There was a fortune teller in Neverland.
Nobody seemed to know how she got there or where she came from. She was there, firm as any fact, and that was the end of it.
Peter did not like this fortune teller. He hadn't met her yet, but it was enough that she was there. Peter knew all of Neverland from the pirates to the Indians to the mermaids and all in between and nothing could come or go without his knowledge. It simply wasn't done.
It vexed him that the fortune teller was here and Peter hated being vexed.
He wanted to ignore her. He wanted to turn his back on her and pretend she never set foot in Neverland and caused him to feel such confusion. He was tempted even to take his dagger, usually reserved for the pirates or when his Lost Boys became too old, and use it to sort her out. It had sorted so many other problems, why shouldn't it help him now?
But then the other Lost Boys saw the fortune teller. Suddenly, the air was thick with cries of "Peter! Oh, Peter! Let us have her read our fortunes! Let us see what she can tell us!"
That should not have been a problem. Peter lead them all. He was Father as Wendy was Mother and they did as he told them. If he said the fortune teller was Nobody and should have rocks thrown at her little tent, they would do it.
(He wondered what Wendy and her brothers would have done if they were still in Neverland. Would they have gone to the strange new lady? It did not matter.)
When Peter opened his mouth though, he could not bring himself to deny their request. He didn't care about his fortune, no he certainly did not. But this fortune teller was something new, and he could not be ignorant about anything in Neverland. It simply was not how things worked. He would take the Lost Boys to her and he would speak with her and learn about who she was and where she was from.
He saw no point in having his fortune told, though. His future was and always would be the same: fighting Indians, hunting down the remaining pirates, flying over Neverland, and returning for Wendy in the spring. What else did he need?
The tent was set up on the beach, close enough for the waves to lap at it yet somehow staying perfectly dry. The Lost Boys milled about the entrance, privately wondering which should go first. It was on the tips of all of their tongues to shout, "Me! I will!", but Peter was their leader and they knew that it should be him.
They turned to Peter expecting him to stride boldly into the tent. Much to their astonishment though, he looked askance, pointed to one of the Boys at random, and said, "You go on then," in the most careless way imaginable.
Their eyes widened and their mouths hung open, but Peter had spoken and what he said is how it goes. And so Tootles (for that was who he pointed to) scurried into the tent, stumbling on the sand and nearly tripping in his haste.
It did not bother Peter in the slightest that he wasn't going first. He was curious about the fortune teller and her strange new tent of course, but he saw no reason to rush in. His fortune was whatever he wished it to be, so who cared what that silly old woman had to say about it?
One by one the Lost Boys scrambled into the tent, a new one stepping forward as the last one trotted out. The ones who left the tent found themselves huddling in a little group off to the side, telling one another what they were told. They spoke of Accounting and Taxes and Wives and Children and Houses and Parties and such things. Peter paid it no mind at all. There was nothing about Adventures in there at all, so he could not see why any of it was important.
When the Twins left the tent, Peter realized that they were the last of the Lost Boys. All the others were staring at him and he was sure they were desperate to know what would be said about his future. He found himself wanting to go into that tent very much, for he was certain that his fortune would be the best and most impressive of all of them. He imagined the awestruck looks on their faces when he told them of all the amazing deeds the fortune teller would see him doing.
And so he gave the Lost Boys his biggest grin, held his head high, and walked into the tent.
It was much larger inside than he had expected. The tent looked like it was a tiny thing, only just large enough for him to walk in without ducking. Inside though, there was a beautiful room with a carpet and lamp and a wooden desk and shelves upon shelves of books. He found himself hating the fortune teller all over again, for not only did her tent have him even more vexed than before, but a room like that had no business being in Neverland. It was a grown-up room suited for a grown-up place like London. In fact, he was certain that it was the sort of room Wendy's dear parents had in their house.
(Would Wendy have been so vexed by this all? She surely would not have preferred this sort of room when all of Neverland was outside, would she?)
"Up against the bookcase, if you would be so kind," a lady's voice rang out, interrupting his thoughts.
