My Darling Love

Chapter 55 – Hand to Mouth

"If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will escape one hundred days of sorrow."

-Chinese Proverb

Mary Darling wished Captain Hook a 'Merry Christmas,' and he wished her the same. She gazed one final time at the beautiful necklace still dangling from his hook. "Must I go now, can I not stay, just for tonight? This may very well be the last time we are together in this way…"

Captain Hook lowered his head and his hook. It was a most enticing offer, but one he knew he had to decline for a change in her was already present that could not be undone. "Madam, whom did you name your youngest son for?"

Mary looked off to her left and scrunched her lip, thinking very hard on his question. "Edmund? No, Edmund is son of John and Margaret. Well, I named John after Saint John Nepomucene, he is the patron saint of…" Mary could not think, as her mind was suddenly blank.

"Of silence, Madam. He is known as the martyr of the confessional. Tortured by a king and thrown into a river where he drowned for not revealing the Queen's admissions." Captain Hook offered to help her along, "But that is not whom…"

"How do you know of Saint John?" Mary asked interrupting him, curious of his knowledge in the religious matters pirates never seemed to be bothered with.

"I don't know him personally, Madam, but I know of him. Let's just say I know a lot about those held in a higher regard by the Lord." He flashed an over exaggerated smile, lips stretched from ear to ear with no teeth, complete with wide eyes. "Anyway, I speak of Michael."

"Michael. Oh yes, my baby, my poor sweet little baby." Mary's eyes instantly filled with tears and she fell to her floor in a silent sorrow. "I forgot my baby, how could I forget my beautiful baby boy? He died, and I forgot him. How could I do that? I'm still his mother, even if he lies beneath the ground."

"Because, after midnight, Madam, the queen turns into a pumpkin, and it is already well past three. I assure you, once home, you will remember him quite well." He helped her to her feet and wiped her tears. "You named him for Saint Michael, the Archangel, for he is said to be in the likeness of God. A very admirable name you gave him. You know, Madam, he defeated Satan and banished him and his followers to hell." As he spoke he walked with her arm and arm to the cabin door.

"He is patron saint of mariners. Isn't that humorous -- you being a captain of this fine ship," Mary joked as he opened the door back into her world. "I didn't name him, George did," Mary added as she brushed her lips to his cheek gently.

"I know, Madam, it was his favorite." Mary strolled along back into her world through the fog that descended into his cabin.

"Saint Michael is the Prince of Seraphim, above all other angels in heaven who are under his command, the divine punisher of his kind who fail in their tasks. Now him, I know personally," Captain Hook said, as he gazed around his empty cabin. He made his way to the shelf that held Wendy's jewelry box, running his fingertips over the name engraved upon it, Gwendolyn Angelina Darling. He put it back, and raised his hand high to the shelf above, taking down another case, as exquisite but more worn and older than the previous. The name engraved on the silver plaque affixed to the top was tarnished, but the engraving could be felt under his fingers just the same, Queen Mary. He opened it with care, and placed her diamond necklace inside. "Good night, your royal highness, good night."

Wendy walked all the way home, into the house, up the stairs and to the nursery. She dressed in her nightgown and went to bed. She spoke to no one, as the house was asleep, and never checked for Peter. In truth, she could not have cared any less where he was. Had she not kept her gaze straight ahead, deeply entranced in her own mind and thoughts, she would have seen him in the parlor, still drinking the wine from dinner and playing with Joseph's toy bank. George was still in his wardrobe with his back to the wall waiting. He had his eyes set on his pocket watch which ticked away the time, Mary now was over three hours late.

He heard someone come in the front door, but didn't bother to check, for Mary would not be returning to him from outside the house. She lay inside another world far away; he knew her only safe and sure passage back was from a closet, just not the one he awaited her in. She came back into the hall closet, in fact, and as she went to turn the knob to re-enter her home, she found the door locked from the outside. Mary gently tapped for someone to let her out, and softly called, "George. George?" To no avail, he could not hear her; he was in his own closet.

