Sister Monica Joan once again tries to leave the room. After a few seconds Patsy allows instinct to take over, in place of fear. She unwraps the infant, and repositions him. He snuggles against her chest, as if he is listening to her beating heart. He calms down, but continues to whimper. She pats him gently as she waits for Sister Monica Joan to return. Moments later she enters the room with a warm bottle of powdered milk. She takes a seat on the coffee table near Nurse Mount.

"If this is too much for you, I understand. I know that there is concern that I am growing senile in my old age, but some things, do not elude me. I can do this. Sister Julienne has protested, but eventually relented to my assistance. I can take him if you would like to go upstairs, and lie down for a while."

"Thank you," she answers.

Sister Monica Joan vacates her seat. She stops next to Nurse Mount, and reaches for the infant.

Patsy shakes her head, as she clings to the boy. "Thank you for making sure that he was okay."

"It was my pleasure."

"Thank you for not judging me," she continues as the tears stream down her face.

"That is not my job. May I make an observation?"

"Yes," she nods.

"It is okay to be scared. It is okay to do whatever you feel is best for him. None of us can make that decision, but you. Life is rarely filled with easy journeys that are obstacle free."

She grows quiet for a few moments, "How will I know what the right thing is?"

"Because it is what you already feel in your heart."

An hour later Trixie tiptoes towards a ringing phone. She grabs her belongings, and heads towards the door. Before she opens it, she decides to check in on Patsy. As she heads towards the parlor she finds Sister Monica Joan sitting in an armchair, knitting. She looks up, and presses her index finger to her lips. Trixie enters the room, and finds Patsy lying on the couch, asleep, with the baby asleep on her chest.

"How are we faring in here?"

"Both have had quite a journey thus far, and require adequate rest."

"I am going out on a delivery, Sister Julienne will be checking in around lunch time. If you need anything call the clinic."

"I will hold the fort down," Sister Monica Joan agrees.

Shortly after Trixie leaves Patsy wakes up. She carefully shifts into a sitting position on the couch, as she holds onto her son.

"Am I just being selfish?" She questions, as she looks at Sister Monica Joan.

"Selfish? I am not certain I understand."

"Is it selfish of me to sentence him to a life without a father?"

"Is that what you desire?"

"I want him to have a father, but…"

"I find nothing selfish about wanting to be a mother, Patience."

"I never had any inclination that I would want this."

"What is your inclination now?"

"I am not entirely sure how I am ever going to let him out of my sight ever again."

Sister Monica Joan smiles, "It will come with time."

Patsy notes the booties that Sister Monica Joan is knitting, "Did you make him the cap as well?"

"I hope it is okay. I feared he would grow cold in this drafty air."

"I have a feeling that the two of you are going to be very close, so it is quite alright with me."

"I have to admit I am quite fond of the cheeky young fellow."

"Cheeky?" Patsy queries.

"He is cheeky, I suspect he gets it from you."

"He can't talk."

"However, he manages to say plenty."

"I suppose that we should come up with something to call him," Nurse Mount adds.

"What do you fancy?"

"I have heard that someone has been referring to him as Solomon."

"I know of no such information," Sister Monica Joan insists.

"Sister, you do realize that you are the only reason that either one of us are here right now, don't you? You acted quickly, and skillfully, and you saved our lives."

"You nearly lost yours, because of me."

Patsy shakes her head, "No. That was not because of you. I have a feeling that it had more to do with my body's ability to successfully expel a rather large newborn. I don't even know how big he was."

Sister Monica Joan's eyes sparkle as she recalls the details, "Four thousand five hundred, and twenty grams. He entered the world at twelve thirty seven."

"Why did you start calling him Solomon?"

"I have been calling him Solomon for months, this is just the first that you are hearing of it," Sister Monica Joan admits.

"You had no way of knowing that he was indeed, a he, and not a she."

"I just had a strong inclination," Sister Monica Joan answers.

"Based on what?"

"Intuition."

"Why have you been calling him Solomon?" Patsy queries.

"I just felt a great sense of peace when I first learned about him. One day when I was in prayer the name came to me as if in response."

"I am not sure that anything I could come up with would be as significant. Anything else would pale in comparison. Also, now that I have met him, I can't picture him as anyone else."

"Then he shall stay Solomon," she grins from ear to ear.

"My Solomon," Patsy smiles for the first time in many months.