Monthly Archives: April 2015

Sixty Minute Challenge: Prompt Three, Barbara’s Bucket Brigade

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“I’m afraid it happens quite frequently, Nurse Gilbert. I can assure you, you will learn a great deal, and it is always good experience to spend time on Casualty.”

“They’ll eat her for breakfast,” muttered Sister Evangelina under her breath.

Deliberately ignoring the grumpy nun, Barbara Gilbert took a deep breath and shrugged her shoulders. It couldn’t be so bad, she told herself. Nurses like to help people, right? Cheerfully she smiled and rose from the table.

“Well, I’d best get on my bike if I’m to get a bright start, then. Wish me luck!”

 

Three days later, the young nurse knew she needed more than luck to survive the rest of the week. Casualty was not only frenetic and intense, it seemed to be staffed by nurses so fierce they made Nurse Crane look like a tabby cat.

“Gilbert,” ordered Matron. “The bandages are not stocked properly. I certainly hope you don’t think I’ve decided to arbitrarily create rules for you to flout them. Bandages must be stored precisely in this manner for a very good reason. Restack them and be back here in ten minutes.”

Barbara nodded, trying to hide the tears she wanted to shed. Half way through the week and she wanted to cry every day. The strict rules, demanding situations and sometimes unreasonable medical personnel did little for her self esteem. Closing the storage room door behind her, she let a few tears flow as she methodically stacked bandage upon bandage.

“Come on, Barbara,” she told herself. “You can do this. It’s really not so much different from home. All those children running about. You must simply keep your head clear and don’t let anyone rattle you. You can do this. Besides, after this, you’ll never be afraid of Nurse Crane again!”

The bandages done, she slipped back down to the admittance desk. A crowd of people filled the room, and she could hear matron shout,

“Form a queue! I cannot help you if you do not manage yourselves properly!” Catching sight of Barbara, Matron handed her a clipboard. “You. Take names, reason for being here. And clear out anyone who should not be here in the first place!”

Nervously, Barbara marched over to the group filling the room. Her attention focussed, she noticed that the large group of men that filled the room were wearing rugby uniforms. Several were covered in mud, and all were shouting loudly.

“They’re just large boys, Barbara,” she assured herself. Remembering the tip her mother told her when handling boys, she searched the room for the leader of the group. “Excuse me,” she interrupted as politely as she could, “I’m hoping you can help me.”

The rugby player turned to her and she was alarmed by his size. Well over six feet, and clearly more than fifteen stone, he towered over her. “Me friend’s hurt, Nurse. He needs to see a doctor, fast-like.”

“Yes. That’s what I’m here for,” she told him. Pretend you know what you’re doing Barbara, her inner voice whispered. “If you could help me to get the room under control, then I can help your friend.” She smiled, hoping the expression made it to her eyes.

Understanding crossed the big man’s face. “Right.” He turned to his mates and bellowed, “Bob, Mack, you stay. Everyone else, out!”

Within in moments, the room was cleared. Barbara turned to the Rugby leader and said, “Well done! You must be the captain!”

The big man blushed. “Yes, Nurse. You need a firm ‘and wif blokes like these! What can we do to help me friend Bob, here. It looks like he may’ve broken ‘is leg.”

Peering closely, Barbara confirmed his suspicion. “Don’t you worry, Bob. We’ll have you in to see the doctor quick as a wink.”

She glanced up quickly and shyly met the eye of the captain. “Thank you very much for your help-”

“Albert, Albert Smalls. We’ll just stay here wif Bob, if you don’t mind.”

Barbara nodded. “Of course. He’s lucky to have friends like you to help.”

 

For the rest of her shift, Barbara kept the interaction with the rugby player in her mind. If she could handle a large group of rugby players in line, then surely the rest of the week wouldn’t be so bad? She simply had to find the original solution to any problem Matron presented.

Unfortunately, originality did not impress the medical staff, and for the rest of the day, Barbara shuttled patients to and fro, collected samples and put on a brave face as her self-esteem dwindled. Nearing the end of her shift, matron assigned her to the desk to file the charts that had overflowed all day.

“I’ll be back in quarter of an hour, Mr. Swift requires my advice on a matter of surgical organization. If any unusual situations arise, do nothing. Wait for more trained personnel to arrive.”

Watching the gruff old nurse walk away, Barbara sighed heavily. “I’m not a child. I am a trained nurse. It would be nice to be treated like an adult sometimes.”

Files sorted themselves quickly, and soon she had little to do. The madness of the early afternoon had dwindled down and the only people waiting to see a doctor were a man with a sprained wrist and a lady with a rather shallow cut to her chin. “I suppose it bled rather a lot,” Barbara muttered.

Her attention was captured by a drop of water from above. When it was followed by another, and then another, Barabara began to search for its source. Walking around the room, she peered at the ceiling. A memory of a burst pipe in her father’s vicarage popped in her mind, and she suddenly realized what was about to happen.

Trying to keep calm, she called, “Excuse me, please follow me. Quickly.”

The two remaining patients looked at each other, shrugged and made to follow. Guiding them up the stairs to the desk beyond the waiting area, she reached for the telephone.

“Excuse me, Nurse,” cried Matron, “just what do you think you’re doing?”

“The number for the janitor’s office, please?” she asked as calmly as she could.

“Put that phone down right this minute. You’ll be reprimanded for this!”
“The caretaker’s office? It’s an emergency!”
“What emergency?”

Suddenly, the ceiling in the waiting room cracked open and water gushed down.

Stunned, the staff stared at the gallons of water filling the room.

“The number, please?” Barbara demanded.

Finally understanding, Matron called out the number and the connection was made.

Five interminable minute later, the water was shut down. The medical staff turned their attention to the patients, and tried to restore some order to the care.

 

Barbara stood at the top of the stairs looking down at the caretaker. The waiting area was flooded, nearly two feet deep in water.

“This’ll take forever to clean up,” poor Mr. Unger said.

Thinking for a moment, Barbara said, “Mr. Unger, get every bucket and pail you have down here. We’re going to empty this place out quick as a wink!”

The caretaker was doubtful. “I suppose I’ll need’em anyway.” He lumbered down the hall to the storage cupboard.

This is my chance, Barbara thought. Time to put my plan into action.
“Albert?” she called. “Albert Smalls?” The curtain at one bed in the far corner opened, and out came the rugby captain.

“Yes, Nurse?”

Barbara shook her head confidently. “Mr. Smalls, we need your help. Are your rugby friends still outside?”

“Should be. I told them to wait so we could carry Bob to the pub.”

“Yes. Well, before you go to your celebration, could I perhaps ask you to give me another hand? We seem to have a bit of a flood in our waiting area. I was hoping you and your teammates could form a sort of Bucket Brigade and help return our waiting room to its normal above-water condition.”

Her expectant face, plus her cheerful confidence shone through.

“”Course, Nurse. We can have this place back in shape quick as a wink.” The large man waded through to the door and called to his team. With nearly a dozen buckets, and nearly as many rugby players, the room was back to it’s antediluvian state.