Peter Pan heard her muffled calls, and the bewildered boy rose from his chair, intoxicated, and stumbled down the hall to the door. He felt her predicament was rather funny, so instead of letting her out, he laughed at her and made jokes, while slumped against the wall. So unkind was his drunken taunting of her, she began to cry.

Captain Hook was still standing by the shelf in his cabin with her jewelry box clutched to his chest, memorizing the only true Christmas he had ever celebrated with another living soul when he heard her weeping outside his cabin. The mist that still seeped in from under the door informed him the entrance way to her world was still wide open, leaving him in a predicament himself. With her there, it was impossible to get to any other openings in the barrier that kept Neverland back from their house or any other.

Captain Hook rested back in his bed, and put his hand and hook behind his head. He closed his eyes and thought hard on Mary. He saw her in his mind's eye the way they were intertwined together in passion that night. She, the royal queen, held herself above him and gazed down into his eyes, running her hand soothingly over his face. She held him close to her bosom and made her slow and lingering pace up and down on top of him. In that position, he could hear her heart beat. He listened for his name, and heard another. "George, George, George…" The beat of her heart kept time, repeating the name of whom it belonged.

George bolted up from his wardrobe and now stood, centered in his bedroom with his hands extended as if giving a direction of silence over a mass of imaginary people. He listened intently on the stillness of the house, and heard Peter directly below him, giggling drunkenly. George turned back to the wardrobe and gazed in. Just for good measure, he went back inside and knocked one last time on the wall. Captain Hook jerked up in bed infuriated, "SHE'S TRAPPED IN THE HALL CLOSET BY THE DEVIL, YOU FOOL!" George didn't hear him, but he did stalk to his bedroom door as the irate Captain Hook was sitting up in bed.

Downstairs in the hall, Peter Pan was hiccupping with laughter, "Is that a tiny mouse in the closet, I hear? Little mouse, are you caught in a trap? Beg me, little mouse! Beg me to save you! Say, 'help me! Help me please! I need a grownup to save me!' Now you must say it, or I will not save you!"

Peter Pan looked up to a very angry, real life, adult, grownup, husband, father and -- most importantly -- man, staring down at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get up and away from that door, NOW!" George pulled Peter up by the shirt and yanked the wine bottle from his hand. Like a father reprimanding a very naughty child, George said sternly, "Now go to bed!"

Peter watched George for a moment, standing in the hall before him with his hands on his hips, his teeth clenched in aggravation; he resembled someone from Peter's past. "Hook? How?" Peter mumbled, leaning in for a better look at his would-be father-in-law.

"Hook? Hook what? You don't know how to unlock a door? You unfasten the latch!" George screamed. Peter still stared, still very aware of a distinct resemblance that, even drunk as a skunk, could easily be seen. And then something unexpected happened, Peter saw George's right hand, obviously intact, still attached to his right arm.

"This is how you unhook the latch on the door." George reached to the top of the door, and with his able right hand slid the latch over, keeping his crystal blue eyes on Peter. With the door unlocked, but not opened, George repeated his order, "GO TO BED!" The tone was hostile, and his eyes and expression almost evil. It frightened Peter up the stairs and to the floor of the nursery.

George waited at the bottom of the stairs, mumbling about Wendy's ridiculous choice of a husband, waiting for his future son-in-law to be safely tucked away before returning to retrieve Mary. He raced back to the hall closet and swung the door wide open, and found it empty. He slowly shut it again and bent at the waist, leaning on the door. "Mary…" he whispered, "please come home…"

Mary was in the kitchen; George's whisper was too low to carry to where she stood by the stove putting up a fresh pot of tea. "George, what are you doing, are you alright?" She took notice of his strange posture, as if in dire agony, and laughed suddenly when he fell over at the sight of her.

"Why Mary, you look gorgeous, I mean stunning, you are just … Dearest … I am in awe of your splendor," George stuttered with mouth agape. Mary helped him to his feet and he got a good look at her Christmas dress with matching shoes.

