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“I used to call her Smiley Jane. Every night when Bert and I would come back from our rounds chimney sweepin’, she would be standing at her window. Smiley Jane would look down and give a little wave to Bert and me. Well I guess; I don’t think she could quite see me next to ‘im. She would look up at the sky for a second like she was expecting someone and then she’d pull her head back in and draw her curtains. Every night I would ask Bert what she was looking for, and every night he’d say the same thing: Not what, Jackie, who. Mary Poppins is who. Then he’d tell me a story about Mary Poppins, and I’d make up pictures to go along with them in my mind. She always looked like a princess with shiny shoes and her hair done up perfectly.” Jack smiled to himself. “When Bert left to see the world, the other chimney sweeps and I went around and said what we’d miss most about ‘im. I couldn’t say I’d miss his stories about Mary Poppins; the other guys didn’t even believe she was real. So after he left, I quit sweeping and became a leerie. I always make sure to keep the lamp in front of 17 Cherry Tree Lane the brightest, so she knows where to go when she comes back.”
The pigeon that Jack had been talking to flew away when an obnoxiously loud automobile drove by. He figured the lamp he’d been rubbing at was clean enough. Jack sighed and jumped off his ladder, tucking the rag into his pocket once he hit the ground. He strapped the ladder onto the back of his bicycle and began down the lane. The wheels bumped over the uneven cobblestones, but Jack paid it no mind. The clouds were painted a dusty pink, and the sun oozed out from behind them. Unsurprisingly, his blind peddling brought him to the lamp in front of number 17, and he rested his bicycle against the pole. Little George must have heard the familiar clack of the wheels against the cobblestones because the front door burst open as soon as Jack stepped away from his bicycle.
“JACK! JACK!” George shrieked and jumped into Jack’s arms. “Has she come back?! Are you here to tell us that she’s come back?!”
Jack ruffled the little boy’s sandy hair, “I’m sorry; I haven’t seen her yet. But don’t you worry; she’s looking over you from wherever she is, watching you grow up.”
“Is she in the place where the lost things go?”
“I guess she is, isn’t she? Mary Poppins is making sure the stars are shining for you.”
“That sounds important. I’ll forgive her for not being here this time.” George wiggled in Jack’s arms, and he let the boy down. “Come inside!” George grabbed Jack’s hand and started dragging him towards the open front door. “I drew her. Father said it was good. He said I was well on my way to being a great artist just like him.”
Jack allowed himself to be dragged up the steps but stopped before he could be pulled into the house. “I don’t want to intrude. Are your father and aunt okay with me coming in?”
As if to answer his question, Jane’s cheery voice came from somewhere inside the house. “Is that Jack? George, do tell him to come in.”
“I’m trying, Auntie, I think he’s stuck outside the door.”
Jane appeared in the hallway, her cheeks rosy and eyes bright. “You will always be welcome in the house, Jack,” she laughed, taking his other hand and pulling him into the foyer.
“Ah, Smiley Jane, it’s a pleasure as always.”
“How long will you insist on calling me that childish name?” she asked with feigned frustration. Her smile, however, did not fade.
“Until you tell me to stop,” Jack replied.
“You know, I believe you have the best manners of any leerie I have ever met,” she said fondly. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?” Jack shook his head. “Well I will have Ellen fix you up a plate of something. Come, we can chat in the kitchen.”
“Auntie!” George cried. “I brought him in to show him my drawing of Mary Poppins! Can’t he eat later?”
“Now, George, is that the way to treat your guest?”
George lowered his eyes for a second before pulling Jack to the stairwell. “He can eat after he sees my drawing. It’s far more important.”
Jack mouthed an apologetic ‘I’m sorry’ over his shoulder as George led him into the nursery. Jane only giggled behind her hand.
All things considered, the drawing wasn’t bad. George had captured the gleam in Mary’s eye almost perfectly, and Jack couldn’t help but smile. Even in a child’s pencil and crayon drawing, she was beautiful, every ounce the princess his imagination had conjured.
“It’s lovely, George. Your father is right; you’re quite the artist.” Jack let his calloused finger trace the edge of the page.
George kicked the leg of the table in front of him lightly, hands crossed behind his back as if he was nervous. “I wanted to ask if you’d like to have it.”
“No, I couldn’t. It’s your masterpiece; I couldn’t take it from you.”
George giggled. “You wouldn’t be taking it if I gave it to you. Besides, I can always draw another one.”
“But I… I don’t understand.” Jack knelt down to George’s level. “Why do you want to give this to me?”
