A/N: Well, folks, this is it. Pardon the hella long author's note.

Undying gratitude to brenna-louise and silhouettedswallow, who have spent many hours beta'ing not only this fic but also "Music of the Heart" as I made final revisions to it. It's been an almost year-long journey of about 30 chapters to bring this Chelsie story to a close, and I couldn't have done it without them. I also couldn't have done it without YOU - SHOUT OUT TO THE REVIEWERS! This is not my most heavily-reviewed fic, and those reviews you all DID leave have kept it in existence and ensured that I saw it through to the end.

This chapter refers HEAVILY to "Music of the Heart," as well as the previous chapter of this story. It was emotional for me to wrap it up in this way, and tears were shed, but I like to think things were taken care of as Elsie and Charles would have wanted. There will be a couple of one-shot companion stories to revisit this Chelsie world, but this is truly the last "real" chapter.

The two songs you'll find herein have been added to the "Music of Our Lives" Spotify playlist. Username is me, chelsiesouloftheabbey. You can download Spotify for free to listen to any of my fic playlists.

Similarly to the S6 CS, this chapter doesn't quite tie everything up in a nice, neat little package, but it does give a good idea of where everyone will end up. My apologies if it's not what you expected.

Thank you for being on this journey with me. For my "After the Fall" followers, I will now be able to spend more time on THAT fic. :)

Please leave one final review and let me know what you thought.

Blessings,

CSotA

So when my life is over

Don't carry me away,

For I've spent my whole life traveling

And it's here I want to stay.

Just open up the earth

And lay my body down below

And sing a song of heaven,

A song to send me home ...

Brother Sun, "All I Want Is A Garden"

Two days after the funeral, a rather large group of friends and family gathered at the solicitor's office.

Anna and John led the way, hands clasped together and moving about slowly, John's limp having worsened with age. Lately he was feeling it more and more, particularly on days when the rains were coming in heavily. But Anna stood by him, strong and true, and supported him as she always had. Elsie's passing had knocked Anna down hard, but it was losing Charles which had almost done her husband in; he'd lost the best friend he'd ever had, save for Anna and, in some ways, Robert. But Charles had been a father figure as well, and Anna was grateful he'd had the foresight to put John in charge of the affairs of the Carson estate, as it gave her husband a way to feel a sense of purpose and to honor his beloved friend.

Brenna and Sybbie followed, with baby Elisabeth clutched in Brenna's arms and Mary right behind them, ready to take Elisabeth at a moment's notice should Brenna need a break. Elisabeth's birth had been a godsend to Mary, having come at a time when she was forced to face the devastating loss that Charles's passing would bring her. She'd practically dived head-first into helping Brenna and George at home, and Anna had stepped aside to allow it without argument. She and Mary had a closeness that had been forged through many difficult years, and Anna knew her friend well; Mary would never ask for help, but she would accept it in the form of time spent caring for her only grandchild.

Next in the group came Edith, Beryl, and Daisy. Edith was rather puzzled as to why she was even there, touched by the fact that the Carsons would remember her fondly. She'd been living in London for most of their married lives, after all, and had seen them rather infrequently as her career simply hadn't allowed much time away. But she'd cared deeply for them both, particularly Mrs. Carson, and had been horribly saddened by their loss. She reached out and offered her elbow to Beryl, who took it gratefully as she struggled to maintain her balance on the slippery cobblestone walk.

"Thank you, dear," Beryl whispered, and Edith just nodded. With Edith on one side and Daisy holding Beryl's hand on the other, the ladies continued on in silence, each lost in thoughts of the formidable Charles Carson, and of what awaited them in his solicitor's office.

Beryl gave Daisy's hand an extra squeeze, and sent her a smile. Daisy simply nodded and focused her attentions on taking one step at a time; like the others in their group, Daisy had seen a great deal of loss over the course of her life. She'd been reflecting on that very thing, actually, of how they were a group of people whose lives had been sewn together over the years, connected by endless corridors and service, wars and loss, and - eventually - friendship. Daisy found herself wondering if others experienced the same in their lifetimes; but perhaps their group was unique, having been stitched together by the common thread that had been life at Downton Abbey.

