Dear Readers,
On the anniversary of the posting of "Practically Perfect: Penned and Priced," I return to you, offering its sequel. Much has changed since last we spoke though as some mentioned an interest in a sequel, I of course sought about providing as much. I hope that interest is still there, for this entire project has been for you.
On this occasion, I should like to thank any new or returning readers. You have given me so much to think about, not to mention so much kindness and encouragement. I dedicate this story to you in a vain attempt to show my appreciation.
I rush to post this before the anniversary passes, but I must quickly mention that this story will most likely not progress along quite as swiftly as "Penned and Priced." I have given it a good deal of thought over the near-year I have been formulating it, but I must make sure it seems as organized typed out as it does in my head. While I may be rather slow regarding my other Mary Poppins story, "Noblesse Oblige," I assure you that this story will get a resolution if I have anything to do with it, I just do not seek to rush things. (I will also note that I fully intend to finish "Noblesse Oblige" but have hit a bit of a snag. I entreat that interested readers please just trust me on that for right now ;)).
But, in any event, I truly hope this provides you with all you desired. I thank you once again for everything - it means so very much to me! It is so good to be back once again!
Always,
Margo
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own, the tale of Mary Poppins in any of its incarnations. This is purely a bit of non-profit entertainment.
Of all the weapons man has devised with the intent of perforating his fellow being, the pen is the armament most capable of piercing the heart. Its very ink becomes the most deadly poison that may be injected into the blood. This does not necessarily mean that the penman is to be considered malevolent, for even he may not completely understand the dynamic power kept within his grasp - for the intents of even the most altruistic authors may go astray as a consequence of that mechanism which permits one to be accredited with the title of human being. But whatever the reason for such injuries may be, it is still likely that one would rather suffer the force of a sword or bullet than that of the written word, for there is no antidote to be found that can reverse the effects of a well-crafted missive.
Or so the young woman named Mary Poppins thought as she sat upon her disheveled bed, squeezing tight her refulgent eyes so that their light might penetrate inwardly, enabling the hole in her heart to be examined. Her loving Uncle Albert stationed himself resolutely at her side, awaiting the moment that he could be of some true help to her.
Luckily for him, it was not very long before the reservoir of tears within his niece depleted to expose a bed of chagrin. After doing her best to rub the stream of droplets from her face - the closest it would receive to a true washing that morning - she turned upon the man with the greatest composure she could muster.
Despite the courage she offered him, however, Uncle Albert could recognize how shattered the woman was in the way she asked, "Can you . . . read between the lines? I certainly cannot any longer, but I must know. Perhaps if I could attain some understanding, this might not hurt inside me so."
Uncle Albert took her hand in his. Her equanimity being so strained, Mary Poppins' skin took on the warmth of feverishness and even its very hue had turned from peach to a bright crimson. He could not help but wonder if perhaps her illness was returning, despite the fact that she had so lovingly been returned to health not a day before. In an attempt to prevent any further declination within his beloved Mary, Uncle Albert refocused on the note that rested upon his knee. Taking the ruffled piece of paper in his free hand, the man scrunched his brow in contemplation of it.
Mary Poppins' wounded heart foundered even lower within her as she observed the gaze in the man's framed eyes change suddenly from concentration to dejection.
"He is quite sincere, Mary, I assure you," Uncle Albert offered. "He has left not in spite of you, but because of you nonetheless."
Tears threatened to rain upon Mary Poppins' saturated features once again, but she stoically choked them back. Without altering his line of sight, her caretaker noticed the emotion.
"No, my dear. Do not be angry with him. His love for you was true, but some notion made his actions seem highly justified."
Several transitions occurred across Uncle Albert's face before he returned the paper to abeyance. His left hand now undetained, Uncle Albert ran it through his thinning hair while simultaneously clutching Mary's palm with the other.
"I can understand no more," he sympathized. "This entire situation is rather enigmatic, at best."
But Mary Poppins did not fault him. Still, her agitation caused her to bite her lower lip in such a fashion that it split to display the redness of her boiling blood. She tossed her manic brown tresses behind her to allow a better view of Uncle Albert before voicing her deepest concern.
