Italics implies character's thoughts.

Some Enchanted Evening - Perry Como (from the musical South Pacific)

"Welcome! Welcome, please come in." Opening her arms to invite the younger woman in, Camilla broadly smiles when her grandson shyly steps out from behind her. Hugging Timothy, she then thrusts her hand out to greet Shelagh, "It is so nice to finally meet the woman who these two oafs keep jabbering on about."

"Hey!" Both father and son exclaim in complete bewilderment.

"It is very nice to meet you as well," Shelagh shyly shakes her hand.

"Hey, dad, Shelagh, guess what Granny got for me?" Pulling out the colorful box, he runs it over for Shelagh to see. "It's a space rocket. She said that if I can build it correctly and it works, I can take it home with me. I can't wait to show Benny and Jack!"

"Timothy," his dad cautioned, "Why don't you take that to your room so that Granny and Shelagh can meet properly. We'll call you down when we are about to leave."

Giving his grandmother a kiss on the cheek, he grins, "I'm happy I get to spend the night with you again, Granny." Shoving his box under his arm, he runs out of the room without a backward glance back.

"Please, sit down, my dear." She turns to her son-in-law and coos, "Patrick, can you be a darling and make tea for us. The kettle should be on the stove."

Giving Shelagh a quick kiss on the cheek, he walks out of the parlor and into the kitchen.

"Now, my dear, is everything settled for tonight?"

Shelagh captures her slightly trembling hands in her lap and says, "It is, although, I thought we were taking Timothy out to see a movie."

"Change of plans dear, on my behalf." Shen bends over to cut a slice of pound cake and heartily adds, "I'm stealing Timothy away so that the both of you can have a night to yourselves. Cake?"

"Yes, please." She takes the small china dish from the table and holds it out for the small sliver of cake. "You don't have to take him on our behalf. We are quite excited to see 'A Tale of Two Cities'."

Camilla leans in and winks, "Patrick let it slip that both of you are having a hard time with the gossiping ladies of Poplar. I suggested to him when he called to let me know that you were on your way that I take Timothy tonight and that you two can go off and relax."

Shelagh gives her a meek smile, "That is very kind of you."

Dragging her fork through the moist cake, she focuses all of her attention on her plate as she murmurs, "Being a woman who also put her faith second when finding true love, I understand the complexities of catty women gossiping over things that they don't frankly understand."

After taking a few bites, she finally gains the courage to glance up at the young woman in front of her. Noticing her perplexed brows folding into her misty baby blue eyes, she reaches out and pats Shelagh on the arm, "This cake is delicious. Eat up, dear."

Shelagh silently nods and pieces off the edge of her cake.

"Now before Patrick comes back to whisk you away, I wanted to invite you out for an afternoon with just me and you. Unfortunately my dance card is booked, but I have some time on Sunday after mass." Circling up all the little crumbs along her plate, Camilla looks out from her peripheral side and slyly asks, "Would you mind accompanying an old woman to mass this coming Sunday? Afterwards we can return here for a light luncheon and some girl talk."

Placing her half eaten plate on the table in front of her, Shelagh stutters, "Well, umm, it has been… what I mean to say that I haven't been… Yes." Taking a defeated breath, she nods, "Yes, that would be lovely."

"Good," she pats her on her hand and looks up when Patrick walks through with the tray of tea, "oh, Patrick, thank you dearly." She gives him an endearing smile, "Why don't you two young ones go ahead and make your way to the cinema. You make sure to tell Robert in the front ticket booth that you are my son-in-law and that I'm ready for him to pay up."

Rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, Patrick teeters onto the tips of his toes before he says, "Should I even ask?"

"You see, he thought 'Peyton Place' was going to win the Academy Award for best picture, but I just knew 'Bridge Over the River Kwai' was going to win big." She flicks her hand through the air, "We made a bet and I won."

He shakes his head and laughs as he invites Shelagh to join him, "You do love your movies, Camilla."

"I do," she places two sugar cubes in her tea before standing with them, "that is why I think you should skip that awfully depressing movie 'A Tale of Two Cities' and take this dear, sweet girl out to see 'South Pacific'. It is absolutely breathtaking and the music…," she sighs contently, "heavenly."

Patrick lightly kisses her cheek as he chuckles, "Point taken, Camilla. I will drive by tomorrow morning to pick up Timothy. I should be back tonight by ten."

"Thank you, Mrs. Parker for the delicious cake and for your hospitality," Shelagh holds her hand out for them to shake.

