Tag Archives: Shelagh mannion

A Small Price to Pay

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“It was the last sunny day of that fateful fall.” A prompt from Like-An-Officer-and-a-Seargent helped get this little fic off the ground.

The air was crisp and clear as Timothy Turner ran through the streets towards home. His violin case banged against his knee in a way that would displease his music instructor, but the boy was undeterred. He wasn’t going to waste one more minute of this day away from home.

Dad would be waiting, Saturday surgery was surely over by now, and Shelagh would be there, too. They had promised him. Nothing would get in the way of their day together, Dad had promised. They would have lunch together, and then take the afternoon to explore the Cutty Sark. An entire day, just the three of them. Timothy picked up his pace.

He tore past Dad’s car, up the stone steps that led to the courtyard outside their flat, and came to a sudden halt outside the oversized door. He dropped the case on the ground and patted his pockets in search of his key. Finally, he was in and made his way through the maze of hallways to the flat, home in record time.

“Hello!” He called out as he hung his jacket up on the lowest hook. Shelagh’s coat was there next to his, her small green hat resting next to the phone.

Dad’s head poked around the corner from the kitchen, his eyes surprised. “Tim! You’re home early!” He disappeared for a moment, then stepped into the hall. “How was your lesson?”

Suspicious, Tim stepped around his father and searching for the source of the strangeness. Entering the kitchen, he saw Shelagh by the stove, her back to him. When she turned to greet him,  her cheeks were a bright pink.

“Shelagh? Are you ill?” He knew Shelagh’s health was still delicate, and while part of him was concerned, another more boyish part was disappointed. What if she had to go home? Their day would be ruined.

“No,” she answered. “Do I look ill?” Her voice was cheery, but she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Not precisely, but you do look rather flushed.” He glanced at his father. “Doesn’t she look flushed, Dad?”

“Shelagh’s fine, Tim. Now go and put your violin away and clean up for lunch. We want to leave soon, don’t we?”

Distracted by the thought of the day trip, Tim grinned and turned back to his violin. As he passed back by the kitchen door, he heard Shelagh’s soft voice.  “Patrick, not now,” she giggled.

Timothy paused in the hallway, his eyes wide. He shook his head as if to clear an unwelcome thought, and entered his room. No, he thought to himself. It couldn’t be.  All week, Jack had teased him about his father getting engaged. Jack had older sisters, one already married with a baby on the way, so he thought himself quite the expert on “the birds and the bees,” as the older boy called it. Worried, Timothy reminded himself that for all his friend’s bravado, he usually knew as little as everyone else in the play yard. Whatever Jack said, his father and Shelagh would not do any “mushy stuff.” The thought was ridiculous.

By the time he returned to the kitchen, lunch was laid out, and Dad and Shelagh sat across from each other at the small table. The alarming shade of pink had faded from her cheeks, too, thank goodness. They would have their day, after all.

 

“It’s such a lovely day, I thought we’d walk to the ferry today,” Patrick announced as he helped Shelagh on with her coat.

Tim agreed readily. If they didn’t have the car, Dad wouldn’t have his medical bag with him.  No medical bag meant Dad was Dad, and not Dr. Turner.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Dad said, pulling a slip of fabric from his pocket. He unfolded it and held out a bright blue scarf for Shelagh’s inspection. “It’ll be chilly out there today, you should have this.”

Again, Shelagh’s cheeks bloomed a pale pink, sending off a bell in Timothy’s head. “Patrick, you shouldn’t. I’m quite fine as I am.”

“No,” Dad’s voice was gentle. “I should, Shelagh. I like buying you pretty things, Shelagh. I found it in the stalls near the market square this morning, and you do need a scarf. Please?”

For a fleeting moment, Timothy got the sense that neither knew he was there. It was strange, really, and he was reminded of that day they found Shelagh on the misty road. Was this what Jack meant?

Before he could consider that thought further, his Dad looked over at him. “Ready, Tim?”

Timothy rolled his eyes. “I’ve been ready, Dad. I was waiting for you two to stop staring at each other.” He led the way down the hall. “Really, you two do that a lot. It’s a bit weird.”

 

The ferry crossing was chilly, Tim admitted, but not so cold Dad needed to stand so close to Shelagh the whole ride.

“I’m blocking the wind, Tim,” his dad explained.

Later, as they strolled along the quay, Dad tucked Shelagh’s hand into the crook of his elbow. “The quay could be slippery.”

And when they climbed the ladders to visit the ship, Dad put his hands around her waist and lifted her down. “Always help a lady down the steps, Tim,” his father instructed. “It’s the chivalrous thing to do.”

Timothy wasn’t so sure so much chivalry was in order, especially when he came around a masthead to find them standing side by side, Dad’s arm around Shelagh’s shoulder. They were talking quietly as they looked out over the river, oblivious to the crowds.

