ELEVEN

"Timothy," Patrick sighed with frustration as he watched the boy clamber out of the back of their vehicle, "where is your hat? It's freezing out here!"

The boy shrugged dramatically. "I dunno. I think it fell off when I was putting on my shoes."

Patrick grumbled to himself. He hadn't even noticed his son got into the car without a hat—but he had specifically remembered telling him to take it as they readied themselves to leave their flat. Then again, he had been busy trying to make sure they were bringing everything they needed along with them. "Well, go on then. Hurry inside before you get too cold."

As Timothy dashed up the steps to Nonnatus House, Patrick grabbed the two bags of presents from the rear seat and followed him. The boy had already begun pounding on the door, so by the time Patrick reached the top step it was opening to reveal Sister Bernadette wearing a broad smile. "Oh, hello young man," she said kindly.

"Happy Christmas, Sister!" Timothy proclaimed before throwing his arms around her hips to hug her in the only way he could from his height.

"Happy Christmas, Timothy." She feathered her hand through his hair before stepping back and allowing them both to step out of the cold. "Happy Christmas, Patrick. Can I help you with anything?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Let's just shut this door—it's freezing out there!"

"Dad hates the cold," Timothy chimed in as he began to unbutton his coat.

Patrick transferred the bags to one hand so he could use the other to remove his own coat. "I surely do, Though I suppose I can tolerate it much more easily when I'm able to step inside and be warmed by a fire instead of being stuck fleeing through the wilderness, right Sister?"

Before Sister Bernadette could respond, Patrick heard, "When were you two fleeing through the wilderness?" coming from down the hall. He looked over to see the blonde nurse Trixie gazing at them curiously from the edge of the hall.

"In Italy," he explained simply as he transferred the bags to his other hand so he could fully remove his coat and hang it on one of the hooks by the door. As Sister Bernadette had already hung Timothy's coat, they were able to make their way to the main living room of the house and join the Christmas festivities.

"I thought you worked at a hospital while you were there," Trixie said as they walked.

"That was the second time we met."

"You met Sister Bernadette two times, Daddy?" Timothy asked.

"Three times, including when we met here in Poplar."

"Sounds like it would be a pretty interesting story, don't you think, Timothy?" Trixie asked. Timothy didn't respond except to shield himself behind Sister Bernadette's body and grab on to her left hand. For a reason Patrick could not understand, Timothy had not yet warmed up to Trixie as much as he had Sister Bernadette and the other nuns. They hadn't spent too much time together, but from all his interactions with her, Patrick knew Trixie was nothing but kind and hoped one day soon he wouldn't be so shy around her.

"Well, I think we should hand out all these lovely presents. Will you help me, Tim?" Patrick asked. His son nodded and the group made their way to the living room where the nuns were sitting around a crackling fire. They all exchanged merry greetings before Patrick set the bags of gifts down on the floor by the sofa and began directing his son on his mission as Santa's helper elf.

Though he felt he had made great strides in learning the details of the nun's way of life during his two months in Poplar, when it came to Christmas he had asked Sister Bernadette directly if he was permitted to give gifts and, if so, of what nature. Had they not been nuns, he would have happily given them lovely presents to show his appreciation for how kind and welcoming they had been to him. He appreciated it more than he could verbalize, and Christmas seemed a perfect opportunity to express his gratitude in other ways. At the same time, he knew that nuns were not permitted many—if any—personal possessions which put him in a difficult spot.

Sister Bernadette had explained that they could only keep items necessary to their way of life (like Bibles) or necessary to maintain personal hygiene or life in general society (like clothing and toiletries). As such, she suggested that the best gift might be a nice pair of socks for each of them. Patrick found this amusing, mostly because he knew that had he attempted to give his son a pair of socks for a Christmas present, he would have been met with palpable frustration; yet, as a gift, it was one that was easy to procure so it certainly did not add to the stress he otherwise felt that season.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Patrick had done his best to brace himself emotionally for the upheaval the holiday would bring. That December was always going to be a difficult month for him since it was the five-year anniversary of his father's death, but he feared getting through their first major holiday without Marianne would be quite the struggle.

Thanks to the routine of work and the community he felt himself settling into, Patrick had begun to feel the storm clouds around his head fade into the distance. He still had some difficult days and knew he would for some time, but it seemed each week was better than the last. Timothy had even started to look forward to going to school and was slowly but surely returning to the little boy he had been before his mother passed.

