SIX

With a whistle on his lips, Patrick left his office on the second floor of the hospital, nodded politely to a nurse he passed in the hall, and then began to descend the stairs to the ground floor storage room. He was in search of ink to fill his pen as his had run dry after a full morning of filling out paperwork and updating charts. Despite a thorough search of his desk and storage cabinet, his spare ink could not be found and thus he was left to go on a hunt for some more.

If, during medical school, someone had told them he would have spent a morning charting patient information and enjoying it, he simply would not have believed them. Back then, he saw charts and documenting as only an unpleasant (though necessary) task he would need to do in between the exciting bits of his job like surgery and trying to piece together a patient's symptoms to solve the puzzle of a mysterious ailment. Now, several years into his career, and, more notably, over a year into his time at war, being able to sit in the peace and quiet of his office and write for several hours without interruption felt like a rare luxury.

In fact, since spending so much time at the front, he found any opportunity to sit quietly to be that same level of alluring. Holding a book in his hand for nearly an hour without jumping or needing to duck for cover? Perfection! Listening to music on a record or over the wireless without it being interrupted by the screaming sounds of falling shells? Idyllic (even if he could not understand most of the words being sung in Italian). And, perhaps best of all, being able to lay down in a bed and fall asleep knowing he would not be jerked awake by terror clawing at his chest? Well, now, that was very welcome indeed.

His second month at the Allied hospital had been downright enjoyable. There had only been two emergency cases come in, one of which had been assigned to him. While his heart rate had become quite elevated, he maintained control on his emotions and, with the help of some deep breathing on the balcony after the surgery ended, he recovered quickly and was able to go on with his day without any interruption. Such an event truly was a testament to how far he had come in his recovery. His only worry remained that his tenure at the hospital was undefined and, thus, in theory he could be returned to the front at any time and with barely any notice at all. Thinking about that too hard could easily send him spiraling back to that dark place, which was why he chose not to think about it and instead live every day in the present moment as best he could.

On the ground floor, Patrick made his way through the kitchens and laundry to the supply room that sat deep in an unused corner of the building. The room was not ideal for clean storage as it tended to be rather damp, but they had to use the rooms available to them as best they could. A damp, poorly lit room could not have been used for patients, but spare towels and sheets survived just fine.

Despite not being a tall man, Patrick still had to duck his head as crossed through the doorway of the low-ceiling storage area. He planted his fists on his hips and prepared himself to search through the unfamiliar wooden shelves, when movement towards the back of the room caught his eye. Thankfully, the movement was too large to be a rat or other unpleasant creature. Upon further examination, he found the creature to be quite the opposite of unpleasant.

"Oh, hello there."

Sister Bernadette smiled over her shoulder at him. "Hello."

"What are you doing down here?" he asked conversationally as he began to search through nearby shelves for the item he sought. He crouched down, looked at a few lower shelves and then moved on to the next set to continue his quest, but he seemed to only be finding linens and spare laundry supplies.

"Can I help you find something?"

"Ah…" He glanced back to her and held up the writing implement clutched in his fist. "My pen is out of ink, and I can't seem to find any more."

She pointed behind him and said, "The cabinet along the opposite wall. The top two drawers have writing supplies."

He thanked her and followed her direction to the cabinet where he successfully found the ink he needed. After pocketing the vial, he returned to where she stood and took note of the fact that she held a clipboard and appeared to be counting boxes on the shelf in front of her. "Are you…taking inventory?"

"Yes. Re-doing it, actually."

"Re-doing?"

"Yes. Do you remember the nurse that was here last week? Blonde. Very tall."

He nodded immediately. They had so many people going in and out at any given time, he could hardly keep up and might not have recalled the woman at all were it not for the fact that she had to have been one of the tallest women he'd ever come across. "Ah, yes; I remember."

