Author's note—this story has been significantly revised since I first published it to make it more canon-compliant (it was originally written before episode 4x05). Also, I've decided to expand the scope of this story to further explore the idea of different but equally valid callings. It's now going to be two chapters (the second one will be about Shelagh), and I've changed the title, although this first chapter will keep the story's original name.
This story takes place during episodes 4x05 and 4x06 of CtM.
Sister Mary Cynthia sat on her bed in her small cell at Nonnatus House, relieved to finally get off of her feet after a long, rather interesting but still exhausting day. She looked around the small, sparely furnished room, thinking of her former quarters in the nurses' wing. Remembering all the trappings that now belonged to an earlier time, she found now that she barely missed them. The joy of her newfound calling was so fresh in her mind, and her heart. When Sister Winifred had shown her to this room, she had been surprised at how basic it was, but also unperturbed. A bed and a few other basic furnishings were all there were in this room, with very little ornamentation. This would be home for her now, and the sister was glad. There had been so much change in her life in the past six months. This was a new place for her, but also an old place. She would be learning a new life, but in a way it was an extension of her old life. That sentiment gave her comfort, and she thanked God for His constancy.
Still a novice and just starting out in the Order, the sister had considered her religious name, finally settling on Mary Cynthia. She knew she'd be returning to her friends, who all knew her as Cynthia, and she thought keeping her name similar would help. It also helped her, she had to admit. She had liked being Cynthia, even though she was glad now to be a sister. This name, like this place, would be the best of both worlds. She smiled, sighing in her weariness, but also in contentment. This would be all right, she thought.
Sitting on her bed and taking in the room around her, she noticed the small chest of drawers standing against the wall, ready to receive the few clothes she had. When it came time to empty her suitcase, she walked to the chest and opened the top drawer, noticing one item already neatly folded and lying in its place—a spare habit, mentioned in passing earlier that day by Sister Julienne. She had the one she was wearing, which had been new, as well as a worn spare one from Chichester, but the older sister had found this clean, well-maintained one in storage and thought it might fit her small frame. It was always useful, she said, to have an extra one or two in their line of work. Studying the garment, she noticed that it was in fact, very well taken-care of, and although it obviously wasn't new, it looked to be in better condition than the extra one she had brought. It was crisp and blue, with a stiff, starched white wimple and collar. How long had it been in storage, she wondered, but surely it must have been cleaned and pressed before Sister Julienne could give it to her. Taking it out of the drawer, she carefully unfolded it, holding it out in front of her. Yes, it looked like this one would fit. Still, she thought she best try it on in case it needed shortening or alteration. As small as she was, most of her clothes had needed alterations to the length and sleeves, including her habits.
She carefully placed the wimple and collar back in the drawer before returning to the habit. It was in two pieces, with the outer portion, the scapular, buttoned together at the top as all habits in this Order were, although novices such as herself only wore the basic garment, the dress. Separating the scapular from the rest of the habit, she also placed it back in the drawer and started to unbutton the dress, and as she did so she saw a small white piece of fabric just peeking out from the back of the dress at the top. Examining it, she noticed it was a tag, just like those sewn into all habits for identification and laundry purposes. Worn, and in not nearly as pristine condition as the rest of the habit. It had obviously been sewn into the garment years ago by whoever used to wear it. It looked frayed at the base, with a small scissor cut as if someone had tried to remove it, but ultimately had decided not to. Curious, she examined it closely, seeing if she could read the faded numbers that were printed there. All sisters in the Order were assigned a number when they joined. She frowned, as she only thought she could read one of the digits, and even that wasn't entirely clear. She thought she had been told that the numbers were recycled, each one reused when a sister either passed on or left the Order, but there was no way of knowing now whose habit this had been, as faded as the numbers were. Her frown gradually turned to a smile-a small slight smile at first that eventually widened into a grin. She had no idea if she was right, but thinking of this habit and her own small stature, she had in mind someone else it might have fit. Still smiling, she laid the habit down on the bed. She would try it on later, she thought, as a face came to mind-a wimple-clad face that she once knew, fading out and reforming into the same face without the wimple, fair-haired and cheerful. It was the kind, bespectacled face of a dear friend, for whom God's path had led in a very different direction to her own. No, she did not know for sure if this habit, had belonged to the former sister, and even if she had known her number she wouldn't be able to tell for sure, as two of the digits had faded beyond recognition. Their order had been around for many years and it could have belonged to any of the various sisters who had served at Nonnatus House in that time. Still, but it was a nice thought. Still smiling, Sister Mary Cynthia sat back on the bed. Yes, she thought, this had been a full day, but a very good one.