Camilla takes her hand between both of her own and says, "My dear, Shelagh, call me Camilla and I look forward to our luncheon on Sunday. I shall call Patrick to gain specific times."

"I look forward to it as well." Shelagh gives her a small, shy smile, "Thank you, again."

Popping his head into the parlor, Timothy asks, "Are you leaving?"

Ruffling his fingers through his son's hair, Patrick says, "We are. Be good for Granny, make sure you brush your teeth before bed, and I will be picking you up in the morning."

"Okay." Timothy throws his arms around Shelagh's waist, "Have fun at the movies."

Shelagh lovingly pats him on the shoulders, "I will see you on Monday."

"With apple pie," he asks with the wiggle of his brows and a silly grin to match.

"It wouldn't be Monday without apple pie," she coyly answers back.

"Have a good evening, you two," Camilla begins to shoo them away with the flick of her wrists. "Don't be late for the cinema." When the young couple finally leaves, Camilla turns to Timothy with a cheeky smile, "Apple Pie Monday's?"

Timothy groans with contentment, "Shelagh is the best cook ever."

"So suffice to say, your growing boy's stomach is happy to have Shelagh as your new stepmother?"

Timothy's brows furrow as he asks, "Are you upset that dad is marrying Shelagh?"

"No, my darling boy, I just want to make sure that you are happy."

"She does and she makes dad happy, too."

Satisfied with his answer, she asks, "Did you finish building the rocket?" When he eagerly nods, she then adds, "Lets go try it out in the park."

..::..::..

"Oh, Patrick! That was such a lovely movie!" She snakes her arm around his and brings him closer to snuggle against the cutting winter nighttime breeze. "I had heard the nurses talk about it when it first came out and hum some of the songs but I didn't fully understand their fascination."

"And now," he gives her a cheeky grin as her hand slips in next to his in his pocket.

"It was beautiful," she hums dreamily.

"Not as beautiful as you," he leans over and kisses her temple. "I couldn't keep my eyes off of you." Abruptly stopping and swinging her around, he captures her cheek with his palm and quickly kisses her cheek.

Heat, far more cozy than the inside pocket of his jacket, fires through her veins as desire fans low in her belly. Barely leaning out of the supple reach of his magnificent lips, she tilts her chin down and kisses the heel of his hand. "Half way through, I found myself wondering if you were even taking in any part of the movie."

"Not with you snuggling by my side, stealing my popcorn." He kisses her forehead and then takes a small step back.

The warmth that had surrounded them, cocooning them from the sharp chill of the winter weather, quickly escapes, sending a biting shiver up Shelagh's back. "Waste not, want not."

Stifling his laughter, he murmurs, "You can take my popcorn anytime, but, I assure you, you have got to be much quicker than that next time we are at the movies with Timothy. His stomach is like a bottomless pit when it comes to popcorn."

"Duly noted," Shelagh grins with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"Doctor Turner!"

Creating some distance between their bodies as the rules of propriety would allow, both turn towards the male voice calling out. Seeing a man hobble over to them from underneath the marquee, Shelagh tries to slip her hand away, but Patrick holds on tightly.

"I knew it was you when I saw you at the concession counter." Giving the couple in front of him a bright smile, he nods towards Shelagh and explains, "I'm sorry to disrupt your evening with your wife, but I never got a chance to thank you for all that you have done for me and my men during the war."

Faces, numerous faces of battle worn men in agonizing pain swims through his memory. Closing his eyes, he tries to shake the images of war as he stutters, "I'm, uhh, sorry to say that you, uhh, have me at a loss."

Thrusting out his good hand, he says, "Captain Herman Antilles, 11th Armour Division. You patched me and my men up several times during our offensive to win over Caen after settling in from Normandy. You were very kind to my men and not just the doctoring up part either. When we pulled out and headed west, I was never able to thank you for your kind generosity."

Taking the younger man's hand, Patrick gives him a tight smile and murmurs, "We did what we could."

"Yes, well, you went above and beyond." Giving the couple another quick smile, he adds, "Like I said, I'm sorry to have disrupted your night, but I would have been remised if I didn't come over here and thank you personally myself."

Seeing a great shadow fall upon Patrick's face as he struggles for his voice, Shelagh holds out her hand and says, "That was very kind of you, Captain."

"Herman, please. I hope you have a good rest of your evening." Tipping his hat, he gives them one last smile before turning away in the opposite direction.

