L'autunno

1915 London

It was a chilly autumn night in London; the wind danced across the sky and the stars were shining in the darkness. The stars were particularly bright this night, and rightly so. They were frivolous with excitement and anticipation, because they perceived a presence in the air that had been absent for quite some time. They watched intently as a well-known silhouette descended from the shadows.

Mary Poppins looked as she did the day she departed from the Banks household nearly five years ago: her fitted black coat remained the same, as did the red and white scarf draped elegantly over her shoulder, and the green parrot-headed umbrella clutched firmly in her right hand. She drifted slowly downward toward Cherry Tree Lane, glancing warmly at Number Seventeen, and alighted at the entrance to the park with a grace and ease that came from years of experience. Closing her umbrella, she walked swiftly through the gate and into the center of the park. There was a specific bench she was rather fond of beside a grove of large, old oak trees, and she was hoping beyond hope that he would, by some miraculous chance, remember and find her there. She would wait for him, just as she had forced him to wait for her.

***

Bert had been wandering the streets of London when he felt it; that familiar tugging sensation in the back of his mind that always alerted him to her arrival. He'd memorised the signs over the years, as well: how the wind would pick up ever so slightly, colours would appear brighter, and the very air would feel fresh and new. He was taken aback; she had been gone for close to five long years, why would she suddenly return now? He knew where she'd be; she always went to the same place whenever she arrived in London. He set off briskly toward the park, where within would be a little bench surrounded by oak trees and, he hoped beyond hope, the woman he had never forgotten.

***

Mary sat and placed her folded umbrella on the bench beside her. Staring blindly into the distance, she recalled the last time she was in London. Her stay with the Banks family had been wonderful, but no matter how comfortable she became with her charges, she always had to leave. Five years ago, however, she had left more than just the children behind. She remembered that day vividly; he'd taken her privately aside and kissed her gently before letting her go. "Don't stay away too long," he had said. But she did. She stayed away longer than she ever had before, and though she refused to admit it to herself, she knew the reason why. She had been running away from him. She had never been in love, so when her heart started doing somersaults whenever he came near, or when she felt an electric current rush between them at even the slightest touch, she became afraid. She remembered that glorious day at the Snow Ball a little over a month before she left. They had professed their undying devotion to one another that day, and yet she had still left. She had panicked, and she ran. She justified it to herself in many ways; love would interfere with nannying, it would strip her of her control, it would force her to open herself up, it would tie her down, prevent her from living her life as she chose and from helping other people live theirs. What she didn't realise was that true love never dies, and though she had tried to suppress and forget it completely, to shut it out from body and mind, the feeling had laid dormant, waiting to break free from its bonds. The wind once told her that she could blow out the candles, but she could never blow out the fire; and that when the flames caught, they would only continue to grow. She had not dwelt on the wind's prudent words, and instead fought harder against her trembling heart. Recently, however, she had begun to see the wisdom in the wind's message, and she finally understood: her heart did not belong to her anymore, and her happiness and life were now intertwined with those of another. She wondered if he could ever forgive her for what she had done; she began to doubt if his love for her still remained, and if he would come to find her at all. She just hoped he would remember that beautiful, wonderful, magical kiss… Mary shook herself out of her reverie and watched the red leaves fall unhurriedly to the ground. He will come, she reassured herself with an uneven breath. He will come…

***

Bert found her sitting on her favourite bench in the park looking positively flustered. He froze, not wanting to disturb her thoughts, and stood on the quiet path gazing at her in awe from afar. He thought perhaps that distance does make love stronger, because looking at her now, he thought she never looked more beautiful; her cheeks were slightly more flushed than usual from the cold, her lips shone a bright crimson, and her eyes held a wistful, faraway look as she glanced up at the scarlet leaves that fell from the trees around her. The day she left, he felt as though a piece of him had been whisked off with her, and for the past five years, he had merely existed, rather than lived. His world had been grey and lifeless, but now that she was back, the colour had already returned to his cheeks, the light to his eyes, and the swing to his step. He craved her presence, her touch, and her gentle kiss. He just needed to feel her warm hand in his, and perhaps, he thought, he would be whole again.

***

Mary suddenly felt him watching her, but she could not bring herself to raise her face to meet his gaze. She flushed a deeper red in shame at her weakness, and then determinedly gathered all the strength she could muster, and looked directly into Bert's eyes. Their eyes locked—icy blue meeting warm chocolate brown. They felt the old connection immediately, and both were overwhelmed by its fierce energy. She rose as he approached the bench, never taking her eyes off of him.

"Hello, Mary," he said softly.

"Bert, I'm so sorry," she stammered. "I was confused and lost and…" she paused. "I didn't know what I wanted."

He took a tentative step closer. "Do you know what you want now?" he whispered.

Mary looked at him, her eyes bright with years of repressed longing. "I think I do."

He slowly raised his hand to her face, but hesitated before touching her. He desperately searched her eyes for confirmation; for any sign that she truly wanted this as much as he did. He needed to know that their love was still there; that it burned as brightly as it did those five years ago. His eyes wandered from hers and he devoured her features as if to eternally commit each one to memory: the delicate arch of her brow, the slope of her nose, the way her lips curved upward in a ghost of a smile. Hand still raised, his fervent eyes found hers again as they stood in silence gazing into their infinite depths, almost daring the other to make the first move. Finally finding his courage, Bert placed his work-worn hand gently against Mary's cheek. Her eyes closed at the contact, and her breaths quickened when Bert began softly caressing her cheek with his thumb. She leaned into his caress and hesitantly placed her gloved hands on his chest. He moved his hand beneath her chin and, with a slight pressure of his fingers, guided her head upward so her now opened eyes were level with his. Small tears formed at the corner of his eye, and they slowly made their way down his face. Mary lifted one of her hands from his chest and delicately wiped away his tears, though her own were silently flowing down her cheeks. Bert took a shaky breath as he gazed at her with adoration and remembered sorrow.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he whispered, so softly that Mary had to strain her ears to hear him. She wanted to chase away any doubts he may have had. She wanted to let him know how much she loved him, but, despite how tenderly he was holding her, her heart was still quavering. "I thought I'd lost you."

