"At times I've felt a little like the mother of the bride."
Long after Mrs Wallace and the rest of the church ladies had departed the Nonnatus House parlour, Sister Julienne was struggling to shake her earlier observation from where it had been swirling in the depths of her mind. Lucille was the fourth young woman whom she was to see married from Nonnatus House in the last decade and she had had a bit part to play in all of them. Chummy and Barbara of course had their families involved in the preparations, as was only right. She had stood beside Shelagh, her daughter in all but name, at the entrance to the church, proud as any mother could be. She knew however, that neither of them could hold onto what had gone before, and that her role was to give Shelagh permission to walk down the aisle into the next stage of her life without her. But Lucille, far from home and from her family, needed a mother's guidance, someone to attend to the order of service, the flowers and other such finer details. Someone to, well, you know, be there.
As Sister Julienne stared out of the window of her cell into the darkness of the night sky, a strange, but not untoward sensation knotted somewhere deep within her. This was a different feeling to when Shelagh and Patrick married, one she was struggling to explain. Whilst she had known and loved Shelagh far longer, Lucille was marrying directly from under her roof. A child was leaving her house, to begin a new life in the home of another. She was the one who needed to ensure that all was well. No-one else.
Her attention returned to the to-do list which lay upon her writing desk. As her eyes flickered over the word "cake", she made a mental note to think of something to do to appease Sister Hilda. She had worked so hard on it and, despite her attempts at graciousness, had made it quite clear that she was exceptionally cross at the snubbing she had received from Mrs Wallace. Even the eldest of girls under her care needed her comforting presence from time to time.
Having undressed, got into bed under her embroidered quilt, and settled herself into the enveloping comfort of her plump feather pillow, her mind's eye flickered around the other bedrooms of Nonnatus House, whose occupants must now be fast asleep. From Sister Monica Joan, whom she'd helped to wash and tucked into bed some hours ago, to Nancy, youngest of all, but already having faced so much, who needed a home and to know she was loved. From Phyllis, the rock on which Nonnatus House was built, to Sister Hilda, who, Sister Julienne well knew, would take any opportunity to shake those foundations that was presented to her. From vivacious Trixie to demure Sister Frances, two young women, so different by every measure, but who would always stand up for what they believed in. And she would always stand beside them. Her Sisters. Her family.
A pang of emotion hit Sister Julienne square in the guts, for her mind had finally turned to Lucille, beautiful Lucille, the girl about to marry. What was it? Pride? Jealousy? Lust? Whatever it was redirected her mind's eye far from Nonnatus House. To a beachfront promenade, far away in time and space. She tried to screw her eyes shut in a vain attempt to block the vision. The vision of Louise, the girl she once was, in Charles Newgarden's arms, strolling in the summer sunlight. Other scenes flashed before her eyes, some real, but most imagined, dinner parties, a white dress in a churchyard, a child with his grey eyes and hair of the same shade she possessed all those years ago.
"Stop!" she whispered insistently to the darkness, and the images before her vanished like a puff of smoke.
How different life could have been if she had been to the cinema with Charles that night. They would have married, she was certain of that, she would have carried his children, in her womb and in her arms, supported the family, and finally nursed Charles through his final illness. She would have been a widow now for over six years. Where would widowhood have left her? Alone in that enormous house with only the servants for company? She allowed herself a small smile at the thought of how nice some peace and quiet might be every so often, but in reality she drew great comfort from the knowledge that at Nonnatus House, she would never be alone.
Twice in her life, she reflected, she had turned down the opportunity to be granted the honour of motherhood. As she had made it plain to Sister Hilda that day at the Mother House, she wanted nothing less than to be Reverend Mother of the Order. She did enough paperwork and tedious, thankless, tasks as it was. A Mother should have time for everyone under her care. They shouldn't be hidden from view and distant. She should be there when she was needed. And, she hoped to the ceiling above her bed as she began to drift into sleepiness, that someone would always want her.