THIRTEEN

After Patrick finished scrubbing out the pan he used to cook their dinner, he held it beneath the kitchen faucet to rinse it out, only to inadvertently cause water to splash out and hit him directly in the stomach. His shirt soaked through immediately and he cursed beneath his breath. He finished rinsing the pan, set it aside to dry, and then reached for a towel to soak up some of the water saturating his shirt. As he held the towel in place, he glanced around the empty room and found himself wishing Sister Bernadette was there to commiserate with him. It wasn't her assistance with meal prep and clean up that he missed, though he certainly never complained when she offered to help, but the companionship.

The evening before his birthday had seemed to shift the dynamics between them ever so slightly. Not only did she continue to stay with Tim in their flat at least one night a week, but she'd taken on a small role in their general household maintenance. He'd arrive home to find a sink full of dirty dishes to be empty and clean or he'd find extra food prepared in his refrigerator for the coming days. He always thanked her for these things and reminded her she did not have to do them, but she simply assured him that she didn't mind.

In addition to the housework she contributed to, she had begun eating evening meals with them on these days and sometimes on Saturday nights as well. After they ate, they would talk as they cleaned up, and he could not help but be reminded of the many, long conversations they'd had on the hospital balcony so many years earlier. They seemed to be falling into that same routine and, as it was something he had always looked forward to, he was quite pleased with the return to that level of friendship. Thought I felt the same in many ways it was impossible to deny the differences between the way their lives had been in 1944 versus the present. The most significant difference being Timothy.

Though it was clear from the start that Sister Bernadette and Timothy would get along well, now that they were spending several hours a week together, they had quickly become thick as thieves. Timothy clearly loved spending time with her and frequently asked his father when they would be seeing each other again, particularly if, due to their busy schedules, it had been several days. From the way the sister seemed to come up with new games or activities for them to do together, it was easy to tell just how fond of him she was. Both of these factors, while seemingly quite lovely, caused Patrick no small amount of internal conflict.

On one hand, Sister Bernadette was a very dear friend of his. Their time together during the war had forged something between them that could never be broken. Even if they continued to drift in and out of each other's lives, he knew with full certainty that were they ever to come back together again, their friendship would pick up where it left off. Given the level of loyalty he felt to her, he had not initially questioned allowing her to build a similar relationship with his son.

At the same time, he had failed to consider just what sort of attachment Timothy might form with Sister Bernadette as he recovered from the heartbreak of losing his mother at such a young age. The thought genuinely had not crossed his mind until he saw the tenderness of the boy's interactions with her. Then, one Saturday afternoon as they listened to the radio, Tim had chosen to cuddle up against Sister Bernadette instead of him and that was when the reality of the situation began to weigh on him.

No matter how frequently she came to dinner or how much fun they had playing games together, the reality would remain that Sister Bernadette was a nun. She had chosen a life serving God and as such would never be part of any traditional family. This worried Patrick once he finally admitted to himself that Timothy was, in fact, beginning to see her as a maternal figure. He began to question whether it was a good idea to allow his son to form such a bond, which would surely ultimately be broken in some way, unless…

Unless.

Patrick had told himself that he wasn't ready to think about it, but he found it nearly impossible not to think about it! She was in his home multiple times a week. She cared for Timothy. She cared for him! All of those things individually may have been able to explain away as being part of her compassionate nature, but the significance of their history simply could not be discounted. Not only did they have a lasting friendship, but they had, at least from his point of view, the hints of deeper feelings. As she had been transferred away from the Allied hospital so suddenly, they had not been able to explore those feelings to the extent he would have wanted to and, in the immediate aftermath of her departure, he had found himself quite heartbroken as a result. With the time between her departure and his father's death, which led him to meeting Marianne, happening in such quick succession, those feelings had become lost inside him, but now that he was spending more time with her, they were once again brought to the surface and he was more certain than ever of how deeply within him they ran.

Despite promising himself to live more in the moment, thoughts of a future with Sister Bernadette plagued him several times a week. He'd spend several hours torturing himself with such thoughts before vowing to push them away once again and focus only on their friendship and how that related to the needs of his son.

After mopping up his shirt, Patrick retired to the sofa to peruse the latest copy of The Lancet that had arrived in that day's post. He had been sitting no more than five minutes when he was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. Given the hour, he knew the call could only relate to an emergency, so he answered it swiftly.

