The breeze blew gently through the open window, rustling the crisp, white curtains that hanged from it, sending a cool chill throughout the room. Shivering slightly, Mary slid from beneath the warm covers of the feather bed she slept in, rubbing her shoulders with her hands. She stood up and walked silently to the window, looking out at the bright moon and gently twinkling stars. The beauty of the outside world in the dark of night captivated her.
Her warm smile slid to her face. The stars were singing to her. The stars always sang for Mary Poppins. Always.
Mary turned her head in the direction of the next room. A weak whimpering was coming from the connecting nursery. Duty was calling. Mary was always needed; she needed to be needed. Wanted it.
She was at the crib in an instant, bending down to pick up the fitful infant and comfort her. She would be hungry; it was time for her regular nightly feeding. As Mary lifted the baby from her crib, her beautiful, long, dark-brown tresses fell over her shoulder. The baby's whimpering stopped, and transfixed, she tried to grab at Mary's silky, shining hair, illuminated softly by the glow of the silvery moon light. Mary smiled at the child, pushing her hair behind her ear.
Touching her little nose with the tip of her finger, she whispered, "Not right now, little one." She lifted the baby onto her shoulder, and with a glance behind her, checked to see that all was still. Satisfied, she quietly walked out of the nursery, and in the interest of saving time, slid gracefully down the banister as only Mary Poppins could.
Once Mary was in the kitchen, she pulled a prepared bottle from the refrigerator and one-handedly began warming it up. As things often went for Mary Poppins, she was done in no time, soon sliding back up the banister, baby and bottle in hand.
Entering the nursery again, she went through it into her room, and sat down carefully, cradling the baby in one arm. She smiled tenderly as the child suckled greedily at the full bottle now in her mouth. Mary rocked slowly, gazing down at the small life in her arms, for whom she had responsibility. So much had happened in the last few years. A voice echoed in her mind.
"Mary Poppins, you look beautiful! Like the day I met you."
Like the day he met her. It wasn't all that long ago.
Mary had been walking by herself, that fine spring day when she came upon him. He, a natural artist, had been arranging the flowerbeds in the beautiful London park, whistling and humming to himself. Mary stopped, watching him with great interest. One seldom came upon a soul that so painstakingly and artistically could arrange a large flowerbed in such a way. Mesmerized, she watched a while longer, then scolded herself for being idle. Mary Poppins never dawdled. She sighed, and moved on, heading for a park bench that over-looked the lake, ready to absorb herself into a book.
When the time came to go, Mary purposely left the park through the front exit, in hopes of seeing the gardener again. She wasn't surprised to find that he wasn't there any longer, but was disappointed nonetheless.
She bid good day to the park keeper with a curt nod, pulling on her gloves as she went. A short way down the side walk, she saw a man's figure kneeling over something on the ground, singing and whistling. It was familiar, as was his voice.
Mary made up her mind and tentatively approached his section of the of the walk. Upon closer inspection, she saw that it was indeed the gardener, as she had thought. Drawing nearer, some of the most beautiful chalk picture paintings met her eyes, and she stood for some time, admiring each one in it's entirety. She glanced up again when a kind, inviting voice met her ears.
"Why, hello, miss. Didn't see you there."
In spite of her somewhat stern demeanor, Mary gave the man a rare, full smile- wide and cheerful. "Your drawings are quite marvelous. You have a fine talent."
Her gaze returned to the sidewalk, though the man's eyes never left her. She was wearing a formal, yet strikingly attractive, figure-fitting, navy blue coat. Her dark brown hair shone with health, pinned up in a neat, thick bun. On her head she had a prim, black straw hat adorned with berries and daisies. But most appealing to him were her breathtaking, deep blue eyes and bright, cheery smile.
Mary, sensing eyes on her, looked up from a gorgeous chalk picture of the London countryside. The man was positively gawking at her. "Is there something you wanted?" she inquired crisply.
The man blushed slightly, ashamed at being caught staring openly at a young lady. As a cover up, he managed to stammer, "Would you allow me to draw your picture, Miss-?"
"Mary Poppins," Mary provided.
"I'm Bert. Would you mind, Miss Poppins? I'll work quickly."
Mary pondered the question, then smiled in a self-satisfied way. "I don't see why not."
"I'll draw it right here, next to this countryside scene."