George took Mary's arm in his and led her into the kitchen, "Tea, George?" she asked rather curiously. Although they had made their peace, the last few months had been hell for Mary to live through. She was still very hesitant, not to mention down right terrified of his temper, especially after returning home three hours late.

It soon became clear as day, Mary need not worry over George's fury, for he had none. He kissed her hand and replied simply overjoyed to have her home, no matter how late it was, "Yes, Mary, my love, thank you."

They sat at the table for a long time without speaking; only smiling awkwardly when one caught the other's watchful eye. George wanted to ask about her evening, he knew where she was, and knew she knew he knew also. Mary wanted to tell him of her adventure, but was afraid to speak, for maybe he didn't want to know, so she too held her tongue. Mary subconsciously fell back into her petrified state and looked as if she were a mannequin sitting in the window of the emporium. George, seeing this, felt it his duty to save the day.

Finally he asked, "Would you like to open your presents dearest?" He lovingly rubber her arm and offered another kiss to her hand. Their eyes met and Mary smiled, nodding her head, "Yes, I didn't know that I had any."

"Don't be silly Mary, what kind of Christmas would it be if my wife did not receive any presents. After all, you have been good this year…" He could not finish the ill-timed joke he attempted to make. Poor George wanted to literally insert his foot in his own mouth. But his devoted wife, the mother of his children, also felt it her duty to return the favor of only a moment ago. Mary saved the day with, "I had better not find any coal wrapped up in those pretty packages George."

"No need for you to be concerned Mary, Father Christmas had none left after filling my stocking." On that note, they kissed before walking arm and arm into the living room. Mary sat on the sofa as George presented her gifts. She received her traditional perfume, a very fancy and posh nightgown and robe, slippers, a new blouse, and a vase to replace the one the children broke in the hall. George took his seat next to her and held her hands, looking nervously to her curious face. "What did he get you for Christmas?"

Mary fell serious, "I'm wearing it."

George scanned her from head to toe for a jeweled decoration, finding none. "The dress and shoes, George. That's it."

He sighed, relieved, for Mary's tone was unimpressed with Captain Hook's generosity.

"Do you want to open your present from me?" Mary asked, rising from her seat beside him and kneeling back behind the tree where his gift from her was hidden.

"And a hair clip." George spoke as she returned to his side, handing him a small box.

"What, George?"

He smiled and fixed his glasses straight, hiding a tear that welled up. "He presented you with a hair clip, and exquisite one at that."

Mary felt around to her still-disheveled locks that fell below her shoulders, and mixed in with the loose-knotted strands indeed it was there. She pulled it from her hair and they both gazed upon its opulence. "Must have cost him a fortune. Probably had it made specially for you," George nodded, embarrassed that he had not chosen to shower his wife with expensive gifts as Uncle Harry had suggested. Mary flipped it around to check the markings on it, she held a faint hope it was a cheap trinket and not the real thing. It too was engraved, and it was made special for someone, Gwendolyn.

"George, this is not mine, I only asked to borrow it from him. I just forgot to return it. Here look at the name, it does not say Mary. Actually, he calls me Mrs. George Darling," she finished her sentiment with a most tenderly affectionate kiss on his lips.

"That's very respectful of him. Look at it dearest; he must have another love named Gwendolyn that he romances somewhere else in the world. You are not the only one then, I imagine." His smile was forced, as was the blinking of his eyes to contain the tears that continually welled up from behind his eyelids.

Mary gazed at George, so handsome for a man well over fifty. His hairline had receded a bit, and still not one gray hair. No lines or wrinkles on his face, his complexion as perfect and warm as the day they met. It appeared the only relevant change in him were his eyes, his spectacles now had a thicker lens to compensate for the only part of his body that failed him in his adult years, his eyesight.

"George, it should not matter if he had fifty other loves, for I am not one of them. Love is not a one-sided emotion; it must be felt by two people equally for it to be real. He would never put my name on anything, for it would be a waste of time and money, for your name, George, is already written on my heart, and might as well be tattooed across my forehead."