"Patrick, it's Sister Bernadette. I found a baby wrapped in a bundle outside the steps of Nonnatus. I have no idea how long he was out there, and his skin is cool to the touch. Could you possibly come and look at him?"

"A baby? Left outside?" he repeated, his brain struggling to comprehend such an upsetting notion.

"Yes. Trixie arrived back at quarter to eight and he wasn't there, but I only found him about ten minutes ago, so he could have been out there well over an hour."

"Ah, yes, then he needs checked over. I will be there as soon as I can," he informed her.

Patrick quickly readied his bag and put on his coat before attempting to rouse his sleeping son. Of course, the boy had no interesting being alert, so Patrick wrapped him in a blanket and carried him to the car. He felt guilty disrupting Timothy's rest, but the boy could not be left on his own and a baby that had spent over an hour out in the cold night certainly needed urgent attention. What concerned him most was that Sister Bernadette had been the one to call. He knew without question if she felt she could handle the situation herself, she would have. This told him the child could have been in quite a difficult state.

They arrived at Nonnatus barely fifteen minutes later and he once again carried the half-asleep Timothy up the stairs. He was slightly out of breath when he knocked on the door and was let in by Sister Bernadette. "I couldn't leave Timothy, and he barely woke when I carry him to the car," he explained.

"It's all right. You can put him on the sofa by the fire."

The entryway was only lit by a light further down the hall and thus it was not until they stepped into the living room that he saw that Sister Bernadette was dressed in her robe and not her habit. In her arms she cradled the bundled infant, who was either content or sleeping, for he made no noise.

Once Timothy was settled on the couch, the sister carried the baby over closer to the light of the fire and Patrick took him from her arms. "His temperature is a little low and he seems a bit sluggish to react. He hasn't made any sounds at all, but he seems reasonably alert," she explained.

Patrick lay the boy out on his lap and unwrapped the blankets. The first thing he noticed was the umbilical cord stump just above his diaper. Upon examining it closely, he concluded, "He's no more than two, maybe three days old. Did he have any clothing on? Or any sort of identification?"

"No. He was only wrapped in a thin blanket that was soiled because he had no diaper on."

"Have infants been abandoned at Nonnatus before?"

She shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of. I'm just so grateful God reminded me to check to see if we'd put the milk bottles out, or else he might not have been found until morning and he may have died."

Patrick completed his examination of the infant, including taking his temperature, before concluding, "Well, I think your assessment was accurate. He's definitely a bit lethargic, though not alarmingly. He may just be hungry or cold, though it is odd that he's not crying. Do you have a bottle of formula we could try and give him."

She gave him a wry smile before reaching towards a nearby table and holding up a baby bottle. "I tried that after I called you; he wouldn't take it."

"Then we should focus on getting him warm," Patrick said as he began to swaddle the baby. "If he doesn't perk up after he's been sufficiently warmed, we'll consider taking him to the hospital for further examination. I suppose we'll need to contact the authorities in the morning regardless."

The sister took the baby from him and tucked him tightly against her body. She sat down in the chair beside his and made sure the knitted hat was securely on his head before rocking him gently. "I am hoping the mother comes back for him in the morning. It must have been a moment of pure desperation that drove her to leave him that way."

Patrick gazed to his left and let his eyes fall upon his sleeping son. He could not fathom dropping the boy off on a doorstep in the cold, not knowing whether he would be safe or cared for. From the moment he had been born, Patrick's protective instinct had been so strong. Leaving a child in such away was incomprehensible to him.

"I hope that she returns as well. And that the little chap begins to perk up once he's cozy and warm."

He watched as the sister gazed down at the baby she cradled. She brushed her fingertips across his forehead and then skimmed her hand down to pat his bottom gently. She offered him a comforting smile as she continued to rock him gently in her arms.

Patrick felt a peculiar prickling sensation at the back of his neck as he watched the moment unfold between them. For as long as he'd known her, her kindness and compassion had been one of her most admirable features, though he'd never seen her direct those features towards children until recently. As far as he understood, she had interacted with children during the war, he just hadn't had the privilege of observing it. Now, as he watched her, he could not help but wonder if she'd ever wished she made a different choice.

"Did you ever think about having a child of your own?"

She looked up to him with surprise. "Excuse me?"

