Despite the exertions of Christmas Day, the following morning Sister Julienne awoke, refreshed was not the right word, but certainly energised. Energised by anticipation, excitement, apprehension. She prepared herself for the day with a bubbling joy and a spring in her step, more becoming of a woman half her age. She peered out of the door of her cell into the corridor, trying to ascertain whether there were any signs of life from elsewhere in the house. She darted nervously back across the threshold as she caught sight of Phyllis slipping down the other end of the hallway, already dressed in her bottle green dress and jacket.
"I wonder where she is going? And so early?" Sister Julienne thought to the silence. "No matter," the same thought continued, "it is the other occupant of that room who I must concern myself with today."
Unable to contain herself any longer, Sister Julienne tiptoed down the corridor and gently knocked upon the door which Phyllis had exited from.
"Come in," a slightly groggy reply came from within.
"Oh no," Sister Julienne thought, "I've deprived the bride of her beauty sleep."
"Come in," repeated the voice in response to the knocker's hesitation, this time stronger, clearer.
Sister Julienne crept into the room, closing the door gently behind her. In response, Lucille flicked on her bedside lamp and shuffled her weight up her bed so that she was sat propped up against the pillows.
"Sister Julienne," Lucille questioned, staring quizzically at the nun.
"May I?" Sister Julienne asked, gesticulating at the corner of Phyllis' bed.
"I won't tell her," Lucille replied, mischievously.
Realising what she had done, Sister Julienne allowed herself a chuckle. The women sat staring at each other for a moment, one attempting to find the right words, the other attempting to fathom the other's intentions.
Eventually, Sister Julienne began, "I have spent over thirty years in the religious life, as a nurse, as a midwife, as a Sister in charge. In all that time, my life and work have been so very much involved with those of the women of Poplar. I've been with them at their times of greatest sadness, of greatest pain, of greatest joy, of greatest happiness. I have been there as they have become wives, mothers, and widows. Their whole lives, tied in so neatly to time, and place. But I. Involved but never entwined. Ever present, but ever observing. I come and I go in their hours of need. But the rest. I am unnoticed. Unneeded. Unseen."
At the briefest of pauses in the monologue, Lucille shuffled underneath her quilt so that she was sitting looking over the side of the bed towards Sister Julienne. Taking this as an indication to elaborate, Sister Julienne continued, "from the first moment we met Nurse Anderson. Lucille," she corrected herself, "I knew that I would have a different role in your life. Far from home, a young girl, lost in the snow. Your life and your story had been tied to somewhere far away, and those ties that bind had just been cut loose. I wanted nothing more than for you to blossom and flourish here. I hoped and I prayed and watched you grow. I am so very proud of you."
"Sister Julienne," Lucille replied, reaching out to take her hand, "I had no idea you cared so much."
"Once I dreamt of a life full of love with a husband and a family, and my dreams almost came true. My love was simply called elsewhere," Sister Julienne admitted.
"I cannot tell you how much I have appreciated the community here at Nonnatus House since I moved to Poplar," Lucille replied, "I would never have got to where I am today without you all."
"Sister Monica Joan did give you and Cyril a bit of a shove in the right direction didn't she?" Sister Julienne teased.
"And from what I've heard you are supposed to be the matchmaker," Lucille retaliated, "you must be losing your touch!"
The two women looked at each other mischievously and dissolved into a fit of girlish giggles. Eventually composing herself, Sister Julienne continued, "all the preparations over the last few weeks, I thought it would help me to let you go, but it's made it all the harder."
"Oh Sister," Lucille soothed, "if I thought it would have upset you I would have let Mrs Wallace and the rest of the church ladies see to everything."
"I'm not upset, I promise," Sister Julienne replied, wiping the first faintest flicker of a tear from the corner of her eye, "I'm just so happy. And I know that you and Cyril are going to be very happy together. But Nonnatus House will not be the same without you."
"And I will not be the same without Nonnatus House," Lucille assured, "but I am tying more than one knot today. I am binding myself to Cyril as his bride, and to Poplar as my home, forever. I have achieved all that you dreamt for me. To be settled, to be happy, to be at home."
Sister Julienne could not reply verbally, nor could she prevent a smile stretching across all corners of her face. At this moment Lucille slid out of bed, threw on her patterned dressing gown and slippers and walked towards the hook beside the door, and said, "would you like to see my dress? You've been involved in the planning of almost everything else."
"No," Sister Julienne replied, shaking her head. "Only your mother should be granted such an honour."
Instantly understanding, Lucille stepped away from where the dress was hanging, her face falling as she did so, and returned to the side of her bed.
In response, Sister Julienne rose silently from Phyllis' bed, and as she saw herself out of the room, remarked, "I will be observing. As always."