What a feeling
The weeks dragged on and Patrick kept fighting his urge to ask about Shelagh more often than it seemed appropriate.
The first days after her accident, he had called Sister Julienne every morning until he felt it would probably not be considered appropriate for him to continue his calls. Afterwards, he had to wait for his fortnightly volunteering at the antenatal clinic to receive an update on Shelagh's progress.
After about one week at a London ICU, the doctors had slowly woken her up from the coma. Neurological tests had given no indication for any brain damage. From what he heard from Shelagh's colleagues every two weeks, she was on her path to recovery, although slowly. Apparently, her hip and spine had been crushed and it was yet to be determined whether she would ever be able to walk again without pain. She had had several operations and would need many months of intense physical therapy at a special rehabilitation unit.
After almost six weeks at the hospital, Shelagh could transfer to St. Anne's rehabilitation centre near London where she was supposed to stay for at least six more weeks. She might even have to spend Christmas there, depending on her progress, Trixie had told Patrick one afternoon. She regularly talked to Shelagh via Skype and even planned to visit her, combining it with a long planned stay at her family during Christmas.
Patrick felt sorry for Shelagh. If anyone did not deserve a fate like this it was Shelagh who in his eyes was someone very close to a saint. He would have liked to talk to and see her via Skype, too, but he feared to impose. After she had regained consciousness again, he had considered sending her an email, much quicker than a handwritten letter - but then he realized that he only had her work contact. Certainly, her emails would be forwarded to her colleagues.
Thus, he made it a habit of sitting down every few nights to write a letter to her. He would write about his work, about Timothy and tell some anecdotes. But the main part of the letters was always his emphasis on his feelings and his hope that one day they might be able to talk to each other in the open – no matter how she felt about him, he wished they could remain friends and he would always respect her wishes, whichever they were.
Shelagh did not remember her accident, nor the first two weeks after waking up from her coma. Only then did she slowly remember bits and pieces. Sister Winifred, a Sister close to age in Shelagh, had visited her daily. She was based at the Order's Nonnatus House in Poplar and had been tasked to support Shelagh throughout her illness since she did not have any relatives in the area.
From those early weeks, Shelagh only remembered the pain and the certainty that this accident somehow marked a turning point in her life. Even though doctors assured her that she would very likely be healed completely, even if it might take up to two years, she was certain that she would never return to her former life.
But she just was not able to see which path God wanted her to take. In the many hours she spent in solitude in her hospital bed, hardly able to move on her own, she looked out of the window, either into the faint October sun or the grey clouds announcing the coming of autumn, and pondered about her wish to join the order and whether this accident might have been a forceful sign to tell her that now was the time.
Then she saw Patrick Turner's warm eyes looking at her, his mouth crooked in an affectionate smile, his skin so craggy that she felt the urge to smoothen it with her fingers. But what would it mean to commit her life to a man, to a family? She did not know and was not certain whether she was good enough for it.
And then, five weeks into her stay at the hospital, a thick envelope from Tanzania arrived. Sender: Dr P. Turner.
Shelagh held it in her hands for a long time, unable to open it. She would not have been able to decide what to do if the envelope had not slipped out of her hand while she was dozing off. Holding quite a heavy load, the far-travelled, crumpled paper envelope tore open when it hit the floor and its contents spilled out.
Shelagh was startled awake from the bumping sound of paper touching down on the floor. Because she was not able to get hold of the papers herself, she had to ring for a nurse for help. Shelagh gasped when she counted six letters, all put in separate envelopes.
The envelope also held a postcard with a picture of Mount Kilimanjaro with a get well soon-message in Timothy's boyish scrawl. Shelagh then discovered a note from Patrick in his doctor-scrawl, dated almost two weeks earlier: Dear Shelagh, I am sorry you are getting our letters so late but we only found out your address today. Get well soon, we miss you. Patrick Turner
"Well, someone is missing you," the nurse commented cheekily, but Shelagh chose to ignore her. She was puzzled. Why would Patrick send her so many letters? Deep inside she had a suspicion of what she might read in his letters, but she did not know whether she was ready to face it. So she decided to put the letters away into her nightstand and only kept Timothy's postcard out to remind herself of her second home.