An annoyed expression crossed Sister Bernadette's face, which intrigued him. In all the time he had known her, he felt he could have counted on one hand the time she had any sort of negative emotion evident on her face. Her temperament was nearly always pleasant and kind, and it took a very extreme event to rile her up or upset her in some way.

"Well, she was instructed to do the inventory and provide the counts so enough replacement supplies could be ordered. Then, yesterday, when we were nearly out of some important items, we came to realize she didn't do the counts properly at all! Instead, she was down here…doing other things."

The way she mumbled the last three words made him ask, "Such as?"

He noticed a slight pinkness creep into her cheeks as she explained, "Evidently, she and one of the American soldiers were…"

When he saw her raise her brow and give a sideways nod, he was able to pick up on her implication. Letting out a slight chuckle he said, "Oh dear."

The tall nurse and the soldier were hardly the first of their kind to fraternize in such a way, though obviously such interactions between hospital employees and patients were strictly forbidden. The army also frowned upon relationships between enlisted men and women, which had not been a problem at the front because women had been nearly non-existent. In the hospital setting, that was not the case, and he had certainly heard rumors and whisperings about doctors and nurses having private liaisons. He had never partaken in any of those himself, but the more his mind returned to its normal state, he could certainly understand the temptation. Being surrounded by so much death did tend to make a person want to live life to the fullest.

"Yes, well. Now I must make sure it is done correctly so we are not in danger of running out of any important supplies."

"Good luck, then. I'll make sure none of the American soldiers sneak down here to distract you." The moment the words left his mouth he knew they had been a mistake. She hadn't even visually reacted before he began apologizing. "I am so sorry; that was a terrible thing to say."

"It's no matter," she said in her normally pleasant tone, which only made him feel worse. He had no idea what possessed him to make such a crude comment—to any woman, let alone his friend the nun. He was normally much better at keeping inappropriate comments to himself when in mixed company.

"It's not. I should not have said that."

Appearing a bit flustered, she reached out her right hand towards the nearest shelving unit almost as though she needed to steady herself. "Really, Patrick, it's-"

A horrendous cracking sound filled the room barely one second after her right hand came to rest on the shelf beside her. The unit began to sway as the wood splintered and groaned before, almost in the blink of an eye, all four shelves and side supports seemingly disintegrated, taking towels, sheets, and rags along with them to the floor. Worse, the side support furthest from them slammed into the shelving unit beside it causing a domino effect. The second shelving unit began to slowly sink down as its supports buckled. Thankfully, it was close enough to the wall that was able to land at a slumped angle instead of collapsing entirely, but of course many of the items on its shelves tumbled pitifully to the ground.

When all the thudding and crashing had ceased, Patrick stood rather stunned, his brain hardly able to process the scale of the destruction. It almost felt rather cartoonish; he had never seen shelves collapse so quickly before!

Five seconds passed and neither of them moved until, very slowly, Sister Bernadette turned her head towards his. He saw she wore possibly the most horrified expression he had ever seen a person wear, but his first reaction was not sympathy. No, for an inexplicable reason, he found her horror hilarious and promptly burst out laughing. Within a few seconds, he had to place his hand on his belly to support himself because he was laughing so hard.

"Patrick!" Sister Bernadette half-scolded, half-wailed when his laughter did not cease.

"I'm sorry—I'm so sorry," he said, though he continued to laugh. It was madness! He couldn't stop! The situation was objectively not funny, but he simply could not stop.

"This is…" She lifted up her leg, which had been partially buried by the debris. Doing so caused another plank of wood to tumble to the ground, its thud echoing through the room. "A disaster!" she proclaimed, but then, perhaps fueled by his amusement, she began to laugh too, though her laughter was not as raucous as his.

"Oh no, oh no…" She groaned as her laughter died out. "I don't even know where to start!" She bent forward to try and lift one of the larger sections of the shelving unit from where it had landed beside her. She tried to lift it, but because her legs were still partially trapped by other debris, she lost her balance and ended up tumbling over. Fortunately, piles of felled sheets cushioned her fall, but with her leg still stuck under a wood plank, she ended up rather trapped.