“Well done, Mr. Smalls,” Charlotte applauded. “We are ever so grateful. Poor Mr. Unger would have been here all night trying to put this place to rights.”

“No problem, Nurse. “ ‘appy to help.” The large man grew shy again. “I was wondering, maybe you’d like to join us, you know celebrate? We won our game, Bob’s got his cast, you’ve got a dry waiting area. “How ‘bout it?”

Barbara considered, her mouth pursing to the side. “Oh, alright!” she answered. Leaning in conspiratorially, she continued, “As long as there’s no Advocat. I may have shown Matron what’s for, but I better not get ahead of myself!”

Sixty Minute Challenge, Prompt Two: Understanding Choices

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“I should have known there was a man behind this!” Sister Evangelina rose angrily from her chair and paced the room.

Sister Julienne watched from behind the safety of her desk. She knew better than to interrupt her Sister at a moment like this. Sister Evangelina was a bit like a volcano, once the big explosion passed, the anger would cool and reason would return.

“We should have known. We should have known ten years ago! She was too young to join the Order. She should have waited, lived a life on the outside first. She was never tested.”

“Sister, she was young, but we both know the challenges she’d already faced.”

The angry nun turned. “She knew sadness, of course, but what did she know of the real world? Barely twenty when she joined us, fresh out of nursing school, and the convent school before that. The Reverend Mother should have insisted she wait.”

Realizing her own disobedience, Sister Evangelina returned to her chair. “Forgive me. I should not have said such a thing. Of course the Reverend Mother made the best decision she could at the time.”

Silence descended upon the two nuns as each struggled with difficult emotions.

Sister Evangelina spoke first. “At least now we know she hasn’t lost her faith. Though I’m not sure this is much better. To have her head turned by a man!” She sighed heavily. “I must say I am stunned. I had more respect for Dr. Turner than that.”

“I do not think it was as you suspect, Sister. I do not believe that either one of them have behaved improperly.”

Sister Evangelina was doubtful. “How on earth could this have happened? She left us only weeks ago, not nearly long enough for something like this to happen.”

Sister Julienne put down the pen she had been nervously rolling between her fingers and clasped her hands. “I’m afraid this was not so sudden as it seems.”

“But you said-” the other nun interrupted.

Shaking her head, the calm nun continued. “I am convinced the relationship did not begin until our sister had already decided to leave us. For a very long time, I knew there was something troubling her, something she was unwilling to share. You, too, noticed, I think. Last autumn?”

Thinking back, Sister Evangelina recalled. “Yes. The deaths of the Gibney mother and babe. She took that very hard. She asked to be excused from services for days.”

“Yes. And assisting at the Mother House last winter, Mother Jesu sensed a resistance to some of the old ways.”

“I can’t say as I blame her for that,” shrugged Sister Evangelina. “Sister Dorothy Ann is the most officious nun I have ever met.”

“Yes, well, it certainly didn’t help our former sister. I believe she began to question her role in the religious life long before those challenges. She realized she was living the wrong life, and it was only then that she began to look elsewhere for happiness.”

Using the desk to prop her arm, Sister Evangelina rested her forehead against her palm. “We all have doubts at times. It’s not an easy life. I had hoped she was strong enough.”

Sister Julienne considered her sister’s words. When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “Thank you, my dear sister. Until now, I did not truly understand our friend’s journey.”

She reached across the desk and gripped her Sister’s hand. “It is not a question of strength, old friend. Every path is a difficult one, every path has it’s own sacrifices and joys.

“Sister, why do we serve the mothers of this community? Why do we feel they are so important? It is because they are the center of all life. They give birth, they care for their families, and must willingly put the needs of others before themselves. Shelagh has not made a selfish choice, she has merely exchanged one set of sacrifices and joys for another.”

Sister Evangelina straightened and held her sister’s hand between both of her own. Smiling in understanding, she nodded. “I suppose we must accept that everyone must make their own path in life. Even if we don’t understand it.”

“We do, indeed.”

“Well,” Sister Evangelina stood abruptly. “I’ll support her in whatever decision she makes. Shelagh Mannion has earned the right to live her own life. I will miss her, though. She’s a funny little thing. She’ll make Timothy an excellent mother, too. The boy certainly deserves her.”

She turned and opened the door. “Dr. Turner better watch it, though. I do not take kindly to foxes in the henhouse.”

Sixty-Minute Challenge, Prompt One: Sitting Pretty

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This is part of what will be a 3-part exercise in insanity. I write slowly, and need to push some of my boundaries. So, with a free Saturday, I decided to ask my Tumblr friends (come join us- follow the Call the Midwife tag, we’re there) to send in prompts for me to write responses to in 60 minutes. One down, two to go.

This prompt technically breaks the “No Turnadette” rule, but hey, give the people what they want.

Turnadettefangirl said: Okay, a fic where a piece of furniture is the main POV 😉 The gold sofa, the hatch, the bed. Those have witnessed a lotta Turner family drama (and joy)

I used to have it easy. I was a lucky sofa, and I knew it. Years ago, in the furniture store, the old second hand furniture would tell tales of terror and abuse.

“Look at my back leg,” the tallboy moaned. “Two brothers fighting took that one. I’ve had this old board to hold me up since.”

“My scratches,” wailed the dining room table. “I’ll never be glossy and polished again!”

But it was the old sofa on the corner that earned the most pity. Its upholstery torn and stained, cotton wool peeping out and missing an entire cushion, the old couch had seen it all.

“A family of thirteen,” the old voice croaked. “One beast jumped on me and broke my spine, another pulled out the horsehair for a school project, and I won’t even tell you the details of the season the entire bunch of them had the stomach flu.”

When I was purchased by a quiet couple, starting out their marriage, I considered myself lucky. The man was out all the time, and the woman seemed to prefer to spend her time with the piano bench.

I didn’t mind. Life was easy.

The day they brought home a baby, I worried. “My bright covers! My arms! This child will be the ruin of me!”

But the boy left me alone. The floor was his domain. Each day he would amass a collection of blocks and cars and small animals and build great cities. Each day he would spill something, too. I never spent much effort getting to know the carpets in those years. They never stayed long enough.

By the time the boy became slightly less clumsy, he had moved to the table and chairs near me. He was a serious boy, and rarely had any friends over. He would sit quietly and do schoolwork or read. I wondered why he looked so sad.

Then the man began to spend his nights on the couch. I never saw the woman, though I could hear her talking quietly with the others in the private rooms. I wasn’t a proper place for a grown man to sleep, though I must admit he did rarely spend a full night stretched out over me. His nights were spent out of the flat, or pacing the floor. Even the nights he spent in the bedroom, I doubt he got any rest.

Eventually, he returned to the bedroom. The flat was silent through the day and I was left to my thoughts. In the evenings, the boy would stay at his place at the table, whilst the man sat in one of the matching chairs, silently smoking.

They didn’t talk much, not really, though it felt as if there was so much to be said. The man worked and smoked, the boy read and played his music. Sometimes, I would see one watch the other, a helpless expression on his face. Neither ever sat upon me, and after ten years, I looked as good as new.

