Tag Archives: Shelagh

In Favor of a Date

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A/N:  A special thanks to ThatGinchyGirl for her work beta-ing this fic.  Her insight was they key to getting a little bit of nonsense make sense.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to the cinema on a Thursday night, Patrick!”  Shelagh could barely contain a giggle.  

Patrick smiled back and squeezed her hand.  “I think we’ve earned it, don’t you?  Now that Tim’s on the mend, we should take a moment to let off some steam.  Before we know it, he’ll be coming home, and a weeknight out will be impossible.”

“He’s so much better now, I can hardly believe it.  All that hard work–I’ve never met a boy with such determination.  To think he’ll be on his feet in a month!”  Her hand slid up around his forearm and she pressed just a bit closer.  

Patrick’s eyes were warm, causing Shelagh to blush ever so little.  “I think he’s nearly as eager for us to get married as I am.”  

The blush deepened.  “There’s plenty of time, Patrick.”

The theatre was quickly filling up with people.  “Where would you like to sit?” Patrick asked as he scanned the large open space.

“Oh, I don’t mind, Patrick.  I’ve not been to enough films these last years to really have much of a preference.  Why not there?” She pointed up the staircase towards the last row, empty of any theatergoers but a couple at the far end.  “Right on the aisle?”  Her question was more a statement of fact.

She climbed the steps, fully expecting Patrick to follow, and with a shrug of his shoulders, he did.  At top row, Shelagh turned to let him help her with her coat.

“I’m starting to notice a bit of a pattern, my love.  You ask me to decide and somehow I end up following you.”

A dimple appeared.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Patrick.”  She smiled archly and settled into her seat.  

He shook his head in resignation.  “I’d like to point out from the very start that you chose these seats.  I had nothing to do with it.”  He shrugged his own coat off and sat beside her.

Two lines of confusion appeared between her eyes.  “Is there anything wrong with these seats, Patrick?  I’m sure we can find something else just as suitable if you like.”

He leaned in, his face close to hers.  “I’m not so sure, my love.”  His voice grew husky.  “You may not realize it my dear, but we’re in the snogging section.”

“The sno–Oh, Patrick you’re teasing me!”  She swatted at his arm playfully.

“I most assuredly am not teasing you, Shelagh.  We are in fact right dab in the center of it.”  His eyes smiled as she blushed fiercely.  “Don’t worry, Shelagh.  Nothing’s going to happen up here.”  He leaned in even closer, and she could feel his breath against her ear.  “I can’t say as much for when we’re alone, however.”

The blush raged to a bright red.  “Patrick!”  She squeezed her hands together tightly in her lap.  

He pulled away and patted her hand.  “I know, I shouldn’t tease, but when you pink up so prettily, I can’t help myself.  I promise.  I’ll behave.”

The lights dimmed and the newsreel started.  News of Cyprus’s Independence flashed by unnoticed as Shelagh tried to regain control of her breathing.  She knew Patrick enjoyed making her blush in the rare moments they were alone, but he would never embarrass her.  Besides, she assured herself, there really weren’t many people this far back in the theater, anyway.

She turned her attention to the screen but was distracted by the pairs of silhouetted couples in the rows before her.  For years, all ideas of courtship had been far from her mind but as the detachment required by the Order began to wane, thoughts of nights just like this one began to sneak into her dreams.  A tingle of awareness ran through her.  This wish had come true.  Tonight, she sat in a darkened theater, not with some man, but with Patrick, the man she loved.    

Shelagh felt her body flush with the thrill.  She twisted her hands together as she tried to concentrate on the screen.  Images reflected off the lenses of her glasses, and she found her focus drifting to Patrick’s hand on the armrest, so close to her.  She knew its touch, loved the feel of his smooth dry palm against her softer hand.  Her eyelids fluttered closed as she remembered the first time he cradled her hand in his, her own pain forgotten even before he pressed his lips to her palm.  That gentle touch felt so right in that moment in the kitchen, even as she fought against it.

Patrick’s hand stretched over and clasped her clenched hands.  He seemed to understand her confusion.  She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder.  Their hands seemed to fit just so.  Hers was so much smaller, and yet it didn’t feel swamped in his.  No longer even trying to watch the film, she studied his long fingers with their neatly trimmed nails and large knuckles, the short hairs on his fingers and along the back of his hand leading up under his sleeve.  His wrists were fine, elegant even, and she wished for a moment that she could roll his sleeves up and gaze at his forearms.

A hot blush flooded her cheeks.  What was she thinking?  Roll up his sleeves!!  A crowded movie house was certainly not the place to indulge in such thoughts.  She sat up straight in her seat and felt the tug of his hand as he refused to relinquish hers.  

“It’s alright, Shelagh,” he assured her, his voice a husky whisper.  “We’re only holding hands.”

She resisted the urge to meet his eyes and instead kept hers locked on their entwined fingers.  How could “only holding hands” feel like so much more?  

The warm stillness of his hand soothed her, and in the flickering darkness she gave in.  She spread her fingers wide and delighted when he mimicked the movement.  Her palm shifted against his and she grazed the tips of her fingers against his palm, brushing its coarse surface.  Her hand turned in his and they began an intimate dance, hands stroking, nestling, seeking closeness.

Her breath shuddered again.  Her body felt tense, every nerve ending focussed on their joined hands.  She swallowed thickly, trying to gain control of herself.  For the first time since the picture started, she let herself look at him.  He was nearer than she realized, his face close enough to block out all other images.  His eyes glittered brightly with something she recognized but could not name, and she felt her heart race.  Blood rushed in her ears and all sound was blocked but the quiet sussing of her own breath.  Her gaze travelled lower and came to rest on his mouth.  