As Christmas approached, Sister Bernadette had asked him what his plans were for the holiday and if he was going to spend it with family. He explained that he was not, because his sister, who lived near Birmingham, was in the last month of her pregnancy and had been put on bedrest. As she had two older children aged three and five, their mother had gone to stay with her. Patrick thought it would be too much stress on his sister for he and Tim to visit as well, so they decided to postpone their holiday visit until after the baby was born.

Upon hearing it was going to be just the two of them for the holiday, Sister Bernadette had immediately invited them to join the nuns of Nonnatus in celebration. Patrick had been resistant at first, but when Sister Julienne also extended the invitation, he agreed to join them in the afternoon for Christmas dinner.

That morning, when he'd found Tim sitting in front of the small pile of gifts under the Christmas tree, Patrick's heart had been heavy. It was difficult to fathom Marianne not sitting next to him as Timothy ripped into presents and chatted happily about his new book and new game. Difficult as it was, though, he managed his way through it. Even when Tim asked to look at some photos of his mother and they talked about how she might be celebrating Christmas in Heaven, he'd managed to do so without crying.

As he made their breakfast, he'd promised himself that he would make the following year, 1950, one of healing and moving on. He did not want to be sad forever and he knew Marianne would not want that for him either. He and Timothy were already on their way to creating their new life in Poplar. He wasn't as bold as to say it would be a better life for them, but he knew it could still be a happy one.

After Timothy handed out the packages of socks to the nuns and one with a cream-colored scarf to Trixie, the group sat around chatting for nearly half an hour before the young boy stood in front of his father, pressed his hands on Patrick's knees and leaned in, asking, "Will you tell us the story now?"

"What story?"

"The story of you and Sister Bernadette in the wilderness."

Patrick glanced tentatively over to the woman sitting on the opposite end of the sofa from him. "Well, that story isn't just mine to tell—it belongs to Sister Bernadette, too. I cannot tell it without her."

Upon hearing this, Timothy threw himself down on the sofa between them, leaning his head against her arm as he gazed up at her. "Please, please, please sister!"

Patrick covered his mouth with his hand to shield the amused smile that he knew was blossoming on his face. Of all the things that had happened during his eight weeks in Poplar, witnessing the relationship between his son and Sister Bernadette had been the most fulfilling—and the most unexpected. He was sad to say that with Marianne being his primary caretaker, Patrick had spent more time at work than with his son. As such, he hadn't experienced much of Timothy being introduced to new people; his wife had been the one to take him around to visit friends or other children his age. She had always described Tim as quite happy to play with another child, but very cautious around new adults. Since Tim's shyness had only increased after his mother's death, Patrick expected it would take some time for him to warm up to Sister Bernadette, even with Patrick's continual reaffirmation of his friendship with the sister. Much to Patrick's delight, that had never been the case. Timothy had taken to her immediately and seemed to only be happier as a result of their weekly interactions. As the sister remained an important person in his life, this made him very happy.

Sister Bernadette's gaze flicked towards his momentarily, but she didn't say anything until Timothy continued his pleas and she relented with, "Oh, very well."

Tim punched the air with joy and then sat down on the rug just in front of her feet, gazing up at her with rapt attention. Glancing around the room, Patrick saw that they had the focus of Trixie and the nuns as well and he realized that Sister Bernadette mustn't have shared much about her time abroad with any of them. He certainly was not one to tell the details of his experience to just anyone, so he could, in some ways, understand this, but he also wondered if there was a bit more to it.

Though he had not noticed it initially, once the shock of having Sister Bernadette in his life again wore off, Patrick realized that she was not the same woman he had known in Italy. She seemed much more reserved and obedient, less likely to smile and share her opinion. As he got to know the other nuns of Nonnatus, he realized that all of them with perhaps the exception of Sister Evangelina, seemed much more reserved than those in the order that worked with the army. As such, he could not decide if the shift in Sister Bernadette's personality wcas a result of her experiences during the war or simply a reflection of her sisters—perhaps even a bit of both.

"This was about six years ago, and your father and I were trying to find the Americans so that we could surrender. We-"

"Weren't the Americans on our side?" Timothy asked.

"They were."

"But why would you surrender?"