"Patrick! We have more wounded coming in!" Bodies, blessed bodies in different arrays of mutilation and decay are coming at me. What do I do? Who should I start with? We only… We only have so much morphine until our next shipment. When will this all stop? When will all of this stop? "Patrick," who is that calling me, "get yourself together, man! We have wounded coming in!"

"Patrick," curving her hand around his elbow, Shelagh gently shakes Patrick from the horrors that are clearly replaying in his mind. "Are you alright, dear?"

"Yes," he softly mumbles. Clearing his throat, he gives Shelagh a shaky smile, "Yes, I'm alright. That was just… it was just… unexpected." Mistaking her concerned look for pity, he grits his teeth and murmurs, "Come along." Pulling the warmth of her hand close to his body, they continue on with their walk back to his car in a silence that is engulfed by the city's hustle and bustle of a busy Saturday nightlife.

Feeling a nervous need to fill in the dead space between them, she gently says, "I hope you enjoyed the movie as much as I did." Glancing over under the guise of wanting to see a dress in a department store window, she notices that her change of subject does nothing to the shadow still cast across his handsome features.

She remembers from his letters to her in the sanatorium that he had mentioned that he served as a doctor in the war and wonders for the first time just exactly what he saw that made him loose his faith. He saw the ugliest side of war. Mangled bodies to match their disenchanted spirits. How horrifying.

Giving his arm an affectionate squeeze, she lightly confesses, "The last movie I saw in the movie theater was 'Peter Pan'. Sister Monica Joan somehow maneuver her way in so that we didn't have to pay for the tickets or the popcorn."

"Quite resourceful, that Sister Monica Joan," Patrick halfheartedly quips. Thoughts and memories of war so long ago still infiltrating his mind plays like a badly scratched record. Escorting her to the passenger side door, her reaches out to pull the handle and opens it.

Father used to get like this when war was mentioned. After Fin and Caelan were killed, he turned to the bottle to rid himself of the memories. Never, ever wanting to go do that road again, Shelagh turns to Patrick just as his slides into the drivers seat and says, "Tell me the one thing that makes you the happiest."

His answer is automatic, as if his mind had no chance of thinking or quieting his response, "You."

"Then kiss me, Patrick," she lovingly palms his cheek, "kiss me as if there is no care in the world."

Instead of enveloping her into a loving embrace, he captures his trembling hands in his lap, "I don't want to take it too far. We are in public and I don't want to cause a scene that can be construed as untoward."

Leaning down to capture his line of sight, she gently quips, "That didn't stop you before."

"I find that if I begin to kiss you now, that I won't be able to stop as easily as before." Shame tinges his cheek and he tries in vein to rid his mind of war. These thoughts – treacherous and, dare I say, insane – still has the ability to control me. How can I get them under control without scaring her away?

"Then drive me back to your flat so that you can kiss me like how you want to." Her rather brave words tremble out from between her lips, yet she she does not shyly back down from them.

"I have to get you home," pulling himself out from her embrace, he turns the car on and maneuvers them out onto the busy street.

Silence, driving and cruel, infiltrates the car.

Patrick grips the steering wheel as pure anger surges through his veins. Not at Shelagh, he reasons as he tries in vain to school his features, but at my ability – or my lack of ability – to file this away in some dark corner under lock and key. As the car eases to a stop at the red light, he murmurs, "I'm sorry. There are some memories that are just…" he stutters at the lack of words available to describe what he had gone through.

"Breathe through it, Patrick. Don't let it control you." Doctor Oliver's words, spoken so long ago, rings through his ears. The first time he heard those words he became angry, vengeful at the events that brought him to Northfield to begin with. But now, they calm him, reminding him that there are far more important things than what he went through so long ago.

A horn, blasting out from the car behind him, has Patrick returning to the present. Easing his foot off the brake, he shifts into first gear, then second, then third; the monotony of driving is soothing to his frayed nerves.

Shelagh, for her part, looks down at his hand covering the gear shift. While the words he failed to complete were soft and gentle, she notices that his muscles are still tense and erratic. Shuffling her hand out from her lap, she wonders how he would react if she touched him on his knuckles. He doesn't seem like a violent man, but Father didn't seem like a violent man either. It took one time for me to lay my hand on father's shoulder during one of his 'spells' – as mother used to call it – for me to understand that my touch would never be a source of comfort for him. The black and blue bruise he left upon my cheek was evidence enough.

