My Darling Love
Chapter 56 – Found Fates
"Cowards die many times before their deaths.
The valiant never taste of death but once."
-William Shakespeare
Wendy awoke in bed late in the morning. She was not alone under the blankets, a little body that warmed the sheets rested beside her. Sometime in the night, Jane crawled in next to her for comfort. Wendy rolled on her side and ran her hand down the beautiful child's face. A resemblance of sorts Wendy saw in her that tugged at her heart so, although she could not figure out why. Jane was so dissimilar to all the other Darling children. Wendy was sure Jane was at least seven, but still she was a very tiny child, reminiscent of a guardian angel Wendy had seen in a painting once. She was very short, skinny and petite with the facial appearance of a miniaturized adult, complete with crystal blue eyes and long thick locks of glorious night, shiny and soft. The first time Wendy cast her eyes on Jane, she checked the child's back expecting to see little wings protruding from her.
She was drawn to the child, of all her siblings, and as long as Wendy still lived, Jane would always be her favorite.
"I'm sorry, Wendy, I caught a chill I think, I'm just so cold. I heard you crying and I thought you would like company, plus his snoring was bothering me," Jane said as she opened her eyes and gave a tremendous yawn. She meant Peter, who was lying on his back with his mouth open making a very unappealing sound, sleeping off his intoxication.
"He'll probably sleep the whole day away. What do you want to do today, Jane, you know it will be just you and I," Wendy whispered.
"What about Edmund and Joseph? Can't they come? It's no fun without them," Jane asked, looking over her shoulder at her brothers, still slumbering.
"Oh, I forgot about them. Yes, they can come."
"Goody, let's go sledding in the park, or maybe skating." Wendy thought that was a fine idea, and took it upon herself to wake the boys and dress the children. With them waiting impatiently by the front door, ready to go off on an adventure with their sister Wendy, she knocked on her parent's door to inform them of their plans, which would most likely leave them out of the house for the entire day.
"And what of your fiancé?" Mary murmured, still groggy with sleep.
"He was drunk last night when he stumbled into bed, he will sleep for the whole day, as he always does when he takes to the bottle."
Mary opened her eyes wide and rubbed her face, checking the clock. With only a few hours of sleep after her active night, she was still exhausted. "Is he a drinker Wendy? You should not marry a man who drinks heavily."
Wendy lowered her head, ashamed she had to defend her intended yet again, "He only drinks on special occasions."
Mary slowly blinked her eyes and shook her head.
"If he should happen to wake up before supper, tell him we are heading to the park after breakfast for some sledding." Wendy asked politely.
George spoke up from his side of the bed, as he had been listening to the conversation, and offered some money to his eldest child, "No father, I have Peter's money with me. He has plenty, his family is very wealthy you know."
"We know, Wendy, your father told me, you've told him just that over a hundred times. What do his parents do for a living?" Mary was lying on her stomach with her head resting on the pillow facing Wendy. She did not move from that position, not having the will or the desire to. It was obvious his wealth did not impress her parents in the slightest.
"I don't know mother, I believe his parents are deceased. He inherited his wealth from a multitude of relatives, or something like that. I'm not that clear on the details," Wendy answered still kneeling down by her mother.
"If you wish to marry him and spend the rest of your life as his wife and mother to his children, you should be crystal clear on all the details, Wendy. Does he have a profession?"
"Profession? Whatever do you mean mother?" Wendy looked quizzically at her. Her parents had never engaged their children in lengthy discussions in their bedroom, for that room was private.
"What does your young man do for a living, I mean how will he support you and your children?"
Mary had her eyes closed, yawning every time she finished her words. "He doesn't have to work mother, he is rich," Wendy told her. "He's never held a job in his life!"
Wendy smiled, knowing she sounded as ridiculous as her explanation. She didn't need her mother's next statement, as she was well aware of it herself, "Wealth in money alone does not a rich man make, having a profession helps a man who wishes to have a wife and children learn responsibility. It is poor form -- even for a gentleman with limitless amounts money -- to never have worked for someone else before. How else can he gain the skill of sacrificing for the betterment of his family?"
"The King is rich and he doesn't work," Wendy added, defending Peter.
"Wendy, the King of England works for his country and all those who reside within it, you silly girl," George now said over Mary, who was just about to make the same observation. "We will have to talk on this later, your mother and I are very tired and want to sleep in this morning."
