Barbara Taylor Bradford - Her Own Rules

Mari ran across to the table in the center of the floor, which her mother had covered with a white tablecloth and set for tea, and scrambled up onto one of the straight wooden chairs.

She sat waiting patiently, watching Kate moving with swiftness, bringing plates of sandwiches and scones to the table, turning off the whistling kettle, pouring hot water onto the tea leaves in the brown teapot, which Kate always said made the tea taste all that much better.

The child loved her mother, and this adoration shone on her face as her eyes followed Kate everywhere. She was content now that her mother had come home. Kate had been out for most of the day. Mari missed her when she was gone, even if this was for only a short while. Her mother was her entire world. To the five-year-old, Kate was the perfect being, with her gentle face, her shimmering red-gold hair, clear blue eyes and loving nature. They were always together, inseparable really, for the feeling was mutual. Kate loved her child to the exclusion of all else.

Kate moved between the gas oven and the countertop next to the sink, bringing things to the table, and when finally she sat down opposite Mari, she said, “I bought your favorite sausage rolls at the bakery in town, Mari. Eat one now, lovey, while it’s still warm from the oven.”

Mari beamed at her. “Oooh, Mam, I do love ’em.”

“Them,” Kate corrected her softly. “Always say them, Mari, not ’em.”

The child nodded her understanding and reached for a sausage roll, eating it slowly but with great relish. Once she had finished, she eyed the plates of sandwiches hungrily. There were various kinds—cucumber, polony, tomato, and egg salad. Mari’s mouth watered, but because her mother had taught her manners, had told her never to grab for food greedily, she waited for a second or two, sipped the glass of milk her mother had placed next to her plate.

Presently, when she thought enough time had elapsed, she reached for a cucumber sandwich and bit into it, savoring its moist crispiness.

Mother and child exchanged a few desultory words as they munched on the small tea sandwiches Kate had made, but mostly they ate in silence, enjoying the food thoroughly. Both of them were ravenous.

Mari had not had a proper lunch that day because Eunice had ruined the cottage pie her mother had left for them, and which had needed only to be reheated. The baby-sitter had left it in the oven far too long, and it had burned to a crisp. They had had to make do with bread and jam and an apple each.

Kate was starving because she had skipped lunch altogether. She had been tramping the streets of the nearby town, trying to find a job, and she had not had the time or the inclination to stop at one of the local cafes for a snack.

Kate’s hopes had been raised at her last interview earlier that afternoon just before she had returned home. There was a strong possibility that she would get a job at the town’s most fashionable dress shop, Paris Modes. There was a vacancy for a salesperson and the manager had seemed to like her, had told her to come back on Friday morning to meet the owner of the shop. This she fully intended to do. Until then she was keeping her fingers crossed, praying that her luck was finally about to change for the better.

Once Kate had assuaged her hunger, she got up and went to the pantry. The thought of the job filled her with newfound hope and her step was lighter than usual as she brought out the bowl of strawberries and jug of cream.

Carrying them back to the table, she smiled with pleasure when she saw the look of delight on her child’s face.

“Oh Mam, strawberries,” Mari said, and her eyes shone.

“I told you I had a treat for you!” Kate exclaimed, giving Mari a generous portion of the berries, adding a dollop of cream and then serving herself.

“But we have treats only on special days, Mam. Is today special?” the child asked.

“It might turn out to be,” Kate said enigmatically. And then seeing the look of puzzlement on Mari’s face, she added, “Anyway, it’s nice to have a treat on days that aren’t particularly special. That way, the treat’s a bigger surprise, isn’t it?”

Mari laughed and nodded.

As so often happens in England, the warm August afternoon turned into a chilly evening.

A fine rain had been falling steadily since six o’clock and there was a dank mist on the river; this had slowly crept across the low-lying meadows and fields surrounding the cottage, obscuring almost everything. Trees and bushes had taken on strange new shapes, looked like inchoate monsters and illusory beings out there beyond the windows of the cottage.

For once Mari was glad to be tucked up in her bed. “Tell me a story, Mam,” she begged, slipping farther down under the warm covers.

Kate sat on the bed and straightened the top of the sheet, saying as she did, “What about a poem instead? You’re always telling me you like poetry.”

“Tell me the one about the magic wizard.”

Kate smoothed a strand of light brown hair away from Mari’s face. “You mean The Miraculous Stall, don’t you, angel?”

“That’s it,” the child answered eagerly, her glowing eyes riveted on her mother’s pretty face.

Slowly Kate began to recite the poem in her soft, mellifluous voice.

A wizard sells magical things at this stall,

Astonishing gifts you can see if you call.

He can give you a river’s bend

And moonbeam light,

Every kind of let’s pretend,

A piece of night.

Half a mile,

A leaf’s quiver,

An elephant’s smile,

A snake’s slither.

A forgotten dream,

A frog’s croaks,

Firefly gleam,

A stone that floats.

Crystal snowflakes,

Dew from flowers,

Lamb’s tail shakes,

The clock’s hours.

But—surprise!

Not needle eyes.

Those he does not sell at all,

At his most miraculous stall.

Kate smiled at her daughter when she finished, loving her so much. Yet again she smoothed the tumbling hair away from Mari’s face and kissed the tip of her nose.

Mari said, “It’s my best favorite, Mam.”

“Mmmmm, I know it is, and you’ve had a lot of your favorite things today, little girl. But now it’s time for you to go to sleep. It’s getting late, so come on, snuggle down in bed…have you said your prayers?”

The child shook her head.

“You must always remember to say them, Mari. I do. Every night. And I have since I was small as you are now.”

Mari clasped her hands together and closed her eyes.

Carefully she said: “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, bless this bed that I lay on. Four corners to my bed, four angels round my head. One to watch and one to pray and two to keep me safe all day. May the grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with us all now and forevermore. Amen. God bless Mam and keep her safe. God bless me and keep me safe. And make me a good girl.”

Opening her eyes, Mari looked at Kate intently. “I am a good girl, aren’t I, Mam?”

“Of course you are, darling,” Kate answered. “The best girl I know. My girl.” Leaning forward, Kate put her arms around her small daughter and hugged her close.

Mari’s arms went around Kate’s neck and the two of them clung together. But after a moment or two of this intimacy and closeness, Kate released her grip and settled Mari down against the pillows.

Bending over the child, she kissed her cheek and murmured, “God bless. Sweet dreams. I love you, Mari.”

“I love you, Mam.”

Wide rafts of sunlight slanted through the window, filling the small bedroom with radiance. The constant sunshine flooding across Mari’s face awakened her. Opening her eyes, blinking and adjusting herself to the morning light, she sat up.