Northfield Chapter 12

The proposal

A happy and exuberant Grace Poole strolled down the stairs of Nonnatus House and met Shelagh in the corridor."Good to see you, Nurse Mannion! I am leaving today."

He gave a smacking kiss on both her cheeks and one directly on her lips. He hugged her tight. He was in his straight clothes, looking more like Richard Mason than Grace Poole. He in fact looked quite handsome without the wig. His face had a lean, Grecian structure, beautiful and chiselled even without makeup. The plucked eye-brows, however, gave him a slightly alien look.

Doctor Turner appeared at the other end of hall. He leaned against the kitchen door and was looking at them a bit grimly, his arms across his chest.

"Thank you, Grace, are you sure you feel well enough to go home?" Shelagh asked, having become quite attached to this strange, impulsive but gentle man.

"Yes, I am, thanks to your care, Wonder Woman Mannion. Oh, Doctor Turner, thanks and goodbye." Grace shook Doctor's hand.

Then Grace left, whistling and swinging his bag.

"Shelagh, you should not let him kiss you."

Shelagh met Doctor Turner's thunderous gaze evenly. It took some effort, as her heart started racing at the sound of her Christian name on his lips.

"What business is it of yours, Doctor? He was just happy. A little friendly greeting isn't going to kill me."

He had never before been so territorial. The expectation rising in her mind and body was intoxicating.

He was standing there, lost in thought, his face a comical mixture of discomfort and longing. "What business is it of mine? Let's find out." He pulled her after him into the kitchen, closed both doors, and drew her a chair on one side of the table. He sat on the other side.

His lips were twitching and his cheeks had a tense tremor. He was fidgeting with his thumbs again.

He inhaled hard. "I'd better make a clean breast of it. I think you are my equal in everything."

"I am indeed."

"In fact, you are better than me in speaking the truth. And you have a sensible way with my son."

"Yes."

"So let's get married."

"What did you say?"

"I want to marry you. Sorry, I wish to marry you."

A silence. He started to tap his fingers on the table restlessly.

"Shelagh. Why aren't you saying anything?"

She remained silent, but her eyes filled with tears. He rose quickly and kneeled at her side taking her hand. His face was full of anticipation. "What's the matter?"

Shelagh swallowed and said: "That was not much of a proposal. You seem to think that straightforwardness suits me, and it does…"

He caressed her hand, stroked it with his jittery fingers. "But you find my manners lacking again?"

"To put it bluntly, yes. In cases like this, even though we are…equals as you say, it is customary to talk a little…of love."

Patrick's face became desperate. "Love?" He pulled her into his arms. "Do I love you, you unearthly little thing? I love you so much that my heart breaks. That is why I can't speak of it." His voice carried a dangerous edge.

She pulled his face up, cupped it in her hands, and looked at his countenance, the longing shining there so bare that it made her bones ache.

"You really want to marry me?" He nodded. "Because you love me?" He nodded again.

"Then, Doctor Turner, I will marry you." He raised her up, locked her in a bear hug and swayed her in his arms. This rough manner reassured Shelagh more than any whispered endearments could have done.

"Patrick," he said, pleadingly.

"What did you say?"

"Would you call me by my name?"

"Patrick, I will marry you. "

His hands were at her nape of her neck pulling her face to meet his lips. Their innate kinship that had been stirring and smouldering in so many tense moments flamed into full blaze in this first kiss. She didn't feel clumsy or awkward, she felt that this was the right place for her: held by his muscular arms, caressed by him, grazed by his stubble, her lips open to his demanding, lingering kiss. Here was a man who adored her; though, it was odd that he should. Gone was the brusqueness, the blunt words, and the teasing. Instead, he seemed so vulnerable in his need of her; it touched her to the core of her whole being. Her heart swelled as her body responded to his caresses. She was hot, starting to pant. He tightened his embrace, once again swaying with her. "Shelagh, darling…." His voice was teary.

"My love, please, I need air, " Shelagh pleaded.

Her words made him chuckle. "A little breathless, are you? Overwhelmed?"

"Patrick!"

He was instantly apologetic. "I am overwhelmed. By you. I never knew man could be this happy."

She cradled his head on her shoulder. "Neither did I."

He started to laugh. She joined his mirth. "My own Mannion. How I have yearned to tell you that I love you."

Her face dimmed. "I sometimes could not see what kept you."

"I was astounded. Frightened. I have a fair share of fears. Disappointments."

She looked at him tenderly, and l wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Then she hid her face into the crook of his shoulder.

"I am a widower years older than you… A moody, uneasy man. And I have a son. "

"I love that son."

Now it was his turn to look at her like she was the most endearing creature in the whole world. "I hope you do. Will you let me tell that son…what is about to befall us?"

Shelagh turned serious at once. "You may tell him. I know I am going to take on quite heavy responsibilities. I know he likes me, but a stepmother is still something to get used to. Not quite comparable to mother."

He was so taken by her that he seemed not to listen. "I think he agrees with his old man: It is impossible to not love you." She could see his ridiculous grin before he drew her to him again.