His mind was full of Marianne, as he drove toward All Saints Parish Hall.
She had died two years ago, on a humid, overcast summer day like this one. Wrapped in his arms in the hospital bed that had been her home for her last two weeks. Softly, between one breath and the next, peaceful and painless. The rarest death. Maybe in time he'd be properly grateful for it. Not yet.
He recalled her smile - Timothy's smile now - as it weakened by the day. The beguiling freckles fading on her cheeks, still smooth with youth despite the ravages of the disease. The hope she held out, that a new treatment or cure might be found. Perhaps in America, perhaps in the great universities of Europe or the Far East. And then later, when she accepted it would not come in her lifetime, but maybe sometime. For someone.
"Can't someone just cut it all out and stitch me up as best they can," she used to say, "Like we did in the field units? Wasn't it something, how many men survived unbelievable injuries, if only we could stave off infection long enough? I wouldn't care what I looked like after, and neither would you."
She'd selectively forgotten the men brought low at the height of their fitness by a small septic scratch. But even radical surgery and permanent resection, cutting away everything but healthy tissue, would not have saved her. With no external symptoms, and no cervical screening scheme to catch cancers at an early stage, they hadn't found out about hers until it was far too late. An hysterectomy to remove the largest and most aggressive tumors, and managing her pain with increasing morphine, gave them six months they would not have had otherwise.
Timothy's eighth birthday. Marianne's thirty-fifth. Their twelfth wedding anniversary - gifts of silk, by the old tradition. She'd given him two heavy silk ties, in the new narrow style, one in solid pale green and one in a sky blue and forest green plaid with a dark red hatched pinstripe. He'd given her a silk chiffon nightgown and peignoir - seashell pink, of course - with tiny ribbon roses around the neck and short sleeves of the gown. The peignoir was so thickly gathered that she looked nearly her old size, when she wore it in her hospital bed.
He'd have done anything, anything to go back in time and know how to find the earliest signs, when there might have been treatment available.
He'd been thinking of her intensely for days, partly due to the season, and moreso since he and Sister Bernadette had won their tussle with the County Medical Board. The memory of Marianne's smile, her faith in him, and in them as a unit had gotten him through the war's end, even if his landing back in peacetime had been less than glorious. She was his secret weapon on the front lines of injury and disease and sheer ignorance. Just as Sister Bernadette had become.
He glanced over to the passenger seat. It had been Marianne' seat for years. She'd even put up a light curtain (in pink) across her window for sunny days. How many adventures had they taken together, how many meandering long drives to explore and talk, to putter about the chores of their daily lives together? To lull Timothy to sleep, when he was inconsolable with teething?
More lately, it had become Sister Bernadette's seat. It felt quite normal to glance over to her there, to enjoy her reactions to the scenes they passed by. Occasionally, in that private little space, she'd forget herself to the point that her accent would broaden and her hands would start to narrate her words, instead of staying folded in her lap.
He lived for those moments.
Of course, he thought, his memories of Marianne would sharpen as his feelings for Sister Bernadette grew ever stronger. Letting go of a season was one thing; filling it with new growth made the old loss poignant in a new way. It was natural.
And God, it ached. Love, reawakening, returned but unrequited. Unable to be given voice or act. Or ever mentioned again. It was all the worse that Timothy loved her, too. Or that Marianne, wherever she might be, would approve entirely. He was sure of that.
He was aware of his heart speeding up in anticipation of seeing Sister Bernadette today. Working side by side with her again, if they could not speak of anything else. He wouldn't trouble her further with deeper feelings. He could give her that, if nothing else. That was the ground they could meet upon. It would have to suffice.
Unless, one day…
Don't think it, man. You'll drive yourself mad.
He turned his thoughts away.
It was ironic that he was on his way to something like a village celebration to curtail a mass TB outbreak, while attending a family that had been brought to its knees by the same bacterium fifteen years before. He wondered how many of the Poplarites gathering around had similar stories to tell. Cancer. Tuberculosis. Syphilis. Infantile dysentery was still a rapid killer if not caught immediately.
Even if we save one life…he reminded himself. The spectre of Masterson's family was a harsh reminder that this fight had been going on in Poplar for hundreds of years, probably thousands of years across all humanity. And here was a fighting chance to get out ahead of it.