With her hand teetering on the edge of her thigh, fingers shyly trying to reach towards some sort of purchase upon his skin, she is surprised when she notices that the streets around her are the ones that are familiar, leading straight to her home.

Pulling up to the curb and placing the car into park, Patrick gathers his hands into his lap, unsure now of how to proceed. Don't let it control you. "I'm sorry."

Still unsure of whether she is allowed to touch him or not, she answers back, "I'm sorry too."

Fear chokes every inch of his muscles. Why? Why is she sorry? Unless she's sorry for getting herself into this ridiculous relationship with a broken man almost twelve years her junior. "You, umm, have no reason to be, umm, sorry. Do you?"

"The appearance of that man has made you melancholy," she murmurs down towards her lap. "His platitudes has resurrected a great shadow over your heart; a shadow that I have seen numerous times in different men. I'm sorry that I'm not able to pull you away from that."

His heart wrenches in a way that makes it hard for him to breath. "Shelagh…"

Be brave, Shelagh, be brave. Reaching out with trembling fingers, she captures his hand from the stretch of seat between them and lifts his palm to her lips. Oblivious to the world around them outside of his car, she pulls his hand closer to her chest and kisses him again on the wrist.

Sunshine, in its most purest form, pierces through his heart, igniting both a spark in his soul to help him see through the darkness that has blinded his vision and a fire in the pit of his belly with a desire to worship every inch of her skin. His mind becomes a puddle of mush while his muscles take on the consistency of jello.

Seeing his lazy smile – the same one I saw when I gave him back his cigarette after the Carter twins were born – rather than a hand raised to strike her, she gathers her purse and murmurs, "Good night, Patrick." Stepping out of the car, she takes a peek around her to see that the street is devoid of life and prying eyes.

Sluggishly reaching out for her, his brain only realizes that she is gone when he watches her disappear behind the door. "Damn it," he murmurs under his breath as his head falls onto the steering wheel with a resounding thud.

I acted like such a fool. I've ruined our night together. I need to make it up to her. But how? She was able to see plain as bloody day what an old fool I am. Does she even know what she is getting into? She's agreed to marry a man like me; a man who couldn't handle the war without going insane. Hell! I can't even shake hands with a soldier with going all cock-eyed and crazy. No. No. I will tell her tomorrow that we can't–

-Knock! Knock! Knock!-

Glancing up at the startling noise, Shelagh is on the other side of his window frantically trying to silently tell him to roll down the window.

"Patrick, Nurse Franklin called here about ten minutes ago desperately trying to find you. Mrs. Crawford is in labor."

"Damn," he murmurs again under his breath. "Thank you, Shelagh and…," he stops his frantic movement and focuses on her, "I am so sorry about tonight."

She swipes her hand through the air, "Don't worry yourself about that, go! You are needed at the maternity home."

"Right, good night." Rolling up his window, he throws the shift into gear and quickly drives off to Kennilworth Row.

..::..::..

"Just like the hero in those serials, you come dashing in at the last minute to save the day." Nurse Franklin throws her blood stained scrubs in hamper with the flick of her nose. Turning back to the doctor with a bright, cheery smile and a hand on her hip, she says, "I hope we didn't pull you away from a date with Miss Mannion."

Memories of their disastrous date and the grateful soldier mingling in with his exhaustion has him sighing in slight frustration, "I had just dropped her off. Just as I was about to leave she gave me the message."

"Normally we wouldn't call you on your night off, but Mrs. Crawford was adamant that she wanted you."

He can't help but roll his eyes, but he smiles nonetheless. He knows what she's been saying about his relationship with Shelagh, but he's been letting it roll off his shoulder for the sake of professionalism.

"It's funny," Nurse Franklin lifts her curious brow, "she was one of the women who was gossiping not so kindly since finding out about your engagement. I was about to call the locum, but then she began to hemorrhage and I just went on autopilot after that."

"It's okay, Nurse. I'm glad you called. It ended up being a happy ending for her and baby," and then he adds under his breath, "which is more than I can say for my date." Threading his fingers through his hair, he turns towards the exit.

Humming in agreement, she notices that just as the doctor is about to round the corner, she calls out, "Flowers."

Shaking his head, he asks, "I'm sorry?"

"You said that this went better than your date and by the longness in your face, I'm assuming that you feel it was your fault." Nurse Franklin lifts the tray of used instruments and clarifies, "Flowers will always work when you have messed up." After a few clicks of her heels, she stops and adds with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, "That or a nice piece of jewelry." She smiles brightly at his confounded face as she walks out of the room.

