In my - very humble - opinion, it is so much easier to give into temptation when you have already done so once.
Thank you for all the wonderful reviews so far, I'm afraid the next chapter will be a few days, so I leave you with this turning point...of sorts.
Her voice shook slightly as she sang, the words in the hymn of her devotion to God almost sticking in her throat. She felt somewhat cast adrift from him, as though he had abandoned her, she had went to him seeking answers, seeking solace and she had found none from him, instead finding it in Dr Turner. Even before she had began to feel drawn to him she had had doubts about her life, about everything, but at no point had her time in prayer delivered her with any answers.
But was it all a test? She wondered. Was it a test of her faith? Of her loyalty? God tested his followers to determine if they were worthy, and if that was the case here then she would surely face the fire. She should be on her knees asking for penance and yet she wasn't. Her head ached with it all, this was the only life she really knew, she had been so sure of her calling when she had entered into the convent and now, now she was so very unsure.
As the session finished, she made to go towards her room, but Sister Julienne's gentle voice called her back. "Sister Bernadette, I would like a moment of your time." She waved towards one of the small pews, sitting down beside her, smoothing out her habit, waiting until the footsteps of the others had died away into silence before she spoke, her head tilting in concerned sympathy. "I haven't had the chance to speak to you again, time does have a tendency to run away with us."
"It's quite alright. We have been rather busy of late."
"That's no excuse," she replied. She placed her hands over the younger woman's, her eyes narrowing in concern as she continued, "You haven't came to see me again since our last discussion, I had hoped that perhaps the situation had resolved itself, but I can see tonight that that is not the case, and I was wondering if you were able to talk about it?"
Sister Bernadette turned her face away from the concerned expression on her friend's face, fixing her eyes onto the stained glass window instead. Would she be so wonderfully supportive if she knew the confusing feelings she had towards Dr Turner? "I don't know how to explain...where to even start," she finally replied. Even if she left out what had transpired between them, how could she begin to explain how she felt when she saw the young Nurses laughing and joking together, when they went out and enjoyed themselves? How could she tell Sister Julienne that she even doubted God's love for her? That she waited for answers that didn't come, for peace that never materialised. Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Sister, so very sorry but I can't," she admitted, her voice breaking as she spoke.
"I do not mean to push you," the older woman told her, despair at witnessing her friend's agony written across her face. "I simply wish to assist you in any way I can."
"That's just it," Sister Bernadette admitted as she turned her tear stained face towards Sister Julienne. "I don't know how you can." She squeezed her hand. "But I ask you not to let it trouble you too much-"
"How can I not? I see you're suffering and I wish to ease it."
"I understand that, but as we have always said time will right all things."
"Yes," she smiled encouragingly, "time and God."
Her head ducked slightly. "Yes," she replied, her eyes rising up to look at the cross that adorned their alter, that slow, inexorable wave of guilt rising up within her once again.
As she made her way down the quiet corridor, Sister Bernadette found herself feeling oddly excited, like a child the night before Christmas. It was foolish she chided herself silently, after all, all she was doing was delivering clean equipment to the Parish doctor, it was a perfectly normal occurrence, one that was repeated quite often now that the autoclave in his surgery had malfunctioned again. There was absolutely no reason for her to feel this way - almost giddy - even though the thought of seeing him away from work, away from everyone else was invigorating.
She bit down on her bottom lip, she seemed to swing between feeling utterly wretched and guilt ridden to euphoric about the way he made her feel. There seemed to be no middle ground, but all she knew was that when she was in his presence she felt less tormented, it might not ease it entirely, there was still that voice in the back of her heard, whispering that she shouldn't be doing this, but it so often seemed to disappear when she was in his presence, only to return the moment she let her feelings show.
He was sitting at the desk in the small makeshift office he very occasionally used, his eyes scanning over a sheaf of patient's notes, concentration etched across his features. At the sound of her footsteps he looked up, reaching forward with a smile of welcome, taking the proffered bag from her, "Thank you, I really do appreciate this, I know you all have enough work to be getting on with."
Sister Bernadette gave a small shrug, "It is no trouble, after all we have to sterilise our own instruments, a few more make no difference, and Nurse Noakes is due back next week, so our workload should be slightly lessened."