"Is he still living, Uncle Albert?"
He shut his eyes tightly, unable to presently observe her face. "I wish I knew, my dear, but I am powerless to discover it with my present means." He took Mary into his arms before continuing. "At any rate, it appears as though he is gone."
She wrapped her arms ardently around his physique before drawing back, a determinedness spread upon her face that was not there before. "That much I intend to survey myself."
Rain from the heavens had already begun pouring upon Mary Poppins by the time she had given herself the appearance of having some semblance of order and followed Uncle Albert's directions to the place that served as Bert's lodgings. Perhaps had served would have been the better description, though the intuitive woman could not find any particular sign of vacancy about the place. Strolling about the boundless row of craggy edifices that served as armored guards for the cobblestone lane, Mary Poppins had distinctly spotted the towering gray building with the external staircase, just as Uncle Albert had assured her that she would. Spiriting up two flights of steps, a glossy oaken door was indeed to be found with a sole window beside it for company. The pane's dress of bountiful curtains did not allow Mary Poppins a very explicit view, though from her inhibited glances, it was deduced that the fixtures still remained within. In vain, she clasped the tarnished brass doorknob with both hands, praying with vehemence that it should budge and reveal to her the man she loved, the one who would be as overjoyed at her presence as she certainly would be at his.
But, alas, the magical abilities of Mary Poppins had been revoked earlier as payment for the life that the chimney sweep she loved so dearly had returned to her. Not long after considering this thought did the vision of Bert within Mary's heart fade, revealing again that bottomless pit that the woman felt confident would remain forever more. Her crux feeling terribly heavy despite missing a piece, Mary Poppins returned to Kirkby Lane. Before doing so she closed her eyes, tightening her hold on the doorknob. For she knew that not so very long ago Bert had surely done likewise, and knowing that made the knob almost as comfortable as his hand in her palm would surely have been at that instant if the privelege could have been hers for but one more moment in time.
"I'm sorry for my behavior, Uncle Albert. Truly I am. It is just that I have never felt so - well, I suppose that is the problem. I feel nothing at all now," Mary Poppins confessed as she reclined upon the settee. The sitting room to any guest would have been the picture of warmth with the presence of both Uncle Albert and a blazing fire but no relief could be given to neither Mary's inner nor outer soddenness.
He continued to stroke her arm soothingly, knowing that no words he could form would be any true relief to his beautiful niece.
"It is a terrible thing, a wretched thing," Mary proclaimed, nibbling on her fingertips anxiously. "It would have been better that he let me die if I now have to return to a loveless life once again." She turned, instinctively seeking Uncle Albert's face. Even before their eyes met, however, Mary Poppins was already terribly ashamed of what she had said.
"No, Uncle Albert, forgive my complete arrogance. What a squanderer I would be if I truly wished my life away. Too many people have worked to secure it for me. I must continue on." She bent her weary neck forward and released a formidable sigh. In the maelstrom of events that had taken place not even Mary had stopped to notice how incredibly exhausted she felt. "If he only wasn't such a beautiful person, I might not make such a fool of myself."
The pair shared a smile that despite its weakness was far more than either expected to indulge in that day.
"Perhaps this is the best thing for you, Mary. Perhaps it was his intention all along. He's set you free, you know. Your life is yours to live now - you are free to do anything you choose now."
At this conclusion, Mary Poppins gazed longingly into the distance. "Except what I truly wanted to."
After an entire day of largely thinking of herself, Mary Poppins was left entirely unable to do so as evening approached. And so she turned her attention to discovering what had always been of the utmost importance to her, despite her unwillingness to admit it. No true friend of Bert's could allow him to vanish without exhausting all resources to find him.
Reduced to such humanness, Mary Poppins' own resources were rather limited. Thankfully, nothing could remove the unnatural amount of sensibility that she kept stored away within her head. Employing just this, the empowered woman braced herself against the wind and rain and trudged dutifully to the park, the most auspicious place she could think of.
Mary's judgement did not fail her. With eyes cast to the ground, expecting the narrow gray walkway to open up into the entrance she was so familiar with, a little brown and gray blur trajected into her path and forced her to stop.
