Tag Archives: Turnadette

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.”

Blush

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A/N:  I’ve had a VERY long dry spell, for various reasons, and I needed to get my brain working again. So I’m jumping in with both feet with this one. No agonizing, no rewrites until my fingers hurt, no second guessing (well, maybe some).

I decided to use a prop to start my creativity. I don’t do it justice (it’s a pretty powerful prop), but it was fun trying it!

I wonder if you can guess before the end (it’s not too difficult. I’m fairly transparent.)

“Patrick, please. This will go much more quickly if you cooperate with Mr. Unger,” Shelagh Turner huffed in frustration as an exasperated photographer stepped outside for a cigarette.

“I don’t see the purpose, Shelagh. It’s an article about the new Maternity Home, not me. We should be taking a photograph of the building, or even the ward.”

The new and improved Kenilworth Row Maternity Home was finally ready to open its doors to a waiting population. Or, as Patrick liked to say (to his son’s embarrassment), “a waiting waiting population.” The pregnant women of Poplar had been without this center of obstetrical care for nearly two months since the closure of the previous home, and the burden on both the patients and doctors had been a heavy one. To herald the re-opening, the Board had sent over a photographer from the Poplar Gazette.

One might say Patrick was uncomfortable with this attention. He had never sought publicity, and was often uncomfortable with the level of hero-worship he came across in his patients. But after the difficulties getting the word out about weekly clinics, Shelagh had convinced him that it was all in the best interests of the community.

“Photographs of the new wallpaper won’t do, dear. The community wants to know that you’ll be here for them when they come in. Now, please, cooperate for just a few minutes more. You’re as bad as Timothy.”

Patrick sulked. “Timothy doesn’t have to sit and have his portrait taken for hours.”

Now Shelagh was a newlywed, and new to many of the situations she found herself in of late. But she was a quick study, and had soon learned a few “techniques” to soften her husband up.

Stepping behind the tripod, she glanced coyly at her husband. “Perhaps if I took the picture?” A hopeful Patrick was generally a much more amenable Patrick.

Patrick turned back to his wife, suddenly alert to a change in the room. Covering the smirk with his hand he answered.

“Where do you want me?”

Shelagh took a deep breath, determined to keep her composure. “At your desk, if you please. We’ll simply use Mr. Unger’s set-up. Just sit down-yes, like that. Now look at the camera…” Shelagh glanced at the device, readying herself to capture the image. Satisfied all was ready, she placed her finger on the shutter button, then looked back at her subject.

His eyes met hers, and all thought flew from her head. The shutter clicked, and the next moment the photographer returned.

“Excellent, Dr. Turner. All set? Let’s get this finished then, shall we?”

A week later, Timothy came in with the post.

“The paper’s here, Dad. The Maternity Hospital’s on the front page!” Excitedly, he tossed the rest of the post on the kitchen table before he returned to the sitting room.

“Timothy, be more careful with the post, if you please,” Shelagh scolded lightly. Sorting through the envelopes, she noted, “Patrick, there’s something else here from the paper.”

Shrugging, Patrick barely looked up from the article. “Go ahead, Shelagh, you open it. It’s probably a subscription renewal notice.”

Unfolding the letter, Shelagh read aloud, “”Dear Dr. Turner, I have enclosed some of extra photographs taken during our session last week. I thought you may want some to document the history of your Hospital. Others you may prefer to keep for personal use. Regards, F. Unger.’

“Personal use? What on earth…” Shelagh pulled the photographs from the smaller enclosed envelope.

A long silence followed. Intrigued, Patrick looked up from the paper to see his wife’s face, the usual creamy ivory of her skin a bright pink.

“Shelagh?” he asked. Standing up behind her, his eyes fell to the photograph in her hands. It was fairly clear why this photograph had not been used for the morning edition. It was equally clear that this same photograph would not be displayed at neither the maternity hospital nor their sitting room. But if he was lucky, he might be able to convince his wife that this should remain in their private collection.

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Change Takes Time

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Okay, so this one is definitely a solid three kettles.

