The knife against the glass reverberated into every corner like a sudden burst of refracted light.
It was with regret that David called the room to order. From the instant the last smears of rhubarb fool were scooped from their dainty bowls, what seating plan there had been degenerated into numerous groups, constantly changing formation as old gatherings swelled or gave way for new conversations with new acquaintances. Drifting among them were Patrick and Shelagh, engaged in an elaborate dance of their own. Individually they wove in between groups, taking their place at the heart of the joy, then returned to each other in the centre, momentarily to meet and touch before embarking on a new pattern. David himself had been enjoying a rare chance to reminisce about India, where he had been deployed for much of the war, with some delightfully batty colleague of Patrick's and Shelagh's who proved also to be Timothy's Akela. Only Timothy surreptitiously hiding behind a cacophony of boys re-reading his speech provided the impetus for him to do his duty.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention?" he began, watching the guests, some returning to where they had sat for the meal, others smiling and simply sitting where they were. "I apologise for dragging everyone away from such enjoyable conversation, however there are one or two more formalities to take care of." Timothy having returned to the seat next to him, David finished his scan of the room with a conspiratorial grin. "Before we move to the speeches, there are some people who were unable to be here today and share the festivities. However many have sent telegrams and cards conveying their congratulations and best wishes."
Simple and kindly, sometimes funny, the messages were neither surprising nor original. James Parker's, welcoming one who took his sister's place, was particularly generous, Donald Calvert's, impossibly wishing that his dear lost wife who had been so fond of the young Patrick could meet the lady who had resurrected him, particularly poignant; but they only spoke with the same hope found at every wedding. In them however was the patchwork of Patrick's and Shelagh's lives, linking times and peoples far removed, some invited and unable to be there, others who had simply heard and wished them well: an elderly aunt of Patrick's, the children of his parents' closest friends, Shelagh's cousins, a girl with whom she had trained, now married and living far from London, colleagues past and present, an affectionately remembered teacher who had guided Shelagh in her girlhood, a teammate from a local cricket team for whom Patrick had intermittently played before work and family entirely consumed him. They stretched out far from Poplar, and with the final one touched the unseen and unimaginable other side of the world, where some hours earlier in the suburbs of Melbourne Tom and Christine Anderson had sat in evening summer sunshine amidst their garden's gum trees and jacarandas, drinking a toast with chilled white wine to the friend they hoped one day they might see again.
Laying the telegrams' typed affection aside to be given to Patrick and Shelagh later, David sought the first speaker. No longer where she had been during the meal, instinct told him correctly where she was and catching her eye, he received a nod from the lady next to Joan Parker. "I would now like to call upon Sister Julienne of the Order of St Raymond Nonnatus to say a few words."
The small room befitted the little group of guests, yet crossing from the corner to the front, next to Patrick and Shelagh, Sister Julienne took her time. Her prepared notes were tucked into her belt and she extracted them as she faced her audience. But she did not need them; it was preparing herself which took the last moments.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, it is a tremendous privilege to speak on behalf of us all and express our happiness at today's marriage." Her voice, quiet and moderated as ever, drew listeners to her. "I feel this privilege even more from here, seeing the number of family and friends present. The greatest privilege, however, is to have known both the bride and groom for many years, as colleagues and," the pause was tiny, the added emphasis slight, "very dear friends."
She smiled as the next paragraph opened, a smile understood by the subject of its ambiguous first remark. "A more informed individual will speak later about the groom, however I hope I will be forgiven for adding some words of my own about Patrick Turner. While I know he would not consider himself as such, when Dr. Turner first came to Poplar, my sisters and I saw him as nothing less than God's answer to our prayers. We are blessed to have in our midst so fine a doctor and a man of such integrity, both professional and personal, while his commitment to his patients is an inspiration daily. It is invidious perhaps to single out one moment when he has given so much, but there is one incident I must mention: last August's mass screening for TB. That day is tinged with difficult memories, however its extraordinary success was a testament to his foresight and determination and will have saved many lives.
"Among those lives," she continued, swallowing the threatening choke, "was Shelagh herself and for that I can never thank him enough. For over ten years I have had the joy of working and worshipping alongside her. She is a wonderful nurse and midwife, a mentor to her colleagues, not only those younger than her," she added, suspecting Shelagh too would remember a certain tutorial on analgesia delivered to their most sceptical colleague with such brisk charm that a career in diplomacy seemed a distinct possibility should Shelagh ever wish to leave nursing, "the steadfast heart of our community and a most loved and loving friend. It is difficult to find words for all she has been for us, however there is a section of the Bible which provides a most appropriate description which I would like to share with you: 'She opens her hand to the poor and reaches out her hands to the needy… Strength and dignity are her clothing. She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue…Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all.'" Before she was midway through, Shelagh's eyes were brimming, for she had recognised the verses immediately. Julienne smiled at her, her eyes also full of tears. "This passage is the praise for a noble wife in Proverbs 31, and it opens thus: 'A capable wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels. The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain. She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life.'