A few weeks later on a quiet evening at Nonnatus House, Sister Mary Cynthia returned from a not-so-quiet day, as she had delivered a baby and tended to an elderly patient at the Travellers' camp, only to see the same dear old woman pass away just an hour or so later. It had been exhausting, with such great happiness and sadness in such a short period of time. She had been struck by the sense of community at the camp, and while she rode home these remarkable women, Attracta and Pegeen, had been on her mind. There seemed to be nobody around when she arrived. She remembered there was an event at the community center tonight-a charity square dance. Assuming the nurses must be upstairs preparing for the dance, she wandered into the kitchen for a quick rest and a cup of tea, only to be greeted by Sister Winifred, just returning downstairs from changing out of her prayer veil after chapel.
As the sister closest in age to Sister Mary Cynthia, Sister Winifred had proven a welcome friend and confidant for the newest member of the Order. It had been the first time since returning from Chichester that Sister Mary Cynthia had missed evening prayer, because she had been caught up in this unexpected but necessary work. She wearily told her friend about her day, marveling at the close bonds of the family she had visited and their shared experiences of joy and grief. The almost always cheerful Sister Winifred merely listened, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder by way of comfort, and for many minutes, the two sat there, sipping tea and commiserating without need of words.
"We had a guest at evening prayer tonight," Sister Winifred said after a time, sensing a need to lighten the mood. "Mrs. Turner. You just missed her." Here, the sister smiled. "Lovely voice."
Sister Mary Cynthia nodded, thinking again of that smiling, wimple-less face. "Yes. She led the sisters in song many times when she was still in the Order."
"So I've been told." Here, Sister Winifred dropped her smile, only briefly. "I still wish I had met her when she was still Sister Bernadette. What was she like?"
Sister Mary Cynthia thought for a moment, then finally spoke. "Much the same, really. Well, at first, anyway."
"At first?"
Sister Mary Cynthia knew her friend was asking only out of simple curiosity and not to needlessly pry. She had known that Sister Winifred had been informed by Sister Julienne very shortly after her arrival exactly who she was replacing and why. The reason for the directness, Sister Julienne had told her, was precisely to circumvent the gossip she might hear around Poplar. It was better to hear it from Sister Julienne herself, who was a valued and trusted friend of the former sister, than from careless, misinformed and sometimes malicious busybodies. Moreover, she was informed that Mrs. Turner was still a much beloved friend of Nonnatus House and she was to be welcomed warmly whenever she chose to visit. Sister Mary Cynthia saw no harm in answering Sister Winifred's question as simply and directly as possible, so she considered it, and then spoke.
"She was always so confident when I first knew her. So cheerful and capable. But then, the year before she left, she started to seem less like herself. Distracted, I suppose, and sad. She started spending extra time in Chapel, and even Sister Monica Joan noticed. I remember wondering what could have upset her so, but she was still the best midwife we had, and a kind and dear friend. I think Sister Julienne was very concerned for her."
Sister Winifred thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Distracted and sad? Was that because of Dr. Turner?"
"I'm not entirely sure" was Sister Mary Cynthia's reply. "Probably, I suppose. I think it may have been more than that. We've never talked about it. I don't think she's talked about that time very much with anyone except Sister Julienne, and I assume Dr. Turner." She paused for a moment to take a sip of her tea, and then continued. "I remember when she was about to be discharged from the sanatorium. You were told she had tuberculosis?"
Sister Winifred nodded, and her friend continued.
"Well, when Sister Julienne told us she was going to be discharged, she said Sister Bernadette wasn't coming back here. She was supposed to go to the Mother House to reflect and consider whether she wanted to stay in the Order, but she didn't go. I guess she made up her mind sooner than she had thought."
At that, Sister Winifred could only nod again, and Sister Mary Cynthia frowned.
"I remember questioning her decision then. I didn't know it at the time, but I think God had already started to put that longing in my heart. That calling. I wondered how Sister Bernadette could ever leave a life that seemed so beautiful to me. So fulfilled. It wasn't until I was making my own decision that I recognized myself in her. That longing for a different life."
"A different calling," Sister Winifred added.
"Yes," agreed the young novice. "Different, but just as sacred." She smiled, a gentle smile. "I look at her now, and I see what I feel. A sense of belonging. The feeling of being where God has made to you to be."
Sister Winifred couldn't argue with that. She had seen the looks of contentment on both faces—that of her newest sister and of the former Sister Bernadette, now Mrs. Turner.
Later, after a few minutes silence as she finished her tea, Sister Mary Cynthia had another thought. "I was wondering. Did anyone ever tell you what Sister Bernadette's number was?"
Sister Winifred gave her a blank look, and finally answered with "No. I don't think so. Why?"
"Never mind. Only curious," was the reply, and so the conversation was left.
A few hours later, alone in her room during the Great Silence, Sister Mary Cynthia's weary mind drifted in various directions. Even after a time of silent prayer, she still found her mind unable to settle on one subject, as full and draining as this day had been. She lay back on her bed, looking up at the ceiling and trying to sort out her brain.
