Chapter 2
___
I have refused to live
locked in the orderly house of
reasons and proofs.
The world I live in and believe in
Is wider than that. And anyway,
what’s wrong with Maybe?
You wouldn’t believe what once or
twice I have seen. I’ll just
tell you this:
only if there are angels in your head will you
ever, possibly, see one.
"The World I Live In"
-Mary Oliver
___
The weather is considerably nicer the next morning, the temperature dropping shortly after Winifred had made her way to bed. She slept fitfully, in small bursts, until the bustle of the household began to rise from the floors below. She goes slower with her routine, allowing herself extra time to brush her curls out and pin them up, to perfectly rouge her cheeks, to add all the layers that told the world she was a capable and respectful woman. It wouldn’t do to show on the outside what she felt simmering under her skin on the inside.
When she finally makes her way out of her bedroom and down the stairs, she catches her children putting on hats in the foyer, dutifully preparing for an outing with their nanny. Mary doesn’t look up at her as she makes her way down, but her son and daughter beam up at her with little smiles. There are few things Winifred feels she’s gotten right in her life, but she’s certain her children are two of them.
“Hello darlings, off to run errands with Mary Poppins?” Winifred asks, a real and true smile on her face. She’d do anything for them, though society often dictated she do very differently for them than she’d like. She has eyes only for her children, though she can now feel the eyes of Mary upon her. The skin on her neck goose pimples. She glances over at the parlor she had just sat in earlier in the morning and spoke perhaps one too many truths.
“We’re going to the market for some cheese!” Michael exclaims, his pent up energy thrilled at the chance for release soon. He’s gotten taller, Winifred suddenly notices, all limbs like a young colt.
“If we’re good then Mary Poppins says we might go on an adventure!” Jane chimes in, equally delighted to enjoy the spring air and get out of the stuffiness of the house.
Winifred finally looks to Mary at this, and her warm blue eyes sparkle. She looks amused somehow, and Winifred wonders what she’d been looking for as she stared at her while Winifred greeted the children. She’s in her customary hat, daisies and cherries perfectly placed atop her head. She has just the right amount of pink in her cheeks, and Winifred suddenly wonders if she’d overdone it on her own rouge. Her slender figure is in a navy dress today, but there’s a ruby-red bow at her neck. Winifred finds herself staring at the woman’s throat.
“Did she? Well in that case I expect you’ll be on your best behavior for her then, won’t you?” Winifred says with a conspiratorial smile pointed at the children, finally drawing her eyes away from her nanny’s neck. “I’m sure you’ll have a grand time together,” she adds, finally looking back at Mary’s face.
Her eyes are still twinkling, with a look that says she knows more than you do. A slight smirk trying to find its way on her pink lips. Winifred notices a slight raise in her eyebrows, however, as if she’s waiting for something.
“What will it be today?” Winifred asks, her voice still bubbly and directed at Jane and Michael, but she continues to look directly into Mary’s eyes. “Perhaps a trip to a desert oasis? No, it’s been far too hot already. Maybe the Arctic instead, though I’m afraid you aren’t dressed for it.” She says it in a silly tone, the one she used to use when her children were smaller and clung to her at bedtime and she told them ridiculous stories and fairy tales. She’d performed for them, stretched her aching and unused acting muscles on the only audience she had for a while.
The smirk at the edge of Mary Poppins’ mouth twitches ever so slightly, and Winifred feels a twinge in her stomach. Mary doesn’t falter, doesn’t give anything away. If Winifred’s remark last night startled her, this one this morning certainly doesn’t. The twinkle in her eye shines brighter, and Winifred thinks the twinge she felt is perhaps butterflies.
“What a silly idea Mrs. Banks, how ever could we go to the Arctic? And a dangerous mission at that. Truly a preposterous idea!” she sniffs, her pert nose going up slightly in the air with disdain. No, not butterflies, Winifred thinks. Something else. She turns to smile at her children, perhaps throw them a wink in solitude. She’s heard their stories over breakfast. She relishes every detail and every fanciful moment that they’re willing to share with their mother about what they do all day when another woman is caring for them. She turns and finds both of them staring in confusion at the somewhat bizarre conversation happening between their mother and nanny. Come to think of it, they’ve probably never seen the two carry on a conversation with one another before.
“Silly indeed,” Winifred hums, suddenly weary. She realizes in this moment she hasn’t eaten or had a cup of tea, and the morning is getting on. She had missed breakfast with the children, choosing instead to linger at her vanity. She’s tired of this conversation, tired of Mary Poppins’ unwavering propriety.
“I think a trip to the park will be quite suitable,” Mary adds, voice softening from her no-nonsense tone. “There’s a chance we’ll see the new ducklings at the lake.”
Jane and Michael squeal excitedly at this, chomping at the bit. It isn’t the most fantastic of outings they’ve ever described, but it’ll do. A swift look from Mary and the children settle down, stand at attention and await her instruction, but the electric buzz of adventure still thrums in their little bodies. Winifred wonders idly the last time she ever felt that way.
“In any case,” Winifred says, distractedly, already thinking of the day ahead with an empty home save for the servants, “do behave and enjoy yourselves today my loves.” She musters a last tired smile for her children and nearly jumps out of her skin as the soft touch of a delicate hand finds itself on her forearm. The ringing in Winifred’s ears is back from the night before.
“Make sure to enjoy yourself today too Mrs. Banks,” Mary says gently, her thumb sliding across her arm as if to stroke it, before her touch is gone and in a flurry of skirts she’s out the front door, the children scrambling behind and the door closing with a thud. Winifred remains frozen in the foyer for several minutes, her skin aflame. She jumps to life again when, with a crash, Robertson Ay plows into the foyer, dropping a bucket with supplies to polish the marble floor. He begins stammering out an apology but Winifred simply smiles at him and exits to make her way to the kitchen for tea.