"I think," Patrick jumped in, "we need to go back a bit further to give the story some context—to make it more easily understood. This was 1943, not long after the Allied soldiers—the British, Americans, and French—landed in Italy. And the Italians-" He hesitated for a moment, trying to come up with a way to explain what happened that would be age-appropriate and not terrifying for his four-year-old. "They, well, they needed a doctor and when they realized I was one, they caught me."

"In a net? Like a butterfly?" Tim asked excitedly.

Patrick nodded. "Exactly—in a very large butterfly net. They took me to one of their hospitals and wanted me to help their soldiers feel better. While I was there, I met a very kind, young woman who worked in the kitchen."

Timothy swiveled his head to his left. "Was that you?"

"It was," Sister Bernadette confirmed.

"But she wasn't a nun—she was an undercover spy!" He gave the sister a sideways glance and silently implored her to go along with his twist in their tale. Though he knew that under normal circumstances she would not be comfortable with lying, he hoped that she would go along with this creative truth that would help keep their story as child friendly as it could be.

"A spy?!" Timothy proclaimed with such excitement that he rose up on his knees and clapped his hands together.

After a moment, the sister continued the story. "Yes, and I was very glad to meet your father because I hadn't seen anyone from Britain in many months."

"Did you fall in love?" nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

"Er, no," Patrick interjected nervously. "This isn't a love story; it's an adventure!"

The boy punched the air with both fists high above his head, proclaiming, "Adventures are better than love!"

The adults in the room laughed as Patrick continued. "Indeed, you're right, but we've nearly skipped over the best part. Sister Bernadette was undercover as a…" He looked over to her, waiting for her to fill in the end of his sentence.

"As a village girl who didn't speak."

"That's right. Because I never heard her speak, I had no way of knowing she was from Britain. I thought she was Italian! But even though we never spoke, we still became friends."

Timothy scrunched his nose. "How can you be friends if you don't speak?"

"Well, we communicated in other ways. She was very kind to me, and she helped keep me safe."

"Safe from who?"

"The Italian soldiers."

Turning to Sister Bernadette again, Tim asked, "Did you have a sword?"

"No."

"A gun?"

She shook her head. "No, no weapons of any kind."

"But how did you protect my dad?"

"Ah, in a very important way," Patrick explained, all too happy to incorporate a good life lesson into his story. "She was clever! You must always remember that in many cases using your mind is far better than using a knife or sword or any other sort of weapon—and she used hers quite well. She is the one who helped us escape!"

"But why did you need to escape?"

While Patrick took an extra second to think of a child-friendly reason, Sister Bernadette jumped in with, "We were homesick."

Running with her suggestion, Patrick said, "Yes, we were quite tired of Italian food. We wanted a nice helping of mushy peas." Knowing his son hated peas, Patrick reached out his hand to prod into Timothy's ribs for emphasis.

The boy proclaimed loudly, "Ew!"

"Hmm, well then how about Christmas pudding?" he suggested instead; Tim nodded his head vigorously. "Okay, we wanted Christmas pudding, but we had to be very sneaky. One night, Sister Bernadette came to my—er—room and told me it was time to go."

"But she didn't speak!" Trixie interjected, before quickly clamping her hand over her mouth and mumbling out an apology.

Patrick couldn't help but laugh. "Miss Trixie is correct and this—this!—was the most clever part of her plan. She convinced me to follow her using only gestures. We crept very quietly outside the hospital, and only then did she tell me we needed to go and find the Americans because they were the closer to us than the Brits and they would help us, too. Well, as that was the first time that I had ever heard her speak I found myself quite in shock!"

The boy grinned. "That's funny!"

"It was funny. You see, the Italians didn't want us to go so we had to sneak away in the night. It was dark and very cold."

"Did you have warm gloves?" Tim asked the sister.

"No, we had no gloves at all."

"Weren't you fingers cold?"

"I suppose they were."

Turning back to his father, he asked, "What happened next?"

"We walked all night through the cold and by morning we had found the Americans and our grand escape came to an end."

"Oh bravo!" Trixie said, clapping. Sister Monica Joan clapped as well while Sister Julienne merely smiled politely and Sister Evangelina seemed only mildly entertained, though given her prickly nature, he took this as a compliment.

Tim shuffled his way over so that he could drape himself across Patrick's right leg as he said, "Good story, daddy. Tell it again!"

