It was not often that Sister Julienne could be accused of a lack of professionalism. Usually it was her doing the accusing; not accusing, even, a gentle word, a soft reminder of how things should properly be done. In general she was soft, gentle, and thus it would be inaccurate to say that she had what might be called a soft spot for anyone in particular; kindness was simply in her nature and she bestowed it universally to all she met. But all of that, she realised now, was only true to an extent. As witnessed by the fact that she most certainly had a soft spot, and it had lead her into what might quite reasonably be called unprofessionalism.

The fact was that the Turners' baby would be due in two weeks. Of course, she had been following Mrs Turner's progress carefully all the while, reading her notes after every check up. On some level, she almost considered it her duty; never had she been able to relinquish the idea that she was responsible for Shelagh's welfare. Not that she did not trust Dr. Turner to be more than conscientious in the matter. Still, it kept her happy to know for certain that all was well. It was a responsibility that she did not want to let go of, and she reasoned that too much care was infinitely better than a lack of it.

She knew that Shelagh was very happy in her new life, and she thanked God for it. There would have been nothing worse than it turning out to have all been a mistake; that she could not have born. Then the pain of letting her go would have been worthless and wasteful, and all the more exacting. She had been like her daughter, for years she had been like her daughter, and it was almost a physical wrench to have to let her go. But it had been worthwhile, praise the Lord, she was convinced of it. Though this way, Sister Bernadette leaving Nonnatus House, had still been painful Sister Julienne was glad to think that perhaps she herself had born the chief burden of the pain; and it made it better to see how happy Shelagh and her husband were together, that they had a baby on the way was testament to that fact.

She remembered the day when Shelagh had come to her, and told her that there was a child on its way. She was the first to know, except Dr. Turner and Jenny, who had examined her and confirmed her suspicions. She had drawn the young woman to her chest and held her, just as she had on the day that she had left, but so very happily this time.

"You'll be a wonderful mother," she had murmured to her, "You already are," she added, referring to her care of Timothy, who naturally adored her.

"I learned it all from you," was the reply, barely audible, but firm.

And perhaps it was the memory of the feeling, of the tears in her eyes, at those words that had spurred her on to act as she had done- unprofessionally.

She wanted to be there, she wanted to be there when Shelagh's child was born. She wanted to help her through the pain, to hold her hand, calm her down, to be close at hand if anything, God forbid, went wrong. The thought of not being there was truly awful to her. To not be there, to not help her felt worse than abandonment. She needed to be there. As a nun she was supposed to love everyone equally, especially her Sisters. She was not supposed to love one any more than the others. But it was transparently obvious to her by now that she did, even though there was no way she could ever voice it; apart from anything else she doubted that she could find the words. So she could not speak her love, and this was her only way to show it.

She remembered the night when they had waited, terrified, for news of Chummy. She could hardly imagine how much her horror would have been intensified if it had been Shelagh instead whose life was in danger. She would not have been able to stand the wait, she would have been on her bicycle, to the hospital, waiting outside the operating theatre. The thought alone gave her a slight pain in her head. She thought of herself and Jenny, slipping quietly into the room the next morning; remembered the sight of mother and baby lying there together. The thought of Shelagh and her child...

So, double-checking in Shelagh's notes, she found her due date on the calender and checked who was set to be on duty. Sister Evangelina. For a moment, she hesitated, making up her mind.

Then, before she could lose her nerve, she picked up the pencil used to write in the duty log, scanned with the point for Sister Evangelina's name and quickly erased it from the correct date with the rubber, adding her own name instead.

She took a deep breath, taking in the letters. In her mild anxiety she had pressed hard with the pencil and the letters stood out bold. Seeing them, she closed the book with a firm and satisfied snap.

She took a step back and breathed another, deeper, breath. She was going to bee there. She would be.

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