Despite his careful avoidance of the company of Miss Mannion, Doctor Turner learned bits and pieces of her life.

Not surprisingly, there was a place for Miss Mannion in the friendly but nosy hospital gossip. As she was, as even Doctor Turner admitted, a fine-looking young woman with no boyfriend, she was an interesting girl, even if on the brink of permanent maidenhood. It seemed though that she had an efficient manner of turning down any proposition to have a coffee or going to a movie.

"That girl, there is not a snowball's chance in hell with her," he once overheard one assumedly rejected suitor say.

"It is no wonder, she has been locked up," said his mate.

"Surely not. She is not crazy. "

"I don't mean a nut house. She was a nun."

"Really? Is it possible to get out of a monastery?"

"It was an Anglican convent, and she has been working as a nurse all the time."

"Oh." The man was surprised and a bit relieved. "That explains it. What a waste."

Patrick resisted a strong urge to enter the room and give that jerk a piece of his mind. Yet, what was there that he himself had not thought of at his darker moments even if his linguistic expressions might not have been as vulgar? He was ashamed of himself. The Musgroves were a kind of a family to him now, so perhaps it wasn't so odd that he could not stay so neutral.

Once, he had been sitting at the coffee table with the elder pair of Musgroves and had listened to them dissecting Miss Mannion's life.

"It is a wonderful second chance for her." Fred Musgrove directed his words to him. "Her godmother left money in her will for her studies."

"But Shelagh didn't need to have left the Order because of that. The Order is now redefined, they invite professional women to join the order, too."

"Please, Enid, it may not be as simple as that..."

"I will just say it. She would have been an excellent head of the Order, if she had stayed."

"But she didn't."

These conversations began to leave Patrick restless. For so many years he had told himself that it didn't matter if there was a such person as Sister Bernadette, Nurse Mannion or Shelagh.

Now he heard himself saying: "So, did she ever give any reasons for leaving the Order?"

"No. I know the wagging tongues keep saying it was an unhappy love affair, but we never heard anything, did we, Fred?

Fred shook his head. "No. And we are the closest people to her now that Sister Julienne, her brother and Mrs. Monica Joan have gone. Although there was a time after she had left the convent when we thought she and our Tom might become an issue."

"Really?"

"They had a fair share of religious discussions. A common belief is a great uniter."

Fred took Enid's hand and smiled at her. "We have a good reason to recommend it."

Those two silvery heads looked at each other tenderly. Patrick felt that he was an outsider.

"They also had such temperamental compatibility," Enid continued.

Then she turned confessional: "To tell the truth, we would have preferred Shelagh to Trixie. Shelagh is such a dear girl, and so good with children."

From afar, they could see Shelagh having a serious conversation with Angela. Then both laughed and Shelagh picked her up and turned her upside down. The girl screeched amused.

Patrick found breathing hard for a moment. His eyes grew misty. "She seems...a natural."

A vision of fair-headed girls and dark-eyed boys started to march from his repressed imagination, making his head spin. He could hear the dull thump of his heart in his ears.

"Yes, but it was never a chance after Trixie and her high heels, " Fred laughed. "Tom was so smitten from the start."

"Yes, he was," agreed Enid. "So here we are, the happy grandparents of children with Tom's dreamy looks and Trixie's spiky temperament. Not a bad result, although a bit demanding."

"Not bad."

Tom approached Shelagh and his daughter and took the girl from her. Angela let out a belly laugh. Tom sat by Shelagh and took her hand and kissed it. They seemed complacent and comfortable.

Patrick turned away. These would have been his family, his relations. He stared at the dark window. The wind outside seemed suddenly shriller than ever.