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Trixie Franklin was no fool. In fact, she considered herself to be quite worldly. She had always felt called to stand up for what she believed in, and to stand against those who saw the world through such a narrow lens that they would intentionally leave others out. She had happily provided cover for the junior doctors who were the other way inclined during her nursing training, and she understood their plight. She also understood that some of her fellow nurses required such cover. Though she was sympathetic, this was one area where Trixie found her intuitive moral compass faltering, and found her mind closed off to the possibility of it. If she didn’t think of it, it wasn’t real. She didn’t hate them, and wasn’t even disturbed by them, but there was something that pushed her away. Perhaps because they were women, she had thought. No, she was fine with them, but she couldn’t think of it. It was best that she stayed away.
And stay away, she did. She had perfected her ability to turn a blind eye. Others around her failed to notice anything. But Trixie did. She was always subtle, and always compassionate. She was a nurse, after all, and it was an important quality that she cherished. It troubled her, though, when she would notice. Why did she always notice? It was as though she was attuned to it, attuned to something. It was unnerving. Trixie was good at facades, though, good at sweeping things under the rug and projecting a dazzling smile that could fool almost anyone. She never let on that she knew anything, and certainly never let on that it bothered her. She knew she didn’t really care, not in the way most people cared about people like that, about the queers. Still, it troubled her, and she couldn’t work out why.
Then, she had met Patsy. Patsy could give her a run for her money when it came to facades. From the moment they had met, Trixie had sensed a kindred spirit in Patsy but had been unable to name it. Perhaps she had admired her dedication to her work or perhaps there had been familiarity in her understated glamour - a glamour which complimented Trixie’s well-considered and fashionable style. Perhaps it was in the shared humour. She didn’t know. Patsy’s walls were high, too high for even Trixie to glean some truth from her. She had prodded her and pushed her but couldn’t quite get anywhere. She thought, when Patsy had revealed the trauma of her childhood, that perhaps she was getting somewhere. Perhaps it was this that she saw within her, perhaps she felt a pull towards her because of the difficulties of their youth – though not comparable, Trixie felt she could understand Patsy’s pain to an extent. That wasn’t the whole truth though. There was more behind Patsy’s bright exterior, more behind the eyes which held so much pain and the smile which suppressed so much truth.
________
She loved Tom. Truly, she did. He was handsome and kind and passionate. She could envisage a life with him. She thought that she could be happy with him. She knew that she could. Something had been niggling in the back of her mind, though. Since Patsy had helped him learn to dance. Since Patsy had said too much.
“There are certain things he lacks, and certain things he has too much of… For me”, Patsy had said. It was a strange sentence. Trixie had thought so at the time, as though she hadn’t quite meant to say it, as though she hadn’t quite considered what she was saying. It frightened her. She knew what that meant. She was no fool. But she refused to think of it any further. Not Patsy, she had thought to herself. No, Patsy was too sensible for that.
________
She had continued with her courtship. She was happy. But sometimes her mind wandered to those words that Patsy had said, to the ways Patsy would brush off her questions about men, to the walls that Patsy had constructed. Sometimes, when she was lying in the dark, listening to the sounds of Patsy’s breathing, she wondered if that was the similarity that she had pulled her towards Patsy, wondered if perhaps…
No.
She always put an end to that train of thought. It couldn’t go any further. Besides, she did like men. It wasn’t like the doctors or the nurses she had known. They had no choice. She couldn’t be like them. Because she did have a choice.
________
Trixie was glad that she wasn’t directly involved with the Tony and Marie Amos situation. She refused to acknowledge what it had meant for Patsy, though her heart ached for her all the same. She refused to acknowledge what it meant for her.
It had been difficult, but she did what she always did. Stood up for what mattered, for what was important. It was different, she told herself. She wasn’t like him.
Yet, she was. She was exactly like him. Though not in that way. Well…
She abhorred his actions. He had made a choice and he had failed his wife. His pregnant wife. Of course, she sympathised, but did he have to marry? Surely, all he needed was someone to cover him every now and then, to go out with a few women but never take it that far. Right? It wasn’t fair to marry someone, to commit yourself to them and to abandon them, to reveal that it was all a lie, to hurt them because you couldn’t be who you were meant to be.
It was more complicated than that, she knew. But it was easier to paint things in black and white than to allow them to shine a light on her own life, on her own choices, on her own actions, on her own being.
She knew she was pushing it too far when she had asked Patsy, “why do you care so much?”. She knew she was pushing herself too far, but she almost wanted Patsy to admit it, so that she could admit it.
It.
Whatever it was.
