The next morning, Shelagh left the baby with Patrick, who assured her it was completely fine, as he had a couple of errands to run anyway and had already planned to open the surgery a little later than usual.
She kissed her daughter goodbye, brushing the blonde wisps out of her eyes. She'd be due for her first haircut soon if it kept growing as fast as this.
She knew that it more likely that Patrick merely wanted to have Angela all to himself, to take her out in the pram to the shops and have her fussed over in the street. Most other men in Poplar wouldn't be caught dead doing something so inherently feminine but Patrick, it seemed, did not care one whit.
The thought of this made her smile as she left the house and headed in the direction of Nonnatus House. She had decided to walk today. The snow that had fallen earlier in the week had all but melted and the pavement was wet and shiny in the bright sunlight. It was still a little brisk, though, and by the time she ascended the steps to the hulking stone building, her cheeks were pink from the cold.
Nurse Gilbert greeted her and when Shelagh stated her purpose for the visit, led her on her way.
There were some advantages to having been a nun for ten years, she supposed, like the ability to know exactly when Sister Julienne would be free for a chat, four days before Christmas.
Barbara led her to the sister's office and Shelagh sat herself in the chair in front of the large wooden desk. It was a little warm in the room, as Nurse Gilbert had mentioned Fred was having a little difficulty with the new boiler, so she removed her gloves and removed her coat as she waited, draping it across the chair next to her.
The room was as quiet as it ever was, and Shelagh found herself relaxing in the peace. She had come here because she did not know where else to go. Her mother had been dead for nearly thirty years. Her father was in Aberdeen, still spending more time in the pub than at home, in his sixties now but refusing to show any signs of slowing down. While news of her impending marriage had reached him well, he had offered his only daughter merely a terse congratulations and best wishes for her future. She hadn't expected him to make the journey all the way to London, but she missed his presence nonetheless. She hadn't seen him in nearly five years.
Her brother, she supposed, was back from his stint in America, where he'd gone years earlier, looking for work. Correspondence between the siblings had waned as discontent with her vocation had grown. Gordon had never truly understand his sister's decision to become a nun, and the two had quarrelled over it a great deal in the beginning. He had wanted her back in Aberdeen, married to Harry McLeod, the boy she'd walked out with a few times before she left to become a nurse, no doubt surrounded by a litter of children she couldn't afford to feed. Gordon Mannion, like his father before him, was not the most progressive of men.
But, after much persuading on her part that she was at her happiest as a nun at Nonnatus House, Gordon conceded, and had let her alone about it from then on. But soon, as it truly started to set in just how much she'd sacrificed, she began to write her brother less and less, unwilling to admit to him that he'd been right. That giving up the hope of finding love and a family of her own was something she'd never be able to resign herself to.
The delivery of baby after baby to couples who openly embraced in joy at the beginning of their child's life taught her that marriage did not have to be a staid obligation, but rather could be entered into by two consenting individuals who cared very deeply for and even loved one another. To see mothers delight in their little ones, and fathers playing with them with the purest joy on all their faces filled her with longing, both for her own childhood, back when things had been simpler, and for the opportunity to feel that joy a parent feels herself. To be around all that love and not be affected by it would be impossible for even the most bloodless individual. But for young Sister Bernadette it had been the beginning of the end of her devotion to religious life.
She had harboured what had begun as a harmless crush on the dashing Dr. Turner from the moment she'd laid eyes on him, not long after she arrived at Nonnatus in 1948. It was harmless because she was a nun and he was married with a young son. She had been there to comfort him and Timothy, as all the sisters had, during his wife's lengthy illness and eventual death. But when, a year or so later, Shelagh saw her affection for him mirrored back in Dr. Turner's dark eyes, she realised that it was no longer either harmless or hopeless. At some point, they had fallen in love with each other, and there could be no peace in her mind or in her soul until she was at his side, and they were husband and wife.
She'd sent her brother an invitation to the wedding to the last known address she had for him, but it came back to her with "Return to Sender" stamped across it in red. She had no other address for him and father was no help, having not heard from his son in more than a year. And so, much to her disappointment, her brother hadn't shown up at her wedding with that infuriatingly triumphant expression on his face that only an older brother could give his younger sister when he knew he'd been right all along.
