This story takes place during episodes 4x05 and 4x06 of CtM
Disclaimer—These characters, and this show, are not mine. This story includes one line of dialogue from CtM 4x05.
The two outfits lay side-by-side on her husband's desk. The smart blue suit, neatly pressed, and the brand new nurse's uniform, also blue but lighter in shade than the suit and ever so familiar, even though its new owner had never worn it before. As Shelagh Turner studied them, she still wondered if this was the right decision. After very briefly thinking of how odd it was to be standing here in her slip in Patrick's office, she did wonder if it was right to do this all so secretively. She had awoken bright and early this morning and given her husband an affectionate kiss on the cheek and as much of an embrace as she could with him lying unresponsive and dejected, as she tried vigilantly to hide the little twinge of heartbreak she always felt seeing him like that. Then she had quickly made her way here, where the nurse's uniform was waiting in the place she had left it the previous night. She hadn't told her husband about her troubles at the surgery yesterday, or about her visit with Sister Julienne, or about this uniform at all. He wasn't in a position at the moment to consider much of anything but his own troubles, and that thought concerned her most of all. He had withdrawn from her, and so it seemed, from everyone.
He had done this before, and she winced at the memory of it. Last year-the strained, anguished days after the adoption interview. Then, however, he had only withdrawn from her, and then he had been able to put on a front, do his job, present a disguise to the world and, at least for a time, try to pretend nothing was wrong. As painful as that was, she also knew she hadn't handled it well. As much as they loved one another-as much as they had been so clearly and inexplicably drawn to one another during that last agonizing year before she left the Order, the bare fact was that they were essentially near-strangers when they finally met as Patrick and Shelagh on the road that misty autumn day, and their engagement had been so cluttered with activity, concern for Timothy's health, and her own issues of guilt and reconnection with her friends and former sisters, that a normal relationship had hardly been possible. It was only after they were married that they even had much time to truly talk, and then they had to learn how. After their blissful first months as newlyweds, where conversations were mostly about hopes and dreams and the very idea that they could finally be together, another crisis had intervened. It was not just the infertility, either, but Shelagh's own discovery of how to live a life as Shelagh and not Sister Bernadette.
Perhaps she had gone too far in throwing off all the trappings of her former life, but looking back now she saw it had been useful, at least for a time. Painful, but useful, for now she was learning how much of her identity as Sister Bernadette had been essential to her present life. Looking at the two dresses on the desk, she remembered another outfit-the habit that had been her only clothing for a full decade. She didn't miss it at all-well, perhaps occasionally on very cold winter days when the idea of being wrapped head-to-toe in wool was somewhat comforting. Still, despite its physical warmth, that manner of dress was happily in the past for her. Looking at the uniform again, another face came to her mind unbidden-wearing that uniform, but then fading out and reforming into the same face clad in wimple-and-wool. Sister Mary Cynthia had, somewhat surprisingly, taken the opposite route as Shelagh had, joining the order and renouncing her former life in the outside world. Shelagh hadn't had the chance to speak to or even see the new sister very much since she had arrived back in Poplar, but Sister Julienne had mentioned her briefly while looking through the Nonnatus store room at the uniforms.
"These are the smallest size we have," the elder sister had said, cheerfully rummaging through the pile of uniforms. "Nurse Miller's size… when she was still Nurse Miller. I don't know if she had to alter them." Turning back to Shelagh briefly, she glanced up and down at her before turning to take a uniform off the shelf. "Hopefully, it will fit," she said, turning to hand the uniform to Shelagh before returning to collect the accessories.
Shelagh's mind had been so far from thinking about the new Sister Mary Cynthia at that point, though. Her thoughts were only of her husband, hoping desperately to help him. She thought of his distant expression as she had reached out to him that morning in attempted encouragement. How she had kissed his forehead and his cheek, and how he had not pushed her away but he hadn't responded either. He looked so lifeless, so helpless, and she was left powerless. She couldn't push like she had tried at first last year. She couldn't offer ultimatums. She also couldn't walk gingerly around him and simply hope he would talk to her like she had eventually done before. Now, as he had lost his will to do anything but lie in bed, stare at walls and lose himself in a mire of self-pity and doubt, she had to let him know she was there, but quietly and simply. She couldn't cajole or pry but she couldn't shrink back, either, even from her own fears that she had shared with Sister Julienne. He needed her help, and she prayed that eventually he would receive it, but Sister Julienne was right. She had to believe.
