A/N: I haven’t played chess in years, and even then was never very good at it. So, if you know chess, and my strategies are all wrong, let’s just chuck it up to alternate universe stuff.
A children’s ward in a large hospital can be an unusual place. In one corner, a young girl lay quietly, asleep, but not asleep, her nurse anxiously watching. In another, a small play area was set up, a trio of boys dressed in a uniform of illness collectively try to solve a puzzle while another girl wheeled a tricycle in widening circles.
Timothy Turner, a resident of this ward for well over a month, watched as the nurses tried to corral their patients for the evening medication round. Soon, it would be bath time for those mobile enough for such ablutions, and then lights out for the entire floor.
Tim knew he was luckier than most of the other patients on the ward. Visiting hours were long over, but his father and Shelagh were permitted to stay beyond the assigned hours. Shelagh said it was because of his father’s position in the community. She was always saying things like that, Tim thought. It was lovely to see how proud she was of Dad, but Tim knew the extra privileges had more to do with Shelagh’s own helpful nature. Right now, in fact, she was assisting in Teddy Hardstrom’s final physical therapy for the day.
“I wish the nurses would let me have my own lamp,” he groused. A copy of Captains Courageous idly rested on his bedside table, its binding likely to remain unbroken until the morning.
“Sorry, Tim,” his father commiserated. “If Shelagh couldn’t convince them, no one can.” He winked at his son and moved his knight. “Knight fork, Tim. I’m afraid that’s check.”
Tim groaned and rolled his head back. “I liked it better when you let me win.”
Chuckling, Patrick answered, “I liked it better when it was easy to beat you. You’re getting quite good, Tim. I can tell you’ve been practicing, who’s your partner?” He idly placed the black bishop and rook with their fallen brethren.
“Why, Shelagh of course. Who else?” Timothy’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead.
“Shelagh?” Patrick’s face was a near mirror image of his son’s surprise.
“Of course. Didn’t you know? Shelagh’s brilliant at chess. Her father taught her.” The young boy considered his next move. Save the Queen, but the knight, oh, he hated to lose his final knight. The Queen was strong. He was pretty sure she could defend herself against his dad’s last remaining Bishop. That would leave his King unprotected, though, and Tim was pretty sure the King depended a bit too strongly on the Queen. “She even beat him the last time they played.” There, he’d give up his Knight to save the Queen.
“Shelagh plays chess? I had no idea,” Patrick admitted, looking up from the board.
“Shelagh does lots of things you wouldn’t guess. Did you know she can dance a reel?”
Patrick laughed at the image. “No, I can’t say I did know that. What other dark secrets do you know?”
Patrick was grateful that Shelagh devoted her time to Timothy, and was convinced his son’s rapid recovery was in large part due to her attention. She spent every afternoon on the ward, and had even convinced the Sister that her help was necessary on the ward off of visiting hours.
His own busy schedule kept him away from the ward more often than he liked, but he was usually able to stop in every day to spend some time with his son and fiance. He had to admit, he was a bit lonely. Prior to Christmas, home had become such a welcoming place, Shelagh finishing the dinner as Tim did schoolwork, the two happy to see him complete the family when he returned. And later, all-too-brief time alone with his fiance, time when they were learning the details that would soon fill their life together.
“Nothing too dastardly, unfortunately.” Tim sighed as he studied his next move.
“You sound disappointed. Were you expecting tales of Scottish Highwaymen?” Patrick flushed a bit, remembering a story of a surprisingly bold young Shelagh, and the dreams that story began.
Timothy shrugged. “I reckon not. You know, I’ll bet I know more about Shelagh than you do, Dad. I spend more time with her,” he added a little bit smugly.
Patrick sat back in his chair, his eyes alert. His first instinct was to deny such a thing, but the boy was right.
Concentrating on the board before him, Timothy continued. “Since the nurses won’t let me read at night, I have to listen to them chat before I fall asleep. There’s this one nurse, she’s new, she talks about her boyfriend all the time. How he brings her flowers, takes her on these fancy dates,” he glanced up, “you know, mushy stuff like that. All the other nurses love it. They practically drool over her stories. It’s really quite revolting.”
Patrick laughed. “Women!” he huffed semi-mockingly.
“Absolutely,” agreed his son. “But I was thinking Dad, you might want to try that with Shelagh. I think she’d like it.”
Startled, Patrick looked at his son’s innocent face. What exactly was Tim trying to say? “I see Shelagh nearly every day, son.” His fingers touched his knight, then moved away.
“Here at the hospital, or when you drive her home, maybe.” Timothy’s eyes watched nervously as his father considered his next move. “But maybe you should take her out alone sometimes. You can miss a night here, I won’t mind.”
Patrick’s hand lay in his lap, his eyes on his son as he considered his words. Tim was right, he had never really courted Shelagh. Suddenly, they just were. Months of desperate loneliness and silence miraculously resolved in a moment on a misty road. Afterwards, the weeks leading up to the original wedding date were filled with becoming acquainted with each other, finding ways to fit together as a couple and a family. Nearly all their time had been spent at the flat, quiet and isolated from the world.
Patrick was certain Shelagh had wanted it that way. Her new life needed some getting used to, and prying eyes had made her wary. To find her new self, Shelagh left her old life behind only to realize that she could find a way to unite her old life with her new one.
Since the polio, they spent nearly all their time with Timothy in hospital. Shelagh had found her feet, but had not had the chance to try them out. Tim was right. Shelagh deserved a proper courtship. Patrick grinned, his face relaxing. They deserved a proper courtship.
Absently, he moved his knight across the board and was startled by his son’s shout.
“Checkmate!” Tim cried. “I won!” Ignoring the hushes from the nurse at the nearby desk, Tim crowed, “I beat you, Dad. Fair and square. You moved your Bishop to protect your King, but you left my Queen, and she took down your King! I finally beat you!”
Leaning back in his chair, Patrick mused, “So you did, son. So you did.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” Timothy consoled. “I was trying to distract you. I knew you’d break concentration if I talked about Shelagh. You always do.”
Patrick shook his head and rubbed his hand across his tired face. “All’s fair, Tim.” He leant in and whispered conspiratorially, “You’ll have to find someone else to beat tomorrow, Tim, my boy. Shelagh and I are going out.”
Beaming, Timothy advised, “Not fish and chips, though, Dad. From what the nurses say, chip shops are definitely not romantic.”
“Don’t you worry, Tim. The old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve. Shelagh will-”
Timothy’s hand shot up in the air, his face desperate. “Dad, no. Please. It’s bad enough I have to hear about the mushy stuff from the nurses. No boy should have to put up with it from his own parents.”
Patrick laughed and tousled his son’s hair. “Sorry, Tim. I’m afraid that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
“Ugh,” Timothy groaned as he threw himself against his pillow, outmaneuvered. “Strategy in chess is much easier than love.”
My Little Yellowbird 