Monthly Archives: March 2015

Courting Shelagh, Chapter 2

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Previous Chapter

A/N: No more chess, I’m afraid, but a clever Nonnatun will spy a version of one of Shelagh’s most frequently spoken lines from Series 3.

Oh, sorry about the hand kiss. It seemed “entirely appropriate.”

Chapter 1

The following morning, Patrick stood in the foyer of Shelagh’s boarding house, full of plans. Despite a night spent more in plans than in sleep, he was brimming with energy.

As he waited for Shelagh to come down, he glanced about the entranceway to the ladies’ boarding home. The strict rules of the house demanded he go no farther than this, and after over three months of residence here, Patrick had yet to see any of Shelagh’s temporary home. If he had his way, Patrick thought, this wouldn’t be her home for much longer.

“Patrick!” Shelagh called as she came down the final flight of stairs. “I never expected to see you here this morning. Last night, you didn’t say…” A little flustered, Shelagh’s hair was pulled back in a hasty knot, a few damp tendrils escaping around her neck.

She’s just had a bath, Patrick thought. He could feel his own pulse begin to race as he fought the urge to step closer to better breathe her in. He cleared his throat and straightened. A warm, fresh-from-the-bath Shelagh was a new experience, and a man could only withstand so much.

“I thought I’d surprise you.” Bringing his hand from behind his back, he presented her with a bouquet of freesias. Fortunately, he had been able to convince the neighborhood florist to open early.

Shelagh made a small sound of surprise in her throat. “Patrick, how lovely.” She hid her blushing  face in the sweet-smelling blooms. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Smiling, he tilted his head as he gazed down at his fiance. “I wanted to. You do so much for me, and I wanted to thank you.”

Shelagh’s eyes met his. “Please don’t think you have to thank me, Patrick. I want to be there for both you and Timothy. You’ve given me so much.”

“We’re the grateful ones, my love.” He took a step closer. “Before you came, Tim and I were afraid to be happy. I’m sure we would have never managed this last month without you.”

A brief shadow of guilt crossed Shelagh’s face, chased away by his next words. “We both love you so very much, Shelagh.”

For a moment, they stood facing each other in silence, happy just to be near each other. Patrick’s lips lifted in a crooked smile. “Don’t go back to the hospital this afternoon. I want to take you out tonight. A proper date.”

The blush returned to Shelagh’s cheeks. “I’m very happy as we are, Patrick. There’s no need to take me out.”

He stepped closer to her so she had to crane her neck up to see his face. With a slight movement, his hand reached towards hers, the backs of his fingers brushing lightly against hers. “I want to spend time alone with you, Shelagh;  treat you as you deserve to be treated.”

He watched as the blush travelled down her neck, past her collarbone. Was this a new dress? He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her collarbone before. If he had, he knew he would have felt this strong compulsion to press his lips against the fine bone, to caress her silky skin and fill his head with her scent.

His own pulse sounded loud in his ears and he tried to resist the urge to pull her close to him. Shelagh was still shy, he knew. He had hoped that by now she would be more comfortable with physical affection. Perhaps Timothy’s time in the hospital had affected them more than he thought.

Time together was becoming more of a necessity with each moment.

“Shelagh,” he whispered, his voice husky.

Her eyes met his, and he was stunned by the emotion pouring from them. Her pupils dilated widely in her pale eyes, and he could sense her own breathing quicken.

Softly, his fingers moved to entwine with hers. “I miss you, Shelagh. Tim will be fine tonight. Fred can visit him, or I can call Jack’s mother. Whichever, he’ll be fine. But I’m desperate to spend time with you.”

In that moment, understanding crossed her face, and Patrick knew she felt the same. His head lowered slowly, and both forgot the dim foyer, the sounds coming from the kitchen fading quickly.

“Oh, Doctor Turner, are you still ‘ere?” The omnipresent landlady tromped through the front door, the scrub brush and pail testament to a front step scrubbed spotless.

The two lovers moved apart quickly, slightly embarrassed and rather a bit more frustrated by the interruption.

Clearing his throat, Patrick answered, “Yes, Mrs. Trevell. I’m off in just a moment.”