"Perhaps, but I'd feel much better if the health board dealt with that autoclave, they've taken it away but it will be another week or so before it gets back. Still," he glanced down at the sheets of paper that covered the desk, "being here gives me a chance to read over some notes."
"Is that from the Thompson baby?"
"Yes, not the most pleasant reading," he admitted, "but I wished to read over what transpired before I arrived, just in case anything ever comes of it."
"How is Mrs Thompson?"
"Stable, and I can see from this that Nurse Franklin acted quickly and decisively, I have no doubt that the baby would have died without her intervention and we most likely wouldn't have been able to save the mother." He rubbed at his eyes, as he straightened the papers together and shut over the manila folder they were enclosed in.
"She is a very competent midwife."
"You all are." He gave a sigh as he checked his wrist watch, "I better get home, or I'll have a hungry nine year old snapping at my heels."
She gave a small laugh, but her eyes raked over him in concern, he looked so very tired. "What are you having tonight? Hopefully not more fish and chips."
"No, I thought maybe scrambled eggs on toast, but I'm not sure Timothy will be so keen, the last time I made it half of it stuck to the pan and the rest of it tasted like rubber; his words," he added wryly.
"Oh dear," she chuckled, "perhaps the time has come for you to learn how to cook, at least the basics."
"I know, I really should, he's already complaining he'll be malnourished at this rate." He shook his head. "My son really does seem to have a flair for dramatics."
She wetted her lips nervously, before offering awkwardly, "If you'd like...I mean if it would help I could write down some simple recipes for you."
Patrick looked up at her in surprise. "I didn't know you could cook."
"Well," Her hands fidgeted together nervously, "I have to admit that I haven't done so in quite some time, but I'm sure I can remember the basics, it's a bit like riding a bike, you don't forget these things."
"I wouldn't like to put you to any trouble."
"If it was any trouble then I wouldn't have offered," she assured him. She gave him a small smile, her nervousness fading ever so slightly, although her heart continued to hammer against her chest as she continued, "After all we can't have you lecturing patients on the importance of diet when you don't follow your own advice."
"No, I suppose not," he remarked, smiling, his head ducking slightly, causing his dark hair to fall across his forehead. Her fingers itched to push them back, to smooth away the worry lines she so often saw etched across his skin there, when he looked back up at her, telling her, "Well if you're able to then I'm sure Timothy will be forever grateful, as will I if it saves me listening to his harsh reviews on my cooking."
"From the sounds of things, you deserve it," she teased lightly.
"I'm sure he would say the same thing," he replied. He loved seeing her smile, loved the way it made her eyes gleam, he would see her smile at patients, at the babies at the clinic and it could brighten up his day, make his steps that little less weary, but when her smile was directed at him he felt as though he'd been graced with some sort of priceless treasure. He should be leaving now, should be saying his goodbyes and getting on with the rest of his day, but all he wanted was to spend a little more time in her company, where they weren't in work mode. "How have you been?" He asked suddenly, "We haven't really spoken for a while," he continued, cursing himself for such a poor conversation started, really he said the most ridiculous things when faced with her, he still dwelled on his idiotic comment about not being able to find a tie. She left him feeling like a nervous, stuttering teenager again.
She could point out they spoke almost every day, but she knew what he had meant and so she simply replied, "I've been fine, I..." She tailed off and her eyes flickered upwards as though seeking assistance before suddenly telling him, "I feel guilty," she admitted suddenly.
Patrick's eyes crinkled in concern as he took a step closer to her. "You have nothing to feel guilty about."
"I feel so confused so much of the time, about how I feel..." the words for you sat on the tip of her tongue before she swallowed them back, instead continuing, "...about everything."
He reached slowly, unsteadily for her hand, giving her the chance to pull away from him, relieved when she didn't. "Is there anything I can do?"
She shook her head. "I don't think so. The truth is, that being with you makes me feel...less confused, and then I feel guilty again because that's not the way it should be. I should be taking comfort from God, from my sister's but I can't. I can see the concern on Sister Julienne's face but there's nothing I can say, because how could I possibly explain this?"
Swallowing heavily, Patrick stared into her earnest gaze. "I never meant for you to feel so wretched-"
"It's not you," she assured him, "I've felt like this for a while, before you...before we..." She gave a mild shrug with a humourless laugh, "I'm not even sure how to describe it."