Patrick laughed. "Again? We just finished it."

"But I want to hear it again!"

Patrick tapped the boy's nose playfully before saying, "Maybe another time."

With a bit of a dramatic sigh, Tim shifted to sit against Sister Bernadette's leg as he asked, "Sister? If you were a spy, how did you become a nun?"

"Er…" she hesitated a second before looking at Patrick pleadingly.

As that fictionalization had been his doing, he felt it was appropriate for him to provide the explanation. "She didn't have to be a spy after the war ended, so she found a new job."

"Being a spy was only ever meant to be temporary," she added.

Tim popped up to his feet and announced, "When I grow up, I want to be a spy too," before face-planting into the sofa cushion that separated them. Once he was sitting on the seat properly, he asked the sister, "Do you have any pictures?"

"Pictures of what?"

"You in disguise?"

Patrick reached out and put his hand on his son's back to redirect his curiosity. "Spies can't take pictures of themselves in disguise, Timothy. No one can know who they are, or they wouldn't be able to be secretive."

The boy's face wrinkled with concern. "Ohh, I see. I still want to be a spy, though."

Patrick merely laughed and said, "Well I know MI6 would be lucky to have you."

On Boxing Day shortly after breakfast, Sister Bernadette walked into the kitchen slowly and waited for Sister Julienne to turn off the water to the faucet before clearing her throat and saying, "Sister, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Sister Julienne turned to her with her ever-present kind expression and said, "Of course, Sister. What would you like to speak about?"

"I need to confess something." She took two steps forward and held up the small black-and-white item in her right hand. "I do have a picture of myself and Dr. Turner from our time in Italy. I received it just a few days before I departed the hospital. One of the patients had taken several pictures during his stay and sent them back to the hospital in the post. I was helping with some administrative duties and happened to open the package when it arrived. I had every intention of giving it to Patrick but then the day got away from me, and I ended up tucking the photo into my Bible so it would not be bent before I could give it to him. With the next day being so hectic, I forgot about it. Then, I found it again not long after I left." She gazed down at the item and felt the ghost of memories creeping up behind her. "It felt wrong to throw it away, so I tucked it in the back pages and forgot about it for many years."

Sister Julienne nodded to her hand, asking, "May I see it?" Sister Bernadette handed over the photograph and watched as a curious smile crossed the elder woman's face. "This was taken from such a distance I would not have recognized either of you."

Sister Bernadette nodded, agreeing with that assessment. The picture was taken from inside the ward on the first floor of the hospital, looking out across the balcony. She and Patrick stood with their hands braced against the balcony wall as they often did, but from the angle the picture was taken, he was side-on to the lens and her back was almost completely to it. Anyone who did not know them well or was not familiar with how they often liked to spend their break times would never have been able to identify them.

"Yes, I know. I was the one sorting through the donated photos, which was how I came across it; I'm sure no one else would have realized it was us and might have even thrown it away. Perhaps I should have done the same," she said, her voice edging with disappointment. She had not taken the photo for the purposes of keeping it or for the sake of her own vanity, which was the only reason her action skirted around the edges of sinfulness. She hadn't even remembered it until Timothy asked her for pictures of her time "as a spy." Once the memory returned to her, though, she knew she had to be honest about it.

Sister Julienne gazed at the photo for another few moments before saying, "I was never called by God to serve overseas during the war, so I will not pretend to understand what it was like. From what I gather, people who shared that time together have a unique connection that would be difficult for someone else to understand if they had no similar experiences."

As the heaviness of it all still occasionally caught her off guard, the younger sister had no choice but to nod. "Yes Sister, I would agree with that."

After another moment's reflection, Sister Julienne handed the photo back to her. "I think you should give this photo to Dr. Turner so he can share it with Timothy."

"Yes Sister, I will do that. Thank you."

She turned to leave the kitchen, but Sister Julienne called her back, saying, "Despite the holidays being a time that we often miss family we have lost, I do think Dr. Turner has seemed less sad lately. Wouldn't you agree?"

She smiled gently. "Yes, I would agree with that." After the sister nodded to her, she left the kitchen and walked to the chapel to say a few words of prayer before she needed to leave. The prior day Timothy had asked if she would come and play a game with him, and she had agreed. The boy had then practically floated into the air with excitement, and she suspected he might be equally as excited to see the photograph.

