Prologue – a thought, just a thought
Isn't it funny how life can seem so innocent and easy going when you are a child? Then when its time for you to enter the world as an adult you would give anything for those childhood days to come back. The days when you had no worries or cares for anything in the world except for what the next hour or day might be, or how if something goes wrong and you need help there is the shelter of you home, your parents love. But when you grow up you need to think far into the future, not just taking one day at a time, but thinking about the day, the month or even the year after tomorrow. Maybe one day there shall be someone who gives every living person in the world the opportunity to relive their childhood days – relive those careless days where the were no limitation's, no time like the present and only looking onto the next day but not the day after that. Maybe that day will come soon rather then later for someone, maybe there will be someone who can stop the aging process and keep us as children forever – that day may come soon rather then later for one young woman.
I was always quite amazed at how much my father could drink. Five pints of beer an hour, then around what he called 'happy time' he would whisk down a glass and a half of champagne or red wine – no more like a bottle and a half. He was a heavy alcoholic and all my family knew it, but if you ever tried to convince him that this was the cause of all of his health problems, he would attempt to beat you into a pulp. He could never get out of his easy chair though to hurt you. My father was never a big man, but was never as small as any of the other men in his family. He never shaved – well once or twice a year when he finally found the head and body coordination to get out of his seat. He couldn't speak clearly as his word's were always slurred together from the drunkenness and he always would just flop where ever he stood or lay. My father was once a handsome man. Dreamy brown eyes, thick brown hair, muscle tone and was tall and proud. But after he started to drink he slumped his shoulders, put on weight, started to loose his hair and his eyes became bloodshot and watery. He also used to have a good cheery personality. Was eager to play with his children, eager to dance with his wife, even eager to go to work, but alcohol got the better of him. He used to have humor in his tone of voice and laughter in his smile and eyes. He then became bland and never laughed. Jonathan Darling, the man I knew as my father disappeared - after my mother died.
My mother. There isn't one single word that can describe such a woman. Amazing, divine, beautiful, spectacular, all understatements, unique might be the only word in the entire English language that can come close the one word that can describe my mother. Katherine Mary Darling. Katherine meaning pure in Greek, Mary meaning perfect one in Hebrew, and Darling, well she was a darling. Three names that perfectly suited my mother, she lived up to them. Her intentions in life were completely pure, as was everything about her. Her smile, her eyes, her laugh, they were also perfect. She had something that I always wanted, and something she said I would have to discover in myself. This special thing, this secret, was a hidden treasure in every woman. Naturally at eight years old I wouldn't be able to find it, but she always said it would come out and show itself when the time is right – I treasure that information, it was the last she gave me. She was the happiest person that could ever be crafted by the hands of god. I don't ever think that I could live up to the mark she left behind or the impression she left everyone she made contact with. She was always willing to tell a story, dance and play. Something that most mothers of my time were not often encouraged to do – fiddlesticks. It was commonly seen that if a child was mothered in the way that my mother did to me and my siblings that there child would not grow up in the right way, and would never be prepared for the real world. But then again, I don't think I was ever ready to grow up. She died when I was eight. We never knew why, but she just disappeared, we never knew what had happened. Her death was the catalyst for everything bad that soon happened in my life. The death of my brothers, Darcy and Hugh, and the death of my only sister Marie. It also caused my fathers drinking problems – which in turn cause his death.
So by my thirteenth birthday I was all alone, living with my aunt who spent most of her time at her tavern with the men of town. The year was 1887 on my thirteenth birthday I was stuck in my aunt's four bedroom town house, looking after her three children. I never really minded babysitting the three boys for they were always so attentive when I told them stories before they went to bed; we even acted them out sometimes. My aunt was a widow, so naturally she couldn't look after her children, and seeing as I was an orphaned child my aunt thought that helping her with her children would be the perfect practice for my child bearing years – yea right like looking after three boys under the age of eight will help me, seeing as all I did was tell them stories at night and make sure they were asleep. But it was when I was in the company of my aunt and her boys that my life really began. For it was there that I met a remarkable boy who would change the way that I viewed my life, forever. My name is Wendy Maive Darling, and on the night of my thirteenth birthday is where my life really began.