________
Nonetheless, Trixie couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t stop herself from observing Patsy, from noticing the way she closed herself off to all possibility of meeting a nice gentleman. Patsy, she thought, was not as subtle as she seemed to think she was. Of course, no one else had cottoned on. If they had, Patsy wouldn’t be here. God forbid – literally – Sister Winifred began to connect the dots. A lesbian – for that was what Trixie knew them to be called – living in Nonnatus House, under God’s very nose! It might kill the poor nun right there.
Patsy might as well have been screaming who she was, but the only one who seemed able to hear her was Trixie.
________
Patsy had introduced her to Delia several months after she had begun working at Nonnatus House. Not long after the horrid business with Tony Amos. Trixie had the sneaking suspicion that Delia had been in the building before. She didn’t gaze around as though she was taking it all in, admiring the architecture and feeling all the lives that had lived there. She seemed comfortable there, and Patsy seemed almost sheepish.
Patsy had never mentioned her before. Well, there had been talk of a friend from her training days, or a friend from male surgical, but she had never named her, she had never presented her with any importance at all. Trixie felt almost sorry for the poor girl, but she understood. It didn’t take much contemplation to consider who Delia was to Patsy.
When Trixie felt that pull of recognition toward Delia, she knew what it was this time. She knew just what the mirror she found herself standing before was and no matter how hard she tried to remedy it, it made her look ghastly. Patsy had been nervous. Trixie could tell. It was very well controlled, but Trixie could see it. She had been overly cheery and there was something inauthentic in the way her mouth formed the word friend, as though she couldn’t quite believe it. Trixie didn’t think the others had viewed it as suspicious, because Patsy was good at secrets, but Trixie knew what it meant when someone like Patsy had a close friend like Delia.
Trixie could tell it had taken a lot for Patsy to reveal this. In a way, she was baring her soul for all to see, but most did not. Except, perhaps, Sister Monica Joan. Trixie wasn’t sure, but something she had said that evening at the dinner table had thrown her. It had thrown her because it almost seemed to be addressed to Patsy, Delia, and Trixie.
Trixie was watching Patsy and Delia closely – carefully, of course. She was no fool. They seemed to have a private language, one that was practically imperceptible and weaved its way around the conversation in the room. When Patsy passed the salad to Delia, it had somehow seemed to slow down time. Their eyes had been locked, and Delia’s cheeky smile made the dimples of her cheeks capture any darkness, shadow, or worry and vanquish them from the room. Gosh, the way Patsy smiled at Delia in return. It was like nothing Trixie had ever seen. Patsy had smiled before, of course. But not like this. Not like it was bubbling from inside her soul and stretching outward to bask a glowing light on the entire room, on the entire house. Trixie wondered if anyone else could see it, wondered if anyone else knew what it meant.
How could it be wrong to love someone so much that you smile like that? Trixie didn’t know. But she also didn’t know how it could still make her so uncomfortable.
Trixie realised she had been staring when she noticed Patsy’s eyes fall to her lap, and Delia had directed an imperceptible questioning eyebrow in her direction. Trixie shook herself out of it.
“Sorry sweetie”, she saved herself, “that salad looks wonderful. Could you pass it my way?”
Delia nodded and obliged, but Trixie knew she hadn’t quite been able to remove the shake from her voice. She was so foolish. Her mind had betrayed her. She had bared her soul. As she spooned the salad onto her plate, her hands shook.
It was too late to hope it had gone unnoticed.
“Is everything alright, Nurse Franklin?”, Sister Julienne had enquired. Her caring eyes burning a hole right to her skull, condemning her to her fate.
“Quite”, she had managed to say, “Just one of those days, I suppose. I had a rather challenging delivery to attend to today”.
All eyes turned to her.
She laughed, “oh no, not the birth. The husband! Fancied himself quite the professional until I managed to put him in his place”.
It wasn’t quite a lie, of course, but was it the source of her troubles?
Everyone nodded, smiling to themselves.
Nurse Crane had hummed. “I do find it’s best if the husbands stay out of all matters of delivery”.
“You know Nurse Crane, that’s the wisest thing you’ve said”, said Sister Evangelina.
The conversation flowed from there. Trixie was pleased at her excuse until Sister Monica Joan interjected.
“Tell all the truth but tell it slant”. Her eyes sparkled in Trixie’s direction, and she felt pinned to the spot.
Nurse Crane chimed in, “the words of Emily Dickinson, I believe, Sister?”.
“Indeed”, Sister Monica Joan smiled, “I have often found the poetess’ words to be enlightening, for they are those of a kindred spirit. Kindred to many in this very house. I, myself, share her admiration for the natural world”.
If Sister Monica Joan’s words raised any suspicions in the Nonnatuns around the table, they did not let on. Perhaps Trixie was reading into it, for who knew what Sister Monica Joan ever intended to say? She seemed to possess a superhuman ability to see through other people, though Trixie did not believe she herself was entirely aware of it.