Swallowing this fresh new little tidbit of information, he checks his watch and then turns to see that it is still dark. I can finish up some paper work and be at the shop when it first opens. Doing an about face, he walks straight into his office.

..::..::..

Oh, Lord, guide me, give me the strength that I have seemed to have misplaced. Patrick is suffering and, although our love is strong, I am unsure if it is strong enough to break what the war has done to him. Looking up towards the ceiling for guidance she is begging for, she feels the familiar weight of those mountains she had thought she had overcome.

Will these mountain always be here? Are you still here? I know it has been a long time since I have taken in your word, but I'm still unsure how to since leaving Nonnatus House.

The name of her former residence rings through her head as shame tinges her cheeks.

You led me to Patrick, yet I'm still struggling with the guilt of loving a mortal man over the women I have called family for the past ten years. I wanted him more than I wanted them. Does that make me a wretched woman?

Letting her forehead fall to her mattress, she closes her eyes to stop the impending tears.

— Knock, Knock —

Standing up from the ground, she abandons her hopes of both her prayers and her answers to the questions plaguing her soul to answer the door. Greeted with the sweet smelling fragrance of roses, a smile instantly brightens her otherwise gloomy face.

"Delivery for a Miss Mannion."

"That is me," taking the vase from the young man, she adds a quick "thank you" just before he turns away.

Settling the flowers in the parlor, she presses her nose against the soft petals and takes in the heavenly scent. Plucking the note from the envelope, she reads;

"My dearest Shelagh,

Please accept these flowers as a token of my apology as to my behavior last night. I love you with every ounce of my being and I can't wait for you to be my wife.

Yours Sincerely,
Patrick"

Reading and rereading the small note over and over again, a small smile forms along her lips.

"My, those are beautiful flowers."

Feeling her body stiffening at that familiar gentle voice, Shelagh clears her throat and murmurs, "They are from Doctor Turner."

"The young man who delivered those flowers let me in." Feeling the waves of nerves rolling off of her former sister, Sister Julienne stretches out her chin, "Mrs. B has asked me to come down to help her bring the pies for the harvest feast."

Twirling around, Shelagh pleads, "I told her that I was going to help her."

Sister Julienne holds up both of her hands, "She didn't want to trouble you; she knew that you had few engagements coming up and didn't want to bother you."

Even Mrs. B. can see how uncomfortable it would be for me to show my face at Nonnatus. Shelagh bites down on her bottom lip, "Am I that transparent?"

"My dear, whatever do you mean?"

Shelagh shakes her head, not even willing to clarify what she meant, she asks, "Do you still need help?"

"No, she is in the middle of bringing the last load with an ever eager Sister Monica Joan trailing behind her." She chuckles, "It's no coincidence that she is carrying her favorite cake."

Shelagh lifts her sullen eyes as they both say, "Lemon coconut cake."

Sharing the many memories of Sister Monica Joan with her assortments of cakes and sweets, it is Sister Julienne who first breaks the amenable silence, "You know, her favorite used to be German chocolate cake, but after the war she has since shunned them from her life. She blamed it, of course, on Hitler."

That name, that horrible man that brought more heartache to millions of families around the world, crashes down around her. Turning back to the bouquet of flowers, she reaches out and slides her thumb along the edge of the note. "I don't blame her," mumbles out from her lips.

Knowing that something has upset her, Sister Julienne changes the subject, "Have you set a date for the wedding?"

"Not yet, but we will be meeting with the Vicar this week."

The cold sting of loneliness settles between the both of them; Sister Julienne seeks the voice she has grown accustomed to hearing and Shelagh, neigh Sister Bernadette, seeks the religious mentor she has always relied on especially after a great upset.

Taking a step closer, Sister Julienne places a gentle palm on Shelagh's shoulder, "We missed you on Sunday." Sighing, she changes, "You are missed every day of the week. We would love to have you over for compline."

I want to say yes, more than anything, but would I truly be accepted into open arms? How could I when I have chosen something I love more over them, over the life they choose to live? "That is very kind of you, however, I watch Timothy most nights until his father gets home." Squeezing her eyes shut, she hates the bitter taste of cowardice staining her tongue. How can she even stand to be in the same room as me?

Sister Julienne, however, sees right through her transgression, "You are welcomed anytime, even if you wish to pray on your own time." Feeling the young woman's muscles tense under her worn finger tips, she murmurs, "You are welcome to come anytime."

