After yesterday’s trial run, Rockbird86 gave me permission to continue as her locum until she returns from the wilds of a family holiday.

So here’s a response to today’s “Hiatus Production Pic Challenge.” May 22. 2015

A little backstory: Maundy Thursday, or Holy Thursday, celebrates the last Supper of Christ. In the UK, the Queen celebrates by selecting a group of senior citizens to reward them for their Christian service to the community. (Thank you Google!) There’s more to it than that, but that’s the bones of it.

“Do you think she understands what’s to happen tomorrow?” Patrick Turner asked as he leant against the kitchen door jam. The table was strewn with newspaper, an assortment of bowls filled with bright dye and several dozen colored eggs.

Shelagh removed a bright purple egg from its bath and placed it on a makeshift egg-drying rack. “It’s hard to tell with Sister Monica Joan. You know how she is, Patrick. It’s quite possible she’s being willful again. It’s not exactly the sort of thing she approves of, you know.”

“I don’t see why,” Timothy replied. “Sister Monica Joan may be irascible, but everyone knows how she’s contributed to Poplar.”

Patrick laughed. “Irascible? Someone’s been at the vocabulary books!”

Tim deliberately ignored his father. “Why wouldn’t she be thrilled? The Queen only gets to honor nine men and nine women this year for Maundy Thursday, I know I’d be!”

Shelagh stood and began to clear the bowls of vinegar and dye from the table. “Part of becoming part of an Order is to surrender one’s self-pride; it’s part of the vow of obedience. Sister Monica Joan may feel that to accept the award she is setting herself apart, or indeed, above the rest of the Sisters. Of course, she could be contrary because she doesn’t like Prince Philip.” She glanced up at her husband. “Don’t ask.”

Patrick chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of it. The vagaries,” he glanced smugly at his son, “of the venerated Sister are well beyond my ken!”

Shelagh hid a smile. “Really, Patrick. Sister Julienne has had such a time convincing her to accept. Finances at Nonnatus could always use a bit of help, and the added attention to the work we do in Poplar will hopefully encourage donations.”

“Nonnatus steps into the public relations game, then?” Patrick was quickly serious.

“Yes, in a way, I suppose. People have come to expect more and more from the practice, we need to adapt to the changing times.”

Timothy picked up a pale yellow egg and looked to his mother. “May I? Angela needs to practice if she’s to do it properly on Sunday at Nonnatus. Someone has to beat Sister Julienne.”

Shelagh considered for a moment. “Alright, I suppose. She’ll need a bath anyway after this mess is cleared. I’m not sure what made me think dyeing eggs with a toddler was a good idea. At least I had the foresight to remove her dress first!”

Timothy held out the yellow egg to his sister and picked up a blue one for himself. “See, Angela, hold your egg like this, no, you mustn’t put it in your mouth like that, right, like this, and we’ll tap the ends together.” Angela pulled the egg from her mouth and waved it in the air.

“Hold it still, Angel girl. Hold the egg still and Timothy will show you how to crack it,” Shelagh advised.

Unconvinced, Angela looked to her brother, then held up her egg. Gently, Tim rapped his against hers, once, then twice. Neither egg would crack.

Angela squealed, and with the precision of an expert egg tapper, struck her egg against her brother’s.

“She did it!” Timothy laughed. “Mine’s cracked!”

“She’s a prodigy,” joined Patrick.

But Shelagh knew better. “Just wait,” she warned them.

“Why?” they asked.

“Let’s just say I’ve learned the hard way to never give Angela an egg that isn’t extremely hard-boiled.”

There was another cracking sound, and three pairs of eyes turned to the grinning  tot. Clutched in her chubby hand were the remnants of her lovely yellow Easter egg, fragments of shell and egg strewn in her hair.

“So much for anyone beating Sister Julienne this year,” muttered Timothy.