Her father had assured her he'd turn up like he did years before, living in Wales for a year on a sheep farm before he let either Shelagh or her father know, and that he'd pass on any correspondence his son sent him. But two years on she hadn't hear from either of the men. She knew, eventually, her brother would resurface, as he was wont to do. Maybe with a family of his own in tow this time. It gave her a pang of longing for him, especially now that their own little family was growing. She'd love nothing more than to be able to take the children up to see their grandfather when they got the time (before his steady diet of lager, bannock, and single malt finally did him in) and she would have loved nothing more than to have her brother there as well, regaling the children with stories of their mother and uncle's youth. But her little family reunion would have to wait. She was too pregnant, Patrick was too busy, Angela was too young, Gordon was AWOL, and it was too bloody cold in Aberdeenshire in December.
So, as she could not go to her relatives with her concerns, or to Patrick, either, for the time being, she came here. She had been drawn here, knowing that she needed to speak with Sister Julienne before anyone else in Nonnatus, or even Poplar for that matter, found out about her pregnancy.
"Shelagh?" Came the Sister's voice from the doorway, stirring her from her reverie. Shelagh stood at once and turned, feeling a rush of affection as Sister Julienne neared her, smiling brightly. "Oh, it's so lovely to see you," she said. While she seemed somewhat surprised to see her former postulant waiting for her, she was delighted as well. She placed the books she was carrying on the desk and reached out toward Shelagh, wrapping her in a surprisingly strong embrace. Shelagh sighed deeply, holding on as tightly to Sister Julienne as she could, like a child who wished that mummy could make everything better. Reluctantly, after a few seconds, they separated, Sister Julienne taking her place behind the desk while Shelagh lowered herself back into her chair. She looked up to see the older woman watching her with concern. "I trust that everything is alright?"
Shelagh could only smile at her, and nod. She was having trouble remembering what she had been so worried about in the first place. Just simply being back here in Nonnatus House in this woman's presence had calmed her considerably.
"Erm, yes, yes! Timothy and Angela are doing wonderfully and Patrick seems to have recovered quite well from his…incident with the osteogenesis case."
"That is wonderful to hear," Sister Julienne told her, looking quite pleased. "We were all quite worried about him."
Shelagh smiled. "Although, I have to say I worry about him, especially…now," she said, steeling herself.
Sister Julienne cocked her head to one side, concern knitting her brow. She had always been the sharpest of all the nuns, though her almost serene demeanour belied it at times, and she could see right off that there was something her former Sister needed to get off her chest.
"Is something the matter, Shelagh? You seem troubled."
Shelagh laughed nervously, unsure where to start.
"I shouldn't be, really," she started, "troubled, that is. Because something has happened that I had been wanting to happen for a long while. Hoping and praying, really, and yet…" She sighed.
"What is it, Shelagh?" The nun's face was alive with anticipation.
"Truly, I should have figured it out on my own, though I've hardly had time to think since I resumed my nursing duties, and with Timothy and Angela to care for…" She shook her head, looking up at Sister Julienne, who was still waiting with bated breath. "I got light-headed in the clinic yesterday, and had a little…fainting spell. Patrick examined me," she took a big breath, feeling the burn of tears threatening to fall, and looked up at the woman who had been her mother for more years than her own mother had. There was really no other way to describe the relationship between them. "I'm pregnant, Sister Julienne," Shelagh told her, and watched as the woman's expression transformed from that of apprehension to one of the most jubilant elation. It was really a lovely thing to see, and Shelagh found her lips pull into a smile almost of their own accord.
"Oh, Shelagh," she said, rising from her chair, "that's wonderful!" She nodded as the nun came around the desk to perch on the edge, looking down at her with some concern. "Is it not?" she asked, softly after a few silent seconds had passed.
"No, it is, Sister, it truly is," Shelagh said, offering an encouraging smile, "Timothy and Patrick are delighted, and Angela will be a lovely big sister." Shelagh sighed deeply, trying to put her thoughts to words. "But it seems as though this is all happening so fast. I had almost no symptoms at all until very recently, and neither Patrick nor I had expected this, given what the gynecologist who did the surgery told us about the scarring."
Sister Julienne reached forward and grasped Shelagh's hand in hers, giving it a firm squeeze. Shelagh clutched it firmly, the contact giving her strength.