The bustling landlady, whose skills of romantic observation had been honed by years of watching residents with their beaus, grinned knowingly. “Well, don’t keep Miss Mannion from ‘er breakfast, then. Ask her what you want, and be off with ya.” She turned and sloshed the bucket back to the kitchen.

The intensity eased for the moment, Patrick and Shelagh grew comfortable again.

“Tonight. I’ll pick you up tonight by seven, I promise. I’ve cancelled all my calls for the late afternoon, and I’ll get Greenwood or Hammond to back up. God knows they both owe me enough favors.” He took her hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to her fingers. “I am determined that nothing will get in the way of our date.”

Next Chapter

Courting Shelagh

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A/N: I haven’t played chess in years, and even then was never very good at it. So, if you know chess, and my strategies are all wrong, let’s just chuck it up to alternate universe stuff.

A children’s ward in a large hospital can be an unusual place. In one corner, a young girl lay quietly, asleep, but not asleep, her nurse anxiously watching. In another, a small play area was set up, a trio of boys dressed in a uniform of illness collectively try to solve a puzzle while another girl wheeled a tricycle in widening circles.

Timothy Turner, a resident of this ward for well over a month, watched as the nurses tried to corral their patients for the evening medication round. Soon, it would be bath time for those mobile enough for such ablutions, and then lights out for the entire floor.

Tim knew he was luckier than most of the other patients on the ward. Visiting hours were long over, but his father and Shelagh were permitted to stay beyond the assigned hours. Shelagh said it was because of his father’s position in the community. She was always saying things like that, Tim thought. It was lovely to see how proud she was of Dad, but Tim knew the extra privileges had more to do with Shelagh’s own helpful nature. Right now, in fact, she was assisting in Teddy Hardstrom’s final physical therapy for the day.

“I wish the nurses would let me have my own lamp,” he groused. A copy of Captains Courageous idly rested on his bedside table, its binding likely to remain unbroken until the morning.

“Sorry, Tim,” his father commiserated. “If Shelagh couldn’t convince them, no one can.” He winked at his son and moved his knight. “Knight fork, Tim. I’m afraid that’s check.”

Tim groaned and rolled his head back. “I liked it better when you let me win.”

Chuckling, Patrick answered, “I liked it better when it was easy to beat you. You’re getting quite good, Tim. I can tell you’ve been practicing, who’s your partner?” He idly placed the black bishop and rook with their fallen brethren.

“Why, Shelagh of course. Who else?” Timothy’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead.

“Shelagh?” Patrick’s face was a near mirror image of his son’s surprise.

“Of course. Didn’t you know? Shelagh’s brilliant at chess. Her father taught her.” The young boy considered his next move. Save the Queen, but the knight, oh, he hated to lose his final knight. The Queen was strong. He was pretty sure she could defend herself against his dad’s last remaining Bishop. That would leave his King unprotected, though, and Tim was pretty sure the King depended a bit too strongly on the Queen. “She even beat him the last time they played.” There, he’d give up his Knight to save the Queen.

“Shelagh plays chess? I had no idea,” Patrick admitted, looking up from the board.

“Shelagh does lots of things you wouldn’t guess. Did you know she can dance a reel?”

Patrick laughed at the image. “No, I can’t say I did know that. What other dark secrets do you know?”

Patrick was grateful that Shelagh devoted her time to Timothy, and was convinced his son’s rapid recovery was in large part due to her attention. She spent every afternoon on the ward, and had even convinced the Sister that her help was necessary on the ward off of visiting hours.

His own busy schedule kept him away from the ward more often than he liked, but he was usually able to stop in every day to spend some time with his son and fiance. He had to admit, he was a bit lonely. Prior to Christmas, home had become such a welcoming place, Shelagh finishing the dinner as Tim did schoolwork, the two happy to see him complete the family when he returned. And later, all-too-brief time alone with his fiance, time when they were learning the details that would soon fill their life together.

“Nothing too dastardly, unfortunately.” Tim sighed as he studied his next move.