 

I was grateful; I was a handsome couch, and could last for decades. There was little chance I would end up old and worn out at a second-hand shop. The few times a visitor came by, I was always admired. It is possible that I grew vain.

After months of no visitors, life in the flat changed very suddenly. The boy and the man had a new friend. A quiet, small young woman, she soon found a comfortable spot on the handsome gold sofa near the lamp. Her visits became frequent, and though I began to see much more use, she was careful to care for me properly. She made sure my cushions were rotated, and soon after she came to live in the flat, I was vacuumed frequently.

It seemed that I was, if you’ll pardon the expression, “sitting pretty.”

Oh, how wrong I was. The woman was little, and took excellent care of me. But suddenly, it wasn’t enough for the man to be home, he sat upon me, as well. And not on his proper cushion on the other half. No, the man insisted on sitting as close as possible to his new favorite. Right over two cushions. At the same time! The man had no thought for symmetry or wear! I began to show signs of use.

Perhaps if the man and woman had been content to sit still, it would not have been so defeating. But they never seemed to be settled in one spot for long. Once the boy left of an evening, they would shift and nudge and thump. Their giggles and sighs only infuriated me more.

And shoes! They completely forgot themselves and for the first time ever, shoes scraped against my beautiful cushions. I was furious. The shoes had to go.

And then the shoes went.

My friend, I blush to tell you that the shoes were only to first of many items to be removed. More than one morning I was awakened by the presence of a cufflink poking through my fabric. The deep corners and recesses of my shape became the lost and found of the detritus of their shenanigans.

So now, no longer the proud, handsome showpiece, fit for the display window of the best furniture retailers, I am an ordinary, faded gold sofa.

And the worst of all, further proof of my disastrous decline, I have discovered the fact that will most assuredly put me in the back corner of the saddest of all charity shops.

Now they have a baby.

Courting Shelagh, Epilogue

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Prior Chapter

Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3     Chapter 4       Chapter 5     Chapter 6     Chapter 7

My head canon has the Turners out of that flat and in a cozy house on a square (Maybe one like Rockbird86‘s Moving Day? Actually, exactly like that one). And some dropped-in lines from along the way, too.

Climbing the steps to his front door, Patrick Turner sighed wearily. A week of night duty, plus a long Saturday surgery, and he was weary to the bone. A quick meal, then he’d take the newspaper out into the back garden, cover his face and sleep.

As he turned his key in the lock he was startled by a ball striking against the door, narrowly missing his head. He turned to see the source of his near assault.

“Oi, Dr. Turner! Sorry, sir!” A bright-faced boy of ten ran up to the steps. “Glad I missed yer head!”

Patrick wanted to scold, but the boy’s remorse made him hold back. “Be more careful, Eddie,” Patrick warned. “If you break another window on the street you’ll be in a fix. Is Angela with you children in the park?”

“Yes, sir. She’s…” the boy’s voice trailed off, unwilling to tattle on a playmate.

Patrick nodded. Angela was up to something, but at this moment, he’d rather not know.

“Just make sure she doesn’t break an arm or anything, please? I’d rather sign off for the day.”

The boy laughed. His ball under his elbow, he ran off. “Righto, Dr. Turner!”

The house was quiet as he entered. “Shelagh?” he called. He dropped his medical bag in its place on the hall table and made his way to the kitchen. There was no sign of her, other than a covered plate and a bottle of brown sauce. He peeked under the towel. A bacon buddy, piled nearly as high as he liked with bacon. He smiled. Shelagh did not approve of his tremendous affinity for bacon and rationed his servings. She no doubt assumed (correctly) he had enough out in the cafes and sandwich shops around the East End.

Shelagh also knew what a terribly long week this had been. Calls every night, long clinics and a tedious medical board meeting over the fate of the inoculation program had consumed his time. This sandwich was her gentle way of helping him relax.

Three bites into his lunch, he wandered over to the window and scanned the garden. There she was, weeding in the vegetable patch, her knees resting on an old kitchen mat. Patrick leant up against the sink, admiring the view. Still just shy of forty, his wife was a beauty. The summer sun always lightened her hair just a bit now they had this house and garden, and he loved the few freckles that appeared on her nose for a few brief weeks. A smirk crossed his face. It wasn’t the freckles he was appreciating at the moment. Patrick wondered if Shelagh had any idea what that skirt did to her form as she knelt over her work.

Despite his fatigue, he could feel his body respond to the sight. He missed Shelagh. How long had it been? Patrick considered for a moment. He’d been out every night this week, and the weekend before Angela had been ill with a stomach ‘flu… He started. Nine days!

Nine days was completely ridiculous. He would be certain not to make it run to ten.

Shelagh stood and removed her gloves, brushing the dust from her skirt. With a twist of her hips, she bent to lift the basket of weeds to toss, then headed inside. Patrick turned on the tap, warming the water for her to wash up.

“Patrick! I didn’t hear you come in, dearest. How was the clinic?” She reached up to kiss his cheek before moving to the sink to wash her hands. Patrick smiled. He could practically hear her thinking, ‘Briskly, beyond the wrists…’

Shelagh continued, “I’ve made you some lunch. Sorry it’s not warm, but it will be a busy afternoon and I needed to clean up.”

Patrick moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Burying his face in her hair he murmured, “It’s eaten. Let me thank you properly.”

Shelagh laughed and reached for the tea towel. Turning in his arms, she answered, “That won’t be necessary, Patrick. A thank you is quite enough, It was just a bacon sandwich.”

“Not just for the food. Let me thank you properly for everything.” His hands travelled down to her hips, and his eyes gleamed.

“Patrick,” Shelagh scolded mildly.

“Shelagh,” Patrick coaxed. “The children are out, we have the afternoon…”

Shelagh placed her hands on his shoulders. “Patrick, you’ve forgotten. We promised Tim we’d go to his cricket game this afternoon. It’s the last one before he leaves for university.”

Patrick groaned. “When do we leave?”

“We have to be there by two, so we should leave in an hour, perhaps?” She pushed against the counter and made to move.

“An hour? That’s plenty of time for now.” He nibbled on her ear and whispered. “A refresher? To warm us up for later?”

“I have to make up a basket of food. I promised,” Shelagh protested half-heartedly.

Patrick pressed closer to her lithe body. “We’ll stop at the chip shop. We haven’t spent any time together in weeks.”

“Weeks! Patrick, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shelagh laughed.

He growled lightly in her ear.

“Patrick, it has NOT been weeks. It was…”  she considered. “It was a week Thursday. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Last Thursday? As long ago as that? Shelagh, that’s forever.” He stood, his face serious. “We spend so little time together now, between my practice, you working, the children. Shelagh, I miss you.”

Abruptly, the front door slammed open, followed by noisy footsteps. Frustrated, Patrick turned to reprimand his daughter, only to be interrupted by his wife.

“Angela Julienne Turner! Whatever on earth have you been up to?”