Jack and Isobel brought up the rear of the group. Theirs was perhaps the strangest friendship of all, having been formed through their mutual affection for Elsie. Jack had always favored his Granny, had always been by her side through the years when he'd grown up and visited the cottage. Isobel was a frequent companion to Elsie during those times, and would assist in his care when he was a baby, playing with him and reading to him when Elsie would be occupied with preparing a meal or bringing in the wash from the line outside. As he'd grown, Jack had come to appreciate not only Isobel's innate kindness but also her forthright manner, which reminded him so very much of his Granny.

"How are you holding up?" Isobel asked Jack, and he looked at her sheepishly and shrugged.

"I'm about as well as I expected to be," he answered. "At least she's not waiting for him any longer."

Isobel looked at him curiously, and Jack smiled.

"Granddad always told me that Granny made him promise to look for her when he … well." He swallowed his emotion, and took a deep breath. "I imagine she's waited long enough to have him back."

"Yes," Isobel said, a sad smile playing about her lips. "She spent enough time in this life waiting for him, I'm sure she didn't want to go through that all over again."

Jack thought about his fiery Granny, of her frequent impatience to have things happen. "No," he smirked, "I'm sure she did not."

"Isobel, how are you?" The solicitor, Mr. Anders, reached his hands out to grasp Isobel's in his own. "How is Richard?" The gentlemen had become friends over the years, following Mr. Murray's retirement and Mr. Anders having purchased his firm, and Isobel appreciated his kindness today.

"Fair to middling, I'm afraid, but that's about as well as I expected," she replied.

"Pneumonia is such a horrible thing, but I know he has the best nurse in town," he answered, and she smiled and nodded her thanks.

"Losing Charles was quite a blow on top of it," she allowed. "And we certainly don't have the benefit of youth on our side any longer."

Mr. Anders simply nodded, and indicated for her to pass through the door before him. He proceeded into the room last, then closed the door behind himself.

"Please, everyone, take a seat," he said to the group.

They were in a boardroom of sorts, with a massive walnut table in the center that was surrounded by large office chairs. Everyone took their seats and fished their envelopes and small packages out of bags and jacket pockets, laying them on the table once they did so.

"I appreciate you all coming today. I know the weather is terrible with all the rain, but time is of the essence regarding the transfer of the cottage and certain accounts. As you have all been mentioned by name in Mr. Carson's will, it was required that you be present today.

"Mr. Carson left a rather simple will, overall, given that many of the details are ironed out in the packages you've received. I'd like to begin by leaving you to yourselves to open those items, so that nothing will be too much of a shock once the other people mentioned in the will have joined us. It was Mr. Carson's wish that you have this time together first, and I am happy to abide by whatever it was that he saw fit."

He paused, and looked at each of the people seated around the table. "If you'll allow me, I'd like to share a personal observation." Everyone nodded, and he continued.

"Charles and Elsie Carson were an impressive couple in their own, unassuming way, and they loved one another with a strength that we should all hope to attain at some point in our own lives. In the time that I knew them, going on some twenty years now, I have been the keeper of a number of their secrets, most of which will be revealed to you today, as I believe the packages you all have in front of you contain a personal letter from one or both of them. I can say with some measure of certainty, having been a solicitor for many years now, that few people spend as much time discussing how to divide their legacy as the Carsons did. It is clear that they cared deeply for all of you, and that the drastically different positions you all once held - as servants of Lord Grantham or as members of his family - are far removed from the sentiment contained within this document," he said, holding up the will, "or the items which now rest in your hands."

"A most accurate observation, Mr. Anders," Mary said softly, and the others around the table nodded. "They certainly did touch the lives of everyone seated at this table - and a good many more, I can assure you."

Beryl wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, already feeling as though she wouldn't make it through the entire afternoon, and Daisy reached over to squeeze her hand.

"It's alright," she whispered, and Beryl nodded.

"I'll leave you some time to go through what you have brought and to discuss those things with one another if you'd like. I'll return in half an hour, if that's agreeable, and will have with me at that time representatives from the library, hospital, and museum, as those organizations are also mentioned in the will."

With that he rose from his chair and made his way to his private office and whispers erupted around the table, couples and groups of three chatting amongst themselves; but, after a few moments, things quieted again, and only the sound of paper and tape being gently torn open could be heard in the large room.

Edith was the first to examine the contents of the package she received, and she gasped audibly. She scanned the contents of her letter, then abruptly rose from her seat and moved swiftly to the window in order to gather her thoughts. She was simply in awe of what Elsie and Charles had left in her care.

"Edith?"

Isobel had noticed the woman's discomfort and approached her slowly, comforted to see Edith turn slightly and nod in her direction, silent acceptance of Isobel's desire to speak to her.

