The post-adoption trauma? That was a pretty big fight. We all know that Patrick and Shelagh made up (spoiler!), and have a lovely scene in S3E8 to help us see it. But such an estrangement would take a bit longer than that to repair.  Do you suppose Fred’s advice in chapter three was right?

I think he was about three kettles right(four if you have a good imagination).

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Screen cap is mine, credit goes to Call the Midwife productions.

Chapter One   Chapter Two     Chapter Three     Chapter Four

Shelagh’s mending basket sat beside her, overfull with the evidence of a much-hated chore. Ripped seams and torn hems were standard wardrobe calamities in the Turner household, and she quickly grew tired of the sight. And while she was never one to shirk her duties, the sewing was often put off for more pleasant diversions.

Tonight, however, Shelagh found herself with little else to occupy her time. Timothy abed, and Patrick on call again, the quiet of the flat unnerved her, and she turned to the despised task. Yet there was little solace in the activity, for it did not distract her mind. Worries rose up and took over her thoughts, making her resolutions difficult to fulfill.

The click of the front door made Shelagh’s heart begin to pound. Would she be able to stay her course? She had pushed back at Patrick’s coldness this morning, pressing for some sort of connection, but even the hoped-for letter from the adoption agency provoked no emotion from him.

Throughout the day, her brave words to her son the night before seemed so far away. Would her efforts be enough? She could not repair the damage she and Patrick had done to their marriage by herself. If Patrick would not respond to her, she feared they would never get past this. Yet knowing she needed resolution was easier than finding a way to it. She shifted in her seat and nervously pulled the needle through the torn hem she was mending.

Wearily, Patrick came into the sitting room and stood beside the mantle. Beyond a short greeting, he was silent. Shelagh glanced quickly in his direction, then turned her eyes back to her mending, missing how he rubbed his thumb against his finger, a tell-tale sign of his nerves.

“I’ve been to the Noakes’,” he began baldly. “Lady Browne has stomach cancer, I’m sure of it. I palpated at least two tumors, each the size of a lemon.”

Shelagh inhaled sharply. “Oh, the poor woman. She must be in terrible pain.”

“I’m certain she is. Judging from the signs, the pain must have become intense weeks ago. I’m surprised she’s been able to hide it for this long.” His hand absently tapped the mantle.

“Lady Brown is of a particularly…strong-willed character. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know.” she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. She wasn’t sure she was speaking of Chummy’s mother any longer. “The tea’s fresh. It’ll still be hot.”

She watched his straight back disappear beyond the kitchen door. Should she say something, she wondered. This was the first time he had initiated conversation in days, and she found herself uncertain.

As hurt as she had been, she knew that he had reason to be upset as well. Her harsh advance on him after the interview had stunned them both, her angry words an attack. Would Patrick want to just put this episode behind them, without real resolution?

Perhaps it would be simpler if she gave in. For ten years she had kept her vow of obedience, and for the better part of that time, she had gladly followed. Duty and devotion could be enough. Perhaps this was how she was best suited to live.

Her needle stumbled through the hem. She would most likely have to unpick it in the morning. Hems were much trickier than they seemed. It was easy to do one stitch too many or few and leave behind an uneven line. The error might be difficult to see, but if not corrected, would affect the entire hem. She preferred reattaching buttons. Once the damaged stitches were cleaned away,  strong neat stitches could make a stronger connection than even the original.

She closed her eyes, remembering. Once, a simple button, sewn with confident stitches, had made her see what she had been denying for so long. Obedience to a calling she no longer felt had led to heartache. Finding the courage to find the right path, she had found joy. Duty and devotion had not solved her problems then, they would not do so now.

The tension in the room shifted as Patrick turned back with his tea. He spoke, but his words did little to calm the coil of nerves inside her. The nightdress, source of such hope for her chance at bearing a child, was not something she could discuss casually, and her stomach churned in confusion when he returned to that subject. Did he really not know her?

Suddenly, there was a shift in his manner as if he was consumed by another force, and he came to her, speaking words of apology. Confused, she struggled to look at him, but his voice,  husky and ardent, drew her eyes to his. The breath escaped her lungs as she saw the emotions flood his beloved face and she felt the walls separating them crumble.

He kissed her hand, in that way he had, his dark hazel-green eyes glittering with relief and elation. Her heart full, Shelagh slipped her hand from his and caressed his cheek. She was overwhelmed by the joy she felt, and needing to be closer, she stood before him and pulled him to stand in her arms. They lingered for long, still moments, sure in this homecoming.

Patrick moved first, rubbing his cheek against her glossy hair, his lips travelling the smooth curve of her downy cheek to find her lips turned to him. Slowly his lips met hers, placing light kisses on her pliant mouth. He kissed her on her soft upper lip, gentle and tender, drawing out her shaky sigh. His hands came up the length of her neck as his mouth began to caress her full lower lip, tugging it delicately between his own, his tongue barely brushing against its smooth interior. Her sigh became that sound he loved most of all. Groaning, his hands moved to cradle her head as his mouth opened hungrily over hers, delighting when she parted her lips in response. Her arms wrapped tighter around his waist, her body pressed close.

“Speak to me, sweetheart,” he whispered, breaking the kiss to taste the delicate skin along her jawline. “Tell me what you need.”

Shelagh’s knees buckled from the want of him, and she grasped his shoulders, his arms holding her tight against him. For too long there had been nothing more than duty kisses exchanged between them. The sad, lonely time was finally over and Shelagh was overcome by passion for this man.

“l need you, Patrick.” Her fingers threaded through his hair, bringing his mouth back to hers and a laugh burst from his chest. In moments, they were in their bed, lying face to face, skin to skin.

