Okay, I wrote this on a very, very long plane ride, so excuse me if it's not my best. But I am happy to report that I have internet here and a little time every day to write so… yay! Enjoy!
I continue to own nothing.
1960s
(Present Day)
Nearly ten years go by and while Mary does feel the same sense of satisfaction helping families, she knows her work isn't nearly as perfect as it once was. Though of course she cares for her charges and their families, she can't help but feel angry with them for so carelessly throwing away the one thing she longs for desperately. She had the perfect family, one of the very few, it seems, not in need of her help and she was forced to give it up. She would complain more if she weren't so practically perfect.
Almost ten years to the day since she left, on what she always considers the best and worst day of the year, the wind sets her down in front of a terribly familiar house. Please, anything but this, she thinks. Anything.
The wind shows no sign of picking up and blowing her to anywhere else. She curses it and wonders what she did to deserve this.
As she hesitates outside the house, a car pulls up and a man and teenage girl get out, the girl slamming the door. "Rosie, what am I goin' to do with you?" Bert asks, frustration evident in his voice. Mary's breath catches in her throat—he's just as handsome as the day she left.
"Dad, this isn't my fault! Mrs. Franklin hates me for no good reason!"
"Want to try that again, and this time not blame your bad grade on someone else? This is your second D this year! And in 'istory too! You love 'istory!"
"Well, maybe if my father could help me with my homework…"
Bert looks like he's been slapped and Mary feels the pain as well—that is her daughter throwing around insults like baseballs. She was going to let this scene play out but for once she can't hold her tongue. "That is no way to speak to your father," she interrupts. "Now apologize."
"Who are you?" Rosemary asks, but not before mumbling an apology to her father.
"I'm Mary Poppins," Mary replies haughtily. "And you must be Rosemary Alfred. Happy Birthday, if I'm not mistaken."
"Wha- how did you know that?"
"I have my ways," Mary smiles vaguely, as if she would ever forget the day she gave birth to her little girl. "Mr. Alfred, perhaps I could be of some service in this matter." She searches for a hint of recognition in his face but it remains blank.
"Oh-"
"I'll tutor Rosemary. You'll find I have an impeccable education and make an excellent teacher. After all, you did advertise for one, did you not?"
"Daddy, you didn't!" Rosemary cries. "One D doesn't mean I need a tutor!"
"Two, now," he corrects. "And maybe it's best, Rosie."
Rosemary stamps her foot and huffs. "You didn't need to go behind my back about it."
"Oh, you would have agreed?" Mary asks pleasantly.
"Well, no… But still!"
"Miss Poppins, we appreciate the offer but I can't afford to pay you much," Bert says.
"Room and board shall be all I need," she replies. "If you have the room, of course."
Bert grins. "Rosie will set you up. Thank you, Miss Poppins."
"It's my pleasure, Mr. Alfred."
"Bert'll do," he informs her. "Mr. Alfred was my father."
"Then Mary or Mary Poppins will be fine, thank you. Miss Poppins is… well, certainly not me."
"And Rosemary is just fine for me, if anybody cares. Now if you two are quite done gawking at each other, I have homework," Rosemary gripes.
Mary hides a blush and collects her things. "Of course. Now if you'll show me to where I'll be staying, we can get to work on that homework." Rosemary groans. "Well, if you didn't intend to do it, you shouldn't have brought it up."
"I am not going to like this arrangement," Rosemary gripes under her breath but shows Mary the familiar room off the kitchen. "Sorry it's not bigger. We don't really get visitors, so we don't use it for much of anything," Rosemary apologizes.
Mary looks around. "Well, it's not exactly Buckingham Palace, but it'll do when I'm through with it." She looks around and opens her carpet bag. "First things first, I always say the proper place to hang a hat is a hat stand."
Rosemary's eyes grow wide as the object appears out of the bag. "Okay, that's a pretty neat trick."
"It's no trick," Mary sniffs. "No mirror, I see." She pulls the gilded frame out of the bag.
"You can't even see where it collapses! How did you do that?"
"I beg your pardon? I've done nothing! You're far too cynical for your own good, Rosemary."
"I'm not cynical! But a hat rack in a carpet bag just simply isn't possible!"
"Anything is possible, Rosemary. Never judge anything by its appearance; I'm sure I never do."
Rosemary rolls her eyes but looks genuinely stunned when Mary continues to pull things out of her bag. Finally, Mary sighs contentedly. "There. Now step up, then. Let me have a look at you."
Rosemary slumps into the light. "Happy?"
"Don't slouch, Rosemary." Immediately Rosemary stands ramrod straight, her posture echoing Mary's own. Mary studies her. She has Bert's lopsided grin and messy brown hair. But her nose turns up pertly at the end, just like Mary's, and her eyes… Oh, she definitely has the bright blue eyes that all Poppins women have, though the mischievous glint in them is rather permanent, like her father. Mary's breath catches in her throat; Bert has raised their daughter into a beautiful young woman, even if he doesn't know it and she's rather headstrong.
