Rated R: Sexual Content (some may find offensive; implied incest)

My Darling Love

Chapter 41 – Unseen Suitors

"People only see what they are prepared to see."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Yes Wendy, I know the saying," Mary replied. "If my mother's earrings were the old, and Margaret's dress was the new, that cameo was the borrowed, then what I wonder was the blue?" Mary stood back still holding her questioning expression.

"Actually your mother's earrings were the blue, they are sapphires. The dress you crafted for her was the new and the headpiece she wore that was Aunt Millicent's is the borrowed. This is the old." Mary nodded to Wendy who was still standing half way in and out of the doorway with her right hand peculiarly placed behind her back. "I'll see you at the restaurant," Wendy added with a happy smile in an attempt to hide whatever it was she was keeping secret.

George peeked back into the dark staircase and looked about, still empty of the owner of the voice.

Wendy watched after her parents and waited an entire minute to make sure they had in fact left the church and it was empty before turning around and pulling her friend forward with her right hand into reality. He looked towards the doorway Mary had just left from and back to Wendy and said, "Your mother is just as beautiful as I remember." Wendy released his hand only to have him clutch it again tightly and raise it to his heart. "I have already told you many times, you are by far lovelier than she."

Wendy arrived very late to the reception unescorted. Mary made it her point to address the issue of the absentee suitor personally, "Wendy, dearest, you know if you wanted to bring along your gentleman friend, you could have. Your father and I would not have minded, and we would like to meet him." Wendy blushed but said nothing for she didn't know what to say. "You are getting to that age, Wendy, where we would not mind if he was a widower or maybe a little older than you. You should not think ill of us, we are very curious about the people you spend time with abroad." Mary could see the desire in her daughter to explain everything, but missing the words to do it. Mary relieved the tension by hugging her daughter. "When you are ready, Wendy. Just please tell me he his not already married."

Her daughter could answer that question at the very least, so she did, "No mother, he has never been married."

After the party, the Darling family returned to their home and went straight to bed. Mary and George offered to watch Martine while John and Margaret honeymooned and she was put to bed in the nursery. Michael slept on the floor in the parlor, and Wendy in the attic without the need to convince her brother to relinquish her old room as he had been staying there since he returned, "I was only staying in the attic because you, Margaret and Martine were in the nursery until the wedding, it was not my idea but mother's. I was going to sleep on the floor in the parlor tonight anyway, I don't want to sleep in your room Wendy, ever again."

As the bedtime fairy went about the house straightening up discarded clothes and fixing blankets she found the door to where Wendy stayed locked from the inside. Being the magical creature that she was, she had a key and unfastened the door, only to find Wendy fast asleep in bed with the window wide open. It was an early autumn evening, but the breeze outside was cool, so Mary closed the window softly. Wendy lay in bed in a curious position -- as if she was being held in the arms of someone that was not there. So convincing to her mother it was, that Mary touched the pillow resting next to her daughter's head to make sure there was not some invisible being laying beside her. The pillow was warm, her daughter's absentee suitor gone in the night, but Mary knew for herself no one had come in or out of the house since they arrived home. She moved quickly to the window and locked it. She slowly crept to the wardrobe and knocked. No one answered and she put her hand to the knob, but did not turn it. Instead, she strolled from the room, glancing back to the wardrobe door before leaving.

The bedtime fairy continued to make her rounds throughout the house, returning to the second floor a short time later. Sounds of two people speaking quietly could be heard from the attic. Mary wasted no time and put her hand on the doorknob to enter. Once again, the door was locked and the second the knob began to turn the room above fell silent. Mary knocked and no one answered, not even Wendy.