He was willing to let such odd behavior slide, however. Dad answered all of his questions and seemed to have a boundless patience for all the exploring Timothy wanted to do. Shelagh laughed at his jokes and knew exactly when to offer him a few biscuits from her handbag  later in the day. Sitting in the Lyons tea house that evening, his belly full but willing to try one more cream cake, he couldn’t remember a better day. Not in a long, long time.

 

The trio strolled through the streets on the way home, happy and tired. Unsurprisingly, Dad and Shelagh walked arm in arm again, and Timothy wished for just a moment that he was small enough to fit between them, his hands in each of theirs. But he wasn’t little anymore.

They came to Shelagh’s corner first. Tim tried to keep the disapppointment from his voice.  “You’re going home now?”

Shelagh looked shyly at him, but before she could speak, Dad interrupted. “Come home with us, Shelagh, just a little longer. I’ll drive you home before the door gets locked.”

“Please, Shelagh?” Timothy added. “I could show you how to make those paper boats I was talking about.”

“If you’re certain,” she faltered.

“I am completely certain,” the boy asserted. Her eyes lit up with a secret thought, then met Dad’s for a moment.

“Well, then,”she tucked her arm in Dad’s elbow and reached out her hand. Timothy took it, and hand in hand, the three continued home.

 

Much past his bedtime, Timothy lay awake in his bed, happy with his thoughts. He glanced at the proud paper boat on his desk, ready for its maiden launch if the weather held. A good part of the evening had been spent trying to perfect the craft, with Shelagh tending to two papercuts on his fingers and Dad helping him learn to perfect the crease. All in all, a fine end to a fine day.

He grimaced. At least, it was mostly a fine evening. Now he had cause to worry that perhaps Jack was right after all. Saturday night was bath night, and though he tried to finish as quickly as possible, it seemed to take ages of time. Finally clean, combed and clothed, he returned to the sitting room, eager to spend a bit more time together before Dad took Shelagh back to the boarding house.

What he saw when he entered the room, however, made him stop in his tracks. He had left them straightening up the clutter of paper and tea cups and expected the room to be back in order when he returned. To the poor boy’s disgust, however, he found half-folded boats and crumpled paper scattered on the floor and worse yet, Dad and Shelagh…

They jumped apart, but there was no denying the fact that

They

Were

Kissing.

And not just a peck on the cheek, like he gave Granny Parker when they went for a visit. Dad– his father–was caught in a clinch with Shelagh that would make Jack’s sister blush. A full-on, arms hugging, head tilting, really-lasting-far-too-long kiss.

And Timothy was glad.

There, he had to admit it. He was glad his Dad was kissing Shelagh. Oh, he didn’t want to see it–that was revolting–but he knew that when Dad kissed Shelagh, they were happy. The kind of happy that Timothy had felt all day today.

Dad and Shelagh were going to get married, and everything would be different. Sure, there might be some of the beastly “mushy stuff” to deal with, but it seemed a small price to pay for having a happy family. And to be completely honest, Timothy admitted, it wasn’t so terrible.  Just as long as he didn’t have to see any of it. There were limits, after all.

 

The Birth of a Nightgown

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Time for some classic pre-wedding Turnadette. Maybe I’m trying to distract myself from impending Series 5 doom. Whatever.

I’ve lit the stove and put two, maybe three kettles on for steam, I think.

Notes: Mannion was given as Shelagh’s maiden name in the cast list for the 2013 Christmas Special. We never heard it said, but that put it in the canon.

 

The light of the late spring dawn woke Shelagh Mannion from a light slumber. Stretching, she brought the covers up under her chin and turned into her pillow. She felt decadent sleeping past the sunrise, but after three months of life outside the convent, she appreciated the quiet solitude and ease of her mornings.

She smiled to herself and snuggled deeper into the blankets. She had enjoyed this time on her own, but soon her mornings would no longer be solitary or quiet. A week from today, she would wake for the first time as Shelagh Turner, wife and mother.

Her eyes opened in surprise and she sat upright in her bed. A week! Their engagement seemed to go on forever these last five months, and now suddenly she and Patrick would be husband and wife in seven days. A slow smile crept across her face and she pulled her knees up to rest her chin.

Married to Patrick in one week. It was hard to believe, after all they’d been through these last months. She wiggled her toes into the mattress. If things had gone according to the original plan, they’d have been married for more than two months by now. She sighed, and turned to look out the window.

Her life had taken so many unexpected turns, but her path felt sure. She felt such a deep happiness, one greater than she had ever known, and she was grateful. There was grace in the sadness, too. Shelagh knew without the pain of the past, she would not be where she needed to be now.

