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“A missionary? Shelagh, I’m as far as you can get from a missionary.” Patrick sat at his desk, a pile of files in front of him. Surgery was about to open, and after a morning of calls to head cold after head cold, he was not prepared to process Shelagh’s news. In her excitement since the morning’s interview, she had forgotten to plan a strategy. She would have to let him work through this on his own.

With a little help, of course.

“Actually, Patrick, that’s not quite true. Even if you leave God out of it, you’re as much a missionary as any religious evangelist. You do God’s work every day, dearest.”

Patrick leaned on the desk, his fingers twitching, pressed to his lips. Shelagh smiled. In the months since Patrick had “given up” cigarettes (not always successfully, she knew), his normal tics had shifted to mimic the old habit. She could see that he craved one now, and felt for him.

“It’s too much, Shelagh. We’re strapped here as it is. It’s simply not possible.”

Shelagh walked around the desk and took his face in her hands. “Anything’s possible, Patrick. If I know anything, I know that.”

They smiled, their own past a testament to that. Shelagh pressed a light kiss to his mouth. “Just think about it, dearest.”

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Surgery finished, Patrick held out his wife’s coat. “What about Nonnatus? They’re understaffed, too. They couldn’t possibly afford to lose nurses for so long.”

“Mr. Taylor assured me that the Society has enough nurses and doctors here in England that could come and carry the load.” She turned to face him. “And it’s only for six weeks, Patrick. It’s not forever.”

He rolled his eyes. “I had a hard enough time leaving Poplar for a week camping, Shelagh. Imagine six weeks!”

She smiled and led the way out the Maternity Home.

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“We could all go? There’d be a place for the children?” Patrick rolled up the remaining Christmas wrap. Perhaps his distracted mind explained the two gifts he had wrapped this evening to Shelagh’s dozen.

Shelagh finished tying a bow to the festively wrapped gift before her. “Yes. Mr. Taylor said he could accommodate the children, if we like. Many of their missionaries have families that join them.”

“I couldn’t leave you and the children, Shelagh. Not that I’m considering it, mind you.”

Shelagh chuckled and placed the gift on top of the pile. “There, that’s done. I’m glad I learned to get ahead of schedule after things were so busy last Christmas. Shopping’s completed and everything’s wrapped. All that’s left to do is enjoy the peace of the last week of Advent.”

She stood and stretched her back. “I’m for bed, Patrick. Could you put the gifts in the cupboard for me? Behind the old coats like before.” She kissed the top of his head. “Come to bed soon, dearest.”

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“Timothy would never want to go.” Patrick closed the bedroom door behind him.

“It’s not for very long, Patrick. I’m sure Timothy would be able to manage to keep up with his studies, and I’ve never known a boy more interested in the outside world.”

“But travelling with Angela would be impossible. She’s never even been on a train.”

“You keep using that word, Patrick. It’s not impossible. It’s hugely challenging, and we’ll need to convince an awful lot of people to support the idea. But this mission is going to happen. The only remaining question is who will go?”

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“Let’s do it,” he whispered in her ear. “Let’s go to Africa.”

Shelagh rolled over to face him. In the morning light, he always looked boyish, the glint of eagerness for the day and its challenges keen in his eyes. She had missed that of late.

His hands came to rest at her hips and he kissed her. “If you’re completely certain,” he said.

She smiled. “I couldn’t be more certain.”

 

Next Chapter

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Author’s Note: Yes, I agree. They’re not likely to bring Timothy and Angela along, both for story reasons and practical filming purposes. And there’s no evidence that either child actor is filming.

But this is alternate universe stuff. I’m just here for the ride.