Summary: Nonnatus House must deal with the aftermath of a disastrous birth.
Disclaimer: Call The Midwife belongs to the BBC and others - I am simply borrowing their wonderful characters.
Author's note: Cross posted from Archive of Our Own. This is not my usual Patsy/Delia fic. I have tried to write a story that is much more similar to an actual episode of Call the Midwife. I found this part particularly difficult to do as I was sorely tempted to follow up every opening to the story and complete every loop. That would have extended the length of this greatly however and changed the whole tone of the story. It's been very hard to be so disciplined and stick to the plot - a real challenge for me.
My grateful thanks as always to Sittingonthis for her invaluable input into this. It has taken a long while for me to compose this, and it now looks very different to when I first started it. Thanks too must go to Jlynnsca for her wonderful editing skills.
Barbara stared at the large cross that adorned the convent chapel and sighed. After providing a statement for the police, she had excused herself for a lie down. Trixie had offered to stay with her, but she had refused, hiding behind a stiff upper lip of bravado, but secretly not wanting to feel obliged to talk about the whole thing anymore. She already felt inadequate. The young midwife was bone tired but she just could not get her mind to quieten enough to rest.
After tossing and turning for some time, Barbara got up again. Her first thought was to seek Delia out. At least she would not need to explain anything and they would have solace in each other's company. But Delia was not in her room so Barbara wandered listlessly around the now quiet convent before being drawn to the chapel.
It was only to be expected she supposed. Having grown up immersed in religion and faith, it was only right that she should be here to pray. To seek guidance and clarity. To ask forgiveness for her shortcomings. To pray for Mrs Jenkins and the baby, who had not even lived long enough to be christened and therefore would have no place in Heaven.
Instead, Barbara felt frustrated and disappointed. It felt unfair and wrong that this had happened. It certainly didn't feel like the work of God. Not the God she worshipped and loved. She had heard many lessons from her father, and from Tom, about tests of faith. The severest tests demonstrated the strongest faith. Right now, that felt like a glib excuse because no loving god would choose to take a mother and baby away from her family; not in that way. Not when there were children on earth who needed her. And not when the baby was taken so suddenly that she had no place in Heaven.
Barbara didn't even want to think about what this meant about her own skills, and place within the team at Nonnatus. Was this a message from God telling her that she wasn't good enough? She still saw herself as the junior midwife in comparison to Trixie and Patsy. Now, it seemed that Delia was overtaking her, too. It would appear that a permanently cheerful disposition and eagerness to help just wasn't enough. Of course, it felt self-indulgent and cravenly to focus on her own failings. And that meant that she wouldn't be able to talk about her doubts to Tom, or anyone really.
Barbara was disturbed from her thoughts by someone approaching. She sniffed and hurriedly brushed away her tears before looking up to see Sister Winifred approaching. The brunette gritted her teeth. It was bad enough that she was suffering a crisis of faith and confidence. Barbara wasn't sure she would be able to tolerate the well-meaning sister pontificate about God's will. Right now, she didn't think there were words that would placate her, or provide any sort of reassurances regarding her faith or ability.
Sister Winifred sat down next to Barbara silently and simply nodded a greeting. Then, she reached over and took one of Barbara's hands in her own and looked up at the altar. She said nothing. Barbara didn't need to hear about having her faith tested. Not from Sister Winifred. Not right now. She needed a friend.
Sister Winifred knew she had a reputation for overly earnest evangelism. Quite often, she couldn't help but make sure that everyone knew her opinions about living by the word of the Lord. Her experience with Dorothy Whitmore however, had given her much to reflect upon. The young woman having an affair with a married man was bad enough. Falling pregnant was unforgivable. Or at least Sister Winifred had initially decided that. Miss Whitmore was a teacher. She should have had standards. She should never have been tempted to sin.
Instead of providing the much needed support of a friend, Winifred had judged Dorothy, and distanced herself from her, sticking to loudly declared principles as determined in the Bible. That action had ended up with Miss Whitmore attempting to abort the baby and nearly losing her own life. Despite her personal views, Sister Winifred had subsequently sat with Miss Whitmore as she recovered, and listened as the woman voiced her almost overwhelming fears. It was a lesson in humility and the work of Jesus Christ that she sorely needed.
Of course, the two situations were not remotely similar. But the principles of support were the same. It was stronger than judgement or rationale. It had a greater and more worthy impact. So Sister Winifred said nothing. It was too soon for the young midwife to feel better. She would sit with Barbara for as long as she needed company, and in the meantime, use the time to pray for her and Delia, as well as the Jenkins family.
Barbara sobbed, surprised and relieved at Sister Winifred's actions. It was exactly what she needed and she now perversely felt guilty to think that Sister Winifred wouldn't deliver. Leaning into the young nun, Barbara found that there was comfort in silence and with friends.
