Sometime later Shelagh is able to pry the duo of freshly hatched infants from Sister Hilda, and methodically remove the layers of bodily fluid from them. Sister Monica Joan smiles in delight as she collects the first victim from the bath. She hums softly to the new being whilst she contently dries her precious skin.

"Perhaps you shouldn't mention it to your sister, but you are clearly my favorite," Sister Monica Joan insists.

Shelagh collects the second infant for her bath. Her efficiency in bathing infants is unrivaled. As she dries the second infant she too grins. Joy fills her heart.

"I assure you that Sister Monica Joan will say the same to you. There is no way to distinguish who is who."

"Shelagh the eldest of the pair is clearly heavier," Sister Monica Joan argues.

"By a few ounces," Shelagh furrows her brow skeptically.

"I needn't think it necessary to fight over them," Sister Hilda chimes in.

Shelagh returns to the head of the bed. Sister Hilda's braid threatens to completely abandon her as she shifts into a sitting position. Her chest rhythmically rises, and falls as her legs dangle over the side of the bed.

"Are you plotting an escape?" Sister Monica Joan inquires.

"I am just trying to get comfortable. I assure you I am ill prepared for any grueling activity."

"It seems prudent that you attempt to get some rest. Goodness knows you've put in enough work for one day," Shelagh advises.

"Not yet," Sister Hilda answers quietly.

"I can reorganize your bed if that would provide relief. Then Sister Monica Joan, and I can leave you alone to get some rest."

"I don't want to be alone."

"I can stay," Sister Monica Joan offers.

"I am happy to take them downstairs while you rest," Shelagh adds.

Sister Hilda glances at the newborn secured in Shelagh's arms. Her eyes brim with tears. She can hold back no longer.

"Please," she struggles to convey coherent thought, "don't take them." She is unable to stifle her sobs.

Shelagh gently rubs Sister Hilda's shoulder blade, "I hear you." She cautiously transfers the newborn into her arms.

Sister Hilda stares down at the brand new baby in her arms. A daughter sleeps swaddled in a towel. Her head tilts, and she searches Shelagh's face.

"I don't know how to do this," she admits emotionally.

"I can't imagine how scary all of this must feel right now. I have no intent on abandoning you," Shelagh gesticulates towards the corner of the room, "And I don't think we could pry Sister Monica Joan away even with the promise of the finest baked goods. Our support is unrelenting. Unfortunately we are not mind readers. We do not know what you want, or need right now."

"It seems as my resolve, and rationale are an inferior match to my hormones. For months upon months I have utterly dreaded this day. I couldn't wait for all of this to be over. Looking at their tiny precious faces I realize it is just beginning. There is no way to grow a human being, or two without feeling something. I don't understand all of the pain that has come with it. Perhaps it's only purpose was to make the joy so totally overwhelming. I find," her breath hitches, "that I am unwilling, and completely incapable of parting with the precious gifts bestowed upon me."

Sister Monica Joan smiles as she reunites the pair of infant's in their mother's embrace.

"Sister Hilda, if you will allow for a brief intermission I believe Shelagh can assist me with an endeavor that requires her attention. It will take only a few moments, if you feel up to it."

"My current state hinders me from embarking on any field trips. I do feel capable of holding a pair of infants that collectively hardly manage to eek past five kilos on the scales."

"Delightful," Sister Monica Joan nearly squeals with joy.

Shelagh reluctantly joins Sister Monica Joan in the hall. She furrows her brow as Sister Monica Joan proceeds to drag her to the end of the hall.

"I do not delight in your schemes," Shelagh reveals.

"Fortunately I have the opportunity to shift your opinion on the matter."

"I have no desire to clang around with you in the attic searching for what promises to be a mission in dust inhalation."

"Your lack of confidence in me is disappointing."

"There is nothing in the attic but old boxes, and a terrible smell."

"Your memory does not betray you. Fortunately with time some progress has been made," Sister Monica Joan shoves open the attic door. Shelagh reluctantly steps in behind her. Sister Monica Joan gesticulates.

"As you can see my mind benefits from a project."

"I can see that."

"I have ridded this depressing space of years of clutter, and dirt. All that could be salvaged was neatly reorganized. I have discreetly been squirreling away items for months in hopes that they would be of use. As you know we are often recipients of hand me downs with the purpose of rehoming items. Before you chide me, please note that all appropriate items have thoroughly been decontaminated with warm soapy water, and copious helpings of elbow grease."

Shelagh smiles at the pair of basinets with neatly folded stacks of blankets, and clothing inside. Atop the pile of each is a crocheted sweater, and booties. One in yellow, and one in green.

"It seems not all of these are hand me downs. I spy some of your handiwork, too."