George looked at his socked feet. “Whenever you talk about her, you remind me of Father when he talks about Mother. You’re in love with her; I can tell.”
“No, I’m… I don’t… I, um, I’m not in love with her,” Jack finally managed, stumbling over his words.
“Yes you are! Your face is all red!”
Desperate to change the subject, Jack looked around the strangely vacant nursery. “Where are Anabel and John?”
“They went to the park.”
“You didn’t want to go to the park?”
“I did but Auntie said you usually stop by around this time, and I didn’t want to miss you.” George looked at Jack with wide eyes. “You haven’t been the same since Mary left. Everyone’s noticed. At least, that’s what I heard Father say. He said that you were acting just like somebody named Bert, like you weren’t actually here. I just thought if I gave you something to remind you of her, you’d cheer up a bit.”
Jack smiled at the somber boy. “You don’t need to give me your beautiful picture for me to be reminded of her. I see her everywhere I look. In those robins making their nest outside your window,” he pointed at the two chirping birds. “And in the bedroom next to the nursery, and in so many other places.” He spread his arms out wide before ushering George out of the nursery. “An old friend once told me that she gave your father and aunt medicine because they got their feet wet.”
“Medicine? Ew!”
“That’s exactly what I said when my friend told me, but he stopped me and said ‘No, Jack, the medicine tastes like candy and bubbles down your throat like a good drink. And all of a sudden, you wonder if it’s even medicine at all.’ ”
George gaped. “What else did she do? Tell me more stories!”
“Hmm, let’s see,” Jack pretended to think as if he didn’t have all of the stories memorized perfectly. “She danced under a willow tree with penguins at a cafe. And she could talk to animals. And she and her Uncle Albert had a tea party on the ceiling.”
“A tea party on the ceiling! Is that even possible?!”
Jack laughed. “I would have thought you’d know better than to question what’s possible with Mary Poppins. Of course it’s possible.”
“Was it like Cousin Topsy? Was it a special day when her uncle’s life was upside-down?”
“Of course not. The way up to the ceiling is laughter. That’s the ticket. All you have to do is laugh and up you go!”
“That sounds quite fun. I hope to have a tea party on the ceiling before I’m old and don’t believe it’s possible anymore.”
“Oh, age has nothing to do with it. It’s all up here.” Jack tapped George’s temple. “Imagination is what gets you to tea parties on the ceiling and adventures on ceramic dishes. With an open mind, anything is possible.”
“Is that why you still believe in tea parties on the ceiling?”
Jack nodded and was about to speak again when Jane’s voice called up from downstairs. “Jack, Ellen’s prepared a bowl of oatmeal for you, and I don’t want you to have to eat it cold. Are you and George almost finished?”
“We’re coming, Auntie!” George called, once more grabbing Jack’s hand and leading the way.
The kitchen was warm and smelled of brown sugar. Jack thanked Ellen and took a seat, eagerly eating the food before him. It felt as if he hadn’t eaten breakfast in years which, considering his work schedule, might not have been a lie.
“I wish I could stay and talk more,” Jane apologized as she shoved loose fliers into a briefcase on the counter. “But somehow the London Street Workers Union rally slipped out of my mind, and I’ll be hopelessly late if I don’t set out now.”
Jack forced himself to swallow a rather large spoonful of oatmeal. “I can take you on my bicycle, if you’d like. It will take half the time it takes you to walk.”
“I should have known you’d offer,” Jane smiled. “But this time, I’ll have to decline. I was going to ask you to stop by the park when you finish eating. Anabel and John promised to be back by ten and now it’s nearly ten thirty. If you see them, send them along home to Ellen. Their father will kill me if he finds out I let them out alone in the city without telling him.”
Jack saluted her. “I’ll make sure they get back here as soon as possible.”
“Thank you,” Jane smiled before looking around the kitchen. “Now where’d George run off to; I must say goodbye.” Ellen shrugged, not knowing where the little boy had gone, and Jack looked just as surprised by his disappearance. “Perhaps I’ll catch him on the way out.” Jane kissed Ellen goodbye on the cheek and thanked Jack in advance one last time. “Now off I go, power to the people!”
Jack smiled after her and finished his oatmeal silently, thanking Ellen profusely when she offered to take the dish and clean it for him. He dismissed himself and made his way back to his bicycle. Finding the children and making sure they got home would make for a nice way to take his mind off of Mary Poppins. However, when he reached his bicycle, he stopped short. There, in the basket, was George’s drawing. And on the back, written in penmanship that was unmistakably George’s, there was a message.
-Because you love her… even if you say you don’t.