"Here," she murmured, thrusting the letter toward Isobel. "Read it. I just … I can't believe it."

Isobel perused the letter, which she'd assumed had come from Elsie but which had, in fact, been penned by Charles. She glanced at the other item in Edith's hand, then back to the words on the paper she now held, a smile lighting up her face as she read it.

"Of course they did," she murmured, then turned her eyes once again to Edith. "Oh, my dear, look around you." She indicated the others in the room with a sweep of her hand. "Who else here would appreciate this as much as you will?"

"I know, but … look," she said, holding out the ledger she held.

Isobel pried open the cover and scanned the book titles that had been painstakingly recorded within. "Oh, my," she whispered, noting first editions of several volumes of poetry, three novels, and two books of nonfiction surrounding the history of Yorkshire and London.

"I don't feel as though I deserve anything from them, really. Elsie and I often discussed books when I was growing up, but I never thought those conversations would have made them think of me now."

Isobel looked at Edith and shook her head. "Oh, Edith," she said. "Don't you see? Throughout the entire first half of your life, you lived in the shadow of your sisters, always behind the scenes - observing, studying, reading, seeing value in what no one else did. You were never focused on the estate or the material things valued by Mary, and you always stayed grounded in reality while Sybil was idealistic and progressive."

"I suppose so," Edith allowed.

"And look what it's gotten you, my dear! A career, a publication that you own and run admirably, a seat on the board of directors for the library, and a daughter who is steadfastly forging her own way in life. They meant to recognize that, Edith, and leaving you all of these," she said, holding up the ledger, "is their way of acknowledging that inherent part of you, that part that values things that others might not. You are so much like them in that way."

Edith sniffed. "I suppose I never saw it that way," she answered, her voice thick with emotion. "You're right, of course. You know, as a child, we'd all steal downstairs to sneak a biscuit or to seek advice. Me perhaps more than the others, although Mary probably thinks it was her. They always listened, valued what I had to say, even, and guided me in ways that even my own parents didn't dare."

"Well, there you are," Isobel said softly, squeezing Edith's arm and returning to her seat, leaving the younger woman some more time alone to gather her thoughts ...

At the other end of the table from where Edith had been sitting, Anna and John were leaning into one another, Anna holding the letter from Elsie that they'd just opened. Anna was trying valiantly, but failing miserably, to stop her tears from falling onto the paper and smudging the ink. She was shaking her head in disbelief as she read the words Elsie had written. For his part, John was attempting to scan the letter for the most basic details, without getting lost in the aspects which were clearly more personal sentiments meant mostly for Anna.

But when he got to the part mentioning a financial inheritance, John opened the bank statement booklet that Charles had placed in the package. He looked at the most recent entry and realized that this inheritance would allow them to pay off the remainder of the bank note for the inn, and he broke down and wept. John had spent the better part of his life striving to be a good and honest man, one who valued the benefits reaped from a hard day's work, and he and Anna truly loved running the Grantham Arms together. But lately he'd been feeling poorly, and had feared what would happen if he were, one day, unable to continue working. Charles and Elsie had swept away those fears with a stroke of a pen: the entirety of their liquid assets were now in the hands of John and Anna. John smiled as he thought of how the Carsons never lived as though they were moderately wealthy, and while he knew Elsie had somehow disposed of an old, dilapidated property in Scotland ages ago, he just assumed that was where the majority of their money had come from. Obviously he'd been so very, very wrong, realising now that their savings must have also been the result of extremely wise investing on Charles's part over the course of his lifetime.

"Oh, John, look," Anna whispered, pulling him from his musings. He turned his eyes back to his wife, and he saw the delicate pendant and chain that she was dangling from her fingers.

"It's a thistle," John mused, and Anna nodded.

"Charles gave this to her the morning they were married - I was there when she opened it. It was his mother's, according to the note she received - this note," she clarified, handing a small piece paper to John.

He scanned the first line and then folded it up and handed it back to her.

"I can't, Anna," he said simply. "They were his words for his beloved on the brightest day of their lives. I just … I think they're meant only for your eyes," he said, and she nodded her understanding.

"The pendant goes back three generations," Anna explained, "and I'm meant to pass it down to Brenna when I'm gone, so that it stays in the family." She choked on the last word - family - and John put his arm around her and held her as she wept for the loss of the best parents she'd ever known ...

