This was inspired by a conversation with weshallc to whom I dedicate it therefore.
"Anyone else has noticed the button that has come off his clinical coat? He's got no one to sew it on for him," Cynthia said with a sad undertone.
"Hardly inspires confidence," Trixie remarked sharply. "Och, and his poor little boy is looking quite unkempt."
"Speak more respectfully of doctor, please," was how Sister Bernadette had ended the brief lunchtime conversation about Dr Turner at the Nonnatus dinner table.
Cynthia replayed the words spoken one hour ago while slipping a needle and thread into her nurse's bag. After Trixie's rather spiky remark about Dr Turner's and his son's appearance, Cynthia had not been able to stop thinking about the doctor. She felt pity for the man, widowed for about one year, without someone to keep him in order.
She could not help it but feel protective when people talked about Dr Turner like Trixie had just done. It certainly was not his fault, nor his choice to live like that. He was working tirelessly and had to care for his little boy all alone. Therefore, Cynthia had resolved to secretly put an end to this kind of talk and sew the button back on his coat.
So while the others headed to the Parish Hall straight from Nonnatus House, she took a quick detour to Mrs. Gee's haberdashery under the pretence she needed to buy some thread for mending one of her dresses. Which she did, it was no lie.
But then, Cynthia also bought two white buttons matching those on Dr Turner's coat. She would sew on the missing one and keep the second button in her bag for next time, whenever that might be. Knowing Dr Turner, another button would come off sooner rather than later.
Being shy as she was, Cynthia felt nervous all afternoon. She could not stop thinking about her secret plan. She had laid it out carefully as she always did. Spontaneity caused her fear. She needed to plan anything she did well in advance.
Whenever she thought about what she intended to do, she felt her heart pound in her throat. Once clinic had ended, she would offer to give the Parish Hall kitchen its final cleaning, allowing her to remain in the building until after the others would have returned to Nonnatus House.
Cynthia replayed the situation in her head countless times and nervously watched the clock every few minutes.
Clinic was over and the Sisters and nurses were almost done with stowing away the chairs and other equipment. Cynthia began to tremble. Now was the time to say what she had rehearsed about a hundred times in her head all afternoon. She drew in her breath and opened her mouth – just when Sister Bernadette said: "You can all go and get ready for evening rounds. I will take care of the kitchen and close up the hall."
Everyone gathered their belongings and rushed out. Everyone was grateful because being responsible for closing up usually meant having to hurry afterwards to be in time for rounds – normally without being able to grab a quick bite or cup of tea before.
Cynthia followed the others, a bit behind, swallowing back her tears. It had taken an immense amount of her energy to focus on her plan of sewing on that button – and she had failed. She would have to try again next week.
One week later, Cynthia arrived at the Parish Hall, having checked several times that needle, thread and the two buttons were still safely stowed inside her nursing bag. When at two pm sharp everything was ready for clinic, and only the doctor still missing, Cynthia went to get his coat for him. He would need it as soon as he stormed into the room, late as most Tuesdays, she knew.
When she took the coat from its hook at the kitchen wall and looked over the button tab, she startled. The missing button was back in place. Somebody else had done what she wanted to do for him.
Who could have done it? Or had Dr Turner himself taken the coat with him and have his housekeeper mend it? But when? He was only at clinic on Tuesdays and had left before anyone else the week before. He certainly would not have returned for a missing button on his coat. She was certain he hadn't even noticed that it had come off. Cynthia was at a loss.
Certainly no one from Nonnatus House would have done so? Not Trixie after her sharp remark. Chummy, certainly not. And Jenny? Very certainly not. Perhaps one of the Sisters. Cynthia decided it must have been one of the Sisters, probably out of concern that the doctor's carelessness in appearance might shed an unfavourable light on the services provided by Nonnatus House.