The new Maternity Home stood at the far end of Kenilworth Row, nearly half a mile from its previous home. The years had not been kind to the old building, and in the burst of energy that came after the Christmas bomb scare, the Borough Council decided it was time for a change.

As chief medical officer of the hospital, Dr. Patrick Turner was expected to find new sites for both the hospital and the local clinics. It seemed the Council has little regard for an already over-full patient list, limited resources and the needs of a recuperating son. Fortunately, Dr. Turner was not in this alone.

It was Shelagh that found the location for the hospital. Her years cycling the roads of Poplar had given her a thorough knowledge of the area, and her sharp mind forgot nothing. Soon after the request was made, an offer was made on an old grammar school up the road and the hospital claimed its new home.

Now married several weeks, with Timothy back at school and Patrick busy as usual, Shelagh devoted much of her days to overseeing the renovations necessary. Choosing paint colors most suited to relaxing nervous patients or expectant mothers, organizing files and furniture, she was in her glory. Her husband teased that she was nesting like a spring robin, and perhaps she was.

The hospital was due to open in just a few days, and with all the large tasks completed, only the finishing touches remained.

Intent upon sorting the last bottles on the shelf in Patrick’s office, she didn’t hear her husband arrive. He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking the opportunity to admire his lovely wife. She was wearing  his favourite skirt, a soft jumper hugging her curves, and her hair dressed casually. He feared this outfit wouldn’t last long in her rotation. Just this morning she seemed nervous about it. Pushing off against the door jamb, he made a quiet entrance and moved silently behind her.

Shelagh started when he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body up against him.

“Oh, goodness, Patrick!” she exclaimed.

“Goodness, indeed,” he agreed. He nuzzled her neck. “I like your hair down like this.”

His voice was husky, and Shelagh tried to steel herself against its effects. “Fred will be along shortly with Timothy, Patrick. You’ll have to behave.”

Laughing softly, he stepped away, giving her room to turn and face him. “Why is Tim with Fred?”

“There are some boxes from home that needed to be picked up, so he stayed at home to let Fred in. Besides, I didn’t want Timothy to walk all that way. He’d be too tired out.”

Rather than argue the point, Patrick moved back closer to her. “So we’re all alone, then?”

“No, Dad.” Timothy’s voice came from the doorway. “Sorry, Fred. I should have warned you. They’re always like this.”

Bearing a large box, Fred beamed at the newlyweds. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, young Tim. So where’d ya want this ‘un, Mrs. Turner?”

The blush receding from her cheeks, Shelagh pointed to the desk in the center of the room. “Right here, Fred, thank you. The other boxes can remain in the waiting area. Did you bring the plant as well?”

“We left it on the chair. Mum, Fred has to run some deliveries for Nonnatus, may I go with him? I promise I won’t lift anything heavy or climb any stairs.” Tim was well versed in his stepmother’s protective streak, and for the time being, did not mind.

Shelagh glanced quickly at Patrick, looking for his reaction. “I suppose if it’s alright with Fred…” Somehow her statement sounded more like a question.

“Absolutely, Mrs. T. I could use the compn’y. ‘Sides, me and Timothy here have a bit o’ catching up to do. Loads to tell.”

“I’ll pretend that’s a good thing. Thanks for your help, Fred,” Patrick responded. “Dinner out tonight, remember, Tim. I won’t ask Mum to cook for us after all the work she’s put in for my surgery.”

“Right then, we’re off. I’ll have him back before tea.  Give a shout if there’s anyfink else,” Fred told them as he led the way out.

After a moment, Patrick turned to Shelagh. “You don’t have to look to me for permission, my love. Your Timothy’s mum now, you can make decisions on your own.” His smile was encouraging.

She nodded and sighed. “I know, there’s just so much to get used to. But thank you.”

Patrick shrugged in agreement. “Well, then. What’s in the box?”

“I have no idea, Patrick. I found it in the back of the hall cupboard and thought perhaps you’d need it. It’s labelled “Surgery.”

“You didn’t open it? Why not?”

Shelagh fidgeted with the last bottles to be shelved. “I didn’t want to, Patrick. It was obviously put there a long time ago. I thought you might want to open it on your own.”

