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Sister Bernadette/Shelagh's thought processes as she undergoes her transformation.

Chapter 2

As she read each letter in its turn (going by the post date), she marveled at his bravery in writing at all in the beginning, and then his continuing bravery and determination in the reality of no response from her.

How would she react to a similar lack of response from him?

Well, she wasn't in that situation, was she?

Of course, she was stalling for time. Dr. Turner, or Patrick, as it seemed he might wish to be known, was clearly working his way through his feelings for her, and for their "relationship," for lack of a better word. What did they have, if not a relationship?

So many emotions and feelings were going through her at this time. It was crystal clear that he was drawn to her (and she to him, if she was honest with herself) and unable to stop himself from writing. But however comfortable he felt expressing himself in the written word, she just didn't. Her entire adult life had been spent in quiet, personal contemplation of God's will for her life (her calling to pursue the religious life), and in singleminded attempts to then do what she felt called to do.

Lately the call wasn't there, as it had been, the way it had been for the past 10-12 years. She had never questioned it before, but once she began to question it, she couldn't escape it. She had lost sleep for months, thinking about her calling. As well, there was within her an undeniable urge to something different – whether it was a desire to join the other young nurses in their camraderie, or the doctor at work (at almost anything), or in helping Tim when he seemed to need a friend. On a surface level, she very much understood the nurses and even Tim.

The doctor was another story altogether.

Being part of the Order automatically precluded her involvement with a man. She was committed to God. That was fundamental.

But there was no doubt he was slowly working his way into her psyche. There was something so compelling about him, appealing even. She kept coming back to the courage he was demonstrating in writing privately to her. He had no idea whether she would (or could) respond in like manner. He was putting himself out there, for something so personal and unusual that she was overwhelmed by its power and its purity.

Underlying what he actually said in his letters was this: he was falling (or had fallen) in love with her. He hadn't said the words to her yet, but even she could see where he was going with this new exploration of his feelings and interests. As a fellow sojourner on a similar path, she recognized it for what it was: an undeniable feeling of love for another person, but one to whom such expressions were forbidden.

He didn't know that she was undergoing a similar transformation.

As she lay in bed, as she rested, as she contemplated her life and her desires and even God's will for her, she was meditating almost non-stop on her growing feelings for him. Despite her prayers for release, she couldn't help herself. He came unbidden into almost every thought.

What would he think of this treatment? What was he doing right now? What he and Timothy were doing – were they eating properly, was Timothy getting enough attention when his father was called out for a delivery or some other medical crisis. How did they manage? Timothy seemed to enjoy her company. He even sent her that dead butterfly in the box, seeking to draw her into a conversation, even when she was convalescing at the sanitorium.

Was Dr. Turner taking good care of himself? Was he well? Was he happy? She knew the answers to some of those questions, didn't she?

He wasn't exactly sick, or ill, nor even really unhappy. He was conflicted in the same way she was: how to resolve such personal feelings for someone "off limits" and yet, what if there was even a glimmer of hope to hold onto? Because he wasn't the sort of person to let go lightly. In fact, neither was she. In this regard they were quite alike.

As a nun and a midwife, she had regarded Dr. Turner as someone whose incredible dedication to the community he served was unswerving. He was loyal to that community to a fault. He failed to focus on his own needs so much of the time (this possibly accounted for the way he dressed or the state of repair of his clothes). He took his medical duties seriously and personally, and he lived in service to the Poplar community.

In this regard, he was not so different from her. They clearly shared values and commitment.

When his wife died, he and Timothy were adrift. Oh, they continued to function as best they could, but it was clear that their lives were less than they had been. Up until that point, she had only regarded him as a professional colleague, and the leader of the local medical community, as well as the front line leader thereof. Since she too had lost her mother at a young age, she felt sympathy for Timothy's situation – losing one's mother hurts in ways that are deeply personal. One's mother is one of the people, maybe the single person, who loves you more than any other person. The hurt that lives deep within does not go away lightly. She remembered this, and tried to pay attention to Timothy's requirements when they surfaced. He heeded his father's advice to be independent, but he was still a child, and children need mothers.

So she would engage him in conversation, asking him the simple questions: how was his day, what was he studying at school, who were his mates … she had a lot to discuss with him about his musical talent and studies, since they were shared interests. Of course, she did all this quietly and not to draw any attention to herself, but because Timothy seemed to need an adult who showed some interest in him in a maternal fashion, even if it was just a nun in the community.

What she didn't know was that Timothy often told his father about those gently conversations, revealing her kindness and another dimension that his father was growing to love. It might have laid the groundwork for his feelings, but even if not, it certainly reinforced them for him. Not only was she a beautiful person in her own right, she was kind, she loved his son, she was sweet natured … When she got new, more stylish eyeglasses, it was also quite apparent that she had stunning eyes. The rest of her was fairly covered up under her habit and such, but her eyes were windows into her soul. Oh, that was a cliché, but so true in her case.

As her treatment at the sanitorium came to an end, and she was due to be released the next day, she suddenly became aware that going to continue her convalescence in a place not Poplar was not part of any plan. She needed to be near Dr. Turner, so they could slowly work out whatever it was that needed working out. She wasn't sure of a full-on commitment, but she knew instinctively that she needed to be nearer him in order for them to talk, or meet, so they could work this thing out together.

She would call him in the morning.

TBC?