"Sybbie?" Mary asked, leaning over to where her niece was sitting. "Oh … oh, my goodness, would you look at that?" she marveled, watching Sybbie lift a book out of the box that she'd opened.

"I know," Sybbie whispered, opening the book. "That Christmas, the first one at their cottage, I'd gone over with Papa. We were the surprise for Elsie, do you remember?"

Mary nodded. "I do, and I remember helping your father pick out the book you're now holding. A Visit from St. Nicholas … Carson would always sneak into the nursery and read it to us when we were children. I remember you were so excited that he had read it to you all that night, too."

"Yes, and I'm sure it became their tradition with Brenna and Jack over the years as well. We had a copy at home when I was growing up, but this one will be so much dearer to me," Sybbie said, fingering the gilded edge of the pages.

"There's something else in there, Syb," Mary said, pointing to a small bundle wrapped carefully in tissue and tied with a secure knot.

Sybbie lifted it out and tugged on the bow, gasping when she saw what the tissue revealed.

"Of course," she said, pulling out a ceramic Christmas ornament of a dark-haired doll, the one that had lived on the Carsons' tree every year and had pride of place front and center, always. And still resting in the tissue was, of course, a hand-carved rabbit, the significance of which was not lost on Sybbie. She thought of the small book she kept tucked in the corner of her bookshelf, a sweet story about a stuffed animal who, through kindness and love from another, became real. It was all tied back to that first Christmas, to their mixed family, and to the memories passed around of her mother, the woman Sybbie had never met but whom she'd always felt was watching over her nonetheless.

She lifted the doll ornament up and held it by the ribbon, letting it spin around in the air. "Mama," she whispered.

Mary found she had no words to add and so she turned to her own package, which she'd steadfastly avoided opening up until that moment. She feared what it would contain, to be truthful. She had a relationship with Charles that had passed the understanding of many at the table, and she'd always been comfortable with that. But she had a feeling from the unsteady scrawl of her name on the tag that the box would contain something extraordinarily personal to him, and she was afraid.

"Go on, Aunt Mary," Sybbie encouraged her softly. "You'll have to do it eventually. Would you like some privacy?"

Mary shook her head. "No, actually, I think I'd prefer to have you here."

She opened the box and withdrew a letter, which she set aside. Reaching further in, she removed the intricately carved wooden box that she remembered delivering to Charles so many years ago, at the express request of her grandmother.

"Oh, it's lovely," Sybbie whispered. "Did he make it?"

"No," Mary said, sure about that, at least.

Lifting the lid slowly, Mary noticed a note and a handkerchief contained within it. She removed the handkerchief, which she recognized from that long-ago evening, and examined the note, shocked to discover that this one wasn't written in Charles's hand, but rather in that of her grandmother.

"What on Earth …?" She unfolded it and began to read it silently.

Within the letter was the entire story of Violet's connection to Charles, something which she had penned just prior to her death, after - according to the words on the paper - having obtained Charles's permission to do so. When she got to the bit that explained the box, hand-carved for Charles's mother but guarded for so many years by Violet, Mary's tears began to fall in earnest.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "That certainly explains it all."

"The box?" Sybbie asked, confused.

But Mary only smiled. "I'm to pass it along to George one day, to keep it in the family," she explained, and she divulged no more.

Sybbie nodded and got up to allow her aunt some privacy, despite Mary's earlier claim that she didn't require it. Sybbie saw Mary reach for the other letter, the one that would undoubtedly be a personal missive from Charles, and decided to see how Jack was faring.

"Jack?" she asked softly, seeing the faraway look on his face. He turned and handed her something, and she let out a soft gasp. "Ohh … how lovely."

"It was his father's pocketwatch," he said, clearing his throat a couple of times. "Granddad wore it all the time - I used to play with the chain when I was little. It's one of my first memories ever, him standing there with the chain dangling from his waistcoat pocket.

"And then there's this - I'm not sure why, what I've done to deserve it," he said, passing her a legal document. She unfolded it, her jaw dropping as she realized what it was.

"Their cottage," she gasped, and he nodded.

"It's mine," he said, smiling. "Granny insisted, she explains it all here."

Sybbie saw the letter in his hand, and nodded. "Of course. She loved you so very much, you know. You were the light of her life - and Brenna and Charles, of course, but everyone knew she had a soft spot for you."