"How far along is your pregnancy?"
"Twenty-three weeks, Sister," Shelagh told her, in disbelief herself still. Sister Julienne looked predictably surprised, looking down at Shelagh's form for some evidence of this.
"But, child, you scarcely look more than ten or twelve weeks gone," she told her, with some alarm.
"I know," Shelagh conceded, looking down at her abdomen. She had worn a loose frock today, having found that the skirts that had fit her not more than two weeks previous no longer did. She placed her hand over the little mound where the child, no doubt awoken by its mother's wildly beating heart, had begun to stir. "But there's no denying it, I'm afraid," she told the woman, who was gazing at Shelagh's abdomen with a wistful smile. "Patrick did the measurements himself, and listened to the heartbeat. And baby's an active one. Hardly gives me a moment's rest." She smiled up at Sister Julienne. "I'm afraid I'll be giving birth in not more than four months, and I'm sure you can imagine that it's been a bit of a shock."
"I'm sure it has been quite a surprise," Sister Julienne said softly.
"We missed all those early months, all that time we could have spent preparing. Angela's not even reached her first birthday and Timothy's still a child in so many ways. They both need so much attention and I'm afraid I'll be stretched a little thin with a new baby, and with the surgery and with the clinic." She sighed, and Sister Julienne gave her hand another squeeze. "And I'm afraid of letting Patrick down. He works so hard. I'm worried that if I'm not there, he'll take on too much and if something goes wrong again he could—" Tears started to fall, then, and Sister Julienne crouched down before her, trying to catch Shelagh's eye.
"All these fears are quite normal, Shelagh, you must know that." She nodded, wiping at the tears that just wouldn't stop lately. "But I suppose that does not make them any less upsetting." Sister Julienne sighed, "I trust you are happy about the child, though, are you not?"
Shelagh smiled wetly, and nodded. "Oh, I'm absolutely thrilled, Sister, I really am. I still can't quite believe it, but I can't wait to meet this little one. I can't wait for Angela to see her and for the two of them to play together when they're older. Patrick is already ecstatic. The smile's barely left his face since he found out. And Timothy, oh, he's been brilliant. He can't wait to tell everyone. And truthfully, neither can I." She laughed, letting herself be joyful, if only for a moment. "I feel like this baby will make our family complete. Three children, all born to different mothers, but you'd never know it. There's so much love, Sister, more than enough to go around."
Sister Julienne smiled up at her. "Shelagh, you know I can't promise that this is going to be easy, or that there won't be some bumps along the way, but I think you need to realise that you are not alone. Really, that you never have been. Just as we were here to help the Noakes family along the way, we will be here to help you and Patrick. The two of you have been indispensable to Nonnatus House. I shudder to think of all the women and babies who would have lost their lives if not for the pair of you. You both have given so much to us and to the community that you need not want for any help during your pregnancy and even after the baby's born. It's what we do." Shelagh nodded, feeling the tension leave her, bit by bit. Sister Julienne's words had always soothed her in a way that no one else could. "Now, if I can give you a little bit of advice, it's that you look at this as a blessing. It is true that the work will still need to be done without any regard for your condition, but that does not mean that you must continue to serve the community as diligently as you have been. There is no shame in taking rest when you need it. One of our nurses will gladly help out at the surgery any time you need them to. And I want you to think, Shelagh, about what a gift this child is. You know there was very little chance of this baby being conceived. But it has been. Life has found a way, so do try to remember how excited you are about this impending arrival, how happy your family is, and try to overlook your worries. I am sure that things will work themselves out. They usually do. Do you think you can do that?"
Shelagh nodded, slowly, taking in the words. She supposed she was being silly, fretting so much. This would be another journey for the Turner family, another storm to weather if something went wrong, and they had already managed the bumps in the road so well together that this should be no bother. Everything would work out in the long run, surely?
"Now, I'm sure you will need a few days to come to terms with your pregnancy, and I will respect your wishes if you do not want to announce it right away. But once you do, you'll be expected to register with a midwife attend the antenatal clinic like all the other pregnant women in Poplar. I think you'll find that having someone to help you along the way will ease some of your fears. Is that agreeable?"
