25 May 1958

All through that long night, Patrick slept not a wink. Sister Julienne had whisked Sister Bernadette away from the fete, and he had not seen either of them since; he'd done his best, during the daylight hours, to focus on his son, to be a father and not a man consumed with worry over the longings of his own heart, but even Tim had noticed that something was off about him. Is something wrong? Did something happen? Tim had asked him as at last they drove away from the parish hall, but Patrick could not even begin to formulate an answer to those questions. Yes, something had happened, and yes, something was wrong, or perhaps it was not wrong at all, perhaps he's set his feet upon precisely the right path and a life of joy waited for him, but he did not know, and he found it difficult to hope when he could not see Sister Bernadette's face.

And so he kept his own counsel, all through dinner, through the quiet of the flat in the evening, through the dark, silent hours of the night.

There is nothing I want more than to marry her. Those words were true, though Patrick had not realized it until the moment was upon him. He wanted to marry her, wanted to learn her true name, wanted to hold her hand, wanted to run his fingers through her hair, wanted to see her smiling at him from across the dinner table. He wanted to fall asleep with his arms around her, and he wanted her standing beside him at the seaside, watching Tim at play. He wanted to protect her, to love her, to make her laugh, to brush her tears from her cheeks and feel no shame. He wanted her with him, always, wanted to share himself with her and to accept whatever else she offered him in kind. He wanted her, with a fierceness that shocked him.

Perhaps he should have been more circumspect; perhaps he should have asked her first, before declaring his intentions so boldly to Sister Julienne. He almost certainly should have spoken to Timothy; after all, the flat was Tim's home, too, and Patrick did not want his son to feel abandoned, forgotten, pushed aside in favor of a new dream. Sister Bernadette would love him, Patrick knew, would be the most devoted stepmother any child could ask for, but still to bring her home would be to change Tim's life forever, and he wanted his son to know that no matter what happened, no matter how things might change, his father loved him. These conversations he should have had before making any declarations; he should have purchased a ring, and put some thought into marshalling his arguments in favor of marriage, but the untimely arrival of Sister Julienne and everything that had happened after had sent the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.

I have ached in ways I did not know it was possible to ache.

Those words from Sister Bernadette's lips had loosed a riot of emotions within him, had sent him running back into the kitchen hellbent on scooping her into his arms and taking her home with him. She had ached, and in that word he felt the echo of every emotion, every longing that coursed through his own soul. His attentions had not displeased or frightened her; she cared for him, as he had so desperately hoped she might. But more than that, she ached, she wanted, as he did; his blood had turned to fire in veins at the very thought of what she longed for, how she might ache for him, the way her body might tremble and glisten beneath his own, as hungry for him as he was for her, the way they might come together and in the joining of their hearts build a new life for themselves, more beautiful and more precious than anything he'd previously imagined. Just knowing that she was as deeply moved by their connection as was he had made him bold, but Sister Julienne had put a stop to his recklessness, and sent him away before Sister Bernadette had a chance to answer.

And so he had been left, tossing and turning, his thoughts consumed by her. Surely it was enough now, he told himself; she had confessed her feelings for him, and he had done the same, had offered her a chance for a different life and the protection of his home, his name, his love. He had done all that he could do; the choice would be entirely her own. But what would she choose? Would Sister Julienne counsel her to remember her vows, to put God above all earthly desires? Would such counsel fall on deaf ears, now that his beloved knew the steadfast resolve of his own heart? Could he really be so bold, so audacious, as to wrest that girl from the clutches of God himself? Could he really be so foolish as to believe that a beautiful young woman with a heart so good and so true as Sister Bernadette's would be content in a marriage to a man nearly eighteen years her senior, with another woman's child to raise?

At last the sun rose, and Patrick with it. He had not slept, and he did not think he would again, not until he'd seen Sister Bernadette for himself. When Sister Julienne sent him away he had left with a promise that he would see them both tomorrow, and now tomorrow had come. He could hardly go rushing off to Nonnatus House at first light; the Sisters no doubt had certain observances that must be kept on Sunday mornings, and he did not want to appear more presumptuous than he had done already. Eight o'clock, he decided, would be a perfectly acceptable time to make his appearance and plead his case to the sisters; the question remained, however, how he ought to fill the intervening hours.

A shower first, he decided, and then breakfast. He dressed in one of his best black suits, and brushed the dust from his hat with a careful hand. Timothy was still in bed; as the lad grew older he seemed to enjoy a lie in more and more, and Patrick found himself grateful for that particular trait today. He did intend to discuss the possibility of his impending marriage with Tim, but he desperately needed to see Sister Bernadette first; he did not want to bring Timothy into the situation until he knew for certain whether the little nun intended to take his hand. The quiet now was a respite for him, a chance to gather his thoughts, to try to decide what he might say when he did arrive at Nonnatus. How could he possibly hope to explain himself, his feelings? How could he convince those two ladies that his intentions were good, that he could provide a home for Sister Bernadette, a future for her that was full of love? What would she need to hear from him, to set her fears at rest? And what would he do, should she remain firm in dedication to her vows?