"One of the wonderful truths of God is His faithfulness. When we are uncertain, He graciously answers our prayers. The lesson we must learn, however, is that His answers are not always those we expect. In the past two years when my sisters and I prayed that God would alleviate the grief of our colleague, Patrick Turner, providing him with what he needed to sustain him in life, I had not anticipated that the answer lay so close to us. Yet seeing Shelagh with Patrick and Timothy, it is impossible not to accept that this is truly His will and rejoice. In learning this, I was fortunate in being helped by one of my sisters, rather wiser than I am, who reminded me of the truth." She looked over to where Sister Evangelina was vigorously blowing her nose, then turned to Shelagh, the others spectators now. "God lent you to us for a while and we were blessed." At this point her voice broke. "Truly blessed. And now He is sending you into the world again and asks us to give you to your husband. You were our sister and now you are Patrick's wife, but at all times you have been, are and will be God's beloved child. May He bless you both, my dear, good friends."
The embrace between the women was brief and beautiful and Patrick hung back rather than disturb it. But as Shelagh relinquished her hold on her sister, Sister Julienne held out her hand to him without sorrow; and clasping his, received his unspoken promise to be worthy of all she had said.
They had agreed in advance that Sister Julienne should not propose a toast at the end of the speech, it feeling unseemly. Breaking the spell was difficult and it was far more quietly than David had anticipated that he joined them in standing and addressed the party. "Ladies and gentlemen, will you please be upstanding for a toast. The happy couple, Dr. and Mrs. Turner: Patrick and Shelagh."
"Patrick and Shelagh." In different voices and different tones, the words rang out blithely, chased by a pattering of applause which rose in sincerity and volume until the guests took their seats again, leaving only Patrick still standing.
He was close to shaking, overwhelmed by the warmth and extent of Sister Julienne's praise. Taking his notes from his pocket, he looked at the opening words, so glib contrasted with all she had said. Placing them on the table he looked out at the people who loved them, glanced at Shelagh, seraphic beside him, and started to speak.
"I'm rather overcome by the kindness of Sister Julienne's words, so please forgive me if my response is somewhat incoherent. Of all the people to whom we are grateful, it is you, Sister, to whom we owe the most, not only for your support and generosity in the past few months, but for all you have given us over many years: your unfailing love and guidance to Shelagh and the wisdom, counsel and care you have always shown to all of my family and myself. It meant a great deal to us that you gave Shelagh away in the service today."
He wondered if it was crass to allude, however obliquely, to her care for Elizabeth. But Shelagh was still smiling and he felt encouraged. Now he picked up the notes again, making a mental note to cut the paragraph about Sister Julienne, and started the speech as he had written it.
"Ladies and gentlemen, my wife and I – " Let them cheer with rich guffaws and bubbling giggles early on; they would only wait for it otherwise. "Shelagh and I have many 'thank yous' to express. Firstly thank you all for sharing today with us, whether you've come from far away or around the corner. In particular, we are very touched by those who have travelled long distances at this time of year, from Chichester and Bristol," he said, smiling in turn at Mother Jesu Emmanuel and Sister Teresa and the Reeses. "Most of all, we thank Shelagh's sister Elspeth and her family for making the very long journey from the north of Scotland. It's wonderful to have you here and we look forward to making the journey in reverse some time and visiting you in Aberlour.
"We would also like to thank all those who helped with the preparations. Mrs. B made the cake, which I'm sure we are desperate to taste." The temptation to look at Sister Monica Joan was excruciating. Unfortunately, in attempting not to he saw the disapproving expression of Sister Evangelina, clearly thinking the same thought about her sister, which made the snort even harder to suppress. "The ladies of Nonnatus House, Nurses Franklin, Lee and Miller and Miss Jane Sutton did a beautiful job with the flowers, while the indomitable man of Nonnatus, Fred, has performed every task imaginable from delivering the cake to advising on the menu." Peter gave a loud laugh which he unsuccessfully tried to turn into a cough. "Thank you all.
"I would especially like to thank Camilla Noakes who made Shelagh's wedding dress." Applause rippled, but Patrick raised his voice, silencing it. "She promised Shelagh would be 'as pretty as a princess' but I think that was something of an understatement given how extraordinarily beautiful she looks. Thank you, Chummy." He just got the words out before the applause mounted so only Shelagh heard the last mutter, intended only for her, "And for showing everyone what I see when I look at you.
