I wrote this quite quickly this evening because I haven't been able to get the last episode out of my head and I thought this might help. I really hope you like it. There can be more if you want it.
He got back in the car, and sat still for a very long time; staring out at the pouring drizzle washing down upon the windscreen. The triple treatment can be miraculous, he kept telling himself, he had told no lie on that score. But how was he to bear it if he lost her? How? How could he lose something he had never really had? But even parting from her outside the clean face of the sanatorium felt like a loss, a physical loss, the loss of a limb.
In a sudden flurry of movement, he picked up his briefcase from the back seat, rummaging through it until he found a sheet of writing paper and a medical journal to rest on. Bringing his fountain pen out of his breast pocket, he unscrewed the lid, and paused, poised to begin writing. He took a deep breath. And then, carefully, in intense bursts separated by long reflections, considerations, he began to write.
…...
"Sister, I want to ask a favour of you," he told her.
The elder nun smiled kindly at him from across her desk.
"We are in your debt, Dr. Turner," Sister Julienne told him kindly, "After all the help you have given Sister Bernadette at this difficult time. The whole of Nonnatus House is very grateful to you."
"It concerns Sister Bernadette, actually," he told her, then broke off, considering, "I'm afraid you may find me rather odd."
"Try me, Dr. Turner," she challenged him lightly, "I may surprise you."
He gave her a small smile, appreciating her willingness to hear him out.
"I would like you to give her this letter," he told her, producing the envelope from the breast pocket of his jacket, where it had stayed with his pen ever since he had written it and placing it on the desk before her, "But only if things take a definite turn for the worse."
Sister Julienne paused, looking carefully at its corner.
"You only want me to give it to her if she's dying?" she clarified.
"Yes," he replied, grateful for her bluntness and clarity.
"Am I entitled to know what it says?" she asked him levelly.
He looked at her closely, decided that she was being sincere, and reasonable, and that she only asked wit her Sister's best interests at heart.
"I would rather that you only did if you do have to give it to her," he replied.
She was silent for a moment, and he wondered for a moment if he had been unreasonable in his conditions.
"You should know, Doctor, that I have formed my own ideas on the content of that letter from what you have told me alone," she looked at him full in his eyes, taking him very much by surprise, watching him candidly, with sincerity, with feint scrutiny. It was a most communicative look, and in that moment, he knew that she had him worked out. She'd probably had him worked out ever since the torturous moments when he examined Sister Bernadette, when he tried, with shaking hands, to examine her so carefully, to look after her.
Sister Julienne still held his eyes.
"Am I right?" she asked him gently.
He nodded haltingly.
"Yes, Sister, I think you probably are."
"Very well," she replied in a plain, almost business-like tone, and put the letter in the drawer of her desk.
…...
She put the receiver down, her hand quivering a little.
She would have to book a taxi cab to the Sanatorium. There was no way she could ask Dr. Turner to drive her; probably he would be busy and that was the very mildest reason. She had the feeling, if he knew that Sister Bernadette was in danger she would not be able to keep him away, and that might be altogether worse for everyone. And she still had his letter. The letter!
Sitting back down- she had stood up, without realising it, in nervous distress- and opened the drawer of her desk. The envelope was not properly sealed, and gently she slipped it open with her thumb, unfolding the single sheet of writing paper.
By the time she had finished reading it, her feelings had got the better of her, and she was in tears. Poor child. Poor man. And she, herself, she could not bear to think of losing that sweet girl, such a kind heart, the bravest and best soul that-...
She clasped her hand to her mouth for a few seconds. Her tears needed to stop, and presently they did. She took a deep breath. She needed a taxicab, she needed to get to Sister Bernadette, who, though she called her Sister, and respected her as an equal was far more like a daughter than anything she had ever, would ever, know.
Picking up the receiver again, with great purpose she dialled the number of the taxi firm.
Her taxi booked she picked up the letter and carefully, as if it were made of the most delicate gold, put it back into it's envelope.
She stood up, and was about to leave. She went to pick up the letter again, but found her pen in her hand instead. For a moment, she looked carefully at the words "Sister Bernadette" standing out boldly on the white space. She sat back down, and wrote just beneath the name, her own pen shaking a little:
"Words stay with us when people cannot. I didn't want you to be alone. Sister Julienne."
Then added,
"With my best love."
…...
My dear, Sister.
It is said that there are times when love cannot be spoken, only shown. Which am I doing, as I write these words to you? I could never bring myself to say them aloud because I thought you would not want to hear them, but worse than that thought is the thought of you leaving, for good, and never having told you. I know that for many reasons you could not return my feelings and I bear no resentment for this whatever. I showed you all I have to show in one kiss of your hand, and every soft word, smile, every moment of happiness between us, and every kind thing I did in order to try so desperately to deserve the privilege of loving you. Sister, know that in this life you were loved best of all people, by your colleagues and friends at Nonnatus House, by the patients you tended so competently and by me. I know that my love may be poor consolation to you- I could never, for a moment, be worthy of loving you- but I have loved you so strongly, and it was of great help to me to love someone as good as you. I know you will never be alone, your God will make sure of that, but I could stand the thought of you going without any kind human words.
I am ever yours.
[a few lines left, then, in a shaky hand]
Goodbye, my love.
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