There were so many questions rocketing around inside his mind he could hardly breathe, but he knew he would find no answers alone in his little flat. And so he wrote a note for Tim, and stepped out the door, making his way towards the car, towards Nonnatus House, towards the future. The streets were deserted, the air warm and redolent with the warm growth of spring, but Patrick paid very little attention to his surroundings; his thoughts were consumed with her, the vision of her bright blue eyes, her tremulous smile, her soft hand enfolded in his own. His very soul was set only on her, reaching her, seeing her, telling her how he loved her; she was everything to him, in that moment.

And perhaps it was down to his distraction that he did not immediately understand what he saw when he pulled up in front of Nonnatus House. There was a black hire car parked out front, and the nuns were gathered round it. As Patrick drew his own car to a stop and clambered out he could hardly make out which lady was which; they were a sea of navy habits, white whimples floating on top like seafoam, all of them shifting and merging into one being, the core of Nonnatus House, its beating heart. The nurses were not with them, and if he'd taken a moment to consider the scene before him perhaps he might have understood what that meant, and feared it. As it was, however, he thought only that perhaps Sister Bernadette was with them, and rushed across the pavement, eager to see her.

And she was there, of course, just there; he saw her, her head turning as she slowly slid into the passenger's seat of the car. Her whimple disappeared from view and reality came crashing in on Patrick; in the next moment, he began to run.

"No!" he called out sharply, and the nuns turned to stare at him, a flock of frightened pigeons. "Sister Bernadette, please!"

Sister Evangelina closed the car door sharply, and hid Patrick's beloved from view. She was scowling, and Sister Monica Joan was weeping. Sister Julienne stepped out to intercept him, holding him at bay just long enough to stop him reaching the car before it pulled slowly away, carrying all his hopes with it. Through the back glass he could see her, Sister Bernadette, watching him, but the glass was dusty and she was far away, and he could not make out her expression. He could only see her, small and growing smaller by the second, fading from view.

"Why don't you come inside, Doctor?" Sister Julienne said to him, and it was only the warmth of her voice, her ever-present compassion, that kept Patrick from shouting at her. Numbly he followed her into the convent, his heart shredding itself to pieces in his chest. She had left; Sister Bernadette had left him, had never given him the chance to plead his case, to tell her how earnestly he loved her, to show her the promise of a future together. She was gone, now; he would not see her gentle smile again, would not hear her soft lilting voice, would not ever hold her in his arms. He had been rash, the day before, had overstepped the mark, and in his reckless haste to have her he had lost her, and he grieved that loss, felt the shattering emptiness echoing inside him like a well of loneliness from which no joy could ever spring.

Sister Bernadette had left, but Sister Julienne was not through with him. Perhaps she would have some explanation, or perhaps she meant only to scold him, but Patrick did not care much, either way. He would hear her, and he would go home, and then he would try to find some way to carry on, without the hope and the joy that Bernadette had brought to him. It was a grim prospect, a future without her.

"Please, have a seat," Sister Julienne said, and so he did, sank himself into the chair across the desk from her. He sprawled in that chair, his hand over his mouth, trying to order his thoughts, trying to keep his broken heart from spilling out all of his anger, his guilt, his grief.

"There are several things I think we ought to discuss," she continued, "but I think this is the most important. Sister Bernadette's absence is not intended to be permanent."

It was strange, really, how quickly, how readily his heart could spin from one emotion to the next. From joy to desolation, from despair to wild hope; Sister Bernadette had been taken from him, but perhaps she might one day be returned to him, and then, oh, then-

"You have placed her in a difficult position. She has not ever considered the possibility of marriage, and now she will be forced to choose between marriage to you and the sacred vows she has made to God."

Perhaps Sister Julienne intended those words as chastisement, but to Patrick they were only a blessing. If Bernadette's choice had not yet been made, then that meant there was every possibility she might still choose him, and he was glad of it.

"She has gone to the Mother House for a time, to reflect on the choice before her."

"Might I be permitted to see her there, Sister?" Patrick asked, leaning forward in his chair. "I had hoped that I might have a chance to speak with her." I had hoped you wouldn't ship her off first thing in the morning, and keep her from me.

"You have said all you needed to, Doctor Turner," Julienne told him. "Sister Bernadette knows you care for her, and she knows the offer you would make. It is time for her to consider what she most wants for her future."

Patrick would never dream of calling Sister Julienne naive. She was experienced, and intelligent, had seen all the worst life had to offer in the slums of Poplar and never flinched, no matter how grave or unpleasant the circumstances before her might be. She had seen every possible consequence of human failings, knew every shape that love and hate might take in a life. But she was, sometimes, hindered by a certain black and white way of thinking; she was, sometimes, too far removed from the complexities of the people she served.

"I think it might be easier for Sister Bernadette to make a decision if she understood exactly what I'm offering her," Patrick said, trying not to snap. "How can she choose when she doesn't know how I...what I…" he floundered a bit, realizing halfway through his sentence that there were some things a man ought not say to a nun.

"She knows," Sister Julienne said simply. "The Mother House is no place for a man. Sister Bernadette will come to her decision there, and you will be informed in due course. In the meantime, Doctor, I'm afraid I do have some questions for you."