And she was definitely where she needed to be. Timothy was home from hospital finally, and despite the boy’s attempts at independence, he and Patrick needed her more than ever.

Good planning left the last of the wedding to-dos in the hands of her bridesmaids.  Shelagh could devote her energies to her soon-to-be family this last week. All there was left for them to do was try out Timothy’s suit and enjoy their time together. She would join them after church and spend the entire day with them. Content, Shelagh rose from her bed to pray.

Prayer was once again the salve for her soul, and she offered her petitions to a God she knew would accept her and love her, despite her human failings. Her breathing slowed and her mind stilled for a moment, and Shelagh let her peace fill her heart.

Standing, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was tousled from sleep, her face still bore the impression of the hand it rested upon through the night. And the nightgown! The peace of the moment before fled as a crease formed between her eyebrows. All but her face, hands, and feet were shrouded in white winceyette. What would Patrick think? It was hardly a nightgown suitable for a wedding night, she realized. She looked like a child, or possibly someone’s granny.

She chewed her lip. She was completely certain this was the right path. Pledging herself to be Patrick’s wife was exactly the life she wanted. She felt complete with him, and this prolonged engagement gave them the chance to build a partnership. Together, they could face the challenges life put in their path. But as of next week, there would be one more element to their life together that made her nervous.

Her cheeks grew warm with her confusion. Why was she embarrassed, she wondered? There was no shame in the physical expression of love. The unique closeness it created between a husband and wife could strengthen their union, and she did not shy from the act. But what would it mean? How would it change things between them?

She shook her head, trying to erase her confusing thoughts. She had no need to fear what lay before her, indeed she longed for it. Patrick would be gentle; he would help her learn. Of course, a sexual relationship would bring them closer.

She knew this, and yet she did not. For weeks now, Patrick kept her at arm’s length. Their time together was filled with Timothy, their time alone shadowed by fears of gossip. Despite their good intentions, Patrick and Shelagh, the couple, fell from the priority list. Yet, somehow, this lack of closeness felt deliberate, somehow.

She found she missed him. Even when they were together, he held himself away from her. The gentle experiments in intimacy became fewer and fewer. No longer did he sneak quick kisses or whisper words he knew would pinken her cheeks.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she told her reflection. “Patrick loves you. After the wedding, then things will settle into place.” But she could not shake the worry that her fiance was more interested in her as a partner than a wife.

 

That evening, a tired Timothy swayed before her in his calipers, his black suit crisp in its newness.

“It’s perfect,” she told him. “You look very handsome.”

“You do look smart, Tim,” his father agreed. He tilted his head to get a better look and added,  “Quite grown-up, really.”

“Yes. You’ll need a haircut this week, perhaps your father–”

“It’s all in hand, Shelagh. Haircuts Thursday after clinic. I’ve asked Mr. Floyd to keep his shop open for us. Then Capriani’s for our stag dinner on Friday, and by Saturday morning, the Turner men will be fit and ready to be presented.” Shelagh watched the same grin crossed both of their faces.

“If it’s alright with you both, I think I’d like to get out of this monkey suit and into bed,” Timothy informed them. “I’m not much good as a fashion model.”

Patrick nodded. “I’ll help. The last thing we need is to find your suit in a pile on the floor tomorrow morning.”

Left alone for a few minutes, Shelagh set the room to rights. Tim’s school books were stowed in his bag, and his lunch left in the refrigerator to be packed in the morning. Knowing it was more likely to make its way to school if Patrick had a reminder, she left a note by his morning coffee cup.

She looked up at the sound of Patrick’s feet returning down the hall. “All’s well?” she asked.

“All’s well. He won’t read much tonight, despite what he thinks. He’s tired.” He relaxed his lean frame against the door jamb. His eyes followed her as she took care of those small chores that helped to make the flat so much more of a home in the last months. “Today was a good day,” he told her.

Their eyes met across the kitchen. “Yes, it was. I can’t remember the last time we spent so much time together.” She stopped herself, unwilling to douse the relaxed mood.

One step brought him before her. “I can’t either. Thank God there’s only one more week and we can be together like this all the time.”

Something in his voice surprised her. His timbre softened, luring her closer. Shelagh felt her heart begin to skip. She searched his face for signs of withdrawal, but his expression remained warm.

He reached for her hand and led her back to the sitting room sofa.

Shelagh chattered, filling the silence. “You’ll both look so smart together in your matching suits. I’ve chosen the boutonnieres for you, you’ll be quite dashing.”

“It’s not quite fair, you know,” Patrick teased, pulling her beside him. His eyebrows lifted with his grin. “You know exactly how I’ll look on Saturday, and I haven’t a single clue as to what my bride will look like at our wedding. All I know is that your new dress took the efforts of the whole of Nonnatus!”

