Author's note: This chapter was a mess when originally written – special thanks to Cheetahlee for helping straighten and tidy up the lines.

Some Topics of an Offensive Nature.

My Darling Love

Chapter 26 – The Torrid Tales

"If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance."

-George Bernard Shaw

Mary and George went to bed without speaking. Their astonishment continued through the next morning. George went to work with an off-handed peck on the cheek from his wife, and Mary later gave the same to the children. With the house emptied, Mary headed to Aunt Millicent's home.

A servant greeted her at the door, and then commented haughtily that Mary was unexpected and Mrs. Davis was "quite busy with her daughter." Mary insisted on seeing her aunt nonetheless, and was received in the formal parlor by Millicent and her new child, Margaret, who was dressed in one of the expensive formal sitting gowns that was once Mary's when she was a guest there herself. Margaret had an equally expensive wig on her head, decorated with a hair clip and curls.

They, Aunt Millicent and Margaret, both held the same snooty expression as the butler. "You see, dearest Margaret, your cousin Mary here has forgotten her manners. It is unladylike to call on someone so early in the morning without an invitation."

Mary could not even begin to count the many times Aunt Millicent arrived at her doorstep and had dinner at her home without invitation, not to mention all the other events in her and her family's life where they would have wished her elsewhere, but allowed her presence, without any comment, just to be polite. Never, not once, did they ever call her "ill-mannered" nor "discourteous" for showing up unexpectedly at all hours of the day and night.

All of that, for now, she would overlook, but not the informality of her name. Margaret was to have called Mary herself "mother," not Aunt Millicent. She felt the informality of "Mary" was now unacceptable, and corrected the error of bad manners Aunt Millicent now taught her new daughter. "In polite society, because of my age and status as a gentleman's wife, not to mention the fact that I have children of my own, you, Margaret, will call me Mrs. Darling."

Aunt Millicent scoffed that George was far from a gentleman, "I'll explain after she leaves..." Aunt Millicent whispered as she tapped her new daughter on the arm.

"Very well, Aunt Millicent, you can tell her what you like, but she will call me Mrs. Darling, for I have earned that name," Mary retorted, turning on her heel. She knew from past experience what Aunt Millicent would now relate about her and her children to the little girl after she left. Aunt Millicent would likely tell Margaret that she would surely grow to be a far better young lady, simply because she was born to married parents, as opposed to Wendy, who was conceived outside the laws of England and the church sanctifying the union.

In addition, Aunt Millicent would always have more money and a better home with grander and more impressive friends. Therefore Margaret would marry better. "The bigger fish, for certain," Grandpa Joe told his daughter Mary when she arrived home and recounted her visit. "I'll tell you what, Mary Elizabeth, have George sign those papers Aunt Millicent sent over."

Mary refused, "Think of the child, father, what kind of life would that be? Aunt Millicent is horrible with children. She thinks Margaret a china doll that she can dress up and dance about like toy."

Grandpa Joe shook his head, "From what you are telling me, it didn't seem like she minded being Millicent's pretty baby doll. For the time being, I don't see any way around it. I read what her lawyer sent. She says if you don't let her adopt Margaret, she'll sue, and she'll get custody of your other children too. Read it, it says in the first paragraph that you and George are unfit parents."

Mary read it, and read it again. She marched all the way to the bank and showed her husband George, and he read it and read it again. "Very well," he said as he signed his name to the contract. "But she will not get any of her jewelry back. I will sell it and put the money in a savings account for Margaret. I will document everything pawned, and every penny I put in the bank." Mary nodded in agreement, and just like that, Mr. and Mrs. George Darling, with heavy hearts, for the first time, truly lost a child.

Aunt Millicent came calling -- unannounced -- with Margaret later in the week for dinner. Grandpa Joe answered the door and politely told his sister that there was simply not enough food for guests that came uninvited.

"We shall eat at the finest restaurant in London then. Good evening," she sneered and yanked poor Margaret by her arm down the stairs.

