The front door slammed as Timothy rushed in after school.
“Sorry, Mum. The wind took the door,” he whispered from the hallway. He tiptoed through the hall and peered around the sitting room door to see his new baby sister cuddled in his father’s arms. “Did I wake her?”
“No, good thing for you. She’s been awake and talking for my whole visit,” Patrick spoke in a sing-song voice.
“Why are you home now, anyway?” Timothy asked. “Don’t you have calls today? It’s Monday.” Timothy began to rummage through the pantry, in search of food. “Where’s Mum?” he asked through a mouthful of biscuits.
“Here I am,” Shelagh answered, coming down the hall with yet another basket of laundry. “I thought I’d take advantage of your dad’s drop-in to get ahead of this.” She held out the basket filled with the smocked cotton dresses that dominated Angela’s wardrobe.
“You should be resting, sweetheart,” Patrick admonished. “You’re not getting enough sleep.That last thing we need is for you to get ill.”
“Oh, pish. I can get by on just a little sleep as you, Patrick Turner. Less, probably. Timmy, what would you like for a snack? Dinner will be a bit later than usual, I’m afraid. Angela’s bottles are sterilizing, so I’ll have to wait to use the stove.”
“I’m fine. Just stopping, I’m on my way out, anyway. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
“Oh,” Shelagh answered, “I suppose that’s fine.”
“Hold on, young man, what about your schoolwork?” Patrick looked up from the game of peek-a-boo.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I stayed in during recess to do some. And Mr. Feeney let me work on my theme while the rest of the class was still finishing maths. He said since I probably wasn’t getting any sleep at night, he should give me a hand and let me get work done at school.” He bounced Angela’s foot in his hand. “He never lets pupils do that, so that’s something Angela’s good for,” he finished, a smirk gracing his face.
“I’m sure your sister’s thrilled to hear that she gets you out of work, son. Don’t be late.” Angela’s coo redirected his attention back to her and Patrick resumed their game.
The door slammed shut behind him, and Shelagh put the laundry down.
“Patrick,” she asked, in the way she had that made a statement a question, “Timothy’s gone out after school every day this week. And he goes right up to his room after dinner.”
Patrick looked up. Shelagh was gripping her hands, and the crease on her forehead was starting to show, but he had no idea what could be bothering her. “And?” he asked.
“He doesn’t seem to want to spend any time with us. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?” The crease was getting deeper.
Patrick stood and placed the baby in her moses basket. “Shelagh, he’s about to turn twelve. It would be strange if he did want to spend time with his parents.” Even so, he pulled her into his arms.
Shelagh nestled her head under his chin. “I know, it’s just that…well, he used to sit with me after school, and tell me about his day, or what ridiculous thing happened on the way home. Every day. Until…”
Patrick tilted his head to better see her face. “Until?”
Shelagh sighed. “Well, until Angela came home. Do you think, perhaps…could he be jealous?” She looked up into her husband’s eyes. “Before, I was able to give him all of my attention, and now, I never seem to have any time for him. Even dinner will have to be late tonight because of Angela’s needs.” She hid her face in his chest. “Do you think he feels as if I don’t love him anymore?”
Patrick laughed softly. “Shelagh, love, that is most definitely not how he feels. Timothy knows how much you love him. And he is thrilled about Angela, too.”
“I know you think I worry too much, Patrick, but it doesn’t feel right to me. Something’s different.”
His arms tightened around her and he rubbed his chin against her hair. “All right, my love. I’ll keep an eye out, but I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. It’s more likely that we have a much bigger problem on our hands.”
Shelagh looked up, alarmed.
Patrick kissed her “worry crease.” “I’m afraid Timothy is starting to show signs of…adolescence!”
The next morning was a particular rush. Both Patrick and Timothy needed to leave early, and Angela’s nocturnal fussing put them all on edge. Timothy rushed about, packing his school bag.
“Mum, where’s my gym kit? You promised to wash it. The hockey tournament begins today. I have to have it!”
Shelagh grimaced. “I’m sure I washed it, Timothy. Did you look in the pile of laundry I left for you to put away yesterday?”