Patrick peered at his wife, confusion drawing his eyebrows down. “Shelagh, it’s your home too, I have no secrets from you.” He pulled her to face him. “I understand, sweetheart. You’re afraid there’s something about Marianne in there.”

“Not afraid, exactly, Patrick. But who knows what’s in that box? Or how it will make you feel? Perhaps it would be best if you went through it whilst I organize the files outside.”

His arms tightened about her, pulling her closer. “No. We’ll do this together.” He bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead. With his hand caressing her cheek, he continued, “I haven’t forgotten Marianne, Shelagh, but the wound has healed. It’s a bit more scar tissue, perhaps, but I can think of her without pain now. Timothy can, too. What do the nuns always say about love? That it will fill in where it’s needed?”

She chuckled. “You always know the right thing to say, Patrick.”

“You won’t say that when we’ve had our first fight and I won’t speak for days. I’m quite the sulker, I’m afraid.”

“Fight?” she cried, outraged. “Why on earth would we fight?”

A deep laugh broke out from his lungs. “We’re married, Shelagh. We’ll find something, I’m sure. Now, are we ready to open the box? I can’t remember for the life of me what could be in here. When I moved into the old surgery there wasn’t much room for personal items, so I just boxed stuff up and forgot about it. Tim had just been born, there was quite a lot going on. I suppose life got in the way because I never gave it a thought again.”

“Really, Patrick. Life doesn’t get in the way of our possessions, it’s the other way ‘round,” Shelagh admonished. The tenderness of the last few minutes had faded, and shades of Sister Bernadette appeared.

Patrick scoffed, his finger lightly tapping the brooch she wore. “Hah. My love, if I want to give my wife little gifts, I’m going to give her gifts. It makes me happy to find pretty things for you.” He kissed her quickly, then added, “And before we find the topic of our first fight, let’s solve this mystery.”

The box was soft with the effects of time, and after a firm tug, the top pulled away. Patrick lifted a sheet of tissue paper and revealed a collection of frames and knick knacks. Reaching in, he pulled out a dusty clock.

“I loved this clock! It was from my first registrar, Morton Baird. He gave it to me when I qualified, to remind me to take time with all my patients.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t to help your tardiness?” Shelagh teased.

Placing the clock on the desk, Patrick said, “This stuff is filthy. I’ll get a cloth to clean off the dust.”

Shelagh began to pull the frames from the box, examining each in turn. The largest, a painting of Patrick’s medical college, she recognized from the label. That would go nicely on the wall.  A few other frames held photographs from school and his first surgery, but several photographs were unframed. She looked through the small collection, a small, happy smile lifting the corners of her mouth. At the end of the pile was a image of a university cricket team.

Patrick and Timothy enjoyed the sport, she knew, but she had no idea Patrick had played. She scanned the photograph searching for him, her eyes coming to rest on a tall, slim young man on the end. She breathed in sharply as she took in the sight.

He looked very handsome in his whites, confident and ready to conquer the world. There were none of the lines of care on his face, its very smoothness making him seem a different person. Yet she recognized the boyish grin and felt a stirring when her eyes traced the broad shoulders.

She was so wrapped up in her perusal of the picture that she didn’t hear Patrick return to the office, damp cloth in hand. He paused in the doorway, surprised by the stillness of her back. He moved quietly towards her, curious to see what had her attention.

Still unaware of him, her breathing quickened. Patrick’s eyes glittered as he felt his body respond to her.

“Oh!” she cried, startled. Guiltily, words rushed from her. “Oh, you startled me, Patrick. I’ve-I’ve  found some old photographs, perhaps you’ll want them up on the mantlepiece…” her voice trailed off as her blush deepened.

Without speaking, Patrick took the photograph from her nerveless fingers, and turned her around to face him. He removed her glasses, placing them on the desk to her side. His hands slid up her arms, giving her a chance to either control her feelings or give in to them.

Shelagh’s eyes fluttered shut and he bent his head, his lips lightly tracing her jawline. In the few weeks they had been married, he had learnt that his wife was just as shy as he had anticipated, but that if he were patient and gave time for her own passion to bloom, she would meet him desire for desire.