"Andrew!" She exclaimed after she had focused on the creature for a moment. The little dog began to bark wildly. Despite the beastly pounding of the rain upon the ground around her, Mary Poppins was able to effectively translate the little dog's bark - for such things did not require magic, but rather a sharp ear and the ability to pay attention.
"No, I haven't the faintest idea where Bert has gone! It's been maddening me all day! Hasn't he shown up at the Banks' residence? Does he not teach the children?"
Andrew's yipping grew even more impassioned.
"And he never said a word about leaving? No one has seen him anywhere?"
Here the little canine shook his entire body to indicate the negative, sending water flying from his blanket and coat. Mary wiped away droplets from her own face as she parted from the dog.
It was her original intent to trudge home, utterly at a loss as to what to do next. The pasty sidewalk was disappearing rapidly has her boots clicked against the pavement. But suddenly a vibrant cloud exploded into Mary's line of sight on the ground, causing her to stop dead and kneel before it.
Removing her glove and running a hand over the particolored mess before her, Mary Poppins realized she was gazing upon the remains of Herbert Alfred's final chalk pictures. Thunder boomed around her, leaving the woman completely oblivious to the sound of her own crying. She had been too late to gaze upon the images. Had he depicted the reason for his departure, or portrayed the offense she had committed to cause him to leave? Had these been the clues to where he intended to go?
She felt as though she would never know for certain. Her heart insisted as much, and it had grown very difficult to ignore its repetition. Where he had transpired to, she gave up all hope of ever finding out. His identity as she had known him had passed away, she was sure - just as they must now have been dead to each other. This she unwillingly accepted as she watched the chalk forms sway and disappear. The constant torrent of water continued to carry away the brilliant hues from the pavement. They were whisked away just as swiftly from her sight as Bert himself had been, she mused. She observed them all but disappear, the incessant rush of water all around her unable to squelch the very burning in her heart. Down the concrete continued the ghastly parade of vibrance, until they sunk beneath it with the very water that carried them. There, they became part of the artist's past, joining the colors that so boldly defined his life, leaving the woman who so desperately sought the story it was their duty to keep alive. Underground, the stream ignorantly continued, painting the past with the present until the two shades ultimately blended into the same color, filling in their appropriate space in the tale as those who had best embodied them.
There was a woman with a pair of dazzling green eyes, so vivid that Herbert Alfred would remember them throughout his entire life and use them to define the very color.
Those perturbing emerald orbs pierced his own desperately, until vexetaion caused his own glance to break free of them.
"You will be a very good boy for me, won't you, Herbert?" She inquired, bracing the edge of the seat as the carriage jostled over a bump. When the path became smooth once again she pressed her headdress back into position, still waiting for an answer.
"For you I will," he mumbled in time, never looking up at her. He threw a sidelong glance in her direction, catching the great ebony skirts of her dress in the corner of his eye. It was a beautiful dress. She was a beautiful woman, a well-bred one, even. But it did not suit her in Bert's eyes. She had never worn such things before, not before she remarried and found the means to. Bert was not fond of the change at all. "I still don't see whys I hafta go. I'm just as well off at 'ome."
She sighed, dragging a pale hand across her forehead before continuing. "You are not and you know it. Your father insists this a very good school, and we've gone through a great deal of trouble to get you here. He thinks this will be the best for you, and I must agree. This is a wonderful opportunity that we sh'll never get again. It is a very fine institution, Bert. They're going to offer you such a wonderful cirriculum - diverse, and the like. They even put on productions! Wouldn't you like to be in those, Bert?"
He finally looked up into her round face, framed in his same dark strands of hair. She had done a better job of convincing herself than him. "I s'pose," he replied nonetheless.
She squeezed his hand. "I'll be sure to come to every one."
Bert could see the beginnings of tears enter her eyes, though not until years later would he realize what in fact had brought them on.
That day marked the last time Bert ever saw her again. And even though he had never heard another word from her, the lessons she had taught him would stay with him always. She had forever impacted the way Herbert Alfred viewed the world, in all its varied colors.