"Oh, Grandpa Joe! I never refuse anyone who is hungry food from my table. We would have made do, and besides, there is always plenty!" George said, as the door was slammed on the new Davis Family.

"She chose the rules to play by. There should be no exceptions to those in your castle, son," Grandpa Joe responded. He called George "son" often, and still it caught George by surprise. It always flattered him so, and he smiled.

Wendy turned fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and then seventeen and soon she was to be a young lady of eighteen, only a month from her birthday. She was as tall as Mary and just as shapely. Although no one would say it out loud, it was common knowledge that she was even more attractive than her mother. Mary admitted this to George, who concurred. "She was made from the purest and most exquisite love. She has the best of both of us. Why would you expect any less?"

George had the room fitted for Wendy in the attic; it was spacious and considerably larger than the nursery. Mary helped Wendy decorate it to her liking, and when she was ready to take the first steps into womanhood at only fourteen, George bought for her, her own vanity table and chair. Mary gave her George's gift from Paris and showed her how to make herself "grown up" pretty, real, no longer pretending. Wendy preferred no makeup, and truthfully, she did not need it. "When you are ready," Mary offered and Wendy finally accepted when she turned sixteen.

John was thirteen when his changes began. Nothing more interesting happened to him between his return from Neverland to the time he turned into the young man of almost sixteen he now was. He was nearly identical to George in everyway, "A mirror image of his father," everyone who knew them would say. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Grandpa Joe was heard frequently to chuckle. From his choice of spectacles to his shy disposition, even his aspirations of being a banker were the same.

Suddenly, one evening at dinner, his voice fell from the higher pitch everyone was used to, to a lower tone, then rose there again. It was quite funny, but George shushed Wendy and Michael, the only two to laugh, with a stern and fierce face. That night John was given "the lecture," being a boy who was on the verge of becoming a man. George was nervous about discussing such personal matters to his first-born son, but seeing his own face just as nervous staring back at him made it a simple task.

He already knew the questions John had, and he answered them from the depths of his own wisdom. He left John with, "As you mature further, I will explain step by step. You should never be concerned that I would think less of you when you have uncertainties that you want to discuss with me. The only question I will ever consider foolish is the one left unasked."

And for the rest of his life, John had questions, but from that simple sentiment from the heart of his loving father; he always made it a point to confer with George when in doubt.

Michael would be fourteen in June, and he was no longer a child. He was the quickest to take to the idea of growing up after their return from Neverland, although he went about it in the most undesirable manner. He spent less and less time with John and Wendy and more and more time with his friends from school. It got to the point where Mary would make him take Nana with him wherever he went, as he was mischievous and loved trouble.

"He takes after my father," George said as he and Mary lay in bed together after another long day. "We'll be lucky if he even finishes school, let alone university." Mary held George tightly, she knew what he said was true. Soon Michael found a way to lose Nana when she gave chase. He was the only child spanked in the Darling residence by both parents after the three had returned home from Neverland, and it seemed to be a frequent occurrence bound for his teenage years.

Now a tenacious young man of almost fourteen, with a mind of his own, his heart mysteriously drifted to place where he could not be reached by his parents or siblings. His downward spiral, so young in life, to one of crime and a multitude of offenses ended abruptly and unexpectedly. George inquired of his whereabouts, Michael having missed dinner and returned home well after dark. Michael, rebellious and stubborn, refused to answer his father after strolling into the house as if he owned it. When he passed his mother and she demanded Michael respond, under his breath, so only Mary could hear, he called his mother a "whore."

Mary gasped aloud. She was shocked by his cruel remark, and her face reflected her alarm as she began to cry. George went to her and asked of his second-son's comment. She did not have to repeat it, for Michael said it again loud and clear, and added, "My mother's a whore and my father's perverted. I know all about you two. Who are you to make me answer your stupid questions and follow your stupid rules? It's like filthy rotten criminals running the prison, this house!" His voice was squeaky, but his tone was pure malice and disgust.