Her breath escaped in tiny shudders, warm and moist against his ear, and he held himself back from taking her lips. His mouth slid down the length of her throat, and he stopped a groan as he tasted her skin with the tip of his tongue.

Shelagh clenched and unclenched her fists, her body tense with emotion. Rational thought had since abandoned her. Their surroundings faded from her mind as her sole focus became the soft spot at the bottom of her throat where his mouth was. More. There had to be more.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him. Her acceptance of him complete, Patrick took her mouth with his own, not rough, but not gentle. They kissed passionately, their breath blending. Shelagh parted her lips, welcoming the intimacy of his tongue as she returned his kiss.

This time, the groan escaped as Patrick slid his hands down along her back, coming to rest on the upper curve of her derriere. “This skirt,” he whispered. He pressed her to him, wanting her to know her effect on him, then moved his hands under the softness of her jumper. Her skin was like silk, and he was desperate to feel more.

But they had reached a point of no return, he knew. Whilst still shy about their “activities,” as she called lovemaking (he laughed each time she whispered the term), once engaged, Shelagh was all in. He could let his fingers continue their path and she would willingly give herself to him.

She moved her arms to his shoulders, and her fingers slipped into the hair behind his ears. He groaned again, as she knew he would. It seemed Patrick was not the only one who had learnt secrets.

“Shelagh,” he murmured. He wasn’t sure if he was asking or telling her something.

Huskily she responded, “I love you, Patrick.”

And it was decided. Patrick pulled his head back away from her lovely mouth and pressed his nose to hers. If they were to go any further, it would have to be with her complete consent. He couldn’t seduce her now and worry about her feelings afterward.

“My love, if we go one inch further, we won’t be able to stop. I’ll have you right here.” He breathed deeply. “Is that what you want, sweetheart?”

Shelagh tried to catch her breath, tried to understand his words. Her body hummed with desire.

“It’s alright if we stop, Shelagh. It’s alright.” Patrick’s own breath was shaky.

The look in her eyes changed, and Patrick smiled softly. He pressed a gentle kiss to her parted lips and moved a step away from her.

“Maybe not on my desk just yet,” he teased.

Disappointment crossed her flushed face. “I am sorry, Patrick. I truly am. I do want to…” She looked around the room nervously. “Oh, Patrick. Here? I can’t believe-”

“Shelagh,” Patrick interrupted. “We didn’t do anything wrong. It’s never wrong between two people that love each other as we do.” He tipped her chin up so she could meet his eyes. “Maybe someday, Shelagh. Maybe not. But no matter what, as long as we’re honest with each other, we’ll be fine. Little steps.”

He reached around her and returned her glasses. “Now maybe we’d better start on those files.”

Having regained her equilibrium, Shelagh smiled widely up into his eyes. “I suppose we should.” At the door, she turned back. “Patrick, I should thank you. I got a bit lost there for a bit, and I’m not sure I would have been comfortable with another outcome.” Her forehead scrunched in confusion. “I don’t mean I wouldn’t have enjoyed…that activity…I’m just not certain I’m ready to…”

“I know, sweetheart. I understand. You don’t have to say.”

“I sometimes think you know me better than I know myself. I’m very lucky to have you.” A glimmer came back in her eyes as she turned to leave. “Maybe tonight I can show you how lucky.”

As the door closed behind her, Patrick took his seat behind the desk. It would be a long time before he stood up comfortably again.

 

Author’s Note

Okay. I know this is not how (some of) you wanted me to end this story. Believe me, it’s not how I originally wanted it to end. But this is the story I needed to tell.

In Series 3, we saw a Shelagh who was struggling with finding her path. After making the initial leap into her new life (oh! she was so brave to make that call, to go out on that misty road!), it took some time for her to find her balance, and she even slipped backwards a bit. I know I’m in the minority when I say this, but her confusion worked for me. Don’t bother trying to argue with me. I will not budge. 😉

I know what you want to happen here, I just don’t think it would, given where Shelagh is at this time. That’s not to say, AT ALL, that I think it would never happen. Maybe someday I’ll fic that.

