The next thing to do was to tell the rest of Nonnatus House, the younger midwives and especially her Sisters. It was unavoidable, it had to be done. She owed it to them to tell them the truth, and perhaps public confession would assuage the guilt and the anxiety that secrecy wrought in her. That and the fact that if she did not tell them soon one of them was bound to notice something and guess, as Sister Bernadette had done, or something in her manner or actions would at least rouse suspicion.
"I think it's a good idea," Sister Bernadette told her firmly when she confided her intention, and then, with a little apprehension, "I think you're very brave to, Sister."
Julienne raised her head sharply at that. Brave was not one of the adjectives she thought of most immediately in relation to herself at the moment.
"It would be very easy for you to simply leave for the Mother House without adequate explanation," Bernadette explained, "I admire you for facing up to this as you have, Sister."
Sister Julienne smiled weakly, squeezing her friend's hand in thanks before she went back to her business. She did not add that leaving for the Mother House brought even greater fear to her heart than the prospect of telling her Sisters. She did not know why, except to say that the idea of talking about things- really talking about what had happened, and what was more what was going to happen, with Mother Jesu Emmanuel- was something she could not yet stomach, and even this seemed infinitely easier. She was frightened of what she would unearth if pressed to talk about anything beyond practicalities.
But still, it was almost to her dismay that she found no one was absent from tea that afternoon. Not a chair at the table was left unoccupied, and this did not hearten her; nor did the fact that while everyone was tired after their day's work they seemed to be in fairly good spirits. It bolstered her that Sister Bernadette sat at her left hand, and she sensed a silent source of support from the young nun as they took their seats.
As she sat down, she caught Sister Evangelina watching her, her eyes narrowed a little.
"Are you alright, Sister?" Sister Evangelina asked her.
Julienne drew a ragged breath, trying to calm herself. She felt palpably nervous, almost physically nauseous. She wondered if they could see that she was shaking. Sister Evangelina's words had drawn the attention of the others at the table to her, and concerned eyes were now observing her from all sides. Her left hand rested flat on the table, and she felt Sister Bernadette's hand cover it for a moment, resting gently on top of it, trying to comfort her. She gave her a small, weary smile of thanks before turning to reply to Sister Evangelina.
"Thank you for your concern, Sister," she replied, "And, as a matter of fact, there is something rather important which I must discus with you all concerning, amongst other things, my own well-being."
She could not look at any of them. When she caught a brief glimpse of Sister Evangelina's face she saw what she knew was a hint of real worry hidden behind her friend's gruff exterior. She fixed her eyes on a point just left of Sister Monica Joan's head and spoke, as levelly as she could.
"I feel I owe it to you all to tell you the truth," she told them all, "Because what is going to happen will probably affect you all in the coming months," she took a deep breath, "I imagine at some point I will be absent for an extended period of time, I am going to the Mother House in Chichester. During that time Sister Bernadette has agreed to take charge."
Her hand was shaking again and she rested it in her lap so that they would not be able to see.
"I know you may feel I have let you all down, and I understand that sentiment. I share it," she told them. She wanted to cry. She had to bite her lip to stop herself.
"There's nothing wrong in having some time off to go to the Mother House," Sister Evangelina told her, her expression unusually gentle, "We all need a rest once in a while. If you're feeling run down you've go to do what you've got to do. We understand."
Across the table Jenny nodded fervently and Chummy muttered a quite, "Of course."
"Thank you, Sister," Julienne replied, her voice straining, "But I have not finish; I have not-... explained why."
She realised she had been skirting around telling them. She just had to say it.
"I find myself in a condition with which we are all very familiar," she told them, her voice forced and formal, "I'm going to have a child."
The silence that followed was, quite as she had expected, one of the longest and most disbelieving she had ever born witness to. She thought for a moment that they were going to laugh, like this was some absurd practical joke, but they saw the expression on her face and it told them that she was far from joking.
The silence was the only natural thing that could have followed but it was frightening, incredulous and isolating. She longed to break it, but knew she must not. She would not excuse herself. They must be given the facts, as many of them as they needed, with honesty and without any degree of wishful interpretation. But she longed to speak, she could hardly bear the loneliness of this.