Shelagh pressed her lips together, hiding a smile. “Patrick, you know you can’t. I know it’s just a silly superstition, but I want you to be surprised.”

He picked up her hand and entwined their fingers. “Surprised? I’m amazed you’re marrying me at all!” His eyes traced her face, his own growing serious. “I don’t even know what your hair looks like down,” he murmured.

Her cheeks grew warm. “Of course, you do, Patrick!”

With a small laugh, he grazed his fingers at her temple. “No, I don’t. You kept it buried under a wimple for most of our acquaintance if you remember. And since…since then, you’ve always worn it up like that. How long is it?” His voice seemed muted.

Shelagh gazed up into his face. Though he was smiling, his eyes glittered, their hazel color greener. The air in the room seemed to disappear and it became more difficult to breathe. The distance she had sensed between them was gone.

Without thinking, she answered the question in his eyes. Blood pounded in her ears, silencing her doubts, and she let instinct take control.  Reaching up, she removed the pins that kept her hair in its sleek twist, letting it fall down to her shoulders. The silence between them grew deeper, and Patrick buried his fingers in the blond tresses.

“You’re so lovely, Shelagh,” he whispered, and she felt for certain he would kiss her.  Then he pulled away, making some space between them. “I should take you home.”

The air between them still crackled, for all his attempts to bring things back to normal. Bewildered, she watched his Adam’s apple move convulsively in his throat as he swallowed. Tired of the distance, Shelagh pressed a kiss to his mouth.

Surprised by her sudden move, Patrick sat ramrod still, and after a long moment, Shelagh released his lips. A small breath fluttered from her lungs as her eyes opened to meet his.

Her bold gesture triggered a change in him. “Well, then,” Patrick exhaled.  He slipped her glasses from her nose and placed them on the table. “Home can wait.”

Something opened up in Shelagh, something she’d felt those few times Patrick loosened his control. She met his mouth in a slow, lingering kiss, one hand caressing his cheek whilst the other wrapped around his neck. She held his face to her, their kiss building to a sweetness she did not want to end.

She knew he must have sensed her eagerness, for he deepened the kiss. His scent filled her head, the intimate taste of his mouth thrilling her. Her arms wrapped tighter about his neck and she pressed herself closer to him.

In response, Patrick shifted and pressed her back into the arm of the sofa. The angle was awkward, and they could not find the closeness they sought. In a single movement, he slid his arm beneath her knees and swept them over his lap. They were now closer than they had ever been.

Patrick kept the kiss slow, his hands gentle as they rested against her knees. A low sound escaped from Shelagh’s throat, and in response, he slid his mouth along her jaw.

“My love,” he whispered. His mouth found the soft skin at the base of her ear as his fingers stroked the smooth skin behind her knee.

She coaxed his mouth back to meet hers and she gave him the kiss she had been thinking of all day. The suppressed passion of the last months rose to the surface, and she was overwhelmed by the strength of it.

Too soon, Patrick pulled back, easing her away from the intensity of their embrace. He traced the line of her cheek with his nose.

“Alright?” he breathed.

“Yes, alright, Patrick.”

They stayed that way, heartbeats slowing and minds clearing. After long moments, Patrick shifted, helping her up to a less amorous position. He pulled her close to his side and nuzzled her hair.

Shelagh pressed her face against his chest. The feelings aroused by their embrace calmed, but her confusion did not clear. “I don’t want to disappoint you.” Her words were soft, barely audible.

His head turned to her, baffled. He stayed silent, waiting for her to find her words.

“It’s so confusing. I’m so happy, and content and…it feels so right, Patrick, being together with you. But we haven’t . . . Done things in so long . . .and I thought…I thought that maybe you didn’t think of me this way. That maybe this wouldn’t be an important part of us.”

“Not important!” he groaned. “Shelagh, I’ve spent the last five months taking twice daily cold baths to keep myself from “doing things” to you. I had to hold myself away from you or I’d have–My God, Shelagh, I’m mad for you! I didn’t want to–to frighten you, or make you feel uncomfortable about any of this. But I can tell you, without any doubt, that I very much want this to be an important part of our marriage.”

This time, it was Shelagh who lightened the kiss, placing her hands on his shoulders and keeping her face even with his. “You don’t have to treat me like a china doll, dearest, I’m not afraid. But you’ll be patient with me? You’ll help me learn?”

“Absolutely nothing would make me happier, sweetheart. We’ll learn together.”

Much later, so much that she nearly missed her curfew at the boarding house, Shelagh stood at window of her rented room and watched Patrick drive off. She pulled down the blind and turned to her bed. There, folded neatly, was her old winceyette nightgown.