"Neither am I," he admitted. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that if she gave him the chance he would spend every day proving it to her, but he couldn't put that pressure onto her. If she had doubts about her calling it would be wrong of him to push her into anything. It made him feel oddly relieved though that out of everybody, she confided in him. He looked into her face, noting how it was slightly flushed from her unexpected confession, and slowly but surely he stepped even closer to her, his arms slipping around her, holding her close. Her head rested against his chest, her hand resting against his arm. "Do we need to describe it?" He asked, his voice hoarse. "We're not doing any harm."
"We kissed," she whispered. "I'm a Nun, I'm not supposed to."
"I know," he soothed her. "But surely God forgives your mistakes."
"If we repent, and I don't think I want to," came the quiet admittance.
Patrick looked down at her in surprise, she had previously told him that she didn't regret what had transpired between them, but her words still shocked him, although he had to admit to feeling a small thrill of delight that she felt such a way. She stared back at him and he couldn't help himself, his mouth lowered, brushing against hers.
This time there was no hesitation on her part, she kissed him back immediately, her grip on his arm tightening as she moved further into his embrace. Unlike last time this was no fleeting caress, there was a sense of urgency, and his hand stroked at her hips through the rough material of her habit, pulling her tight against him.
She gasped against his mouth, a sound of shocked excitement, and she ran her fingers through his hair, a silent encouragement for him to continue. He lifted one hand, stroking his slightly roughened fingertips against the soft skin of her neck, drawing a quiet moan from her, the sound reverberating against his mouth. Neither could say what they felt and so it was all they could do to show it.
Sister Monica Joan hummed quietly to herself as she walked down the corridor, where could she possibly have left that prayer veil? If she didn't have it for Compline then no doubt she would have to listen to Sister Evangelina lecture her on looking out for her belongings. Oh but she got so frustratingly muddled sometimes, memories slipping from her mind like water slipping over stones, only to return sporadically; much like the tide she mused. She gave a small tinkle of laughter, enjoying her own comparison.
Her habit drifting out behind her slightly as she wandered aimlessly from room to room until she stopped suddenly in the doorway of one. Her head tilted at the sight before her, of her youngest Sister in the arms of the Doctor. Something tugged at her mind before recognition slipped away again and she shook her head; her prayer veil was not in there. A smile spread across her weathered face, of course, she thought to herself, she'd folded it away in her bedside drawer. Much relieved she turned and went on her way.
They had turned slightly, and Patrick couldn't be sure when. He pressed her gently back until she was leaning against the wooden cabinet. He broke the kiss, their harsh breathing reverberating in both their ears. He stroked at her cheek as he looked at her drinking in every nuance of feeling that danced across her features. Leaning forward, he kissed the corner of her mouth, savouring the way her lips twitched into a smile at his caress. Slowly, reverently, he kissed the angle of her jaw as his fingers continued to move against her soft skin he began to trail light, butterfly kisses down her neck.
She pushed her fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead when he found a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. Her back arched, her eyes opening momentarily and landing on the open doorway. "The door," she told him, abruptly breaking away, moving to the opposite side of the room, leaning against the wall, her legs shaking as she struggled to catch her breath.
He mourned the loss of her closeness, but even more he hated the indecision and the confusion that was back in her eyes. "I shouldn't have," he shook his head.
"You were not alone in your actions." She looked at him wretchedly, never had she felt so alive, so wonderful and secure as she had in his arms, in those precious moments. A single tear slipped from her, she had not wanted to stop and that was wrong of her. She had chosen this life, she had nothing to offer him and to keep going back, to keep accepting this kind of comfort from him, subjecting him to the moral guilt afterwards was so very wrong of her.
Patrick reached out, brushing the tear away from her cheek, the moisture streaking against her skin. "Please don't, I could not bear to know I have made you cry."
"You haven't," she tried to assure him. "But I cannot do this, it is wrong. I am the one who should be sorry, so very sorry. I will not trouble you in this way again. Goodnight Doctor." And with that she hurried from the room.
He watched her go, felt that he did a lot of that these days. He did not know what to think, how to feel, he did not want her to go, but he could not begrudge her her decision.