"I know, and I for her. But this, this is too much. It should be going to my parents, or to Brenna and George …"

"No, I don't think so. They're established where they are, and happy. And I almost feel like this place means more to you than it does to them. In any event, it was what they wanted."

He nodded, knowing she was right, and she handed the watch back to him. Just then, he caught his sister's gaze from across the table.

"Excuse me," he said, getting up from his seat, and Sybbie nodded.

"Of course."

Brenna reached out her hand, careful not to disturb Elisabeth, who was peacefully asleep in her arms, and her brother grasped it. "Jack, did you receive one like that, too?"

She motioned to the letter on the table in front of her, which was almost identical to the last item in Jack's envelope, and he nodded.

"Yes, I did," he said, taking a seat beside her.

"But -" she stared at him, speechless.

"I know. The trust. My God, Brenna, I had no idea they'd done that for us."

"Supposedly it's from money they'd lent Mama and Papa for the inn, but that can't be right. It's not possible that there would be so much. And there's one for Elisabeth, too," she added, shaking her head in wonder. "Granddad also left me a brooch that he had given to Granny on their first Christmas together … along with this," she said, holding up her right hand as she shifted her support of Elisabeth's weight.

Jack looked, and there - on the third finger of his sister's hand - lay his grandmother's wedding ring.

"It was Granddad's mother's ring," she whispered. "I never knew that! He gave it to Granny, but when she died he wanted to pass it on to me." She stared at him, incredulous, still having trouble wrapping her mind around it all.

"Of course he'd have wanted you to have it," Jack said, kissing his sister sweetly on the cheek. "He adored you so very much. I rather like that we were close to Granny and Granddad in our own ways, that they loved us both but that each of us got to know a different one of them a bit more deeply."

Brenna nodded. "I know. I'm so glad that Granddad was able to meet Elisabeth, too. There were so many times I had the feeling he wasn't going to make it, that he just didn't have it in him. I prayed to God every night that he'd be there to hold her, just once. I feel like my prayers were answered."

"I'm sure they were." He looked down at his hands as he fiddled with the pocketwatch. "I feel them, you know," he said. "Every day, like they're right here with me."

"Me, too," Brenna said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Just then, Elisabeth stirred in her sleep. She cooed and opened her eyes, then moved a bit and settled once again.

Brenna looked up to see eight pairs of eyes on her, all in various states of emotional turmoil.

"Well, then … I suppose life goes on," Beryl said, and Brenna smiled gratefully at her.

"Yes, it certainly does," she replied.

Several moments later, Daisy quietly opened a rather large package, and her gasp drew the attention of those seated nearest to her.

"I can't believe it," she uttered. "Oh, William."

Sybbie smiled as Daisy lifted up yet another ornament that everyone recognized from the Carsons' collection - a toy soldier, spinning around on a fine, blue satin thread.

"And look," Daisy added to Beryl, showing her a scrapbook.

"What in Wonderland? … Ohhh," Beryl breathed, recognizing instantly what Daisy held in her hands. "Do you know what that is?" she asked Daisy.

Inside the scrapbook were a collection of drawings, letters, and photographs, things taken throughout Becky's life. Beryl had helped Elsie organize them in the book over ten years ago, and hadn't really thought much about it since.

"I do," she nodded, "but why?"

Beryl was poking through the package Daisy had taken them from. "Perhaps this will explain it, love," she said, handing Daisy a letter.

Daisy opened it gingerly and began to read it softly, loud enough that only Beryl could hear her.

My Dearest Daisy,

I sit and write this letter to you after much thought about what it is to contain. As this dastardly illness consumes me, it occurs to me that I need to take care of certain things before I am unable to do so. Simply put, I must decide with Charles who will inherit our most valued possessions and property when we are gone and, if you are reading this now, you are hopefully in possession of one of my most treasured things -

"This must be one of the first letters she wrote," Daisy mused, and Beryl nodded as Daisy continued to read.

You are aware that I had a sister, Becky, who passed away suddenly many years ago, and I know you are also aware that Becky had certain characteristics which inhibited her quality of life.

What I am sure you do not know is that we grew up on a farm in Argyll, a harsh life for many families back then, and there was a good deal of strife and unhappiness in our childhood. I, like you, landed in service as a means of securing a warm and safe home in which to grow, with good meals on the table and the security that a regular paycheck would provide. You and I share a common bond in that way, one which not many others would ever be able to understand.