Mary used her key, and looked in to find her daughter fast asleep in bed with the window to the room wide open once again. This time when Mary went to close it, she found the bolt broken off and springs that kept the window sealed shut removed, forcing the window to remain open. The defeated fairy slowly moved around the room. She inadvertently backed herself into a shadowed corner, where Wendy's lover hid. She stood there long enough to peek around waiting for the mystery man to come out and show himself. But to no avail, for he stood behind her, watching her with a raised brow. Mary stepped back further into the darkness right up against him as Wendy rolled over in her bed, peering through her eyelids to see if in fact her mother left. She hadn't, so Wendy pretended to sleep while her unseen suitor leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes as well.

"Good night Wendy..." Mary whispered and left down the stairs.

"Good night mother..." Wendy replied as the door to the attic closed behind her.

With Mary's own bedroom door shut for the night with her inside a voice spoke out from the shadows in the corner. "I told you your mother was in here before, Gwendolyn. She touched my cheek as I slept beside you. She felt my skin. I know she did for I felt her the warmth of her hand as well. It was not safe for me to stay here with you."

Mary disrobed and got into bed, but could not fall asleep. George was also awake. He crawled up behind his wife and whispered, "Did you find him in her room?"

Mary was on her side and whipped around to face her husband who had already reaffixed his spectacles to his face. "Find who, George?"

George looked to the ceiling that was shared with the attic and responded, "Whoever is in there with Wendy?"

Mary sat up in bed and George followed, "Who is in there with Wendy?"

George shrugged his shoulders, "I have no idea, they been chatting all night long. Its definitely a 'he' though." He finished this statement with a raised brow and a simple head bob to show he was very serious.

Mary rested back on her pillow looking straight ahead and whispered. "How did 'he' get in? Michael went to the attic to gather his things up when we got back, if 'he' was there already hiding, Michael would have said something." Again, George shrugged his shoulders. "When did they begin talking?" Mary asked. Their tones were hushed, and they relaxed close together with their heads under their blankets to keep their conversation from bouncing off the ceiling that was shared with the attic.

"When you were downstairs cleaning up, and I came to retire and Wendy was already in bed for the night. As I reached the top of the stairs at the landing I could hear them. I knocked on the door and she welcomed me up, but there was no one there but herself. The window was open though. After I came in here a short time later, they began their conversation again."

Mary had her ear to her husband's lips to hear every word spoken and then would pull back and move her lips to his ear. "What were they saying?" They hurriedly reversed lip to ear and George answered, "I really couldn't tell, but whoever she was speaking to kept calling her Gwendolyn."

Mary's unattended ear perked up and she removed the blankets covering them. With her finger to her mouth to shush George she listened. Muffled voices exchanged in the attic had begun again and both George and Mary rose, slowly creeping from their bed to the hall, to put their ears up to the door leading to the attic, "...you are just lying to them. Tell them," the male voice said, ending as George and Mary leaned to the door.

"I can't, I don't know how to explain about us. Please don't go, at least stay tonight," Wendy responded. Even though they were not in the room, they knew by the distance of her voice she was standing by the window. "You know I can't stay. It's too dangerous anyway. I shouldn't have come to begin with or remained this long. I did not ask permission, Gwendolyn, and I am sure he is already aware of my absence. Promise me you will return to me."

"I'll leave with you right now." Mary was sure she heard tears in Wendy's voice.

"Not tonight, tomorrow. You have four days left here but don't use them all. Leave the window open."

Mary and George turned to face each other, as the attic was now as silent as the grave. They slowly walked back to bed and climbed in. George motioned for Mary to return under the blankets and once she complied he whispered, "Peter?" Mary gave him a quizzical face of confusion of which he clarified with, "Peter Pan..."

Mary took a moment for the name to register in her brain, and when it did she responded, "Peter Pan is a boy who always called her Wendy, a child's nickname for the mature title of Gwendolyn. No, George, the person that calls her Gwendolyn is a grown up. George I was in the room." Before she continued on, she pulled his hands close to her chest, nearest her heart. "There was a man, a grown up adult man...I didn't see him, but I could feel him."