Oh! She wanted to kiss him.  She wanted to press her mouth to his, breathe him, taste him.  But they couldn’t, a voice whispered.  Patrick had only been teasing.  Snogging in the cinema was for young lovers, not two mature, reasonable adults.  Even when she had been a teenager herself, she hadn’t done such things.  School had been her single-minded focus in those years, keeping company with the boys from the local school not a priority.

He moved his face closer, not more than an inch, and in that moment, Shelagh forgot she was a mature, reasonable adult.  Their surroundings faded from her attention.   Her free hand slid around his neck and pulled him closer, her fingers lingering against the warm skin above his collar.   For a moment they hesitated, their faces a scant inch apart as their breath mingled.  Unable to resist any longer, Shelagh kissed him.

His lips were soft and gentle, but she felt something in his response that emboldened her.  Her fingers slipped into the short hair at the back of his neck as she deepened the kiss.  His scent filled her head, the roughness of his evening stubble teased her to a state of heightened awareness.  

Gently, Patrick broke the kiss.  With a sigh, he rested his forehead against hers. She had not noticed how his arms wrapped around her as they embraced, but she felt their lack when he withdrew them.  

“I’d like to kiss you all night,” he whispered.  She could hear the regret in his voice.   

Her fingers shifted around to trace his jawline, and she whispered, “I think perhaps it’s time for us to set a date, dearest.”

 

Christmas Trees and Mushy Stuff

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After working on some difficult writing, I needed a break and wanted to write some Turnadette fluff (although don’t get me wrong. Good fluff is hard to write-as you may soon read). Alas, I was fresh out of ideas. So I turned to my fellow Nonnatuns on Tumblr and begged for prompts (hey, I’m not proud).

One came in almost instantly from Clonethemidwife:  “Shelagh teared up, looking at the silver tree on the table, and the natural tree in the corner, both decorated with love by her family. She looked down at the sleeping girl in her arms, and knew that her daughter’s childhood would be so much better than hers…

With mushy stuff and fluff and some minor feels as Patrick learns more about his wife by what she tells him she wishes for their daughter’s future.”

I played with the prompt a bit, so it doesn’t address Shelagh’s childhood, but there are two trees, a loving family and lots of mushy stuff. Plus you may find a few lines dropped in from the series. But I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.

 

As Christmas Day eased into Christmas Night, a gentle quiet descended on the Turner family. Timothy struggled to hide his yawns while his parents sat close together, Angela sleepily finishing her last feed before bed. It was hard to imagine the chaotic scene that had been just this morning.

“Mrs. B. didn’t like it much when you caught her under the mistletoe at Nonnatus, Dad. I heard her say later that she always thought you were too charming for your own good.” Timothy’s eyes rolled Heavenwards.

“Tim,” Patrick’s smug smile belied the scold.

“She did,” Tim asserted. “I saw her wink at Mrs. Buckle when she said it though, and she always makes sure there’s Battenburg for you, so I think she rather liked it.”

“Oh, no. Do I have some competition on my hands, Patrick?” Shelagh teased.

“Not likely, sweetheart. You make a lovely Battenburg cake yourself.” He leant down and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Tim groaned. “Really? Angela’s still eating, you’ll put her off her bottle. Why was there mistletoe in a convent, anyway? Seems an odd place for it.”

“I was wondering that myself,” Patrick mused. “Weren’t you in charge of the decorating this year, Shelagh?” His grin became wolfish.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Patrick,” his wife returned, blushing fiercely.

Tim reached into a nearby box of airplane model parts. stifling yet another yawn.

“Right, then. Bed for you, Tim. It’s been a long day, and you have the entire holiday to build airplanes and ride your new bike. No, no arguments.” Patrick stood and turned to his wife. “Shall I take her?” he asked.

“No, thank you, Patrick. I’ll let her doze just a bit before I bring her to bed.” Shelagh smiled. “I think we’ll sit here in the quiet for just a bit longer.”

Patrick nodded and followed Tim down the hall.

A small mewling sound escaped Angela’s lips as she released the bottle, then smacked her lips in her sleep. Shelagh touched a fingertip to the swollen upper lip. Was there a blister starting? No, just a drop of formula.

A sudden flood of emotions filled Shelagh’s heart. She teared up, looking at the silver tree on the table, and the natural tree in the corner, both decorated with love by her family.* How very different this Christmas was from the last. Joy replaced anguish, and with the addition of Angela, the family was complete.

She looked down at the sleeping girl in her arms.* How was it possible she was such a mix of the two of them? Barely two months old, Angela’s face revealed glimpses of both her father and mother. Would her hair stay fair, would her eyes keep their blue or turn greeny-brown like Patrick’s? Her neck was still not strong enough to show any discerning Patricky tilt, but Shelagh was certain Angela’s ears did stick out, just a wee bit.  

A tear escaped and trailed down Shelagh’s cheek. “You were ours from the start, Angel,” she whispered. The baby mewled again in response.

With Tim successfully in bed, his book a show of false staying-up-late bravado, Patrick returned to the sitting room. “Shelagh?” he asked, his voice husky. “What’s wrong?”

Her smile was wide, the tears glistening behind her glasses. “Nothing’s wrong, dearest. I’m just so very happy.”

Patrick released his breath in relief as he rejoined her on the gold sofa. “It’s been quite a time of it, hasn’t it?” he agreed. He slid his arm behind her shoulders, pulling her close to his side. “This is a much better Christmas than last year.”

Shelagh snuggled in closer. “Indeed. Timmy’s healthy, Angela’s safe with us, and I have the most wonderful husband I could ever imagine. I am a very blessed woman.”

“I wouldn’t say very blessed,” Patrick denied, his mood darkening. “I almost ruined everything. What if the Agency hadn’t approved us? I kept such secrets, Shelagh. It was you–you were the one that kept us together. I can’t imagine what would have become of us all if it hadn’t been for you.”