Peter stiffened and gasped at the sound, partially from being taken by surprise (it wasn't possible, not in the slightest, Neverland couldn't possibly have anything that surprised him!) but mostly because for some strange reason, he was certain that Wendy was in the room with him.
"Well?" asked the voice, the slightest hint of impatience edging it. "Are you here for your fortune or aren't you?"
Now that he was expecting it, he could tell that it wasn't Wendy's voice. It had a commanding tone that was familiar though, sharp but not unkind. It was the same tone of voice Wendy took with the Lost Boys when she told them to wash behind their ears and be in bed by eight.
As he took this unexpected similarity in, Peter saw the fortune teller for the first time. She was a slender woman who was far too similar in age and appearance to Wendy's mother for him to be interested.
"Are you really the fortune teller?" he asked. Wendy had told him that fortune tellers were also known as "gypsies" and were always old, wrinkled ladies who sat in "caravans" and read from crystal balls or palms.
His question clearly did not please the woman. She didn't scowl or make a face throw things as any of the Lost Boys would have done, but there was a change in her demeanor that had Peter thinking of a winter frost.
"What foolishness is this?" as the fortune teller briskly. "Of course I am. The sign outside of the tent even said as much. Did you read it?"
"Of course I did!" scoffed Peter. He really hadn't, but the thought that lady was not a real fortune teller and that he had been clever enough to notice had him feeling enough like his old self that it didn't matter. As far as he was concerned, he hadn't seen the sign and thus it did not exist. All else was irrelevant.
The fortune teller, however, was not rattled. "Little boys should not tell lies," she said. "Had you read the sign you would have seen quite clearly my name and profession, and I assure you that a lady of my status does not muck about with inaccurate signs. Now, go stand against the bookshelf. First one on the right, if you please."
"Why?" Peter asked.
"If I'm to tell you your fortune, I must first get the full measure of you. Now, hurry along."
Wendy had once told Peter that all good mothers must command the members of their household with a firm hand, as if they were heading their own armies. If that were the case the fortune teller must have been promoted to captain of the guard Peter thought balefully, as he found himself standing with his back to the specified bookcase with no idea how he'd been ordered into moving.
The fortune teller looked him up and down, checking his height, hair, behind his ears and, at the very end, his eyes. Her blue eyes took everything in with a business-like air, and when she made eye contact with him at the end of the examination, he found himself shivering in spite of himself.
"Very good," she said, when it was all over. "You did very well, Peter. You didn't wiggle half as much as Curly did. If you will take the seat in front of the desk, we shall proceed."
"How do you know my name?"
"What utter nonsense is that to ask a fortune teller? Now, sit."
He sat, slouching and trying as best he could to look as if he hadn't been ordered there.
The fortune teller took a seat on the opposite side of the desk, where she took out a fancy porcelain bowl and a little silver spoon. She scooped out a spoonful of the white powdery contents and spread it across the table. As the powder sprinkled like snow, she closed her eyes and muttered strange words over and over.
"It is done," she said, when the spoon was empty. "We may begin."
"What do you see?" asked Peter. He wasn't interested, not really, but it at least would be fun to know what there was. Perhaps the pirates would return or the Indians would be planning another surprise attack. Those were always fun.
The fortune teller looked at the powder, finely coating her desk, and carefully began tracing patterns in it with her fingers. "I can only tell you what may be, Peter," she said. "Nothing is set in stone and there is no fate that can't be changed with a good, stern talking-to."
"So what may be? Wendy's coming back next spring, isn't she?"
"You will see her, yes," said the fortune teller. "You will go to her house that spring and another and another. She will speak to you of matters you do not yet understand, but you will grow to know what she means. Oh, you will pretend you do not. You are such an obstinate child, I do not even need magic to see that. But deep in your heart you will know the meaning of her words and long for the things she talks of. It will eat away at your mind until you decide to do it."
"Do what?" asked Peter, a sense of dread growing in his mind.
"Leave Neverland and grow up, of course."
Peter jumped to his feet. "Never!" he cried.