Whatever her intentions, Trixie couldn’t shake the implications. She didn’t dare glance in Patsy and Delia’s direction again, though she felt eyes on her occasionally. If she had looked, she might have seen that Patsy was experiencing a similar panic. If she had looked, she might have noticed the contemplative look in Delia’s eyes. If she had looked, she might have found company for her sorrows.
Patsy had offered to walk Delia back to the nurse’s home, using the dark of the evening as an excuse.
As Trixie watched them go, a feeling bubbled in her that she couldn’t make sense of. She was jealous. Not of Delia. Not of Patsy. But of both of them. Jealous for the love that they clearly shared. Jealous for the kindred spirit they had found in one another. Jealous that they didn’t have to do it all alone. Jealous that it all seemed so easy. It wasn’t. She knew that. She was jealous because they had done it. They had chosen to live as themselves, even if only they ever knew the truth of what that meant. Perhaps it was this that escalated her little problem with alcohol. It wasn’t a problem, not really. That’s what she told herself. She was good at telling herself things. She was less good at ignoring them. Perhaps it was this that loosened the bond between her and Tom, that caused her to push away, to see the truth of the situation and to break things off with him. Tom wasn’t right for her, that much was clear. But she had loved him. She had wanted to marry him. She had wanted to be his perfect wife. That wasn’t her, though. She couldn’t live a lie. She couldn’t soldier on and commit to a man when she knew that she was betraying him in some way, when she knew that she would betray him someday. Though Tom was kind, she had sensed his feelings about Tony Amos. She knew he cared but he didn’t understand, and deep down, he judged. How would he feel if he discovered his fiancée was like that?
It was all so confusing. She wasn’t like that. Not in the same way at least. The alcohol gave her clarity. Being sober took it away. Sometimes, when she drank enough, she could see who she was, and it didn’t scare her. These moments were to be cherished. She could almost imagine a life where she was happy before it would all come crashing down.
She didn’t like hiding. She had always dreamed of sharing it all with other people – the romance, the relationships, the men – to talk endlessly about the love between them, to complain about his faults and to praise his more wonderful qualities. What else could she talk about? Who was she beyond that? Was any of that even real? Was she even real?
Some nights she would lie awake and imagine a conversation with Patsy. She imagined sharing her innermost thoughts and feelings with Patsy and she tried to imagine what Patsy would say to her. But she could never hear the words because she didn’t know. She didn’t really know Patsy at all. Is that what lay ahead if she chose to accept this? No one ever really knowing her. Did anyone really know her now? Who was she?
Trixie reflected on Sister Monica Joan’s words.
Tell all the truth but tell it slant.
She supposed that is what she did. She supposed that’s what Patsy did. That’s what women like her had to do. What women like them had to do.
Trixie wondered if she could do that, if she could reveal something to Patsy, and allow their friendship to truly blossom, to address their shared experience and feelings and finally free her mind from its prison.
Not yet. But maybe one day.
________
Trixie had seen them occasionally. The masculine ones. She thought they were dashingly handsome. And so daring. She would smile at them and ignore the bubbling in her stomach and the soaring in her chest that would follow the smirk they returned to her, or the tip of their hat. She was no fool. She knew who they were. She knew what that meant. On those days, she would return to Nonnatus House, and drink more than she normally would, desperate for the clarity of self she would find when she did, desperate to find an acceptance in her heart rather than the doubt and disgust she felt when sober. When she reached that place, she would smile, would replay the moment in her mind and embrace the feelings that erupted in her. She hoped beyond all hope that she could feel like that when she was sober. She wondered if that was what Patsy felt when she looked at Delia. She didn’t need alcohol to embrace her truth. If only Trixie could say the same.
________
Trixie had just arrived home from her district rounds and was emptying her bag into the autoclave when the doorbell rang. She answered and was surprised to find Delia waiting there. Surely, she knew Patsy’s schedule?
“Patsy’s not here, I’m afraid”.
“I know”, Delia nodded, “I thought maybe you’d like some company”. She looked nervous, like she hadn’t meant to be here, hadn’t meant to ring the doorbell, hadn’t meant to talk to her at all.
Trixie quickly hid her surprise and pasted a smile on her face. “Well, if you can bear to wait for me to finish tidying my things away, perhaps we could retreat upstairs for a drink?”.
Delia smiled like she could see right through her. “That sounds lovely”.
Trixie smiled and stepped aside, trying to calm her beating heart.
________
Trixie prepared a drink for herself and Delia while Delia sat on Patsy’s bed. She felt she was being watched.
Trixie decided to steer the conversation herself.
“You must tell me some embarrassing stories of Patsy from your training days. I simply refuse to believe that she’s always been the consummate professional that she is now.”
Delia laughed. “She might kill me”.