Shelagh reached up carefully and turned his face to hers with her free hand. “Listen to me, Patrick. That most certainly is not true. So much happened this year, and yes, there was sadness. I thought my heart would break in two when I learned of my diagnosis, and we did have our own struggles together. But this is important. I wouldn’t change a single moment of it. Not one. God put us on this road together for a reason. If we changed even one thing, we wouldn’t be here today.”

“Shelagh-”

She pulled his face to hers and pressed her lips to his, her thumb caressing his lined cheek. The kiss deepened and Patrick released some of his guilt.

“It wasn’t me, Patrick. It was both of us. It was hard, but you came back to me. I made mistakes, too, don’t forget. We learned to trust each other in ways we never could have if we hadn’t gone through all that.”

Patrick nuzzled his nose against her temple. “I’m not certain you’ll convince me of that entirely, sweetheart, but I do know I would have done anything to make things better. You’ve given me so much.” He pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “I thank God for you.”

The moment was broken by the sudden squall from the infant between them, then the abrupt burst of wind. Almost instantly, Angela settled back down to sleep. Laughing, Patrick reached for his daughter. “You, little girl, are very lucky you’re about to go into your cot. I am about to do all sorts of mushy things to your mother, and you most certainly would not approve.”

Fortunately for the infant girl, she had no idea what her father was talking about.

*italicized lines taken from Clonethemidwife’s prompt.

 

Walking Together

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Timothy Turner’s face was set, all his will concentrated on the new crutches under his arms. The weight of the calipers on his legs both stabilized him and shifted his balance. A few days of physical therapy wearing the metal and leather contraptions, and Tim was ready to take to his feet. Step by step, he paced the length of the polio ward, determined to master this important move toward recovery.

“That’s it, Tim, well done,” his father’s voice cheered him on. “Just wait until Shelagh sees you!”

Timothy grinned widely as he clumsily did an about-face. “Well, I’m certainly not going to win any dance competitions, that’s for certain. I must look an absolute oaf thumping around on these things.” His happy face took the edge from the self-deprecating words, however.

Patrick grinned back and reached around to re-adjust the left crutch. “She’ll think you look like Gene Kelly, more likely. Now, don’t let the crutch slip too far forward. It’ll put too much pressure to the front and could put you off balance. Try again.” He stood back and watched proudly. “That’s it,” he repeated. “Just like that.”

A memory flashed by, his son just past his first birthday, wearing that same look of determination on his face. Margaret’s hands held his chubby little fists as the tot wobbled on his short little legs. Without baby Timothy  knowing it, his mother slowly released her son’s hands and clasped her own together, holding her breath.

The toddler took one slow step, and a second, then found his momentum and charged towards his father. He crossed the six feet separating them, then threw himself at his father’s legs.

“Well done, son!” Patrick cheered and swung his boy up into his arms.

Margaret crossed to join them, reaching one arm around her husband as the other hand squeezed her son’s foot. “We’ve been practicing with me holding on all day, but he wasn’t interested in going on his own at all until he saw you come in!”

Patrick turned his head and kissed her. “He wanted to have us all together, that’s all.” He hugged the boy a bit tighter but was met with resistance.

“Oh, no,” Patrick joked. “Just look at that stubborn face.” Timothy began to push away, eager to try his legs again. “I’m afraid young Master Turner is off to the races!”

The thumping of the crutches on the hospital linoleum floor brought Patrick back to the present. Timothy had already improved in the few passes across the room, and Patrick laughed quietly. “I was just remembering your first steps. We were so proud of you, toddling across the flat. You didn’t walk for long, though. Almost immediately, you were running circles around the flat. Your mother swore you were going to wear a path in the floor, make your own track oval between the kitchen and the sitting room!” His finger traced circles in the air.

Timothy chuckled. “I remember she used to call me “Thumper,” because of the noise my feet made as I ran through the flat.”

“It was Mrs. Wilkins from next door that started that, I’m afraid,” Patrick reminded him with a grimace.

“Right. Mrs. Wilkins didn’t like children, did she?” Already comfortable with the crutches, Timothy rested his weight on them and let his body hang.

“That’ll hurt if you do it much,” his father pointed out. “But no, I think she preferred her neighbors to be a bit quieter than you. I’m sure she was thrilled when her husband moved them nearer his new job out by the rock quarry.”

Timothy shifted his body up again. “You don’t have to keep going, Tim. You don’t want to tire yourself out.”

“I’m not tired, I’ll be fine.”

“You always say that and then you never are…” Patrick teased.

“Just one more time. I want to be able to really surprise Shelagh when she comes this afternoon.”

As he finished the last pass, Timothy collapsed on his bed. “Well, that’s got me knackered. I’d better rest a bit before Shelagh comes or I won’t be able to show off.”

Patrick helped his son lift his legs up on the bed, then sat on his regular chair next to the bed. “She’ll be thrilled, Tim. Really.”

Timothy reached for the model plane on his bedside table, fiddling with the wing. “Dad, how long will I be on the crutches?”

Patrick considered. “Dr. Carson thinks your arms and back are extremely strong, so maybe a month or two, perhaps.”

“But if I work very hard?” Tim still would not meet his father’s eye.

“Tim, what’s wrong? I thought you were happy to be up and about.”

“I am, of course. If I had to sit any longer I think I was going to go mad! I just… Dr. Carson said back after Christmas that I could go home when I was used to the calipers.” His voice grew quiet.

Nodding. Patrick answered. “Soon, Tim. Probably just a few more weeks, then you’ll be home for good. Is that what you want to know?”

Timothy looked up, his face beaming. “A few weeks! That’s brilliant. I can definitely last a few weeks!” He sat up, eager again, and Patrick smiled widely.

“It will be good to have you home again, son.”

“And…” Tim hinted.

Patrick’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “And?”

Timothy rolled his eyes. “Dad, you said after I came home…Ugh. You have no sense of romance, Dad. Do I have to all the work?”