He was recalled roughly to the present by a fellow stumbling home still intoxicated in broad daylight. He swerved to avoid him, and steered the car around the crowds converging on the Parish Hall.
"Bloody hell."
The nurses had gone above and beyond in reaching out to Poplar, on the street, in churches and factories, in the markets, at their homes, in bars and even on the ships in port and the dark alleyways. The throng outside the mobile unit reminded him of the summer fete.
They'd gotten the message, all right.
He parked the car as close as he could to the wall of All Saints, hopped out and wound his way through the crowd.
The van was large, scrupulously clean, and kitted out with the latest in rapid X-ray and film development equipment, including an affable sandy-haired Scottish radiographer by the excessively Scottish name of Hamish McGuinness. They were familiar now, having met several times during the week to plan and prepare for the screening scheme.
The good doctor sat nursing his pipe, unbothered by the rising hubbub, and scratching away at a newspaper crossword puzzle.
"You might want to put that crossword away, Doctor," he suggested pointedly to McGuinness.
"I've only got one left," McGuinness removed the pipe to gesture with it. "Clue is: Launch. Begins with K. Two words. Second word ends with F."
Surely McGuinness wouldn't miss the simplest of football terms. It had to be a dig at his Liverpool roots. He liked the fellow already. He moved through the van and swung open the receiving door. "Kick-off," he replied flatly.
The crowd outside hushed their chatter and peered inside. The chatter rose again as they spied the new equipment, the exciting radiation warning labels, and the doctors.
"Bloody hell," McGuinness echoed his earlier thoughts. He set down paper and pipe, and asked, "Are we to manage this mob as well as run the machine?"
"No, thank God," Patrick gestured to the comfortable bulk of Sister Evangelina, who stood like Nelson's Column in front of the rabble. "There's our crowd control."
On cue, Sister Evangelina moved to the front of the crowd, prodding grown men into line as she went with a baleful glare. Patrick felt a renewed wave of optimism. Followed by a sudden burst of internal fireworks as Sister Bernadette appeared through the crowd, laden with a large box of government testing scheme cards.
"Good morning, doctor!" she greeted him, just as in the old way. Perhaps even with the restrained little sparkle he wanted to think she kept just for him.
She came near, and smiled up at him.
What stature is she of? He quoted to himself. Just as high as my heart.
It hurt, for all he couldn't take his eyes from her.
Was she happy at the prospect of spending the day with him, or was she excited at the turnout? He hoped for both. They'd only just managed to find their way back to a comfortable way of being together again. But today they were soldiers at arms once again.
"Sister Bernadette," he returned warmly.
"Posters worked, then."
"Never in my wildest dreams," he told her. She dropped her eyes, pleased.
"A queue does mean a queue, please!" Sister Evangelina barked.
He introduced Sister Bernadette to McGuinness, who greeted her with a cheery: "Marvellous! Good to know the Lord will be with us."
He didn't miss her momentary reaction. But she grinned and ducked her head to hide it, and handed up her box of cards. She trotted up the stairs and into the van.
"We've more than the Lord with us today," he pointed out to McGuinness. "We've a Field Marshal out there on the front lines, and a nurse as well-read as any physician, in here with us."
"Oh! Doctor," Sister Bernadette flustered. "You know that's not true. Sister Evangelina's every bit as trained as I, and more experienced besides."
"Well, she's in her element with the rabble, and you've spent all your spare time this week at the London Hospital reading the BMJ," he pointed out mildly. He set the box on the fold-out table that was hinged to the interior wall of the van.
"Only the latest TB articles; that's just sensible," she retorted.
"War ye frae, Sister?" McGuinness asked, pulling out a rich brogue in response to her speech.
"Gey close tae Aberdeen," she smiled. "Far div'ye bide, yersel'?"
"Broxburn, maself." And he trilled and stretched the r's until they nearly snapped.
"Ah, southern toonser. Practically Sassenach!"
"Ah, what're you like? Anglican yersel'!"
Sister Bernadette needed to cover her mouth hastily to hide a giggle.
"I'm not going to get a word in edgewise today, am I?" Patrick complained.
"Now, Dr. Turner, you know our Rule doesn't compel us to silence, just to avoid unnecessary speech. What's more necessary than this?"