George reared his head back, "Feel him Mary? You touched him? Why did you not call out for me at that very moment?" Mary shook her head and yanked George back to her, not once releasing his hands. "I could not feel him with my hands, George, I felt him...in my heart..."

Wendy was awake before anyone else in the house. The small carpetbag she arrived with was packed and resting by the front door. When she left to travel the world, she took with her multiple trunks and suitcases filled with her personal belongings. When she arrived home all she brought was one simple dress to wear for her entire stay, a lovely silk nightgown, some socks, a pair of shoes and her father's silver gift set from Paris.

"Wendy, where are all of your clothes?" Mary asked, helping her unpack, hoping she would be visiting much longer than her meager luggage implied. Wendy didn't answer and Mary thought her deaf, as she was standing right along side of her. "Wendy," Mary tapped her shoulder, "Did you hear me?"

"Sorry mother, I'm not used to anyone calling me Wendy. Most call me Gwendolyn now that I am grown."

Wendy was packed and ready to leave as Grandpa Joe made his way down the stairs. George and Mary spent almost the entire night silently chatting under their blanket and didn't drift off to slumber until nearly dawn. "Not even going to say good-bye to your parents, you'll break their hearts." Wendy cast her eyes to the clock on the wall, seconds from eight o'clock. "I have to leave by eight, or it counts as another day," she explained with her hand on the doorknob. Grandpa Joe leaned his head back baffled by her explanation. As the clock began to toll the hour, she pecked Grandpa Joe on the cheek and hugged him tightly, "tell mother and father I will write as soon as I am able. Tell them I'm sorry I can't stay longer. Tell them I love them. Tell them not to worry. Tell them I miss them and will see them soon. Tell them..."

When Grandpa Joe awoke the morning after John's wedding, and looked out his bedroom window, it had been a bright and sunny autumn morning, without a cloud in the sky. He had descended the stairs and seen his granddaughter with her eyes glued to the clock. As she began calling out all her "tell them's" the sunlight hazed over with a thick fog that fell and engulfed the street the Darling house sat on. Wendy went out the door still shouting and instantly her voice grew distant, as if she were running faster than humanly possible away. A moment later her voice stopped abruptly, and the fog dissipated, leaving the street sun drenched in the morning light. There was no sign of Wendy, not up the street or away in a car or carriage, as the sound of her voice was the only one heard when the front door opened. The birds chirping in the trees and noises from down the block had ceased with as she exited, and now began once more.

Michael walked up, yawning, behind his grandfather and glanced through the opened front door and inquired after his lost expression. "Your sister just left."

Michael strolled, yawning again and stretching, into the kitchen and offered, "Strange unexplainable fog? Was that her escort outside waiting for her?"

Grandpa Joe also went to the kitchen where Michael was leaning up against the stove; waiting for the teakettle he'd just placed there to boil. "What escort?"

Michael scratched his head and sat down at the table. "I don't know, when she came there was some person with her, well not with her. It was waiting across the street."

"It?" Grandpa Joe sat down next to his grandson, indicating he should go on.

"When she showed up, she rang the bell and I answered. It was a nice day, about eight in the morning and I remember the time because the clock in the hall was tolling eight, and I opened the door and there she was. It was the dandiest thing, because there was this eerie mist outside that you couldn't even see through. She walked into the house, and as I was helping her with her bag, I just happened to glance past her and there was this person leaning against the lamppost watching after her. The moment she hit the front landing and was completely inside, the mist just went away and it was gone too."

Michael got up when the kettle boiled, "Anyway, I asked her who the person was and she said she was alone. I call it 'it' because it wasn't a man with her, it actually looked like a boy maybe wearing a real funny big hat. You know, Grandpa Joe, no older only than twelve and dressed in a costume? Not a proper escort for a lady her age. Then I asked how she got here and she said she walked. She's been acting a little odd ever since she got back, if you ask me, always looking at the clock and talking to someone who isn't there."