At last Jenny spoke, her voice quiet, nervous and uncertain.
"Sister, were you-...?" she moved her head sharply to the side, trying to convey without words the notion that was too unsavoury to voice.
She shook her head.
"No," she replied shortly, "I was not."
The silence continued. She felt she had just shattered their last desperate hope that there was an innocent, on her part at least, explanation to this. She could not look at Sister Evangelina. Gently, she cleared her throat.
"I realise this must be a shock to you all," she told them softly, looking down at the table now, "But let me assure you no one is aware more keenly of the consequences of my actions than I am. I can only apologise most sincerely to for the inconvenience and distress they are bound to cause you all. I only ask you to remember me in your prayers," she took a deep breath, "As I would have done, had anyone of you been in my shoes."
She had decided that no one else was going to say anything and spoke with an air of conclusion.
"Hang on a giddy minute," Sister Evangelina spoke at last, "Aren't you at least going to tell us who the father is? As seen as you say this baby was not conceived under unsolicited circumstances."
Her eyebrow was raised in the stoutly affronted expression that Julienne had seen her wear before, and most closely associated with her Sister's cherished expression: "You've had your sweets, now take your sours".
She opened her mouth to answer, but Sister Bernadette beat her to it.
"I'll thank you to consider that just because Sister was not raped does not mean that the circumstances as a whole were necessarily solicited," she told her with a boldness that Julienne was sure not only she marvelled at, "I'm surprised you do not realise that this case is not as simple as that."
"And how do you know so much about it?" Sister Evangelina asked, turning to Sister Bernadette, her voice and expression rather harsh.
Sister Bernadette for her part did not so much a flinch; rather she flared and seemed about to retort with equal vehemence when Julienne laid a preventative and placatory hand on her shoulder.
"There is no need to defend me, Sister," she told her gently, "Though I very much appreciate it." Then, turning to Sister Evangelina, "Doctor Turner," she told her simply, "Is the father of my child."
Sister Evangelina did not retort, exactly, but she seemed to huff a great deal, and was heard to mutter; "You'd have thought the two of you would know better than this. And that's only medically speaking-..."
"Yes, thank you, Sister," Julienne replied, sharply and clearly, "Believe me, no one is more presently appraised of my shortcomings of wisdom and understanding than I am. I realise," she added dryly, "That in all manner of ways I am the worst possible advert for Nonnatus House. And that is why, as I have said, I shall shortly be leaving for the Mother House."
Though Sister Evangelina did not seem impressed by this explanation she sank into a discontented silence.
"Does Dr. Tuner know you're going?" Cynthia piped up, surprising them all a little.
"No," Julienne shook her head, "But I shall tell him. Do not worry, I shall not leave an unwillingly estranged father on your hands."
"Well, thank you very much for that," Sister Evangelina snorted.
Abashed, Sister Julienne looked down at the table, and she was not the only one. She felt sick to her stomach, and wanted nothing more than to leave and weep.
"Excuse me," she told them all, "I seem to have rather lost my appetite. I will leave you all to eat without me."
"We'll save you something," Trixie told her, "In case you feel like it later."
Sister Julienne smiled gently.
"You are very kind, but I do not expect it will be needed," she replied quietly, "I have much to think about."
She was about to go, when a voice that had not spoken all the while that they were at the table made her stop. She had thought Sister Monica Joan had been put off by the seriousness of the discussion and ceased to pay attention to them.
"I have been taught to reason by the heart; But heart, like head, leads helplessly; I have been told to reason by the pulse, And when it quickens. Alter the actions' pace."
"Sister!" Sister Bernadette told her, in an urgently low voice, evidently thinking that her words would upset Julienne, "Behave yourself!"
But Julienne turned back towards the table, looking at them. Sister Bernadette's face did indeed betray apprehension and anticipation of her distress. But she looked at Sister Monica Joan and saw that far from having not paid attention, she had understood far more than any of them had what lay at the heart of the matter; more than Julienne had understood it herself.
There was a pause.
"Yes," Julienne murmured at last in reply, her voice catching a little, "And that's just the problem."
Sister Monica Joan was quoting 'Should lanterns shine' by Dylan Thomas.
Please review if you have the time.