“Oh, Lord, Tim. That’s right. I was so caught up in your recovery I nearly forgot!”  He started to laugh. “Do you reckon she’ll say ‘Yes’ again this time?”

Timothy smiled his wise little smile. “Don’t worry, Dad. I have a plan.”

 

An hour later, Shelagh entered the ward, her arm filled with a stack of new comic books for Timothy and the others. She was quite proud that in addition to Eagle and Valiant, she had unearthed a copy of an old American superhero magazine. That was sure to keep the children happy for a little while, certainly.

Timothy’s bed stood empty, it’s bedding smooth. “Where on earth?” she wondered aloud. Turning to the boy in the next bed, she asked, “Harry, do you know where Timothy’s got to? I was supposed to meet him and Dr. Turner here tonight.”

Harry tried unsuccessfully to hide a grin. “Not sure, Miss Mannion. Try the hallway outside the nurse’s office, maybe?”

Sighing in her confusion, Shelagh shrugged out of her coat and left her new hat neatly on top. Smoothing her skirt, she set off around the corner.

Patrick stood in the middle of the hallway, a serious smile on his face. “Hello, Shelagh,” he said.

Sensing an undercurrent to his greeting, she answered. “Hello, Patrick.” Why was it becoming hard to breath?

“We have something to show you, my love.” Patrick shifted to one side, revealing Timothy, standing proudly, supported by his calipers and crutches.

Slowly, but with confidence, Timothy and Patrick walked the length of the hall towards her.

“Oh,” she whispered. Emotions crossed her face, confusion and surprise melting into delight, then ripening into tearful joy. As they came to stand before her, her two most beloved of all people, she laughed happily and clasped her hands together.

Words would not come, so Patrick helped her. “We said we’d wait until Timothy was better, Shelagh.”

Timothy chimed in. “I’ll be home in just a few weeks. And if I work very hard, I may even be able to leave the crutches here, too. With my calipers on, I’ll be able to walk in the church all by myself.”

Shelagh’s eyes flew from Patrick’s face to Timothy’s and back again. “Marry me, Shelagh.” Patrick proposed. “In one month’s time. Let’s not wait any longer.”

“Please, Shelagh? Please will you marry my Dad?”

 


Courting Shelagh, Chapter 4

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Previous Chapter

Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3

Footsteps echoed in the dim hallway as Patrick climbed the last of the stairs to the flat. Unable to stop himself, he glanced at his watch for the hundredth time. Nearly nine. Too late for dinner, certainly, and more than likely not enough time for even a brief visit with Shelagh before the door to the boarding house was locked for the night. This was definitely not the evening he planned.

He rolled his shoulders to try to ease some of the tension stored up, and turned the key in its lock. As he pushed the door open, he was surprised by the warm light that flooded the hallway. Had he forgotten to turn off the lights when he left?

Patrick shook his head. His head had been in the clouds this morning, full of plans now unfulfilled. Eager to find a florist so early, he must have forgotten to close up the flat properly.

He reached to hang his battered coat on its hook and paused. Was that music? He was certain he hadn’t had the radio on this morning.

At that moment, Shelagh stepped from the sitting room. “Hello, Patrick,” she welcomed.

“Shelagh!” He exclaimed. “How on earth…”

She smiled shyly. “I thought we might have a better chance of seeing each other tonight if I met you here. I’ve brought some dinner, you must be famished.”

Patrick stood staring down, his face frozen in surprise. Shelagh had been at the forefront of his thoughts for so much of the day, he wasn’t sure she wasn’t a figment of his tired and lonely imagination.

The woman before him was different somehow, and finally, Patrick’s brain registered the change. Shelagh’s typical subdued attire was left behind, her dark neutral dresses and cardigan replaced by an eye-catching navy blue velvet dress and new black pumps a bit higher than her usual fashion. He swallowed thickly.

“You walked all the way from Mrs. Trevell’s dressed like this?” If Patrick had been distracted this morning by the unexpected sight of her collarbone, there was little hope of concentration now. The supple fabric dipped into a demure portrait collar, somehow all the more alluring for its reserve. Again,  Patrick could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He shook his head to clear it. It wouldn’t do to startle her with his thoughts.

Shelagh glanced down and ran her hands over the folds of the skirt. She blushed. “This? My coat covered it up. I know the shoes must look a bit silly, but they’re quite comfortable really. I let Trixie talk me into them, and I bought this dress back before…when I first came back from St. Anne’s. It was silly to spend my money on something so frivolous, but I couldn’t resist. I was already dressed when you called, so I thought I should at least get some wear out of it.” She looked up, her smile wide. “Besides, it’s not such a very far walk, Patrick. You used to walk me home each night before Christmas, remember?”

He closed his eyes at the memory and took a deep breath.  He left the coat on its hook and turned to her with a gentle nod. “I remember.” In control, he moved closer and said, “I’d like to greet your properly, but I’m a mess. I’ve got grease everywhere, and I’ve probably ruined this coat. Let me go wash up and I’ll be with you in two shakes.”

“Your coat?” Shelagh asked, a crease appearing over her nose.

“Yes, it got caught in the door of Fred’s van. There’s a tear right down the back. I’m fairly certain it’s irreparable.” He placed a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

A quick trip to wash the remnants of the evening’s detour away, and then a change of clothes was in order. As he closed the door to his bedroom, he smiled widely. His plans had certainly fallen apart: no dinner and dancing tonight, perhaps, but Shelagh was here. All the rest didn’t matter. The night was perfect.

He pulled his tie loose and went to the wardrobe for a clean shirt. There he found more evidence of Shelagh’s presence, for she had begun to collect his shirts each week from the cleaners, leaving them neatly folded for him in his room. The thought of her in this place stirred him again, and he sighed.  They might not be often at the flat together, but in her small ways, Shelagh was making it a home. Soon, it would be their home.

