The knock on the door startles her, but only for a moment. Quietly she pushes her paperwork aside as the slim blonde figure slips into her office, and she cannot help but smile.
"Hello, Shelagh." The name is strange on her tongue still after all these years, and yet… now, for the first time in a long time, she can see the girl Sister Bernadette used to be, and her heart aches a little.
"Hello, Sister Julienne." The dear voice is so familiar, and that, more than anything, is what catches in her throat as its owner sinks into the chair on the other side of her desk.
"Dear sister. What can I do for you?"
Surprisingly, she rises from the chair again, coming around the desk to kneel at Julienne's side, and it's pure instinct that has her covering the young woman's hands with her own. "I lost my parents years ago," she begins, her Scottish accent ringing clear. "And I was wondering, Sister, if… well, if you would give me away at my wedding."
Julienne has not cried in years, though she'd barely managed to check her tears on the first day Shelagh had come to her to renounce her vows for another kind of holy truth, but looking into the dear young face is enough to undo her. The tears spill over despite her best efforts to check them, though that's not much effort at all, really. "My dear child." Gently she lifts her to her feet, then stands herself, shaking a little. "You have been the child of my heart for too many years to doubt my answer. Of course I will. Indeed, it would be my honour. Oh, my very dear girl."
Shelagh is crying too, tears sparkling on her lashes. "You're the only mother I've ever known." The clear voice wavers, and it is all too much as Julienne draws her close. She had given up the possibility of children of her own when she took holy orders, but God had seen fit to grant her a daughter anyway, and now she was feeling for the first time the bittersweet joy of a mother who knows her daughter has found the best of men, a man who loves her beyond sense and beyond self, but who feels the pain of letting her go no less keenly for all of that.
They hold each other there in her tiny office for some time, willing, just this once, to set aside reserve. Gently she wipes the tears from Shelagh's cheek with her thumb, and the young woman laughs a little, even as she cries. "I was so afraid I'd failed you," she blurts suddenly.
For an instant Julienne draws back in shock. "What?"
Embarrassed, Shelagh lowers her eyes. "Leaving the Order, I… I need you to know, Sister, that I don't regret a moment of my years with Nonnatus. If I hadn't come here I would never have known him." She takes a deep breath and plunges on. "I would never have known you. And though I knew what was waiting for me, though I wanted to grab it with both hands, I was so afraid I…"
"No." Julienne hardly knows what she is saying, only that she must put a stop to this, now. "Oh, no. I have only ever wanted you to be happy, and if I was disappointed to see you go it was only for myself and for Nonnatus. You left a gap that will never be filled, and I will miss Sister Bernadette more than I can say." Their hands clasp more tightly, and Julienne prays for the strength to finish this without weeping more than she already is. "But, my dear, good friend, I think I shall very much love coming to know Shelagh Turner."
Shelagh smiles up at her then, so brilliantly her heart catches hard in her throat, and through the pain of parting Julienne can feel a new joy dawning – the joy of a mother watching her daughter become the woman she was born to be.
A gentle knock sounds on the door. "Come in," Julienne calls, and she does not have to look round to know that it is Dr Turner. All she needs is the look in Shelagh's eyes as she sees her husband-to-be.
"She said yes," Shelagh blurts, her hands still clasped in Julienne's, and Dr Turner beams back at his bride with a smile that lights up the whole office.
"Thank you, Sister," he says, his voice rough with feeling. "You don't know what this means – to both of us."
For the first time since this began, Julienne can smile without tears. "With all due respect, my dear doctor," she tells him, looking down at the daughter she could never have dared to ask God to give her, "I think I do."
Dr Turner studies them both for a long moment, his eyes soft in a way they have only ever been when he looks at Shelagh. "Yes," he murmurs at last. "Yes, you do. Forgive me, Sister."
"For what?" she asks him gently, leading Shelagh to him and placing her hand in his. "I could not let her go to anyone who loved her less than I." Softly she touches Shelagh's hair, the smallest of caresses. "God's blessings go with both of you, and mine also."
"Oh, Sister." Briefly Shelagh hides her face in Dr Turner's shoulder, and he holds her carefully, plainly lost in her. "And with you, too. Every day." Swiftly she kisses Julienne's cheek, then takes the doctor's hand again. They walk out together, eyes never leaving each other's faces.
Heartsore yet ecstatic, Julienne watches them go.
"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"
"I do," Julienne answers, her voice strong and steady. Gently she places Shelagh's hand in the doctor's, and though the feelings are bittersweet, in the end Julienne feels far more joy than pain.
Shelagh is lovely in her wedding dress, long-sleeved and full-skirted in a plain, creamy white, her hair down around her shoulders. Every stitch was Chummy's; Shelagh's hair had been carefully arranged by Trixie and Jenny, while Cynthia had carefully applied the barest touch of makeup, just enough to enhance without overwhelming.
But what she remembers most is the incandescent smile on the bride's face. Nothing Cynthia or Trixie, Jenny or Chummy could have done holds a candle to the blaze of beauty in that smile. The full force of it is turned on Julienne for an endless moment as Shelagh gently kisses her cheek, words unspoken and unnecessary as everything they could need to say passes between them in an instant.
Then Julienne pulls her hand away, her part over; but just before she turns to sit, a shaft of sunlight pierces the window to fall softly upon the three of them in unmistakable blessing.
Suddenly, absolutely at peace, Julienne brushes a gentle finger over the bride's cheek, then sinks into her chair.
Vows are made, oaths sworn, as the couple at the altar swears to love, honour, cherish and obey for as long as they both shall live, and the truth of those vows is written in the smile on her face, the blaze in his eyes, and the way they cannot look away from each other for more than a few moments. Julienne cries, just a little. Sister Evangelina swears until her dying day that she didn't. Julienne knows better.
Triumphant and glorious, Mendelssohn begins to play.