9 July 1958
It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling, approaching Nonnatus House as a guest, a stranger, having to knock and wait for someone to come and open the door for her instead of walking right in as she would have done when this place was her home. Patrick was still sitting behind the wheel of his car, watching from the street; he'd promised not to drive off until he saw that she was safely inside. He'd wanted to stand with her on the doorstep, but darkness had fallen already, and Timothy was asleep in the backseat of the car, and there was a part of her that did not want Patrick beside her when this door opened, when her friends, her colleagues, looked upon her with her head uncovered for the first time in their acquaintance. There would be questions and giggles from the nurses, she was sure, and sorrowful glances from the nuns, and Patrick's presence at her side would feel somehow wrong, she thought, as if she were flaunting the decision she'd made, the way she'd thrown over one family for another. No, she'd decided, it was altogether best that Patrick stay where he was.
For several long seconds she stood there, forlorn and alone on the stoop of the building that had once been her home, both her hands wrapped around the handle of her worn travelling case. If she'd had a hand free she would have run it self-consciously over her hair; it felt somehow indecent, stepping out into the world dressed this way. Her suit would have been frumpy by Trixie's standards, but it showed the slope of her calf, the curve of her neck, hugged the neat tuck of her waist and left her figure on full display. And her face, oh her face was not hidden beneath the wimple any longer. Anyone who looked upon her now would see her, all of her, without artifice or defense.
Shelagh stood still just long enough to begin to wonder whether anyone had heard her hesitant knock at all when the door opened at last. There on the other side stood Trixie, still wearing her uniform, and as Shelagh watched the girl's eyes went almost comically wide.
"Oh, Sister," Trixie breathed, her gaze travelling over Shelagh from head to toe and back again - not that such a journey took very long. Strange, but as Shelagh watched her she could not help but notice that tears seemed to have gathered in the corners of Trixie's eyes, though she could not say whether that was for good or ill.
"Oh, but that isn't right, is it?" Trixie said then, a bright, brilliant smile blooming across her face despite those sparkling tears. "You aren't a Sister at all."
"No, I'm afraid I'm not," Shelagh told her.
"Don't be afraid," Trixie said, reaching for her case with one hand while holding the door open with another. "I want you to be happy." The door had been opened and so Shelagh stepped through it, though she cast a glance back over her shoulder, looking out at the dark green MG where Patrick sat keeping watch over her. It would not be the last time she saw him, she knew; they would meet again the following day, and begin to build their new life together, but still she was hesitant to leave him, wanting, if only for a moment, to rush back down the stairs and into the comfort and security of his warm embrace.
"Is that Doctor Turner out there?" Trixie asked, but she did not wait for the answer for she knew it already; she gave a jaunty wave and then closed the door, and Shelagh took a very deep breath as she found herself wrapped up in the familiar warmth of Nonnatus House once more.
"Doctor drove me here from Chichester," Shelagh explained, blushing. She had very nearly referred to him as Patrick, but such familiarity seemed out of place within these walls. It would not do, she thought, to call him Patrick when she spoke of him to the nurses. She had not known his name while they were working together, and she felt it was important to respect the necessary boundaries between the GP and the midwives, even if she had spent the last year and more skirting round them at every opportunity.
"I'm so happy for you, Shelagh," Trixie said, stowing her case by the door and then catching Shelagh by the arm. "Now, let's get you something to eat."
It had been necessary for Shelagh to give the girl her full name while Trixie assisted in securing her new home, and it was right that Trixe should use it now, but it still felt strange, somehow, to hear her given name spoken aloud. It felt rather like slipping into a blouse that was much too big for her, like she was a child playing dress-up in another person's clothes. Perhaps I'll grow accustomed to it in time, she thought as Trixie led her down the corridor to the kitchen. She supposed she did not have another choice, for she was Shelagh, now, and no going back.
"Now," Trixie said, pushing her towards a chair, "you sit there, and tell me everything."
There was something so wonderfully, beautifully enthusiastic about the way Trixie had welcomed her, the way Trixie seemed to share in her own happiness, though Trixie was eager where Shelagh was guarded. It would be lovely, she thought, to have a proper friend, someone she could talk to earnestly about all her hope and all her fears. Of all the girls it was Trixie who knew the most about her situation and how it had come to be; it was Trixie who had lingered on the periphery of so many of the important moments that had led Shelagh out of the Order and into Patrick's arms. It was Trixie who had heard her tearful confession, the night before she was sent away, Trixie who had said it's so plain that he cares for you, and Tim clearly adores you, and if you love them both then I say...well, I say it's wonderful. It was wonderful, Shelagh knew that now, knew that it was love she felt for Patrick and his boy, knew that it was love Patrick felt for her, knew that it was love that must guide her steps into the unknown, but she had not known that it was wonderful, before. Until she'd unburdened herself to Trixie she had not really believed that this love could be a blessing, but Trixie had given her cause to hope, and for that she would always be grateful.