Gorgeous

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12

I’m cheating a bit with this “Hiatus Production Pic Challenge, May 25th.” I’ve left yesterday’s Emerald Fennell/Patsy mannequin pic for Rocky, as she might be brewing something with that (or not–no pressure, Rock). So this prompt isn’t exactly a pic, but the pic of the tweet made me so happy, I don’t care.

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Shelagh Turner bustled into the sitting room, nervous despite her smile. “Now when she comes in, don’t start with her about the length of the skirt. It’s not too short, not even a bit.”

“Hmm…” Patrick responded, doubtful.

“Patrick, please. She’s nervous enough as it is. If she thinks you don’t approve, she’ll not have any fun tonight.”

He frowned and crossed his arms. “I don’t approve. She’s too young to start dating, I’ve said that before.”

“She’s seventeen, dearest,” his wife reminded him. “I’d say it’s been put off for about as long as possible.”

“You didn’t date when you were seventeen,” Patrick muttered. He really wanted a cigarette right now. Funny, fifteen years since his last, and he still felt the craving.

“I wasn’t your typical teeneager, so that hardly applies.” Shelagh stepped closer and pressed her cheek to his arm, her arms wrapped around his waist. “Besides, I was waiting for the right man to ask me.”

A small laugh escaped his lips as a crooked smile replaced the frown. “I suppose it’s too much to ask for her to go into the Order until I’m ready for her to start dating?” Shelagh looked up and he met her lips in a gentle kiss.

“Mum, when you said you’d soften him up, I didn’t think you meant this!” Angela Turner stood at the entrance to the sitting room, her outraged expression a direct contrast to her lovely appearance.

“Well, that was foolish, dear. I should think by now you’d be fully aware of my strategies,” her mother teased.

Patrick stood in stunned silence, voices drifting past his ears. Before him stood a vision in pale blue, the light layers of chiffon swirling around her knees. Tall and slim, Angela Turner had blossomed into a beautiful young woman.

Images flashed before Patrick’s eyes:  a newborn, pink and curled into a bundle barely bigger than his hands, a toddler with flaxen hair and brown eyes so big she could charm the world. Angela had been a precocious child, a born leader with a sharp mind and a kind heart. Patrick watched as she gracefully turned before him.

His wife’s small hand squeezed his, bringing him back to the present. “Patrick?” she asked. “What do you think? Isn’t she beautiful?” Shelagh whispered. He could hear the tears of happiness and sadness in her voice.

He took a moment to gather himself, and then smiled.

“Gorgeous.”

The Last Days of Brylcreem

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I’ll be serving as Rockbird’s locum today in her “Hiatus Production Pic Challenge.” Hopefully, she’ll get some much-needed rest after we’ve run her ragged creating multiple fics this last day or so…

This itty bitty thing is set earlier the morning of the fan-favorite scene, “Hello, Nurse!”

 

Mornings were always their special time together, from the first day of their marriage. A time away from the rest of the world, they both woke early enough to steal moments that strengthened their intimacy. Fortunately, as Shelagh couldn’t bear to put Angela in the small box room they’d set aside for a nursery, the baby slept quite deeply, and their early conversations left her undisturbed. Unfortunately, Angela didn’t sleep as deeply as Patrick would have liked.

“I can’t believe how quickly the time’s gone, it’s like summer’s just rolled right past me! And now there’s so much to do before school begins, I’m not sure how I’ll get it all done.”  Shelagh sighed as she gently caressed the forearm wrapped around her.

“What needs to be done still? You’ve bought Tim’s uniform, he has a new bookbag, I should think he’s all set.”

Shelagh rolled her eyes in frustration. “Really, Patrick. I sometimes think you married me just to take care of all the little things you never think of!” Sitting up, she threw the covers back.

Smart enough to know when he’d talked himself into a corner with his wife, Patrick pulled her back towards him. “Now that’s silly. If I never thought of the little things before, why would I marry you to take care of them?” His nose nudged at her ear and he whispered, “I married you for entirely different reasons, sweetheart, that have very little to do with errands and school uniforms. I can prove it to you if you like.”

Shelagh giggled. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Patrick.”

