She noticed her symptoms during the final Psalm. A hitch and then a sudden crack in the mirror-smoothness of her voice. Sister Julienne noticed too, and glanced her way in concern. Sister Bernadette swallowed back the urge to cough and finished singing the prayer.
"Sister, are you all right?" the elder nun asked her when Compline had finished and the other nuns had drifted upstairs to bed.
Sister Bernadette nodded. "Fine, Sister." She cleared her throat but the persistent itch remained. "The weather has been quite dry recently. I'll just have a gargle before bed."
Sister Julienne gave her a warm smile and left her, blessedly, on her own.
Sister Bernadette went to the kitchen and switched on the light. Mrs. B kept a bottle of brandy on the top shelf for baking and special occasions, she remembered. She climbed on a chair to search through the high cabinets, muffling her cough with one hand.
A small amount of brandy, mixed with honey and lemon, had been her late mother's remedy for a sore throat. Smoking had been her father's. She'd tried cigarettes a few times in her youth, and once, last week, when the doctor had offered her one after a difficult birth. Smoking never helped her throat, but it soothed other cravings, ones she dared not speak of.
She found the brandy bottle behind the Christmas cake tin. There was no lemon or honey to be found, but gargling with the alcohol would at least numb her throat.
Sister Bernadette climbed down and poured an inch of the golden liquid into a glass. Standing over the sink, she tilted her head back and gargled. The brandy eased her irritation almost immediately.
"Hello – Sister?"
The voice behind her made her jump and she choked. She swallowed the remaining brandy, coughing as it burned down her throat and made her eyes to water.
"Oh, Sister, I'm sorry." Doctor Turner appeared at her side, his face creased in worry. "I didn't mean to startle you. Here-" He took the empty glass, filled it with water from the tap and pressed it into her hand. She took small careful sips.
"Are you all right?" the doctor asked, once her coughing had subsided.
"Y-yes." She cleared her throat and took another sip of water. "Only a slight tickle in the back of my throat. Old home remedy." She nodded toward the brandy bottle. "I wasn't meant to swallow it."
The doctor chuckled. "I've heard patients swear by hot toddies for colds. I don't think a few tablespoons is going to do you any harm."
Sister Bernadette returned his wide grin, the glint of humor in his eyes causing a flutter in her, much lower than her throat. She took off her glasses to clean them, and his face became a safe blur. "Was there something you needed?"
He held up a bag of surgical instruments. "I came to use your autoclave. The one at the surgery has broken again. Sorry for the late hour. Timothy had questions for a school project. Something about the life span of butterflies. I don't know how much help I was." He shook his head, always self-deprecating when it came to fatherhood.
She replaced her glasses and allowed herself a small smile at the mention of his curious son. "Quite all right. Leave your instruments with me, I'll see that they are cleaned first thing."
"Thank you, Sister." He gave her the bag, and his head tilted in concern. "Take care of that throat. You're certain it's not a cold? You look a little flushed."
She felt her face grow even hotter. "Quite certain. It's probably the brandy. Goodnight Doctor."