"But why does Peter sit so long on the rail, why does he not tell his mother that he has come back?
I quite shrink from the truth, which is that he sat there in two minds. Sometimes he looked longingly at his mother, and sometimes he looked longingly at the window…Perhaps the drawer had creaked; at any rate, his mother woke up, for he heard her say "Peter," as if it was the most lovely word in the language. He remained sitting on the floor and held his breath, wondering how she knew that he had come back. If she said "Peter" again, he meant to cry "Mother" and run to her. But she spoke no more, she made little moans only, and when next he peeped at her she was once more asleep, with tears on her face." – J.M Barrie
In the morning, Peter would begin building his nest, but tonight, he sought to rest. It was with happy surprise that the fairies had all remembered him, and as he laid down into the grass to sleep, they all set to work to build around him the largest home they have built to date. Walls were erected around his legs, and a chimney was built by his ears. The whole thing was topped with a roof built from acorn husks, and when Peter awoke, he found he could simply pop it off and place it back on the house as he left it. He looked at the long strange house in the shape of him and it seemed more like a palace than a quaint abode.
The gates creaked as the Gardens opened for the day. Nurses with their prams shuffled in, beginning their daily turn about the baby walk. Peter looked for sticks to build his nest, and found himself among the fig trees. He ate the figs that he found, and made a large pile of his sticks in a clearing. By mid-morning, Peter had gathered a pile larger than himself. The children arrived carrying their toy boats, kites, and balls.
"What are you doing?" Asked a girl whose kite fell by Peter's pile.
"I am making the largest nest in the world." Said Peter. The girl's eyes positively lighted and she ran to tell her brothers. Her brothers ran to tell his friends, and they ran to tell a whole lot more of children. Soon, most everyone under the age of twelve (apart from the babies in their prams) were gathered to help build the largest nest in the world.
Michael had come to the Gardens that morning as well, his bat and ball in hand. He had planned to play sports, but as soon as he entered the field, a girl whispered into his ear that they were building the largest nest in the world.
They all worked collectively and determinably almost as if they were building an ark. Some of the children pretended they were, and the whole project became much larger than Peter had originally planned. The nest could fit most twenty children inside, and for no reason at all, a mast was raised in the center. It was just an old umbrella, you see, but to them it was a mighty mast, and they all pretended to be hurled forward when Peter opened it to catch the mighty sea winds. The nest became a ship, then a great sled, and finally a nest again. Peter counted the heads of all his children.
"One, two, three four five…. Twelve! I've never had so many children before!" He exalted. The children all gladly accepted him as a father and he began to tell them to sit up straight, or he would lower anchor and make them walk the plank. Among them were Michael, and he stood up stiff to please Peter.
They played all the way through lunch, and almost through dinner. Some children began to slip away at hearing their nannies offering them tea time sandwiches. Peter scowled every time he lost a child to the call of the nursemaids, and named them sirens. He lost four children, then eight, then eleven. Only Michael remained, who tried to ignore the barking of Nana calling him.
"Will you also become a mutineer?" Peter accused of Michael.
"I do not wish to, Peter, but I must go home soon."
"You can stay here tonight and eat figs with me." Peter offered. "We can dance all night with the fairies!" Peter was being sincere, for he truly meant to dance with the fairies in the park, but Michael believed he was offering more pretend and would rather go home to have some dinner.
"Are you staying in the Gardens tonight?" He asked.
"Well, of course I am." Scoffed Peter. "It is my home."
"You can come back to my house. All of the other Lost boys have." Michael offered. "I'm sure Father wouldn't mind another guest for dinner." Peter had yet to remember who Michael was and saw no profit in going home with him. What was more, Michael had dared to speak of his real father and Peter did not like the idea of being a pretend father anymore.
"No." Peter said. He then crossed his arms and looked away from Michael. And just like that, Peter lost the last of the children he had made that day.
He looked about him and found that every child in the park belonged to somebody. They were all going home, two by two, sometimes by threes and fours. Peter waited to see if a nursemaid would come and claim him, too. But none were left in the park, and the gates once again creaked closed.
The iron gates looked offensive to him because they reminded him of the little window from which he had flown so very long ago. He thought of his mother, how she had sweetly called to him. how he, selfish and young, had stayed away just a bit longer to play in the Gardens. It was his greatest regret. Why had she not called him just one more time? One more time and he was sure to have come home to be the sweet boy she knew he was. But she hadn't, and instead she barred the window and took another. The sky darkened with his thoughts.
The fairies had planned to dance tonight, and they had placed mushrooms all in a circle in preparation, but now the sky turned grey and threatening. So, even though they planned to dance, the fairies carried off the mushrooms and took shelter under their caps.
"What shall we do if not dance?" Peter asked one.
"We shall cry." It exclaimed, and suddenly burst into tears as the thunder rolled over the clouds. Peter did not feel much like crying, and retreated to his nest where he opened up the umbrella and curled up underneath. All throughout the Gardens he could hear the fairies moaning and crying as raindrops began to plop onto the ground. The summer storm came quickly and the rain began to fall in sheets. It carried with it a hefty windy and Peter had to hold on tightly to his umbrella.