Patrick growled lightly and proceeded to show his wife exactly what he did mean. But with a precocious baby in a cot not three feet away, mornings were not what they once were, and Shelagh soon put a reluctant stop to his lesson.

“She’ll be awake any minute, I’m afraid.” She sighed quietly as her fingers toyed with his hair, tousled and messy from a night’s sleep.

Patrick smiled, his eyes locked with hers. “If we’re very quiet?” he cajoled.

A deep, throaty laugh rose up between them and Shelagh responded, “You always say that, but we never are.” She pulled his face to hers for one last kiss, then sat up.

Patrick was unwilling to let the subject drop completely. “How about my lunch break? We could meet back here?”

Looking down at her husband, Shelagh shook her head. “That’s not what I intended when I insisted on you taking a break each day. You’re meant to be resting and having a decent meal.”

“I can’t think of anything better to help me relax midday, Shelagh,” he teased, a crooked smile on his face.

“You really are incorrigible, you know that? There’s no need to smirk at me like that, Patrick. Even if I wanted to,” she ignored his huff of disbelief, “we can’t today. Timothy needs a haircut desperately, and as it is, I’m not sure I can manage that. The surgery is booked for the morning, and there will be piles of paperwork to file before I head over to the clinic. I can’t see how I’ll get Timothy to the barber, plus feed Angela and do all that.”

Patrick knew when he’d been beaten. Shelagh’s schedule was an intimidating thing, and he knew any major disruption to it would lead to even more time apart.

“I’ll take Timothy to his haircut, then. He can meet me at the maternity hospital and we’ll run get that managed. We can stop for lunch, too, so there’ll be no need for you to pack one for me.”

“Patrick, I thought we’d decided you’d cut back on greasy food?”

“Shelagh,” he warned. “One thing at a time?”

Conceding his point, she rose from the bed to check on the baby. Like a jack-in-the-box, Angela popped awake, reaching to be freed from her cot, and Shelagh lifted her up for a snuggle. “Good morning, Angel girl. Take care of Daddy whilst Mummy gets ready for the day?”

Patrick joined his wife and reached out for their daughter. “You know, I think I’ll get a haircut today as well. Two birds and all that,” Patrick informed Shelagh as he let Angela pat at his cheeks.

Shelagh stood suddenly from the drawer she was rifling through. “A haircut?”

“It’s not so unusual, Shelagh. It’s been over a month since my last.” By now, Angela was pulling at his ears.

Shelagh sat down on the bed beside them. “I know, but I’ve grown to like your hair a bit longer, dearest.”

Something in her voice made Patrick’s eyes fly to hers. “You do?” he asked huskily.

Shelagh blushed and looked away.

“Shelagh…” Patrick’s voice coaxed a response. His hair was a source of frustration to him, for once it grew beyond a certain length, it had a way of flopping into his eyes. But if longer hair had the effect he was beginning to suspect it had on his wife, it was a small price to pay. Especially if he heard her tell him so.

Shelagh took a breath and pushed on bravely. “And no Brylcreem, if you please, Patrick,” she stood up and turned to the door. “I’d prefer not to get my hands sticky with it tonight.”


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, Epilogue

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Prior Chapter

Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3     Chapter 4       Chapter 5     Chapter 6     Chapter 7

My head canon has the Turners out of that flat and in a cozy house on a square (Maybe one like Rockbird86‘s Moving Day? Actually, exactly like that one). And some dropped-in lines from along the way, too.

Climbing the steps to his front door, Patrick Turner sighed wearily. A week of night duty, plus a long Saturday surgery, and he was weary to the bone. A quick meal, then he’d take the newspaper out into the back garden, cover his face and sleep.

As he turned his key in the lock he was startled by a ball striking against the door, narrowly missing his head. He turned to see the source of his near assault.

“Oi, Dr. Turner! Sorry, sir!” A bright-faced boy of ten ran up to the steps. “Glad I missed yer head!”

Patrick wanted to scold, but the boy’s remorse made him hold back. “Be more careful, Eddie,” Patrick warned. “If you break another window on the street you’ll be in a fix. Is Angela with you children in the park?”

