Later Years

June 12, 1968

It was a cloudy day. Not that he minded a bit of overcast weather, but something about the cloud cover and the chilling breeze so close to summer was a bit unnerving. But there was too much to do to worry about that right now. Though if the weather was going to turn any colder than this, he might need to pick up some more supplies…

Timothy Turner had a lot on his mind that afternoon as he hurried through the streets of Oxford. He'd only lived here about three years, but it had very quickly become home. In fact, after he'd finished university, he'd decided not to leave. He had many reasons to stay in Oxford and very few to prompt him to return to Poplar.

The thought of Poplar must have had some strange kismet-like quality, because no sooner had the thought of the old East End come into his mind did a nun turn a corner and walk across the street in his direction. Tim smiled. He had fond memories of those nuns from Poplar. The Nonnatans. The nurses and midwives who cared for him and his father after his mother had died, those kind ladies who had given them a home when they'd felt they had none. Dad worked with them every day and he saw them more often than Tim did, but it seemed the Nonnatus House and the parish hall were the nuns' domain, and those places were the centerpiece of life in Poplar for all. Though the Turner family had never been particularly religious, the nuns had a soft place in Tim's heart.

One nun, more than any other, actually, lived in a very special place in his memory. Those were memories he did not often revisit. They were so happy, so many of them, full of gentle hands and happy smiles and eager intelligence that buoyed his spirits in those early days of having no mother. Sister Bernadette had been so dear to him. She was gentle and soft and kind and lovely. And Tim had loved her, truly. When his mother died and Tim had no one to turn to, Sister Bernadette was the one who filled that gap in their lives. He had Dad, of course. And Mrs. Penny kept the house and made their meals. But Dad was busy. And Mrs. Penny was often very cold and kept things very strict and professional when she worked as their housekeeper. Sister Bernadette played games with him, gave him books to read, encouraged his interests and curiosities, and was always, always there when he needed her.

Until she wasn't.

And that was what made those memories of her ill-remembered. For as happy as he'd been as a child with that dear little nun, she had left them and left them utterly desolate without her. For a time, Tim had been angry. He had been angry that she had reminded the Turners what it was to feel joy and love, only to rip it from them once more. But the anger had not lasted long. What remained after it cooled was a deep sadness that still lived within those memories of her.

Funny how one glimpse at a nun in a habit made him think of all that. The nun was walking with her head down in the wind, coming ever closer to him. Tim could see that she was quite small. Sister Bernadette had been small. Delicate and dainty in stature yet so strong in spirit. Tim had been so young when he'd known her, she'd been only slightly taller than him. But she was positively tiny compared to Dad.

The small nun lifted her head just briefly, and Tim made to smile at her, just to be polite. But he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Sister!?" he exclaimed.

The nun paused. "Yes?"

In that one word, there was just enough of a Scottish brogue that Tim knew he wasn't imagining things. It was her. It was actually her. "Sister Bernadette!" he cried. He moved to embrace her, as he'd done as a child, but he stopped himself, knowing he was a grown man now and such things were entirely unacceptable now.

"I…yes?" she asked, somewhat confused.

Tim felt giddy all of a sudden, adrenaline buzzing through him. "It's me, Sister. Tim Turner. From Poplar."

Her eyes—still so magically blue after all these years—widened and searched his face, looking for the traces of the boy he'd been in the man he'd become. "Timothy, why it is you!" she cried, finally recognizing him. "My, look how you've grown!"

He grinned. "All grown up, I'm afraid."

"Whatever are you doing here?" she asked.

"I live here," he told her. "Well, a few streets away, actually. But what are you doing here?"

She smiled back at him. "I also live here. The Sisters of St. Raymond Nonnatus have recently sent a handful of us here, to work at Radcliffe Infirmary. I just arrived a few weeks ago. Still learning my way around."

"Are you busy right now? I'd love to have you 'round for tea. I can't believe I ran into you!"

Sister Bernadette glanced at her watch and back up at Tim. "I'd love to come for tea," she replied. "I've got a while yet before compline."

"Great," he replied happily. "My house is about five minutes this way." He pointed in the direction he'd been walking, and they both started to make their way.

"Tell me, Timothy, what have you been doing with yourself since I last saw you in Poplar?" she asked.

Tim hesitated only slightly, hardly noticeable. For in truth, he was not entirely sure what to tell her. But he made the decision almost immediately to keep their discussion to the things that would not lead them astray. "Well, I finished school in Poplar. And when it came time, I applied to a few universities in London and closer to home and then Oxford on a lark. It's Oxford, so I didn't expect to get in, but I thought it might be funny to try and see. And miraculously, they accepted me. I lived in the dormitories while I was a student, which worked out for the best. Went back to Poplar during holidays. But I really liked it here, so after I finished my degree, I was able to use the money I'd saved up to buy a house with my friend Mike."

"I remember you always wanted to be a doctor when you were young. Is that still the case?"