For a moment they were laughing together, her bright eyes full and friendly on his, and the world was all right. They were going to save lives today. They'd done it before. Because when they were working in tandem, that was the power between them. On a day like this, it was more than enough.
"Mrs. Fordyke, I am watching your feet! We are all busy today!" hollered Sister Evangelina, from outside.
"I come at eight o'clock just to get done early," Mrs. Fordyke retorted. "Who's this thinks she's pushing ahead of me?"
"What d'you want? Admission tickets?" Sister Evangelina demanded. The crowd murmured a surprising approval. Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick registered Sister Bernadette take note for the next screening day.
The three of them quickly sorted themselves into an efficient arrangement of tasks and space. Sister Bernadette would confirm identifications, go through a quick health checklist, and match records with films once the X-ray photographs were taken. Patrick would do a secondary check on any patients she flagged for immediate concern, and take a more detailed history from those patients with existing conditions.
McGuinness would handle the photography, film development and interpretation. The van was equipped with a ventilated wet-processor to develop the films, but they still needed to be carefully air-dried under a warmed fan, and matched with the testing scheme cards. Sister Bernadette would assist with that. McGuinness would then spend the afternoon with his light table and loupe - and many cups of tea, no doubt - assessing the radiographs. Any suspected cases would be referred to the technicians at the Cuthbert or the London.
Patrick knew he would have to carry bad news to a few families by the day's end. But this time, they had a chance to capture and control cases before they could spread. This time he would come with a hope of offering lifesaving treatment.
He hadn't realized the weight of helplessness he'd felt until it had begun to rise off him.
"Are we ready?" McGuinness asked. He lifted the massive black rubber coat he was to wear, with its layers of leaded fabric, with a grimace. "Och, must be thirty pound."
"And the gloves, too," Sister Bernadette sympathized. She held the lined gloves out to him and fastened the tapes around his arms, and he pushed up his goggles. He caught sight of himself in a reflection from the window and grinned.
"Och, what like am I?" he scoffed. "But nae fear I'll frighten the kiddies. I just tell 'em I'm buildin' up my X-ray vision. They love that."
Patrick strode to the side door and flung it open. Sister Evangelina looked up, nearly as impatient as the crowd. "Good morning! First up, please, Sister. One at a time, unless you are bringing a child inside. One at a time, please."
And one at a time they came, in a steady stream. It was amusing how even the most boisterous men went quiet once they were inside, in awe of the machinery and Dr. McGuinness' get-up. McGuinness was right, too - the children loved his protective suit, asking for his superhero name, and asking if he could tell what they had for breakfast that morning. He alternated between "Porridge!", "Cereal and milk!" and "Toast!" and was rewarded by many an amazed little face.
One small girl balked at the strange surroundings, and was chivvied along by her harassed mother. She'd herded her four other children through the van and out again, and little Aggie had been hanging back. She dawdled at the door, shy reluctance turning to outright defiance. She'd been tugging at her plaits in her nervousness, and her little fingers clutched the folds of her dress.
Patrick was about to step in, when Sister Bernadette got there first.
"Can I help?" she asked kindly. The child looked up, her jaw dropping slightly. She'd likely never been spoken to by a nun, given her mother's wary response.
"You won't be able to do nothin," she said curtly. "She's just doin' it to show me up."
Patrick privately thought the child was a little scared of the strange van, and tired of the fuss and the standing about, but that wasn't his call to make.
"I tell you what," Sister said, getting down to eye level with the child. "I don't want to go in there either. Should we make a pact?"
The child looked at her, perhaps not understanding. Sister held her gaze, communicating only with her, as if the mother, the doctors and the whole crowd ceased to exist.
"If you go in, I'll go in," Sister explained. Aggie nodded, and Sister smiled her approval. "Good. May I, Doctor?"
"Of course," he replied, enjoying watching her work her charms.
The child stepped into the van, curiosity winning, as Sister Bernadette made her way to the seat in front of the X-ray machine. Sister sat up and nodded to McGuinness, who took the shot, and that was that.
Sister stood and beckoned Aggie closer. "Come along." The child sat down and pulled herself up straight, just like Sister Bernadette had done. Her X-ray was taken in seconds. Sister Bernadette smoothed a gentle hand over her hair as she got up again, and the child looked up, proud of herself. "Well done," Sister murmured.
