A/N Here we go, a bit of angst now I'm afraid. Thank you for reading, and being so kind!
Patrick felt Shelagh stiffen in his arms as silence fell, and one glance at Sister Julienne told him the nun knew exactly which 'condition' he had been referring to. For a moment, the only sound to be heard was the ticking of the clock, the whispering of Tim to Angela and the clattering of Barbara as she got ready to go (the phone had rung while the nurses were arguing over the position of Shelagh's midwife, and as she was first on call, she had missed the awkward entrance of Sister Julienne).Everyone felt compelled to silence, though most of them had only a faint idea of Shelagh's nervousness around Sister Julienne and the nun's resentment of Shelagh's new life. No one quite knew where to look. Patrick finally broke the deafening quiet.
"We're happy to discuss the situation, but Shelagh needs to sit down." His voice conveyed the exact opposite of happiness, and it took Patsy one glance at the couple's faces before she grabbed Delia's arm and led everyone through to the dining room, Patrick half-carrying Shelagh. Trixie moved to catch up with them.
"Is everything okay?" She whispered, looking concerned, and putting an arm around Shelagh to help her into her chair. "What on earth's going on?"
"Shelagh's just been on her feet too long. As for what happened back there..." Patrick shrugged, taking his seat next to Shelagh, and pulling Angela onto his lap gently, causing her to squeal "Daddy!" in excitement. Tim glanced at his parents worriedly, before meeting Patsy's concerned gaze. He shrugged, mirroring his father's gesture.
Sister Julienne's chair screeched as she sat down, and as she said grace Shelagh's hands shook. The nun finished speaking and picked up her fork, her face cast in shadows and impossible to read. In contrast, Shelagh's face was bathed in light, her worry and exhaustion easy to read. Patrick swallowed.
"Shelagh and I owe some of you an explanation." He began to explain about the pregnancy, and all that had transpired outside in the hallway, all the while watching Sister Julienne's face. "Do you suppose Mrs B would be amiable to us having some extra cake to celebrate this momentous occasion? Oh! I shall have to check my charts to determine the gender!" Sister Monica Joan clapped her hands in utter glee before reaching across an uncomfortable looking Trixie, causing Shelagh to giggle.
"I'm glad someone is happy." Patrick muttered, earning a hand squeeze from Shelagh and a disapproving look from Sister Julienne, who was close enough to Patrick to hear his words.
It was painfully obvious to everyone around the table that Sister Julienne was the only one who had not congratulated the couple. They all continued to eat in silence, the only interruption coming from Angela, who was busy informing her brother about the colour of everything in the room. But, as was shown when Angela pointed to the bowl of blueberries and cried out 'Yew wow!" happily and Tim did not correct her, even he was more focused on the tense silence. Nurse Crane eventually broke it, her words laced with anger.
"Sister Julienne, do you not have anything at all to say to Mrs Turner and the doctor?" Phyllis then gave Shelagh a small smile, before turning her gaze back to Sister Julienne. Patrick gazed at her too, at the face that looked more like a mask, and willed her to say something, anything, nice. This was hurting his wife, he knew, and he wished she would lay aside this petty selfish grudge. He wondered now, staring at her, if she was this bitter because in Shelagh, she saw the pleasant path she could have walked down, but had chosen to leave behind. As she cleared her throat, he was jolted back to the present.
"Of course I do. I offer them my warmest congratulations." The Turners only had to look around the table to see that no one was fooled by this, not even Tim bouncing Angela on his knee to make her giggle, or Sister Monica Joan who had managed to fit an entire slice of chocolate cake into her mouth at once. Patrick leant forward, with an expression on his face that made Tim wince and Shelagh bite her lip – this was an expression that both had learned was a sign to retreat to another room quickly.
"Pardon me, Sister," he began, in a way that sounded as if asking for pardon was physically hurting him. "But you don't exactly sound happy. Shelagh cares greatly for your opinion, as I do for honesty, and I was wondering if there's anything we have done to make you unhappy."
Sister Julienne smiled a smile that carried no joy. "No, no. I'm just feeling rather out of sorts today."
Patrick raised an eyebrow. Sister Julienne flushed, and tried to recover her composure and form. "Honestly, Shelagh dear, I am wonderfully happy. I...it..." She struggled for words. "It will be lovely for you to have a real child."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she had said the wrong thing. Shelagh's fork fell from her hand with a clatter, and she pushed her chair away from the table, her hand over her mouth. She had tried. She had tried so hard to be a good mother to Tim and Angela, to be a proper mother. And here was how they all thought of her. She couldn't look at anyone's faces, afraid of the judgement she might she there, and she could hear Patrick's voice, but the words were unclear and indecipherable, as if coming from a long distance. Slowly, unsteadily, she stood up, fighting the tears that that one small sentence brought. She swayed on her feet for a minute, before fleeing from the room and running, running, running. Her destination was unknown, and unclear. She just needed to get away from that room.
Around the table, there was silence. "I hope you're happy." Patrick almost spat the words, standing up and pulling away from the table explosively. "Her one fear... that Tim and Angela won't see her as a real mother, even as she exhausts herself showering them with love. You, who she regarded almost as a mother." He ran from the room. The past tense of regarded escaped no one, least of all Sister Julienne, who regretted her petty outburst, and felt her heart break at the memory of Shelagh's sobs.
Tim stood up next, taking a deep breath and shifting Angela from one arm to the other. "Just so you all know, she is our real mother. We are her real children. And that's for us to judge." As if to back up his point, Angela cried: "Mummy!" He smiled at her, before hurrying out the door.
Patrick found Shelagh curled up on the couch, her hair falling out in strands and sobbing as if her heart would break. Slowly, carefully, he knelt by her side, smoothing the strands of hair away from her face before taking her in his arms, cradling her as he would Angela. There was no need for words; Shelagh felt her husband's love and concern through his shaking hands, his kisses to the top of her head, his thumping pulse. When Tim and Angela arrived, they slotted right in, Tim with his arm around his mother's shoulders, holding her steady, and Angela resting her head on her mother's stomach, patting her baby bump lightly. The only move any of them made was Patrick softly wiping away Shelagh's tears. They had each other.
Sister Julienne was also sobbing, but alone in the chapel. She prayed, prayed for forgiveness for her careless words, prayed for guidance in her loss of Sister Evangelina. She had let her grief and regret get in the way of the happiness of a woman who was very dear to her, and she feared she would never be forgiven. She knelt there alone. No one came running at the sound of her sobs.
Her words, it seemed, it had left their mark on both women.