"Not exactly. I still read medical journals and I'm very interested in science, but as I got older, I found I had a talent with drawing."

"I remember you being quite artistic as a child," she noted with a kind smile.

Tim nodded. "Well, that continued. I took science classes and art classes at Oxford. I ended up with a degree in Biology. And now I work as an anatomy artist."

"Anatomy artist?"

"You know all those diagrams in medical books of various organ systems and such?"

"Yes."

"I draw those," Tim said proudly. And he was proud. It was a strange and very specific job he had, but he absolutely loved it and considered himself quite lucky. He explained, "I work with a publisher that does textbooks and medical journals, and they send me the drafts to read, and I provide the drawings and diagrams and figures and things."

Sister Bernadette looked at him in slight awe. "What a fascinating profession! And wonderful that you can use all the things you love."

"It's the best thing I could have hoped for, actually. And it lets me work from home for the most part and set my own hours and things, so long as I meet the deadlines. And since I'm home most of the time, it lets Mike and me have our hobby." They had reached the street where Tim's little house stood, a bit rundown and small but with a freshly painted picket fence around the front garden. "This is the place. The garden out back is much bigger."

"It's lovely, Timothy," Sister Bernadette told him, looking at all the flowers and little quaint decorations that made Tim and Mike's house their home. "What hobby is it that you and Mike have?" she asked.

Tim smiled at that. "Come through to the back and I'll show you before we sit down for tea," he said. He led her quickly through the small parlor and kitchen to the door out to the back garden.

And when he opened the door and ushered Sister Bernadette outside, she gasped in delight. "My goodness!" she exclaimed.

The back garden consisted of rows and rows of flower beds and beside them on the grass was a large pen. Inside the pen were about half a dozen rabbits of different colors and sizes and shapes. "Mike and I raise rabbits."

Sister Bernadette immediately went up to the pen to greet the bunnies hopping about inside. Most of them scampered away from her as she approached, but one small brown one went to investigate. "They're adorable!" she gushed. The little brown rabbit allowed her to pet its tiny head with her pointer finger. "What do you do with them?" she asked, not looking away from the fluffy creature.

"We sell them to pet stores, mostly. And sometimes we'll take in injured or abandoned rabbits for rehabilitation. We don't do enough to make any real money at it, but Mike grew up on a farm with a million animals, and he likes getting to be with them. And now I just love them, too." Tim went to the bin on the patio and took out a huge handful of hay to give to the rabbits. He really should have picked up some more, but it could wait till tomorrow.

The introduction of more hay caused the rabbits to get a bit excitable, and Sister Bernadette's little friend went to join his friends. She stood up and dusted herself off. "What a lovely thing," she said.

"In the winter, we've got hutches for them. Some are better suited to cold weather than others, but we don't want to leave them out in the snow."

She nodded. "That makes sense."

"Shall we have that tea now?" he offered.

"Yes, please," she replied.

Tim took Sister Bernadette back inside the kitchen and told her to take a seat at the table. They did not have much space in their little kitchen, but it was perfectly serviceable. He went to turn on the kettle and get the tea things out. "It's a little weird making tea for you," he mused aloud.

"Is it?"

He turned to face her. "I've never made tea for you before. You always made things for me. Though not tea, I don't think."

"No," she said in agreement, "You were too young. I'm sure I got you milk and biscuits at the parish hall a time or two."

Tim nodded, laughing lightly at the memory. "You always kept me company when I'd come by on Tuesdays after school between clinic and Cubs."

"Yes, that's right. You always looked so sweet in your uniform," she said.

"I remember I hated the hat. I liked the look of it and I liked being in uniform with the rest of the boys. But I always hated wearing hates. Still do."

"Well now that you're grown, you don't have to wear hats if you don't want to."

"The freedom of adulthood is quite nice," he noted.

Her expression fell slightly at that, though Tim could not imagine why.

The kettle whistled and Tim switched it off and fixed the tea. He put the milk and sugar on the kitchen table before placing one mug in front of Sister Bernadette and taking his mug in his hand and sitting down across from her.

"Thank you very much, Timothy."

It did not escape his notice that she only called him Timothy. It was sort of nice. No one called him Timothy anymore. And hearing his name in her voice was more comforting than he could have imagined. All at once, he felt like a child again. A child who just wanted to be loved and cared for, a child who had a whole community of people who loved and cared for him after his mother could not. Those nuns, and Sister Bernadette especially, had been his family. They'd raised him from a grieving child into an intelligent, respectful, loving man. Dad could not have done it on his own, Tim knew. Even then, he knew. The surgery and the maternity home and the district patients were far too much for Dad to cover all on his own and still be around enough for his motherless son. And when he was busy with his work and couldn't get away, the nuns stepped in there, too. "Horlicks," he said suddenly.

"Horlicks?" Sister Bernadette asked in confusion.

