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To eyes used to the sights and sounds of Britain, there was nothing in Dr. Myra Fitzsimmons’ appearance to make her stand out from a crowd. Of medium height and build, she wore a simple green shirtwaister and sturdy shoes, her chin-length hair severely brushed back from her face. She could have been any woman shopping in the high street in Poplar.

Despite this, she was a handsome woman, her features sharp and strong. There was a squareness to her jaw that was offset by a pointed chin and thin nose, and bright blue eyes peered from beneath her dark brows. Deep lines carved her cheeks and forehead, arcing around her eyes and hinting at a passionate nature kept firmly in check.  The effect gave one the sense that she knew more than she let on.  

The small crowd parted to make a path and Dr. Fitzsimmons strode across the yard to greet the newcomers. She smiled, and her face warmed immediately. “I can’t thank you enough, Patrick.” She reached out her hands, grasping his while she examined his face. “My, it’s been a long time. You’re not the boy you were back in medical school.”

Patrick’s eyes widened. “I should hope not! It’s good to see you, Myra. The years have been kind to you.”

She grimaced sardonically and turned to the rest of the group. The moment of lightness disappeared from her face as she became formal once again. When she spoke, her voice was low and throaty. It pulled the listener in and commanded attention in its quietness. “I must thank you all as well. You’ve undergone a difficult journey and set aside your own lives to help us. I hope we can show you how very grateful we are.”

“Your gratitude is unnecessary, Dr. Fitzsimmons,” Sister Julienne answered. “We, all of us, are glad of the opportunity to offer assistance. Let us begin as friends and work together to strengthen your Mission.”

Patrick shifted towards the group, “Dr. Fitzsimmons, I’d like to present Sister Julienne, who runs Nonnatus House and ministers to our community in ways I never can.” He moved through the group, making introductions until he came back to his family. “And this is Timothy, our son, who will be quite happy to learn all he can from you. Feel free to make him toe the line as you did me.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Dr. Fitzsimmons,” Timothy said.

“And you, Timothy. You look quite rather like your father, are you as bright as he is as well?”

“I hope to be, ma’am,” Timothy answered. He reached out his hand and was met with a firm handshake.

Patrick lifted his daughter up in his arms and turned to reveal the little face hiding in his shoulder. “This is Angela, whom I’m afraid keeps me very tightly wrapped around her finger. She’s a bit shy at first, but I warn you, if you’re not careful, she’ll be running your entire Mission.”

Dr. Fitzsimmons smiled politely at the child’s head. “I’m sure,” she answered. “ We have a girl ready to care for the child as soon as you like.”

“Yes, we’ll need that, thank you. And finally, I’d like to present my wife, Shelagh.”

The voice that welcomed Shelagh was cool. “Of course. I’m very grateful you could join your husband, Mrs. Turner. I hope that you will enjoy your stay here.”

Two pale pink spots appeared in Shelagh’s cheeks, and when she replied, her voice was strangely formal. “Thank you, Doctor. We’re most eager to offer assistance.”

Before Shelagh could say more, Dr. Fitzsimmons turned to the group. “That’s enough for introductions. I’m certain I shall forget most of your names–you’ll have to forgive me–but we are truly grateful you’ve come. I’ll let you get settled, and tonight at dinner we can all become better acquainted. Our staff here will join us, and you’ll be prepared to begin work tomorrow, as well.

She gestured to the young woman lingering near the bus. “Kholeka will lead you to the dormitory, and you can refresh yourselves after your trip. Jacob, please–”

Jacob appeared from nowhere at her side. “Yes, Doctor. The luggage is on its way to the rooms. But the boxes, I do not know where they should go.”

Shelagh tugged lightly on Patrick’s sleeve. “I’ll manage the children and the rooms, Patrick. You go with Dr. Fitzsimmons and see to the medical equipment. It will give you a chance to catch up.”

A small frown appeared between his brows. “Are you certain, Shelagh? There’ll be plenty of time later, perhaps you and I could take care of the supplies toget–”

“No, Patrick,” Shelagh insisted. “I’ll be fine on my own. I have Timothy, don’t forget.”

He nodded, the frown not completely leaving his face. “I’ll be back to clean up before dinner.” He touched her hand. “Thank you, Shelagh.”

She reached up and took the clinging child, then followed the rest to the long low building. The crowd had dispersed, and the two old friends stood together watching as she disappeared into their temporary home.

“She’s a pretty little thing, your wife.” Myra Fitzsimmons’ voice broke the quiet.

