Thanks: Thanks again to my husband and Mara Trinity Scully for their beta-reading. And thanks again, also, to those who have taken the time to review! I seem to have lost some of you along the way, but that's all right. :)
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. This fic, however, is mine. Please don't take it without my permission.
Chapter 10
The Girl within the Woman
~
Wendy's health declined rather rapidly after Peter's departure. As Twelfth Night dawned and Christmas approached, her cough grew steadily worse, though Dr. Carew still insisted it was but a cold. Though his welcome there was decidedly forced, the perniciously persistent Dr. Carew began visiting the house once each week to see whether Wendy's situation had bettered.
With each visit, however, her situation had instead worsened.
Dr. Carew speculated to Aunt Millicent that perhaps Wendy had contracted some disease from the suspiciously absent young man, Peter, who had lived some time on the streets of London among the thronging poor and unwashed who carry so very many diseases.
Of course, if Aunt Millicent had been given any remote idea how many of London's thronging poor, unwashed, and ill citizens Wendy had spoken with during her searches for Peter on Oxford Street and in Whitechapel -- if she had realized how many rag-clad paupers had coughed into the air her niece breathed upon these secret expeditions -- that elegant lady would have fainted dead away. And so it was a kindness that Wendy had never told her.
And so time flew, snow fell to powder the streets, a puzzled and shushed Slightly arrived home to visit for the holidays, and Dr. Carew continued his unwelcome attentions to Wendy's health, despite his obvious lack of success in the treatment of her growing illness.
And if during his visits Dr. Carew's hair was sometimes slightly longer and more curled than was strictly fashionable, Wendy in her often fevered mind thought nothing of it, unaware that the man cut his hair afresh each morning to rid himself of the long, spiraling tendrils which now mysteriously grew anew each night while he slept. At any rate, Wendy was too ill to pay the doctor close attention, Aunt Millicent did her concerted best to never look at the gentleman while she tolerated his visits in the house, Slightly spent most of his time with the Darlings, and Lottie would have considered it impolite to notice.
It is true that Dr. Carew did offer Wendy some relief, for the morphine he had prescribed did indeed reduce her coughing, as well as easing her chest pain and leaving her less anxious and more able to relax. And under the influence of the morphine she often dreamt marvelous dreams, filled with the most wonderful adventures.
Indeed even in her sleep, Wendy told stories, for hers was a rare and precious gift. She was a true Storyteller. She had lost her stories for a time, her imaginative spirit dulled down by responsibility and politeness, but Peter's reappearance in her life had helped her to find her heart once more. Her stories had returned to her. And so even in her fevered sleep, even in the clutches of illness, she continued telling stories in her dreams.
She dreamt of a wolf who became her loyal friend and guardian, of a dark cavern through which ran a dangerous river filled with pale blind fish, and of Red Maggie the pirate queen.
"Didst thou ever want to be a pirate, me hearty?" Red Maggie asked her in her dreams, and Wendy flew into the air to battle the pirate queen who had been so impertinent as to question whether Wendy herself might be tempted to such a dishonorable profession as piracy.
But, in the night, Wendy woke often from her dreams shivering, her nightdress quite soaked in sweat, and she lay upon her dampened bedclothes and looked with dark, fever-bright eyes toward the window, though it was thoroughly covered by thick curtains. She wondered if Peter had found Neverland again, and if all was well.
Just as she had said she would, she missed him quite terribly.
Wendy and her aunt spent much of their time in the weeks approaching Christmas quietly working together in the sitting room, always facing away lest each see the gift the other was crafting in secret. Since Slightly spent most of his time at the Darlings' home, noisily rough-housing with the other boys, the house was as silent as ever.
Wendy wanted to make some gift for Peter, as if to do so might summon him to return, if only for an hour, but she found that she could think of no perfect gift. He certainly had no need of the mufflers or mittens she was knitting for her brothers, and she simply could not imagine him making use of a handkerchief. And so she pondered this question at some length while she sewed the knitting bag -- worked with blue silk floss and matching blue fringe -- which she planned to give to her aunt come Christmas evening.
"Am I expected to have not noticed that the boy has gone?" Aunt Millicent's voice was sudden in the quietness of the sitting room. The ticking of the clock on the mantle and the crackling of the fire had been their only accompaniments until that moment. The older lady still faced away, her attention apparently focused on the craft project in her hidden lap.
"Peter?" Wendy asked numbly. She had not expected her aunt to mention him, especially as it was now some fortnight and more since he had left for Neverland.
"Yes, the boy. Where has he gone?" Aunt Millicent's tone tried for careless, but failed. She had come to like the boy, despite herself, and she had noticed her niece's sorrow in his absence. It had taken her time to grow impatient enough to ask, but she could hold her tongue no longer.
Accidentally pricking herself with her needle, Wendy stuck her finger into her mouth to stop the blood and soothe the smarting. If only the pain in her heart were so easy to balm. She had no answer for her aunt's question, or at least none that the lady would believe, and so she simply returned to her sewing.
When Wendy did not speak, her aunt commented, "I have observed your kiss, my dear."
Pricking her finger much worse than the previous time, Wendy dropped her needlework into her lap and sucked her finger again. Her eyes were wide. Aunt Millicent had seen them? When? How? What should Wendy say in response?
But while Wendy's mind still reeled, Aunt Millicent spoke again. "The hidden kiss. It is gone from your lips, Wendy. I am not blind. There it was, quite conspicuous, in the right hand corner of your young man's mouth."
"But ... Aunt..." Wendy stammered, confused. Her cough suddenly claimed her, and she pressed her handkerchief politely to her mouth, pretending not to notice the flecks of blood that stained the white cotton. When her coughing had quieted, Wendy said softly, "You knew?"