"We're also very grateful to everyone who was involved in the service. Unfortunately Mr. Clark cannot be here as he has another wedding this afternoon." Trixie's audible splutter suggested not everyone perhaps was unhappy at the non-attendance of the rector and his wife. "We must thank him publically however for conducting the service. We would like to thank Elspeth again and my brother Michael for witnessing the signing of the register, Kenneth Rees and Mother Jesu Emmanuel for delivering the readings and Michael and Ken for their sterling job as ushers, surviving the martial rule of David Watson." This, by way of getting his retaliation in first for whatever horror David might publicise during his speech, elicited much laughter. "To David too we are deeply grateful for his ushering, chauffeuring and, along with Louisa, welcoming Shelagh into their lives. Lastly, we'd particularly like to thank Katherine Watson for playing the piano during the signing of the register. I'm sure you all agree it was wonderful." Another prolonged round of applause began, touchingly led by Jenny, the best judge of the playing's quality.
Now Patrick turned to the last two paragraphs. He had struggled with them, edited them, rejected them, then written them again. Their emotional openness, perhaps mawkishness, was alien to him, but Sister Julienne had stripped away what veneer of insubstantiality such speeches often had and he knew that if he did not say the words publically now, ironically he might never say them at all.
"Finally I have two personal thanks: to Timothy and to Shelagh. The last few years have been difficult ones, at times very much so. I count myself as extremely fortunate to have had the support of many of you, in various ways, during the times which were," his tongue flickered over his lips as he tripped delicately over the words, "most difficult to endure." For the first time he dared look at Joan Parker, sitting next to her remaining daughter. While she tightly held Anna's hand and her cheeks glistened, both women smiled at him. His nod to them was imperceptible, yet they saw it. "Even more, however, I am immeasurably lucky to have had Timothy. His resilience, forbearance, humour, noise, untidiness," he added, a general chortle buying him some seconds, "and kindness are remarkable and very much a raison d'être for me." It was easier to say hiding behind a foreign idiom. "It is a source of great pride and very great joy to Shelagh and myself that he was our Best Man today.
"Finally, to Shelagh." He clipped and swallowed the end of her name. Her eyes turned towards her lap, cautiously climbing up again as the pause lengthened and finding him focused on the crowd, incapable of looking at her. "Like Sister Julienne, I am indebted to one of the sisters as some time ago Sister Monica Joan introduced me to the poem 'Love's Growth' by John Donne which contains the line 'this medicine, love, which cures all sorrows'. Sadly that particular drug is not one which can be prescribed, even on the National Health, but I can attest that its affect can be every bit as life restoring as penicillin." No-one was misled by the superficial wit. The room was very still as he contemplated whether he could add the last words. "However it is the two preceding lines which resonate the most for me today, in particular thinking back to when Shelagh and I became engaged: 'Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore, My love was infinite, if spring make it more'." The latticework of silence bound them with love and insight, even children who could not understand the archaic words conscious of what it was the reserved man was trying to express. "It has been a wonderful day. Thank you all very much for being part of it."
Abruptly he sat down, only glancing at her as he did. But under the table he found her hand and did not need to see her to know what she felt.
"Uncle David?" asked a small voice under the cover of clapping.
"Yes, Timothy?"
"What does raison d'être mean?"
"A reason to exist." He watched benevolently while Timothy pieced together what his father had meant.
"Oh!" he finally said, suddenly intent on shuffling the paper in his lap as the tips of his ears grew pinker. His foot started to tap. "Uncle David, do you think it's alright to make jokes and things about Dad after he said that about me?"
David smiled quietly to himself before replying airily, "Oh, I should say so. He did say it in French after all, which is just showing off. Ready?"
Shuffling the sheaf of paper once more time, Timothy nodded. They both now watched Patrick, waiting for their cue: the moment when he finally looked at Shelagh again. Patting Timothy on the back, David stood.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, with the slightest hint of amusement, "before we get to the important business of the cake, we have one final speech." He noted Patrick turn to face him, leaning back in his chair with comic dread. "It is a very great privilege for me – " Raising his eyebrows wickedly, David grinned, first at Patrick and then at Timothy, "to present the Best Man."
Puffing his cheeks out and wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers, Timothy got up to speak.
Just in case anyone is interested, the piece of music I had in mind in Chapter 27 [and listened to a lot while writing it!] was the Mozart Laudate Dominum. So incredibly beautiful. As always, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed or PM-ed. One instalment left.