Wendy took her leave of the their bedroom, closing the door behind herself. "I forgot to ask mother where she was last night," she shook her head, making her way down the stairs.
She took the children straight out into the cold snow, and together they trudged all the way to the park, jumping for joy to be out in the world together, uninterrupted by grown-ups for the entire day.
"Mary, what do you know of this Peter?" George asked his wife, rolling back over on his side.
"Enough to know he is not the right man for Wendy, I don't care how rich he thinks he is," Mary murmured, closing her eyes and surrendering to sleep.
Peter Darling sat in his jail cell, George sent Harry to retrieve him and take him back to John's flat. John was not there, having spent the night at his lady friend's home, so all was quiet when they arrived. "I thought I was going to George's house, he will be expecting me, I'm sure," he snarled at his brother Harry, in his eyes, still the drunk. "You know, Harold, you killing that boy you were operating on killed our mother." Another useless bit of fabrication Peter had become infamous for.
"Oh really, I thought you keeping that poor ill-fated child around for your own perverted sexual indulgences was what sent mother to the grave," Harry retorted, causing Peter to laugh and demand a hot meal, ending their conversation with, "I'll be expecting John to thank me for training his wife right. For I taught her everything she knows. As a matter of fact dearest brother, I think you owe me a 'thank you' as well. You did marry her didn't you? Oh that's right, she divorced you for being a drunk…wasted your entire life to drink, lost your practice and everything else of value and merit...fool."
"I'm not the one living in the poor house, Peter. Oh, that's right, it's not a poor house, it's a back alley…" Harry replied as he shoved past his estranged brother. Peter rested his legs up on the coffee table, sitting back on the sofa. Harry took a seat across from him with open paper in hand scanning the headlines. Peter could not help but laugh at his brother, so he did. Harry raised his eyes over the news, then returned them to his article of interest and shook his head. "You know, Harry, Margaret told me this really funny story," Peter began, not snagging even a second glance from Harry. "She said that Wendy and you were quite a hot item a few years back."
"Who?" Harry asked, still not giving his brother his attention.
"You know, Harold, Wendy, George and Mary's daughter." Peter sneered her parent's names, their marriage a painful reminder to Peter of the family he felt George stole from him. "Now mind you I had my own plans for dearest Wendy, but Margaret said you got there first. So I just figured, ah, if you had at her, why bother? Although…now that I think about it, you did have at my Margaret."
Harry looked up at his brother for a moment with an expression of absolute loathing. "I never 'had at' Margaret, or my niece Wendy," he corrected before returning to his newspaper shaking his head while Peter chuckled, "Too bad, Margaret's quite good for being so young! And you are either fibbing or just being modest, Harold, you did screw Wendy…and I know that is just as true as the day is long!"
Without giving Peter a shred of his attention, Harry offhandedly remarked, "Peter, my dearest brother, you have a foul mouth, a perverted mind and absolutely no heart in that decrepit dying hulk you call a body. You are loathsome, repulsive and utterly indecent when you tell your lies and untruths. That is why no one believes a word that comes out of the hole in your face. It's a wonder you are actually able to walk about breathing, let alone living. I'm still quite skilled as a surgeon; I do dabble now and again. If you would like me to do everyone else in the world a favor I would be more than happy to remove your tongue…free of charge." Harry glanced to Peter with a grin, "Hum? Peter?"
"Hmph, well at least I didn't plow my own niece," Peter retorted hacking and coughing up vile waste.
"But you think about it, Peter, you want to…and given the chance, you would have. I, on the other hand, have never brought my own niece, Wendy, into my personal thoughts or my bed. Because, unlike you, I am not a filthy beast!" Harry replied, still reading his paper.
Their nasty exchange was about to grow nastier as Peter threw out for good measure, "I heard from my Margaret, Wendy said your skills as a lover are over-exaggerated and undeserving. She said you, well, my darling brother…the time it took you to get one off wasn't the only thing…disappointing…Apparently your personal measure left much to be desired."
Harry lowered his paper and leaned toward Peter, "Let me tell you something, Peter, you are disgusting waste of a human being. Our father should have let mother do what she wanted to when you were born."
"Oh really, Harry, and what was that?"