"Of course, Sister." Patrick did not like the sound of that, not one little bit. They had taken Sister Bernadette from him, had neatly denied him an opportunity to see her, to speak to her, and now Sister Julienne was watching him carefully, as if she did not entirely trust him. That simply wouldn't do; he had always enjoyed a positive working relationship with Nonnatus House, and their continued camaraderie would be vital to the success of their patients. It would not do for them to fall out with one another now.

"You are often alone with nurses and midwives, often after hours, and now it has been revealed that you have been...taking liberties with one of our young ladies. I need to know, Doctor, whether the kiss I saw yesterday was the only time, or-"

"Sister Julienne, I promise you, I have never, I would never," the words came tumbling out of him as he stared at her, aghast at the very idea. "The nurses are...they're my colleagues, Sister, but they're hardly more than girls. They always have been, and always will be, safe in my company."

"I would like to believe that what you say is true. Before now I have seen no reason not to trust you. But after yesterday-"

"Sister Bernadette is different," he said, somewhat desperately. "You must understand, I never...I didn't mean...I love her, most completely, and I would have never dared to do such a thing if I did not believe she felt the same way for me."

A silence fell, in the wake of his words; Sister Julienne steepled her fingers together on the desktop, watching him with those eyes so warm, so thoughtful, so full of compassion. It had never before occurred to him that his behavior might damage his reputation, that she might think him the sort of man who would take advantage of the young ladies who worked alongside him. The nurses were dear to him, as if they were his sisters or his own daughters, young ladies who needed guidance and protection and nothing more from him. Not a one of them had ever turned his head, nor would they ever, and he was devastated to think that Sister Julienne could imagine him so cruel.

"Why her?" she asked him softly. The question lit a simmering fire of anger low in his belly, but he turned it over in his mind, trying to determine whether a trap had been laid for him. What was the purpose of asking such a question, he wondered now; what was it Sister Julienne really wanted to know, and how could he answer without damning himself?

"She is a nun, and you knew that meant she could never return your affection. Why did you still pursue her, then?"

It was a fair question; why had he done it, let himself fall so completely in love with exactly the wrong woman? Why had he let his heart run away from him, why had his eye wandered to her, and not to any one of the number of unattached and more age-appropriate ladies he had encountered since returning to Poplar? Why her?

"It wasn't intentional, I can assure you," he said, scrubbing a weary hand over his face. "In the beginning, I thought of her only as a friend. She's calm, and thoughtful, and I could actually talk to her, properly." Not like the nurses, who were as foreign to him in experience and interests as if they had come from another planet, or the older nuns who were distant and disapproving. "I grew to enjoy our conversations, I suppose. And over time, I began to realize...she's a marvel, Sister." A marvel, and marvelous, beautiful and brilliant and clever and so bloody brave, Sister Bernadette was quite the most wonderful woman he could recall having ever met - aside from Marianne, of course, but Marianne was gone, now, and it was only Sister Bernadette's gentle smile that made her absence more tolerable. Sister Julienne wanted to hear from him that he had not gone chasing after one of the midwives because he was looking for a bit of fun; she wanted to hear the truth of him, and he intended to give it to her.

"She...she lets me have my head, Sister," he continued. "You know what I'm like, always late, always rushing from one thing to the next. I've been told that I can be...excitable." Other words had been used, of course, but that was the least damning. "And she doesn't try to hold me back or - or - or change me," he stumbled over his words, pouring out of him with heated sincerity now. "She just tries to help. She steps in and she takes things on so I can do what needs doing. She… she fills the empty spaces, Sister. The gaps I thought would never be filled again. And when she smiles, I feel as if I would do anything she asked of me."

I would give her the world, and everything in it, and all of myself. I love her. I do.

Across the desk Sister Julienne was watching him; her expression was sad, but there was understanding in her; somehow, Patrick did not think her sorrow came from her mistrust of him, but rather from the knowledge that every word he'd said was true, and that he sat before her intent on stealing away her favorite sister, that young woman Sister Julienne loved as if she were her own child.

"You make a compelling case for yourself, Doctor," she said gently. "I see no reason not to trust you, but I must warn you that your behavior will be under intense scrutiny in the coming days. I expect Sister Bernadette to be gone at least a month, but as soon as she has reached a decision I will inform you at once."

Sister Julienne rose to her feet, no doubt intent on dismissing him, but Patrick was not yet ready to leave. He had seen Sister Bernadette whisked away from him like a criminal, had his reputation called into question, and was now being completely left in the dark as regarded his own future, and he could not leave before making one final plea to Sister Julienne.

"It's my future, too," he told her. "Surely there must be some way for me to speak to her."

"Perhaps you could write her a letter," Sister Julienne said blandly. "But for now it will be best if you don't see her."

Best for whom? Patrick wondered.

"You can't keep me away from her forever," he answered. "Forgive me, sister, but I will follow that girl to the gates of hell itself if I have to."

For a moment Sister Julienne was quiet, watching him thoughtfully, and then she spoke.

"I believe you would," she said.