But Becky didn't have that opportunity, and - more to the point - she was clearly unable to attend school. I know that things are different now in some ways, different for children like Becky, and you, as a schoolteacher, are in a position to see that more than most. While I have other possessions that will go to Anna, Brenna, Sybbie, and Jack, it means a lot to me that Becky's things go to you in the hopes that they inspire you to always do all that you can for all the children who will appear in your schoolroom. It is my dream that, one day, even children like Becky will be able to learn and grown in an environment with fully-abled children.

You've always held a dear place in my heart, Daisy, and it has been such a joy to watch you grow and blossom into an intelligent, determined, kind woman. Please accept this gift, one of immeasurable value to me personally, and cherish it as I have always done.

Very fondly,

Elsie

"Well, then," Beryl said. "There you have it."

"Yes," Daisy whispered. "I had no idea, you know, of how she grew up … of how it was for her. She was always so kind to me, strict but always watching out for me. But she never said, did she? Never gave any indication that she'd come from … well, a home like mine."

"No, she didn't at that," Beryl said, patting Daisy's hand.

"Have you opened yours?" Daisy asked, and Beryl nodded.

"I have, but ... " She shook her head, fighting back tears.

"That's quite alright," Daisy said soothingly. "I don't need to know. Take your time." She got up from the table and dropped a kiss to the top of Beryl's head, then moved over to the others in order to leave Beryl some time to gather her thoughts.

Beryl opened the note from Elsie once again and glanced at what was inside of the large envelope she'd been left: several bundles of letters, tied with a variety of ribbons, which confused Beryl completely until she read Elsie's letter.

My Dearest Beryl,

You have no idea how hard it is for me to write this letter to you, my dearest friend, the one person whom I've known longer than just about anyone except for my husband. I am entrusting this package and note to Charles, to pass along to you when the time is right.

You know that I have always valued our friendship immensely, and I think that we worked very well together once we got through those initial years. Charles and I often say that we never would have managed the Abbey half as well as we did through so many trials and tribulations if we'd not had you supporting us behind the scenes. And goodness knows that during the times when I needed you the most, when not even Charles could have helped me get through each day, you were there, offering everything you could spare and, sometimes, perhaps even more.

And, of course, through the passing of those years, Charles and I developed more than just a partnership; we danced around something stronger and more powerful than either of us had ever anticipated. And still you were there, silent and steadfast, gently pushing and prodding us toward one another. I couldn't see it then, when we were in the middle of it all, but I most certainly can see it now.

You have asked me so many times, in your sweet and sometimes forceful way, about the details of my marriage, of our relationship, and I teased you mercilessly about that, never wanting to divulge any information that I didn't think proper but, more importantly, holding on to the most personal of details for myself. What we never told you - what we've never told anyone - is that this entire relationship that Charles and I shared all began with the simple writing of a letter. One letter, during the Season, about the goings-on at the Abbey … and then a reply, and so it began. Over the years these letters changed somewhat; they began to include slightly personal lines and messages. They are now too numerous to count: Christmas notes, letters, gift tags, and more, all bundled together and showing a progression of love and affection over the course of decades. Added to a set of journals that each of us kept over the years, they provide quite a tale, indeed.

And now, as I face the inevitable in the not-so-distant future, I am tasked with finding a caretaker for these words, this written record of the development of my marriage, of the most important part of my life. This collection of letters and notes is my most prized possession, save (perhaps) for the book that Daisy shall be receiving. The letters began the year I became housekeeper, and you'll notice that they end with the onset of my illness. You may find it odd that we would continue to exchange notes even after we married, but we were loathe to give up the habit and would sometimes tuck a little note into a pocket or under a pillow, small reminders of how cherished we felt by one another.

As we sat rereading these over the past month, I found myself hating the idea that they would be cast aside, that they might seen as mere trivialities of our lives, something to be discarded quickly into the flames of the hearth when, clearly, they represent so much more than that … at least to me. It was almost equally horrifying to think they would end up being read by someone who did not see the intimate details of how our love unfolded, who might perhaps think it all foolishness. But you, my best friend and the one person to know Charles longer than anyone still living, will certainly appreciate them for what they are, and I am sure they will give you better insight into things you've often asked me about that I never answered. I realize, too, that it seems foolish to leave you any other material possessions of ours, given the proximity of our ages and the fact that you are well set in your own home and retirement, and so I hope that you will accept these, that you will be the new caretaker of this most personal aspect of our lives. If I may be so bold, the collection tells the story of two people who were always destined to be something more than friends and who finally made it to that ultimate goal, softly guided by the encouragement of one we hold so dear.