"Drown you in the tub, Peter. She always said you were the devil. She could tell the moment you were born. Father should never have stopped her. Ah, but you just an innocent newborn in the bathtub with your own mother trying to keep your little head under the water. Poor, poor Peter. " Harry watched his brother's face turn ashen. "What, didn't think I knew? Didn't think I ever asked our father why there were you, and then Charlie, me and George, right in a row all those years later? George was mother's favorite Peter, who did you think was father's?"
"I was father's favorite!" Peter shouted, pounding his chest, only making him cough and gag more. "Him saving me proves it."
"No, Peter, he hated you as much as our mother did. He just didn't want to lose his housemaid and whore to prison for killing her own child. I was his favorite, the only one of his sons who at, ten years old, could drink that poor bastard under the table," Harry answered before returning to his paper.
"LIAR! You are the one who should rot in prison, Harold Darling! Killing a child while drunk! It's a wonder they didn't arrest you and send you away forever." Peter stood, only to fall over again out of breath, wheezing, panting for air.
"I didn't kill that child, Peter. That's why I never went to prison." That was the truth plain and simple, for Harold Darling always told the truth, at least, as he knew it. Nothing more would be said between the two until much later.
Captain Hook checked his pocket watch, and Mary held her gaze to the clock on her nightstand. They both held their breath as the bell to John's flat rang. Two constables held their hats to their chests and inquired after Mr. John Darling. "I'm sorry, officer, he is out this morning, is there something I can help you with? I'm his uncle."
The constable nodded grimly, "His wife Margaret, who has been missing for sometime…" (He had to go no further down the path, Captain Hook wiped a tear that rolled down his cheek, and Mary smothered her face in the blanket to stop the tears.) "Someone will have to come to the morgue and identify the body of course."
Well, yes, of course, and since John was not home, Uncle Harry along with his brother for company, who insisted on joining them, were the only ones available for the task. They rode with the officers to the city morgue where Margaret Penny Shipman Darling Davis Darling-Darling was laid out on a cold slab.
"What was the cause of death?" Harry asked, gently easing the sheet back over her face. "It appears as though she fell from a great height." The medical examiner made his best guess.
"Her body was discovered early this morning wrapped in blanket on the church steps. The priest suspected that maybe she had jumped from the bell tower, but then she would have landed in the courtyard, and her body would have been found there. And of course, there is the lingering question of who wrapped her so caringly in a blanket. Her injuries look as though she hit something unforgiving, like the pavement, so you can see how the priest's theory of her demise makes sense. But then again, at the church there was no evidence of this being a suicide except her body, which, again, was wrapped in a blanket. I'm not too certain just yet of any other details, but I must say looking at her file, if this information is in fact correct, and she has been missing for years, the oddity is she is still attired in the clothes she was last seen wearing. Now her injuries and the condition of her body look as if this happened only a few moments ago, which makes no sense at all. When the priest found her, he was shocked, for he had been down the steps not even a minute prior to unlock the gates. He had heard nothing but the birds chirping outside and saw not one person out and about. As he returned to the front steps to reenter the church, there she was. I can't even venture to speculate where she's been in the meantime. If she were kidnapped and murdered, why would her killer dump her body at a church? It is as if whoever is responsible for the crime wanted her to be discovered. I'm sure the police will want to question her husband further, but I don't think that will make one damn bit difference. Seems no one but this poor unfortunate soul will be able to solve the mystery. And with all due respect Sir, she's dead." the medical examiner said angrily as he fixed the sheet stained with Margaret's blood covering her body entirely.
Harry agreed, and, with his brother in tow, slowly walked back to John's flat. Peter was unusually silent, so much so that Harry held his tongue as well. "When we get back I will send word to George, poor George, yesterday it was Mary, now Margaret and who knows of Martine?" Harry finally said.
Peter kept his eyes forward, needing to continually stop to take rest; his health had not improved after spending a night in jail, if anything it was now much worse. As they reached John's doorstep, Peter finally found his voice, "Where is Mary? And Martine? She's missing too? I thought she was with George and his family."
Harry unlocked the door and pushed his brother in. "No, Peter, Martine has been missing all this time too. Mary went missing yesterday, that's why George couldn't retrieve you this morning. That's why we're here instead of over there. He's been trying to ease the children's minds all last night and into this morning."