Before she met Timothy, Sister Bernadette knew she would have a certain fondness for him simply because he was Patrick's son, but after the prior few weeks of getting to know him she could say for certain that she cared for him as much as his father. She had frequently encountered children while working with various communities, but generally for only short periods of time. It was rare that she was able to interact with the same child over many weeks late alone months. As such, she was not entirely sure what to expect from their budding relationship, but with prayer she came to understand that she was meant to help Timothy with his transition to Poplar as much as she was to help Patrick.

During their weekly visits, she let Tim choose whatever game they would be playing, and they often ended up playing with his racing cars. Through these interactions she discovered him to be kind, curious, and surprisingly cuddly at times. She had never encouraged him hug her or sit close by her, but he'd chosen to do so all on his own, to the point where she ended up asking Patrick if it was acceptable. He shrugged off her concern and made it clear he had no issue with it, but the sister remained apprehensive until, though prayer, God showed her that the boy was just trying to connect with a female presence as he adjusted to life without his mother. With that in mind, she was happy to hug him whenever he wanted.

After saying her prayers, Sister Bernadette grabbed her coat and headed out into the chilly winter air. Despite temperatures being below zero, she didn't mind riding her bicycle to Patrick's flat. She was used to riding it in all seasons in order to reach the women of Poplar who needed help delivering their babies. She actually minded the rain more than the cold as the rain making her clothes wet was bothersome even after she was indoors.

Upon arriving at the Turner home, she was ushered inside by a Patrick, who was dressed casually in an emerald green sweater and a pair of gray trousers. "Hope you're having a pleasant holiday so far."

She hummed while removing her coat. "Yes. I hope you are as well. I've actually brought a little surprise."

His brow rose. "A surprise? For me? Or for Timothy as well?"

"For both of you."

"Well, then, you better show us. Timothy!" He called out for his son as they walked further into his flat. She immediately heard the sound of feet pounding on the floor as the boy ran down the hall from his room.

"Sister! You came to play with me!" he said excitedly.

"I did, but first I have something to show both of you." She pulled the photograph from her pocket and handed it directly to Patrick. She watched the shock appear on his face as his eyes processed the image. Then, with jaw agape, he looked up at her and asked, "How did you…"

"I want to see! I want to see!" Timothy shouted as he jumped up and down in an attempt to see the photo, which Patrick was holding just a bit higher than his range of sight. For the moment, Patrick ignored him; his eyes were only focused on her.

"I'd forgotten about it," Sister Bernadette explained. "I only had it a few days before I left. It was in a package of photos sent via post. Evidently one of the soldiers had a camera with him and had taken photos during his stay as a patient. I'd meant to give it to you, but…well, better late than never I suppose."

"Dad!"

"What? Oh, sorry. Here—be careful with it."

Timothy took the photo, glanced at it, and then scrunched his face. "What is this?"

"It's us," Patrick explained to him. "We used to stand out on that balcony nearly every day…"

When her eyes met his, the sister felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She knew exactly the memories that were flooding back to his mind, because they had flooded back into hers the moment she'd pulled the photograph out of the back of her Bible. The time they spent together on that balcony had been so meaningful to them both, putting that meaning to words would have been nearly impossible. In that sense, it seemed almost unfathomable that the only photo that existed of them during that tumultuous time period was one of doing the thing that kept them both from losing themselves to the madness of it all.

"Oh. Okay. Can we play now?" Tim asked.

"Ah…yes, I suppose. Why don't you go choose a game," Patrick told him. Then, he held the photograph out to her and said, "Thank you for showing me. I'm glad you have this."

"Oh no," she said quickly, holding up her hand with her palm facing him. "You need to keep it." His brow wrinkled and she explained further. "I cannot keep it since my original intent was to give it to you. I was only ever passing it along."

"Oh. Well. Thank you. I will keep it safe for us."

They were still smiling at each other a moment later when Timothy ran in carrying a game box high above his head. "Sister! This is my Snakes and Ladders game. Will you play with me?"

"Ah…yes, yes of course if that's what you want to play." She forced herself to look away from Patrick and down at the overly excited boy who nearly dropped the game box with his enthusiasm.

"Come on, Sister! You're going to love this game!" He promised. Then, he grabbed her hand, dragged her over to the table, and put down the game so they could begin to play.