The youngest member of the household stood before them, covered with mud and grass. Angela bit her lip and looked at the floor. “There was a puddle near the old tree, and I bet Jimmy Feeney I could jump it in one leap.”

Patrick felt his temper rise. Fortunately, Shelagh intervened. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now, we have to get you out of these filthy clothes. Don’t move. It’ll be easier to clean the kitchen floor than the carpets.” She began on the buttons on their daughter’s blouse. “Patrick, dear, you go out to the garden and rest. I’ve got this.”

“No, I’ll clean up this mess. You see to the beast,” Patrick responded resignedly.

Angela giggled. “I am a beast, aren’t I?”

“You’re most certainly not a beauty right now, madam.” He opened the cupboard and took out the mop and pail. “And make sure you help your mother clean up the mess you’ll leave behind in the bath.”

 

The late afternoon sun barely lit up the Turner’s hallway when they arrived at home a few hours later.

“We forgot to leave the light on again. I hate coming home to a dark house,” Patrick groused.

“That’s easily managed,” Shelagh answered cheerfully, and flicked the switch.

“Daddy, you really need a nap.” Angela piped in.

Determinedly, he ignored her. “When’s dinner?”

“Soon. Why don’t you go have a rest whilst I get things ready? Angela can help me. Come back down in an hour or so.” Shelagh leant up and kissed his cheek.

“It’s probably for the best. I’ve been a bear today.” He patted her shoulder and turned to go up the stairs.

The bed creaked mildly as he sat to remove his shoes. “A nap. It’s like I’m another child in this house.”

He shook his head. He was being unfair. It was his own mood that brought him up here, Shelagh was only trying to help. The afternoon at the cricket pitch would have been a disaster if not for her. Angela’s scrape had made them nearly late, something Tim was quick to blame his father for. Only Shelagh’s gentle handling had prevented the two males from having a row right then and there.

He could feel himself start to relax. Maybe he was simply overtired. Mentally, he reviewed the calendar for the next week. Night duty at the maternity ward on Tuesday, but the rest of the week wasn’t so bad. Thank goodness there were no more meetings anticipated with Mr. Hargrove. The inoculation program was safe for the time being.

Hopefully, Angela’s shenanigans and the preparations for Tim’s departure wouldn’t consume them. Poor Tim. Shelagh had shopped and stacked and packed the boy to the end of his patience. With two weeks to go, little else remained on her to-do list. The chaos should settle down.

He would ask Tim to sit with Angela one night. He and Shelagh hadn’t been out alone together for months. Whatever happened to their plan of making time to go out once a week?

As he drifted to sleep, the answer came to him.

Life.

 

Two hours later, Patrick woke to darkened room. He glanced at his watch, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see the small dials in such dim light, and sat up. It couldn’t be that late, he could hear noise from downstairs. He stood and stretched. Time to rejoin the world.

On his way down to the kitchen he paused. There was music coming from the sitting room, yet the room seemed dark. He pulled the doors open and stopped, stunned. In the far corner, the small table usually reserved for homework or crafts glowed under candlelight, draped by a crisp white linen tablecloth and set with the good china. Beside it, stood Shelagh in her favorite going-out dress.

Patrick stepped quietly to his wife. “What’s all this?” he wondered aloud.

“I thought perhaps we could make an evening of it. I’ve shipped Angela off to Charlotte’s for the night, and Tim won’t be home until quite late.” She reached for his hands.

“We’ve barely had any time together these last weeks, and it’s time to make a change. We can’t let life get in the way all the time, dearest. Sometimes we have to come first.”

Patrick smiled. With certainty of long practice, he removed her glasses to his shirt pocket and pulled her close.  They let the music surround them as they began to move to the music.

“What would I do without you, Shelagh?” he murmured in her ear. “You always know how to make everything better.”

Shelagh pressed herself even closer, her smooth cheek grazing his rough one. “Hmmm…” she purred. “Perhaps it would be best if we discuss what you’ll do with me?”

Courting Shelagh, Chapter 7

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Previous Chapter

Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3     Chapter 4       Chapter 5     Chapter 6

Despite every effort to take the longest possible route, the drive back to the boarding house took no time at all on the empty streets of Poplar. Too soon, the green Austin eased quietly to a halt and Patrick turned off the engine. He turned to Shelagh. Neither of them made to get out, not quite ready for the night to end.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, Patrick,” Shelagh told him shyly.

His face relaxed into  a soft smile. Reaching for her hand, he answered, “I’m the one to say that, love. Tonight could have gone to the four winds, but you made it happen.”

He lifted her small hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her fingers. For so long, this had been all the physical affection he had shown her. Tonight, he thought, well, tonight had changed things.

He knew he shouldn’t be surprised. She was so brave. Changing her life so drastically must have been unbelievably difficult. Since that day on that misty road, he had learned more about her fierce honesty. She had demanded the complete truth from herself, when denial would have been the easier course.

How difficult it must have been for her to make that phone call to his surgery. Alone, on the brink of her new life, she reached out to him not knowing if he would be there to grasp her hand. Such courage could only come from a passionate heart. Shelagh loved him, and would love him completely.

The rising blush on her cheeks told him she understood exactly what he was thinking.

“I’d like to see you again.” Patrick’s eyes teased her, lightening the mood.

The blush turned to a sweet smile. “Patrick, of course you’ll see me. I’ll be at the hospital when you arrive tomorrow. We can’t abandon Timothy for two nights.”

“Abandon? The boy had Fred visit tonight, and Carson told me he’d be in again to have a go at beating Tim at chess. The imp beat me the other day, you know.”

“Yes, he told me. He was very pleased with himself, so I beat him at checkers just to deflate his head a bit.” They laughed. A haze grew on the windows, creating their own secluded, contented world.

Patrick watched as his thumb moved gently over her hand. “I meant what I said tonight, about us being a family. we may not be very orthodox at the moment, but the three of us belong together. We’re lucky.”

“Very lucky.” Shelagh paused. “Patrick, I think all of this has been a sort of test…No, not a test, exactly, but a trial of sorts. After I returned from the sanatorium, we all barely knew each other, not in any real life way. I knew that didn’t matter, we’d learn what we needed to know.”

Shelagh breathed deeply. “I don’t believe God sends us trials as punishment, it’s simply the way life is. Sometimes bad things happen. The true trial is within ourselves. We decide how we will handle our pain.

“When Timothy was taken to the hospital, I was too afraid to take the role I knew I should. But you were there, and Timothy, and I loved you so much I had to find a way to understand my new place as a wife and mother.” She looked up then.

Patrick’s eyes widened in understanding. The journey they had started that autumn day was far from over, he realized. Shelagh came out of the mist not a fully formed identity, but a butterfly still in the midst of its metamorphosis: a person discovering many parts to herself. She was right. This time had been a gift to them.

Patrick squeezed her hand. “You have, Shelagh. I can’t imagine you loving Tim any more fiercely if he had been your own. You’ve held us together, my love. We’re a family because of you. And this last month, we’ve become true partners, working together to help our son. But we have to be more than that. We need more time like tonight.”

