This is for lovetheturners because she said she was dreading my next story. I hope you find it if not perfectly but at least, well, appropriate.
Where are you?
The table was set, and dinner was ready, but something had gone terribly wrong. Patrick could tell when he entered the living room and found it empty. For the past four weeks, the time they had been married, Shelagh had been waiting for him every single night he had come home. He wasn't even able to imagine that it had been different in the past, not so long ago. This was their new life as a family, which did not feel all that new. A part of him felt that he had known Shelagh all his life, it felt so natural to be with her.
Where was she, Patrick wondered. She would not just leave without writing him a note, he thought. He felt a jolt of panic rush through his veins. Timothy, something must have happened to Timothy again. He half-jogged down the hallway to his son's room and found it empty. He held his breath. Yes, that must be it, Timothy was…. His eyes fell on a framed photograph of Timothy, Marianne and Patrick, Timothy in his Cubs uniform. Of course, it was Tuesday, Timothy was still at Cubs. Patrick opened Timothy's chest of drawers and when he found the boy's uniform gone, could not hold back a sigh of relief.
But where could Shelagh be? Something must have happened. She must have injured herself, perhaps called his surgery for help but no one had been there. Patrick felt terribly helpless. His mouth run dry, thinking of everything that could have happened.
Just the other day he had been called to Mrs Rudolph's flat. The elderly lady had fallen off a chair while trying to retrieve a baking dish from a cupboard. The poor woman had lain on the floor, in terrible pain with broken ribs, a broken wrist and a mind-numbing headache for half a day before a neighbour had checked on her.
With Shelagh being new to their neighbourhood, Patrick was not so certain neighbours would check on her. But she would certainly have called for help. If not him at the surgery, she would have called Nonnatus House?
He hurried back to the telephone and dialled the well-known number. After two ring tones, he heard Nurse Franklin's chirping voice answer her well-known "Nonnatus House, midwife speaking."
"Nurse Franklin, it is me, Turner. Does Shelagh happen to be with you?"
"Shelagh?" Nurse Franklin replied, in a surprised tone. After a short pause, she continued: "No, not that I knew, no. I haven't seen her in quite a while. Sister Evangelina is the only one here right now, everyone else is out. Is anything the matter, doctor?"
Patrick shook his head and replied: "No, everything is alright. I just thought she might have dropped in after having taken Timothy to Cubs night."
"Well, doctor, if she should come by, I will let her know you called," the nurse replied cheerily and put down the receiver.
Patrick did so too, slowly, almost hesitantly, as if he hoped Nurse Franklin might yet change her mind or exclaim that right now his wife had come through he door.
Patrick remained standing by the phone. He felt clueless, and felt fear creeping up inside him again. Where could his wife be? She would never just leave and not come back, not Shelagh. Or would she? Poplar was full of stories where a husband, or, rarely but not unheard of, a wife had left their family for good, without any prior notice or indication. It was easy for men to board a vessel, join the army, start a new life somewhere else. But not Shelagh, after all they had been through, she would never leave them.
Then he remembered a conversation they had had just a few days back.
It had been a Saturday, his first day off after the two days of honeymoon they had had allowed themselves. Timothy had retreated to his room after lunch while Shelagh had been cleaning up the kitchen and Patrick had been sitting on the settee, reading the newspaper, enjoying a rare moment of happiness. Then, Shelagh had entered the room with a tea tray and sat down next to him. She had poured both a cup of tea, and remained silent, but from the tension her body radiated Patrick knew something was bothering her but she did not know how to tell him.
He had decided to be bold: "Darling, what is the matter? You have something on your mind but don't know how to tell me, am I right?" he had asked her gently, while putting down the paper and turning his upper body so that he was facing her directly.
Shelagh put down her cup and began kneading her hands. She blushed as if he had caught her doing something inappropriate.
Then she cast down her eyes and nodded and said, almost whispering: "Yes, Patrick, there is something."
Patrick shuffled yet closer to his wife, and lifted her chin up with the crooked index finger of his right hand. " Then tell me, my love. You know you can always tell me anything."
Shelagh had looked him into his eyes and smiled her shy smile, one he adored so very much. "Please promise me you won't laugh about me, Patrick."
Patrick smiled, too. "No, Shelagh, I won't, I promise. Whatever it is that is bothering you."
Shelagh swallowed, took a deep breath and began to speak, very slowly: "I don't know whether I am perhaps a bit too sensitive. It has been quite some time that I last," she swallowed again and cleared her throat before proceeding: "That I last lived with a man. With my father," she added, responding to a shade of surprise crossing Patrick's face.