Perhaps, during a time of sadness, it will bring you some small amount of joy to step back into the past with us. Regardless, I would trust no one else to care for these as much as I know you will.

With all my love to you, my dearest friend. Enjoy the story.

Elsie

"Well, here we are," Isobel said, taking her original seat again and interrupting Beryl's thoughts. She instantly realized the poor timing of her arrival, and apologized.

"No, it's alright," Beryl whispered, tucking the note away.

"I can't help but feel that you and I are the last holdouts, as it were, the last two remaining of the disappearing dynasty of Downton," Isobel said quietly.

Beryl chuckled, drying her eyes with a handkerchief she'd had tucked into her sleeve. "A dynasty, indeed," she said.

"Are you truly alright?" Isobel asked softly, and Beryl nodded.

"I am. They were my dearest friends; I'd known Charles most of our lives."

"Yes," Isobel said, smiling softly. "You know, I was surprised to be asked here today, to have been left anything at all. But when I opened it, and saw this," she said, "I understood."

Isobel had pulled something out of her handbag and laid it on the table, and Beryl sighed softly.

"Another one," she said cryptically, and Isobel furrowed her brow.

"I'm sorry?"

"That," she said, pointing to the pen. "From their first Christmas in the cottage, you gave it to Elsie. Sybbie has the book, I believe, and I saw some of their ornaments floating about. It's like we're being asked to relive that evening, in a way - those of us who are old enough to remember it, anyhow."

"I'd think it odd, but I am sure that Charles and Elsie intended it to be that way. I know that I remember that night well," she said fondly.

"Yes, well, it's not every evening that one is proposed to," Beryl teased.

"True, but it wasn't only that. It was the sense of easy friendship, the forging of family ties and the level of comfort we all had by the end of the night. It was remarkable, and I don't believe anyone else but them could have pulled it off so marvelously." She picked up the pen and fiddled with it, rolled it back and forth a bit between her thumb and forefinger. "I can't help but think that they meant for all this to happen," she said, sweeping her hand to indicate everyone in the room. "I think that Charles purposely held back the items and notes from Elsie until he was gone, so that we would all come together one last time. It's a way to remember them, and to remember how our lives are all intertwined. Sybbie tells me there was a note for her father, as well, a rather long letter from Elsie. It's their way of reaching out to us."

Beryl looked at the pen, at the lovely flowers decorating the barrel, and was reminded of the stunning tea set that Elsie had given Phyllis Molesley the year Elsie retired.

"Forget-me-nots," she said softly, and Isobel nodded.

"Exactly. And we won't forget, will we? How they tied us all together."

Beryl reached out for the envelope containing the letters and clutched it to her chest.

"No, we certainly won't," she answered.

Thirty-five minutes later the solicitor returned, with three well-dressed businessmen accompanying him.

"Please be seated, gentlemen," he said, indicating the empty chairs at the table.

Elisabeth stirred, and Brenna got up and took her over to the window, shushing her gently and cuddling her in order to stave off the crying that was no doubt on its way.

Mr. Anders spent the next ten minutes reading through the Last Will and Testament of Charles Carson. In it was mentioned each and every item that the Carsons' family and friends had recently opened, and also references to specific funds set up at the bank for the museum, hospital, and library. There were instructions for the representatives in attendance as to how the funds were to be used: for education, medical research, and building improvement, respectively.

No one at the table was amazed by the monetary amounts mentioned, and no one was surprised that it would be Anna, John, Brenna, and Jack who would inherit the lion's share of the Carson estate. The only things that came as a shock to some were the mention of 'Elsie Carson's letters,' that were now in Beryl Patmore's loving care, and the notion of Lady Mary Crawley being bequeathed an wooden box and handkerchief. Those two women met one another's eyes across the table with a tiny smile and nod, each acknowledging that their particular inheritances were, perhaps, the most valuable ones of all.

For you

There'll be no crying

'Cause I feel that when I'm with you

It's alright …

And the songbirds keep singing

Like they know the score

And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before ...

Eva Cassidy, "Songbird"

Five years later

"Mummy, Mummy! Look!" Elisabeth squealed, running over to Brenna. "A grasshopper!"

The little girl opened her hands slowly, and a bright green grasshopper bounced out onto the grass and made a quick getaway.