He tossed his soiled shirt in the washing bin and shrugged a clean one over his shoulders. As he buttoned it up, his eyes wandered, then caught a slip of paper left on his pillow. His eyebrows creased in question as he unfolded the sheet.

Dearest Patrick,

Thank you so very much for the lovely flowers this morning. Their scent has traveled with me all day.

As I’ve gone about my day today, people have commented again and again that I look very happy. I’m not surprised they can see it. I feel as if I’m fit to bursting with it.

I look forward to our date this evening (I still blush when I think of it), and know I am the luckiest woman alive.

Your

Shelagh

 

The bed creaked under his weight as he sank down upon it, struggling with himself. He thought he had gained a certain mastery of himself. Tonight should be about making Shelagh feel special. He intended to court her tonight, not ease his own desires, but this note brought his passion back up.  It was all he could do to stop himself from thrusting the door open and in several strides taking her in his arms. Determined to master himself, he stood. Shelagh deserved a gentle courtship, so he tamped down his desire and finished dressing.

A few minutes later, dressed in his best suit, hair smooth, he joined her in the sitting room. Tonight wouldn’t be the Ritz, but he would woo her as she deserved. He closed the door to the private part of the flat, expecting to find her waiting in the sitting room. Instead, Shelagh was just as he had left her, standing at the coatrack. Her hand held a sleeve as her fingers caressed the old wool.

She glanced up as she heard his step, and her cheeks flooded with color.

“My love?” He asked, his head tilted in a question.

Shelagh dropped the sleeve and turned to him. “It’s silly. Promise you won’t make fun.”

He couldn’t help as a smiled tugged at his mouth crookedly. “I’ll try.” His eyes wandered over the coat in question.

“You’ll definitely need a new coat. The tear isn’t on the seam, and the fabric’s too worn to mend.”

He nodded. “I thought so.”

Her eyes shifted away from his face. She bit her lip, and he waited for her to find the words she needed.

Finally, she looked back up at him, her clear eyes meeting his squarely. “Don’t throw it away, Patrick.”

This was not what Patrick was expecting. He shook his head slightly. “I don’t follow. I can’t donate it, no one will want it.”

She reached out again and stroked the fabric. “I want it.”

A memory crossed her face, and Patrick began to understand. He reached behind her, taking the coat from its hook. Gently, he wrapped it around her, his hands holding it closed at her neck.

“It’s not so very misty, here, is it?” He asked quietly.

She shook her head. “No,” she answered.

They stood together, a mirror of themselves that fateful day. So much had happened since then, his life turned right-side-up. All the emotion of that day came back, and yet there was more.

“I held you like this that day,” he whispered.

Beyond words, Shelagh nodded.

“I didn’t kiss you, then.” His voice grew husky. “I didn’t, but I wanted to. I was so afraid that if I moved, you would disappear.”

A quiet breath shuddered from her lungs. “I was afraid, too.”

His thumb caressed the old coat at her chin, then slowly, his hands turned and held her face.

“And now?” He whispered.

Her voice came to him quiet, but clear. “I’m not going away, Patrick.”

The words were barely across her lips before he pressed his mouth to hers, tender and gentle. For weeks-no, months- he had kept his passion for her under a tight leash. After so long, the feel of her soft mouth beneath his broke that restraint. His arms wrapped around her tightly, and he pulled her close. Shelagh relaxed against him and he felt her lips move under his. A small sound came from her throat and he felt his remaining control slip. Gently nipping at her lips, he felt her mouth soften even more and he deepened the kiss.

Her acceptance of him, the shift in her breathing, made him desperate to know more of her. As her arms slid up around his shoulders, he groaned and pulled her impossibly close. The taste of her, the scent of her, consumed his senses.

The coat fell from her shoulders, pooling at their feet and the moment was broken. Patrick slowly lifted his head from hers, ending the kiss slowly. He rested his lips against her forehead as they struggled to regain their breath.

A smile crossed his face. He knew Shelagh loved him. Every day she showed her love in the little things she did for him. The passion was there, he felt it in her body still, yet he also knew this passion would confuse her. He would slow things down, he would court her. Tonight, Shelagh would know just how special she was.

“Shelagh,” he whispered against her hair, “shall we begin our date?”

Next Chapter

Courting Shelagh, Chapter 3

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Previous Chapter

A/N: I’m going to have to stick by my decision in earlier fics. I simply cannot use the label “Aunty Shelagh.” It’s a deliberate break from canon, I know, and generally I stick pretty close to the dogma.

In this, however, I must rebel.

Chapter 1     Chapter 2

Whistling as he sauntered down the hospital corridor, Patrick felt quite pleased with himself. Since rising, the day had gone precisely according to plan. Mr. Stone, the neighborhood florist and chief died-in-the-wool romantic, had been happy to open his shop to Patrick for his early morning floral surprise. A quick stop at Nonnatus had yielded both the promise of a visit to the hospital by Fred, and also a few pointers regarding the fine art of twirling a lady in just the proper manner to ensure maximum closeness during a foxtrot. Now for a quick visit with Tim, then home to shave, wash and dress before meeting Shelagh with plenty of time.

Timothy sat up in his bed, already well into his copy of Captains Courageous. He smiled smugly at his father. “So, Dad, any special plans tonight?”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Yes, Tim, full marks to you. Shelagh’s been and told you, I assume?”

“Not that much, really, just that after her morning visit she wouldn’t be back with you in the evening as you were taking her out.” A little embarrassed, eye glanced sideways at his father. “She got all flustered, actually. She must have apologized ten times for not coming tonight.” A sudden cough broke from him, shaking his thin shoulders. Patrick stood, and automatically reached for the missing stethoscope ordinarily draped over his shoulders. When the coughing fit ended, he asked, concerned, “How long have you had that cough, Tim?”

Tim’s color returned. “It’s nothing, Dad.”