It was a shame that the child's momentary conquest of her nervousness was ignored by her mother, who started scolding as soon as she was on the steps again. "What was all that fuss, then? Told yer there was nothin' to it. Just tryin' ter make me look bad, you are."
Sister Bernadette managed one last friendly nod to the child before she disappeared. There wasn't much else she could do. Tired, stressed mothers were legion in Poplar, and they didn't believe in kid-glove handling of their children's feelings. The general consensus was that it wouldn't do them any favours later in life. It was ironic that these same mothers commented on how well-behaved Timothy was, without needing to be told off by his parents, but they couldn't know that he and Marianne had invested a great deal of time in explaining why they were asking him to do or say certain things. Though they'd also made it clear that there were times he simply needed to do as he was told, and they'd explain later. Not all parents had the luxury of time, or the foresight to do more than discipline when necessary. The Turners had taken a rare and new-fangled approach, by neighbourhood standards.
And sometimes a little kindness and connection was all that was needed. Someone who could see a child as a small person trying to sort out the world.
"Thank you," he said, on little Aggie's behalf. It had been an unexpectedly refreshing moment in a hectic morning.
She demurred, as usual. "She's only little."
"You're a natural."
It was true, and it tugged at that aching place inside. He didn't wait for her response, knowing he was too close to the line again. He waved Aggie's long-suffering mother inside for her turn at the X-ray.
By five o'clock, the yard outside the Parish Hall was empty. They had been left alone with their processing for the afternoon, but for the occasional visit of a soft-footed Sister or nurse bringing them fresh tea and biscuits. Sister Bernadette left for the convent with the box of cards, leaving the two doctors in the van, and Sister Evangelina, tidying up the yard.
He came upon Sister Evangelina uncharacteristically slumped in a chair, fanning herself with a pamphlet.
"Thank you, Sister. You did wonderful work today." He couldn't imagine how they'd have coped without her. She waved her hand in thanks but rolled her eyes.
"Forgive me Doctor - my glottis is a bit ragged," she said hoarsely. Which was understandable. Even battleaxes lost their sharpness over time. The crowds had long dispersed, but he suspected she was skiving off evening Offices and avoiding contact with humanity in general while she had an excuse.
"Doctor. Could I have a word?"
Sister Evangelina waved Patrick away, and he followed McGuinnes into the van.
"You've some results, I see," he said, eyeing the small stack of cards on the work table.
"I have. About a half dozen potential cases, out of a hundred and eighty two films today. Three likely." He handed Patrick a written list of names and comments, in order of the cards on the table.
"Right. Let me read these back and make sure I've got them," Patrick said. "Mr. Brooks, Mrs. Cartwright and her eldest daughter Amelia - possible, but more likely old scarring from pneumonia or other respiratory infection. Mr. Dooley, and Miss Gomez - both with multiple typical lesions. Both factory workers, too. We'll have to speak to their employers." He looked up. "Poor man, Dooley's family's on the verge of destitution already."
"And the last one, Doctor."
He didn't understand McGuinness' glance at his face until he looked again at the sheet.
Sister Bernadette (surname?). F, 33. No recent RI. 10+ lesions, bilateral dispersion, 1/16" to ½". Referred for further inspection.
The world stopped turning for a moment, leaving him dizzy.
His first reaction was utterly predictable.
"Oh, no, that wasn't a real screening, d'you remember? She was helping with the little girl who didn't want to come in. She must have got up too soon. She wouldn't have been thinking about sitting still properly."
"I took this maself, just like the rest. It's as clear as any I've got. I'm sorry. I know you're close with the Sisters."
He could feel the very blood leaving his face and turning him ashen gray.
No. Not you. Not you, too.
"But she's well. Didn't you see how well she looked?"
How often had he heard that tone in the voices of family members he'd just brought bad news?
"Aye, she looks well. That tells me we're early and she's a good shot to make a proper go of the treatment. We'll have to have all the Sisters and nurses done, too." McGuinness paused and looked more closely into his face. "Oh, damn. I'm sorry, Turner. I didn't know you - cared for her so much." He looked at a loss for a moment, having only the evidence of Sister Bernadette's habit and Patrick's wedding band to go by, and then his face cleared. "But of course, you and she are friends of old. Shall I tell her, then? Let me do that for you."