She held it up for inspection. “Sorry, old girl,” she murmured, surveying the yards of fabric. “It’s time for you to go. I’m going to be a married woman, after all. It won’t do to wear an enormous granny nightie for our wedding night. I’ll need something pretty, maybe with flowers? Yes. I’m certain Patrick will like that. Something pretty and flowery, with a bow in the back, perhaps…”

 

Under the Starry Sky

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Author’s Note: My science is off here, friends. I suppose that’s one of the reasons why we call it fanfiction. And all knowledge of the Royal Observatory at Greenwich comes from the internet. But it’s on my list of things to do (certain people should take note).

This story is set very early during Patrick and Shelagh’s engagement.

And apologies for the terrible Cockney accents. Poor Fred deserves better than I give him.

Eight wolf cubs bounced along the sidewalk waiting for the bus to take them across the river to the Royal Observatory. The promise of a field trip, and in the evening no less, made them all particularly boisterous. Watching over the boys, Dr. Patrick Turner turned to Fred Buckle with a pained expression. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Fred? It’s like herding cats!”

“Where’s your courage, Doc? Afraid of a few young boys? Look at Sis-, I mean, Miss Mannion here. Calm in the center of the storm, she is. Always has been.” He leaned in to add, “Sorry, Miss. Hard to break old habits, ain’t it?” Realizing his unintended pun, he reddened.

“That’s quite all right, Fred, really. And please call me Shelagh. I’d like to think we’re friends,” Shelagh smiled at him. Of all those from Nonnatus, Fred seemed to be the easiest to be with since the “Great Change,” as he called it. His ingenuous nature and straightforward approach to life made everyone feel comfortable around him and Shelagh appreciated the complete acceptance he offered. Which was exactly why she volunteered herself and Patrick for tonight’s event.

Fred puffed out his chest, the too-tight uniform stretching over his great belly. “Not tonight, Miss Mannion. On duty, y’know.”

“Alright, lads, single file,” Patrick called out. “The bus is coming ‘round the corner. Gary, you’ll be squashed under the bus if you’re not careful,” he admonished. From the corner of his eye, he noticed an old man pull to the side away from the group. “You can go first, sir.”

“No thanks, guv,” the old man chortled. “Think I’ll wait for the next bus, if you don’t mind.”

“Wise man,” answered Patrick, grinning. He turned to Shelagh. The cubs had all nearly mounted the steps of the bus behind Fred. Smiling, he said quietly, “Ready, Shelagh? It’s not too late to turn back.”

“Ready, Patrick. I’m looking forward to tonight.” Shyly, she smiled up at him and he could feel his heart lurch. The world slipped away when she looked at him like that, her clear eyes revealing depths of her heart only he could see. Swallowing, he held out his hand to help her up the steps and she took it, embracing the chivalric gesture. She climbed the bus, and he regretted the heavy winter coat she wore, disguising her figure. The sight of her lovely legs was a welcome consolation prize, though, and Patrick’s thoughts took a decidedly “un-chaperone-ish” turn.

“Slow down, man,” he told himself. For over ten years Shelagh had devoted herself to the strictures of her Order. He would need to be patient as she grew comfortable with the developing intimacy of their relationship. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to be too patient.

“You comin’ then, mate?” the bus driver called, and Patrick cleared his head and followed her down the aisle.

“Dad! Bagheera says if we look really hard tonight we’ll see three planets!” Timothy called.

The grounds of the Royal Conservatory were quiet, the crowds long gone. Neither Patrick nor Shelagh were completely certain how Fred had managed to organize this trip to complete the Cubs’ Astronomy badge, but his schemes had rarely led to real trouble, and the two were willing to put their faith in the handyman.

Their trust was rewarded when they arrived at the gates to find them open, and a friendly caretaker there to greet them.

“ ‘ello, Fred! I knew ye’d use that marker up one day. Never expected it to be fer a pack o’ Cubs, I must say!” Barry Piper joked.

“Always happy to fill in when I’m needed, Barry, my man. Though to be ‘onest,” the large man leant in secretively, “I’d always planned on using this favor to court a lady!”

Impatient to move to their first stop, the Cubs grew noisy. “A’right, lads! Follow me. First stop, the old telescope building!”

The tour took the small group to the site of the Great Equatorial Building, the former home of an enormous 28-inch diameter telescope. Damage to the building during the war had led to the transfer of the Observatory to Herstmonceux the year many of the Cubs were born, and the structure bore little resemblance to its days of glory.

The pack wandered about, closely examining the historic photos on the wall. “It looks like an onion!” exclaimed Billy Wegman, whose father was a greengrocer.

“It does, Billy. The dome had to be wider on the bottom to account for the length of the telescope. And there was a balcony built on top, here,” Patrick pointed to the next photograph.

“Why’d they keep changin’ it?” asked Jack. “They’re as bad as me mum. She’s always movin’ the furniture!”

