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.
Mari had recently learned to tell the time, and so she glanced over at the clock on the bedside stand. It was nearly nine. This surprised the child; her mother was usually up and about long before this time every morning, calling her to come down for breakfast well before eight o’clock.
Slipping out of bed, thinking that her mother had overslept, Mari trotted across the upstairs hall to her mother’s bedroom. The bed was empty. Holding on to the banister, the way she had been taught, she went down the stairs carefully.
Much to Mari’s further surprise, her mother was nowhere to be seen in the kitchen either. At least, not at first glance. But as she peered around the room, she suddenly saw her mother on the floor near the stove.
“Mam! Mam!” she shouted, ran around the table, and came to a standstill in front of her mother. Kate was lying in a crumpled heap; her eyes were closed and her face was deathly white.
Mari saw that there was blood on her mother’s nightgown, and she was so frightened she could not move for a moment. Then she hunkered down and took hold of her mother’s hand. It was cold. Cold as ice.
“Mam, Mam,” she wailed in a tremulous voice, the fear intensifying. “What’s the matter, Mam?”
Kate did not answer; she simply lay there.
Mari touched her cheek. It was as cold as her hand.
The child remained with her mother for a few minutes, patting her hand, touching her face, endeavoring to rouse her, but to no avail. Tears welled in Mari’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. A mixture of panic and worry assailed her; she did not know what to do.
Eventually it came to her. She remembered what her mother had always told her: “If there’s ever anything wrong, an emergency, and I’m not here, go and find Constable O’Shea. He’ll know what’s to be done. He’ll help you.”
Reluctant though she was to leave her mother, Mari now realized that this was exactly what she must do. She must go to the police box on the main road, where Constable O’Shea could be found when he was on his beat.
Letting go of her mother’s hand, Mari headed upstairs. She went to the bathroom, washed her face and hands, cleaned her teeth, and got dressed in the cotton shorts and top she had worn the day before. After buckling