She regularly talked to Trixie via Skype but she did not mention her troubles to her friend. She didn't even dare ask about Patrick, even though she constantly thought about him. Trixie had told Shelagh that Dr Turner had come across the ER just when Shelagh had arrived in the ambulance. Shelagh had secretly been hoping to hear from Dr Turner but now she had, she did not dare to open his letters.
Tom had proved to be a loyal friend, too, regularly writing, texting and skyping with her. In early November, he returned from Tanzania and visited her at St. Anne's. Only half an hour into his visit, Shelagh had brought up all her courage and asked whether he considered her a friend or possibly more. Tom admitted that he wished for her being more than just his friend, but he understood if it wasn't to be and they parted on good terms that day.
In early December, Sister Julienne visited Shelagh. She had attended the annual programme planning meeting for the African mission countries at the Mother House in Chichester and visited Shelagh for a few hours before returning to Moshi.
It was then that Shelagh spoke with someone for the first time about everything that troubled her. About her belief that her accident was meant to show her a new path in life. And that she was not sure whether God wanted her to move into the direction of a religious life or into the opposite direction.
After Sister Julienne had left, Shelagh felt sad and empty. She was again able to slowly walk on her own, supported by crutches. Every afternoon when all her treatments were finished, she slowly limped though the hospital garden, damp and cold, to enjoy the quiet and trying to find solace in nature. Until one day, about one week after Sister Julienne's visit, she witnessed a scene she would never forget in her life.
Shelagh watched another patient welcoming her visitors. The woman was about Shelagh's age and sat in a wheelchair. Shelagh watched how she hugged a small girl, perhaps six or seven years, with her left arm while her other arm was wrapped tightly around the waist of a man. The heads of mother and daughter rested firmly on the man's abdomen. Shelagh was unable to tear away from watching them, taking in the joy and serenity the three people radiated.
Suddenly she noticed how exactly the same scene with her, Timothy and Patrick played out in her mind. First she startled at this thought, but then she felt peace seeping through her.
She had found her answer.
By the middle of December, Patrick's and Timothy's Christmas holiday began. Because he had several meetings at Durham, Patrick had managed to free his son from school ten days before the official holidays began. Therefore they arrived after an overnight flight very early at Heathrow on a sunny but cold December morning.
As usual, Patrick rented a car and the Turners drove to Granny Parker's house. When they arrived, Mrs. Parker was already waiting for them with breakfast ready. After Marianne and he had given up their flat, just before moving to Moshi, Mrs. Parker had suggested she vacate the upper floor of her house for the Turners moving most of their belongings there. Thus, every time Timothy and Patrick arrived at the Parker house, it felt like coming home to them.
After a warm hello from Mrs. Parker, Patrick carried their suitcases upstairs. Then he remained in his bedroom for just a few minutes to take in the presence of his late wife. He looked around at the furniture they had bought just after getting married and smelled the still lingering, faint scent of Marianne.
He still missed her terribly. Obviously, when he stayed here, at her mother's house, he became yet more aware that she was no longer with them. But he also noticed that it felt somehow different being here this time. The pain had become bearable. It had slowly been replaced by a longing.
As much as he had been looking forward to returning home he had also been nervous, aware how close to the place Shelagh was he would be staying.
Timothy wanted them to visit her but Patrick had deflected his son's wish, arguing that Shelagh was still rather ill and needed her rest. From what he had heard last from Sister Julienne, Shelagh was well on her way to recovery, but he was not sure whether he might be a welcome visitor. She had never replied to any of his letters, nor had she contacted him via any other means of communication.
He knew that she must have received the letters because she had once written a short letter accompanied by a postcard from St. Annes, the words "the view of my window" written on its back to Timothy. She had thanked him for his postcard and his father for his "kind letters". But no word to Patrick.
Patrick heard his mother in law call his name. Breakfast was ready and he suddenly noticed how hungry he was and how much he could do with Mrs. Parker's famous full English breakfast.
One hour later, the Turner men had finished their breakfast to the last crumb and agreed that they needed to go out shopping for some winter clothes for Timothy. The boy had grown so much since last winter and did not even have a warm coat, save warm jumpers or shoes for the cold weather.
Just when Patrick walked out of the kitchen to get his car keys, his phone rang. He assumed it was something about work and answered absent-mindedly. But then his breath hitched. It was Shelagh.
