Handfast
Chapter One: The Letter
Based upon Call The Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth and developed by Heidi Thomas
Author's Note: The impetus of this story was Jeannie MacPherson, played by Hermione Baddeley, in Marriage on the Rocks. If you haven't seen Marriage on the Rocks, it's a delightful film with Frank Sinatra, Deborah Kerr, and Dean Martin, and I highly recommend it. A minor subplot is that Deborah Kerr's mother doesn't acknowledge the (20 year) marriage between Kerr and Sinatra, and continues to insist that her daughter is living in sin and her grandchildren have no father.
- - The MG, December 1959 - -
It was the lull between Christmas and New Year's Day. As always, babies were still being born, the common cold was sweeping through the tenements, and both Angela and Tim were growing every day, but there was definitely a joyful Quiet. And Patrick savored it.
Now at that particular moment, Tim was excitedly chattering about what he and his friends had been up to all day. His nose and ears were red, but it looked as if they had kept themselves active, and he wasn't cold. It was chilly out, he expected Shelagh to have warm cups of tea prepared for the both of them.
Tim barely waited for the car to be in park before jumping out, "I'll get the post!" he said, rushing towards the box. He was inside the flat, door wide open, before Patrick retrieved his bag from the boot.
Patrick shook his head at his son and followed him in. Tim had already doffed his coat and left it haphazardly by the door. Patrick patiently hung it up properly before removing his own coat, scarf, and hat.
"We got someone else's letter," Tim said from the kitchen. "She spells her name like you do, Mum." Patrick followed his son into the kitchen to find Shelagh, expectantly, pouring 3 cups of tea. He glanced through the hatch to see Angela in the Moses basket in the living room. "Ms. Shelagh MacPherson."
Patrick didn't fail to notice his wife start, spine going straight. He looked over Tim's shoulder. "It's our address," he said. Brow furrowed, he looked at Shelagh, who had finish pouring their tea. "Wasn't your mother's maiden name MacPherson?"
Shelagh was frowning. "It was."
"So, it's for you?" Timothy asked, holding out the letter.
Patrick regarded his wife carefully as she took the letter, a scowl developing on her face. She looked at the face of the letter for a few moments, before turning it over and releasing a large sigh. He craned his neck to read the Sender. "Who's The MacPherson?"
"My cousin Archie," she muttered in annoyance. He could tell by her tone that she was not pleased at all.
"Your cousin's first name is 'The'?" Timothy asked.
Shelagh glanced at him in exasperation. "Not precisely. He is simply the Patriarch of the Clan."
Had she been in a better mood, Patrick may have made a comment about her being related to the Laird, but he saw the writing on the wall.
"What does it say?" Timothy asked.
Shelagh retrieved a knife from the counter and slit the letter open. She pulled it out and groaned. "Goodness gracious."
Again, Patrick craned his neck to see the letter. "Is that Gaelic? I didn't know you spoke Gaelic."
"I don't. My mother taught Seamus and I few words when we were small, but we never spoke it after she died. Not even to the MacPhersons."
"You can't read it? What are you going to do with it?" Timothy asked.
Shelagh sighed. "I guess I have to find someone who does speak it. Speak and read Gaelic."
At this point, Tim abruptly lost interest and left the room; but not before taking a sip of tea and snatching a biscuit from the tin.
Patrick watched him go with a smirk. Once out of sight, Patrick turned back towards his wife, who was regarding the letter carefully. He waited expectantly.
"I should've expected this," she said, "after sending a Christmas card home."
"Expected what?"
"I don't know, but I'm relatively sure we won't like it."
"Is there some family history here?"
Shelagh took a deep breath and nodded. Patrick picked up both tea cups and motioned with his head towards the living room. Shelagh heeded the signal and stepped into the living room. She peaked at Angela before settling on the sofa and accepting a cup and saucer. Patrick sat in the armchair.
"Where to start?" she asked rhetorically. She paused a beat and then continued. "The MacPhersons are Highlanders and Catholics." She paused again, almost as if she didn't need to continue. Almost as if that explained the entire situation. "My mother met my father when he went to Inverness for Sheep Shearing."
Patrick bit his tongue and hid his smirk behind his teacup. Sometimes Shelagh was quite the country bumpkin.
"My father being Anglican, and my grandfather being Catholic, Grandfather strictly forbade the union. But, my mother was stubborn and she converted to the Church of England and married my father. As they were not married by a Catholic priest, the MacPhersons didn't consider them properly married, but handfast."
"Isn't that a temporary marriage?" he asked.
Shelagh nodded. "Of sorts. After a year and a day, Grandfather went to my father to retrieve my mother. My mother was heavily pregnant at the time, and they both refused to have another wedding. Of course, this angered the MacPhersons, as - in their eyes - the terms of the handfast were up, and the marriage was dissolved. They disowned my mother and never acknowledged her marriage to my father. They considered Seamus and I illegitimate.
"After my mother died, Auntie Jeannie - Archie's mother, and the wife of The MacPherson at that time - reached out an olive branch. Now, that olive branch had its thorns, but we did start receiving birthday and Christmas cards; which tapered off during the war.
"Seamus' funeral was civil, though I started getting regular letters describing the eligible bachelors of the Highlands. She did not take my moving to London well, though it seems she finally forgave me when I entered the religious life, Anglican though it was."
Shelagh fell silent, shaking her head, looking at the letter.
"What do you think this is about?"
She met his gaze. "I don't know, but we're not going to like it."
- - The Surgery, The Next Day - -
"I knew we weren't going to like it!" Shelagh stormed into his office mid-afternoon.
She had gone out after lunch to meet with Granny McGowen, a transplant from Skye of about eighty-five, she moved for the temperate climate and lived with her grandson. Young Mrs. McGowen often took her out and about, including to the Ante-Natal clinic. They had hoped she spoke and read Gaelic, apparently she did.
Shelagh dropped the letter on his desk, as if he would pick it up and read it. She dropped her handbag in the chair and draped her coat over the back.
"We weren't married in the Catholic Church, so they're considering us handfast. The Clan will be 'round in a few weeks to determine your suitability as a husband."
"My what!?"
"Highlanders," Shelagh muttered under her breath, collapsing into the chair.
"What if they don't find me suitable?" Shelagh didn't answer immediately. "Steal you and our illegitimate children back to Clan lands?"
"Patrick," she clearly didn't find his comment amusing.
He raised his hands in self-defense. "You're the one who's making it sound like the Clan is going to march in in full regalia with Claymores and bagpipes."
"I think they'll leave the bagpipes at home."
"But not the Claymores?"
"Patrick!" He was really trying her patience.
He took a breath and lowered his voice. "Why would they reach out after all these years if not to be civil? What could be gained of traveling all the way from Inverness?"
She pursed her lips, considering the question. "You're probably right," she admitted.
Patrick stood, rounded his desk and leaned against the corner, taking her hand in his. "And if I'm not, we'll barricade ourselves in Nonnatus House with the Cubs and Civil Defense Volunteers as our garrison." He smirked.
She met his gaze and smirked back. "At least they won't be here for a few weeks. That allows us time to prepare ourselves."
"Do I need to brush up on my shinty?"
Shelagh stood and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Maybe just your caber tossing."
- - End Chapter One - -