“Scientists have to keep changing,” a voice piped up from the back. Timothy Turner continued, “We can’t keep doing things the same old way, we’d never learn anything that way. Scientists have to be ready to take risks.”

Patrick caught Shelagh’s eye. “That’s precisely right, Tim. Where would we be if we never had the courage to accept change?” He grinned and was rewarded with the light blush that colored her cheeks. This was fun, Patrick realized. Shelagh was hesitant to draw attention to them as a pair, and throughout the evening they had kept a respectful distance from each other. Now, he thought, he would find more subtle ways to flirt with his new fiance.

The walk along the Meridian offered him another chance. A laughing line of Cubs balanced themselves between two hemispheres, sure that one day they would rule the world. Lanterns and torches flickered as the boys darted around each other playfully in the growing dark.

Bagheera called out, “Right. Who can tell me what an orrery is? No, not you, Timothy, someone else this time. Gary, I’m sure you did yer required readin’ before settin’ out this evening. What is an orrery?”

There was a moment’s pause, then Gary responded, “A model of the universe?”

“Precisely. And don’t think I didn’t see you sneakin’ up behind wif the answer, Timothy Turner. Now, we are goin’ to make a human orrery.”

“I think Fred’s found a new word,” Patrick whispered in Shelagh’s ear.

“Patrick,” she scolded. “Shh!”

Fred continued. “Wif eight cubs, plus me, we make nine. I’ll be Jupiter, for obvious reasons.” He patted his belly and glanced around the group of boys. “Billy, you’ll be Mercury, and Timothy you be Venus…”

“Great. Why do I always have to be the girl?” Timothy muttered.

Soon the nine planets were lined up properly in their orbits, varying sized planets and varying distances. “So you can see how each of the planets lies in relation to the others,” Fred seemed quite proud of his successful plan.

“Sorry, Bagheera, but I think there’s something missing from your solar system,” Patrick pointed out.

Fred looked confused.

“The sun, Fred. The solar system won’t work without its center.” Patrick took Shelagh by the hand and led her to the center of the group. Moving beyond the circles, he explained, “It’s the strength of the sun’s gravity that makes the whole thing work. Without the sun, all the other planets would float aimlessly, cold and barren. The sun lets it all make sense.”

“Your hair is like the sun, a bit, Miss,” winked Tommy Bergen, the flirt of the group.

Patrick almost growled at the boy.

“Right, then, last stop, Mr. Tyson’s telescope. Hands at your sides at all times, I’m sure you’ll remember, Cubs. And wif some luck, we’ll see Billy, Tim and me up in the heavens!”

Mr. Tyson, another old friend of Bagheera’s from other times, stood by a magnificent telescope, high on the hill. Patrick noticed that the handsome astronomer bore little resemblance to Fred’s usual acquaintances. The quick lecture, and the stern warning delivered by their fearless leader reminded each of the boys that the rules regarding the telescope were definitely meant to be followed. One at a time, each Cub would have a turn viewing the visible planets, all conveniently located in the same quadrant of the sky.

“Ladies first, gentlemen,” Mr. Tyson invited Shelagh over to the telescope. Patrick followed her, and when she looked at him curiously, he remarked, “I’ll hold your glasses.”

Which of course alerted Mr. Tyson to the fact that “Miss Mannion” was not a heavenly body to be studied.

Shelagh looked up, delighted by the sight of such natural splendor. “Oh, Patrick. Look! If that’s not enough evidence of God’s power, I don’t know what is!”

He laughed and led her away from the pack. “I’m not quite sure now is the time for existential debate, Shelagh. But no one is looking if you want to show me proof of your own…”

“Patrick,” Shelagh scolded.

“Shelagh,” he answered.

“It’s Timothy’s turn next. Pay attention.”

Despite the darkness, Patrick could sense Shelagh inch closer, then felt the brush of her fingers against his. Heat flushed through his body, demanding he take a deep breath to control himself.

“I’m not an adolescent male. I can control this,” he thought.

Unable to resist, Patrick stole a glance. Despite the darkness, he could clearly see a small smile playing on her lips.

“You’re doing this on purpose!” he whispered.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shelagh whispered in return, her eyes alight with mischief.

He glanced over at the pack of cubs mesmerized by the telescope, fighting for their turn. Certain that their attention was far from their forgotten chaperones, Patrick turned to face Shelagh, but was surprised by her own swift movement. A tug on his tie and his face was pulled down to hers for a quick kiss.

She moved away quickly, only narrowly escaping his arms as they reached to hold her closer. He stood there, stunned, until a slow smile crossed his face.

It didn’t look like he would need to be so very patient, after all.

Later, as they corralled eight tired boys on to the bus home, Fred noted, “Wouldnt’ve thought pink was your color, Doctor Turner.”