George grabbed Michael by his throat and slammed him hard in the wall. "George don't please..." Mary pled.

George, a fully developed man, turned his piercing blue eyes full of anger toward his own son. And Michael who wanted to be the brave man in the war of wills, now faltered and began to weep. George lifted his fist and pulled it back. As hard as he could, he sent it forward and into the wall beside Michael's head. It broke clear through the wallpaper and plaster, and when George removed his hand it was already scraped and bloody. Mary gasped again, as did Wendy who was watching from the top of the stairs. Michael fell into a ball on the floor when his father released him.

George was never good in confrontations. His usual reaction would be to get sick and collapse, out of breath. But tonight, he was a changed man. He stepped back from his son and yanked him to his feet. With his bloody fist in Michael's face, he used a voice as altered as his disposition, one never heard before in the Darling home. Sounding harsh and formidable, he said, "If I would have hit you, I would have killed you, and believe me when I tell you, that was nearly my intention. That hole should have been in your chest where I ripped your out heart, and not in my wall. Whatever you are trying to accomplish by insulting me and your mother stops RIGHT NOW! You are MY SON, you live in MY HOUSE, and you live under MY RULES! WHO ARE YOU TO QUESTION ME? I gave you the life you live FOR FREE ON A SILVER PLATTER! I HAVE NEVER ASKED YOU DO A SINGLE THING FOR ALL THE LUXURIES THAT YOU TAKE FOR GRANTED! We are fair parents, we let you have our love and devotion, along with whatever you truly desire. Most of all, we trusted you. BUT NO MORE! You are forthwith stripped of all your privileges. You will wake in the morning and go to school. You will come straight home from school and you will do all of your schoolwork at the kitchen table. You will eat supper with this family and then you will go to your room and go to bed, AND NOTHING ELSE. If you think that after the horrors your mother went through bringing you into this world, I will let you speak against her, you have ANOTHER. THINK. COMING." He spaced his words to make sure they were completely understood.

"If your mother, whom you feel experienced enough in life to call a whore, was not standing here, I would wrap my hands around your neck and squeeze all the breath from your body. It is by her good graces and hers alone that you are alive -- again. We are far from criminals and this house is far from a prison, but if you want to -- really truly want to know what it is to reside in one, that my son, can be arranged."

When Michael tried to stutter his excuses, George interrupted in the same severe voice, "Did I tell you to speak? I asked politely for an explanation when you came home, but you did not think I was worthy of one. Apparently you think me perverted. Of course, no one complains when I put FOOD ON THE TABLE, OR CLOTHES ON YOUR BACK OR MONEY IN YOUR POCKET! As long as you get what you want when you want it, it does not matter that your parents are perverted and immoral, who have lived lives that others possibly find offensive. Contrarily, the moment you are made to explain your whereabouts so that we are not sick with worry, THEN and only THEN do the circumstances of your conception come into question. I have always found it so interesting that those who know nothing of the truth are the ones who always seem to sit in judgment of others. There is a saying, Michael, that people who live in glass houses should not throw stones. Do you know what that means? That means people who have done far worse than your parents are the ones who call me perverted and your mother a whore. I never thought that I would ever say this about any of my children, but..." George choked on his next words, still glaring at Michael.

When his voice returned, it had lost its hostility, sounding normal. He too had tears in his eyes. He held Michael's face with both hands and appealed to his youngest, "Please, dear Michael, don't ever make me say it about you."

Michael was still crying, and whimpered, "Say what, Father?"

"That you were a mistake. That I wished you had never been born. That your mother and I would have better off without ever having you." George released him again and slowly walked upstairs.

Wendy met him at the top and hugged him. He kissed her forehead and moved beyond to John, who was awkward and uncomfortable, just like his father would be in same situation. Doing what he thought best, he shook his father's hand.

Michael stayed on the bottom step and looked to his mother for comfort. He had broken her heart in several different places, but he was still her precious baby. She went to him, and, as he fell into her embrace, he asked, "Do you think I was a mistake, Mother?"