"Oh, Elisabeth," Brenna said softly, running her hand over her little girl's soft, brown curls. "You must remember to be gentle, love. You may watch them, but try not to pick them up, alright?"

Elisabeth nodded, then reached her hand toward the basket Brenna carried over her arm.

"May I have the flowers, Mummy?"

"You may certainly help me, dear. Let's see if you can find them, shall we?"

Elisabeth flitted over to a now-familiar headstone, tracing the "B" with her tiny finger.

"B for Auntie Beryl," she said quietly, and Brenna nodded and handed her a single, white rose and two carnations. Elisabeth placed them gently in front of the stone, then bent to kiss the letter B.

"I love you, Auntie," she said quietly before getting up and moving two rows over. Brenna stayed back a bit, laying her hand on the stone and saying a silent prayer before joining her daughter.

"Here they are, Mummy." Elisabeth held her hand out, and Brenna squeezed it briefly before kneeling in front of this second stone, a bit larger and darker in color than the first. She set the basket on the ground by her daughter's feet, then reached over to brush the grass clippings off of the base of the marker.

"Hello Granny, Granddad," Brenna said softly. "I hope you've had a good week. We've had an adventurous one, as I'm sure you have been able to see!" She sat back on her heels and sighed. "I miss you both so very much."

"They're angels now, Mummy. Papa said so," Elisabeth said. "Just like his Papa." She laid the remainder of the flowers at the base of the stone - more white roses mixed in with carnations, and all from the gardens behind Jack's cottage.

"Your Papa is right," Brenna answered. She held her arms out and Elisabeth tucked herself in, ending up sitting on her Mummy's lap as Brenna held her tightly.

They stayed like that for a few silent moments, and then Brenna heard something that sent a chill down her spine … Her beautiful daughter, five years old last month, began to softly hum; the tune, of course, was painfully familiar.

"Elisabeth, love? Where did you hear that song?" Brenna demanded.

Her sweet girl looked up, eyes wide with the fear that she'd done something wrong. "Mummy?"

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry," Brenna said quickly, shaking her head. "It's quite alright, only … where did you hear it?"

Elisabeth looked down at the grass, kicking at it with her toe. "It was Great-Granny's song, Mummy."

"Yes, it was, but how do you know the tune, love? I haven't heard that since long before you were even born."

Elisabeth shrugged and stood up, moving over to the stone once again. "I'm not sure, Mummy. I just do," she said, and Brenna chose not to push the issue anymore.

They stayed about a half hour, spending that time cleaning up a bit more around Charles and Elsie's stone and watering the flowers at Matthew's, and just enjoying the quiet time they had together.

"Mummy, do you think Great-Granny and Great-Granddad can hear us?" Elisabeth asked suddenly. "When I pray, do you think they can hear me?"

Brenna smiled, then bent to receive a kiss from her darling girl. "I'm sure of it," she said.

"Good."

Brenna looked up at the sky, the clouds having come in faster than expected.

"Guess what?" she said to Elisabeth, who promptly examined the skies herself and nodded.

"Rain again!" she shouted gleefully, and Brenna shook her head.

"It always rains when we're here," Brenna whispered, and she saw Elisabeth nod.

"Great-Granny loved the rain, didn't she? And the ocean," the girl said, and Brenna nodded slowly, remembering.

"She did, love. And do you know why?"

Brenna was prepared to tell her daughter all about Elsie's love for the water, about the day she'd taken Charles's hand at the beach as a silent offering of love, and about the lake near Jack's cottage that had always been their Granny's favorite spot. But none of the things she'd planned to mention were a match for what fell forth from her daughter's mouth.

"Because it meant a good crop," Elisabeth said, "and they wouldn't go hungry." She got up and fetched the basket for her mother. "Let's go, Mumma. We're going to get soaked!"

Brenna found she couldn't speak. She stared at her daughter, into her bright, blue eyes, and marveled at the intelligence she saw in them. She reached her hand out, and Elisabeth grasped it firmly in her own.

As they walked past the headstone, Brenna hazarded a glance back at it, reading for the millionth time the words that were inscribed on the front:

Elsie Carson b. 1862 d. 1945

Charles Carson b. 1856 d. 1946

The waters were placid …

All around was calm …

And I continued my journey.*

She turned her eyes heavenward, and smiled.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything."

The End

*From Mary Shelley, and quoted in "Music of the Heart" in a note penned by Charles Carson, written to the woman he hoped would, one day, become his wife. 3