Patrick, having finally recovered from his laughing fit, swiped at the corners of his eyes with his knuckles and asked, "Are you all right?"

"I think so. I'm just…stuck."

He stepped forward and reached out his hand to grab onto hers. "Here, let me help." She grasped his right hand with hers and he bent over to grab onto her elbow with his left hand to have extra leverage to pull her up. He managed to get her back on her feet easily and then began to survey the damage. "I suppose the first thing we need to find are some tools and maybe some spare wood to reconstruct these shelves."

"We?" she asked, eyeing him with an arched brow.

"Well, of course I'm going to help you," he told her with a grin. Then, he began unbuttoning his uniform coat so he wouldn't get it dirty before they set to work.

After he procured a hammer and some nails, they worked together to clear enough space to attempt to reconstruct the dilapidated shelving unit. Patrick was in no way a carpenter, but he had gained enough knowledge during his youth that he was able to reasonably secure the shelves. Unfortunately, with so many pieces of wood splintered beyond repair, they soon discovered they would only be able to build the shelves up to half their original height. When he noticed the despair this created on Sister Bernadette's face, Patrick took the time to reassure her that the calamity was not her fault. The next person who touched that shelf with any firmness would have brought it down; she was just an unfortunate victim.

They worked together for the next hour to reconstruct and stabilize both units, chatting a bit as they went. As he was securing the corners of the shelves with a few extra nails, he thought back to the moment when he'd laughed at the sister's horrified expression and realized that laugh had been his first proper laugh since going to war. Given the sense of calm filing his chest, their shared amusement had been more cathartic that he even realized.

He took a moment to watch her as she sorted through the sheets and towels, pulling out the ones too dirty to be reshelved without washing, and he felt a surge of admiration. His friendship with her had deepened over the last few weeks, with them now spending at least half an hour chatting on the balcony together every night one of them was not on shift. While he did socialize with the other doctors and uniformed men, particularly during the meals they shared together, he enjoyed his time with Sister Bernadette the best as those were the times he felt most at ease.

Despite having met nearly a year earlier, he realized that he and the sister had rarely done work together. She had assisted on one surgery with him out of pure necessity, and they were occasionally in a patient ward together at the same time, though they almost never interacted. Their joint attempt to restore the storage room was one of the first times they'd needed to accomplish a large task together and he found he quite liked it.

With this in mind, he asked, "Sister, do you ever get time off? Perhaps an afternoon to do as you please?"

She eyed him cautiously. "Sometimes. Why do you ask?"

"Earlier today, I received my schedule for the next few days, and I have some time off. One of the Americans has been trying his hardest to convince me that I need to go and see the sights from Ancient Rome. He's really made them sound quite interesting and I thought…well, perhaps you might want to join me."

Though he had arrived at the hospital nearly two months earlier, he had left the grounds for the first time only the week before. He had been invited by the major to go to a nearby basecamp and meet up with some military officers to discuss some of his experiences at the front and what resources could be provided to help. Despite traveling with a heavy security force, he'd felt unsettled during the whole trip. He'd made it, though, and knew it was time for him to venture out again into the areas that were now safe for Allied service men to travel in. He knew he needed to do it for the next step in his recovery process, and he would do it, but he also knew he would feel much better about it with her at his side.

She gave him a gracious smile but shook her head. "That's kind of you, but I really should not do something so frivolous. God expects me to be here, working."

Patrick pursed his lips together, considering her answer. During their evening chats, she had told him a bit about her calling as a nun and the work she felt she was meant to do. While Patrick believed in God and regularly attended church services throughout his life, it was difficult to imagine having such a calling. He saw religion as a guide more than an absolute; something that was nice to have on some occasions but could never override his own free will. As her friend, he absolutely respected her choices and beliefs, but he still felt he could offer her an alternate perspective.