With his free hand, he caressed her smooth cheek. “Building a family is hard work. Love is hard work.”

Her eyes shifted from his.  “Yes, it is. And there’s still so much I don’t know. You’ll have to be patient with me, dearest. I know about the…the biology, of course. But after so many years of reining in that side of me…” Her voice faded.

Patrick understood without her saying more. Would it always be like this he wondered? They seemed to understand so many unspoken things.

She was right. They needed a bit of time. In the coming weeks, he would give her time to learn the truth of her own appeal.

“We’ll be alright, Shelagh. Of that, I am completely certain.”

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Courting Shelagh, Chapter 6

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Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3     Chapter 4       Chapter 5     

Dinner lasted far longer than your average ham-and-egg-pie meal, for there were stories to tell of the day, tales of long-ago childish adventures and secrets to share. The teapot sat on the table, empty and cold, and all but the last crumbs of pudding were gone.

“I doubt even the Ritz could pull off such a meal,” Patrick leant back in his chair, his stomach full and his heart content.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t even try, Patrick.” She smiled warmly and placed her hand across his forearm. “Tonight has been lovely. I would have been nervous and anxious the whole time at such a grand establishment. Instead, I’m warm and happy.”

His hand resting on hers, he squeezed gently. “I’m glad.”

The record player reached the end of its task, and the sound of the scratching needle filled the room.

Patrick stood. “Funny, I don’t think I heard the music all night. I’ll put another on.”

Shelagh made to stand as well. “I’ll start on the dishes, then.”

“No, you most certainly will not. We’ve not finished our date. I’ll handle this later.” He nodded. “Stay right as you are.”

In the work of a moment, Patrick slipped another record from its cover and set the needle. He turned back to the table and was struck by the sight of her in candlelight, her hair and skin glowing. Shelagh had closed her eyes to better concentrate on the music, her chin slightly raised, revealing the length of her neck.

Unobserved, he gazed his fill. Shelagh’s beauty was such a quiet part of her. Her natural modesty, combined with the strict teachings of the Sisterhood, made her unaware of her effect on those who looked at her. Soon after meeting her, though, her external beauty drew less attention and instead he focussed only on her goodness and clever mind. Then, at unexpected moments, her physical loveliness would shine and he was undone.

He moved to stand behind her, his hands light on her shoulders, thumbs stroking gently over the porcelain skin of her shoulders. At the base of her neck, he could see for the first time a small freckle and felt a great longing to press a kiss to it.  Sighing lightly, he restrained himself. Little steps, he repeated to himself as he made a promise for the future.

Resolved, he stepped in front of her, his hand extended.

“May I have this dance?”

Shelagh’s eyes widened and her face lost its relaxed expression. Shaking her head, she answered, “Oh, no. I-I don’t dance, Patrick. I’d like to, but I don’t know how. I’m afraid I’ll step all over your shoes.”

Not taking no for an answer, Patrick tugged at her hand, pulling her to stand before him. “I doubt you’d do much damage with those tiny feet of yours.”

“You’d be surprised.” Shelagh’s voice was nervous and her eyes would not meet his. “Please, Patrick, I can’t. I’ve never even tried.”

“I’m sure you can. Timothy told me you can do a reel!”

“Oh, a Scottish reel in a barn is quite another thing! I wouldn’t know where to begin on a dance floor.”

Oddly, the more nervous she became, the more Patrick’s confidence grew. One hand slipped around her waist as the other held her hand up. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll find a way.”

Ella Fitzgerald’s voice softly filled the room as the long introduction to the music wound down. “We’ll start slow. It’s a simple two-step. Our feet make the pattern, and my hand will guide you.”

“Guide me?” Bossy Shelagh made her first appearance of the night.

“For turns and such.” He pulled back, stretching out his arms to create more space between them. “Watch my feet, then mirror my steps.”

Shelagh concentrated on his feet and moved her own a bit awkwardly. After a few measures, she found the rhythm. Shelagh looked up, her face beaming. “It’s simple!”

Patrick laughed. “Told you so, Ginger. Now, try it without looking at your feet.”

Pressing her lips together, Shelagh stared hard at his face. She stumbled for a moment.

“That’s alright,” he encouraged. “Keep going.”

Gradually, she grew more confident. “Are we…supposed to…stand like this?” She gestured to their outstretched hands as she timed her words with the music.

“So now you’re the teacher?” he teased.

“Patrick,” she chided.

“Shelagh,” was his response. He winked and resumed, “Now we move closer.” Slowly, he decreased the distance between them. Immediately, Shelagh grew less certain.

In the early days of their courtship, Patrick made sure to treat Shelagh gallantly. He realized that the little she knew of romantic love came from stories and film. The reality of passion might have worried  her. In the days leading to Christmas, he thought he had seen a certain recognition of the reality, but Timothy’s illness had pushed all such thoughts to the side, and Patrick realized he would require more patience. “Room for the Holy Spirit?” he asked, his tone light.

The song ended, and they waited in the quiet for the next to begin. “This time, let’s try to add something else,” Patrick suggested.

The crease reappeared between her brows. He gently rubbed his thumb over it, soothing, “Just a few turns, sweetheart. My hand at your waist will hold you near, whilst this one,” he raised their joint hands, “will lead you in turns. You’ll feel me pull one way or another, and our feet will follow the direction.” He demonstrated a few turns, and quickly Shelagh caught on. They began to circle around the small space.

“What if I want to lead?” she asked as the next song began.

Patrick laughed aloud. “I’m sure you will.” She was much closer now. How had that happened, he wondered. He had concentrated so hard on keeping a safe distance—

Shelagh glanced up and he caught a gleam in her eye. His own widened as he realized he was no longer as in control of this dance as he thought. Patrick swallowed thickly.

Still not touching, their bodies hovered close to each other. This was bliss. He closed his eyes  to the sight of her neck so close and steeled himself against the urge to pull her tight against his body. Not for the first time tonight, he whispered, “This is much better than a night out.”

Shelagh made a small sound of agreement, then closed the last remaining gap between them. With a small sigh, she pressed her forehead against his cheek. Patrick pulled her hand to his heart, and for the length of a song, neither moved.

Regaining his composure, Patrick pulled away. Gently, he reached up towards her glasses and asked, “May I?”

Shelagh nodded. He slid the frames from her face, folded them and deftly slipped them into his jacket pocket. A contented smile crossed her face. “That’s better,” she whispered as she nuzzled her smooth skin against his rough cheeks.

Patrick felt his body stir as it responded to the huskiness in her voice. An electric charge ran through him as she placed her hand back upon his shoulder, and he clenched his own tightly over her small fingers.

“Shelagh,” he warned gently.

“Patrick,” she answered. She was teasing him!

Her body pressed lightly against his and her face lifted. “I love you, Patrick.”

There was little time to respond to her words. Swiftly, she pulled his face towards hers for a kiss. She was clumsily ardent, her lips firm against his. Long moments went by, and finally a stunned Patrick responded.