"It is a rare thing, to find the one the kiss belongs to. You are a lucky young woman." Aunt Millicent sounded sad, and Wendy found herself for the first time wondering if her aunt had ever possessed a hidden kiss, and if she had found the one it belonged to.
"Aunt," Wendy began tentatively, longing to ask a question but unsure of how it might be received. "You said once that ... finding the one the kiss belonged to ... was to have slipped in and out of heaven ... but..." Wendy hesitated a long moment, and then finished softly, "why must it end? Why can one not stay in heaven? Why must one slip out again?"
Aunt Millicent worked the complex embroidery in her lap and thought carefully before answering. "For it is so rare a thing to find the one the kiss belongs to ... few and lucky indeed are those for whom it lasts forever."
The silence between them stretched on for some time, punctuated only by the ticking of the clock and the crackling of the fire.
"He returned to where he came from," explained Wendy at last, her voice filled with grief.
"And will he return?"
Tears sprung to Wendy's eyes, but did not fall. "No. I think not."
After several tickings of the clock, Aunt Millicent offered quietly, "I once had hopes, myself, when I was younger." She would not speak of the embarrassment of Dr. Carew, but she could admit her youthful aspirations without shame.
"Hopes?" asked Wendy, blinking her tears away and politely returning to her work upon her Christmas gift for her aunt.
"I once thought that I might someday meet a tall, gallant fellow who would kiss my hand, and I would know immediately that he was the one to whom my heart belonged." The older lady sighed softly over her sewing, refusing to allow her own tears to fall. She did not often allow the full softness of her heart to show, but this evening in front of the fireplace with Wendy, it felt somehow right to speak honestly and openly. It was only they two, and it was somehow a special moment. They shared a nameless longing which united them in some secret way.
"And did you meet him?" Wendy asked, fearing that she knew the answer, for Aunt Millicent had never married.
"No," her aunt replied bravely. "I have lived my life alone and unloved. It is my own small tragedy."
Wendy began to speak, to assure her aunt that she was indeed loved by all her family, but she knew that the love Aunt Millicent spoke of was not of that kind, and so she stilled without speaking a word, not wanting to belittle the kind lady's grief.
Firming her mouth in determination, Aunt Millicent continued her sewing and explained, "But I have tried to do right by you, Wendy, for I see in you some of my own younger self. I have tried to guide you, to prepare you for finding a husband, so that you might not live the spinster's life I have lived. I would not like for you to be old and alone, as I am."
"But, Aunt! You are not old! And you are not alone! For you have me beside you, and Slightly whenever he is home on holidays. Perhaps you might even send him to school here in London, with John and Michael and the other boys, so that he might live at home and give us both more company."
Aunt Millicent's voice was quietly subdued when she replied, "Perhaps. But there is a special aloneness that comes from not having a companion for one's heart. I do not wish that for you, Wendy." After a long moment, as both women stitched and thought, the older lady concluded gently, "And so I hope that your young man returns to you, for if he is the one your kiss belongs to, then your comparative ages matter not. His prospects matter not. If you can be with the one your kiss belongs to, then you shall live in heaven, and I could not hope for better happiness for you, my dear." Tears now streamed down that lady's care-lined face, but she blotted them hurriedly with her lavender-scented handkerchief, for a true lady must avoid blotchiness if at all possible. Tears are rarely becoming.
Surprised by her aunt's romantic heart, as well as by her benediction, Wendy stared down at the needlework in her lap and knew not what to say. At last, she said sadly, "I do not think he will return, Aunt. He is but a boy, and I am too old now to go with him, however much I might wish to do so. I am a young woman now, and not a child. His world is beyond my reach." Her cough rose again, and she pressed her handkerchief quickly to her mouth. When the fit had passed, she was weak and breathless, momentarily abandoning her sewing to lie back upon the divan and rest until she could once again draw breath without painful effort.
"I once wished only to grow into a lady," confided Aunt Millicent, gently steering them away from the subject of the missing boy in hopes of relieving her niece's distress. The coughing grew worse with each day, it seemed, and she feared most terribly for the dear girl's health. "And now I find that I oftentimes, if only in my most private thoughts before sleeping, wish that I could return to my girlhood once more. For when I was young, everything seemed possible."
Thinking of Peter Pan and her childhood decision to leave him, to return home and grow up, Wendy could only nod helplessly, hopelessly, tears sliding silently from her eyes and trailing down her cheeks to drip upon the blue-fringed knitting bag which was to be Aunt Millicent's Christmas gift.
If only I could be a girl again, Wendy thought, and go once more with Peter, this time I would not abandon magic so readily when it was offered to me. I would embrace it and treasure it with all my heart.
If only I could step inside some lovely story and never come out.
But Wendy knew that she could not, for Neverland and Peter Pan were lost to her now. Womanhood and reality were what remained.
Not knowing her niece's thoughts, Aunt Millicent murmured quietly, "But perhaps everything is possible still, in the right light, with the right gentleman," for in some secret part of her heart Aunt Millicent yet believed in mysteries and magic, and she wished most devoutly for her niece's happiness, however it might be achieved.
But, thinking back on her last conversation with the Peter boy, Aunt Millicent remembered thanking him for rescuing Wendy from danger. Now it seemed that the girl -- quietly weeping with her face turned away -- was in danger again, though this time from ill health and a broken heart, and Millicent Tilney had no idea whatsoever how to help her.
And, this time, Wendy's gallant young Peter Pan was not here to come to the rescue.
To Be Continued ...