"Yes," Tim remembered. "There was a night that Dad brought me to Nonnatus House when he was out on a call, and it took too long and it was very late. So you set me up in one of the spare bedrooms and made me Horlicks to help me sleep."

She smiled softly. "I remember. You were so unhappy that you couldn't go home and read your books before bed, and you were worried about what was going to happen. So I let you sit with me while I made you a mug of Horlicks and brought it upstairs and I sat with you and told you stories while you drank your mug in bed, and then I turned out the light and stayed with you till you fell asleep."

"Dad came in the middle of the night to bring me home. It was a Friday, I think, so I didn't have school the next day," he recalled.

Sister Bernadette's smile faltered. She took a sip of her tea, and Tim watched her as she very visibly gathered her strength before asking, "How is your father?"

Tim opened his mouth to respond, knowing that question was surely coming. But he closed it again quickly when he realized he did not quite know what to say. "I was about to say that he's the same. But that answer doesn't work with you."

"It doesn't?" she asked. The lines on her forehead, none of which Tim remembered from when he'd known her all those years ago, deepened with concern.

He shook his head. "He's the same as he's been for a long time, but it was different with you."

"Oh dear."

"It's not your fault. Not really. But it took us both a long time to be alright again after you left. And we're both fine now. It's just…different."

She frowned sadly. "Different how?"

Tim took a moment, trying to find the words. This was inevitable, he knew. Of course this was going to have to be addressed with Sister Bernadette. He'd tried to avoid talking about Dad to keep this from coming up, but this was Sister Bernadette. And even though she'd left them, Tim knew deep down that her leaving was not due to her lack of care for him or for his father. Rather it was for too much, if he had to guess. And because of that, she deserved to know what had transpired. "Sister, you have to understand, when we came to Poplar, it was just after my mother died."

"I remember," she said with a small, respectful nod.

"We were a mess. The both of us. And in various ways, we both tried to be strong and be happy for the other, even though it was hard. But then you…you…I don't know that you 'fixed' us, but that's sort of what it was. You loved me when I didn't have a mother to love me anymore. Not that you took her place at all, but I was cared for again, and I could heal. Dad, though, he was different. He was always overworked and overtired and overwrought with trying to take care of me and adjust to being a doctor in Poplar. And something about you filled up the hole in his heart for those few short months. He went from not being able to sleep from grief to being full of energy and smiles again. He was so happy. It was like he didn't think he could ever be happy again and then he was. And then…you left."

"Timothy, I…" she tried to say.

But he waved her off. "I know something happened and I don't quite know what. And I know you were sick and had to go away. But when you didn't come back, that hole in his heart that you filled, your leaving emptied it out again. And it's been there ever since."

Tears filled Sister Bernadette's eyes, but she did not let them fall.

Tim sighed. "He's alright, honestly. He's mostly retired now. And we had a really good life in Poplar after you left. He was a great doctor and everyone just loved him, and he worked with Nonnatus House and ran the maternity home. But even though I was young, I remember what it was like. I remember how it was for both of us when we were really, properly happy. And so now, I know the difference. He's not distraught and depressed. But I can tell that the hole in his heart that you left never got filled again."

Sister Bernadette's chin shook as she opened her mouth to say something, but they were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. "Oi, did you get more hay for the buns?" came a Northern accent shouting through the house.

"No," Tim called back. "I ran into an old friend. We're having tea."

Footsteps approached the kitchen. "Got company, have we?"

Tim smiled up at Mike, tall and blonde and gregarious and charming. "Yeah, Mike, this is Sister Bernadette. Sister, this is my friend Mike Howard."

Mike gave Tim a look of confusion, a look that communicated, A nun!? Are you off you nut?! But thankfully Mike possessed enough tact to greet Sister Bernadette politely. "Pleased to meet you, Sister."

"And you," she replied. She'd been able to blink back her emotions and sit there clutching her tea as though nothing were amiss, as though Tim had not very likely succeeded in ruining her entire afternoon and entire day with what he'd told her.

Tim explained to Mike, "Sister Bernadette was a midwife in Poplar where I grew up. But I haven't seen her in…ten years, I think?" He turned to her for confirmation, and she nodded. Something told him that she knew exactly how long it had been.

"Would you like to stay for dinner? I know it's a ways off, but we've got a full house tonight. More the merrier," Mike offered.

"That's very kind of you, but I do have to be getting back to the convent soon," she declined.

But Tim was less concerned with her not staying for dinner. He turned back to Mike. "Hang on, what do you mean we've got a full house tonight?"

Before Mike could respond, the answer presented itself. The front door opened, and a jovial voice called out, "Mr. Andrews gave me a bottle of some awful sherry, and since I'm not going to drink it on my own, I thought we could make a night of it, boys. What do we say?"

Tim stared in horror as his father entered the kitchen. Dad's happy expression was wiped off his face as soon as he saw who was sitting at the table with Tim. His jaw dropped, and the bottle of cheap sherry from Mr. Andrews slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.