Time rushes quickly between patients, deliveries, and the clinic, because before he knows it, Patrick finds himself watching Shelagh being whisked out of the flat by Trixie and Cynthia, the two nurses giggling at his forlorn look. He watches them until they disappear down the street, a sigh escaping him as Timothy nudges his elbow.
"Can we have fish and chips for supper?" The question makes Patrick laugh as he ruffles his son's hair, agreeing with little hesitation.
XxX
Shelagh barely sleeps that night, stomach tied in knots of excitement and worry. She slips down to the chapel to pray when the nuns have finished their morning devotions, letting the silence of the stones and stained glass wash over her as she kneels before the altar. She returns to her room a while later, gathering her things before heading down the hall to bathe.
As she sits in the warm water, dragging a cloth across her skin, she lets out a shuddering breath, the insecurities she has done so well to tamp down the last few weeks seeping into the corners of her mind, tickling at her nerves until she feels itchy with them. She's getting married in a handful of hours.
As a girl she never imagined that she would be in that position. Never thought that she would find someone that would love her. And then, later, she thought her only marriage would be with God. She takes a deep breath as she gets out of the bath, letting the water drip from her body for a moment before wrapping herself in towel and robe, the pesky words her father spat at her so often clawing at her, tearing into her with each step as she goes back to her room, a vortex of howling anger in her head.
'You'll be lucky if e's actually waitin' for ye at the altar, ye bowfing trollop.'
The voice taunts her, laughing at the way her heart constricts in her chest, tears stinging at the back of her eyes. Before she can shake herself, Trixie is dragging her down the hall, the nurses gathering around her to paint her nails and do her hair. Jenny does her makeup, much to Trixie's chagrin, but she is glad of it, more content with the simple style the brunette nurse prefers. She manages to laugh with them, letting them pamper her and treat her like a doll for nearly an hour until they deem her ready to get dressed. When Trixie and Cynthia offer to help her with her gown she evades them, telling them that she will call if she requires their help, slipping into her room and closing the door with a sigh.
Her dress is hanging next to the bed, her undergarments laid on out on the desk, shoes beneath the chair. If it wasn't for the fact she might make the mascara Trixie had insisted upon run, she would burst into tears, stress and worry welling up until she feels like she can't breathe, a sensation she had shaken off when the tuberculosis finally left her body, letting her lungs expand correctly again for the first time in months. She drops down onto the edge of the bed, head swimming as she tries to force air into her alveoli, desperate for her body to accept the oxygen.
She doesn't hear the soft knock on the door, nor when it opens and closes, too busy closing her eyes against the panic that is enveloping her as she sits stoic on the mattress. She jumps, then, when she feels a hand on her wrist, drawing her attention back to the room and out of the constant symphony of 'useless' and 'hideous' that plays within her mind on a never-ending record.
"Shelagh, breathe," Sister Evangelina whispers, firm hand rubbing circles on her wrist, pulling her back to reality.
"I don't know if I can do this," is what spills from her then, months of self-deprecation and despair bubbling up until it spills over, infecting the room.
"What can't you do? Do you not want to get married?" Sister Evangelina tries to keep the shock out of her own voice, keeping a tempered pitch as she gingerly presses for more information on the matter.
"It's not Patrick. I love him. So much Sister. More than I ever thought I would be able to love another person it's just... I'm not good enough," Shelagh chokes out, trying desperately to fight the urge to curl in on herself. "I wouldn't be surprised if he... if he wasn't waiting for me at the church. I wouldn't blame him."
"What on –" the older woman starts, incredulous.
"I'm too... broken," she says, voice quiet and laced with the whimper she can't fight off anymore.
"Shelagh Isabail Mannion, you listen to me," Sister Evangelina starts, her voice offering no room for argument. "That man loves you. He has been besotted with you for ages – long before he had any right too, and before you start, yes, I was very aware of the growing affection between you two for months before you fell ill and decided to leave the Order. I'm not blind." The comment punches a tiny laugh from the blonde woman, her shoulders heaving as she tampers down a subsequent sob. "You are a beautiful young woman. You are going to make a fantastic mother to Timothy and a wonderful wife to your Doctor Turner. And if he is barmy enough to not see that, I'll put him straight into next week, you mark my words." Shelagh can't help it, falling into the woman's chest and hugging her fiercely.
"Thank you," she mumbles against the fabric of Sister Evangelina's smock, letting the woman stroke her back to calm her.
"Right. Come now. Let's get that dress on you," Sister Evangelina states, pulling away and trying to hide the redness that lines her eyes, her own emotions precariously close to the surface. Shelagh gives a slight nod, standing on shaking legs as she gets up, walking to the desk to retrieve her petticoat and corset, slipping the skirt on beneath her dressing gown before she glances over her shoulder, noticing how Sister Evangelina has kept her back turned, allowing her privacy until she has the corset secured around her, save for tightening the laces.
"Would you give me a hand?" she asks quietly, ready for the nun to say she's not comfortable with the request or to go get one of the nurses. Instead, Sister Evangelina rises from the mattress and crosses the room, scoffing slightly under her breath as she starts fiddling with the laces.
"Never understood the reasoning behind these. Constricting your lungs for hours on end, just to have a waist. You've already got a waist," she mutters, causing Shelagh to giggle as she finally pulls the ribbons into the proper position, tightening them just enough that nothing will move without making it impossible for Shelagh to draw in a full breath. The dress came next, Sister Evangelina helping Shelagh to step into the skirts, pulling them down over the petticoat before she moves around, doing up the intricate buttons along Shelagh's spine, making no comment towards the pockmarked and long scars that occasionally are glimpsed through the laces of the corset as it is covered by tulle and lace.
"Thank you," Shelagh says, squeezing Sister Evangelina's hand when the last button is done up.
"It's my pleasure," Sister Evangelina replies, smiling, as she reaches towards the chair, picking up the veil. "Now, I've not done this in a very long while, but would you like me to help you with this too?" she offers, holding up the translucent material. Shelagh nods, not trusting herself to say the words; everything suddenly so real. Without anymore preamble, Sister Evangelina motions for her to sit on the edge of the bed again, coming to stand amidst her skirts so that she can carefully pin the veil in her hair, hands as delicate as they are when handling an infant as she makes sure it is secured without pulling, tucking the fabric around. She takes a step back, surveying her work, biting her lip in the process.
"Sister? Is everything all right?" Shelagh queries, the nervousness sparking again in her belly at the nun's silence.
"I never thought I'd see the day," Sister Evangelina confesses, her voice catching slightly. "When you came to the Order, all I could think was 'what is such a beautiful, passionate, young girl doing devoting her life to God when she so clearly would thrive in a family?' But I knew He had a plan for you, as He does for all of us, and I didn't want to question that. But now, seeing you here on your wedding day... I am just so, so very happy for you. This is His purpose for you. Marrying your doctor, becoming a mother. Anyone who says otherwise is a fool that doesn't know you, nor His desires for you. And if they give you any trouble, anyone at all, you send them straight to me." Shelagh blinks back the tears at Sister Evangelina's impassioned speech, unable to stop herself from hugging the woman again, the elder female rubbing at her eyes when she pulls back.
"Thank you," she says, clutching to Sister Evangelina's hand, her heart swelling at the woman's words.
"You deserve all the happiness in the world my dear. Now, come on, can't be late to church else the vicar will have my head, not to mention that man of yours will surely think I've kidnapped you to Chichester."