AN: This is a series of short vignettes based on my "Turnadette Tuesday" photo postings on Tumblr. I post one (or occasionally two) images per week, examining the developing relationship between Sister Bernadette/Shelagh and Dr. Patrick Turner.

Disclaimer-I don't own Call the Midwife. This chapter contains one line of dialogue from CtM episode 1x06.

Sister Bernadette walked briskly down the hallway as the morning light shone through the windows at Nonnatus House. It was a bright morning, but the shadows never entirely faded in this window-lined corridor. She could still hear the faint footsteps of Dr. Turner echoing on the tiles as he headed in the opposite direction, most likely back to his surgery or out on his rounds. The doctor's brief smile lingered in her memory as she walked. She'd never noticed that crooked little half-smile of his before. It gave her a measure of comfort for some reason, considering the difficult nature of their conversation. There was no time to ponder that at this moment, though. Now, her thoughts were on her task as she headed to the telephone to make a call.

Sister Monica Joan. What were they going to do with her? The elderly sister had been declining for a few years now, but Sister Bernadette could still remember how she was before, highly skilled and trusted if not exactly in her prime. It had been only a few years after Sister Bernadette had arrived at Nonnatus, however, that Sister Monica Joan's erratic behavior had begun, and the sisters never knew what to expect from her next. They loved her dearly, but she could be trying. And now, pneumonia. Sister Bernadette was trying to be optimistic, but the doctor's words haunted her-"if they're ready to go, it takes them gently". As trying as the elderly sister could be, she hoped it wasn't Sister Monica Joan's time to go. Still, measures must be taken, and so the call must be made. Again, the doctor was right.

How fortunate they were, she thought, to have such a concerned and dedicated doctor on hand. Other doctors they had worked with over the years had ranged from gruff to good-natured, and from coolly competent to frustratingly inefficient. Still, most of them were skilled enough, but Dr. Turner was the best of them all. She was glad he was their primary GP. He was a good doctor and a good man, and his concern for Sister Monica Joan was genuine, she could tell. He had been through quite a difficult time this year, she knew, as the sisters prayed for him weekly since his wife's death. Between his busy schedule of patients and caring for his young son, Timothy, it was amazing to her that he could maintain his air of caring efficiency in the midst of what he must be going through. And he was starting to look so weary lately. Perhaps they should pray for him more often. As she approached the door to Sister Julienne's office, she made a mental note to do that.

The large, arched door was solid and sturdy, suggesting a measure of permanence. This door, like this building, had endured many years, many sisters and many visitors-and many changes, the sister thought, while the building itself stood unchanged. How many years had Sister Monica Joan called this place home? How many days would she still be here to call it such? Would the doctor's prescription of penicillin make a difference, so the days ahead of her could be years? Oh, how she hoped. She knew the sister was in the capable care of Sister Evangelina and Nurse Lee, and her task was to support them all she could, and keep things running at Nonnatus until Sister Julienne returned. The sisters would be praying for Sister Monica Joan as well, daily-as much as needed.

Sitting down at Sister Julienne's desk, the sister stopped for a moment, offering up a brief prayer for her dear sister, as well as for the doctor. God's concern was for all in need, she thought, as should her own be. Picking up the phone, she dialed the number for the Mother House and waited.