Grandpa Joe looked up to Michael, "You heard him too?"

Michael nodded, "Oh yes, but please don't tell father or mother, it sent chills through me, and I've seen war. I was sleeping in the attic, the night before last, the night after Wendy arrived. The window opened by itself. I thought I was dreaming, and I got up and closed it. Now I knew I was dreaming when it flew open again. I felt like I was five and I pulled the covers over my head to protect myself from the boogie monster. There is no way someone could climb up to that room, but I swear I heard footsteps from the window to the bed and as I was about to jump up and tackle the intruder, they stopped. I sat up anyway, and although it was dark with moon clouded over, and not a star in the sky, I'm sure I saw the outline of a man standing by the window staring at the bed. I asked 'who goes there?' and the figure I know I saw, just drifted into the shadows."

"What did he look like? Was it the boy?" Grandpa Joe asked with his hands on the table shocked by the story.

"No, it wasn't the boy that I could tell. But it was dark and he was also wearing a funny hat. But that's not the end of the story." Michael looked to Grandpa Joe who nodded for him to continue, "so the window was open and I closed it again. A few minutes later it creaked back open, by itself. Then the wind started blowing in and I swear to all that is holy on this earth the wind was howling a name."

Grandpa Joe was wide eyed, "What name?"

Michael lifted the teapot and poured both he and his grandfather a cup. "Gwendolyn. I couldn't sleep after that so I went downstairs. Wendy was by the front door looking up. That's when I first heard his voice."

Grandpa Joe dropped a few sugar cubes into his cup with his lower lip out. "What were they saying?"

"Wendy didn't say anything, but whoever she was talking to told her the attic window was barred or so he thought before he arrived." Both men fell silent for a few minutes while drinking their tea.

"What did you hear, Grandpa?" Michael asked Grandpa Joe who sat deep in thought. "Michael, the attic window isn't barred, only Mary Elizabeth's -- your mother's I mean -- were, and those bars came down years ago."

Michael shrugged his shoulders and offered, "Maybe I was dreaming. Was Wendy speaking of barred windows when you heard her talking?"

Grandpa Joe leaned in close to his grandson and whispered, "They weren't speaking when I heard them. They were making love, I think. First I thought it was your parents, but then I remembered your parents would never do that in any other room but there own and especially not with you children home for the wedding. I know it was Wendy and her unseen suitor because after the sounds of their passions ended it was my granddaughter that crept down the attic stairs into the hall to the washroom. And your sister can be rather loud when she having one on, if you know what I mean."

Michael chuckled and punched his grandfather in the arm jokingly. "Well we all know Wendy is far from being fresh as the fallen snow."

Grandpa Joe had been laughing, but that ended abruptly with Michael's comment. "Michael, tell me the rumors about Wendy. I wouldn't dare ask your father, and when I ask your mother, she gives me a detailed explanation of why they are not true, without ever saying exactly what they are."

Michael leaned back in his chair, calling to mind the specifics. "Well, from what I can remember, they started when she was about sixteen?" More of a question than a declaration, but his following statements he spoke as if they were the words of God in truth.

"The story I heard was she was friends with a group of girls who were nothing but trouble. I think the rumor is Wendy didn't want to be a virgin, or some nonsense because she liked a boy and he would have it on with her if she was going to cry about it when he was riding on her. So, one of those girls took her to her home so her brother could have at Wendy. Seems he was a young widower and very lonely with his wife gone. Wendy did the trick, and he took her virtue. Then the boy she liked complained he wanted a girl with loads of experience and having only one man in her wasn't enough. Wendy went back to the widower, but he wasn't much of a lover, you know the type grandpa, just gets on top and bangs away. Wendy wanted a teacher, so he set her up with his younger brother-in-law around Wendy's age who passed her around to all of his friends, and there were plenty wanting and willing to have a go. Please don't tell my mother, but my own friends used to call her 'doorknob', because they said with Wendy, everybody gets a turn."