"I have been living with women for the past 15 years of my life, and perhaps I only need to get used to living with you and Timothy. There are a few things, …" her voice faded out and she cast down her eyes again.
Patrick smiled, but remembered his promise and bent forward to kiss his wife's left temple. "Tell me, what is it that you want to get out?" he encouraged her while leaning back again.
Shelagh looked him into his eyes and said: "The untidiness. I don't now whether this is how families with sons generally live or whether it is me and I just am not used to it." She paused and bit her lips before taking in another breath. The continued, her voice getting firmer while she spoke: "I noticed that both of you won't always close the bathroom door while… while…" Patrick noticed how she was not able to tell the obvious and decided he needed to relieve her.
"Shelagh, I have to apologize. You are right, of course, and I have to blame myself for letting our manners slip in such an inappropriate way. I am so sorry that we have been giving you cause to feel uncomfortable. I will have a hearty talk with Timothy." He paused and lovingly looked into her eyes. When she still would not relax, Patrick continued: "What else, tell me, please."
Shelagh smiled a small smile. "Well, this was my main concern, really. It is… well, not very pleasant, if you know what I mean."
Patrick couldn't help it and burst out in laughter. "Shelagh, I am so sorry. I know I promised to not laugh, but I can't."
Shelagh leaned back, disappointment spreading over her face: "Patrick, you promised not to laugh. Is it asking too much if try to tell you that some habits of you and Timothy are making me feel uncomfortable?"
Patrick took in a deep breath. "I am sorry, Shelagh. I should not have laughed, this was uncalled for. Timothy and I, I think we need someone's grooming hand. We certainly have forgotten our manners during the year and a half that we were all by ourselves."
Shealgh looked at him almost angrily. "It is not easy for me to find the courage to tell you, Patrick, "she whispered, and Patrick felt like the worst husband on earth.
He put his right arm around his wife's shoulder and drew her into a tight embrace, slowly working against the resistance he initially felt. When he noticed that her resistance slowly waned and she began leaning into him, he smiled almost invisibly. His smile widened when he watched her right hand slowly moving to first cover and then softly stroke his left. He could never have enough of this feeling of her soft warm skin on his, dry and rough from continuous washing and disinfecting throughout every day.
"I am sorry, Patrick. I just… it is just difficult for me to adjust to a life without, without a fixed set of rules and with, well, two men instead of a small group of sisters."
Patrick rested his cheek on the crown of Shelagh's head and smiled. "It is not easy for me, too," he said after a while, his voice gentle. "I can only imagine how hard the transition from convent to secular life must be for you, every day yet. And I apologize for anything Timothy and I are doing that make you uncomfortable or unhappy. Please, tell us anytime. I am certain Timothy will understand. We couldn't be happier to have you with us. We certainly do not want you to feel uncomfortable or be unhappy with us. You are too precious."
They remained seated for a while until Shelagh noticed that their tea had gone cold. Patrick then volunteered to empty the cups and pour hot tea again. After all, it was his day off and he could do his part to help in the household, he thought.
Now, back in his hallway, still standing next to the phone, he went over this recent conversation over and over. Had she felt too uncomfortable with the two of them all of a sudden? Where could she have gone? Patrick knew she did not have any immediate family or friends apart from Nonnatus House in London or England at all. Back in Scotland there were only a few distant cousins and an old step-aunt, if he remembered correctly.
Having hardly any close family members left, Shelagh was very keen to start a family of her own, she had told him. Having buried his own wish for more children long time ago, his second marriage wasn't just a gift for him because of his lovely and young wife, but also because of the welcome second chance of having more children. Patrick knew from Shelagh that she wanted more than one. He, too, welcomed the thought of a few more little Turners, even though he was aware of his age and occasionally wondered whether if they had more than one child, it might well be that Timothy would make him a grandfather while his younger children would not even have started school.
Patrick shook himself out of his thoughts. Shelagh was gone, and if she had left, there would be no more children.
He slowly walked to the kitchen and opened the oven. There was a glass dish, filled with a deliciously-smelling casserole. Patrick closed the oven again. He had been hungry all afternoon but this feeling had gone. He walked over into the living room again. Shelagh's sewing basket sat on the floor next to the settee. Its lid was covered with some white fabric, and on the coffee table sat a neatly arranged pile of Timothy's clothes and two of his own shirts. She must have spent her afternoon mending their clothes. Patrick smiled. He had not married her because of her skills in sewing and cooking but frankly it did feel comforting to have a wife like her, who so perfectly well carried out all tasks around the home and felt happy doing so.