Sister Julienne tapped lightly on the front door and stepped back to wait for it to open. She caught herself smoothing down the front of her habit in an unconscious gesture of ensuring she looked presentable. The senior nun frowned ruefully to herself. It didn't matter how many years of service to the Lord she provided, it would seem that she would forever have a sliver of vanity within her, even if it was on the premise of maintaining respectability.
Sister Julienne looked back up when she heard the door open. "Mr. Jenkins? My name is Sister Julienne. I'm from Nonnatus House."
Harry nodded mutely and stood to one side, silently gesturing for the nun to enter the house.
Sister Julienne followed the hallway down to the end and found herself in a small kitchen area. There were piles of clothes on the small dining table, and the sink was full of dirty crockery and utensils.
"Sit down, Sister. "I'll make you a cup of tea," Mr Jenkins offered.
"Please, Mr. Jenkins. I did not come here to give you additional work. I came to offer my assistance," Sister Julienne explained.
Harry sat down opposite the nun, looking lost. "I don't even know where to start, Sister," he admitted brokenly.
Sister Julienne reached over and clasped his hand, in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. "I'm sure this must be completely overwhelming for you. I had no intention of making anything worse for you. I just wanted to help if I could."
Harry nodded, sniffing. "My sister has the kids," he stated dully. "She took them away so I could get the house tidy." The brown-haired man looked at Sister Julienne, his eyes turning flinty. "You're not going to sit there and tell me that this is God's will are you?"
"No, Mr. Jenkins." Sister Julienne could see the surprise and confusion on the widower's face.
"So it wasn't God's will?"
"I haven't said that either, Mr. Jenkins," Sister Julienne responded mildly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" The anger was back.
"I can no more interpret God's will, than anyone else," Sister Julienne admitted. "But I do know that the Lord expects me to act with kindness and with charity, and to help those in greatest need."
Harry scoffed. "Charity won't get my wife and baby back," he spat.
"Nothing will," Sister Julienne returned quietly. "I have no answers that will give you comfort right now, Mr. Jenkins. I don't think anyone could have." She shrugged. "There is a reason why this happened. Why things like this happen," Julienne qualified. "But sometimes those reasons are never revealed to us."
Harry stared at Sister Julienne for a long moment before running a hand through his hair. "Then why are you here?"
"I am here to help," Julienne replied calmly.
The widower bit down on another retort and instead surveyed the mess in the kitchen area. He then glanced towards the ceiling momentarily before returning his gaze towards the nun. There was a hint of fear in his eyes. "I haven't even been upstairs yet. I don't know what to do." Harry's voice caught as he admitted it, and he bit back a sob. "I don't know what to do," he repeated desperately.
Sister Julienne squeezed his hand even as she nodded to herself. "Let's start with something practical shall we? If you can point me in the direction of cleaning materials including bleach, cloths and a bucket, I will go upstairs. If you could also show me where your bed sheets are, I'll remake the bed, too."
Harry shook his head miserably. "I couldn't possibly ask that of you," he muttered, appalled at such a thought.
"Mr. Jenkins, our Order is quite used to hard work, and God's will has always indicated that we should help those in need. It will be no trouble for me to assist you in this way. And if we are here together, perhaps we can look at each immediate task that needs to be done?" She smiled softly at the grieving widower. "I have no ego to appease or a belief that I have the power to make you feel better. It is not within my gift, and neither should it be. But perhaps I can assist with some small tasks. We can start together," Julienne offered kindly. "And after all, every journey needs a starting point, no matter how enormous the challenge."
Harry nodded shakily. "All right, Sister." He took a deep breath. "If it's not too much bother."
Sister Julienne shook her head. "Perhaps you could do the washing up while I am upstairs. And then we can sit and have a cup of tea and review the next set of chores?" She suggested.
"You make it sound so easy," Harry muttered.
"That was not my intention, Mr Jenkins. I apologise. I cannot begin to imagine your grief. I refer only to some menial tasks, that may at least provide distraction for you. And we do want the children to return to a tidy house," Sister Julienne tried to appease.
"All right. I'll wash up. But can you sit down and explain what happened to Sally? I want to understand what happened. All I've been told is the name of what she had. Something beginning with p. Plate something?"
Sister Julienne decided not to interrupt with the correct nomenclature and simply nodded for the man to continue.
"I've never heard of it. And no one's told me what it actually was. Do you know?"
Sister Julienne nodded. She knew very well that it was a comfort to seek out knowledge, no matter how painful the facts.
"When we sit down with tea, I will do my best to explain what I know of the situation. Would that help?" She offered.
Harry shrugged and roughly wiped his eyes. "I dunno. But I can't feel any worse."