Grandpa Joe shook his head and cleared his throat, hearing such gossip about his granddaughter was hard on the ears. "If she was raped by these boys..." he started in Wendy's defense, but Michael corrected, "Oh no, she was very eager from what I heard. Apparently she claimed herself so good at servicing men she said you ought to be paid for it. Yep, she was quite proud of herself for a while there. And then, she went way too far..." Michael touched his grandfather's arm to gain his attention, "As long as I have your word you will not tell mother."

Grandpa Joe raised his right hand as if to take an oath, "I swear Michael..."

"No, Grandpa Joe, you have to swear on a stack of Bibles, for what I am about to tell you cannot leave this kitchen." Michael was very serious and it showed in his face.

"I swear, Michael, on my wife Elizabeth in heaven."

"Wendy lay down for Uncle Harry. John told me."

Grandpa Joe had many friends, but he considered Harold Darling his closest. They were business partners and shared their secrets, deep intimate secrets that neither spoke of with any other on earth. They played cards together, puffed on their pipes together and did everything else away from the Darling Home together, strong gentleman friends with same interests and lots in common. To hear that his best friend, a man he spent every night with working with, side by side at the tavern, had defiled his granddaughter -- not to mention Harold's own niece -- was way too much for Grandpa Joe to stomach. He thought of all the conversations they engaged in, and all the help they had both given one another in their most dire times of need. Now displayed in Grandpa Joe's expression were malice, hatred, disgust, and the living scenario of how Harold Darling was going to be murdered by the hand of his most trusted confidante. Michael knew the two men were close, but not that close, so he went on with the story without concern for his uncle or grandfather.

"Mother knew Uncle Harry was a drunk, and she was always asking father why he wouldn't come to dinner. This was around the time mother threw father out, for he was living with Harry when this happened. Mother didn't want father going down the pub to retrieve him, because she was afraid he would get in a brawl of some sort. So she kept him home with her on a Saturday afternoon and sent Wendy with John as escort, to gather him up off the tavern floor and bring him home to his flat. Grandpa, he was so drunk, John said he never saw a man hitting the bottle like that before. They had to literally carry him home. They brought him upstairs to the flat and Wendy took him into his room. John waited for her in the parlor, as she said she would get him out of his clothes and put him to bed so he could sleep off the liquor. John said he waited and waited and waited and she wasn't coming out, so he knocked on the door and she answered, but only peeking through a crack. That crack was enough to see Uncle Harry sprawled out of the bed all but passed out bare as the day he was born with his pecker standing up at attention. Wendy still had her clothes on and John asked what was going on and she said nothing, she'd be done in a minute. Harry was slurring something and John heard him call for mother to come back to bed and finish what she started."

"He called for his mother, Michael?" Grandpa Joe stood so quickly when he rose he blasted his chair back into the kitchen cabinets by where he was sitting.

"No, not his mother, my mother. John said he was carrying on something like, 'Mary, come back to bed please, oh please, and finish, you little cock tease.' John said Wendy just stood there looking at him all innocent saying something like Uncle Harry was dreaming."

"But how do you know she lay down for him, Michael? This is very important to me, you must understand. I feel him a brother to me. Now you tell me!" Grandpa Joe pulled Michael up to his feet and held him on his shoulders looking straight through his eyes to his soul.

"Alright, Grandpa, I guess it would be more correct to say Uncle Harry lay down for Wendy. But you have to promise me you won't tell mother or father." He didn't wait for an oath, for he could see into Grandpa Joe's soul as well. "John told her he was leaving, but only acted as though he did. He waited and then peeked back into the bedroom through the cracked door when he was sure she thought he was gone. Wendy was riding on top of Uncle Harry on his bed with her skirt pulled up to her waist. John said Uncle Harry had his eyes closed and looked like he was dead. He didn't even know she was there. When she got what she wanted, she climbed off of him. She put back on her bloomers covered him with a blanket and then left the flat. John hid in the hall closet until she was gone, and then John went to Uncle Harry and tried to rouse him awake."