“No cough is nothing in a polio patient, son. How long?”

“Just an hour or two,” the boy responded begrudgingly.

Patrick beckoned to the nurse. “Where’s Dr. Carson?” He demanded. The pulmonologist was known to be frequently at hand.

“Likely on the Men’s Ward right now. He’ll be down to look at the children in an hour or so, Dr. Turner.”

Patrick decided now was the time to cash in on some of the good will Shelagh had built up on the ward. “Call him down, please. It’s urgent.”

“Dad-” Timothy began, interrupted by another fit.

As expected, Dr. Carson arrived at Tim’s bedside shortly thereafter, and after a quick listen to the young boy’s lungs, called for an x-ray. “There’s no fever, and the lungs sound clear, but you’re right, Dr. Turner. I don’t like the sound of that cough. Does it hurt, Tim?”

“No, it’s just a little cough.” Timothy refused to look at the two men at his bedside.

Patrick sensed something beyond the cough was troubling his son. “Tim, you have to tell us. You know as well as we do that even a cold could be a setback.”

Tim scowled. “It doesn’t hurt, Dad, honest. It’s just a cough. But now you’re going to stay here all night. You’ll cancel your date with Shelagh and she’ll be so dreadfully disappointed. Again.”

Dr. Carson hid a smile. “Let me see about moving that x-ray along, then. Nobody wants a disappointed Miss Mannion.”

An hour later, the men consulted over the x-ray.

“It all looks clear, Tim. And the cough has settled. We’ll keep an eye on you tonight, though, to be safe,” Dr. Cardon advised.

“You keep an eye on me every night,” Tim answered grumpily. “Privacy is not exactly growing on trees here. Even during my physical therapy this afternoon, after Shelagh left the nurses kept forgetting to close my curtain.”

Patrick’s eyebrows drew into a look of concentration. “Physical therapy? What did you do today?”

“A bunch of really annoying arm exercises. Up and down, stretching wide-I hate those. They make it hard to catch my breath.”

Understanding the problem now, Patrick nodded his head. “That’s it. Your therapy today irritated your lungs a bit. That accounts for the coughing, and it also explains the decrease in the cough’s strength and frequency in the last hour as you’ve recovered.”

Tim dropped his head back on his pillow. “I told you it was nothing, Dad. I’m fine. Now could you please leave? Shelagh’s waiting for you!”

Half an hour later, Patrick was starting to think there was something deliberately trying to ruin the evening. Even with Tim’s coughing scare, there had still been time to make it home, change and meet Shelagh in time to make their reservation. This latest hiccup, however, seemed to make it unlikely.

Standing before the MG with its bonnet up, he shone his torch on the engine. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. The carburetor. Again.

“Evening, Doc,” came a friendly voice.

Patrick turned and met the grinning face of Fred Buckle.

“I was just on me way to visit the young nipper.” The large man clucked his tongue. “The bonnet in such a position does not bode well for the evening’s festivities, if I may say so m’self.”

Patrick exhaled sharply. “No, it does not. It’s the carburetor, I’m afraid. I’ve been meaning to have it replaced, but…”

“Much prettier things to concentrate yer time on, eh?” Fred winked.

“Yes. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel my date with Shelagh after all. I’ll never get home for my tools, back to repair it and in time to take her out tonight.” He rubbed his hand over his weary face.

“I’ve me tools in the back of me van, just ’round the corner. You wait right here, and we’ll have this beauty up and running in no time, Doc!”

“Fred, you are a life saver! I’ll run in the hospital to call Shelagh and let her know I’ll be a bit late, and meet you right back here.”

As the two men parted ways, Patrick glanced one more time at his watch. Half six. They’d likely have to give up their dinner reservations, but they could find a quiet cafe somewhere still open. This date would still happen. He’d just have to be more creative.

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Courting Shelagh, Chapter 2

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A/N: No more chess, I’m afraid, but a clever Nonnatun will spy a version of one of Shelagh’s most frequently spoken lines from Series 3.

Oh, sorry about the hand kiss. It seemed “entirely appropriate.”

Chapter 1

The following morning, Patrick stood in the foyer of Shelagh’s boarding house, full of plans. Despite a night spent more in plans than in sleep, he was brimming with energy.

As he waited for Shelagh to come down, he glanced about the entranceway to the ladies’ boarding home. The strict rules of the house demanded he go no farther than this, and after over three months of residence here, Patrick had yet to see any of Shelagh’s temporary home. If he had his way, Patrick thought, this wouldn’t be her home for much longer.

“Patrick!” Shelagh called as she came down the final flight of stairs. “I never expected to see you here this morning. Last night, you didn’t say…” A little flustered, Shelagh’s hair was pulled back in a hasty knot, a few damp tendrils escaping around her neck.

She’s just had a bath, Patrick thought. He could feel his own pulse begin to race as he fought the urge to step closer to better breathe her in. He cleared his throat and straightened. A warm, fresh-from-the-bath Shelagh was a new experience, and a man could only withstand so much.

“I thought I’d surprise you.” Bringing his hand from behind his back, he presented her with a bouquet of freesias. Fortunately, he had been able to convince the neighborhood florist to open early.

Shelagh made a small sound of surprise in her throat. “Patrick, how lovely.” She hid her blushing  face in the sweet-smelling blooms. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Smiling, he tilted his head as he gazed down at his fiance. “I wanted to. You do so much for me, and I wanted to thank you.”

Shelagh’s eyes met his. “Please don’t think you have to thank me, Patrick. I want to be there for both you and Timothy. You’ve given me so much.”

“We’re the grateful ones, my love.” He took a step closer. “Before you came, Tim and I were afraid to be happy. I’m sure we would have never managed this last month without you.”

A brief shadow of guilt crossed Shelagh’s face, chased away by his next words. “We both love you so very much, Shelagh.”