“You sound disappointed. Were you expecting tales of Scottish Highwaymen?” Patrick flushed a bit, remembering a story of a surprisingly bold young Shelagh, and the dreams that story began.

Timothy shrugged. “I reckon not. You know, I’ll bet I know more about Shelagh than you do, Dad. I spend more time with her,” he added a little bit smugly.

Patrick sat back in his chair, his eyes alert. His first instinct was to deny such a thing, but the boy was right.

Concentrating on the board before him, Timothy continued. “Since the nurses won’t let me read at night, I have to listen to them chat before I fall asleep. There’s this one nurse, she’s new, she talks about her boyfriend all the time. How he brings her flowers, takes her on these fancy dates,” he glanced up, “you know, mushy stuff like that. All the other nurses love it. They practically drool over her stories. It’s really quite revolting.”

Patrick laughed. “Women!” he huffed semi-mockingly.

“Absolutely,” agreed his son. “But I was thinking Dad, you might want to try that with Shelagh. I think she’d like it.”

Startled, Patrick looked at his son’s innocent face. What exactly was Tim trying to say? “I see Shelagh nearly every day, son.” His fingers touched his knight, then moved away.

“Here at the hospital, or when you drive her home, maybe.” Timothy’s eyes watched nervously as his father considered his next move. “But maybe you should take her out alone sometimes. You can miss a night here, I won’t mind.”

Patrick’s hand lay in his lap, his eyes on his son as he considered his words. Tim was right, he had never really courted Shelagh. Suddenly, they just were. Months of desperate loneliness and silence miraculously resolved in a moment on a misty road. Afterwards, the weeks leading up to the original wedding date were filled with becoming acquainted with each other, finding ways to fit together as a couple and a family. Nearly all their time had been spent at the flat, quiet and isolated from the world.

Patrick was certain Shelagh had wanted it that way. Her new life needed some getting used to, and prying eyes had made her wary. To find her new self, Shelagh left her old life behind only to realize that she could find a way to unite her old life with her new one.

Since the polio, they spent nearly all their time with Timothy in hospital. Shelagh had found her feet, but had not had the chance to try them out. Tim was right. Shelagh deserved a proper courtship. Patrick grinned, his face relaxing. They deserved a proper courtship.

Absently, he moved his knight across the board and was startled by his son’s shout.

“Checkmate!” Tim cried. “I won!” Ignoring the hushes from the nurse at the nearby desk, Tim crowed, “I beat you, Dad. Fair and square. You moved your Bishop to protect your King, but you left my Queen, and she took down your King! I finally beat you!”

Leaning back in his chair, Patrick mused, “So you did, son. So you did.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Timothy consoled. “I was trying to distract you. I knew you’d break concentration if I talked about Shelagh. You always do.”

Patrick shook his head and rubbed his hand across his tired face. “All’s fair, Tim.” He leant in and whispered conspiratorially, “You’ll have to find someone else to beat tomorrow, Tim, my boy. Shelagh and I are going out.”

Beaming, Timothy advised, “Not fish and chips, though, Dad. From what the nurses say, chip shops are definitely not romantic.”

“Don’t you worry, Tim. The old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve. Shelagh will-”

Timothy’s hand shot up in the air, his face desperate. “Dad, no. Please. It’s bad enough I have to hear about the mushy stuff from the nurses. No boy should have to put up with it from his own parents.”

Patrick laughed and tousled his son’s hair. “Sorry, Tim. I’m afraid that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

“Ugh,” Timothy groaned as he threw himself against his pillow, outmaneuvered. “Strategy in chess is much easier than love.”

Next Chapter

Writing Her Own Rules, Epilogue

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Author’s note: Apologies for the “Dad Dancing” reference. I’ve been trying to get that one in for a very long time.

Previous Chapter

Late afternoon sun poured through the window above the kitchen sink as gurgles of infant laughter filled the room. A blue plastic infant tub converted the typical white porcelain basin into an indoor water playground.

“Well, that’s certainly a happy sound, little Miss. I suppose we’ve made friends again?” Shelagh Turner cooed. “I always say, a bath can fix everything!” Offering up a toy giraffe of indeterminate age, she watched as the baby kicked and splashed. Two towels sat at the ready, one for baby, one for clean-up.