"Obstinate child," said the fortune teller again. She did not howl or snarl as Hook did, but something about the stern look in her eyes made Peter sit back down. "You will do it because you so badly want the toys of adulthood that Wendy tells you about. You will change your name and start a respectable life for yourself in England. You will have a job and friends and learn what a proper man does and does not talk about. That would include magic and Neverland of course, and after denying those things for long enough, you will forget all about them."
"I never would! I don't forget anything!"
"Tell me," said the fortune teller, "How is dear Tinkerbelle?"
Peter's brow furrowed at the nonsensical question. "Who?"
"Indeed." She turned her attention back to the desk. "You and Wendy will marry and be quite happy. You will quickly grow to love one another as adults do. You will go to work, go home, and start over the next day. Wendy will go by her full name and live passionately, throwing herself into social reforms that she feels are worth her time. You will have a daughter named Jane and... ah yes, I see a son as well. A son named after his uncle -"
"NO!" shouted Peter. He threw himself forward and slammed his hands onto the desk, not caring in the slightest that the white powder was sent flying all over the floor. "No! No! No!"
He stormed from the tent knocking the chair in his wake and terrifying the Lost Boys as he stormed across the beach. They surrounded him and were bold enough to ask for details, but he only told them that there was no fortune teller, there were no fortunes, they heard nothing. The Boys would forget, of course they would, Peter was Father and what Father said was always true.
Peter could not focus for the rest of the day. He paced like a caged animal thinking how dare she, how dare she, how could she even think of saying such things? He pounded his fists against his head, the same thought running through his mind and guiding him.
I won't grow up. I WON'T!
When night came, Peter flew from Neverland. There was a nursery in London he needed to see.
The only witness to his departure was the fortune teller's tent, its door flapping slightly in the ocean breeze.
Wendy and her brothers were sleeping soundly when Peter arrived. He was careful not to wake them as he slipped in through the window and crept across the floor to Wendy's bed.
It would be Spring soon, he knew. He wondered if she was already preparing for her yearly visit to Neverland. He wondered if she would tell him about the mysterious things the fortune teller predicted.
He would not grow up. He never would. He was Peter Pan and he saw no reason to be anyone else. But there was some strange allure to adulthood, for he knew Wendy yearned for it more than anything. He frowned. What could a grown-up life possibly offer that his world could not? Surely it wasn't so grand that she would trade all of Neverland for it... right?
Wendy rolled over in her sleep, her hair fluttering over her face. A name drifted from her lips as she slept, but there was no one to hear who she called for. The name's owner had left, flying through the night as softly as the shadow he once lost to her.
The fortune teller pursued her lips. Certainly she knew the boy hadn't wanted to hear what she had said, but that did not mean she approved of such ridiculous behavior. All she had told him was what she had read. Child though he was, she knew he understood that.
What she said had been true. The future was never set in stone. But she was quite certain her last reading would come true. It wasn't a matter of prophecy, after all. It was human nature plain and simple. No matter how much Peter tried to deny it, he still had the heart of a human boy beating in his chest.
She snapped her fingers and the overturned chair rightened itself. Another snap and the sugar strewn across the floor drifted back into the sugar bowl it came from. She replaced the bowl under the desk and then set about packing. Her work there was done, after all. It was not the last time she would see Peter of course, heaven's no. He was destined to remain an obstinate child for quite some time, even after he forgot about fairies and mermaids and hid his childish heart behind a grown man's facade. Until the time came for her to set that to rights though, she had business elsewhere.
Within one hour, her tent and everything in it had been neatly folded and stored in her carpet bag. With all of her things safely stored away, she pulled her sign from the sand and carefully stowed that in the bag as well. It was the sign that told everyone exactly who she was:
PROFESSIONAL FORTUNES, WALK-INS WELCOME
MARY POPPINS
FORTUNE TELLER, COUNCILOR, NANNY
PRACTICALLY PERFECT IN EVERY WAY
Carpet bag at hand, she opened her umbrella and let herself be borne into the sky. It was quite a ways to London, and a lady such as herself did not set off without giving herself plenty of time.
With the wind at her back, she set off for the first on the right and straight on until morning.