Patrick sat down on the sofa. He rested his face in his hands and let out his breath in a loud huff. He felt lost. He was worried and afraid. What had gone wrong that had taken away his wife?
He heard the door open and jumped up. "Shelagh?" he cried, louder than he intended while he jogged towards the door.
"Dad, no, it's me," Timothy shouted back. Patrick entered the hallway to watch his son throw his belongings on the floor next to the mantelpiece. "I am starving," the boy shouted. "What's for dinner, it smells delicious."
It took Patrick a few seconds to regain his posture. "Timothy," he said, wagging his finger at his son," what did we say about you throwing your things on the floor?"
Timothy rolled his eyes. "Dad, I am hungry. I am going to tidy up later, after dinner. I need to eat. It was never a problem before Shelagh moved in."
"No, Timothy," Patrick shouted, his fear and insecurity about his wife fuelling his anger. "You are going to tidy up right now. Otherwise, no dinner for you. I promised Shelagh we would do our share to keep the house tidy. And no ifs and buts."
Timothy looked at his father and wanted to reply, but thought otherwise when he noticed his father's very angry expression. They boy mumbled something unintelligible and slowly began putting away his coat, cap and bag.
Just when he was done, the door opened again and in came a slightly dishevelled looking Shelagh.
"Shelagh," both father and son exclaimed in unison.
"Dad has been shouting at me," Timothy complained while Patrick asked, almost desperately: "Shelagh, where have you been? Why didn't you leave a note?"
Shelagh placed a small bowl on the chest of drawers and shucked herself out of her coat. While she hung it at its spot at the mantelpiece she said: "Salt. Last Saturday when you had your day off you said you would bring some while going out to the post box, but you forgot. We did not have any more salt so I had to go over to Maureen's to get some. Or do you prefer your eggs for breakfast unsalted?"
Patrick smiled in relief. "Oh, I am so sorry. I thought, -" he was interrupted by his wife. "Nevermind, this I know already about the two of you. If I want things to run smoothly in this house I have to take care of them myself."
"Why does it take so long to get a few ounces of salt?" Patrick asked, his fear turning into a mix of relief and anger.
Shelagh furrowed her brows at her husband. "To tell you the truth, Patrick, it was the first time I had a very long talk with Maureen. I think I made a new friend. We found that we have a lot in common when it comes to husbands who need a bit of help in matters of the household."
Patrick frowned and raked the fingers of his left hand through his hair in an attempt to control his overflowing emotions.
Then, Shelagh looked at Timothy, affectionately brushing the boy's cheek with her right hand "Timothy, why has your father been shouting at you?" she asked gently.
"He wanted me to tidy up my things. But he hasn't even put away his," the boy complained and nodded towards Patrick's bag and coat, carelessly thrown onto the living room floor.
Shelagh frowned at Patrick. "Timothy is right, dear," she said in her reproachful voice. "You can't call him out on something you don't take care of yourself."
"But Shelagh," Patrick began but his wife interrupted him. "Patrick, we agreed that our rules are applying to everyone. So perhaps you go and hang your coat and stow away your bag while Timothy is going to wash his hands and I am going to put our food on the table. Timothy, please remember to close the bathroom door, will you?" she said, walked into the kitchen leaving a smirking son and a somewhat clueless father Turner behind.
Patrick, still baffled, stood in the hallway, transfixed by the scene he had just witnessed. Timothy, happy he for once was able to score a point over his father with Shelagh, looked at his father, nodded towards Patrick's coat and bag and hurried off towards the bathroom.
Meanwhile, Shelagh put on her apron and began to shuffle around the kitchen. "So, Maureen told me that she is going to be a grandmother for the first time. Can you believe it. She is just ten years older than me and will be a grandmother soon. She asked me for some advice, this, too took some time. I am sorry, I may have been out a wee bit too long. But I thought as you two are late anyways, you won't probably even notice."
Shelagh placed the casserole dish on the kitchen hatch and looked at her husband, who was still standing in the hallway. "Patrick, please, wash your hands and come to dinner, or else it will go cold. And no dinner for anyone who hasn't been tidying up his things," she added, walking through to the dining table, sitting down next to Timothy who had just returned with washed hands, sat down and shot his father a triumphant glance.