Mary shakes her head. This assignment has to be purely business; she has to be incredibly careful not to get tangled up in it. It will be difficult enough leaving as it is. "Now then," she says, pulling out her tape measure. "Let's see how you measure up."
As she pulls the measure to Rosemary's head, she reads, "'Stubborn and prone to slacking off when bored.' Well, we'll just have to do something about that, won't we? Where is that homework of yours?"
0ooo0
About an hour later Bert knocks on the door. "Come in!" Mary Poppins calls.
"Is everything alright?" he asks, a little nervously.
"Quite satisfactory, thank you."
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely. Your house is lovely," she comments as if she hadn't spent a year decorating it.
"My wife's doing, not mine," he says modestly. "She did it before Rosie was born, when we were first married."
"You must have been very happy."
"We were. I still miss 'er, y'know? Wish every day that she were still 'ere."
"It must be difficult."
"Sometimes. Rosie makes it worth it though. Well, when she's not fighting me on everything."
"I'm sure things will get better, Mr. Alfred."
"Bert," he insists.
She bites the inside of her cheek, holding her tongue. Her first instinct, of course, is to call him Bert but she needs the reminder of their distance if this is going to work. "Bert," she repeats. "Everything will get better."
"Why are you 'ere, Mary Poppins? Working for nothing and bothering with me and Rosie?"
She smiles gently. "Rosemary has potential. Besides, it's what I do. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to settle in. And then I'll cook dinner."
"You don't-"
"I insist. Please tell Rosemary that I expect her homework done by dinner."
0ooo0
"Mary Poppins! Mary Poppins!" Rosemary calls excitedly as she bangs her way through the front door several weeks later.
"Kindly do slow down, Rosemary. You are not a racehorse," Mary chides.
"Sorry. But look!" Rosemary holds out the piece of paper that's been flapping in her hand. Mary takes it and finds that it's her daughter's history test. And there is a big B marked at the top.
"Better," she smiles. "Much better."
"It just all sort of came to me as I was writing! I'm certain it's because of you. You're my good luck charm. Promise me you won't leave at least until I'm into university!"
"That's a pie crust promise," Mary sniffs. "Easily made, easily broken. And I can assure you I am no one's good luck charm. You're a very smart girl when you set your mind to it. I can't take credit for that."
"I'm not really though," Rosemary sighs, looking at the floor.
"Rosemary Alfred, I will not have you belittle your god-given talents, not while I'm around. I do not say things that aren't true."
"It was just a spot of luck. That's all."
"Rosemary, that is enough!"
"Rosie, what did you do now?" Bert sighs as he enters the kitchen. "Mary Poppins sounds cross."
Mary rolls her eyes to the ceiling. "I am never cross. But your daughter refuses to believe that she has intelligence and I find false modesty quite off-putting."
"Mary Poppins just won't admit that she's a good luck charm!"
"I am no charm of any sort!" Mary insists.
"Well, you're certainly charming," Bert says under his breath, but Mary hears him and blushes.
"Oh dear," Rosemary groans. "This again. I'm going to do my homework."
"Wait, wait," Bert stops her. "Why were you an' Mary Poppins arguing over your intelligence?" Mary hands over Rosemary's test. "Rosie, this is great!"
"It's nothing," she blushes.
"No, I'm with Mary Poppins on this one. I'm proud of you, Rosie."
She grins but ducks her head to hide it. "Mary Poppins, will you help me with my homework?"
"Certainly. Bert, if it's alright with you, I'd like to take Rosemary out to dinner tonight to celebrate. We have things to discuss."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you!" Rosemary exclaims. "I'm going to Elena's house for dinner! We have a project for our science class and need to finish."
"Is that so?" Bert asks suspiciously.
"She lives just a block over. You can phone over to her house and ask her parents. We've gotten their permission. I promise, Daddy, no tricks this time. You can call every hour, if you'd like."
"I don't think that shall be necessary," Mary smiles.
"Daddy, can I?"
"May, Rosemary," Mary corrects.
"May I, Daddy?"
"I suppose. You can walk, can't you?"
"Absolutely! Oh, thank you!" Rosemary cries and runs out of the room.
Bert nods. "Well, Mary Poppins, looks like it's just you an' me for dinner. 'ow 'bout I cook for you?"
"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly-"
"I insist."
"Well, alright then. If you insist."
"I do."
0ooo0
"Oh, Bert, it's delicious!" Mary exclaims. She has missed his cooking.
"It's nothin'," he says.
"Nonsense. I won't have false modesty from Rosemary and I certainly won't have it from you!"
"You've been a blessing with her, Mary Poppins," he admits. "We were going through a rough patch before you came."
"Oh?"
"Never could see eye-to-eye with that one. It didn't ever matter until 'er grades started suffering. I worry sometimes that I never remarried and she's suffered for it."
Mary takes a sip of water. "If it's not too impertinent, might I ask what became of Mrs. Alfred?"