"Do you know what it is to think of you as a mistake, Michael? It would mean that you being born were an error in good judgment, something that if we had to do again, we would have thought better of and done differently. Neither your father nor I want to ever believe that, given the chance to do it over again, the only thing we would change in our entire life is having you. You are my baby Michael, my precious baby, and I almost died having you. I loved you before you were born I would have died to give you life, I would have. I still would die for you Michael. We went through a lot when you were born, your father, although he would never admit it, suffered the most. It would be easier to convince him now that you were a misstep in life then I. And that is a very dangerous position to be put in, I promised to forsake all others for him, even you, I would if I had to. He is the man you should endeavor to become, but I fear you have found another more to your taste to model yourself after. At fourteen, you are already well on the way to becoming the man you will be as an adult. Go no further down this pathway, Michael. Turn back from these rebellions and come home to us. For once you are lost to your father and in manhood, not even I will be able find you." Mary kissed his forehead and held onto her lost boy even tighter.

Michael felt sick to his stomach. He'd released his bladder from fear when George punched a hole in the wall next to his head, and began to reek of it. Mary nudged his shoulder up the stairs to bath and change for bed.

But before he made it up the first step, Grandpa Joe walked into the stairway and summoned Michael forward. Michael stood before his grandfather with his head lowered. "If this house is your father's castle, then tonight I am the executioner." Grandpa Joe, silent with a blank expression told Michael to raise his face. He did, and Grandpa Joe cracked him across the cheek with his open hand. "That is the punishment for calling my only daughter a whore." When Michael regained his feet, Grandpa Joe cracked him across the opposite cheek in the same manner. "That is the punishment for calling your father, a man I consider my own son, perverted."

Grandpa Joe stepped back and pushed back Michael down on the stairs. "You should be ashamed of yourself for your actions, Michael Darling. My only daughter, your mother, almost died giving birth to you. TO ALL OF YOU! She bled buckets of blood and your father cried an ocean of tears while you rested comfortably in your cribs asleep. Just because you are unaware of the sacrifice does not mean they were not made!" Grandpa Joe shouted up the stairs to John and Wendy who were still watching.

"Your mother and father truly love one another unlike any other I have ever seen, and you all should consider yourselves very fortunate to be born into their house. If you all knew the anguish, misery and despair your parents went through, it would be you doing the reproach to anyone who dare say a whisper of impropriety about them. It is those gossipmongers who should have their hearts ripped from their chest. What did your friends tell you, Michael? That your father got your mother in the wrong way before they were married?"

Mary clutched her father's arm. "Oh, Father, please don't tell them. Not this way."

"Why should he not know? They all should know. Do you want your children thinking you are a whore for taking to bed with someone that was not yet your husband?" Wendy slipped down in shock on her knees. John stood behind her and held her shoulders. They both wept unrestrained, as did Michael, whose head was still bowed, frightened for his life. "Do you want your children thinking their father is perverted? who could not keep it in his pants? Is that what you were told, Michael?"

Michael nodded his head in assent. "They made fun of me," he mumbled, humiliated.

"Yes, your mother and father consummated before they were married. Yes, your mother carried Wendy hidden in her white wedding dress when she wed your father. But did they tell you the circumstances that put them in that bad way? Did they tell you that your mother was engaged to your father and her ill-advised and selfish father, made her break her engagement over finances? Almost made her marry a man she didn't love because they wanted a wealthy son-in-law? Not once, not twice, but three times? Did they tell you how your father saved your mother, more times than I can count or imagine?

"Your father rescued your mother like a princess trapped in a tower on the very day she was to marry the wrong man. They ran away together, that's all true. And when your mother returned for my blessing, did they tell you how I locked her away in a room for three months for no other reason than that she loved your father?