"No…no, I'll do it. We're old friends, as you say. And I'm her GP. It should come from me. Thank you." He cleared his throat. "Tell me, please, what you see. She'll want to know every detail and what it might mean for the case."
"I'm sure. She's nae daft, is that one."
"Brighter than either of us," he said heavily.
He moved through the next hours like an automaton, grateful for routine tasks to do and calls that must be made. First to his mother in law, Timothy's Granny Parker, to ask her to keep the boy with her for supper, until Patrick could pick him up. The Cuthbert, to arrange for confirmatory TB plates and skin reaction tests for Sister Bernadette and the others.
There were no private telephones in the dwellings of the other potential patients, only shared party lines on the landings of their buildings. His news must be given in person. He did not remember how he managed to drive through Poplar and organize their addresses into a route, or how he was able to speak to them with sympathy and answer their questions.
Not you. Not you, too.
And then he was back at the convent, to report to Sister Julienne. And face Sister Bernadette.
Sister Julienne was jubilant. "Today is a testament to you, Dr. Turner."
"And to you, Sister. I couldn't have done it without you. Everyone worked so terribly hard."
Sister Julienne came as near as she ever did to a grin of pure silliness. "Would you join us for a cup of celebratory Horlicks?" she asked, as if offering him a light caviar and champagne supper before he left. And indeed it was an unusual invitation to be extended to him - a place within the intensely female, protected enclave of the end-of-day gathering around the table.
He smiled back. He could feel it did not come near his eyes. "I won't, thank you, Sister," he said kindly. This was going to hurt Sister something wicked. "Might I see Sister Bernadette, in private? I have something I need to discuss with her."
Sister Julienne was a past mistress of displaying ambassadorial levels of tact. But he'd caught her off-guard. He saw in her falling smile that she'd sensed something of the feelings between Sister Bernadette and himself, and that her mind had leapt there at his serious words.
Are you choosing today to make your position clear, Doctor?
Are you offering our sister a path that leads her away from us?
Are you asking my blessing?
If only.
"Of course," she said, graciously, after only a small pause. She folded her hands at her waist, and led the way to the small medical supply and consulting room.
"Sister, may I ask you to stay nearby?" he continued. She looked up, then, concern deepening. "She might need someone to - she may wish to discuss the details once we've spoken. And I - we may need your presence. I'm sorry to not be more clear. I will explain shortly."
"I'll fetch Sister," she replied quietly. "Have you everything you need here?"
"I have, thank you."
It could not have been more than two minutes until he heard her footsteps, but it might have been two hours. He'd have done anything not to have to give her this news.
And then she was there, his doughty little Officer, her smile back where it belonged. Perhaps she thought he'd asked to see her to congratulate one another on the results of their work. They should have had that. They'd earned it. Once again.
"Dr. Turner," she greeted him cheerfully. She sounded more like her old self than she had in months.
"Sister."
"What a day we had!"
"Indeed."
He paused so long, groping for words, that eventually she had to ask, "Is all well?"
"Would you mind sitting?" he asked. It was either that, or pull her into his arms and apologize for all the trouble he'd brought into her life.
She studied him for a moment. "Of course."
They drew up chairs and sat across from one another. He opened the box of cards, and wasted a moment in pretending to locate hers, though it was on the top where he'd placed it. He slid it across the table, and watched her take it in.
Her voice was thin but steady. "This has - my name on it."
"Yes," he said quietly. "The lesions are small. But there is more than one."
She took a moment to process this, and nodded slowly, once. "I see." She looked back up at him: "How many?"
"Dr. McGuinness counted nine or ten, in the upper lobe. But, as you know, this film is basic. You will need a more detailed chest X-ray. Have you had any symptoms?"
"No." She shook her head, thinking back. "Well, a little breathlessness, maybe."
"No cough."
"No. Nothing." She sounded imploring. Sister knew that coughing was the primary means of transmission, and she was not likely to have infected anyone, But she'd never failed an exam in her life, and clearly felt she'd personally failed this one.
Was it possible the X-ray was erroneous? This primary screening was only intended to find potential cases. Even McGuinness had explained there was only so much he could say for sure, at the resolution he was working with.