First, remembering her earlier conversation with Sister Winifred, she thought of Shelagh, and how even though she and her friend had taken directly opposite paths, in a way they seemed surprisingly similar. They both had been led from one life in which they had functioned but never been entirely fulfilled, into a new life in which they seemed even more free. Since she had returned from the Mother House, the young sister hadn't been able to spend much time with Mrs. Turner. She saw her occasionally at the surgery and maternity home when she had to call in there, and although Shelagh was always as friendly and kind as ever, they never really had the chance to talk. And there was the one day recently, when Dr. Turner had been ill and the sister had seen the need to call him in on that critical case involving Mrs. Khatun and her diphtheria. The doctor was obviously weary, but he lost no time responding to the call, and he had saved Mrs. Khatun's life. Mrs. Turner had arrived shortly afterwards with the vaccines for the rest of the family, and she had worked with the doctor, the sister and Nurse Gilbert in preparing and administering them. It had startled the sister at first to notice that Mrs. Turner was now wearing the uniform of a nurse, although it seemed so natural and fitting that she never really questioned why.
It didn't take long to get the whole household vaccinated with a doctor and three nurses in attendance, but although Sister Mary Cynthia had been focused on the work, she couldn't help but notice the somewhat unusual style of communication going on between the doctor and Mrs. Turner. They spoke very few words but seemed to know exactly what the other needed, and they worked seamlessly as a formidable, efficient team. There were also no words necessary to see the great regard, and obvious love, between them. It shone clearly in their eyes whenever they looked at each other, and it wasn't maudlin or overdramatic or ostentatious. It was just there, a clear matter of fact.
Later that night, as she and Nurse Gilbert returned to Nonnatus House, Barbara had even mentioned noticing that connection between the Turners, calling it "sweet" and smiling wistfully, also remarking on Mrs. Turner's obvious, but also unspoken, concern for her husband's well-being. She had then added, similar to Sister Winifred earlier this evening, that it would have been interesting to have met Mrs. Turner when she was still Sister Bernadette, but had just left the subject there without asking any questions. Apparently someone had told Barbara something of Shelagh's history as well. Probably Trixie or Sister Julienne, she had assumed. It was probably for the best, she thought, to keep the mystery at a minimum, especially now that Mrs. Turner and her family were such frequent guests at Nonnatus House, and Shelagh was there almost every week for tea with Sister Julienne. She was their friend and colleague, and it was a joy to see her so happy. Now that everyone knew the facts, too many questions simply weren't needed.
Turning her thoughts in a different direction, she considered more her own path. She had lived in the world as a nurse, worked among the people, helped them and eased their suffering to the best of her ability. That had seemed vocation enough to her, for a time. Still, as much as she loved nursing and midwifery, and as much as she valued her friends and colleagues, there had been something missing. And like Mrs. Turner, that something had involved love, but not the love of a man. For Cynthia, romance had always been intriguing but at the same time confusing. Aside from a few vague imaginings when she was younger, it was not something she personally yearned for. This was a love of a different kind, which she knew was shared by Mrs. Turner, and Nurse Noakes, and many other devout friends and acquaintances whose callings lay in other directions, even though they still loved God and sought to follow His path for them. For her, it was different. She felt so drawn by this particular, mysterious love, and once she stopped being afraid of it, found it was more than enough for her. As she had told Sister Winifred earlier, it was a different calling, but just as sacred. Just as holy. And she could still be a nurse and a midwife, but now she could be much more as well.
Finally, her mind turned back to the matter that had been most weighing on her mind these recent hours: to the events of her day. To Attracta and Pegeen and Breda and the close bonds of the extended family at the Traveller's camp. She knew it would be a grieving time for them tonight, so shortly after the rejoicing in a new birth. Pegeen had lived a long, full and devoted life, and her legacy would carry on in all the lives she had helped bring into the world, and those she had nurtured since birth. And the community would continue, as they traveled to new places and greeted new lives, new sorrows and new hopes. As little as she had known them, this group had made an impact on the sister. She was sure they would move on soon, but she would always remember them.
Family was a curious thing. Curious, but essential, and the sister thought of how so many around her had found their own family. How the nurses had bonded in their work and in sharing their lives together under the roof of Nonnatus House, and how Mrs. Turner had found fulfillment with her husband and children, as well as renewed friendships with the sisters and nurses. Then she thought of herself, and how the sisters were now her own family. Like the Travellers and their generations of tradition, she was a part of an order that extended back for many decades. Many sisters had served here in that time, and countless bonds had been formed. As depleted as she had felt from her day, she found comfort in these notions of interconnection and permanence even in the transience of life. She was here now, and this was where she belonged.
Standing up, she walked over to the chest against the wall and opened the top drawer, staring at the neatly folded spare habit, just catching a glimpse of the tag. Although she had sewn a new tag with her number next to it, she wouldn't remove the old, faded one.. No matter who the owner of this old habit had been, that tag had started this line of reflection, and she was grateful for that. The sister would keep the tag as it was. It would always be a reminder to her of God's leading, and His excellent wisdom. She knew she, and her friends, were where they were supposed to be, and even in this day's whirl of emotions, she knew she had found her place.