What can I say, my mind keeps wandering... This is just a little thing that tickled my brain.

The old man stood at a grave, his head bowed as if in prayer; at least, that's what someone who might stumble onto the scene might think, someone who didn't know him. But the young woman who approached the graveyard did know him and understood.

After watching him a moment, seeing the small tremor that ran through him making his shoulder shake, she decided he'd had enough. "Papa…"

The man's head lifted and with a quick swipe across his eyes to wipe away the tears, he looked around at the girl, for she was still a girl in his eyes. He didn't look surprised to see her, his face looking more resigned than anything. "You followed me again?"

The girl nodded. "I did. I heard what the doctor told you; you should be home where it is warm," she said as she clutched her coat tighter around her.

"Yes, perhaps. But not today, today is…." He looked back at the headstone sadly.

"Yes Papa, I know. But she wouldn't want you here in this cold wind. She'd want you at home, by the fire."

"Alright then sweet one, you can walk me home."

The young woman linked her arm through his, their strides matching as they began the trek back. "Tell me again about your proposal," she said softly as they made their way out of the churchyard.

The old man smiled lopsidedly. "Which one?"

"The one that took," she replied.

"Ah. I forget, that is your favorite. Yes, well then…. I was in my car; old Carl was driving us into the village when we came across a little girl in the middle of the road, a little tyke with golden red hair and the darkest eyes I've ever seen. Carl pulled the car to the side of the road as the little girl toddled along, oblivious to our presence. Since there was no sign of her parents or anyone else for that matter, I climbed out of the car to retrieve her before she got hurt. My heart almost stopped when I finally got a good look at her because she was a miniature of the woman of my dreams."

The old mad paused his story as they climbed a small hill. Once they'd made the crest, the girl gave his arm a squeeze and he continued. "I'd just gotten her settled in the car when I heard a voice calling for her. Just then the loveliest woman I've ever met appeared, frantic and wild with worry. She was obviously the child's mother." He paused again, the memory overtaking him.

Remembering his audience, he continued. "She saw the car and hesitated so I climbed out again and asked her if she was looking for the child. When she said she was, I asked if the little girl was hers. She answered that she was but no one knew about her except the farmer that had taken her in. Eager to prolong the encounter, I offered her a ride, with the child of course, and she accepted. But instead of taking her home, she asked that she be dropped at the farmer's house. Carl drove us there and when we pulled up, I knew I couldn't let her go…not again.

"I hadn't asked about the child, where she had come from; it didn't matter. All I could think about was how lovely she looked and how empty my life had become since I had last seen her. 'Marry me,' I said quickly before she could get out of the car. She turned and looked at me, horrified. 'Please," I said. She sank back into the seat and just stared at me. Finally she asked me if it was a joke because if it was, it was a bad one."

"I told her that no, it wasn't a joke, that I had been a fool and I begged her forgiveness. She started to cry and said that if I was asking out of pity she wasn't interested. I told her I was a silly old man, that I wasn't asking out of pity but because I simply couldn't bear to leave her again, that I was miserable without her. Suddenly her arms were around me and she was crying and telling me that she would marry me but that I must understand that it was a package, her and the child."

He looked down at the girl and smiled. "I didn't have to think about that at all. I wanted the package, all of it. And so we were married as soon as arrangements could be made. And as empty as my life had been before, it was full once we were. She gave me more children but the first one was always very special; she brought us back together."

The young woman smiled up at him. "She's always thought you to be very special too, Papa."

"Your mother was very proud of you, you know," he said tearfully.

""I know. It must have been very difficult for her, having me with no man in sight. Most women would have sent me away but she wanted me near her."

"She loved you so very much," he assured her.

"I know; just as I know how much she loved you. You made her happy, Papa."

"I hope I did; I certainly caused her enough pain before …" He looked away, his face etched in sadness. "I miss her so much, Alice. Some days I ache with it."

"I know Papa. It isn't fair…those damn Germans and their bombs."

"It should have been me under all that rubble…" he cried, all of his anguish pouring out.

"Neither of you should have been under that rubble. I don't understand why the Germans thought they needed to bomb the train. It is only slightly more mysterious than what the two of you were doing on it. You were safe here."

Anthony Strallan looked down at the daughter of his heart and smiled. "My darling girl, in time you will come to understand that even old married people like your Mama and Papa need a little time to themselves."

Alice Strallan giggled. "Oh Papa, you two were so obvious when you were even just in the same room. From watching the two of you as I was growing up, I learned that even in a room full of other people a couple can be in their own world. I hope one day someone will make me as happy as you made Mama."

He smiled at her. "I hope for a better man for you, my sweet. I was never worthy of her. She deserved so much better."

"That's not how she saw it. You were her knight in shining armor, her prince…the center of her world."

"As she was to me," he added.

The two walked the last part of their journey in silence, memories of Edith flooding their minds.

Sir Anthony Strallan died that night in his sleep. It was the anniversary of his marriage to Lady Edith Crawley, who had been killed in a German raid on the railroad north of London. Anthony was just two months past his eighty second birthday. His obituary told of his influence in the county, bringing modernization to the farming methods that were now widely accepted, his service in both the Boer War and World War I. It mentioned his five children, including his oldest son, who had been killed in the waning days of the Second World War. As Alice Strallan read the piece she thought of how little it said about the man who was her Papa. It didn't, for instance, mention his heart that was so irrevocably attached to his second wife and that had been large enough to accept her illegitimate daughter as his own. It didn't speak of the anger he unleashed on her family when they dared suggest his Edith had done anything wrong in having the baby, taking the blame upon himself instead. The words didn't begin to address the nobility of the man, a simple baronet who preferred the quiet country life but answered the call each and every time his nation called upon him. Nor were his injuries mentioned, both physical and emotional as a result. No, Alice reflected, the article really said little of the man. But as she looked at her two surviving brothers and her sister, Alice knew his legacy lived on.