"I will need to carry out an examination," he said, apologetically. There were many reasons why it was an excruciating prospect for both of them. And a terrifying one.
TB was still largely a death sentence, except when there was access to proper treatment and robust health to build upon. They had a handful of advantages: early detection, recent updates to the triple-treatment regimen, and Sister Bernadette's otherwise sturdy constitution. He couldn't help noticing that her usually slim frame was tending towards skinny, as of late, and it worried him. She couldn't hide it entirely.
If he had ever entertained thoughts of being near enough to touch her again, this was not how he'd imagined it. Not in farewell. Not knowing it might be the last time. Not like this.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Sister, I am so - "
"We need answers," she said shortly then, looking up. "Let us not get too far ahead. We'll only delude ourselves or frighten ourselves otherwise. Our energies will be needed elsewhere."
She heard herself say we and our, and didn't try to pretend she hadn't. She sounded so like Marianne upon her diagnosis that it took his breath for a moment. And it gave her a moment to get her fight back. Her chin lifted a little.
She would need every ounce of that, he thought, and she wouldn't thank him for coddling her.
"Yes," he said, when he could. "Yes, you're quite right. Know thine enemy. Can I get you some water? Would you like Sister Julienne to come in now?"
"Yes, please."
He assumed she meant both. He got up quietly, and somehow refrained from touching her shoulder in passing.
"Sister Julienne?" he called from the door. She hurried over from where she had been waiting at the telephone desk. "Could I ask for a glass, please? To give Sister Bernadette some water. And I think she'd like to see you now."
"Of course."
Soon both sisters were seated at the desk. Sister Julienne held Bernadette's hand, waiting with her inimitable patience.
"Sister, here's what we know. Sister Bernadette had her own X-ray taken this morning, and there are typical tubercular lesions visible. I gather she's had no outward symptoms."
Sister Julienne closed her eyes for a moment, either in prayer or consideration, or both.
"I haven't noted any, Doctor, although I admit I've been concerned about her overall well-being." She looked at him keenly, and then back at Sister Bernadette. "But today you were so much more lively."
"I was, Sister. I feel quite well. This is…" she indicated how sudden and ridiculous this all seemed, with a wave of her hand.
"It might have been latent for months," Sister Julienne said, "Years, even. Which might explain some of your general malaise more recently, if you were fighting off an active infection."
There was a small silence. Sister Bernadette knew this wasn't likely. So did he. So did Sister Julienne. Sister Bernadette's battle was on a different plane. But her war had taken on a new front, on which he could only hope she would let him fight beside her.
He cast about for something to say.
"As you know, TB is a mandatory reportable disease. I have called the Cuthbert already to advise them. And Sister Julienne, I must emphasize the necessity of having all the convent residents and day staff X-rayed as soon as possible."
"Yes, we'll have to do so. Will Dr. McGuinness and the van still be at the Hall tomorrow?"
"He has made arrangements to screen you all in the morning." He took a breath. "I'll need to make a brief examination to corroborate his findings for Sister Bernadette. If I could ask you to accompany us?" He glanced at Sister Bernadette, and to his horror, found himself babbling on in his haste to reassure. "There's no need to - I'll only need to listen to your breathing. Wherever you are comfortable."
"We can use the study," Sister Julienne suggested to the younger nun. Sister Bernadette stood obediently, barely seeming to notice her words. They made it too real.
They followed Sister Julienne to the office that was still known as the Abbess' Study, and so named by a carved wooden plaque over the door, although Nonnatus House had not had an Abbess in residence for fifty years or more. Sister Julienne, as Sister-in-Charge, had the right of use for administrative tasks and meetings, but it was also used for the nun's private family visits, and other personal matters not suited to the public parlour, the sitting room or the nun's bedrooms.
Sister Julienne opened the door and waved them ahead of her, closing and locking the door unobtrusively. Rather than sitting at the desk, she pulled two visitor chairs over to one side.
He set his medical bag on the corner of the desk. He spent a long time looking for his stethoscope, which was in its usual pocket, and then flipped forward and back through his daily notebook several times.