"It's a lovely chalk picture. Don't you ever wonder what it must be like?"
"Eh?" Bert looked up, and found the streets of London were gone.
The baby was done with her bottle, but refused to fall back asleep. Mary placed the empty bottle on the floor beside her, then shifted the infant's position. She slowly rocked back and forth, humming softly. Not unexpectedly, her sweet, mellow, flawless voice began to sing ever so softly, a soothing tone working it's magic.
Stay awake, don't rest your head
Don't lie down upon your bed.
While the moon drifts in the skies
Stay awake, don't close your eyes.
Though, your pillow soft and deep
You're not sleepy as you seem.
Stay awake, don't nod and dream.
Stay awake
Don't nod
And dream.
Mary touched the small face, tenderly smoothing out her slightly waved brown hair. The baby was sleeping peacefully now, not to be woken again till morning.
Despite Mary's pride of not being sentimental, she couldn't help herself. Not any longer. Her deep blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her breath caught in her throat when she remembered the last time she sang that song, and to whom she sang it.
"Mary Poppins, you won't ever leave us, will you?"
Her answer had been stern and to the point. With a tone suggesting that was the end of the discussion. She'd settled down in the rather uncomfortable wrought-iron chair to begin the darning. As she worked, she listened to the children exclaim excitedly about their day at the races. For their own good, she played oblivious, but the smiles not on her lips were in her heart.
Mary felt as if her heart would burst from aching. She quickly wiped her eyes with her free hand, still thinking.
"Mary Poppins, don't you love us?"
The question had ripped at her heart, her soul, the very core of her being. How she longed to clutch Jane and Michael Banks to her, hold them close, and say, "Yes, yes, yes, of course I love you!" But instead, she asked for her hat stand, then sent them spit spot downstairs. Practically perfect people didn't allow emotions to muddle their thinking. Mary Poppins wouldn't be Mary Poppins if she loved all of the children she ever took care of. But she did love them.
Mary shook off the feeling of emptiness, aching, and longing in her heart and checked the nursery one last time. Satisfied with it's order, she strode briskly out of the nursery, shutting it's door sharply behind her. Instead of gliding down the banister, she took the steps on foot, carpetbag and umbrella in hand, hat on her head, scarf around her neck, coat buttoned down.
Stepping out onto the front porch, Mary shut the door behind her and paused to gather her thoughts. They hadn't said goodbye. But that was the way it should be. The Banks family needed her no longer. She stood silently as the strong East wind whirled around her. She held back threatening tears. This family was whole- Mary's job was done; she'd done it well.
Content with that thought, Mary sighed, opening her umbrella. Raising it above her head, her heals touching each other, she gave a nod and small smile, allowing the wind to lift her into the air, allowing it to hurl her towards her next adventure.
Mary carefully stood up, as not to wake the sleeping child in her arms. She padded back into the nursery and gently placed her in the crib. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, lovingly stroking the infant's hair into a neat part. Mary covered her up with her light blanket, hands lingering to brush over her forehead. The wind had carried her to the greatest adventure yet.
"Goodbye, Mary Poppins. Don't stay away too long."
Mary was high into the air when she heard his voice bidding her farewell. She looked over her shoulder, seeing his handsome face smiling warmly, hopefully up at her. She smiled back at him, as if to say, "I'll be back soon." It was the smile she reserved only for Bert.
Mary's gentle smile was still lingering. She bent down and kissed the baby on her forehead, whispering, "Sweet dreams, darling."
Mary stumbled sleepily back into her bedroom, but found she couldn't quite fall asleep herself. She settled in the rocking chair, pondering once again.
The wind had carried her to the greatest adventure yet.
Indeed it had. It always seemed to know Mary Poppins' every need and want. Mary always went where the wind led, letting it guide her. Some time after she'd left the Banks family, it'd led her straight back to London.
Into Bert's waiting arms.
It had known of Mary's longing for constant, lasting love, and sent her right to it. Her heart ached not with sadness any longer, but with love. Mary was overwhelmed by the love she felt for her husband and new daughter. She was happy, forever to be filled with joy. She rose out of the rocking chair and moved over to shut the window. The stars were still singing.
Mary smiled once again, and wrapped her arms around Bert, hugging him close as she slid back in bed. She couldn't remember ever being happier. She could now love and continually receive love in return.