"It seems to me that God would be more than accepting of a few hours of frivolity given the last year of service you did in His name. But, if you're uncomfortable…"

"It's not that," she added quickly. She hesitated for another moment before, nodding her head slightly. "I…I will see if we can coordinate our schedules."

A grin burst out onto his face. "Excellent. Now, let's see if we can get that other set of shelves to sit upright once more."

Sister Bernadette felt a few butterflies take flight in her stomach when she found Patrick waiting for her on the front steps of the hospital. She knew they weren't doing anything wrong, but why did it feel that way? Despite the guilt she felt while doing so, she was permitted to take time off. Her superior, Sister Catherine, didn't even question her when she'd asked to spend the afternoon away from the hospital. Of course, she had not explicitly said she would be spending that time with Patrick. Was that why she felt guilty? Because she could have sinned with a lie of omission? But spending time with Patrick, though unusual, was technically still allowed. Taking in a deep breath through her nose, she decided she should push such thoughts from her mind so they did not cloud her mood for the next several hours.

Her footsteps on the stairs alerting him, Patrick turned and looked up to her, smiling when their gazes met. "Hello. Ready to go?"

When he angled his body towards hers, she saw he held a letter in his hand and nodded towards it. "Is that from home?"

He glanced down it and then back up to her with a shrug. "From my mother."

"That's nice. Does she write regularly?"

He let out a breathy laugh. "Yes, she certainly does. I get one a week now that she knows I have a stable post and I'll actually be able to receive them in a timely manner."

"How nice for the both of you."

As they began walking across the gravel driveway out to the main road where they would catch a bus into central Rome, he asked her, "Do you get letters from home?"

"Oh, no. My mother died when I was a child, and my father isn't much for correspondence."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

She gave him a gracious smile for his genuine tone. She often received sympathetic glances from her fellow nuns when the post would arrive, and she would receive no packages or letters. She didn't mind, though, as she had always known she would not receive any while in her foreign post. Through God, she understood why and had never felt sad about it.

"If you want to receive letters, I'm certain my mother would write to you," Patrick added.

She felt embarrassment creep over her as she replied, "That is unnecessary."

"Don't think you'd be putting her out – she's quite the conversationalist. And she already knows who you are."

Surprised, she glanced up at him. "You've told her about me?"

"Of course," he responded in a tone that made it sound like her question had been silly. "I don't give her all the details of what's going on over here because I don't want to worry her any more than she already does, but I tell her about the positive things and that very much includes you. Oh, good, I can see the bus."

Sister Bernadette followed Patrick on to the bus and joined him in a seat near the back, all the while feeling rather dazed. When she really thought about it, it made sense that he had told his family about some of the men and women he worked with, but she still found herself feeling rather surprised. She wondered if she had been simply mentioned in passing like the other doctors and nurses, or if he had declared their friendship. She also wondered if he had told his mother about their escape from the Italian hospital, though perhaps not as it certainly would have qualified as a "worrying detail."

Since her arrival in Italy, Sister Bernadette had only sent one letter home. Her father's birthday was in March, so she'd written to him to wish him well and to let him know she was well and continuing on her mission. She had never expected a response—assuming the letter made it home at all, which was always a wonder with wartime post. Actually, she'd been most worried about upsetting him, since he was quite unhappy with her choice to join the war effort. She did not fault him for his feelings, as she knew most parents felt the same way about their child facing such dangers, but she knew she had done the right thing—what God had asked of her.

The bus ride into the center of Rome took about twenty-five minutes with several stops being made along the way. As they traveled, they drove past several areas that had been decimated by bombs and it reminded her of how some parts of London looked thanks to The Blitz.

After being dropped off at the central train station, Patrick read a few street signs and then directed them westward in the city. She had no idea where they were going and trusted in him to be their guide. This was, after all, his adventure; she was just along for the ride.