Bert doesn't look her in the eye but answers anyways, "She died after 'aving Rosie. I think Rose blames 'erself for that too. Girl would rather take the 'ole world on 'er shoulders than let anybody else take a bit of blame."
"She's a fine girl," Mary says quietly. "A fine young woman. You've done a wonderful job of raising her. I don't think she's suffered for lack of a mother."
"Y'know, it's funny," Bert mentions. "You've only been 'ere a week, yet I feel as if I've known you for me 'ole life."
"You most certainly have not," Mary informs him, probably too quickly. Then she lowers her eyes and looks up through her lashes. "But I can't say I don't have the same feeling."
When did he get so close? And is it possible for his eyes to have gotten kinder? And exactly how fast can her heart beat without giving her a heart attack? All valid questions and all have to do with the insane muddle she seems to have gotten herself into.
She coughs. "I need to read over Rosemary's essay and then I believe I shall sleep. Goodnight, Bert."
The tips of his fingers just brush hers as she gets up. "Goodnight, Mary Poppins. Sweet dreams."
0ooo0
Rosemary returns the next morning with a grin. "So," she says coyly to Mary. "Anything interesting happen while I was away?"
"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."
"You and my dad… Alone… Romantic dinner…"
"Rosemary, I can assure you that nothing happened last night. The very idea! Kindly stop making such tawdry accusations."
"I'm just saying… You two look pretty cozy."
Mary's cheeks color. "Your father and I have nothing in common other than our mutual interest in your success," she replies haughtily. And that we were married for six years. And have you.
"Right," Rosemary says skeptically. "Would it really be so bad though? I mean, it's not like he's exactly hideous. He's actually kind of handsome. And he's a good guy."
"Rosemary-"
"I just think you're a good match. You're good for him. He's far more cheerful with you here. We get along so much better now."
"If you don't mind my asking, what happened to cause such problems between you two?"
"I... Well, I might have I had… Well, there was a boy and Dad didn't approve at all. And he was right… As usual."
Mary's heart breaks when she realizes just how many milestones she's missed out on in her daughter's life. "Your father loves you very much, Rosemary."
"I know," she sighs. "And he deserves to be happy. Promise me you'll stay for awhile."
"I-"
"And none of that pie crust promise stuff!"
"I shall stay until the wind changes," Mary replies. "Not a second more or less."
"What does that mean?"
Mary smiles cryptically but says nothing.
0ooo0
Bert and Mary continue to do an awkward sort of dance around each other. It's very clear that Bert is very interested in her—though, in true Bert fashion, he'd never actually say anything about it—and she wants nothing more than to reestablish herself in his life but that didn't work out the first time, so why should it work now that she has to lie to his face nearly every day? Instead of giving in, she swallows her feelings, ducks her head whenever he looks at her, and pushes onward. It won't be long until she has to leave again.
Mary is knitting in the front room when Rosemary slams the front door, muttering darkly to herself. "I didn't even want to go to the stupid thing anyways and why would I?"
"Rosemary?" Mary questions.
"You know what is just awful?" Rosemary asks suddenly.
"I haven't the foggiest."
"Not having a mother. It's awful. You can't go to stupid mother-daughter things and everyone looks at you like you're some sort of charity case. Dad's done a great job all by himself. I mean, he has! Hasn't he?"
Mary closes her eyes briefly; this is her fault. "Your father has done a wonderful job. You are an incredibly lucky girl."
"Then why does everybody think I'm the most pathetic thing ever? It's not as if I'm an orphan!"
Mary shakes her head. "People will believe what they want to believe."
"It's just… I hate it," Rosemary sniffs and tucks herself into Mary's arms.
Mary stiffens, then lets herself just hold her little girl, trying to convey just how sorry she is. She rests her chin on top of the girl's head and holds her tight. "Oh, Rosie," she sighs, the old nickname slipping out accidentally. "I wish I could make this better."
Now Rosemary stiffens and pulls away. There's a cold sort of fury in her eyes that has never been there before. "Only my dad calls me Rosie. If I had a mother, she would too. But I don't. I like you, Mary Poppins, but no matter how much you try or wish or whatever, you will never be my mother. My mother is dead. Dead and gone and never coming back. So don't… just don't."
Mary manages to stand straight as Rosemary storms out of the room, but tears start rolling down her face quietly when she leaves.
"So when are you going to tell her?"
Mary turns on her heel to find Bert leaning in the doorway. "I beg your pardon?"
"I asked when you're going to tell her?"
"Rosemary? Tell her what exactly?"
"That she's wrong."
"Excuse me?"
He smiles patiently. "Mary Poppins, you and I both know two things that Rosie doesn't."
She tries to hide her nerves behind bravado. "Oh we do, do we?"
He holds up a finger to count off his points. "One, Mary Poppins is your maiden name, not your married one. And two, Rosie couldn't 'ave been more wrong when she said you're not 'er mother."
Huh, well, that's certainly interesting, I must say… Don't worry, I only have one more chapter to wrap up this story!
Until then!
-Juli-