Shelagh nodded, feeling the blush start to creep up her cheeks. The fact that she'd have to be attended to like some naïve young newlywed seemed a little preposterous. "Thank you, Sister," she said, nonetheless. "You've always been so kind to me." Sister Julienne laughed softly.
"You deserve all the kindness in the world, Shelagh. Don't ever let yourself believe that you do not," she said. "Now, I am going to down to the kitchen to get two mugs of Horlicks, as I have been told by the nurses that it cures all that ails you." Shelagh smiled and nodded at the Sister as she got up, heading downstairs to the kitchen.
She listened to her footfalls until they faded, leaving her alone with her thoughts again. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself and her emotions, which had been ridiculously volatile as of late, mulling over all that Sister Julienne had just said to her. She knew that the majority of what she'd said was right. Things had a way of working themselves out. They would manage, one way or another.
But, she supposed, and maybe this was the root of what was bothering her, things wouldn't be the same as they had been with just the four of them. Two children were easy to keep an eye on, easy to ensure each got enough attention and had their needs met.
Three would be a challenge. Their previously orderly life would become chaotic, feeding and changing a newborn all hours while Angela, still very much a baby herself, would need the same. And not to mention Timothy's schoolwork and after-school activities, and giving him enough attention so that he didn't feel left out. The thought of all of this scared her a little; the inability to keep things organized and under control when she'd lived such a regimented and unchanging life for ten years.
But this was what she had wanted, was it not? An escape from the abstinence and the routine? What she'd longed for all those nights as she'd listened to the nurses drinking and gossiping about boys and work, or getting all kitted up to go out to the pictures or to a dance. All that fun and life she had been so desperate to join in on. But then she'd gone from nun to fiancée in one day. She hadn't been really truly free for very much of her life at all. And now, barely two years after turning in her habit, she was to become the mother of three.
She supposed her married life allowed her much more freedom than that of a lot of other women. Her husband was a wonderful, intelligent, forward-thinking man who surely did not expect his wife to give up the career she loved so much and spend it all her time at home. And he involved himself in the child-rearing without hesitation; changing nappies, midnight feedings, playing with baby for hours. It wasn't as if she felt trapped, like so many of the women she'd attended to all those years. Her home was happy and her marriage was lovelier than she'd ever dreamed it could be. Those days of her twenties and early thirties when most girls were either shopping for a husband or for a career had been spent devoting herself to God and to obstetric medicine. And she didn't regret it. It had been what she thought was the right path.
For now she would just have to face the uncertainty, she supposed, believe that life would be all the richer with another child, a child that would be, above all, loved. How could it not be? Already she knew of at least three people who were thinking about it, wondering what it was going to look like, be like, whether it was a boy or a girl. They were excited for its birth. And Tim was right; everyone at Nonnatus House would be just as thrilled.
And although she'd never lamented the lack of genetic ties between her and the children, she supposed it would be lovely to have a little miniature version of Patrick running about. A little girl with jet-black hair and that crooked grin of his. Shelagh smiled at the thought. And just as the way a child's upbringing had a lifelong impact on them, heredity was a powerful factor, too. She could see it with Tim and Patrick, in all those little similarities they had, and in how Shelagh and her brother had resembled each other when they were growing up. It would be a whole new experience. To give birth to a child who would be part her and part Patrick who would look like the both of them? She smiled. It would be nothing if not interesting.
She knew that Patrick deserved to hear these concerns of hers. The two of them had barely gotten half an hour to speak about their impending arrival the day before. And today would be just as busy. She hoped they'd get some time as Christmas neared. She needed him to know about her fears, even if he thought they were silly or unfounded, they still needed to communicate with each other about it. They'd learned the hard way with Angela's adoption what happened when they kept secrets from each other. She never wanted that to happen again. She promised herself that she'd set aside some time in the coming days to really talk with him, hopefully before the residents of Poplar caught wind of her condition and it spread like wildfire, and suddenly everyone and their dog wanted to congratulate them.
She heard footsteps and came back to the present to see Sister Julienne carrying a tray upon which sat two steaming mugs and two small plates with slivers of white cake upon them. Shelagh laughed, feeling all her uncertainty slide away, for, at that moment, in the company she was in, in this stifling yet oddly comforting office, with hot chocolate and cake, she felt as though life truly couldn't get much better than this.