She had to remember the past few wonderful months since their reconciliation-that quiet resolution to finally begin truly speaking. And they had, and it had been glorious. There had grown between them this comfortable intimacy, which they had cultivated in the form of deep private conversations but also of looks, touches, and expressions that they quickly learned to read. This joy of being in sync and the freedom of living out that sense of harmony in seemingly mundane, everyday ways. Now bringing herself back to the present, and thinking of her husband lying listless in his bed at home, she knew she had to get that back, but she couldn't just make it happen. She had to hope, and remember, and pray, but just as importantly, she had to act.
She had to be here, doing what she was best able to do-keep the surgery operating while he was away, tending to the patients and keeping things running as smoothly as possible. She had to overcome the reticence of the patients and show them she knew what she was doing. Perhaps that shouldn't be necessary, but it seemed that it was and she wasn't in a place to argue. She was a nurse already, but if this uniform was going to make the patients feel better so she could do her job, she would wear it. She picked it up and, quickly but deliberately, put it on, slipping on the dress and carefully buttoning it, smoothing out the wrinkles and adjusting the waist. She donned the apron, tying it into place. Somewhat surprisingly, this uniform was a perfect fit, almost as if it had been made specifically for her. Finally, as she gazed into the small mirror on the wall, she settled the cap into place. Seeing her own face staring back at her, a fully outfitted nurse, she couldn't help but smile. Perhaps this uniform was merely a formality, but she had to admit that wearing it felt right.
This was her uniform now, at least for the time being. Thinking about her crisp suits and the efficiency with which she always purposed to run the surgery, and about the long discarded habit, she accepted this new form of dress, and embraced it. How long she had avoided this moment, as inevitable as it now seemed in hindsight. Now, even in the hardships and heartbreaking realities of today, she never for once regretted her decision to leave her former life and begin a new one. She quietly marveled at God's wisdom, knowing she was ready for a time like this because of her previous life. Remembering her months of indecision in the sanatorium, it all seemed so long ago now. This is who she was, and where she was meant to be. Checking herself in the mirror one last time, she returned to the suit on the desk, folding it carefully and leaving it there. She would be back at lunchtime to change and return to relieve dear Timothy of the job of looking after Patrick, if only for an hour or so before she had to return here and resume this essential duty. Oh, how grateful she was for Timothy and sweet little Angela, who brightened her days still in the midst of this gloom.
She picked up the keys to the surgery and set her mind to her task. Closing the door behind her, she walked with purpose to the front door, opening it to greet today's throng of patients, with a smile that only grew wider as the patients greeted her with wave after wave of "Good morning, Nurse. " At that moment, she was sure. This was for Patrick, and she knew she had done the right thing.
Shelagh walked surely, but not too quickly, in the light of a late summer evening, a light smile on her face as she recalled her eventful day. She had spent a few hours at the surgery, changing dressings, visiting with expectant mothers, consulting with her husband on a few simple cases, organizing a few files. Thankfully, it wasn't an especially busy day, and she had been able to return home in the early afternoon, change out of her uniform, and head to Nonnatus House for tea with Sister Julienne and evening prayer with the sisters. Her smile widened as she remembered Patrick's reaction when she told him of her mentor's invitation to stay and sing with her former sisters. His broad grin had surprised her slightly, but she was glad he was happy. He knew this brought her joy, and her joy made him more joyful. He knew how important the sisters were to her, and singing as well.
As busy as her life was now, she'd had to give up leading the Poplar Choral Society, although she was satisfied that at least they had found a new director and wouldn't disband without her. Still, there was something about singing the prayers that still held a special place in Shelagh's heart more than any other kind of music. It had been months since she had last been able to join them, but now she would remind herself to do so more often. She had much to be thankful for, having had her husband returned to her in such a wonderful way a few weeks ago. In the quietness of a patient's kitchen, they were both reminded of their need for one another with a quick but joyful kiss and a warm, enveloping embrace. A healing embrace. It was a more intense moment than they usually shared outside of their home, but it was what they both needed, and they welcomed the moment with relief and joy. It was the beginning of a new wave of closeness in their marriage, if that was even to be believed considering the previous months. They had walked home completely at ease that evening, talking freely and taking their time to get home. They had spent that night sleeping curled up in one another's arms, holding for dear life. It had been an exhausting day for both of them, and they found their peace together.