“Yes. It is definitely not there. Mr. Pigeon said no one can play without it.”
Patrick came around the corner, the half-finished basket of Angela’s dresses and soiled clothes in his arms. “It’s in here, Tim. You can just wear it today, and Mum will wash it this weekend. Problem solved.” The days of being a single father had given Patrick a laissez-faire attitude towards the wearability of soiled clothes.
Timothy growled and took the offending gym kit from his father, stuffing them into his bag.
“I’m sorry, Timothy, dear. I must have forgotten all about it. I promise to clean them first thing when you get home today.” Shelagh gave him a weak smile.
Timothy shook his head. “I’m not coming home after school, didn’t I tell you? I have to go to… the library. There’s a new project coming up. I’ll be home for dinner.”
“Oh, alright, then. And I’m sorry about your clothes.”
“S’alright. Gotta run.” Timothy made for the door.
“Timothy,” his father called him back. “Say goodbye to your mother.”
“Bye!” his son shouted back and let the front door slam behind him.
Quiet descended over the little kitchen. “I really must take a look at that door,” Patrick joked, trying to lighten the mood. “That boy will knock it off its hinges one of these days.”
Shelagh turned away to the sink.
“Shelagh, you’re thinking too hard about this. He’s just being a boy. There’s no need to worry.”
She shook her head, but her answer was cut off by the baby’s cries.
By the end of the week, even Patrick was starting to think there was something amiss. He and Shelagh agreed that for dinner that night, he would take Timothy to Capriani’s Cafe for a Friday night fry-up, just the boys. It was time for a talk.
As he had all week, Tim ran out right after school, and with the dinner hour fast approaching, still had not returned home. Patrick and Shelagh grew anxious. Patrick sat with the baby, her bottle almost finished, and said, “He’s just lost track of time. It’s all right, Shelagh.” His words showed little of his growing anger, however. Shelagh was miserable, and Tim would have a much sterner talking-to than Patrick had originally planned.
The front door slammed again, followed by the sound of Timothy’s feet bounding to his room. Patrick stood angrily and handed the baby off to Shelagh. “That’s it. We’ll have it out here and now.”
“Patrick, don’t be angry with him. It’s my fault. I haven’t been able to pay enough attention to him. If we just explain to him that we’d like to know more about his whereabouts…”
“No, Shelagh. This is about him being selfish. He has to learn he’s not always going to be the center of attention.” With Angela in her arms, Shelagh followed as Patrick strode towards his son’s room. A knock at the front door stopped them in their tracks. Throwing a frustrated glance up the steps, he opened it to reveal Sister Julienne.
“Sister!”
“Hello, Dr. Turner, Shelagh. Please forgive my intrusion so close to dinner.”
Shelagh stepped up, “Sister, come in, please.”
“No, thank you, Shelagh. I can only stop for a moment. I just wanted to help Timothy with his parcels.” Smiling, the nun held out a square box. “He’ll need this for his project.”
Stunned, Patrick asked, “His project?”
“Yes, well, it was to be a surprise, but we were forced to take a rather long way round. The construction work on the Chrisp Street Market has closed several of the quicker routes to Stepney from Nonnatus House, I’m afraid. Timothy had hoped to get this home before you returned from your calls, which is why he ran on ahead with the ‘bones’ of the project.”
“Sister, we had no idea Timothy was bothering you. I’m so very sorry-” Patrick apologized.
“He was no bother, I was delighted to help. You have a very lovely young man, both of you. You should be very proud. And now, I’m afraid, I must continue my journey. Mrs. Flint’s incision is causing her considerable pain, and as Mrs. B has left a cold repast this evening, I thought to get the visit in sooner rather than later. Enjoy your evening,” she farewelled and climbed back on her bicycle.
Stunned, Patrick and Shelagh watched as the nun made her way back into the streets of Poplar. They turned to each other, then looked down the hall.
“I think I may have jumped to conclusions,” Patrick admitted. He followed his wife back into the flat.
“I think perhaps we both have,” Shelagh agreed. Together they followed after their son. Surprised to see his bedroom empty, a sound from their own bedroom guided them to him and Patrick pushed the door open. Timothy stood over Angela’s cot at the foot of their bed, attaching some sort of mechanism above it.