"I was just thinking…you're so good with children and you deliver multiple babies a week for your job. Did you ever think of having one of your own?" His question certainly was a bold one, but he didn't feel it was off limits for them. It felt just the sort of question that would have been asked when they stood on a moonlit balcony instead of in a firelit room.

"I have chosen a life dedicated to God."

He wrinkled his nose at her reply as it seemed so sterile and rehearsed, like it was the answer she was expected to give rather than the one she felt in her heart. "I know what you've chosen, but you still haven't answered my question." As her lips remained pressed tightly together, he made one more attempt to nudge her. "Go on—it's me. You can be honest with me."

A slightly incredulous expression crossed her face. "Why do you think I am withholding the truth?"

"Because I can see your face."

He heard her words, and he understood the choice she had made many years earlier, but that did not change the expression of adoration that he saw even with the uneven flickering of the firelight.

She held his gaze for another moment before turning back to the baby. "Well, I suppose it's rather difficult not to make this face when you're holding a baby that's this small."

"Daddy?"

Patrick jumped when he heard the raspy grumble from the other side of the room. Patrick walked hurriedly over to his son and put his hand gently on his shoulder. "I'm right here. Don't worry. We're going home soon." Timothy grumbled something inaudible, and Patrick wondered if he'd actually been fully awake when he spoke or if it was part of a dream. Regardless, they needed to be getting home.

"Will you be all right with him?" he asked the sister.

"Yes, I will be fine. Thank you for coming to check on him."

He nodded and then recommended that she try and use a dropper to get some formula into his mouth if he would not take a bottle on his own after a few hours. He then scooped up Timothy and said, "I'll call in the morning to check up on him," before heading back out to his car where visions of Sister Bernadette's lovely, fire-lit face filled his mind long after he'd driven away.

Sister Bernadette awoke suddenly when she heard a baby's cry. She opened her eyes, but it took her a moment to realize that the world around her was blurry because her glasses had fallen off overnight. She felt around her lap until she found them and then looked over to see a robe-clad Trixie cradling the baby who had previously been asleep in the basket at her feet.

"Looks like this handsome gentleman is feeling much better this morning," Trixie said. She had been the only one of Nonnatus's residents Sister Bernadette had told about the baby she found, mostly because she needed to check with Trixie, who had been the last one in the night before, to see if she had seen anything amiss when she returned. As the young blonde had spent many hours with a laboring mother that day, Sister Bernadette had sent her to bed, though she was grateful to see that Trixie had awoken early and seemed willing to help as the sister had not slept much the night before.

"Yes, I—I finally was able to give him a bottle around two o'clock and he fell asleep shortly thereafter."

"Sounds like he's ready for another."

Relieved the baby was vocalizing, the sister nodded and then walked into the kitchen to prepare another bottle from the stash of formula they kept on hand. Trixie followed, cradling the baby with her left arm while patting his bottom with her right hand. "He's just so sweet. It makes you want one of your own, doesn't it?"

"What?" she asked, mostly from the shock of hearing such a question twice in the span of eight hours when she could genuinely not recall hearing it previously.

"Oh, sorry, I was just thinking that when babies are so tiny, it really pulls at my heartstrings." She gazed down sweetly at the boy and sighed. "It really makes me want one. Actually, it makes me want five," she added with a laugh.

"Oh, yes. Your question just surprised me because Patrick asked me nearly the same thing last night—if interacting with so many newborns made me want one of my own."

"Does it?" Trixie asked, her voice ringing with genuine curiosity.

Sister Bernadette busied herself preparing the powdered formula as she tried her best to ignore the increasing rate of her heart. Of course, there had been times in her past when she had thought about what it might be like to have a baby of her own, but those moments had been few and far between. More recently, as she witnessed Timothy learning and exploring new things, she found herself quite taken by the joy she felt. Exploring the world through the eyes of a child was truly a wonderous thing, but it was one she was not meant to fully experience.

"I accepted long ago that I will never have children; it is not God's will." Then, with a smile, she added, "Would you like to feed him, or shall I?"

"I'll do it." Trixie took the bottle and guided the nipple into the baby's mouth as she asked, "Did Dr. Turner have any thoughts when he examined the baby?"

"He was concerned that he was slightly lethargic and not vocalizing but wanted to check in again in the morning. Seeing him now, I'm not sure we need to continue our concern; his behavior seems quite typical."