For a moment, they stood facing each other in silence, happy just to be near each other. Patrick’s lips lifted in a crooked smile. “Don’t go back to the hospital this afternoon. I want to take you out tonight. A proper date.”

The blush returned to Shelagh’s cheeks. “I’m very happy as we are, Patrick. There’s no need to take me out.”

He stepped closer to her so she had to crane her neck up to see his face. With a slight movement, his hand reached towards hers, the backs of his fingers brushing lightly against hers. “I want to spend time alone with you, Shelagh;  treat you as you deserve to be treated.”

He watched as the blush travelled down her neck, past her collarbone. Was this a new dress? He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her collarbone before. If he had, he knew he would have felt this strong compulsion to press his lips against the fine bone, to caress her silky skin and fill his head with her scent.

His own pulse sounded loud in his ears and he tried to resist the urge to pull her close to him. Shelagh was still shy, he knew. He had hoped that by now she would be more comfortable with physical affection. Perhaps Timothy’s time in the hospital had affected them more than he thought.

Time together was becoming more of a necessity with each moment.

“Shelagh,” he whispered, his voice husky.

Her eyes met his, and he was stunned by the emotion pouring from them. Her pupils dilated widely in her pale eyes, and he could sense her own breathing quicken.

Softly, his fingers moved to entwine with hers. “I miss you, Shelagh. Tim will be fine tonight. Fred can visit him, or I can call Jack’s mother. Whichever, he’ll be fine. But I’m desperate to spend time with you.”

In that moment, understanding crossed her face, and Patrick knew she felt the same. His head lowered slowly, and both forgot the dim foyer, the sounds coming from the kitchen fading quickly.

“Oh, Doctor Turner, are you still ‘ere?” The omnipresent landlady tromped through the front door, the scrub brush and pail testament to a front step scrubbed spotless.

The two lovers moved apart quickly, slightly embarrassed and rather a bit more frustrated by the interruption.

Clearing his throat, Patrick answered, “Yes, Mrs. Trevell. I’m off in just a moment.”

The bustling landlady, whose skills of romantic observation had been honed by years of watching residents with their beaus, grinned knowingly. “Well, don’t keep Miss Mannion from ‘er breakfast, then. Ask her what you want, and be off with ya.” She turned and sloshed the bucket back to the kitchen.

The intensity eased for the moment, Patrick and Shelagh grew comfortable again.

“Tonight. I’ll pick you up tonight by seven, I promise. I’ve cancelled all my calls for the late afternoon, and I’ll get Greenwood or Hammond to back up. God knows they both owe me enough favors.” He took her hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to her fingers. “I am determined that nothing will get in the way of our date.”

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The Paper Anniversary , Chapter 7

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Over the next week, the family saw little of  Patrick. The demands of his practice seemed quite high, and even Tuesday, his one night a week guaranteed to be off, he had to go to the London.  Shelagh was growing concerned that the plans for their first wedding anniversary would have to be postponed.

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” Patrick promised when she told him of her fears. He pulled her away from the sink and whispered in her ear, “I have every intention of celebrating our anniversary. I’m looking forward to unwrapping my present tomorrow night. After the children go to bed.”

“Patrick,” Shelagh flirted. “You’re very greedy. How do you know I’ve gotten you anything at all?”

Nuzzling her neck, her answered, “Hmm, I’ve got my present right here in my arms. It’s my favorite gift ever.” His fingers trailed along her back, making her knees weak. “I particularly enjoy unwrapping it again and again.”

“Dad,” Timothy’s voice interrupted them as he entered the kitchen. “Please let Mum go. You’ll put me off my breakfast.”

Patrick’s head came around. “Sorry, son. I should think you’d have developed a stronger stomach by now.” Reluctantly, he released his wife and picked up his case. “I’m off. Late again tonight, I’m afraid. But tomorrow, it’s family time at the Observatory, then Tim, you’re off to a night at Colin’s and my little Angel will spend the night with Nonnatus.” With a quick tickle of the baby’s tummy, he was gone.

“Dad sure is chipper today,” Timothy grumbled.

Shelagh’s eyes danced as she tried to hide a dimple.

“Don’t you start, too,” the poor boy groused.

 

Fortunately, by the big day Patrick’s schedule settled back to normal, and after a chilly picnic at the observatory as a family, the no-longer-newlyweds were able to enjoy their dinner out. By nine o’clock that night, Patrick unlocked the door and ushered his wife into their home. The scent from the large bouquet of hyacinths and stephanotis wafted through the flat, welcoming them.

“I think it’s lovely you brought me the same flowers as our wedding, Patrick. You’re very romantic,” Shelagh confessed. She turned her back to him and let him slide her coat from her shoulders, and then reached up to remove her new pretty blue cap.

“Oh!” she cried as Patrick shifted from chivalrous to libidinous and pressed her body up against the wall. Not one to complain about her husband’s attentions, Shelagh happily responded.

Long moments later, Patrick rubbed his nose to hers. “As I recall, you didn’t give me a chance to make the first move a year ago.”

Shelagh couldn’t stop the blush that spread across her cheeks. “I was so nervous, dearest. I thought if I didn’t do something, I wouldn’t be able to do anything!”

He laughed and bent to lift her in his arms, heading to the bedroom door. “Oh, we would’ve figured something out, sweetheart. If I am certain of only one thing, that’s it.”

Sometime later, light filtered in through the open door, revealing a tangle of sheets and limbs. The passion that had raged only moments ago satisfied, their bodies slowly calming. Gingerly,  Shelagh moved her weight from above her husband and slid down alongside him. Patrick shifted to face her, propped up on his elbow.

He watched as her breathing slowed, and the flush faded from her cheeks. A year, he thought. One year ago tonight they had been so new to each other. He had known that being her husband was all he could hope for, that simply sharing his life with her would make him the happiest of men.