“Tim,” his father called.
Timothy dropped his arms, and looked across the room at his parents. He let out a deep sigh of resignation. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but the stupid roadwork made me late.” He stepped over and took the box from Patrick. “You may as well open the box. It’s spoiled, now.”
Shelagh smiled. “No, Timothy. Patrick, leave the box. We’ll be in the sitting room. Call us when you want us.” Patrick returned her smile, and grinned at his son. “After you, Mrs. Turner.” With his hand at her back, he escorted his wife and daughter out to the landing.
Closing the door behind him, he raised his hands to her face. “I think we’ll be fine.” Patrick lowered his head and kissed her gently, careful of the now sleeping baby in her arms. His fingers moved to her hair and caressed her just behind her ears. Shelagh pushed up on her tippy toes to kiss him back. Relief had made her giddy, and she was happy to show Patrick.
Sooner than they thought possible, Timothy interrupted them.
“Really? I ask for five minutes?” Tim complained, unable to hide his grin. “If you’re finished, you can come in now.”
Patrick and Shelagh stepped in to the room, their eyes drawn to the cot and they both gasped. Fluttering above was a cluster of butterflies, each one a kaleidoscope of color. Shelagh slowly made her way toward the flight of color, her eyes filled with wonder. “Oh, Timothy!” she whispered. “You made this?” She looked to her son. “It’s beautiful.” Her eyes gleamed with tears.
“Well done, son,” admired Patrick, who would later claim that the room had been dusty, and his eyes were reacting to the motes.
“I didn’t do it all by myself,” Tim told them and the story rushed out of him. “I had lots of help. It was Nurse Franklin’s idea at first. She knew how much you liked that butterfly I sent you when you were in sanatorium. Bagheera helped me make the dangly-frame thing, and Sister Julienne and I made the butterflies. See? They’re watercolor paper. We experimented with all sorts of designs. I liked this one. We dripped color on to the damp paper and let it all blend together, sort of. Then I cut out the shapes-Dad, that’s how I got that blister the other day-and today Nurse Noakes and Nurse Miller and Sister Winifred helped me tie them on. Sister Monica Joan helped by finding the fishing line we used-how does she know how to get fishing line, Mum?-and Sister Evangelina hid everything in her room. She said you’d never go in there, no matter what. She was right, wasn’t she? You had no idea?” Tim stopped to catch his breath.
His mother sighed quietly. “No, Timothy, dearest, I had absolutely no idea.” She tapped a bright blue and purple butterfly, sending the whole flight in motion.
“You’ve been doing this all week?” Patrick asked.
Timothy nodded. “I started planning it last week, at Nurse Lee’s party, but I’ve been going to Nonnatus everyday this week. That’s why I was skipping recess, too.” He looked nervous. “Do you like it? The nurses all told me it’d be safe. Angela can’t get hurt by it. It’s really secure, Fred and I tested it out on Freddie’s cot.”
Shelagh placed the sleeping Angela into her cot, again gently tapping a butterfly. “It’s perfect,” she breathed. “Angela’s very lucky to have a brother like you. I’m afraid I have a confession to make,” Shelagh said, turning to face the young boy. “I thought you were staying away from the house because you were unhappy about the baby.”
Tim stared in amazement. “Unhappy? Angela’s brilliant! It’d be nice if she didn’t make so much noise at night, and sometimes she does smell pretty bad, but that stuff doesn’t last too long, and before you know it she’ll be a real person.”
“So you’re sure we’re paying enough attention to you? We’re not spending too much time with Angela?” Shelah wondered.
“Of course you are. She’s a baby, after all. She can’t do anything yet. Besides,” he winked, “before she came, I couldn’t get away with anything. Now, I have all sorts of plans.”
“What sort of plans?” his father asked suspiciously.
“Oh, nothing really-”
He was interrupted when Angela startled and let out a sharp cry, and in that moment, Timothy knew he was no longer an only child. An alliance had been forged that would be the only force capable of facing their parents.
The power had shifted.
My Little Yellowbird 