thomas didn't think much of it. Lady Mary probably hadn't even noticed Emma, but Emma seemed to interpret more into the gesture.

"No one blames you, and you shouldn't blame yourself either," he repeated once more. As Emma nodded weakly, Thomas pulled her into a comforting embrace. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of cigarettes. Despite the reassurances from her father, Emma still felt a gnawing sense of guilt clawing at her insides.

"Sometimes, things happen beyond our control, Emma," Thomas murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of sorrow and understanding. "But you have to find a way to move forward."