"There's not much to tell that you don't already know," Shelagh told her gently. "Doctor and I still have a great many things to discuss."
Trixie had been busy from the moment they'd entered the kitchen, pulling together pieces leftover from the Nonnatuns' supper so that Shelagh might eat, and as Shelagh spoke Trixie turned and placed a heaping plate in front of her.
"But you are going to marry him, aren't you?" Trixie's eyes were sparkling with joy as she asked her question, and Shelagh could not help but smile in response.
"Yes," she said. Yes, she and Patrick were going to marry; she was going to live in that little flat with him, and fall asleep beside him every night, and everything else, every other question, every other answer she had not found yet ceased to matter, if only for a moment.
Trixie squealed, then, and hugged her exuberantly before settling into the chair beside her.
"You must tell me exactly how he proposed," she said, "and you must let us throw an engagement party for you."
"Nurse Franklin, have you seen-"
The sound of Sister Julienne's voice cut neatly across Trixie's gleeful chatter, but she did not finish her thought; she came floating into the kitchen, graceful as always, but drew up short at the sight of Shelagh at the table. Out of reflex Shelagh rose to her feet, tugging anxiously at the hem of her jacket, a sudden sorrow washing away every ounce of happiness Trixie's company had brought to her. This was what she had feared most about returning to Nonnatus House, this moment when she must see Sister Julienne again, and see for herself how much grief her decision had caused.
For a moment Sister Julienne simply stood looking at her, and then her eyes, too, began to fill with tears, though Shelagh imagined it was for a different reason than Trixie's had done. Trixie was a hopelessly romantic sort of girl; she swooned over the slightest gesture of affection and spent rather a lot of time dissecting every interaction she and her friends had with an available man. Trixie read romance novels, and went to the cinema, and dreamed of the kind of love that would sweep her off her feet. Sister Julienne's nature could not have been more different.
"Oh, my dear Sister - Shelagh," she corrected herself at once, giving her head a little shake as if to clear away a troublesome thought. "It is so lovely to see you. But I'm afraid I wasn't expecting you."
"I wasn't expecting to be here, Sister Julienne," Shelagh answered meekly. "My new lodgings won't be ready until tomorrow. I wanted to ask if I might be allowed to stay the night here."
"Of course," Sister Julienne said, and though her voice was warm her eyes were terribly sad, and that sorrow cut Shelagh to the quick. I have hurt her, she realized. I have turned my back on the Order, and on her. Oh, what must she think of me? Sister Julienne lived and breathed only to serve others, possessed a serenity and a certainty about her calling that Shelagh had often envied. Julienne was so wholly devoted to the service of the Lord that Shelagh could not help but feel that in rejecting one, she had also rejected the other. They had always been so close, the two of them; there had been moments when Shelagh felt she loved that woman as a girl ought to love her mother, but she had left her mother's house, now, and spurned everything her mother had ever taught her.
"You are always welcome here, my dear," Julienne continued. "We would be happy to see you, whenever you have the chance. You can sleep in your old room."
That thought was not a welcome one, but Shelagh felt she had been given a gift, and she would not ask for more.
"Thank you," she breathed, trying very hard not to cry. She wanted to hug Sister Julienne, to cling to her, to explain how deeply she loved Patrick, how loving him did not mean she could not also love the women who had been her sisters, but the words wouldn't come, and in any case Sister Julienne was already speaking again.
"It's time for compline," she said. "Will you join us, Shelagh? We have so missed hearing your voice."
"Oh, I couldn't," Shelagh answered, twisting her hands together. Oh, but this was torture. After all the long weeks she'd spent in the Mother House, the endless praying, the endless tears, Patrick's desperate arrival and his beautiful letters, she had thought she was confident in her choice. It was the right decision, she knew it was, but standing here, looking at Sister Julienne, knowing all she had given up, knowing how she must have wounded the ones she loved, how they must worry for her, guilt and despair settled low in her belly. How could she possibly walk into the chapel dressed this way? How could she raise her voice in praise to the Lord, when she had turned away from him in pursuit of the desires of her own selfish heart?
"No," Sister Julienne said softly. "I suppose not. Still, you're welcome any time."
The offer was a genuine one, made in good faith, a hand outstretched, a reminder that it was not too late for Shelagh to seek the Lord's mercy and the love of her sisters even if she would never again be one of them. But it was not a hand she could take, not a gift she could accept; she wasn't certain she deserved it.
"I must go," Sister Julienne said then, and made to turn away.
"Wait," Trixie called out to her, still sitting at the table where she had silently observed the interaction between Shelagh and her former sister, "did you need something?"
"It can wait," Sister Julienne said with one of her saintly smiles. "Have a nice evening."
And then she departed, and Shelagh promptly burst into tears.