Chapter 1. Arriving at Poplar after the car ride from the Right Road and what happened then….

After leaving Timothy at the Turner home and giving him strict instructions to stay put there and not tell anyone of the trip to fetch Sister Bernadette, sorry, Shelagh Mannion, Patrick turned the car towards a scarcely-populated place. He and Shelagh wanted to have a true conversation in peace, and the best place seemed to be in the car. Patrick parked the car at a quiet school yard in North Poplar. It was a late Friday afternoon, and it was the half-term holidays.

Remembering Timothy's parting words about a dead butterfly, Patrick turned to Shelagh with a comic despair:

"It seems that my silly son has sent you some insects."

Shelagh chortled. "Oh no, he is not silly. He has such an inquiring mind. And he sent only one. A beautiful dead butterfly. To find its cause of death."

"I hope you didn't think I had anything to do with it. When I found out about that I was afraid that you might find it a bit too much."

"Too much of what, Patrick?"

"Too much of family Turner. Too much of a responsibility. You know that what we are weighing now is much more than a victory in a three-legged-race." He put tentatively his hand on hers. She let out a sigh.

Patrick frowned, not yet familiar with the body language of this strangely dressed 1948 version of Sister Bernadette. So far, he was familiar only with her wide smile, the spectacles, the luminous eyes. Once, it seemed so long time ago, in another universe, he had, medically, listened to her breathing, but the sound of crackles and the tension and the worry during that examination had made him shy away from any other observation. He only had some faint, guilty memories of her smooth skin.

Yet she was no stranger to him. Her mind and heart were oddly familiar. Like they were pieces in a puzzle waiting to be joined together.

"Why are you sighing, Shelagh? Is it not all right for me to take you by your hand?"

Shelagh made a wry smile. He tried to imagine her as a fourteen year old girl stealing her father's cigarettes; how she might have looked then. That girl was there in that smile. There was a wonderful streak of humor in this woman.

"Patrick, it is all right. You can touch me, I won't break. I am just a little overwhelmed by what you are saying. Of the 'much more' that you are referring to. You wondered if you have not said enough. There are some issues you could elaborate a little."

Patrick grinned and pulled her hand up to his lips. "May I?"

"Yes, you may." He kissed the hand gently, then felt her other hand touching his cheek.

"This feels so strange" Shelagh was giggling. Her eyes had a twinkling promise. All at once she was in his arms and he kissed her, slowly but lightly, as if he still felt that she was an image that might fade away or break. "It is OK to feel strange. I would not ask of you anything you don't want to do. Tell me, if this is alright," he whispered.

"This is alright, Dr. Turner... Patrick," she said a little breathlessly. After some moments she added: "My love."

Patrick felt her soft, small form in his lap. The world was spinning on its axis and she was the one fixed point in it. It was his new world order. He was jubilant and wanted to cheer.

Instead, he asked shyly, "Could you call me Patrick again?"

"Why?"

"Because I like to hear your Scottish burr when you say my name. Because I like the sound of your voice. Because I like to talk with you. I like to be able to talk with you, at last."

"I like to talk with you, too. Patrrrick. Is that enough of Scottish burr for you?"

"Yes, my love." He laughed. He cleared his throat a little self-consciously. "Well, Shelagh, about that 'not enough' part."

"Yes?"

"I know that we have only made a start, but in the circumstances, I feel we need to talk of….marriage. I'd like to marry you. If you can see your way to it."

"I'd like to marry you too, Patrick."

A sense of relief was seen on both their faces. They spent a moment in quiet exhilaration looking at each other, their faces glowing with innocent joy. Then Shelagh turned serious again. "But let's not talk about that today. This is a bit of a day for me. I still have to meet Sister Julienne and….you know." Her face fell.

Patrick grew serious, too. He kissed her hand and let her go. He started the car again. "I will drive you there now."