Her comment made him chuckle, and he pecked her cheek. She smiled amorously to him, and he jumped over to her on the couch and squeezed her as hard as he could. "My lovely Mary, my Mary always, my love," he repeated to her as he memorized the look in her eyes while kneeling before her holding her face in his hands.

"Yes, George, I am your lovely Mary, your love. And you are mine."

"Long day ahead of us, I hope you are ready," George said standing up and offering her a hand up, to stroll to bed and sleep for only a few short hours. Mary nodded, subdued by the thought of what the next few days were to bring. So many plots and subplots mixing together, so many secrets and lies that needed to amass themselves peacefully and without interruption in a quest for victory and a final resolution. "When it is all finished, Mary, I will tattoo your name across my forehead!" George offered valiantly, as they slipped under the blankets.

Mary closed her eyes and welcomed the exhaustion that had set in as soon as her head hit the pillow. George was still troubled, even in her new nightgown, she smelled of rum, tobacco, and even worse, Captain Hook. "Are you sure your name is not engraved anywhere in his world?" he whispered to her dozing body.

"Yes, George, I am sure." She yawned, peering through her parted eyelids to see him still in his glasses sitting up. To comfort him further she offered, "From spending this night with him, I can honestly tell you he has only one love and she is whoever Gwendolyn is. That name must be engraved on his heart, for it engraved everywhere else in his cabin. And speaking of tattoos, he even has her name on his …"

Her sleeping state let her tongue slip out a little more information than George needed to know, but her conscious mind set its filter forward and snapped her teeth down upon it.

Too late, George heard her, "Tattooed where, Mary?" He rolled on his side and nudged her from a fake sleep.

"What, George?" she feigned ignorance, but he was insistent, "You said he had her name on his body, where?"

Captain Hook was lying in bed; he had removed his hook and was stretched out beneath his own comfy warm blankets. He had already repeated the plan of attack for the next day to his men and wished them sweet dreams, and he had already said his prayers. There was just one more thing to do before nodding off to a blessed slumber. He pulled his left hand down and clenched his fist. He raised it close to his eyes and opened his palm; there across his lifeline was her name, Gwendolyn, in script letters. "To remember you by, my dearest Wendy," he said, closing his eyes and recalling her to mind at a time when she was still in love with him.

Mary was still on her back with her eyes closed as well. "Mary, where is the tattoo?" George poked at her shoulder. The jig was up the charade of her sleeping over.

Captain Hook had the name "Wendy" tattooed across the hairline of his pubic bone as well as on the small of his back above his buttocks. He also had that name marked on his upper left shoulder blade, only visible when the contraption that held the hook on was removed. He needed to be naked to see them, and that was the part Mary was having the difficult time finding the words to explain. "He did not ask you, Madam, where Wendy's name is, he asks of Gwendolyn's name." Captain Hook opened his palm again, already in his pleasant dream.

"It's on his palm, so every time he wants to think of her, he looks at his hand," Mary said, without taking a breath.

"That must have been painful for him," George responded, finally removing his spectacles, taking a more comfortable position beside her. He moved closer to her, wanting her to sleep in his arms. But the smell he found so offensive overpowered his desire to be near her. "You reek of him, you know," George said, turning over on his side away from her.

Captain Hook's stench bothered George relentlessly. He didn't need Mary to admit she had been intimate with him, he could see it in her face. He had smelt liquor and cigars on her before and accepted it, but he could not find the forgiveness necessary in his heart tonight. It was one thing for George to suspect they were lovers, an entirely different thing for Mary, his darling love, to bring to their marital bed proof that his suspicions were indeed the fact of the matter. Hook had asked for Mary's company on Christmas, and George gave his permission for her companionship. Her body at Captain Hook's supper table George could accept, not her body in the pirate captain's bed. And so, to make matters worse George muttered, "and on Christmas Mary…"

"I'll take a bath." Mary rose from the bed placing her bathrobe over her shoulders after undressing. "I was just wondering, does he ever say that about me?" George queried quite rudely with his arms crossed as Mary quietly made her way from the room.