"Yes, I agree." After a moment, Trixie continued their conversation. "You know, I admire the relationship between you and Dr. Turner. It's quite interesting and I don't mean that negatively at all! I just have never known of another man and woman who are friends the way you are."

The sister didn't fault Trixie for her thinking, for she was also unaware of many friendships between people of opposite genders who weren't also members of the same family. Even within the scope of their experiences overseas, it was still unusual for men and women to interact the way they had. During their time at the Allied hospital, she'd heard comments about the uniqueness of their relationship, but she never paid much attention to them. As long as she and Patrick were comfortable with their friendship, that was all that mattered.

"We have a lot of history."

"Oh, I know."

As Trixie's tone made it sound as though she might have suspected their history with each other to be of a sordid nature, Sister Bernadette felt perturbed. Fueled by a lack of sleep and the emotions dredged up inside of her from receiving two questions on her life choices in less than half a day, she responded in an atypically harsh tone.

"Forgive me but you do not—you cannot fully understand. You… no one who wasn't there can know what it was like to be trapped behind Italian lines after everyone else in your traveling party was killed. You can't know what it's like to have no ideas—not even the most basic beginnings of an escape plan despite praying every chance that you get. I felt so desperately alone, but then I wasn't anymore. He appeared and, although I knew I couldn't reveal myself because doing so would have put us both in danger, knowing he was also there was a weight off my shoulders. I knew that if there was some sort of emergency for one of us, I could reveal myself and we would be able to rely on each other."

Trixie appeared a bit wide-eyed, presumably from the shock of hearing the sister's sharp tone for the first time ever. "Is…isn't that what happened in the end?"

She nodded her head and wrung her hands together as she thought back to those dark days. She didn't like to think about them, but there was no way she could deny how integral they were in forming the building blocks of her friendship with Patrick. "They were so cruel to him. They tortured him but in the worst way. They forced him to operate on patients that were already dead and punished him when he couldn't bring them back to life."

Trixie's eyes began to appear watery as she squeaked, "How awful!"

"Then, after torturing him, they tried to kill him once and I knew—I had no choice. I had to be the one to get us out, because he was chained up every night and I…I was so afraid I-" Her body trembled with the visceral recollection of the terror she had felt—the responsibility that weighed on her. He was helpless and doomed to die. She had been the only one with the ability to rescue him.

After taking in a breath to calm herself again, she continued. "Thankfully, God guided me into finding the map that I needed to find our escape route—and He led me to the bolt cutters in needed to free Patrick's leg from the chains."

"You saved his life," Trixie concluded with no small amount of amazement.

"We saved each other," she corrected. "I would have been killed, too, if I had stayed behind, but he convinced me to go with him and together we made it." She allowed herself a moment to think back to the breaking dawn when they had come upon the American patrols. Next, she thought of seeing him walk into the laundry room at the Allied hospital and, finally, to the moment when he'd crossed the threshold of Nonnatus House for the first time. Each of those moments had played such a pivotal role in bringing her to that exact moment in time, she couldn't fathom her life without them, just like she could not fathom her life without him being a part of it.

Though she knew her eyes glistened with tears, she stood up proudly as she explained, "When you share experiences like that with someone, you are forever changed in the exact same way. It's as though they leave an imprint on you that can never be washed away. It's what—" Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat as she moved her gaze away from Trixie's face and onto the baby in her arms. "It's what makes you such lovely friends."

The room was silent for a moment before Trixie whispered, "Yes. Lovely friends." Though she echoed the sister's words, her inflection made it clear she did not seem entirely convinced that friendship was the only bond they forged.

Feeling a tear slide down her cheek roused the sister from her state, and she quickly brushed her fingers against her face and said, "I—I am sorry, Trixie; I shouldn't have spoken to you that way."

Trixie shook her head quickly. "Oh no, don't apologize sister. I'm glad you shared that story with me. Now, forgive me, but you do look like you could use some rest."

"I…yes I believe I could." She agreed, as her bones suddenly felt much heavier inside her body.

"Then you should go and lie down. I will watch over baby and when Sister Julienne comes down, I will tell her what's happened, and we will inform the police."

"Ah, yes." The sister nodded distantly as she felt her eyelids begin to feel heavier, too. "Thank you. I will only lay down for an hour or so."

Trixie's hand fell kindly on her shoulder. "Take all the time that you need."

Sister Bernadette nodded and then slowly made her way up to her room so that she could pray and seek some of God's guidance for her aching heart before she slept.