Puzzled, Patrick looked at Shelagh. ‘Oh dear,” she fretted.

“What? What is it?”

“Lipstick,” she whispered.

With a sheepish grin, Patrick pulled out his handkerchief and erased the traitorous mark away.

“Patrick,” Shelagh worried. “What if one of the boys had noticed? What if one of them saw us?”

With a grin, he squeezed her hand and leant in to whisper, “They’ll have to get their own lipstick.”

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?”

 


Sixty Minute Challenge, Prompt Two: Understanding Choices

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“I should have known there was a man behind this!” Sister Evangelina rose angrily from her chair and paced the room.

Sister Julienne watched from behind the safety of her desk. She knew better than to interrupt her Sister at a moment like this. Sister Evangelina was a bit like a volcano, once the big explosion passed, the anger would cool and reason would return.

“We should have known. We should have known ten years ago! She was too young to join the Order. She should have waited, lived a life on the outside first. She was never tested.”

“Sister, she was young, but we both know the challenges she’d already faced.”

The angry nun turned. “She knew sadness, of course, but what did she know of the real world? Barely twenty when she joined us, fresh out of nursing school, and the convent school before that. The Reverend Mother should have insisted she wait.”

Realizing her own disobedience, Sister Evangelina returned to her chair. “Forgive me. I should not have said such a thing. Of course the Reverend Mother made the best decision she could at the time.”

Silence descended upon the two nuns as each struggled with difficult emotions.

Sister Evangelina spoke first. “At least now we know she hasn’t lost her faith. Though I’m not sure this is much better. To have her head turned by a man!” She sighed heavily. “I must say I am stunned. I had more respect for Dr. Turner than that.”

“I do not think it was as you suspect, Sister. I do not believe that either one of them have behaved improperly.”

Sister Evangelina was doubtful. “How on earth could this have happened? She left us only weeks ago, not nearly long enough for something like this to happen.”

Sister Julienne put down the pen she had been nervously rolling between her fingers and clasped her hands. “I’m afraid this was not so sudden as it seems.”

“But you said-” the other nun interrupted.

Shaking her head, the calm nun continued. “I am convinced the relationship did not begin until our sister had already decided to leave us. For a very long time, I knew there was something troubling her, something she was unwilling to share. You, too, noticed, I think. Last autumn?”

Thinking back, Sister Evangelina recalled. “Yes. The deaths of the Gibney mother and babe. She took that very hard. She asked to be excused from services for days.”

“Yes. And assisting at the Mother House last winter, Mother Jesu sensed a resistance to some of the old ways.”

“I can’t say as I blame her for that,” shrugged Sister Evangelina. “Sister Dorothy Ann is the most officious nun I have ever met.”

“Yes, well, it certainly didn’t help our former sister. I believe she began to question her role in the religious life long before those challenges. She realized she was living the wrong life, and it was only then that she began to look elsewhere for happiness.”

Using the desk to prop her arm, Sister Evangelina rested her forehead against her palm. “We all have doubts at times. It’s not an easy life. I had hoped she was strong enough.”

Sister Julienne considered her sister’s words. When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “Thank you, my dear sister. Until now, I did not truly understand our friend’s journey.”

She reached across the desk and gripped her Sister’s hand. “It is not a question of strength, old friend. Every path is a difficult one, every path has it’s own sacrifices and joys.

“Sister, why do we serve the mothers of this community? Why do we feel they are so important? It is because they are the center of all life. They give birth, they care for their families, and must willingly put the needs of others before themselves. Shelagh has not made a selfish choice, she has merely exchanged one set of sacrifices and joys for another.”

Sister Evangelina straightened and held her sister’s hand between both of her own. Smiling in understanding, she nodded. “I suppose we must accept that everyone must make their own path in life. Even if we don’t understand it.”

“We do, indeed.”

“Well,” Sister Evangelina stood abruptly. “I’ll support her in whatever decision she makes. Shelagh Mannion has earned the right to live her own life. I will miss her, though. She’s a funny little thing. She’ll make Timothy an excellent mother, too. The boy certainly deserves her.”

She turned and opened the door. “Dr. Turner better watch it, though. I do not take kindly to foxes in the henhouse.”

Courting Shelagh, Chapter 5

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Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3     Chapter 4    

Patrick moved a step back, breaking the contact between them. Shelagh’s eyes fluttered open, revealing still-dilated pupils. He smiled at her slightly dazed expression and slid his hands back up to grasp her upper arms.

“I’m famished,” he whispered mischievously.

A bashful grin swept her face, and Shelagh returned to the moment. “If you’ll follow me, then?” she asked as she led the way down the hallway.