“Yes, sir. She’s…” the boy’s voice trailed off, unwilling to tattle on a playmate.

Patrick nodded. Angela was up to something, but at this moment, he’d rather not know.

“Just make sure she doesn’t break an arm or anything, please? I’d rather sign off for the day.”

The boy laughed. His ball under his elbow, he ran off. “Righto, Dr. Turner!”

The house was quiet as he entered. “Shelagh?” he called. He dropped his medical bag in its place on the hall table and made his way to the kitchen. There was no sign of her, other than a covered plate and a bottle of brown sauce. He peeked under the towel. A bacon buddy, piled nearly as high as he liked with bacon. He smiled. Shelagh did not approve of his tremendous affinity for bacon and rationed his servings. She no doubt assumed (correctly) he had enough out in the cafes and sandwich shops around the East End.

Shelagh also knew what a terribly long week this had been. Calls every night, long clinics and a tedious medical board meeting over the fate of the inoculation program had consumed his time. This sandwich was her gentle way of helping him relax.

Three bites into his lunch, he wandered over to the window and scanned the garden. There she was, weeding in the vegetable patch, her knees resting on an old kitchen mat. Patrick leant up against the sink, admiring the view. Still just shy of forty, his wife was a beauty. The summer sun always lightened her hair just a bit now they had this house and garden, and he loved the few freckles that appeared on her nose for a few brief weeks. A smirk crossed his face. It wasn’t the freckles he was appreciating at the moment. Patrick wondered if Shelagh had any idea what that skirt did to her form as she knelt over her work.

Despite his fatigue, he could feel his body respond to the sight. He missed Shelagh. How long had it been? Patrick considered for a moment. He’d been out every night this week, and the weekend before Angela had been ill with a stomach ‘flu… He started. Nine days!

Nine days was completely ridiculous. He would be certain not to make it run to ten.

Shelagh stood and removed her gloves, brushing the dust from her skirt. With a twist of her hips, she bent to lift the basket of weeds to toss, then headed inside. Patrick turned on the tap, warming the water for her to wash up.

“Patrick! I didn’t hear you come in, dearest. How was the clinic?” She reached up to kiss his cheek before moving to the sink to wash her hands. Patrick smiled. He could practically hear her thinking, ‘Briskly, beyond the wrists…’

Shelagh continued, “I’ve made you some lunch. Sorry it’s not warm, but it will be a busy afternoon and I needed to clean up.”

Patrick moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Burying his face in her hair he murmured, “It’s eaten. Let me thank you properly.”

Shelagh laughed and reached for the tea towel. Turning in his arms, she answered, “That won’t be necessary, Patrick. A thank you is quite enough, It was just a bacon sandwich.”

“Not just for the food. Let me thank you properly for everything.” His hands travelled down to her hips, and his eyes gleamed.

“Patrick,” Shelagh scolded mildly.

“Shelagh,” Patrick coaxed. “The children are out, we have the afternoon…”

Shelagh placed her hands on his shoulders. “Patrick, you’ve forgotten. We promised Tim we’d go to his cricket game this afternoon. It’s the last one before he leaves for university.”

Patrick groaned. “When do we leave?”

“We have to be there by two, so we should leave in an hour, perhaps?” She pushed against the counter and made to move.

“An hour? That’s plenty of time for now.” He nibbled on her ear and whispered. “A refresher? To warm us up for later?”

“I have to make up a basket of food. I promised,” Shelagh protested half-heartedly.

Patrick pressed closer to her lithe body. “We’ll stop at the chip shop. We haven’t spent any time together in weeks.”

“Weeks! Patrick, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shelagh laughed.

He growled lightly in her ear.

“Patrick, it has NOT been weeks. It was…”  she considered. “It was a week Thursday. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Last Thursday? As long ago as that? Shelagh, that’s forever.” He stood, his face serious. “We spend so little time together now, between my practice, you working, the children. Shelagh, I miss you.”

Abruptly, the front door slammed open, followed by noisy footsteps. Frustrated, Patrick turned to reprimand his daughter, only to be interrupted by his wife.