Sister Julienne stood. "Then let's get started."
Delia seethed as she strode back to Nonnatus House. She had been summoned to the Maternity Hospital in order to listen to the case conference regarding Mrs Jenkins. It had been clear from the outset that there was a cover-up operation in place. The notes were all examined and reviewed, and Dr. Benson stressed the point that placental abruption was almost impossible to diagnose and that there were no indicators prior to Mrs. Jenkins's bleed at home.
When Delia mentioned the ward round, she was told in no uncertain terms that nurses were not allowed to diagnose, and trainee midwifes were most certainly not allowed to offer a professional opinion, therefore her comments would not be part of any record. Delia knew how Dr. Turner treated the midwives at Nonnatus. He respected their opinions and judgement, and listened to their concerns carefully. It felt wrong to try and hide a mistake, but she supposed that Dr. Benson was worried about reputation, both his and the hospital's.
Delia had been furious but it was an impotent rage. She had stalked out of the meeting without permission, not caring what Matron Cox decided to report back. She was only certain of one thing. If the only way she could become a midwife was to train at the Maternity Hospital, then she would need to reassess her options and do something else. She wouldn't go back to Male Surgical either. She would have to go for another speciality. Perhaps paediatrics.
Right now, however, all she felt was angry. Angry that Mr. Jenkins had been widowed and lost a child, and angry that she had let Mrs. Jenkins down somehow. Her anger with the department just added to her mood. She should have been able to do something. It was not fair.
Delia entered the convent and tried to hurry up the stairs without being spotted. She grimaced when she heard her name called and she turned back.
"Delia, we're having lunch. Did you want some?" It was Sister Mary Cynthia, kind and softly spoken as always. Delia bit down on her temper but she knew she was struggling now. "I think I'm just going to go to my room."
"Are you sure?" Mary Cynthia's concern washed over her but Delia didn't want it.
"Yes. I just need some rest."
Patsy stepped out from the kitchen and joined them. Delia knew that she wouldn't be able to look at her without crumbling so she kept her gaze firmly on the small nun.
"Deels, are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine. I just need to lie down for a while." Delia could hear the brittleness of her voice and spun away without catching Patsy's eye.
Patsy opened her mouth to call after her again but was stopped by a hand laid gently on her forearm. "Give her a bit of time, Patsy. I don't think she's had a moment to herself since she got back," Sister Mary Cynthia advised sagely.
"I just wish I could help," Patsy sighed, staring up at the now empty staircase. She looked down at the kindly face of the young nun. "I don't know what to do," she admitted candidly.
"Just be there when she needs you."
Patsy nodded and they returned to the dining room. Lunch was a muted affair. Barbara simply pushed some items around her plate and said nothing at all while the others struggled to find a neutral conversation. Rather surprisingly, it was Barbara herself who broke the tension. "When am I back on the rota Nurse Crane?"
Phyllis looked up. "Well I was rather hoping you would be back tomorrow, Nurse Gilbert. We don't have the staff to allow the luxury of moping."
Barbara smiled with relief. "On proper duty? Not on some sort of probation or monitoring?" She checked.
The northern nurse frowned in confusion. "Why on earth would you think that? You've had a horrible experience that few of us ever deal with. I think we would be all questioning our abilities after dealing with something like that. But you were logical, methodical and compassionate, Nurse Gilbert. What monitoring is to be done?"
The brunette shrugged. "I don't know. After this morning, I've been wondering what on earth I could have done differently that would have made any difference."
"And that was the purpose of the morning. It wasn't to apportion blame or suggest any shortcomings." Phyllis smiled kindly at Barbara. "I apologise if that was the impression I gave."
Barbara nodded shakily, suddenly feeling emotional again.
Trixie looked between Phyllis and Barbara carefully. "Perhaps Barbara can join me at the Clinic tomorrow morning as a good way to get back into the swing of things."
Phyllis nodded curtly. "That's an eminently sensible suggestion," she agreed. She cast a glance towards the staircase. "But there's still one issue to resolve," she muttered sadly.
Patsy stiffened. "I hardly think Delia should be punished for any of this," she blurted.
Phyllis frowned. "Punished? I wasn't thinking that at all, Nurse Mount. But she still needs training, and I fear she may be loathe to return to the Maternity Unit now."
Patsy's face fell and once more, she wondered just how she could help Delia.
Delia was lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling when she heard the knock at her door. It was the last straw. All she had wanted was a little space to sort her thoughts and feelings and yet no-one seemed to care enough to give her that.
Practically growling, Delia stormed to the door and yanked it open, fully intent on unleashing her fury on the person who had disturbed her.
Sister Monica Joan stood in the doorway, holding a cup of tea that rather miraculously still had a biscuit balanced on the saucer. She smiled at Delia sympathetically.