If there was a fabric that loved a woman, Patrick thought, it would be velvet. He watched as Shelagh went before him, the luminous fabric clinging to her lithe form just so. He wondered if she knew how well suited she was to this dress. Not likely. If she had any idea what thoughts the dress conjured in his mind, she’d be tucked up safe and sound in her rented room.

“Get a hold of yourself, man,” he thought to himself and shook his head, following her into the sitting room.

Patrick stopped in the doorway in amazement. The lights were dimmed, and the table set with a crisp white linen cloth and the best plates. Two candles burned warmly, as the low sounds of music came from the record player.

“Shelagh, love. You did all this?”

“I know how much you wanted to go out tonight, Patrick. When you called to say that you’d be late, I thought we could make our own evening. Mrs. Trevell let me borrow a few things from the kitchen and sent along some food. It’s only cold ham and egg pie and a bit of greens, I’m afraid, but Mrs. B gave me some lovely pastries and some bread. We can pretend it’s Cordon Blue.”

He grinned as he took it all in. “You’re splendid, Shelagh. You always know how to make everything better.” He touched the china plate.

“Timothy told me about your mother’s china once. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve taken it out?” Shelagh’s voice was hurried.

“Mind? Of course not. I don’t think we ever used it. My brother certainly didn’t need it, and Marianne had her own, so it just went to the back of the cupboard. I’d forgotten it, to be honest.” He examined Shelagh’s bent head. “My mother would be proud that we’re using it, Shelagh. She would have loved you.”

Shelagh glanced back up at him, and he captured her gaze. His head tilted as he assured her, “It’s perfect, my love. It’s not the Ritz, but I think it will do just as well,”

“Patrick!” Shelagh gasped. “You never meant for us to go there tonight!”

“Only the best for my girl!” He moved a step closer, his eyes warm. “At least here we don’t have to spend so much time in travel. As it is, we’ll have to hurry if we’re to get you back in time before the door’s locked.”

Shelagh shook her head, blushing. “Mrs. Trevell gave me a key. Just for tonight, mind you. She said she’d hate to see this dress go to waste.”

Patrick’s eyebrows danced on his forehead. “Thank you, Mrs. Trevell!” With a quick kiss on her cheek, he held out her chair. “If Madam would care to be seated?”

Shelagh’s blush grew deeper. “Patrick,” she half-heartedly chided.

Seating himself, Patrick shook out his napkin. “This looks delicious. Tim will be jealous. He says the ham and egg pie in hospital is revolting.”

Shelagh dished out a large portion to Patrick. “How was Timothy this evening? I’m afraid I was too distracted to finish anything more than his maths today. Did he have his physical therapy?”

Unwilling to worry her unnecessarily, Patrick had not mentioned his son’s little health scare. He couldn’t keep it from Shelagh any longer and was grateful he could tell her Tim was fine. Taking a deep breath, he began to explain.

Shelagh’s face showed more disquiet as he went on. “Shelagh, he was fine. I would have called you in if it had been any more serious.”

“Yes, but Patrick, if I had stayed when I usually do, I might have noticed his cough sooner. That Nurse Wilson is too aggressive with his exercises. I suppose I’m simply going to have to extend my visits.” Her face was determined.

“Shelagh,” Patrick interrupted. His hands came down on either side of his plate. “You can’t be with him all the time. Especially while he’s in hospital. we have to trust in the care that he’s receiving. And,” he reached for her fingers, “you have responsibilities elsewhere. Tim doesn’t expect you to be there all your waking hours. He’s thrilled to have you as much as he does.” He tried to catch her eye again. “He was bragging only yesterday how he knows more of your secrets than I do.”

Cautiously, Shelagh met his look and a small smile started. “And you’re certain he isn’t upset that I left him this afternoon?”

“I am completely certain.” He raised her hand up and kissed it gently. “Tonight was his idea in the first place. He’s been listening to the nurses, and it seems a gentleman should woo a lady.”

The blush returned. “That’s not necessary, Patrick, I told you. I’m quite happy as I am spending our evenings with Timothy.”

“He knows that, which is precisely why he won’t mind if you step away for an evening. My love, you and Timothy and me, we’re a family. Even now, before we’re married, we are. That’s important. But you and I, we’re a couple. After Tim, or any future children grow up and leave us, it’ll be us two.” His eyes softened. “I fell in love with you quite apart from the idea that you could be a mother to Timothy, you know.”

Shelagh sat quietly, her eyes on her plate. Even months later, they still didn’t say those words often.  Patrick waited as she absorbed his meaning. After a moment, she raised her eyes to his, a smile lighting up her face.

“If you’re going to say such lovely things, dearest, I’m afraid I will have to insist we do this more often.”

A laugh escaped his throat. Picking up his fork, he grinned. “That’s settled then. I am definitely going to like this.”

Next Chapter

Courting Shelagh, Chapter 4

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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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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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Previous Chapter

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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