Down the hall, she heard the doorbell, followed by the still-brisk steps of her husband. “Guess who’s here, dearest,” she asked the baby.

Moments later, Angela Turner entered the kitchen. “Mum, you didn’t have to give her a bath,” she declared.

“I know, dear. But there was a bit of a disagreement over the peas for her ladyship’s tea. Besides, you know I don’t mind, and it will be one less thing for you to do tonight.” Shelagh unfolded a towel and offered it to her daughter. “Since I’ve had the bath time honors, would you like to dress the little princess?”

Angela sighed and moved to the pantry closet. “No, you can do it, Mum. I’ll put out the tea.”

Years of practice made Shelagh a dab hand at changing wet, slippery babies, and in the work of a moment, her granddaughter clean, dry and dressed.

“Dad was on his way out to the garden when he let me in. He looks good,” Angela commented as she scooped tea into her mother’s favorite teapot.

“Your father always looks good, dear. He’s a very handsome man.”

The spoon clanged on the countertop. “Ugh, Mum. You’ll put me off my dinner.”

They both laughed. “Your father is doing quite well, actually,” Shelagh answered as she placed the baby into the nearby playpen. “Tim came by and asked that he do a seminar at the college on patient care next month. Don’t tell your father I said so, but he’s really quite thrilled to be back in the field. His practice was too much, I think, but his work with the medical students has revitalized him since his retirement. He wants to go dancing tomorrow night!” Shelagh’s cheeks pinkened.

“Dad dancing? Sorry, Mum.” Angela grimaced.

Shelagh waved her daughter’s sympathy away. “Not that ridiculous disco nonsense you do-”

“Mum, disco’s been dead for a decade!”

“Proper ballroom dancing, Angela, at the Dorchester. They’ll even have a band!” Shelagh’s eyes glowed.

No longer satisfied with the companionship of a toy giraffe, Julienne reached for her mother. Angela reached into the playpen and lifted her daughter into her arms.

Shelagh smiled to herself as she watched mother and child settle into each other, and turned to finish the tea.

“You look a bit tired, dearest,” she remarked gently. “Would you like us to take Angela tonight? With your final boards coming up, you’ll need your rest.”

“Not tonight, Mum, thanks. I just want to bring Julie home and snuggle her. I haven’t had a night home with her and Charlie all week. Tonight’s the first night in weeks Charlie isn’t teaching a class, and we need a bit of family time.”

Three generations of Turner women settled quietly into their tea. After a long moment, Angela spoke up.

“I am tired, though. I knew this would be hard, having a baby while I’m still qualifying for my obstetrics license while Charlie finishes his doctorare, and I could never have gotten this far without you and Dad and Charlie supporting me. But sometimes I think maybe I should just give in and wait until after Julie’s grown to finish.”

She looked up at her mother. “I must seem very cowardly to you.”

“Cowardly?” Shelagh asked, stunned.

Angela sighed deeply. “Thinking about giving up. I have so much help, and I can barely manage. Some days I don’t manage at all.” She rubbed her cheek against her daughter’s head, her eyes damp. “You did it. You did it back when there was no such thing as on-site day care, or working mothers groups. You didn’t even have your mother to help.” Angela looked up, sad and confused. “How did you? You raised Tim and me, you ran Dad’s surgery, served as a nurse and midwife, all by yourself.”

Shelagh smiled. “It was hardly by myself, dearest, and there were many days when I didn’t think I could manage. But you’re wrong, you know. I had so much help. I had your father. Back then, most fathers did very little in the way of child care, but I could always count on your father to try,” she giggled. “Dinners were a mess, and he never could do the laundry correctly, but he always made the effort. Your father knew I needed to help make a difference in the world outside our family, and he wasn’t afraid to pitch in when necessary. So, we wrote our own rules.” Leaning in, Shelagh added, “He was quite good at getting the nuns to lend a hand, too. One word from him, and I never had to mend another pair of your brother’s trousers again!”