As they walked through the streets, she found herself rather fascinated by the architecture she was seeing. Before the war, the biggest trip she had ever taken was when she moved from her childhood home in Scotland to London to begin nursing school. Going from a small town to a major metropolis had been a shock for her, but by the time she graduated school she was used to it. Rome had some elements that reminded her of London but seeing all the signs for shops and streets in a different language was disorienting. Thankfully it seemed Patrick knew where they were headed because, after about fifteen minutes of walking, he suddenly grabbed onto her hand and pulled her across the street saying, "There! I see it!"

"Where are we…oh…" Her voice drifted off when she found herself standing at the edge of the plaza in front of the Trevi Fountain. As it was the middle of the afternoon, there were several groups of people sitting around the fountain, but it was not crowded such that they were unable to see the beauty of the sculptures.

They walked slowly across the plaza until they stopped at the center of the fountain and could observe it from head on. It was only then she realized that Patrick still held her hand, but she didn't mind it. It actually felt…rather nice.

They stood together silently for a few minutes before he turned to her and said, "Impressive, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"And…" He dropped her hand so he could reach into his pocket. He pulled out two small coins and held them up in front of her. "One for each of us to throw in."

"Oh…I can't do that—but you should."

He looked hesitant so she gave him an encouraging nod. She watched as he walked over to the fountain, turned his back to it, and threw the coin over his shoulder into the water. When he returned to her side, she asked why he'd thrown the coin that way and he said that the American who told him about the fountain said it was customary. He then suggested they sit, and they did on a bench just to the left of the fountain. For twenty minutes they listened to the flowing water and watched some pigeons strut around near their feet, not speaking, but not needing to as they were simply enjoying the moment together.

Patrick broke the silence by asking, "Do you want to see the Pantheon?"

"I'm not sure I know what that is."

He stood and gestured for her to follow. "Then we should go and look. It's this way, I believe."

They walked until they came upon a large stone building clearly a thousand years old. As they began to circle it, looking for the front, she noticed a sign that was written in both Italian and English. "It was a church in Ancient Rome," she explained after reading.

"I wonder if we can go inside?"

She followed him around the building until they could see the massive stone pillars surrounding the entrance. Another sign told them they were not permitted inside, but she wasn't disappointed. The building was still a sight to behold from the outside. There weren't many people around, so they were able to lean against the nearby fountain and take it all in.

After a few moments, Patrick said softly, "Is it wrong to say I'm glad this wasn't destroyed?

"Why would that be wrong? It is magnificent."

"But the Italians are the opposition."

She frowned and shook her head at this. "We are all humans which puts us all on the same side of life. Moreso, the men who made this beautiful place over a thousand years ago had nothing to do with today's disagreements; their work would not deserve to be destroy."

"I suppose that's true. Sometimes, it is simply hard to reconcile all this fighting while remembering there is still so much here that deserves saving."

She thought a moment before responding. "War brings such terrible circumstance upon us all. It can be such a struggle to understand why God allows some men to bring upon such evil, but that is simply His way. We must listen and do all that we can to help and serve the way He needs us to. I can't imagine the difficulty one would have hearing God above the gunfire and bombs at the front and I am grateful He has never put me in such a difficult position. Here, though, we are able to take our time to pray and listen."

He was quiet for a moment before softly saying, "You know that I am not as devout as you are."

"Yes." They hadn't spoken about it much, but it had come up enough for her to know he had a more casual relationship with God, which was well within his right.

"Does that both you?"

She shook her head. "Why would it? God's relationship with each of us is unique and his relationship with one does not affect another."

He moved so that he stood in front of her, gazing down at her with the most curious expression on his face. She felt some pickling at the base of her neck and had to look down towards the street in order to keep the heat from rising in her cheeks from intensity of his gaze.

"You know, Sister, I think you are one of the most interesting people I've ever met." He let the statement hang in the air for a moment before reaching out his hand to her, "Come on – I think I saw a gelato shop on the other side of the plaza. Let's get ourselves a treat."

She took his hand and let him pull her away from the fountain before following him happily towards their next adventure.