The crisp efficiency of the weekly Mother and Baby Clinic began to lag as the Parish Hall began to empty. Sister Bernadette glanced about the room and wondered how they would ever manage to have the place set to rights in time for Madame Rocco’s dance class. She noted with approval that Nurse Miller seemed to have the screens on hand, and Nurses Franklin and Lee were nearly finished storing the baby scales. Stacks of chairs stood like soldiers awaiting an order, quickly arranged before Sister Evangelina left with Sister Julienne for chapel. Even Sister Monica Joan played her part, amusing–and being amused by– the little ones.
Her eyes drifted to the kitchen, where a lone figure leaned against the hatch, weary head resting upon his hand. Her breath hitched and she turned away. It was no business of hers if Doctor Turner looked so dreadfully tired. Briskly, she walked to the play area on the far side of the hall.
“I’m sorry, Sister, do you mind if I sit here for just a moment longer? My back is that tired.” Margie Peterson asked from a chair beside the dollhouse. Her son, barely more than a baby himself, chattered at her feet. “Of course, Mrs. Peterson, we’ll put your chair away last.” She smiled at the tow-headed boy. “Little Gregory has certainly grown these last few months. Has he started walking yet?”
“Hasn’t he just! Not a step for fourteen months, and last week he up and runs across the flat. I can’t keep up with him. I’m not sure what I’ll do once the baby comes.”
“You’ll manage, I’m sure, but if you have any trouble, please be sure to come to us at Nonnatus. You can count on us to help.” With her hip, she shifted the toy chest away from the small boys reach and began to pile toys away.
Single-minded as only a child can be, the tot struggled to his feet and waddled over to investigate. He reached in and pulled out a block then handed it to the nun with a grunt.
“Why thank you, Gregory.” Her soft burr grew a bit more pronounced in its tenderness. “You’re a good wee boy. Can you help me put the toys back into the box?”
With a gurgling laugh, the boy shook his head. “Da!” he waved the doll in her face. “Da!”
“Is that your dolly, then? He’s very nice. May I see him?”
He looked up at her, a coy expression coming over his face. He held the doll out just a bit, then tapped her palm. His eyes widened with mischief, and he swerved out of reach, then made a break for it. His mother pushed against the toy chest, valiantly trying to go after him. “Listen to ‘im, his feet are like thunder when he takes off like that!”
“You stay there, Margie, I’ll get the little scamp!” Light on her feet, Sister Bernadette was up and after the child.
Her eyes fixated on the bright head before her, running around in wide circles about the Hall. She saw him zip by the kitchen, but would not let her eyes glance to see if the doctor was still there. She darted about after him, conscious of a trill of laughter from her elderly sister. She knew she must look ridiculous, running after the child in her habit. Frustrated, Sister Bernadette pulled up short. She would keep her dignity, even if she could not catch her breath.
Blood pounded in her ears, muffling the sounds in the room for a moment. She watched the boy complete another circle about the room and felt her embarrassment grow.
“Hello, Gregory,” Doctor Turner’s husky voice called across the room. He kept his eyes on the boy. “What have you got there?”
With a crow of laughter, the boy held out his doll and thumped towards the doctor. He stopped short at the kitchen hatch and gazed up at the tall man, then pushed his doll forward.
Sister Bernadette took the moment to move quickly and scooped the boy up into her arms. Her firm voice belied the breathlessness she felt. “Thank you, Doctor. Now, Gregory, it’s time you went back to your mother.”
Gregory cried out, “No!’ and shook his head vehemently. “Da!” He pointed to the doctor. “Da!”
Sister Bernadette pressed her lips together. All she wanted at that moment was to be somewhere–preferably a very far somewhere–away from this scene, away from him, but to resist the child would only make the scene more humiliating. She drew in a deep breath and waited for the boy to calm himself before returning to his mother.
Young Gregory Peterson had little empathy for her predicament. Sure of his victory, he again pushed the doll towards Doctor Turner and asserted, “Da!”
“I think he’s talking about his doll,” Sister Bernadette told him, her voice clipped.
“Is that right?” the Doctor asked, his eyes fixed on the boy. “Well, I’ve learned never to negotiate with a toddler. Come show me your doll, Gregory, I’d like to see him.”
With little choice but to move closer, Sister Bernadette shifted the toddler on her hip and approached the hatch. Gregory stretched out an arm and passed the doll over the opening. Doctor Turner accepted the offering, careful not to touch the sticky parts.
She tried hard not to notice the softening lines in his face as he examined the toy. “He’s quite nice, old chap. I reckon he’s one of your favourites. My Timothy had a doll much like this one when he was your age.” He glanced up, a crooked smile lighting up his face.
Thoughts of Timothy, and three-legged races, and kitchen hatches, flooded her mind and she sent a small prayer up for strength. It was so confusing to be near him and hear his voice rasp quietly as if there was no one else in the Hall. She grew agitated and tried to make her escape.
Again, Gregory would have none of it. He twisted back to the doctor, his empty hand extended expectantly. He shook his head vehemently as the doctor made to return the toy. “No!”
“He wants your cigarette case, I’m afraid. For a trade. All the children play that way, he must have picked it up from them.”
Turner picked up the gold case. “This?” His brows climbed up in surprise. “I’m afraid you’re a bit too young for these nasty things, Gregory. Here,” he opened the case and removed the sole remaining cigarette, tucking it into his shirt pocket. A red brace peeked out for just a moment, and Sister Bernadette was grateful that the distraction caused by the child hid her blush.
“I only had one left, that’s why I was standing here moping,” he confided, his voice a bit over-cheery. “The shops’ll be closed, and I didn’t think to get more. I seem to let things slip through the cracks these days, I’m afraid.” He nodded quickly. “Let him have the case for a few moments. It’ll give you some peace, and I’ll get it back just as his mother’s ready to leave.” His hazel-green eyes tried to meet her blue ones.
“Thank you, Doctor. Your help is much appreciated, as always.” Resisting the urge to meet his look, she walked the little boy back to his mother. Was he watching her go? No, she would not look back to see.
The young mother stood waiting with Sister Monica Joan. “Here you go, Mrs. Peterson. Doctor Turner will meet you at the entrance. Gregory can return the case then.” She brushed down her habit smoothing it into order.
“You two make a good team, Sister. Thanks for the help with my boy. Come on, then, Greggie.” She reached her hand down and took the tiny one in hers. Gregory looked back and waved as his newest conquest watched him leave.
“He’s quite a lovely child, isn’t he?” Sister Monica Joan’s voice came from over her shoulder. “I never felt the desire to have my own. That was no sacrifice in my vow of chastity.”
Sister Bernadette glanced up in surprise, uncertain of her response. “I’m sure we must all determine our own sacrifice, Sister.”
The elderly nun moved to the door. “Ours is a life of spiritual fulfillment, my dear sister. We have chosen a larger family, and it is time for us to rejoin our sisters in prayer.”
Sister Bernadette watched as Sister Monica Joan glided to the doors, past the last of the mothers and children, past the busy nurses and the arriving dancers. A breath fluttered past her lips and she bent her head in a moment of prayer then followed her sister from the Hall.
A/N: Special thanks to @thatginchygal.tumblr.com for her help as my beta for this. She really helped me reconsider some things, and the title is all her.
The Call the Midwife characters do not belong to me, alas. However, any mistakes, writing flaws, etc you find are purely mine.
My Little Yellowbird 