Even when I'm finding it difficult to pray? That for hours I stand ready to say the words of prayer that have comforted me numerous times before, yet when I open my mouth my mind becomes a blank slate. "Thank you for your kindness," Shelagh barely mumbles, "I will keep your offer in mind."

"Well, my dear Shelagh, I have to return back to Nonnatus." Sister Julienne pats her on the shoulder before letting go and taking a step back. "We do hope to see you very soon."

Not even daring to make a promise she knows she will never keep, Shelagh only nods before saying, "Have a good day, Sister Julienne."

Before turning towards the door, Sister Julienne takes in the rigid form of her former Sister and sends up a silent prayer that one day – one glorious day – they will once again be able to pray together.

..::..::..

"How did you like the movie, my dear?" Camilla spoons a heaping portion onto Shelagh's plate and glances up when the young woman doesn't answer immediately.

Shelagh presses her lips together into a tight smile as the memory of the date filters through her mind. "The movie was, uhh, lovely."

Camilla squints her eyes at the young woman's odd behavior, "And the company?"

Shelagh captures her hands in her lap as she thinks back to their date, "Patrick is and was ever the gentleman." Knitting her brow in confusion, she take a moment to gather her words before hastily adding, "A man, a soldier, had stopped us after to thank Patrick for helping his men during the war. He became quite after that."

Blasted war! Camilla shakes her head. The wretched place, that was an unfortunate necessity, is where both he and so many men lost so much. She sits back into her seat, all matters of food forgotten. "Did anything happen?"

Shelagh shakes her head, "No, nothing happened, the man was very kind; I just.. I just wish it was never brought up." Twirling her napkin around her fingers, she timidly murmurs, "My father fought in the Great War. He would have horrible nightmares, but he would be able to contain them. Then my mother died, followed by my two brother in the second war." She bites her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, "I soon learned that… that…" memories of long times forgotten surface in her mind, causing her to lose her train of thought.

"You learned very quickly never to bring it up, never to touch or give comfort for fear of a retribution that you never really deserved," Camilla finishes for her. Numerous times, both in her personal and profession life, she saw how far the ravages of war can truly reach.

Yet, Patrick is a different story and is a story that is not mine to tell. "I will not pretend to be ignorant of Patrick's history during the war, however, it is not, nor will it ever be my place to tell you." She places a gentle hand on Shelagh's, stirring her from her own nightmares of days long past and says, "Yet, I can say Patrick is not a violent man, nor will he ever be, but he is a silent one. I remember there would be days at a time where he would refuse to talk to Mariann, or hold Timothy, or even leave his own bed. Just be patient with him, my dear."

"Yes," Shelagh gives the older woman a soft smile before returning back to their luncheon.

Knowing when to change a subject when one desperately needed to be changed, Camilla brightly asks, "How did you like the service."

Shelagh smiles a grateful smile, "It was lovely. It has been a long time since I had attended a Catholic service."

"You followed beautifully; not to mention the way you sang the hymns. It was lovely."

"I've always enjoyed singing Psalms 147 when…," she falters with a hitched sob, "well, I've always enjoyed it." Focusing on her food, she grits her teeth to help stave the tears from falling.

Shame at wanting something more, guilt at wanting it over the life you thought you wanted for yourself, is nothing new to me. "Your former sisters, are they unkind to you?"

"No, I just feel as if I'm not welcomed, like I have betrayed them in the worst way possible."

Camilla's eyes softens as she repeats the same words Sister Eustice said to her so many years ago. "The love between a man and a woman is just as holy as the prayers you recite and the hymns you sing in His grace." Leaving those words for her to take in at her own time, she asks, "So, have you two set a date yet?"

"We will be visiting the Vicar later this week. Once we know his schedule, we will be able to let you know very soon."

"Perfect. And I shall enjoy watching over Timothy when the both of you are on your honeymoon. Patrick told me of his plans." She pats the jittery young woman with a mischievous wink to boot, "I helped him punch it up a bit, but you will like it."

Blushing something fierce, "I will it enjoy it regardless simply for the fact that I will be with Patrick."

"Timothy and I went to Brighton for our honeymoon." She gives her a rather salacious grin, "Didn't even see one grain of sand that weekend." Noticing that even the tips of Shelagh's hair blushing a deep crimson, she swipes her hand through the air, "However, that will be a story for after your own honeymoon."