He never guessed that his prim wife, so long apart from the corporeal world, would be so ardent, so enthusiastic in their bedroom. Then again, he chuckled to himself, his Shelagh never did anything by halves. The joy of loving brought them even closer.

He kissed her lightly, and she smiled against his mouth. They lingered; glancing touches of lips and tongues fired more by intimacy than passion. Shelagh stretched contentedly and nuzzled her head against his shoulder.

Suddenly, Patrick sat up, sending Shelagh to the edge of the bed.

“I nearly forgot! Wait here,” he climbed out of bed and grabbed his dressing gown.

“No, Patrick. Stay,” his soft wife tempted.

He grinned wickedly. “I’ll just be a moment, love. Stay exactly as you are,” he told her as he headed out the door.

Shelagh sat up, pulling the sheets up as high as she could for modesty and reached for her glasses. The noises coming from the sitting room were strange, indeed. “Patrick, are you in the piano?” she laughed. He was definitely up to something, she thought. Spying his abandoned shirt on the floor, she scooped it up and slipped it on.

Practically dancing as he returned, Patrick sat on the bed beside his wife. “I’ll have to find a new hiding place. Tim wanted to know why the piano sounded so strange.” He stopped and took in the sight of his wife, hair tousled, lips swollen. “I like you in my shirt, my bold girl.” He held out his surprise.

“You already gave me a present, Patrick. The flowers are lovely.” Her eyes were on the inexpertly wrapped packages Patrick had set before her.

“That was for in front of the children.” With a lopsided grin, he reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear.

They had exchanged gifts at breakfast, Patrick receiving a formal portrait of Shelagh and the children; one copy for home, another for his surgery.

“I thought photographs, Patrick, for paper,” Shelagh had told him as she poured out more tea.

He had looked at her quizzically, seeming to not understand her meaning. Shelagh had continued, “Gifts are supposed to follow a theme. The first anniversary is paper. You know, like silver for twenty-five…”

“I reckon you’ll have to count the paper the flowers are wrapped in, Dad,” Timothy had teased.

Now, settling next to her on the bed, Patrick confided, “This is private, just between us. Open the little one first.”

Shelagh smiled, puzzled by his nervous state. The first package was small enough to fit in her hand and very light. She turned it over and untied the green ribbon, then began to peel the paper away.

Her breath caught in her throat, closing her lungs. The paper fell to the bed, revealing a new packet of cigarettes. Stunned, she looked up at him. “Patrick?”

His words rushed out. “Paper. I knew it was paper, Shelagh. The cigarettes, the packet, they’re paper.”

“But I don’t understand.” Surely Patrick wasn’t giving her cigarettes, not after Sunday’s talk?

“I’ve given them up, Shelagh. Cigarettes. I’m quitting for good this time.” His eyes glittered, anxiously searching her face. “I’ll need your help, Shelagh. I can’t do this without you.”

Shelagh stared at him; her pale eyes huge as the meaning of his words sank in, then let out a cry of joy. She sat up and wrapped her arms about his neck and clung tightly to him.

“Yes, Patrick. Oh, yes. Dearest, of course I’ll help. Anything.” She covered his face with kisses, laughing and crying all at once.

Laughing with her, Patrick held her away. “That’s not all. There’s one more present.”

Shelagh placed her hands on his cheeks. “I don’t need anything else, dearest. You’ve given me so much already.” She pressed her lips to his in a slow kiss.

Her body was warm pressed against his, and his hands slid under his shirt along her bare back, holding her tightly to him. His body stirred with his need for her again, but that would wait until after she opened the second gift. Coming to his senses, he returned his hands to her arms, making space between them. “Shelagh, open it.”

Wiping the tears from her face, Shelagh picked up the last gift. An extra large envelope tied with another bow, it gave no hint as to its contents. She slid her hand under the flap and pulled out its contents.

Few women are ever given an x-ray as a gift, and even Shelagh, with her own unusual history with the films, was confused.

Patrick waved a long finger in the air. “More light. You need to see it properly.”

He reached past her and flicked on the overhead fixture. Light flooded the room, and Shelagh took a moment to let her eyes adapt. Was this her x-ray from her time away, she wondered. She peered at the page and saw Patricks name, not hers across the top. Blood pounded in her ears as she felt a slow wave of panic come over her.

“Tuesday, when I said I was seeing a patient at the London? I was having this done. I’ve been to pulmonology this week.” He slid the film from her fingers, noticing how cold they had become.

“My lungs are clear, Shelagh. Between these and the tests done on the TB van, Dr. Parton is convinced there is no sign of any abnormalities in either lung, not even a shadow of an anything. Though he did give me a thorough lecture in the ‘Physician, Heal thyself” model.” He stopped speaking. Shelagh had gone very quiet.“Sweetheart?” He tucked his forefinger under her chin, coaxing her face to meet his.

Patrick knew Shelagh was a beautiful woman. It was a fact that his wife was empirically a truly beautiful woman. This knowledge wasn’t simply biased on his own observation; others were aware of it as well. The rest of the world could see her beauty: the glowing eyes and clear skin, her warm smile  and perfect form and more all added up to a loveliness unmatched.

He knew he was particularly attuned to her beauty because he loved her. He had known she was beautiful even when so little of her was exposed to him. When she became his Shelagh, he was astounded by her loveliness. She took his breath away when she smiled her answer to his proposal. She stunned him when he had turned to see her approaching him in the church.

He knew, more than anyone, how very lovely she truly was. He saw her beauty in her smiles at their children, as she lay asleep in their bed. The lovely serenity that crossed her face as she made their home, the winsome grace of her form as she walked, or did even the most mundane of tasks. And he alone had the privilege of seeing the beauty of her face when he loved her, sharing the joy of her body.

He knew right then that he had never seen her so glorious as at that moment, when she lifted her eyes to him, shining with love.

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