His arms wrapped around her and he pulled her tightly to his form. But just as his arms grew more forceful, his lips softened. He would let her lead, but he could help her find her way.

That slight change must have relaxed her, for her lips softened, as well. She turned her head slightly, finding a new, more comfortable angle to increase the contact between them. Softly, she released his lips from the pressure, a small sigh shuddering across her lips.

He thought she would stop, that she was satisfied with her attentions for now. He watched as her eyes fluttered open and smiled. With time, Shelagh would learn this new side to love. He would have to be certain he did not take her for granted. They would spend time alone, just the two of them, so that by the time they did marry, Shelagh would be ready.

Her eyes never fully opened, and he was surprised by her lips gently kissing at his, small, tender kisses that made it hard to breath. His smile parted slightly and she kissed his lower lip. Her own lips opened slightly, and with a quiet whimper she touched his mouth with her tongue.

It was agony. Shelagh wanted him, he could feel it. Her kisses grew more intimate, her arms tightening around his neck. She had always been a quick study, and once a decision was made, she gave it her all.

No longer able to stand by, Patrick returned her kiss with fervour. The soft nap of her velvet dress inflamed him and made him long for the smoothness of her skin underneath. His deep breaths brought her deep into his lungs, surrounding him on all sides.

“Shelagh,” he murmured. He buried his face in her neck as they both struggled for breath. “I have to stop.”

Shelagh nodded, her fingers still tangled in his hair. Patrick looked up and saw her face flushed with desire. How was he expected to let her go home tonight, he wondered. She fit so perfectly in his arms, more perfectly than even in his dreams. She smiled at him, and there was a new knowledge in her eyes.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. He grimaced, uncomfortable with the blasphemy in front of her.

A giggle rose from Shelagh’s throat and she kissed his temple lightly. The passion cooled and they stepped apart.

Patrick replaced her glasses and took her hand. “Let’s get you home. Mrs Trevell will be waiting behind the net curtains for you, and if I don’t get you in soon, we’ll never get that key again.”

In the hallway, Patrick stooped to pick up his old and battered  coat, forgotten in their earlier embrace. He placed it on its hook and felt Shelagh move closer to him. Her hand slid around his arm and she found her place at his side.

“Tonight has been wonderful, Patrick. Thank you.”

He kissed the top of her head. “We’ll do this more often, Shelagh.” He turned her to face him. “I want to be with you.”

Her face pinkened. Cupping her cheek, he assured her. “Not simply in that way. I want to talk with you, spend time with you. Before…before Christmas, we were so busy finding our footing, and then, later, Tim was our focus. From now on, we’ll make time for us as well.”

Shelagh nodded her understanding. She closed her eyes for a moment and tilted her cheek to his hand. “The kissing is nice, too, dearest.”

Poor Patrick.

This wedding could not come soon enough.

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Courting Shelagh, Chapter 5

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Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3     Chapter 4    

Patrick moved a step back, breaking the contact between them. Shelagh’s eyes fluttered open, revealing still-dilated pupils. He smiled at her slightly dazed expression and slid his hands back up to grasp her upper arms.

“I’m famished,” he whispered mischievously.

A bashful grin swept her face, and Shelagh returned to the moment. “If you’ll follow me, then?” she asked as she led the way down the hallway.

If there was a fabric that loved a woman, Patrick thought, it would be velvet. He watched as Shelagh went before him, the luminous fabric clinging to her lithe form just so. He wondered if she knew how well suited she was to this dress. Not likely. If she had any idea what thoughts the dress conjured in his mind, she’d be tucked up safe and sound in her rented room.

“Get a hold of yourself, man,” he thought to himself and shook his head, following her into the sitting room.

Patrick stopped in the doorway in amazement. The lights were dimmed, and the table set with a crisp white linen cloth and the best plates. Two candles burned warmly, as the low sounds of music came from the record player.

“Shelagh, love. You did all this?”

“I know how much you wanted to go out tonight, Patrick. When you called to say that you’d be late, I thought we could make our own evening. Mrs. Trevell let me borrow a few things from the kitchen and sent along some food. It’s only cold ham and egg pie and a bit of greens, I’m afraid, but Mrs. B gave me some lovely pastries and some bread. We can pretend it’s Cordon Blue.”

He grinned as he took it all in. “You’re splendid, Shelagh. You always know how to make everything better.” He touched the china plate.

“Timothy told me about your mother’s china once. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve taken it out?” Shelagh’s voice was hurried.

“Mind? Of course not. I don’t think we ever used it. My brother certainly didn’t need it, and Marianne had her own, so it just went to the back of the cupboard. I’d forgotten it, to be honest.” He examined Shelagh’s bent head. “My mother would be proud that we’re using it, Shelagh. She would have loved you.”

Shelagh glanced back up at him, and he captured her gaze. His head tilted as he assured her, “It’s perfect, my love. It’s not the Ritz, but I think it will do just as well,”

“Patrick!” Shelagh gasped. “You never meant for us to go there tonight!”

“Only the best for my girl!” He moved a step closer, his eyes warm. “At least here we don’t have to spend so much time in travel. As it is, we’ll have to hurry if we’re to get you back in time before the door’s locked.”

Shelagh shook her head, blushing. “Mrs. Trevell gave me a key. Just for tonight, mind you. She said she’d hate to see this dress go to waste.”

Patrick’s eyebrows danced on his forehead. “Thank you, Mrs. Trevell!” With a quick kiss on her cheek, he held out her chair. “If Madam would care to be seated?”

Shelagh’s blush grew deeper. “Patrick,” she half-heartedly chided.

Seating himself, Patrick shook out his napkin. “This looks delicious. Tim will be jealous. He says the ham and egg pie in hospital is revolting.”

Shelagh dished out a large portion to Patrick. “How was Timothy this evening? I’m afraid I was too distracted to finish anything more than his maths today. Did he have his physical therapy?”

Unwilling to worry her unnecessarily, Patrick had not mentioned his son’s little health scare. He couldn’t keep it from Shelagh any longer and was grateful he could tell her Tim was fine. Taking a deep breath, he began to explain.

Shelagh’s face showed more disquiet as he went on. “Shelagh, he was fine. I would have called you in if it had been any more serious.”

“Yes, but Patrick, if I had stayed when I usually do, I might have noticed his cough sooner. That Nurse Wilson is too aggressive with his exercises. I suppose I’m simply going to have to extend my visits.” Her face was determined.

“Shelagh,” Patrick interrupted. His hands came down on either side of his plate. “You can’t be with him all the time. Especially while he’s in hospital. we have to trust in the care that he’s receiving. And,” he reached for her fingers, “you have responsibilities elsewhere. Tim doesn’t expect you to be there all your waking hours. He’s thrilled to have you as much as he does.” He tried to catch her eye again. “He was bragging only yesterday how he knows more of your secrets than I do.”

Cautiously, Shelagh met his look and a small smile started. “And you’re certain he isn’t upset that I left him this afternoon?”

“I am completely certain.” He raised her hand up and kissed it gently. “Tonight was his idea in the first place. He’s been listening to the nurses, and it seems a gentleman should woo a lady.”