Sister Bernadette, not five feet away, unfastened her collar, placing it on the chair beside her. She began to work at the snaps on her scapular. He couldn't tell if she was having trouble or if Sister Julienne was overcome by the need to do something, but the older woman stepped in and helped her off with the garment, folding it in her arms and sitting back down.
He heard the small sound of more snaps, and knew she was unfastening the gown of her habit. Of course, he thought. No buttons, which could be considered ornamental, and were liable to fall off and be lost from daily wear.
He thought of her sewing on the missing button of his medical coat, in secret, and cleared his throat.
"Are you ready, Sister? I am right behind you."
She knew, of course, but it was what he always said. She nodded mutely. He looked up, then, and saw her pale cheeks burning. She was mortified at being the center of such concern. And probably as conflicted as he, at the thought of him seeing even a sliver of her uncovered. Even with Sister Julienne sitting chaperone, a steadying presence beside them.
It shouldn't matter. It was a medical situation. They were medical staff. But caught as they were, between pushing away their deepening connection and needing the comfort of a trusted old friendship at this moment, he thought, it must be a dreadful ordeal for her. Modesty was ingrained into her every movement and gesture now, after long years of practice.
He warmed the diaphragm in his palm for a moment, and slipped it down the back of her gown.
"Breathe in." She did. His heart sank. "And out. And again."
Not you. I can't, I won't allow it.
He could not speak. He touched her shoulder lightly, and she turned into his hand as if they were dancing.
He looked at the wall past her shoulder, and his eyes did not drop the slightest degree to the edge of the plain white slip, or the creamy skin beneath her habit. But he saw, like an astronomer taking in a dimly-flickering star in his sensitive peripheral vision. She was so delicate, not just slim, but birdlike under the obscuring layers. His first instinct was to protect, to block any eyes from seeing her, even Sister Julienne.
His two fingers pushed aside the unfastened top of her gown a mere inch, and he slipped the stethoscope under her gown, under the lace of her cross. Quick and professional.
She kept her eyes down and did not need him to tell her to breathe. He fought hard against the awareness of her breast rising with it, under his hand. And he heard her heart racing. From her illness, working its way through her body without her knowledge. From his nearness, for all he knew. (He knew, and she knew.)
And from fear. Mortal fear.
He removed the scope and stepped back. She turned away and began doing up her gown.
He met Sister Julienne's eyes with difficulty. "Crackles," he said, "On both sides."
Sister Julienne closed her eyes briefly. Sister Bernadette seemed not to have heard, though he knew she could practically hear his own heart beating.
"I've arranged an X-ray for you in the morning," he told her. "It might be more convenient if I drive you."
"Thank you, Doctor," Sister Julienne said, gracious as ever, and ten years older than she had looked twenty minutes earlier. Sister Bernadette, true to form, brushed away any offer of assistance.
"You don't need to do that," she said. She probably did feel quite well, at least in body, and certainly able to catch the bus to the hospital. She was also as quick to jump into denial of any reason for concern as he had been earlier.
"I'll drive you," he stated flatly. He didn't have to add, in case you are immediately ordered to isolation in the Sanatorium.
For once she didn't fuss further.
He replaced his stethoscope, and made some incomprehensible jottings in his notebook. Sister Bernadette stood still as Sister Julienne fastened her scapular again, and did up her collar.
"Have you any questions I can answer?" he asked, and then managed a self-deprecating smile. "I'm forgetting myself. You're likely better read than I am, at this point. Have you anything you'd like to discuss before tomorrow?"
"No, thank you, Doctor," she said, primly but without any heat. "It must be nearly time for Compline. And Timothy will be waiting for you."
"Oh, but Sister, you're excused from Offices," Sister Julienne was surprised. "You've had a day that would exhaust any of us, even before this news. I really do think you'd be better off with an early night. Tomorrow looks to be just as tiring."
"I must agree," he said. "Proper rest is the cornerstone of all TB treatments."
"Yes," Sister Bernadette said, with a little sigh. "I'm aware. Thank you, Sister."
She didn't sound as though she was thanking either of them at all, but it made him smile. She was going to need every quarter-ounce of fight, but they would have some job keeping her still. Either the good nurses at St. Anne's Sanatorium, or the sisters here, wherever she was kept for the duration.
The two women stood, waiting for him.