"What happened, Michael, did John say?"

"Nothing happened. He was still drunk, and he thought he was still at the pub and asked for another shot. He wanted to buy another round for everyone. John asked him about Wendy and he told him ladies weren't allowed in the pub! John went straight home and told Wendy what he saw and she denied it. But he could see it in her face. He told her she was a rotten scab for doing it. He called her a filthy tramp and then threatened to tell our parents. She told John the truth eventually. From what John told me, he caught Wendy servicing one of his friends from school right before all this happened, and John blasted her bad reputation, telling her to lay down with only one man that's had plenty of women, not the multitude of silly immature boys she was messing with. That way she could have one off and not have to worry about the scandal of her being loose. I guess Wendy wanted to make Uncle Harry that one man, if you know what I mean. When John told me what she had done, I made it my life's work to save our dear sister's reputation. If I heard talk about Wendy, I would correct the person with a punch in the nose! I told Wendy myself she ought to be ashamed for making it with her own uncle. Disgusting to lay with your own flesh and blood in such a way, especially when he was drunk and not in good senses. Maybe that's why she left. Maybe that is why she always seemed to act shy and reserved around mother and father. If they only knew the amount of bone she's had in her..."

"John knows of this as well, then?" Grandpa Joe interrupted, still standing, hands on his hips.

"Obviously he does Grandpa, he was the one who told me! But don't worry, the three us are sworn to secrecy. John, knowing Uncle Peter and how he was, was very leery about Margaret venturing to Paris with Uncle Harry. John already had a crush on her then. Uncle Harry had only just sobered up, and John knew what happened with Wendy. You know that story, about how Harry and Margaret got married and were held over a few days in France after picking up Martine and all."

"Yes, Michael, I remember. Even Millicent expected him to want a go at Margaret, him being her husband and that being his right, and she told Margaret to prepare herself. But he put Millicent and Margaret in one room at the hotel with Martine and slept in another. He didn't even hint to an interest in her that way when I asked him about it as they were leaving. Millicent thought it was because of Peter, and she asked him. He told her no, and if he wanted a woman to lie down for him, with all due respect to the lady she was, he would pay them to. Margaret said Harry was very nice, polite with the kindest heart. He made her laugh at the orphanage because, she said, all the little children went to him when he arrived. He looked in on and cared after the sick infants, helping the nurses with their duties, leaving Millicent and Margaret to their days in and around Paris shopping for Martine."

Michael nodded when he heard that part.

"If he knew what he had done with Wendy, Grandpa Joe, he would kill himself. Grandpa, I truly think Uncle Harry just doesn't even know, he was just too drunk to remember ... and I don't think we should remind him."

Speaking of the devil, at least of sorts, Uncle Harry walked in the back door as Michael was finishing his story. He looked at Michael and Grandpa Joe curiously. "Good morning, gentleman," his voice calm but concerned, "how are you both this morning."

"Harold, a word," Grandpa Joe commanded, leading Harry into the parlor out of earshot from Michael. Wasting no time he interrogated, "Now. I consider you my brother Harry, and I want an honest answer. Have you and my daughter, Mary Elizabeth ever...well?"

Harry was rather puzzled, "I don't know what you are asking Joseph. What about Mary?"

Grandpa Joe knew Harry enough to know him not a liar, and knew he never played dumb; believing to always being blatantly honest was the best policy.

"And what of Wendy then? Hum?" Grandpa Joe raised his brow and titled his head back.

"What about Wendy, Joseph? Are you asking me a question or trying to tell me something?"

"You don't know what I am talking about do you, Sir?" Grandpa Joe slapped Harry in the chest causing his best friend to step back and appraise the situation he found himself in.