Warmth radiated from her eyes as she looked at him. Her tears began anew as she quietly replied. "Never in eternity will you lose me."

Bert threw propriety aside and took Mary's face in his hands and kissed her with a fire she'd never known. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders tentatively at first, but more boldly as their kiss grew more passionate. His arms wound around her waist and brought her close to him. A searing heat coursed through their veins that neither had felt before; it was a torrent of desire that flooded their senses, blocking out every other presence in the world. When nature forced them to break the kiss, they gazed into one another's drying eyes, no longer attempting to shield the love and longing within them as they had for years beyond count.

"We wasted a lot of time, didn't we? Pining away for each other," Bert whispered, holding her tightly against his chest still, as if she would suddenly disappear and never return.

"I do believe we have," she sighed and paused for a moment. "It's ironic how an agent of change was so fearful of it," she said quietly, looking into his eyes. He returned her gaze and placed a hand on her cheek.

"You are human, Mary. All people are afraid of change. Even the one Great Exception."

Her lips curled into a brilliant smile and she wove her hand absentmindedly through Bert's tousled hair. She couldn't believe that he was forgiving her this easily. She had all but abandoned him, and yet here he was, holding her and kissing her as if nothing had ever happened.

The wind blew noiselessly around them, whirling about stray tendrils of her dark hair, and Mary sighed contentedly.

"The wind approves," she said with a slight laugh. In her mind she profusely thanked the wind for its guidance, and for sending her into Bert's waiting embrace. I am in your debt, my friend, she thought.

The wind rustled the vibrant leaves as if in answer, and Mary's smile grew. Its quiet whispers faded into the crisp night air as Mary brought her hands to Bert's face.

"What did it say?" he asked with a knowing smile.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," she replied, tracing the line of his jaw.

"Yes, you do," Bert said. "You always know." Her ministrations forgotten, she looked at him incredulously, but her eyes twinkled with merriment. The corner of her upper lip twitched when she could no longer hold back her smile, and he erupted in amusement. His cheerfulness was infectious, and soon they were laughing together with broad grins, and grasping the other's hand securely. He brought her free hand to his lips and placed light kisses to her fingertips, all the while looking into her eyes adoringly.

An abrupt change came over his countenance as he continued gazing at her; he had the sudden realisation that he didn't want her for just fleeting moments as before, but forever. She was his entire world; he needed her by his side always, and he was resolved to finally tell her. Mary, as keen as usual, noticed his change in demeanor. She looked at him, concern etched in her features.

"Bert, are you alright?" she inquired.

"Mary Poppins, I—" his voice trailed away and he silently cursed his unexpected cowardice.

"Yes, Bert?" she whispered. Mary realised they had come quite close to one another again. She could feel his uneven breaths on her cheek, and could hear his heart beating wildly within his chest. Much like my own, she mused. She felt a chill run down her spine, from the cold or her concealed excitement, she did not know. His eyes burned with intensity unlike any she had ever seen, and she gave his hands a reassuring squeeze.

He took a deep, steadying breath and pressed both of her hands to his heart. "Mary Poppins, we have known each other for a long time," he brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes and he allowed his hand to remain against her cheek. "And, despite that time, you are still a mystery to me."

"I'm what?" she asked, her defensiveness getting the better of her. "I am by no means a—"

"Let me finish," he interrupted and pressed a finger gently against her lips to quiet her. "You are a mystery, Mary. And every moment I spend with you, I learn something new, and add another piece to the beautiful puzzle." He looked down at their clasped hands and smiled. "I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life solving the mystery that is Mary Poppins. I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life… with you." His eyes found hers again and they shone with a dazzling radiance. "I love you, Mary. With all my heart and soul, I love you."

She'd barely comprehended what he had said when she found her lips against his once more. This kiss held none of the zealous fire from before; this was a kiss of promise, of vows unspoken, and of pure, unmistakable love. The emotion tore through her body like the wind in the trees and she knew that her feelings for him went beyond what she had previously believed; she was deeply and passionately in love with him, and she needed him to survive just as much as he needed her. The sensations she felt were more potent than any power she possessed, and she relished the feeling. She had found the other half of her spirit, and there was no way she would ever leave him again.

"Oh, Bert, I can't even begin to explain how much I love you," she whispered when they pulled apart.

"You never explain anything, Mary," he laughed. "Why should this be any different?" He gave her shoulder a playful nudge and her eyes glimmered with mirth in the silver moonlight. Much enjoying the lighter atmosphere, Bert wrapped his arm around Mary's waist and they walked leisurely in a comfortable silence through the starlit park. She rested her head against his shoulder and a contented smile lazily stretched across her face.

"What is it?" Bert asked warmly.

"It's just… for the first time in a long time… I am home."

The stars sparkled merrily in the dark, autumn sky. They bathed the blissful couple in their ethereal light so that they seemed to glow amongst the reddening trees. Smiling happily, Mary and Bert strode hand in hand out of the park and into the labyrinth of the London streets, hearts brimming with joy and love. The ever watchful stars sang and rejoiced, for a soul had been completed and had become, at long last, perfect.