The dam broke.
Delia sobbed and flung herself at the elderly nun, holding onto the woman even after sending the tea flying.
Monica Joan was taken by surprise but did nothing but hug the distraught young woman. Somehow she managed to get her old body to sink down with Delia and they ended up sat on the floor. She leaned against the door jamb and held onto Delia tightly as the nurse cried loudly, burying her head in the sister's lap.
Sister Monica Joan disregarded the aches and pains of her joints, and ignored the discomfort of the cold hard floor. This young, vibrant nurse needed her. It broke her heart to see Delia this way. Sister Monica Joan had a soft spot for her, as she did with all the young midwives at the convent. She thrived on their youth and energy. They stopped her fixating on the frailty of age.
She stroked her hair absently and picked up the biscuit that had landed rather fortuitously within arm's reach. After a quick inspection, she blew a speck of fluff off the biscuit before eating it. After all, waste not, want not.
The second Patsy heard Delia's cry she shot up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She halted when she saw the small Welsh nurse being comforted by Sister Monica Joan. Her heart clenched painfully to see her girlfriend in such distress but she didn't want to encroach.
Sister Monica Joan looked up and beckoned the red-haired nurse over. Patsy hesitated but approached when the nun repeated the action.
"Child, you are loved here. Let those that love you help you," the nun told Delia softly.
Delia looked up, her face ravaged by tears and saw Patsy crouching next to Sister Monica Joan, looking on in concern.
"Sorry," she gulped, between ragged breaths.
Patsy shook her head. "You've got nothing to apologise for," she told her. "Come on, let's get you more comfortable." Gently, she disentangled the diminutive nurse from Sister Monica Joan and led her back to her bed. "Wait there," she instructed softly. The midwife turned and then helped Sister Monica Joan to her feet, holding onto her while she got her balance back. "Will you be all right?" she asked.
The nun placed a hand gently on Patsy's face. "Your friend needs you. Look after her."
Patsy nodded. "Can you tell...?"
"I will let the irascible Nurse Crane know that you are indisposed," Sister Monica Joan assured her before looking at the wall that now had tea splashed all over it. "And that there is a mess to be cleaned up. My old bones are too fragile to bend over and do that." She turned to leave before Patsy had time to respond.
Patsy looked at the spilled tea and then at Delia. There was no contest with her priorities. She shut the door softly and then sat down next to Delia. "Lie down, Deels. Let me hold you." Somehow she knew that Delia still wasn't ready to talk, and that actually it didn't matter.
Delia nodded and did just that, sighing shakily as she felt Patsy's long arms wrap round her. She had found her anchor again.
Delia knocked on the door of Sister Julienne's office and waited to be called in. When she had finally emerged from her room to forage for food, a neatly scripted note had been left on the table. Conscious that it was nearly time for Compline, she hurried to the office.
"Thank you for taking note of my request," Sister Julienne began mildly.
"I'm sorry that I've kept you waiting so long," Delia apologised immediately.
"I understand the reason for the delay. I'm just grateful that you have managed to find a source of comfort from this tragedy." Sister Julienne smiled softly before continuing. "I'm sure it will be no surprise to you that I received a telephone call from the hospital today."
"Something about my abrupt departure by any chance?" Delia couldn't help the bitter tone in her voice.
"Yes. Matron Cox seemed quite concerned."
"I didn't think there was any point in my staying any longer," Delia replied sullenly.
"Neither do I," Sister Julienne responded cryptically.
Delia looked at her sharply. "Does that mean I'm off the training program?"
"It means that you will no longer be training to be a midwife at the Maternity Unit," Sister Julienne replied formally.
Delia slumped in her seat. "Oh well. At least mam will be pleased," she muttered darkly.
"I'm afraid you misunderstand me. You will not be training at the Maternity Unit, but you will still be training." Sister Julienne advised.
"As long as I'm not going back there, I'm happy to do my training anywhere else," Delia assured her.
"You may come to regret that declaration. Nurse Crane and I will be your tutors and mentors for the duration of your training, and we are no easy task masters."
Delia felt a prick of tears behind her eyes but she blinked them back determinedly. "That's the only bit of good that's come out of all this," she stated, her voice hoarse.
Sister Julienne looked carefully at her young charge. "Nurse Busby, do not doubt your skills, or your fortitude. Nurse Crane and I would not waste time on a trainee that we didn't feel had the requisite skills to make the grade. But every experience is a learning experience, no matter how tragic and how testing." She smiled softly. "Now you must excuse me, or I will be late for Compline."
"Of course, Sister." Delia stood immediately and left promptly. Mulling over Sister Julienne's words, she changed course after she headed upstairs and knocked lightly on a bedroom door. "Barbara, are you in?"
~The End~