"Well, I'll - I'll leave you to rest, then," he dithered. There was nothing else he could do here tonight, and no excuse to stay any longer. "I will be here to pick you up early, after breakfast. And then we'll get those answers."
She looked up then, directly at him, and he felt a wave of piercing love seem to lift him from under his ribs. She heard what he was trying to say. And whatever else was confounding them, she loved him for it.
"Yes," she said softly. "We will."
Sister Julienne chose not to hear.
He did not leave the house right away, but found himself walking towards the door of the Chapel, which was open as it always was. He might have gone in and taken a seat. He could see the feet of the nurses inside, sitting in a row, as he approached the door. Sister Julienne had informed them of Sister Bernadette's near-certain diagnosis, and the house was in shock. They had all come together to pray for Sister Bernadette.
He did not go in. It was one thing for the community to see their doctor praying along with them, as he did on occasion. He sometimes joined them, not out of faith but companionship, when they held vigils for a critically ill patient. They did not need to see him sick with worry and near to making the kind of foxhole promises to God he thought he'd left behind in Italy.
So he sat on the bench outside the Chapel. He leaned back and closed his eyes, listening to them singing without that pure, clear Celtic voice among them. He wondered what she was doing right now. Drinking her Horlicks and turning out her light? He doubted it. Reading up on treatments and statistics, more likely, if she'd smuggled medical literature into her room. Packing her few belongings in preparation for a prolonged siege? Or grappling with the reality that she, of all people, was suddenly seriously ill, and her life was about to change for the foreseeable future.
He wished he could go to her and make her laugh, make her angry enough to vent her feelings, make her see reason about resting and following medical advice. And just to listen to her voice, whatever she was moved to say. He'd plenty of experience with that.
Sister Julienne was not in Chapel. Her long day had become even longer. She had been called away to the Masterson's, where one life was coming into the world as another was leaving. There was little doubt he would be needed soon to sign the new grandfather's death certificate.
Which made him remember Timothy, who had probably been put to bed in his grandmother's guest room by now. He should call Nelly Parker and ask her to keep him overnight, as she often did during late callouts. He would need to explain everything to Tim. Not only was that going to be a horribly painful conversation, evoking still-recent memories of Marianne's final illness, but Tim would want all the answers, too. Best to wait until they had them.
It was all horribly unfair. As was much of medical reality, even as modern medicine leaped forward. He wondered how anyone could think to praise God or appeal for divine mercy, at such times. What difference could it possibly make?
But the nuns in the Chapel had faith, and would comfort one another, and Sister Bernadette knew how to pray, too, whatever her relationship with God at the moment. And there was no time to be maudlin, as she had pointed out. At least tomorrow he could do something, even if it was only to drive her to the hospital and the San.
He knew the rhythm of Compline as well as anyone at the house, and got up before everyone filed out of Chapel and found him there. Nurse Franklin was at the telephone station for the evening, and looked up as he approached. She'd been crying a little, her mascara smudged and hastily wiped.
"Oh - hullo, Doctor. I didn't know you were here still, or I'd have brought you some tea."
"That's kind of you, Nurse. I really just need to use the telephone, if I may."
"Of course." She got up and waved him to the chair. "Doctor, I - I'm sorry, I understand if you can't tell us anything, but - she'll be all right, won't she? You caught it early enough?"
"We'll know more soon," he told her, "And if anyone can lick a thing like TB and come up standing, it's Sister Bernadette. I have faith in that."
Nothing that Sister Julienne hadn't already told them, but Nurse Franklin was reassured, hearing it from him, too. And he wasn't making up his faith in Sister Bernadette.
Nurse Franklin gave a grateful, watery little smile and nodded, and went around the corner to leave him in peace for his call.
He dialled his mother in law's number. "Hello, Helen? Patrick. Sorry about the hour. Is Timothy still awake? Had I better leave him with you?"
"Ah, well, we were just wondering if you'd be by tonight. He hasn't gone up yet. Should I keep him here?"
"No, I'll come. I'm just at Nonnatus. Look, would it be an imposition if I stopped in for tea, and brought Timothy home after? It's been a roughish sort of day, and I haven't seen either of you properly for a while."
"Well, of course. You come on by and I'll get the tea going."
"Thanks, Mum."
"We'll be here waiting for you," said Helen.
No sweeter words, thought Patrick.