The blush returned. “That’s not necessary, Patrick, I told you. I’m quite happy as I am spending our evenings with Timothy.”

“He knows that, which is precisely why he won’t mind if you step away for an evening. My love, you and Timothy and me, we’re a family. Even now, before we’re married, we are. That’s important. But you and I, we’re a couple. After Tim, or any future children grow up and leave us, it’ll be us two.” His eyes softened. “I fell in love with you quite apart from the idea that you could be a mother to Timothy, you know.”

Shelagh sat quietly, her eyes on her plate. Even months later, they still didn’t say those words often.  Patrick waited as she absorbed his meaning. After a moment, she raised her eyes to his, a smile lighting up her face.

“If you’re going to say such lovely things, dearest, I’m afraid I will have to insist we do this more often.”

A laugh escaped his throat. Picking up his fork, he grinned. “That’s settled then. I am definitely going to like this.”

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Courting Shelagh, Chapter 4

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Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3

Footsteps echoed in the dim hallway as Patrick climbed the last of the stairs to the flat. Unable to stop himself, he glanced at his watch for the hundredth time. Nearly nine. Too late for dinner, certainly, and more than likely not enough time for even a brief visit with Shelagh before the door to the boarding house was locked for the night. This was definitely not the evening he planned.

He rolled his shoulders to try to ease some of the tension stored up, and turned the key in its lock. As he pushed the door open, he was surprised by the warm light that flooded the hallway. Had he forgotten to turn off the lights when he left?

Patrick shook his head. His head had been in the clouds this morning, full of plans now unfulfilled. Eager to find a florist so early, he must have forgotten to close up the flat properly.

He reached to hang his battered coat on its hook and paused. Was that music? He was certain he hadn’t had the radio on this morning.

At that moment, Shelagh stepped from the sitting room. “Hello, Patrick,” she welcomed.

“Shelagh!” He exclaimed. “How on earth…”

She smiled shyly. “I thought we might have a better chance of seeing each other tonight if I met you here. I’ve brought some dinner, you must be famished.”

Patrick stood staring down, his face frozen in surprise. Shelagh had been at the forefront of his thoughts for so much of the day, he wasn’t sure she wasn’t a figment of his tired and lonely imagination.

The woman before him was different somehow, and finally, Patrick’s brain registered the change. Shelagh’s typical subdued attire was left behind, her dark neutral dresses and cardigan replaced by an eye-catching navy blue velvet dress and new black pumps a bit higher than her usual fashion. He swallowed thickly.

“You walked all the way from Mrs. Trevell’s dressed like this?” If Patrick had been distracted this morning by the unexpected sight of her collarbone, there was little hope of concentration now. The supple fabric dipped into a demure portrait collar, somehow all the more alluring for its reserve. Again,  Patrick could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He shook his head to clear it. It wouldn’t do to startle her with his thoughts.

Shelagh glanced down and ran her hands over the folds of the skirt. She blushed. “This? My coat covered it up. I know the shoes must look a bit silly, but they’re quite comfortable really. I let Trixie talk me into them, and I bought this dress back before…when I first came back from St. Anne’s. It was silly to spend my money on something so frivolous, but I couldn’t resist. I was already dressed when you called, so I thought I should at least get some wear out of it.” She looked up, her smile wide. “Besides, it’s not such a very far walk, Patrick. You used to walk me home each night before Christmas, remember?”

He closed his eyes at the memory and took a deep breath.  He left the coat on its hook and turned to her with a gentle nod. “I remember.” In control, he moved closer and said, “I’d like to greet your properly, but I’m a mess. I’ve got grease everywhere, and I’ve probably ruined this coat. Let me go wash up and I’ll be with you in two shakes.”

“Your coat?” Shelagh asked, a crease appearing over her nose.

“Yes, it got caught in the door of Fred’s van. There’s a tear right down the back. I’m fairly certain it’s irreparable.” He placed a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

A quick trip to wash the remnants of the evening’s detour away, and then a change of clothes was in order. As he closed the door to his bedroom, he smiled widely. His plans had certainly fallen apart: no dinner and dancing tonight, perhaps, but Shelagh was here. All the rest didn’t matter. The night was perfect.

He pulled his tie loose and went to the wardrobe for a clean shirt. There he found more evidence of Shelagh’s presence, for she had begun to collect his shirts each week from the cleaners, leaving them neatly folded for him in his room. The thought of her in this place stirred him again, and he sighed.  They might not be often at the flat together, but in her small ways, Shelagh was making it a home. Soon, it would be their home.

He tossed his soiled shirt in the washing bin and shrugged a clean one over his shoulders. As he buttoned it up, his eyes wandered, then caught a slip of paper left on his pillow. His eyebrows creased in question as he unfolded the sheet.

Dearest Patrick,

Thank you so very much for the lovely flowers this morning. Their scent has traveled with me all day.

As I’ve gone about my day today, people have commented again and again that I look very happy. I’m not surprised they can see it. I feel as if I’m fit to bursting with it.

I look forward to our date this evening (I still blush when I think of it), and know I am the luckiest woman alive.

Your

Shelagh

 

The bed creaked under his weight as he sank down upon it, struggling with himself. He thought he had gained a certain mastery of himself. Tonight should be about making Shelagh feel special. He intended to court her tonight, not ease his own desires, but this note brought his passion back up.  It was all he could do to stop himself from thrusting the door open and in several strides taking her in his arms. Determined to master himself, he stood. Shelagh deserved a gentle courtship, so he tamped down his desire and finished dressing.

A few minutes later, dressed in his best suit, hair smooth, he joined her in the sitting room. Tonight wouldn’t be the Ritz, but he would woo her as she deserved. He closed the door to the private part of the flat, expecting to find her waiting in the sitting room. Instead, Shelagh was just as he had left her, standing at the coatrack. Her hand held a sleeve as her fingers caressed the old wool.

She glanced up as she heard his step, and her cheeks flooded with color.

“My love?” He asked, his head tilted in a question.

Shelagh dropped the sleeve and turned to him. “It’s silly. Promise you won’t make fun.”

He couldn’t help as a smiled tugged at his mouth crookedly. “I’ll try.” His eyes wandered over the coat in question.

“You’ll definitely need a new coat. The tear isn’t on the seam, and the fabric’s too worn to mend.”

He nodded. “I thought so.”

Her eyes shifted away from his face. She bit her lip, and he waited for her to find the words she needed.

Finally, she looked back up at him, her clear eyes meeting his squarely. “Don’t throw it away, Patrick.”

This was not what Patrick was expecting. He shook his head slightly. “I don’t follow. I can’t donate it, no one will want it.”

She reached out again and stroked the fabric. “I want it.”

A memory crossed her face, and Patrick began to understand. He reached behind her, taking the coat from its hook. Gently, he wrapped it around her, his hands holding it closed at her neck.

“It’s not so very misty, here, is it?” He asked quietly.

She shook her head. “No,” she answered.

They stood together, a mirror of themselves that fateful day. So much had happened since then, his life turned right-side-up. All the emotion of that day came back, and yet there was more.

