Patrick After the Wedding

Based upon Call The Midwife, developed by Heidi Thomas

Part 2 of 3

- - Poplar, Early Spring 1959 - -

Shelagh had changed out of her gorgeous white wedding dress and into a simple gray dress. Patrick knew it was her original wedding dress, the one she would've wore if they got married at Christmas. While he would've preferred to get married at Christmas, and he admitted that the gray dress was nice, the memory of her walking down the aisle in that white wedding dress, looking like an angel, would be one that he would treasure for the rest of his life.

He was glad they had a big wedding. He and Timothy's mother had had a small wedding. The reverend, a chapel, and her parents. It was a small and quick wedding, because of the war.

There was no war now.

He hadn't dreamed of a big wedding, but he had dreamed of Shelagh as his wife, and now it was true.

They were quiet on the drive home. His right hand on the wheel, his left on the gear shift. Her hand gently rested on his.

They kept glancing at each other, almost embarrassed to look too long. It was foolish. After all, they were married. They had spent most of the day, staring blissfully into each other's eyes while dancing. Now, driving home, he could barely look at her.

She was so beautiful, so lovely, so wonderful.

He parked the car and quickly got out. He retrieved her small bag from the back seat and went to open her door. His nerves were getting worse, his hand slipped on the door handle, causing it to make a loud thump.

The keys rattled incessantly as his hand shook unlocking the front door.

He followed inside and set her bag on the floor in the foyer. They stared at each other for a moment.

Patrick couldn't bear to look at her. He looked anywhere, but her. "Would you like a cup of tea or coffee or Horlicks

or . . ."

She stopped him. "No, Patrick. But it seems you might need a wee dram."

"I think I have some Scotch. Glenlivet. Or maybe it's Glenfiddich." He hurried to the kitchen to pull some glasses down. When he turned away from the cupboard, she was standing directly behind him, startling him.

Shelagh took the glasses from his hands and set them down on the counter top. She took his hands in hers. "You're nervous."

He nodded. "I feel as if I'm taking something that doesn't belong to me."

A smile graced her lips. It was the small smile she smiled when she was embarrassed. "If God didn't strike us down in the church, I doubt He'll do so now."

He chuckled. "I suppose you're right."

She squeezed his hands. "Patrick, will you pray with me?"

Something about what she said and the way she said it made his anxiety vanish, and - for a moment - he lost himself in her eyes. He nodded, unable to speak. Just a few moments ago, he couldn't bear to look at her, now he couldn't bear to look away.

She bowed her head and held both his hands tightly. "Heavenly Father, we thank you for this wonderful day with friends and family. We thank you for the health of our son." She paused briefly, perhaps thinking of what to say next.

"Thank you for answering prayers and making dreams come true." Patrick wasn't sure if he was speaking to God or directly to her, but it didn't really matter. She was everything he worshiped now, and he would be eternally grateful to God for saving Shelagh for him until it was time for them to be together.

She looked up at him. Again, all thoughts left his mind, staring into her eyes. "Amen," she whispered.

Patrick squeezed her hands briefly, before leaning down to kiss her gently.

She sighed. "Well, Doctor Turner," she licked her lips and cast her eyes down. "Shall we . . . retire?"

He released one of her hands and tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze again. "Yes, Mrs. Turner, I believe we should." He kissed her again

- - END Part Two - -