Their bodies fit together in a well-remembered embrace. Shelagh’s hands grazed across his shoulders and rested above his heart.  “I love you so very much, Patrick. Please don’t let us ever fight again.” Her eyes glistened, and a tear spilled down her cheek to settle in the curve of her ear. Patrick hushed her, making impossible promises. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Never again, I swear.” He brushed a finger against the damp tear trail. “We’ll talk. I won’t be so afraid to speak.”

For now, impossible promises  were enough. Their lips met in a sweet kiss, gentle and tender, their hearts healing. Slowly, the energy between them changed and Shelagh pressed herself against him, eager and willing to return to their cherished intimacy.

Moments, hours, possibly years later, he moved to separate their sated bodies, but was halted by her cry of protest. “No.” Shelagh tightened her legs around his hips, holding him to her. “Don’t leave me.”

His hands stroked her hair back from her face. “Sweetheart, my arms are completely knackered. I’ll crush you.” He kissed her lightly, then more slowly as he rolled to his back, pulling her with him.

They lay together, limbs entwined, as their breathing returned to normal. Shelagh tucked her head under his chin, and traced her fingers across the smooth skin of his chest. She smiled shyly. The euphoria of being so close, of sharing herself so completely with him was more than she ever dreamed. God had blessed her with this marriage, and she sent up a grateful prayer.

Patrick’s arm tightened about her, and she sighed. “What is it?” She could hear the contentment in his voice.

“I missed you,” Shelagh whispered against his skin. “I had no idea how much I need this.”

“This?” He would want to hear her say it.

“You.” Her voice lowered in her shyness. “I need to feel you above me, inside of me.” Shelagh skimmed the tips of her fingers along his side, just missing the ticklish place. “I was so lonely without you, Patrick. But it has to be more than this, we have to tell each other-”

“I know.” His lungs let out a deep breath. “I was scared, Shelagh. I thought if I told you, I might lose you.”

“Patrick, I would never leave-”

“I know. You’d never leave me.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “But I was afraid it would change things, that you’d see me differently if you knew. I couldn’t bear it if we lost this, Shelagh–this...wonder. I suppose I closed off to protect myself.” He tilted her chin up to see her face. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you.”

“Yes, you should have,” she told him lightly, lifting her body up on her forearms. Looking him squarely she whispered, “Nothing will make me stop loving you, dearest. Nothing.”

His fingertips stroked her temple, then slid into her hair. “It was never your fault, Shelagh. I threw up a wall to protect myself, but I think I was blocking myself in, not shielding myself. I was cold and distant, and you don’t deserve that. And neither does Timothy.”

“Patrick, you were hurting, and I was happy to pretend there was nothing wrong. I wanted a baby so much I forgot that I already have a family. I love you and Timothy so, but I must have done something to make you think you weren’t enough. God has given me so much. I promise from now on I won’t forget that.”

“And I promise to show you that I trust you. I know you think I can be a bit…patriarchal at times, but I do think of you as my partner, my love. I’d grown so used to being the sole decision maker. I need to adjust a bit.” He smiled crookedly and kissed the top of her head. “I think I might like letting you take the reins. You always seem to know what to do.”

A chuckle rumbled in Shelagh’s chest. She kissed his shoulder and replied, “I’d prefer it if we shared the reins, Patrick.”

“I’d like that, too.” The quiet of the flat cocooned them now. Shelagh breathed in deeply, the scent of home, and their bed, and Patrick filling her senses. His hand caressed the softness of her arm, then entwined itself with her small fingers. “So strong,” he whispered.

“Shelagh, it wasn’t you. I’ve never been able to talk of it. Even then, my family only knew I was convalescing, they knew nothing of the real problem. And then, Marianne and I–we never spoke of the war. The memories were too painful for both of us, I suppose. It was easier to let things slip into the shadows.”

A sharp pain crossed her face, and Shelagh lowered her cheek to his chest. Just as she could not replace Marianne in Timothy’s heart, Shelagh knew she could not expect Patrick to forget her either. Perhaps it had been this fear of being second best that had placed the first brick in the wall that had built up between them. She would have to trust that Patrick’s heart was big enough for the both of them.

“Light always seems to catch the shadows, though, doesn’t it, dearest? I tried that myself, I tried to pretend I wasn’t feeling my love for you grow, that I wasn’t leaving my path. It made everything such a struggle. I finally learned that I had to surrender to it. I think I’m still learning how.”

They lay together quietly, letting the power of their reunion heal the wounds of the last weeks. In the dim light their hands held and caressed, finding points of connection at every touch. Shelagh listened to the stillness, the steady beat of his heart under her ear, and knew they had found the right road, again.

Her mistake was in thinking that once having accepted love, her course was set. But love and marriage were not the same thing. Love was a gift from God, a blessing one had to be brave enough to accept. Marriage was understanding and compromise and trust. She was discovering that marriage was hard. It needed care and attention to thrive.

Love was a gift from God, one which required a brave heart to accept it fully. Finding that courage was only the beginning of the road. Marriage was about the joy and pain of working in union to stay on the path together.

She felt the breath fill his lungs as Patrick began, “I want to speak of it now, Shelagh.”

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So, finally, this is done. I started this fic a very long time ago, and even after picking it back up, I hit my own wall of discouragement. Special thanks to Rockbird86 for keeping me on track.

I found myself dipping into some of my old fics as I wrote this. I like to be consistent with my characterizations of  Shelagh and Patrick, and a few fics in particular helped me work through their emotional journey, particularly in respect to Patrick’s first marriage.

Also, big thanks for all the kind words that have come my way. I really do appreciate your support. Comments light up my day!