“I held you like this that day,” he whispered.

Beyond words, Shelagh nodded.

“I didn’t kiss you, then.” His voice grew husky. “I didn’t, but I wanted to. I was so afraid that if I moved, you would disappear.”

A quiet breath shuddered from her lungs. “I was afraid, too.”

His thumb caressed the old coat at her chin, then slowly, his hands turned and held her face.

“And now?” He whispered.

Her voice came to him quiet, but clear. “I’m not going away, Patrick.”

The words were barely across her lips before he pressed his mouth to hers, tender and gentle. For weeks-no, months- he had kept his passion for her under a tight leash. After so long, the feel of her soft mouth beneath his broke that restraint. His arms wrapped around her tightly, and he pulled her close. Shelagh relaxed against him and he felt her lips move under his. A small sound came from her throat and he felt his remaining control slip. Gently nipping at her lips, he felt her mouth soften even more and he deepened the kiss.

Her acceptance of him, the shift in her breathing, made him desperate to know more of her. As her arms slid up around his shoulders, he groaned and pulled her impossibly close. The taste of her, the scent of her, consumed his senses.

The coat fell from her shoulders, pooling at their feet and the moment was broken. Patrick slowly lifted his head from hers, ending the kiss slowly. He rested his lips against her forehead as they struggled to regain their breath.

A smile crossed his face. He knew Shelagh loved him. Every day she showed her love in the little things she did for him. The passion was there, he felt it in her body still, yet he also knew this passion would confuse her. He would slow things down, he would court her. Tonight, Shelagh would know just how special she was.

“Shelagh,” he whispered against her hair, “shall we begin our date?”

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Courting Shelagh, Chapter 3

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A/N: I’m going to have to stick by my decision in earlier fics. I simply cannot use the label “Aunty Shelagh.” It’s a deliberate break from canon, I know, and generally I stick pretty close to the dogma.

In this, however, I must rebel.

Chapter 1     Chapter 2

Whistling as he sauntered down the hospital corridor, Patrick felt quite pleased with himself. Since rising, the day had gone precisely according to plan. Mr. Stone, the neighborhood florist and chief died-in-the-wool romantic, had been happy to open his shop to Patrick for his early morning floral surprise. A quick stop at Nonnatus had yielded both the promise of a visit to the hospital by Fred, and also a few pointers regarding the fine art of twirling a lady in just the proper manner to ensure maximum closeness during a foxtrot. Now for a quick visit with Tim, then home to shave, wash and dress before meeting Shelagh with plenty of time.

Timothy sat up in his bed, already well into his copy of Captains Courageous. He smiled smugly at his father. “So, Dad, any special plans tonight?”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Yes, Tim, full marks to you. Shelagh’s been and told you, I assume?”

“Not that much, really, just that after her morning visit she wouldn’t be back with you in the evening as you were taking her out.” A little embarrassed, eye glanced sideways at his father. “She got all flustered, actually. She must have apologized ten times for not coming tonight.” A sudden cough broke from him, shaking his thin shoulders. Patrick stood, and automatically reached for the missing stethoscope ordinarily draped over his shoulders. When the coughing fit ended, he asked, concerned, “How long have you had that cough, Tim?”

Tim’s color returned. “It’s nothing, Dad.”

“No cough is nothing in a polio patient, son. How long?”

“Just an hour or two,” the boy responded begrudgingly.

Patrick beckoned to the nurse. “Where’s Dr. Carson?” He demanded. The pulmonologist was known to be frequently at hand.

“Likely on the Men’s Ward right now. He’ll be down to look at the children in an hour or so, Dr. Turner.”

Patrick decided now was the time to cash in on some of the good will Shelagh had built up on the ward. “Call him down, please. It’s urgent.”

“Dad-” Timothy began, interrupted by another fit.

As expected, Dr. Carson arrived at Tim’s bedside shortly thereafter, and after a quick listen to the young boy’s lungs, called for an x-ray. “There’s no fever, and the lungs sound clear, but you’re right, Dr. Turner. I don’t like the sound of that cough. Does it hurt, Tim?”

“No, it’s just a little cough.” Timothy refused to look at the two men at his bedside.

Patrick sensed something beyond the cough was troubling his son. “Tim, you have to tell us. You know as well as we do that even a cold could be a setback.”

Tim scowled. “It doesn’t hurt, Dad, honest. It’s just a cough. But now you’re going to stay here all night. You’ll cancel your date with Shelagh and she’ll be so dreadfully disappointed. Again.”

Dr. Carson hid a smile. “Let me see about moving that x-ray along, then. Nobody wants a disappointed Miss Mannion.”

An hour later, the men consulted over the x-ray.

“It all looks clear, Tim. And the cough has settled. We’ll keep an eye on you tonight, though, to be safe,” Dr. Cardon advised.

“You keep an eye on me every night,” Tim answered grumpily. “Privacy is not exactly growing on trees here. Even during my physical therapy this afternoon, after Shelagh left the nurses kept forgetting to close my curtain.”

Patrick’s eyebrows drew into a look of concentration. “Physical therapy? What did you do today?”

“A bunch of really annoying arm exercises. Up and down, stretching wide-I hate those. They make it hard to catch my breath.”

Understanding the problem now, Patrick nodded his head. “That’s it. Your therapy today irritated your lungs a bit. That accounts for the coughing, and it also explains the decrease in the cough’s strength and frequency in the last hour as you’ve recovered.”

Tim dropped his head back on his pillow. “I told you it was nothing, Dad. I’m fine. Now could you please leave? Shelagh’s waiting for you!”

Half an hour later, Patrick was starting to think there was something deliberately trying to ruin the evening. Even with Tim’s coughing scare, there had still been time to make it home, change and meet Shelagh in time to make their reservation. This latest hiccup, however, seemed to make it unlikely.

Standing before the MG with its bonnet up, he shone his torch on the engine. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. The carburetor. Again.

“Evening, Doc,” came a friendly voice.

Patrick turned and met the grinning face of Fred Buckle.

“I was just on me way to visit the young nipper.” The large man clucked his tongue. “The bonnet in such a position does not bode well for the evening’s festivities, if I may say so m’self.”

Patrick exhaled sharply. “No, it does not. It’s the carburetor, I’m afraid. I’ve been meaning to have it replaced, but…”

“Much prettier things to concentrate yer time on, eh?” Fred winked.

“Yes. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel my date with Shelagh after all. I’ll never get home for my tools, back to repair it and in time to take her out tonight.” He rubbed his hand over his weary face.

“I’ve me tools in the back of me van, just ’round the corner. You wait right here, and we’ll have this beauty up and running in no time, Doc!”

“Fred, you are a life saver! I’ll run in the hospital to call Shelagh and let her know I’ll be a bit late, and meet you right back here.”

As the two men parted ways, Patrick glanced one more time at his watch. Half six. They’d likely have to give up their dinner reservations, but they could find a quiet cafe somewhere still open. This date would still happen. He’d just have to be more creative.

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