Mary stopped, keeping her hand tightly grasped around the doorknob until it turned white, waiting for the filter in her brain to stop her tongue. Apparently, it was turned off for the night; she tasted blood as she bit down hard upon it.

A picture show played out on the bedroom door where Mary now blankly looked, a show of all the times she caught of whiff of French perfume a whore from Paris wore when George was engaged in his tryst. He had reeked of her; every part of his body stank, and not just of perfume, but also from her womanhood that had dried on his body as well. She was all over his shirt, his coat, his hat, and his handkerchief, everywhere. Mary had kissed him once when he returned home late from work and tasted her in his mouth. That memory alone made Mary place her other hand over her mouth to hold in the vomit that threatened in her throat.

Mary had sex with Captain Hook, and did everything within her power to keep what they did, hidden away, a secret, never to be discovered. She made the pirate captain swear not one single syllable of the passion that they engaged themselves in would ever be spoken to George. She did what she did because in a way she felt she had to. Mary felt she needed to ease him of the woes he had in his life, that of being a day-to-day endless struggle in hell. She could not ride in and retrieve him, a queen on a chariot, but she could let him walk in heaven with her, by unlocking that special door she had within her body.

Captain Hook and Mary plotted their own vengeance with each other that George knew nothing about for wrongs done, all for the betterment of him and her family. Who was he to question what she had done, knowing full well she felt it was a duty? And this duty was pledged to a man who, in the eyes of every living being in the world, was not real. George received pleasure of the most intimate nature with another woman, a real woman. He never hid one single act of his adultery from her, offering her, his wife, proof on a silver platter of all his wrongs.

Mary bathed each and every time she returned from the company of Captain Hook, no matter what they did. A majority of the time they only conversed about her life or his, the world around them, and the battles they wished to engage others in. Rarely, and only when Mary could be absolutely certain she was alone in the house with enough time, they did as George suspected and performed the act of intercourse in an all too brief interlude. "To relieve stress, Madam, yours and mine." Afterwards, Mary always bathed. She removed whatever she wore and soaked it in hot water to kill the nonexistent smell of an imaginary pirate captain.

George and Mary made love without cautions, because Mary was no longer able to conceive, and they made love that way since the time after Michael's birth many years before. Always, when they were finished, the precious liquid that George left inside of her that made a baby would slowly slip out. She could feel his wetness that came from her as she lay in bed, and it still trickled enough to dampen her undergarments when she dressed the morning after.

Captain Hook finished himself in Mary as well, but unlike George, whose pace changed as he jerked erratically into her, sending forth the warm liquid whether she had reached completion or not, always marking the end of their intermingling, Captain Hook held his motion the same throughout. As Mary climaxed, so did he. No erratic jerking forward, just an intensified wave of newness and ultimate bliss that splashed over the both of them.

"Did you finish?" Mary had to ask him, for there was not one drop of anything other than her own natural lubrication moistening her womanhood.

"Of course, Madam, couldn't you tell?" Mary questioned Captain Hook further to the point, which was given, "Madam, even in Neverland, I am not real."

It was the realness of George that Mary preferred, knowing he left behind something in her that stayed long after he was gone from her body.

Captain Hook was not real and the French whore was. So real, in fact, it was still a question in the back of her mind whether or not George fathered her a child that never was. That made it very real to Mary. She was still standing with one hand on the door knob and another on her mouth when George spoke up again only adding insult to Mary's injury, "I hope when you are with him, he doesn't…well, I hope you don't allow him to…you know…"

He exhaled and coughed out the last part in rushed words, more to get another unnecessary affirmation of Mary's devotion to him. Mary did not respond, so he repeated the part she had not heard now in a whispered whiny tone, twiddling with his hands "I hope you don't allow him to leave his seed inside of you. That should be something you only allow your husband to do." George stared anxiously down, waiting for her words of encouragement that never came.

