At four in the afternoon, Sister Bernadette's half day has finally come to an end after a particularly long, but joyous birth. As she cycles back toward Nonnatus house, she happens to overhear Timothy Turner's high-pitched cry: "Dad! We don't have time for another stop – the shops will be closing soon and then we can't cook the dinner you promised."
"I know, Timothy," Dr. Turner replies curtly. Then he sighs, and is gentler when he says, "But this is very important."
Sister Bernadette brings her bike to a slow glide, approaching them, just in time to hear Timothy mutter under his breath, "Everything's always 'important'."
"Good afternoon, Doctor, Timothy!" She says pleasantly, trying to act as if she hadn't heard their little row.
Timothy brightens immediately upon seeing her. "Hello, Sister Bernadette!"
"Hello, Sister," Dr Turner returns, a little smile relaxing his face as well.
"Is everything well?" she asks.
Dr Turner immediately begins to reply "Yes" but his son interrupts, "No, we're going to miss grocery shopping because dad has had too many patients to look in on today and we're supposed to be cooking a special dinner tonight."
"A special dinner?" She says and frowns a little. She's tired, having been with Mrs. Thompson since the wee hours of the morning, but she can't bear the disappointment on Timothy's face or the stress building in Dr. Turner's countenance. "Well, I'd be happy to take Timothy to do the shopping while you finished your rounds, Doctor."
"Oh no, I couldn't ask that –"
"That'd be perfect!" Timothy is already taking the handles of Sister Bernadette's bike, offering to walk it for her, and heading in the direction of the grocers.
Dr. Turner offers a strange mixture of an apology and a thank you, but Sister Bernadette smiles and squeezes his elbow gently. "It's no trouble at all, Doctor. None at all."
As they shop, Sister Bernadette is a little surprised by Timothy – he knows precisely what they need to make the dinner and where to find it all, but then he grabs a half-ripe tomato, which she has to gently return and show him to select something redder, juicer. A little later, while she's standing waiting for their cut of meat, she watches Timothy spinning around a lamppost just outside the door. Then he lets go, staggers, before seeing that she's been watching him. He smiles back at her, a big, goofy grin that absently Sister Bernadette recalls used to greet his father's face on occasion.
When they make it back to the Turner home, she's a little surprised to find no sign of Dr Turner, but Timothy seems entirely unfazed. He begins to pull out a cutting board and knife, organizing the recently acquired groceries. Then he looks at her. "So now what do we do?"
She's missing high tea for a reason Sister Julienne would certainly not find appropriate and there were chores to do, tasks to attend to, but ever since she'd noticed hints of Michael in Timothy's face and ever since she saw the exhaustion in Dr Turner that had run her father down, she couldn't deny either of them anything. She rolls up her sleeves and sets to work teaching Timothy to dice the vegetables while she prepares the meat.
An hour later, dinner is nearly ready. Sister Bernadette has taken over cleaning up the kitchen, while she sends Timothy to the dinner table with his school books. Just as she shuffles out of the kitchen, she thinks she heard the door open, but at the same moment she notices a pile of pencil shavings building up on the table. She brushes them carefully in her scoped hand, while at the same time admonishing Timothy, "You ought to do this over the bin. We don't want pencil shavings in your dinner!" As soon as he bows his head, sufficiently chastised, she smiles and tells him to clear the table.
As soon as she'd stepped back into the kitchen, she hears Dr Turner's voice: "Tim, I'm so sorry. I got held up with my last patient. I got home as quickly as I could." He steps inside and tosses his coat over the living room sofa so he can check his wristwatch. "I don't think it's too late to start dinner."
Hearing that, Timothy smirks. "That's all right, dad, Sister Bernadette and I already made dinner! And I finished my maths."
From behind the pass-through window, Sister Bernadette smiles sheepishly. "I hope you don't mind that I stayed and helped." She pulls the apron knot loose as she speaks, then emerges from the kitchen.
He is flustered for a moment before shrugging. "I don't know what to say. Thank you, Sister."
Then he looks down at her in a way that he'd never looked at her before – astonishment, perhaps, is at the base of his expression, but there is something else. She feels like she should look away, but she is entranced by his dark eyes. "You have flour –" He reaches out toward her cheek. She blushes, laughs, and retreats into the kitchen.
As she pats her cheek dry, Dr. Turner leans against the kitchen doorframe, watching her. "I really don't know how to thank you for this."
"There's no need. Seeing Timothy happy was thanks enough." She smiles, then says, "Well, I best be off."
"Off? Surely you'll stay and eat the dinner you prepared?"
At the same moment, Timothy pops his head through the pass-through window. "Of course you must stay, Sister Bernadette!"
"Oh, thank you, Timothy, but I'm expected back at Nonnatus House."
Somewhat reluctantly, Dr. Turner steps aside and lets her pass. He follows and opens the door for her. "You're certain you won't stay?" He speaks softly to keep Timothy from hearing him ask again.
Standing in the doorway, she looks past Dr. Turner into the house. The lighting is dim and warm. There is love here – pain, sorrow, but love.
She hadn't gone shopping with Timothy, hadn't cooked dinner with any intention of reaping the benefits. She had done so purely out of fondness – out of love – for the Turner family.
But then the scent of a hot dinner wafts out into the streets and suddenly Sister Bernadette is paralyzed by some indescribable desire – a want, a need, an emotion; she can't say. She can only leave. "No, thank you, Doctor," she says and abruptly leaves.
Her ride back to Nonnatus is in a shroud of confusion. She finds herself quite unexpectedly kneeling before the chapel alter. In the stillness, her thoughts are dizzying. She feels as if she is shouting, her voice echoing off the stone walls, her words unintelligible.
Certainly, dinner had smelt wonderful and she would have enjoyed providing companionship for the Turner boys had she not worried that her absence would be disruptive. She didn't feel disappointed or conflicted by her duties; leaving had been the right decision. But the profound sense of loss she had felt at leaving; the urgent, irrational desire to remain had been momentarily debilitating.
As she meditates, kneeling in God's presence, she grows mentally still, calm enough to focus in on the sense of loss, the profound emptiness, the loneliness, she had experienced.