Angela gave a watery chuckle. Gratefully taking the hanky her mother held out, she wiped her eyes. “I remember when Dad had to help me with my hair before hockey practice when I was nine. “A” for effort, but that’s why I learned to do my own plaits before anyone else on the team!” She kissed the sleeping baby’s head.

“Yes, and Tim mastered shepherd’s pie just to avoid your father’s cooking!” Shelagh reached over and caressed her daughter’s arm. “Marriage, motherhood, they’re hard, Angela. It’s hard for everyone, but it’ll get easier. You’ll write your own rules, I’m sure of it. The world doesn’t usually see change overnight. It changes nearly unnoticed, one woman at a time.”

“One woman at a time what?” asked Patrick as he entered the kitchen, a bundle of freshly cut blooms in his hand. “I should think one woman would be enough for anyone!”

Shelagh got up from the table and took a vase from under the sink as Patrick began to trim the stems. “The hydrangeas,” Shelagh admired. “The soil’s so funny this year, I didn’t think we’d ever see them turn pink.”

Patrick grinned, “I know the right things to say, my love. You just have to make them blush.”

“Right, then. That’s my cue.” Angela stood, shifted her sleeping child in her arms and crossed to kiss her mother goodbye. Heading for the door, she grumbled, “Why we never wrote a rule against that sort of thing I’ll never know!”

 

 

Buckle and Bow

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The sounds of “The Virginia Reel” poured out of the open doors of the Poplar Community Centre as dozens of people filed in through the doors. Tonight’s event, meant to raise funds for the cubs to travel to the jamboree, was expected to be a “real Barnstormer,” joked Patrick Turner as he helped his wife out of her summer jacket.

“Yes. dear. You’ve mentioned that joke before,” Shelagh pointed out.

“A good joke should never go to waste, love.” He pretended not to notice her muttered response, “Yes, a good joke…”  as he admired the dress she chose for the dance. Purple and white gingham, it flared out widely over her hips, well-designed for swinging to and fro’.

“That dress is rather pretty,” he commented. He paused for a moment, considering something. “Why is it you have nice dress tonight, and I have to wear this ridiculous ribbon tie and belt buckle?” He grimaced, looking down at the protruding piece of tin Timothy had molded for his dad as a young Cub several years ago.

Truth be told, Patrick surprised Shelagh when he agreed to the slightly ridiculous tie and belt in the first place. It had taken some convincing, and a perhaps a few promises as well, to persuade him to discard his usual tie and braces. For a man so long unaware of his sartorial responsibilities, Patrick had become a bit of a dandy of late. Perhaps his agreement had more to do with her promises than his new look.

“Stop complaining, Patrick. I think you look just like Gary Cooper in “High Noon.” Her fingers slid around his forearm and she stepped up to his side, a flirtatious grin on her face. “I wish I had found that black cowboy hat I was looking for on the High Street. I think it would suit you!”

“Hello, Dr. Turner, Mrs. Turner!” called the jovial voice of Fred Buckle. Turning, they met the Nonnatus handyman and his current lady friend, Mrs. Violet Gee, coming in the doors. Never one to fear attention, Fred was bedecked in the most extraordinary faux-cowboy costume ever to grace the East End. A length of royal blue fringe as long as the Rio Grande dangled across the massive expanse of Fred’s upper torso.

“Lovely night for a bit o’ dancin’ and minglin’ wouldn’tcha say, Doc?”

Always quick to regain his composure, Patrick responded, “It certainly is, Fred. Let’s get these ladies in before all the good tables are taken!” As they followed the new couple in, Patrick whispered to his wife, “One month.”

Shelagh looked up, confused. “Patrick?”

“I give it one month–no, less.” Patrick shook his finger in conviction. “Before the end of October, Fred will ask Mrs. Gee to marry him.”

“Oh, Patrick. You are the most ridiculous man! Why, Fred’s only just started walking out with Mrs. Gee.” Shelagh laughed. “Fred’s a free spirit. He likes to take each day as it comes. Marriage! I can’t imagine what’s made you think such a thing!”