Mary had hoped and prayed that while George had banged away on another that he would have to good sense to not leave his seed inside of her, but he didn't. He gave away the part of himself that only belonged to his wife on a fragile and naïve reassurance from a woman of loose virtue. If he hadn't, there would not be that lingering question of paternity. George could swear up and down on a stack of Bibles that the baby was not his, and truly even God knew it wasn't. But to Mary, that did not change the fact that had Peter Darling been only a little wiser and less greedy for greatness in victory, he would have ruled both George and her family forever.

Mary opened the door and slammed it behind herself on the way to the washroom. She ran the hottest water she could stand and got in. The light of dawn had already begun to shine in through the windows and Mary was still in her bath. She scrubbed every part of her body until it was tender to the touch. She stood with a towel and patted herself dry, reaffixing her robe and returning to bed. She scoured her face, rubbing it with a dry washcloth, and now it was red and chafed.

Mary wanted desperately to make one specific comment of rebuke to her husband. She wanted at that very moment as she entered back into their bedchamber to throw something unknown and out of mind to him and all others right in his face. Offer it up on a silver platter for everyone in the world to see. A secret that would be branded not only in the back of his mind, but also in his heart forever. But, just as she was about to put it into words, she thought of the other involved. An innocent who would be punished for his actions he had done with the best intentions. Feeling it foul to crucify a blameless comrade in the battle, not to mention, for all that was to come; George and Mary needed to be a united front, unbreakable in their alliance. Thus, Mary remained silent.

And so Mary climbed into bed with her husband and rolled over to her side without ever muttering a word. George laid himself alongside of her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer into his chest. "I'm sorry to insult you in that way, Mary. I know you would never go to bed with another man. Please forgive me."

Mary needed to forgive herself first, which was easy. Captain Hook was not another man. To be another man, he would first have to be a real. The other he didn't know about, and after that night, she was sure he would go to his grave believing he was the only one. Mary, the loving wife and devoted mother, would make sure of that. Therefore she embraced him back, turning to him for a kiss. "Make love to me, George, please. I want you and only you forever."

George returned her kiss, sliding her gown down off her body with his hands as his mouth was in motion. He shifted onto her body and began his normal seduction. Moaning and groaning of two lovers intermingled soaked into the walls of the nursery where Wendy slept, alone in her bed. She listened to her parents engaged in passion and closed her eyes …

Captain Hook sat at his desk reading over her journal, the makings of her novel, a work in progress. With quill in hand he corrected her grammar and errors in spelling, deep in concentration. The hour grew late, and Wendy lay on his bed resting her head on his soft pillow. She saw his hand move about on the page while his hook held down the paper without ever tearing a single sheet of parchment. He rubbed his eyes and moved the hair that fell in his face as he worked, casting his eyes over to the bed and his sleeping beauty waiting for him. Wendy knew he was tired, drained, done for, at least for the night, she supposed. He rested back in his chair, such a sad face; it was painful for Wendy to gaze upon.

She rose from the bed and strolled to him, taking a seat directly in front of him as he still sat in his chair. He leaned his head into her middle, and she began to gently stroke her hands through his long locks. "Must you leave in the morning, Gwendolyn? I will be lost without you," he mumbled, reveling in her warmth. "It will only be for a few days, James, I have to see my brother married. I will return, I promise."

He gazed up to her, she moving her hands to touch his cheek. He took her hand in his own and kissed it. "James, what is it?" He shook his head, staring off past her.

"Nothing, Gwendolyn." He pecked her cheek, rising from his seat, leaving her leaning on the desk. He dressed himself in his coat and headed for the door to the cabin, out to the deck.

"You are not coming to bed?" Wendy asked, turning about to see him go.

"No Gwendolyn, not tonight." He blew her a kiss from his mouth, put his hand on the doorknob, and left without another word.

Wendy, asleep in the nursery, called out to him… "No James, don't leave me … Hold me … come back to bed … hold me …"