"No, Joseph, I have no idea what you are doing. Is Mary all right? And Wendy? George spoke of someone hiding in the church, her beau of sorts. Is there problem, is he married? Do we have to go speak with that man? I will if I have to, she should not be messing with a married man, it's a sin. Is he someone from the tavern? When did you find out? I would have expected you to send for me the moment you became aware of the situation. We should tackle this together, good man. And of course, George and Mary should not know, best to save them the heartache. Unless Mary already knows, does she know?"

"No, Harry, Mary doesn't know." Grandpa Joe stepped up face to face with Harry, "Tell me about you and Wendy, Harold."

"Wendy and I?" Harry stared at Grandpa Joe searching through his mind. When it came to him, he casually patted Joseph Baker's shoulder, "I know what you are talking about."

Harry raised his head and bobbed it up and down, completely oblivious and off the mark of his friend's intended conversation. "Alistair Smith. He is the gentleman who wants to purchase a share of the tobacco shop from me. He was in America on business for some time and now he just magically reappears as Wendy returns. He is old enough to be her father, he's my age you know and when I see him, you best believe I am going to give him a piece of my mind and my fists as well! How dare he! HE KNOWS SHE IS MY NIECE! To think he just walks in as if he owns the place and buys everyone a round a drinks and all the while he is defiling my innocent niece behind my back. Well, Joseph, I have the mind to beat him until he is dead the next time I see him ... always complimenting me on her beauty, asking after her and such, the reprobate!"

Unexpectedly Harry grabbed Grandpa Joe's sleeve, "You didn't think I knew anything about that, did you, Joseph? I would never allow such a thing! You know me better than that, good man. I would never tolerate my brother's daughter to go whoring with a man like Mr. Smith, oh no ... He may not be married, but it is still very wrong of him to even think about Wendy in such a way and make her hide in order to see him! Really, what's the point? If he wants to court her he should come to this house and meet her parents, it's only right! Wait until I see him this afternoon! You know, this won't wait, I am going this very minute to his home..."

Grandpa Joe hushed poor Harry. "Guilty until proven innocent, which you are, good man..." Grandpa Joe said as he hugged his best friend.

Grandpa Joe led an utter perplexed Harry back into the kitchen. Harry was very bewildered, especially by that comment only made worse when Grandpa Joe pulled him out a chair and took the one next to him, winking to Michael, "No Harold, it's not Alistair Smith, he is a fine gentleman and will be an excellent partner if you should chose to sell him a share of the business. It lightens my heart to hear you speak in the defense of Wendy in such a way, as I know now how undeserving of it she is."

Mary came down fully dressed, complete with apron, to make her family breakfast. George followed behind her and went out the front door to collect the morning paper. Grandpa Joe, Uncle Harry and Michael waited for Mary to take a breath in between pulling food from the cupboards and removing frying pans from the shelves to inform her of Wendy's morning departure.

"Where's Wendy?" Mary she finally asked, and Grandpa Joe answered, "She had an early train to catch, she told me to tell you she will write as soon as she's able and she sorry to have left without saying good-bye, and she also extends her love."

Mary shook her head and called to George who was already at the table reading his paper. "I heard, Mary, you said it yourself, when she's ready she will tell us."

Wendy left from the front stoop and descended the stairs to the street. Instead of her feet hitting the paved sidewalk, she touched down on wet sand. The fog that engulfed the street still surrounded her and she walked forward with her eyes closed and her hands stretched out in front of her. She continued at an uneasy pace until she was knee deep in water and her hands came in contact with a solid figure in front of her that seemed to give and she was able to walk through. "Captain Hook?" she asked fearfully, and broke the silence that surrounded her. Just like the noise of the real world began again with her departure from the Darling house, her arrival to wherever it was sparked the sound of exotic birds cooing and the waves crashing onto the shore. A voice answered her with a great deal of concern, for something unexpected in her was altered, "Gwendolyn? Where are you?"