"Did they tell you how I planned to send her away and make her leave her baby in an orphanage? How your sister was the Wendy that almost wasn't? I stood in this very spot, while your mother was locked away in the room your parents now share, and threatened your father's life if he ever came within a mile of my daughter? How I said I would slash his throat from ear to ear? I told him if he tried to rescue your mother and their unborn child from my decided fate that I would hunt them down and murder them all?

"Do you know what your father told me? He told me to do my worst, because if I ever even attempted to harm his wife and any of their children, I would be the one rotting in the ground in an unmarked grave.

"I was the one who threw your mother, my only child, out into the streets without even the clothes on her back. I made sure your father was disowned and ridiculed by his family. Did anyone tell you that? No, of course they didn't. They said your father had to marry your mother, that I held pistol to his back as he stood at the altar saying his vows. They told you that he only wanted to get into your mother's bloomers and that, when he found out what he created, he tried to join the army or some such nonsense, just to get away from his responsibilities.

"You see, Michael; there is not one bit of gossip you can repeat to me that I have not already heard about your parents, because at one time or another, the same words were repeated by me. Let's see," Grandpa Joe put his finger on his chin and thought about every rumor circulated around London, the torrid tales of Mary and George long forgotten. "There was the one about all the other illegitimate children your father has, how he was a uncontrollably sick deviant who would lie with anyone who would let him. I believe one story had your father defiling your mother in park in broad daylight, and even though she was supposedly being raped on bench, enjoyed it just as much as he did. There was another one about your mother, who, when her parents disinherited her, became a prostitute as your father, the despoiler, rented out his wife to all his business associates to make ends meet. I believe that story even claimed your father enjoyed watching your mother with other men -- many other men at the same time as I recall.

"There is gossip of your father being a fairy, and not like the ones in Wendy's stories. There is gossip of your mother having many lovers before and after your father. In those tall tales, your mother had bastard children that your father sold to rich couples who were childless. So not only did he sell your mother's body, but also her babies.

"But the worst one, the one that I always found the most foul and unholy, was the one that said that your father kept your mother chained to their bed with no clothes on so that he could do whatever he wanted to her at his leisure, and when she would refuse or be slightest bit unwilling he would starve her and beat her, all this going on with their little baby watching from the crib beside their bed."

Mary had heard cruel rumors, but none as offensive at that, and never that specific one in particular. She knelt on the floor and held her hand to her mouth, trying to make her lungs work. She gasped as tears fell from her eyes, she could not make any sound come from her, but when she finally did she wailed in agony, as the final pieces of her heart were broken. Wendy flew down the stairs to her mother, and as she embraced Mary, she felt the terrible horror her mother had endured throughout her life. Grandpa Joe never let his gaze slip from Michael. He held it steadfast, and with Mary weeping aloud, he continued.

"Her own mother repeated that awful and vile rumor about your father and mother. She heard it at the market in passing by someone who didn't realize who she was. I already knew of Wendy's birth, but still had not made my peace with your parents. I was so enraged when I was told and so angry with your parents for all that had been done, that I had forgotten that all gossip and rumors are lies. Lies only said to be hurtful and harm those undeserving of such a fate. But, unknown to me, I had begun to believe the lies, things that should have been laughed at and corrected as untruths had etched their way into my soul.

"Your Grandmother Elizabeth was a wise woman, a saint on Earth. She didn't believe that story for one moment, but still she knew that I would. She knew that visiting my daughter's home would teach me the final lesson of the heart. It worked, for as sure as I am standing here now, I was sure that your father had done just that to your mother -- chained her to their bed and molested her repeatedly in the most vile ways possible, with my granddaughter watching. I saw her crying for mercy like she does now because of you, and Wendy pleading for her father to stop."

Grandpa Joe stepped back and leaned against the doorway. Now he looked at Mary. "That night I loaded my pistol, and I went to your home with all intentions of killing your George. I wanted to save you from your husband. I had it all planned. He would open the door when I knocked, and I would put one bullet in his head. But I didn't find you at that home, for George had moved you to a better place, the best he could afford on his meager salary and savings.