As the Country and Western stylings of “The Old Lady and The Goat” filled the air, Patrick swung his wife into his arms. “Mark my words, my love. I’m devoted to you, but all you could convince me to don for this little soiree was a buckle and bow. Judging from the ridiculous blue fringe our friend is wearing, Violet Gee has old Fred corralled and branded before winter!”

The Gordian Nightgown

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Author’s note: Shelagh’s nightgown has caused a bit of confusion in the fandom. Never fear, Nonnatuns, Patrick has the solution.

Patrick closed the door to their bedroom and surreptitiously turned the lock behind him. “Tim’s finally gone off to sleep. He beat me every time at cards tonight.” He slid his robe from his shoulders and looked down at his wife. “That’s a pretty dress. Is that what you bought when you went out shopping today?”

Shelagh turned from the mirror, surprised, and placed her hairbrush on the table. “It’s not a dress, Patrick. It’s a nightgown.”

“That’s for bed?” he puzzled aloud. The nightie looked more like a frock for a formal tea party to him. Covered in a pretty floral pattern that danced across the tucks and darts, this was the most fitted nightgown Patrick had ever seen. So fitted in fact, that it seemed as if Shelagh was sewn into the thing! Patrick most definitely did not approve.

“Of course it is.” She caught his look, and set her mouth in a prim line. “Patrick, not everything can be for…that.”

Patrick sighed heavily as a melodramatic expression crossed his face. “If you say so, my love.”

Shelagh laughed and stood to go to the bed. “You really are a ridiculous man,” she giggled.

Patrick reached out and pulled her towards him. “I’m not ridiculous. I’ll have you know I am a perfectly normal man. It would be ridiculous if I didn’t think everything can be for…that.” There was a mischievous gleam in his eye as his smiled lopsidedly. “Here, let me look.”

Holding her away from him, Patrick let his eyes wander over the light material. He tilted his head, his forehead lined in study. Stepping back, he crossed his arms and continued to look at the dress in consternation.

“Patrick, really,” Shelagh said, embarrassed. “It’s just a nightdress, there’s nothing so interesting about it.”

“Hmm…I’ll be the judge of that, if you don’t mind, Shelagh. Turn around. Let me see it.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Patrick.”

He twirled his finger in the air, quite serious. “Turn around, please. I’m still not convinced this is a nightdress. It looks more like the Gordian Knot.”

Unable to resist the teasing look in his eye, Shelagh slowly revolved before him. He stood, deep in thought, his chin in his hand.

“Alright, then?” she asked as she came to a stop.

“Where is that blue one? You know, the one with the lacy-”

“Patrick, I’m up wandering the flat at all hours with Angela. I can’t go about in that thing. What if Timothy comes out?” Placing her hands against his chest, she leant up and kissed his roughened cheek. “It’s late, dearest. Time for bed.”

Shelagh turned to her side of the bed. “Ah hah!” Patrick crowed in as much of a whisper voice one can use when one crows. He reached out and pulled her back towards him, sure of his path.

“Patrick! If you wake Angela-” Shelagh scowled.

“Sorry, love,” he whispered. “I most definitely do not want to wake the baby tonight.”

The gleam in his eye had gone from mischievous to lascivious, and Shelagh laughed in bemusement. “I thought this nightdress was impenetrable?”

Patrick’s eyebrows danced. “Not for the mighty Alexander, sweetheart.” Pulling her towards him, he lowered his mouth to hers in a long kiss. His hands caressed her neck, fingers in her hair as he felt her give in to her own growing desire. Distracting her with his lips on her neck, his fingers moved to undo the one button holding the bodice together. The close fit of the nightdress remained unchanged, but the clever thinker knew the one remaining step to rend the puzzle asunder.

He slid his arms around his wife’s back, and in one quick motion, pulled at the tie at her lower back. Straight away, the formerly close-fitted gown spread into a loose, accessible tent of fabric.

A low chuckle came up through Shelagh’s chest. “You’ve solved it,” she murmured.

“Mhm-hmm,” he answered. “What’s my prize?”

“Alexander became the King of the world, Patrick,” Shelagh reminded him. Winding her arms about his neck, she pressed against him.

“I’ve got all the world I need right here, my love.”