There was barking in the distance, but Peter did not hear. His ears were filled with the turbulent pattering of raindrops on the umbrella, so it was to his complete surprise when Nana bounded towards him to sniff him behind the ears. The surprise of it all made him let go of his umbrella and away it flew into the stormy winds. He looked at her accusingly, and Nana pawed at him apologetically. but there, in the distance, came bobbing up and down another umbrella. It was running full force towards him and he felt glad that something, even a ruddy old umbrella, had come to fetch him from the Gardens. The umbrella brought with it a girl sloshing about in her father's rubber boots.
"Peter!" She called, and he immediately knew who she was.
"Wendy?" He called back. She climbed into the nest and threw her arms open to embrace him. Never had he ever been taken into someone's arms so intimately. Peter thought of fairy weddings, and how jumping into someone else's arms meant you were married. Did it matter if the boy or the girl jumped into the other's arms? He was too embarrassed to ask, and patted her on the back unsure. He should count himself lucky, for he had nearly found himself married.
"Peter what are you doing here?" She asked.
"I'm home. This is my home." Peter said plainly. "Have you come over for dinner?"
"No, Peter. I have come to fetch you!" She said smiling at him. Peter would not admit it, but he became very glad. Someone had come for him, after all.
"Alright." He said, feigning resistance. Wendy then held out her hand to him, and he took it gladly. Nana had had enough of this rain and pulled Wendy's skirts towards home. But Wendy did not run for home, instead she looked at their hands clasped together, then up at Peter. Peter felt his chest clench at his heart, and it nearly pained him to look back into her face. What miraculous curse had she bestowed on him. What wonderful feelings she plagued him with.
They walked slowly back to her home, hands clasped together, and Wendy holding the umbrella over them. It forced them to walk quite closely together, and Peter noticed for the first time how electrifying it was to walk beside her. He had never felt this way when they were just playing, but he wondered softly if she felt it equally thrilling to walk beside him as well. All of a sudden, he wondered if this was a feeling only grown-ups feel. He looked back solemnly at his nest and wondered at which point he had had stepped into manhood. He checked the bottom of his feet for evidence of it.
Nana walked ahead, turning back to make sure her wards were following her properly. She rolled her big dog eyes as she felt she would never retire to being an old family dog, and always be a nurse to boys flying in through windows, or being picked up in the rain.
When they arrived at Wendy's little home, Peter had already swallowed several sweet words that had crept up in his throat, and did not feel very hungry at all. Should they offer him dinner, he would have to sadly refuse. He looked up at the tall house, and saw the familiar sill which he had landed on so frequently. Now, he faced a large ominous front door and he wished that they could silently enter through a window more accessible than the third floor. It suddenly reminded him that he could no longer fly, and fear took hold of him. Right now, in this very moment, he felt anything but extra-ordinary. In fact, he felt less than plain. Nana barked at the door, rather than ring the doorbell, and Mr. Darling opened it hastily. Already jumpy and uneasy, Peter suddenly withdrew the dagger from his leaves at the sight of Mr. Darling, for he looked exactly like Captain Hook.
"Goodness me!" Shrieked Mr. Darling, nearly slamming the door on the nose of his daughter and her soggy friend. Peter had never met Mr. Darling before and studied him with great concern. How was it, that his natural enemy be the father of Wendy? Strange indeed. Peter tucked the dagger back in his leaves, and bowed low to him. This, at least, put Mr. Darling at ease and he almost stepped aside to let them both inside. But the state of the boy; wet, nearly naked, nearly grown, and holding the hand of his only daughter kept him from doing so.
Instead Mr. Darling stood up very tall.
"Who is this, Wendy?" He demanded.
Wendy pushed Peter forward to stand under the nose of Mr. Darling. The boy's smell certainly did nothing to improve Mr. Darling's opinion.
"It's Peter, Father." She said softly. A look of horror struck his face.
"Peter?" Mr. Darling was well acquainted with the idea of Peter, and did not like it one bit. The way Wendy spoke his name deeply disconcerted him. Mrs. Darling had also found some not very wholesome thoughts about the boy in Wendy's mind that made Mr. Darling thankful that Peter was only girlish fantasy. And yet, here at the threshold of his home, the boy stood before him.
"Where are your clothes, boy?" Questioned Mr. Darling
"I had a nightgown once when I was just a week old, but I gave it to the birds to build their nests." He replied. Mr. Darling poo-pooed the answer as it was complete nonsense to him. For even if Peter was a Lost Boy, at least the others were decent enough to not be naked.
"Where are your parents?" He asked. Peter's face darkened at the question.
"Forgotten." Peter answered. Once more, Mr. Darling assessed him, and found he had great pity for the boy. 'Forgotten', he had said. How strange? How sad. And so, Mr. Darling stepped aside to let Peter inside, for Mr. Darling had the greatest difficulty in denying anyone anything when there was tragedy involved.