“Angela Julienne Turner! Whatever on earth have you been up to?”

The youngest member of the household stood before them, covered with mud and grass. Angela bit her lip and looked at the floor. “There was a puddle near the old tree, and I bet Jimmy Feeney I could jump it in one leap.”

Patrick felt his temper rise. Fortunately, Shelagh intervened. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now, we have to get you out of these filthy clothes. Don’t move. It’ll be easier to clean the kitchen floor than the carpets.” She began on the buttons on their daughter’s blouse. “Patrick, dear, you go out to the garden and rest. I’ve got this.”

“No, I’ll clean up this mess. You see to the beast,” Patrick responded resignedly.

Angela giggled. “I am a beast, aren’t I?”

“You’re most certainly not a beauty right now, madam.” He opened the cupboard and took out the mop and pail. “And make sure you help your mother clean up the mess you’ll leave behind in the bath.”

 

The late afternoon sun barely lit up the Turner’s hallway when they arrived at home a few hours later.

“We forgot to leave the light on again. I hate coming home to a dark house,” Patrick groused.

“That’s easily managed,” Shelagh answered cheerfully, and flicked the switch.

“Daddy, you really need a nap.” Angela piped in.

Determinedly, he ignored her. “When’s dinner?”

“Soon. Why don’t you go have a rest whilst I get things ready? Angela can help me. Come back down in an hour or so.” Shelagh leant up and kissed his cheek.

“It’s probably for the best. I’ve been a bear today.” He patted her shoulder and turned to go up the stairs.

The bed creaked mildly as he sat to remove his shoes. “A nap. It’s like I’m another child in this house.”

He shook his head. He was being unfair. It was his own mood that brought him up here, Shelagh was only trying to help. The afternoon at the cricket pitch would have been a disaster if not for her. Angela’s scrape had made them nearly late, something Tim was quick to blame his father for. Only Shelagh’s gentle handling had prevented the two males from having a row right then and there.

He could feel himself start to relax. Maybe he was simply overtired. Mentally, he reviewed the calendar for the next week. Night duty at the maternity ward on Tuesday, but the rest of the week wasn’t so bad. Thank goodness there were no more meetings anticipated with Mr. Hargrove. The inoculation program was safe for the time being.

Hopefully, Angela’s shenanigans and the preparations for Tim’s departure wouldn’t consume them. Poor Tim. Shelagh had shopped and stacked and packed the boy to the end of his patience. With two weeks to go, little else remained on her to-do list. The chaos should settle down.

He would ask Tim to sit with Angela one night. He and Shelagh hadn’t been out alone together for months. Whatever happened to their plan of making time to go out once a week?

As he drifted to sleep, the answer came to him.

Life.

 

Two hours later, Patrick woke to darkened room. He glanced at his watch, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see the small dials in such dim light, and sat up. It couldn’t be that late, he could hear noise from downstairs. He stood and stretched. Time to rejoin the world.

On his way down to the kitchen he paused. There was music coming from the sitting room, yet the room seemed dark. He pulled the doors open and stopped, stunned. In the far corner, the small table usually reserved for homework or crafts glowed under candlelight, draped by a crisp white linen tablecloth and set with the good china. Beside it, stood Shelagh in her favorite going-out dress.

Patrick stepped quietly to his wife. “What’s all this?” he wondered aloud.

“I thought perhaps we could make an evening of it. I’ve shipped Angela off to Charlotte’s for the night, and Tim won’t be home until quite late.” She reached for his hands.

“We’ve barely had any time together these last weeks, and it’s time to make a change. We can’t let life get in the way all the time, dearest. Sometimes we have to come first.”

Patrick smiled. With certainty of long practice, he removed her glasses to his shirt pocket and pulled her close.  They let the music surround them as they began to move to the music.

“What would I do without you, Shelagh?” he murmured in her ear. “You always know how to make everything better.”

Shelagh pressed herself even closer, her smooth cheek grazing his rough one. “Hmmm…” she purred. “Perhaps it would be best if we discuss what you’ll do with me?”

Courting Shelagh, Chapter 5

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Previous Chapter

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.”

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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?”

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