Sister Julienne sat at her desk staring at the empty chair where Shelagh had sat and delivered her devastating news. She replayed the conversation which they had had, over and over again her mind, wondering whether she had said the right thing. She would not have been able to forgive herself if she had not.
Ever since the day they married, Sister Julienne had been waiting for the day when Shelagh would arrive at Nonnatus House, shuffle nervously into her office and then sit on that very chair and tell her that she was expecting her and Patrick's baby. She imagined the look of joy and wonderment which would have adorned Shelagh's face, how she would giggle shyly as she formed the words of her news, and the way she would delicately place her hand on the place the baby lay. She imagined her own reaction to the news, how she would hold Shelagh tight to her, shed tears and be unable to control an urge to stroke her abdomen. In fact, she thought that was why, some four months or so after the wedding, Shelagh had arrived at Nonnatus House this morning.
She remembered when she first met Shelagh Mannion, as she was then. A shy, pale, thin young girl of twenty-two, recently qualified as a midwife and about to take her vows. They had sat together in this very room and had tea and cake, just as they had today. She had been enchanted by her thick, yet gently melodic, Scottish accent and enquired as to whether her parents minded her being so far from home. It was then that she learned that Shelagh had lost her mother as a small child and her father more recently. The innocence and the vulnerability of the girl in front of her stirred up emotions deep inside her, emotions which she had never felt before. She had always been sure that the religious life, rather than marriage and motherhood, was her calling in life, but this girl, exactly the right age to be her daughter, made her question what might have been. She had never been in any kind of relationship, other than with God, and had never really thought that she had missed out, until she met Shelagh, and she began wondering what it was really like to be a mother. Her work as a midwife, of course, brought her face to face on a daily basis with many aspects of motherhood, but this almost raw emotional aspect of mothering had escaped her senses. She knew from the moment she set eyes on her, that she had to look after this little girl, to be the mother which she did not have.
Shelagh Mannion took her vows and became Sister Bernadette. Over the next months and years, the shy little girl grew into a confident young woman, a skilled midwife and a teacher and mentor for both the nurses and Sister's alike. Intelligent, sensitive, and quick witted, she was loved by everyone in Nonnatus House. She loved her work, and relished the challenges which life threw at her. Though, if she had any problems, she would always turn to Sister Julienne. In the early days, she would come to her when she was frightened, when she had had a nightmare, or when she was feeling unwell, often wanting nothing more than a cuddle. Later on, she would come to her when she needed reassurance or to discuss a particularly vexing case. And Sister Julienne always made time for her.
Sister Julienne sighed. She remembered the one day when she did not have time for Shelagh, the day when she wanted to talk to her about her feelings for Dr Turner. She had noticed that Shelagh was unhappy. She had been much more withdrawn than usual, not taking her usual interest in what the nurses were doing in the evenings, praying in the chapel far more than usual. And when Shelagh came to her that day, the day she needed her mother more than at any other time, when she needed her guidance, her love, her reassurance that what she wanted was not wrong, was the day her mother could not be with her. It was only after visiting her in the sanatorium that she learned Shelagh's innermost secret. She regretted not talking to her that day, and would do, she felt, forever. "I will never fail you again" she said aloud, "Never!"
The baby's nightdress lay on her desk. She picked it up and held it up to the light streaming in through the window. The white material was fine and light, it would not have been a cheap cloth. Shelagh was a fine dressmaker, and the intricate stitching bore witness to her skills. "Cross-stitches" she thought "Like kisses." With that, tears began to well up in her eyes. Putting the tiny garment down, she crossed herself and prayed aloud
"Glorious St. Raymond, filled with compassion for those who invoke thee, and with love for those who suffer heavily laden with the weight of Shelagh's troubles, I cast myself at thy feet and humbly beg of thee to take her under thy special protection. Cease not to intercede for Shelagh until my request is granted. Amen."
She paused.
"Please, God, please make my little girl happy. She has suffered so much, please make her happy."
She looked at the nightdress again. TB was a terrible disease, she knew that, but some sufferers were lucky. She hoped Shelagh would be one of them.
"I'm not giving up hope" she thought "I can't, not now."
She picked the nightdress up and folded it as small as she could, before stowing it into the folds of her habit. Opening her office door, and checking to see if the corridor was empty, she crept through the door and silently up the stairs to her cell. On entering, she sat on the floor by her bed and reached underneath it. She pulled out a slightly battered cardboard box. Inside were various handmade items: a patchwork blanket; a bonnet; a pair of booties; a stuffed toy bear. On one side of the box was scrawled "Things for Shelagh" in thick black pen. She had also been making things for some months. She placed the nightdress inside the box and then replaced it under her bed.
"Until they are needed" she said.