When the knock came at the door, Sister Julienne was surprised to see Mrs Turner stood, somewhat reluctantly, in the doorway, clutching a small brown bag.
Sister Julienne beamed looked up from her desk and beamed. "My dear!"
Shelagh smiled on hearing Sister Julienne's voice. The safety and comfort of Nonnatus House, and indeed this very office, still held such a large part of her heart. "Sister Monica Joan let me in," she began making her way towards Sister Julienne's desk. "I wanted to give you something, for the charity box."
Sister Julienne immediately sensed the tension in the air. Shelagh held the brown bag as if it were a precious metal to be clung on to. And although her words said she wished to give it away, her eyes were distant from the request – in a different place that Sister Julienne did not recognise.
With a small smile, Sister Julienne reached over the desk and held out a hand towards the brown bag. "That's very kind of you Shelagh."
She had almost added 'you could have dropped it in with the rest down the hall' but didn't. It felt wrong, like this brown bag was worth more than being placed with all the other donations left by so many kind poplar residents. Besides, it was rare that one item arrived. Usually it was a large bag of old baby clothes as the result of a large clearout. Seldom one item, and rarely dropped off in person.
Shelagh hesitated, she held the bag out everso slightly away from her, but her eyes did not come off it. She froze. So much of her love and hopes had been poured into it, that suddenly it seemed impossible to give it away, to hand it over.
Sister Julienne withdrew her hands, knowing that this wasn't likely to be a social call by Shelagh. It was not a chit chat about the weather, but something far more serious was going on. She made her way around the desk to join Shelagh on the other side of it.
Shelagh turned, swallowing down her emotion. "It is a nightdress," she said, barely in a whisper, pain searing into her words. She could feel the lump in her throat growing. She had been so strong this morning, with Patrick. Honest, but strong. But now, having to share with Sister Julienne why she was here, it suddenly seemed too much, and the tears inside her threatened themselves once more.
"May I?" Sister Julienne said quietly, offering to take the bag to have a look.
Shelagh gave one nod of the head and relinquished her grip on the bag. But as soon as she let go and laid it in the hands of Sister Julienne, as soon as the precious garment perfumed in her hopes and dreams left her possession, the emotion inside her overwhelmed her, and she felt her shoulders shake with the weight of all that she was carrying.
Sister Julienne placed the bag, still unopened, onto the table beside them and opened her arms for Shelagh to move into them – which she did, in one quick motion resting her head on the nuns shoulder and allowing the familiar feel of the habit to envelope her and her Sister to comfort her. She allowed herself to feel, for a moment, the full force of her grief and her body shook with sorrow. Sister Julienne closed her eyes and prayed briefly for God's comfort to be with Shelagh in this moment. After a short while, she felt Shelagh's body began to relax, the tears subside and the two stood in their embrace, Sister Julienne gently swaying them both as a mother does to soothe their baby. The silence around them offering its comfort with just the sound of Shelagh's breath calming and returning to normal.
"I'm so sorry," Shelagh whispered into the Sister's habit.
"None of that," Sister Julienne said, realising that her voice too was thick with emotion. She pulled back from Shelagh slightly and rested her hands on Shelagh's shoulders. "You can always come here, to Nonnatus House...to me... It is as much your home as it ever has been."
Shelagh allowed herself a small smile at the reminder, and felt grateful for the love that was always so tangible in this place. However, she felt embarrassed and awkward at her outburst. She was usually so much more restrained, more strong, than that.
As if she had read her mind, Sister Julienne said, "We all need somewhere that we can just come, and feel what we need to, without judgement or expectation."
Shelagh nodded, agreeing. Despite the outburst she didn't know where to begin, how to explain the loss she was feeling for something that she never had, or was never promised.
Seeing the Shelagh was lost in her own thoughts, Sister Julienne guided Shelagh to sit down and picked up the brown bag placing it on her lap.
"You take a moment," she said, smiling gently. "I will make some tea, and shall search for cake that has not fallen victim to Monica Joan, yet."
"Thank you," Shelagh said, as Sister Julienne left the room. Shelagh unwrapped the brown bag and held the nightdress up to her face, smelling it and taking in everything about it. She needed to say goodbye to the dream of a child of her own. Not that she didn't love Timothy as if he were, but goodbye to carrying a child, birthing a child and seeing it in the nightdress that she had carefully stitched over the weeks previous. As Patrick had said, that road was now at an end and she knew she needed to let go.