"The undertaker who owned the business in the basement told me that the second George had enough money, he made a down payment on tiny cottage away from that seedy part of London. George couldn't wait to give you a better life, the life you deserved, a home that was worthy of you. He told me of all the things you had accomplished working together since you were married. How hard George worked for his family, and how you, Mary, made a joyful home for him and your baby in a dank one-room flat with no hot water. He told me how happy you were, how in spite of everything done to you both, you were still very much in love. He told me that only death would part you and George, and he wasn't even sure that would be true, for God has a special place in heaven for couples bonded with the same heart and soul." Tears now slipped down Grandpa Joe's face, and still he continued.

"I told him of the rumor, and he told me if I ever repeated it to George, I would be the one with a bullet it my head. Not only would he not tell me my granddaughter's name, he wouldn't even tell me where you had moved, for fear that I, your father, would ruin everything else still left in your lives. I can hear his last words to me as if they spoken only a moment ago, 'Let them live their happily-ever-after, Mr. Baker, for they have earned it.' I had to send messengers all over London to find your parents, and it was worth every penny, for they returned and we made our peace."

Grandpa Joe looked up the staircase, John stood at the top, and so much like his father George, and he became Mr. Baker's new focal point "I remembered that truth the first night I saw your mother again, swollen in the waist with you, John. Your father wanted to marry your mother more than anything in he world, no matter what the cost and she felt the same. He saved your mother from that other man. They made love and created a perfect baby, three perfect babies. You see, children, they might not have had their parent's blessing or the wedding rings that make it proper in most eyes, but they had God watching down on them, and if He didn't feel their act was of the purest and most undying love, then Wendy would not be sitting there holding her mother, and Michael would not be kneeling here, nor John standing at the top of the stairs. God gave his approval, and that was good enough for me and it should be good enough for all of you.

"You want the truth? Your father and mother made love for the first time together, in a bed, in a private manner unseen by prying eyes. They were not married in the eyes of the law, but to each other by God, they were as much husband and wife as they are still today. Your mother was unknown to any man, and your father unknown to any other woman that first time with one another. There were no others before nor have there been after, as far as I know. There were no bastard children, nor perversion of any kind, nor prostitution. Your father had to work three jobs to make ends meet, he went hungry and without sleep for days at a time for all you. Your mother sold her hair and her jewelry, your father sold his pocket watch and chain, his dress shoes, and his coin collection so they could live, keep Wendy and have another baby. Your parents were constantly attacked by their families, who wanted nothing more than to prove themselves right. Your parents fought back tooth and nail to survive. They are married for eighteen years now and still love each other more and more everyday. Those solemn vows they took even before their wedding day still hold them. They have loved each other through sickness and health, for richer for poorer, they love, honor and obey each other all the days of their lives. They are brave and strong people who loved beyond love and share that love with their children, their family and their friends. Those who speak ill of them are jealous, they are green-eyed with envy, because you children are the products of two people who walked through hell and the fire within to find and save the other."

Grandpa Joe turned and without another word returned to the parlor.

Mary took Michael upstairs and left him in the bathroom. He handed her his soiled clothes and she put them in a laundry tub to soak.

The house was once again filled with silence. Ghosts breezed past one another in the darkened halls with nothing to say. More so, not knowing what to say next. Wendy went to her room, and so did John. Both were covered with their blankets and cried themselves to sleep before their bedtimes. George did not come out of his room, even when Mary assured him all the children were in bed. Michael bathed and scurried to the nursery he shared with John without making a peep. Mary tried to set the night's events out of her mind, but found they insisted on being heard.

"Why did you tell them all of that?" Mary asked her father, who was too upset to cry or do anything else but sit on the sofa.

Grandpa Joe puffed on his pipe and responded, "If Michael heard those rumors, that means they are still spoken in certain circles. And if they are still spreading, then John and Wendy have already heard them." He retired to the privacy of his room without looking at his daughter who sat wringing her hands on the sofa.