Now, a few weeks later, everything was in a new place, it seemed, and as hectic as things could occasionally be, it was as if it had all been planned. Shelagh was wearing the nurse's uniform every day at the surgery and maternity home, and now she struggled to understand why she had waited so long to put it on. She had been in the religious life for ten years, used to being told what to do-to doing what was expected of her. Upon leaving the order, perhaps she had carried that over into her personal life, she considered. A wife and mother wasn't supposed to work-especially a doctor's wife. She had wanted to be the ideal housewife, but she had found herself feeling restless at home, even after Angela had arrived. The first few weeks had been demanding, but Angela was a good-natured child and Shelagh soon found she was portable, and so she was brought along on clinic days, and when needed, to the surgery. When Shelagh finally realized she was needed full-time at the surgery, they'd hired a housekeeper to help and watch Angela when Shelagh was out of the house. It was a good fit, she admitted. Her need to be working, and helping, and healing, was real and could no longer be ignored. The nurse's uniform was simply the next logical step along the road that she had started on when she left the Order of St. Raymond Nonnatus almost two years previous.
Her calling all those years ago to the religious life had been so strong, and it had included the call as a nurse and midwife. Now, walking back from Nonnatus, she wondered if this is what had been the plan all along, this unusual relationship with the sisters along with her work. She still felt so connected to the sisters-more so than ever, now that she thought about it. Even when she had lived with them, especially in the later years there had been this doubt-this pull toward the outside. This war between two different worlds. Now, there was no such battle.
She still wondered why she had stayed away from the sisters for so long after she left. It was only a few weeks, but it had been too long. She knew that day before her original wedding day, when Timothy was so ill, Patrick was in distress, and she was kept from helping them. In her own trouble, she knew immediately where she needed to go, and that's where she went. She didn't even stop to think until she was on the stairs to the sisters' temporary quarters, but even then she didn't pause for long. She found comfort singing with the nuns that night, and she knew that in some way these women would always be her sisters.
And Sister Julienne was more-sister, mother, dear friend, confidant, mentor. There were too many words and not one that exactly fit. She was all of those things and more, and even more so now. The two would still meet at Nonnatus for tea as close to once a week as their schedules allowed. She had made her peace with Sister Evangelina in stages, but there was nothing but affection there now as well, and Sister Monica Joan had accepted her the moment she walked into the hall that winter night almost two years ago. Sister Winifred had never known her as Sister Bernadette, but Shelagh had known she had been informed of her history soon after her arrival. Since the Turners worked so closely with Nonnatus House, Shelagh had agreed that it was better if everyone who worked there knew, and so it was.
Her past was not exactly a secret anyway, but talking about it with anyone she hadn't known well hadn't been easy, so she usually avoided the subject. She wondered now if that was even needed. She wasn't ashamed of Sister Bernadette. She had been happy in that life for most of the ten years she had lived it. And now, the sisters were still here for her whenever she needed them, which had been a comforting thought when she'd been so overwhelmed with work, and she had taken Patrick's advice to seek help with the name tapes for Timothy's grammar school clothes. She had planned to pick those up today, but upon arrival she had been informed that Sister Winifred had just left a short while before to call at the surgery, and she had taken the clothes with her. She apparently had just missed her. Shelagh assumed Patrick would bring them home from there, and she made a point of thanking Sister Winifred and Sister Evangelina for their help before service that evening.
She sped up her pace as she turned into her street. As she approached her flat, she remembered her one disappointment this evening. That had been that Sister Mary Cynthia had been out tending to patients, and so Shelagh hadn't seen her at evening prayer. One of these days, she had to make a point of talking to the new young sister. It was a remarkable thing to consider, that the two of them had been led on such opposite paths but had both found more happiness than they could have otherwise imagined. They had switched uniforms, as it were, if not literally than close enough. For Shelagh, the dark blue wool of the habit had given way to the light blue cotton of the nurse's garb, and for Sister Mary Cynthia, it had been the other way around. What a wondrous, unusual thing to imagine. God works in mysterious ways indeed, thought Shelagh as she finally approached her door.
She knew her husband should be waiting for her inside. They were going to a square dance this evening, and Shelagh was looking forward to it. Fishing her keys from her purse and preparing to open the door, she quietly gave thanks for her day, and for her place in life. She had been Shelagh Mannion for 22 years, and then Sister Bernadette for ten. It wasn't quite two years yet that she had been Shelagh Turner, but she knew now more than ever that she was where she was supposed to be, and she was content.