“I doubt that very much”. It had been the wrong thing to say. Trixie could sense the shift in the conversation.
“You know, Trixie”, Delia began, “I know we haven’t had much time to talk alone before, but you can always talk to me about anything that’s troubling you”.
Gosh, of course Delia was this kind. Trixie didn’t know what to say. She tried to push it all away.
“What could possibly be troubling me?”, she laughed. Panic was rising in her. She gulped down the remainder of her drink, before standing to prepare another.
Delia didn’t say anything to that. Trixie so wanted to offload all the worries that she was feeling. She wanted to so badly that it pained her. She knew Delia wouldn’t push. She knew that she had to say something if anything was going to happen, but it was so difficult. But what if she’d read it all wrong? What if she said something now and it turned out that she had projected everything onto Patsy and Delia, and there was nothing amiss there? What if she said something now that she couldn’t take back? How could she say something out loud that she had barely said to herself?
She took a deep breath. Tell all the truth but tell it slant. She could do this. Sort of.
“I’ve always admired Patsy’s choice of decoration”. She felt that she might collapse with the weight of what that sentiment held. Delia turned to look at the photographs above Patsy’s bed; Marlene Dietrich, Marilyn Monroe, Ingrid Bergman.
Delia smiled. “Don’t tell her I said this, but subtlety truly is not her strong suit”.
Trixie felt a laugh bubbling from within. A crazy thing that spilled out of her and made Delia look at her with a hint of fear in her eyes, as though she was afraid that she had misread something.
Suddenly, Trixie’s laughter turned to tears. Delia launched up to comfort her.
“Oh, Trix”. Delia put her arms around her and let Trixie sob, comforting her with soothing sounds and rubbing her arm up and down. Trixie could understand Patsy’s lightness around Delia now. Delia opened Patsy up. Patsy. The unflappable nurse with walls so strong that she could give a builder a run for his money.
“I did love Tom, you know”, Trixie let out a strangled cry, “I’m not…”
If Delia was perplexed, she didn’t let on.
“My tad used to say that some people’s hearts are bigger than others. Medically speaking, that’s not true and he certainly didn’t mean… well”.
Trixie chuckled through her tears.
Delia continued, “But I think that he was on to something. Not everything is black and white, Trixie.”
Trixie nodded. She thought she understood what Delia was trying to say without actually saying it. Neither woman could address the true nature of their conversation. It was too risky, too complicated. Especially within the walls of a convent. But, it seemed, that Delia had been watching her just as closely as Trixie had been watching her and Patsy. Delia was obviously familiar with facades – loving Patsy would do that to a person, Trixie supposed.
Delia extracted herself from Trixie to check on her. Trixie pulled herself back, indicating that she was alright, that Delia could move away. Delia could read her perfectly and returned to sit on Patsy’s bed.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about wanting to hear Patsy’s embarrassing tales”.
Delia smiled, “Well, there was this one time…”
________
Not long after, the door opened, and an exhausted Patsy entered the room. Trixie wiped the remainder of her tears and took a drag of the cigarette she had just lit.
“Deels?”, Patsy’s questioning voice shook Trixie into action, and not quite being in the mood for explanation, Trixie commented, “your darling friend forgot you were working, and it seemed like a marvellous excuse to have a cocktail and get to know her better. She was regaling me with charming tales from your days on male surgical. Something about a Mr Robinson?”
Trixie smirked when Patsy exclaimed, “Delia!”, and approached her bed to chastise her… girlfriend.
It felt good to admit that. To truly acknowledge the truth of who they were to each other.
Trixie stood up. “I don’t know about you, but I could use another drink. Patsy?”
“That sounds delightful, Trix”.
Trixie hid the shake of her hands as she prepared the drink, observing Patsy and Delia’s silent conversation through the mirror’s reflection. Patsy seemed as though she was asking Delia what was going on, and Delia gave her a look that said, “I’ll explain later”.
As she passed a drink to Patsy, Trixie found herself admiring, once again, their ability to hold an entire conversation in silence. Trixie hoped that one day, she could find the courage to talk to Patsy about… everything. For now, though, this was enough.
________
As she lay in bed that night, she felt lighter, ever so slightly. She didn’t know if she could ever say it aloud, not really. She didn’t know if she had found the sanctuary that she had been seeking. She still felt anxiety clawing at her chest and she still felt the urge to drink her way to her place of safety, but for the first time in her life, Trixie felt comfortable with who she was, even if it was just for a moment. For the first time, Trixie understood why she had felt the way she did around women like that. No. Around women like her. Though she knew that she had always known it, deep down, she had never quite been able to admit it. Perhaps she would never find the safety that Patsy and Delia had found in each other, and perhaps she would find a man that she loved wholeheartedly and truly, a man who understood, somehow.
Or, perhaps, she would find a woman.