“Shelagh? I wouldn’t let her hear you say that if I were you.” He glanced over, a smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “I’ve seen her move a pack of dockworkers with a single command, and she’s the most skilled midwife I’ve ever worked with.”

Dr. Fitzsimmons nodded, her face showing a certain skepticism. “She’s much younger than I expected. Your son is–what–fifteen? She must have been very young when you married her.” An implication hung in the air between them.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and regarded her calmly. “Shelagh’s not my first wife, Myra. Timothy’s mother died five years ago–cancer. We were adrift, Tim and I, and then … then Shelagh and I found each other. It was her idea that we come here. She’s the force behind all this, Myra. She convinced me, the Mission Society–it was really quite tremendous. Every person on our team is here because of her efforts.”

“I am sorry, Patrick. I should never have said–I’m too used to speaking my mind before I’ve let it do the thinking. I suppose I’ve grown too used to being lord of my own little fiefdom.” Turning, she began to walk towards the main building.

“You’ll see. Humility was never a cloak I wore well. If we weren’t in such straits, you’d still be back in London.”

 

An hour later, Patrick entered the dormitory. He peered down the long corridor, dim even in its whiteness. The only light came from the door behind him and a single window at the end. The limed walls were covered in planks of wood, the floor finished with the same whitewash, yet the dimness made the space feel cooler. A half dozen transomed doors marched down each side.

He considered calling out, but the quiet hinted that his new housemates were resting and would not welcome his interruption. Nor did he wish to knock on each door as he made his way down the hall. He smiled crookedly as his eyes caught a bright blue scarf tied to a doorknob near the entrance. Leave it to Shelagh to choose the room that gave him best access out for emergencies.

He quietly turned the knob, half hoping to find his wife napping. He loved watching her sleep, almost as much as he loved waking her. The thought of a quiet hour resting against her appealed. Instead of lying in repose, a calm beacon to his anxious soul, Shelagh stood near the single wardrobe, unpacking.

“Always busy,” he teased. He slid his jacket from his shoulders and hung it on a hook behind the door.

Shelagh grinned. “Always much to do.”

“The children?”

“They’re in the room next door. We’ve set up a little camp cot for Angela, but I’m afraid she’ll have to move in with us, Patrick. There’s a bit too much freedom for her over there.”

“Shelagh, we’ve only just gotten our room to ourselves.”

“I know, dearest, but Kholeka tells me they have no cots her size. Apparently children here sleep on the floor.”

His eyebrow flew up.

“No, Patrick,” Shelagh scolded. “We are not making our child sleep on the wooden floor where who knows what manner of creepy crawlies wander about. Besides, what if she got the door open and wandered off somewhere?” She handed him his medical bag. “Here, put this on the desk.”

Outmaneuvered, he gave in and looked about the room. In addition to the broad wardrobe, there were few pieces of furniture in the room. A narrow chair partnered a wooden camp desk, and in the corner, a washstand served as a reminder that the plumbing facilities they could expect would be less than optimal. A large white iron bed stood out from the opposite wall, the space beneath it open and airy. A large mosquito net hung from above, offering the only softness in the room.

“Kholeka told me we would have to share this bed. They don’t have enough single beds for us all, apparently.” Shelagh finished hanging her uniform and gave it a tweak.  She closed the wardrobe and turned back to her husband.

“I think we’ll manage,” Patrick answered. He crossed the room and gathered his wife into his arms. He buried his face in her neck, and the two stood still for a long moment.

Shelagh pressed a kiss to his temple. “How is it?” she asked. “Is it what you expected?”

He pulled away and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not sure what I expected. The facilities are primitive, certainly. There’s electricity in the main building, but the generator is unreliable, and there’s no hot water. They have a room solely for boiling gallons of it throughout the day. The operating room would make Lister cringe. It’s surprisingly clean, though, and the ward is as efficient as any at the London.”

“Comes from Dr. Fitzsimmons’ years as a nurse, I daresay,” Shelagh teased.

A laugh escaped him. “Undoubtedly.” he grew serious again. “Myra’s the only doctor, though she has a staff of locals that handle much of the care. I’m not certain, but I think one or two of them are working as de facto doctors, simple procedures and the like. The Mission covers ten square miles, most of it without proper roads, so they’ve learned to manage as best they can.”

He exhaled sharply. “We may have bitten off more than we can chew, my love. I hope to God we don’t choke.”

 

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This pic helped to inspire the character of Dr. Myra Fitzsimmons for me.