I wanted to write a kiss. Then I wanted to write a kiss from Cynthia’s perspective, explore her thoughts and feelings on the surprising love between Patrick and Shelagh. Then the fic took a life of its own and it is what it is. Not so kissy kissy.
Cynthia Miller fidgeted with her borrowed uniform. Jenny had warned her about it when Cynthia received notice that she’d been seconded to the London, but she hadn’t expected to be completely enveloped by the enormous puffed sleeves.
“Keep up, Nurse Miller,” a stentorian voice called. “I hope you don’t intend to lollygag around the polio ward.”
“No, Sister,” Cynthia replied, and she trotted up to the ward’s entrance.
“The recent polio outbreak has pushed us to our limit. We’ll be needing you to be at your best at all times.”
Somehow. Sister Gibbs managed to maintain her look of authority despite the same costume of a uniform, Cynthia noted to herself. Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the doors.
“It’s still visiting hours, so you’ll have to be careful of the parents. They’ll have a lot of questions, best leave that to the doctors. Your job is to see all the children are comfortable and follow the orders on the charts. Later, after the parents leave, we’ll shift the beds and hand out the medications. Any questions?”
“No, Sister,” Cynthia replied quietly.
“Good. You’ll have the dozen beds on the left side of the room. Nurse Stone is in charge, just do as she says.” Abruptly, the little Valkyrie turned and went to her desk.
With a quick lift of her eyebrows, Cynthia steadied herself, then looked around the room. The ward was crowded with beds and several iron lungs took up a large portion of the room. Chairs clustered about beds, taken by anxious parents busy trying to hide the fear from their smiling faces.
One chair’s occupant in particular caught her eye. Shelagh Mannion sat quietly beside the bed occupied by Timothy Turner. A book lay open in her lap, forgotten, as she watched the boy sleep, her hand gently holding his.
Cynthia looked away, a bit flustered. She knew Shelagh would be here, of course, and likely Dr. Turner, too. The two would find a way to be there with Timothy as often as they could, especially in these early days. Timothy had only passed through his crisis less than a fortnight ago, there were still many dangers to face.
The difficulty lay with the fact that Cynthia still was unsure how she felt about the new couple. It was hardly any of her business, she knew, and she didn’t like to talk about it, even with, or perhaps especially with Jenny and Trixie. Any time the engaged pair came up in conversation away from the nuns, the two nurses were sure to get swoony and talk of “thwarted passion” and “forbidden fruit.” All their talk of romance made her uncomfortable.
Romance seemed too superficial a reason, the young woman considered, and there was a coarseness to the idea that something physical drove two mature people to such an end. Sister Bernadette had devoted her life to God’s work, a life Cynthia both admired and felt herself drawn towards. In her own secret heart, Cynthia felt the joy that came from helping others, and could see light peering through the doors that opened to another life. The idea that someone she esteemed so highly as Sister Bernadette could turn her back on the life at Nonnatus was bewildering, and Cynthia was certain that her motives could not have been so base.
Knowing it would be rude to do otherwise, Cynthia made her way to Timothy’s bed.
“Hello, Shelagh,” she greeted quietly.
Shelagh glanced up, startled out of her thoughts. She smiled and softly answered, “Hello, Nurse Miller. I see you’ve been commandeered.”
“Yes,” Cynthia nodded. “I’m to do the evening shift for the next week. They seem to think the worst of the outbreak is over, but staffing is a bit low at the moment.” She moved to Timothy’s side of the bed. “How is he doing?”
“He’s tired a great deal of the time, but the doctors feel certain his lungs will recover entirely. We’re still waiting for a prognosis on his legs, however.” Shelagh’s voice trembled, and she struggled to keep her composure. “Dr. Turner will be here soon. We’re to meet with Dr. Carson about the results of Timothy’s tests.”
The sound of a throat clearing travelled down the aisle, and Cynthia made to go. “Best not to get on Sister’s bad side on my first day,” she confided. “I’ll be by later to see if there’s anything you need.”
Visiting hours went by quickly, and Cynthia was kept busy with the demands of bored patients and worried parents. Occasionally, she let her eyes go to the bed in the corner. Shelagh remained still, her head bowed, her hand still clasping the pale one on the bed, and Cynthia was struck by her pose. There was a serenity and peacefulness to Shelagh’s face that Cynthia recognized from time spent in the chapel at Nonnatus, and she knew the anxious woman was praying.
Dr. Turner appeared near the end of the permitted time, showing the strain of the last few weeks on his lined face. From across the ward, Cynthia watched as he caught his fiance’s eye and saw some of the tension lift from his shoulders. Clearly, Shelagh’s presence was a salve to his troubles.
Cynthia’s sense of confusion returned. In her three years at Nonnatus, she had developed a strong respect for the hardworking doctor. During his wife’s long illness, Cynthia watched from the sidelines as he bravely faced his heartache. Yet for the most part, she had given him little thought as a person.
To be perfectly honest, she admitted, she had pigeon-holed Sister Bernadette into a role as well. She had considered the nun and midwife, but rarely had considered the woman beneath the wimple. Faced with the changes of the last few months, Cynthia had to adjust her thinking.
Speaking softly with the now wide-awake boy, the man and woman seemed to be part of a team, and Cynthia wondered if perhaps she just needed time to get used to it. In the early days of the “Great Change,” as Fred called it, they rarely saw Shelagh. Since Christmas, there had been a shift at Nonnatus, and Shelagh became a welcome face again. Perhaps in time, the strangeness would wear off.
Dr. Carson arrived to meet with the small family, and Cynthia returned to her duties at the Nurse’s desk.
“They’ll be glad of the news,” Nurse Stone hinted.
“What do you mean? “ Cynthia craned her neck to see.
“Test results are in, and the boy’s legs haven’t been permanently damaged. He’ll have calipers, of course, and a long road ahead, but Dr. Carson thinks he’ll be walking on his own by spring.” The night sister bustled away from the table. “Be sure to bring the towels for the evening baths, please, Nurse.”
“I’m so glad,” Cynthia whispered to herself, and took herself to the linen cupboards.
Some moments later, she emerged, an armful of towels nearly blocking her view ahead. Standing in the cupboard’s doorway, she shifted the pile and was startled to see Shelagh and her fiance standing quietly in the corridor outside the polio ward. They stood closely together, their voices hushed and inaudible to her.
Cynthia knew she should move, she should let them see they were not as private as they believed themselves to be, but she could not. She stood, her feet frozen to the floor, her voice gone, overwhelmed by the emotion she saw on display. There were tears of relief on Shelagh’s cheeks, and Patrick’s hands curved around their softness, his thumb gently wiping the trails away.
A slow smile crossed his face as he gazed into Shelagh’s eyes. Cynthia watched as he moved closer, his lips hovering just above Shelagh’s, waiting for her to meet him. Shelagh pushed up on her toes and accepted his caress, and in that moment Cynthia felt a great dawning of understanding.
Never before had she seen such a kiss. It spoke of devotion and support, courage and acceptance, but even in the greenish light of the corridor, Cynthia could see there was so much more. There was a closeness, a delight between them that hinted at an intimacy far deeper than she had imagined.
She could now see what she had been blind to these last few months. This love was not self-indulgent nor was it selfish. It did not shy from the demands of God’s service. Rather, the love Cynthia saw in this kiss was a celebration of God and his kingdom.
No longer confused, Cynthia turned back to the cupboard. After all, there were probably stacks of linen to organize. And as far as she could see, Shelagh and Doctor Turner had a lot to celebrate.
My Little Yellowbird 