"And then she said 'I couldn't imagine being a nun like that. Could you?'"

Patrick laughed. "What did you say?"

"I said I couldn't."

This raised an eyebrow. "Shelagh Turner, you lied?"

"It wasn't exactly a lie," she said, her smile coy. "The nuns in the musical were Catholic, a different order. The rituals are different."

"You mean you and Sister Julienne never had meetings in her office where you sang about your favorite things?"

She burst into a fit of infectious laughter, so loud and unexpected, a couple walking past them turned their heads. "Well," she said, as they sat down side by side on a bench. "Only once or twice."

Their evening had ended some time ago, but rather than head home, Patrick and Shelagh had lingered, strolling aimlessly until they'd ended up by the river. They continued their conversation from dinner, talking about the children, gossip from Nonnatus and news from clinic. And they talked about the play.

Patrick saw he had been foolish to worry earlier. Shelagh had enjoyed herself immensely, and she seemed to find the little similarities between the play and their lives quite amusing.

"It's too bad Angela's still so young. We could form our own singing group – the Turner Family Singers," he joked.

"Yes, I'm sure Timothy would be thrilled." She already had a hard enough time trying to get him to practice accompaniments for the choir; he asked nearly every week when Angela would be old enough to start piano lessons. She supposed it was only natural that Timothy would want to explore other interests as he got older – cricket and football being chief among those – but she rather liked having an activity they could do together. She shivered slightly and pulled Patrick's coat (he had lent it to her earlier) tighter around her shoulders.

"Are you warm enough? Are you sure you don't want to head back?" he asked.

"Not yet." She scooted closer to him, pressing into his side. They were quite alone now. "Pass me another piece of that chocolate?"

He broke off two more squares and gave her one. She savored it, letting it slowly melt on her tongue, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I told you she'd go back to him," she teased. "And you were worried."

He looked at her, his coat clutched tightly around her shoulders, the breeze teasing wisps of hair around her face, and remembered a road. "I was, for a bit."

She caught the emotion in his voice and turned her head, frowning. "What is it?"

He took one of her cold hands in both of his, warming it. "When Maria ran away, back to the convent, it made me think of your time in the sanatorium."

She'd thought of that time of trial too, but his remark caught her off-guard. She'd been expecting a happier memory from him. "Oh."

"You don't ever talk about it."

She pursed her lips, forming her words carefully. "It was a difficult time, for both of us. You were worried and there was Timothy to consider and I was ill and…unsure." She looked away, not wanting to see the pain on his face. She knew that hearing of her doubts, even if they no longer existed, must hurt him. He'd been so sure of what he felt; she still had his letters telling her so.

"Unsure of me?"

"No." She shook her head insistently. "Unsure of myself. Unsure if I would even live to –"

"Shelagh." His voice broke.

She gripped his hand tighter. "I needed time to pray and to think. I'd felt out of place at Nonnatus for a long time. There were moments, before my diagnosis, when I felt – I thought, if I could go away from Poplar, I'd feel relief and it would get easier." She took a deep breath. "And then I had to go away, and that was so much harder."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

She smiled at him. "I'm sorry I waited so long before reading your letters. They were wonderful. And you never got a reply."

"You recovered and you came back." He grinned. "That was all the reply I needed."

She kissed him softly, just once, as they were still in public. The taste of the chocolate lingered on his mouth. "Ready for home?" he asked.

She nodded. They both stood, and he tucked her arm in his as they walked back to the car.

"I still can't help feeling that Edward and Jean are in Leeds laughing at us right now," Patrick said.

Shelagh giggled. "Oh, let them laugh. I'm sure they won't be the last to make the comparison."

"What are you going to say to her, when she asks about tonight?"

"I'm going to thank her again for the tickets, tell her we had a lovely time and that you and I are planning on forming our own family singing group."

Patrick snorted with laughter as he unlocked the car and climbed in. Shelagh followed, removing his jacket and folding it in her lap.

"Would you still have married me, if I'd had seven children?" he asked.

She smirked and covered his hand with hers. "Oh Patrick, I would have had to. Timothy times seven? There's no way you would have ever survived without me."