A fluffy fic for the annual Nonnatun Christmas card exchange. My card recipients listed Valerie, Shelagh, Trixie, Patrick and Sister Monica Joan as their favorite characters, so I wrote a fic with all of them. Merry Christmas!

Today was Christmas, 1963, and as usual, Patrick Turner was running late.

"The one year I'm able to find you a locum, and we're still 45 minutes late to Christmas dinner, Patrick," Shelagh said as her husband pulled the MG to a stop in front of Nonnatus House.

Patrick cringed. "I'm sorry, Shelagh. Dr. Scott had a lot of questions about Mr. Latimer's ulcer treatments. He's so young." He shook his head. "And after our fiasco with Dr. Godfrey, I didn't want to take any chances."

Shelagh gave him a sympathetic smile. She shared her husband's dedication to the job, even if he did need reminders to relax now and again. "Well, I'm sure we won't miss Christmas pudding."

"I can't wait this year. I'm starving," Tim moaned.

Patrick peered out the frosted windscreen at the cloudy grey sky. "Let's get inside before the snow starts again."

They picked their way up the icy convent steps, Patrick carrying Teddy, Shelagh leading Angela by the hand and Timothy bringing up the rear.

Shelagh rang the bell and waited. No one answered. She tried again, and then a third time, and still no one came to the door. Snow began to fall.

"I'm cold," Angela said in a small voice, burying her head in her mother's coat.

Patrick shifted Teddy in his arms. "Should we go inside?"

"Everyone is likely already at the table and can't hear us." Shelagh pushed open the door. "Hello?"

The hall was dark, quiet and empty. No clatter of dishes, no sounds of merry laughter, no popping of Christmas crackers. More disappointing, Patrick noticed, was the familiar smell of mildew and incense, with no a hint of roast chicken or rich plum pudding.

"I don't smell dinner," Timothy grumbled.

"Perhaps we got the time wrong. I'm sure Mrs. B will have everything in hand," Shelagh said, leading the way toward the kitchen.

But instead of Mrs. B's usual tidy abode, Shelagh found a disaster area. Dirty dishes piled high in the sink, remnants of potato peelings and Brussel sprouts littered the table and a faint smell of burned toast hung in the air.

Valerie Dyer, floured apron around her waist, stood over the cooker. Her frown dissolved into a relieved smile when she saw the Turners.

"Oh, Mrs. Turner. You're here!"

"Hello Nurse Dyer. Where is everyone?"

Valerie sighed and wiped her hands on her apron. "Twin birth at Lisbon buildings, breech over on Garden Street, Trixie's flight from Italy is late returning and Mrs. B has the flu. So, the task of preparing Christmas dinner fell to me. And Sister Monica Joan, but I don't know where she is." Valerie's eyes widened. "Do you smell something burning?" She rushed back to the oven. "Oh no, not the potatoes!"

Shelagh pursed her lips. This would not do.

"Well, you're not preparing it alone anymore." She removed her coat and draped it over the one clean chair in the room. "Timothy, take an apron and roll up your sleeves. I'm sure we can salvage the potatoes by scraping off the burned bits."

Tim smirked. "I knew that Scouts cookery badge would come in handy."

Patrick knew better than to get in the way when his wife was on a mission. He set his youngest son, dozing, on a blanket in the parlor. "I'll go see if I can find Sister Monica Joan."

"Yes," Shelagh agreed as she set about cleaning the kitchen. "Take Angela with you."

Patrick led his daughter back to the hall, pausing at the door to make sure her scarf was wrapped properly. "Shall we go on a scavenger hunt?"

She nodded eagerly. "What are we looking for?"

"Sister Monica Joan. She's hiding. Let's find her."

They didn't have to search far. Angela spotted the sister right away, sitting on a bench in the garden, wrapped in a coat and scarf to keep out the chill.

"Sister come inside. It's freezing," Patrick implored her.

The elder nun set her jaw and shook her head. "I have been charged with waiting. Much like this garden waits for spring, and all its bright colors."

Patrick looked out on the frozen muddy plots, all greys and browns. "You'll be waiting a long time, Sister. Spring isn't for months yet."

Sister Monica Joan scoffed. "I am not waiting for flowers to bloom. They are wise to keep themselves hidden in the earth while it is so intemperate outside." She waved her hand dismissively at the falling snow. "Nurse Franklin has yet to return. If she comes to find no one at home to receive her and no cake, she may think we have deserted her. On Christmas." Her voice cracked with worried tears.

Oh dear, Patrick thought. Shelagh would handle this so much better. He sat beside the nun. "I'm sure she wouldn't think that, sister. She knows how busy everyone is, even on Christmas."

The nun shook her head. "There is no cake, no colorful blooms, no joyous celebrations. Only these tangled forest vines." She lifted a handful of mistletoe off the pile beside her on the bench. "Fred has been gathering and storing it in our garden shed. I know not why, as it is poisonous and liable to cause ill to anyone who encounters it."

Patrick reached to take the plant from the elderly nun and reassure her, but the sound of a motor interrupted him.

A black cab pulled to a stop outside Nonnatus House. Out of it stepped Trixie Franklin, looking like a Christmas poinsettia in her bright red traveling cloak and fur-trimmed hat.

"Nurse Franklin has returned to us!" Sister Monica Joan sprung from the bench and took Angela by the hand. Together, they skipped to greet the young nurse. Patrick struggled to catch up, careful not to slip on the icy ground.

"I didn't expect such a welcoming committee," Trixie said, embracing Sister Monica Joan and waving to Angela. "Especially in this the snow."

"We were looking for sister," Angela said.

"And you've found her," Trixie said, smiling. "Just in time for Christmas."

Patrick shoved the mistletoe in his coat pocket to help the cab driver carry Trixie's three suitcases into the hall. Trixie took hands with Angela and Sister Monica Joan and followed him inside the convent.

"I'm afraid there's not much of a Christmas feast yet," Patrick said, setting down the last suitcase. "But we've got all hands to the pump."

In a space of 15 minutes, Shelagh had cleared the counters and tabletops of scraps and dirty dishes. Timothy scrubbed pots and pans at the sink, while Shelagh kneaded soda bread at the table.

"We found her!" Angela crowed as they entered the kitchen.

Valerie, stirring a pan on the cooker, grinned wide. "Trixie! You're back just in time! I'd hug you, but I'm under strict instructions not to let this gravy burn."

The blonde nurse frowned. "Where's Sister Julienne? And Mrs. B? And everyone else?"

"Called out or ill," Tim said, dunking another dish into the soapy water. "So, we're making Christmas dinner. We can use all the help we can get."

Shelagh put the soda bread in a pan to rest and sighed. "I'm afraid there's no Christmas pudding. There won't be time."

Trixie's face lit up. "One moment." She hurried back down the hall to her suitcases and returned with a silver cake tin.

"I brought this from Italy. I think they will be quite suitable." Trixie handed the tin to Sister Monica Joan.

The nun prized off the lid with expert fingers to reveal a golden, fruit-studded cake. Her childlike grin widened. "This will be most pleasing."

"And it looks like Dr. Turner found the mistletoe," Valerie quipped.

Patrick frowned, then remembered the greenery he carried with him. He grinned and tried to push it deeper into his coat pocket, but the leaves sprung back, a bright badge of his intentions.

Tim shook his head. "How do you manage to find mistletoe every Christmas, Dad?"

"Lucky, I guess," he said, grinning. Shelagh caught his eye and blushed, and his grin turned into laughter.

"I think it's sweet," Valerie said.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Don't encourage them."