"Why isn't anyone looking for Mary? And Martine, too, but it's not like Mary to just take off, she should be home. I mean the last time I saw her she was … I bet George thinks I stole her up. But I wouldn't want her, no, not after he spoiled her! Never mind. Anyway, they've got to be somewhere. Martine, she's my only child you know. I left her in her mother's care. Someone should be worried after her. If it was Wendy, George would be paying out the ass for investigators to be finding her, but my daughter…" Peter responded, coughing and hacking his fury on the matter.
"If you call leaving Martine in an orphanage 'her mother's care,' not to mention that she's certainly not your only child, I'm sure, just the only child you know about, George and Mary have worried plenty after her. And as far as Mary is concerned, no one thinks she is with you."
Harry shook his head, and took a seat on the sofa without saying another word. Peter flopped down on the floor and began choking on the vile that rose from his throat, offering more seemingly worthless and stupid explanations that left Harry baffled, "Maybe Mary is with whoever did that to Margaret. Maybe they kept Margaret and killed her, maybe it was pirate and he made her walk the plank, and then they took Mary and made her do the same thing. The constables should be checking the steps of all the churches in London for her body. And Martine, maybe Mary found out where the pirates were keeping Martine and she went to rescue them because she is a mother and that's how she got caught and was made to jump into the ocean."
Harry watched Peter just babbling, taking heavy hard breathes in between, and muttered under his breath as he puffed on his pipe, "Pirates … What rubbish …"
The room fell silent with both brothers now lost in their own thoughts. Harry was looking through his work ledgers from the tavern in which he hid his own savings for Martine, which he kept secret from John, out of respect for him as Margaret's husband. The guilt Peter felt -- repeatedly watching in his imagination Mary's fall from the plank, and the splash into the cold sea that followed -- consumed him. He also had visions of Margaret, when to him, she was her most beautiful, dancing about in his head. Martine, he could not even envision what his child looked like, and still she twirled around her mother laughing in his imagination. And last he saw his baby brother George walking about the world aimlessly alone and unloved, all because of him.
Peter needed some sort of peace, and until George arrived he attempted to get it from Harry. But Harry was not handing out peace this day. Knowing George's ultimate plan for revenge, his response to Peter was to be as vengeful, spiteful and as cruel as possible. In the most sympathetic voice Peter could muster he asked, "So Harry, I heard that your engagement was broken only yesterday by your fiancée. She stopped in when you were in the washroom to gather up the rest of her things. She didn't even want to see you or wait around for you to say good-bye. She told me to tell you she's keeping the ring. I am sorry, it being Christmas and to lose your love on the holiday like that. What was her name? She was rather pretty looking and I mean that in the most polite manner."
Harry's retort was simple, "Her name was Constance, and I didn't love her, I just liked to 'plow her' as you so graciously put it. She didn't love me, she only loved my money, and so it is no major loss for either one of us if she's keeping the ring. But thank you for your condolences on the matter, and I say that in the most polite manner."
Peter shifted about in his seat, readying himself to try again. "Well, Constance said you cheated on her. She said she knew you were a cheater, that's why she wouldn't set the date. You and your loose women, you've always got the ladies climbing all over you, wanting it. Lucky bastard!" It was not meant to be spiteful; Peter said it as a joke to ease the tension between them, hoping to open up a comforting dialogue.
But that comment was just what Harry was waiting for. "I wonder…did she happen to mention anything of my 'short comings?' Why of course not, you see Peter, her – pretty Constance -- I had in my bed. And since you seem to care after my feelings so deeply, please don't bother. I -- not her -- was the one who would not set the date. I only gave her a ring to stop her bitching about it. And I must tell you, dearest brother, I am a very lucky man, for the woman with whom I engaged in the affair with was by far no woman of loose means, although she did climb all over me wanting it."
"All the better for you dearest brother," Peter concurred giving his best smile.
"Yes, it was all the better from me. Only, too bad she was my brother's wife, or we may have really been able to have something real between us instead of just adulterated passions." Harry had stopped whatever it was he was doing to make his statement. He stared at his brother Peter and offered him a rather victorious, yet straight face. "You know her, Peter, she is your brother's wife as well. Mary Baker Darling." He sneered her surname as he leaned forward on his chair. "Oh, you were right about Mary, thinking her an animal in bed. You should see the things that woman can do with her tongue, not to mention the hole she has between her legs. And she's got a way about her when she wants it as well, like a cat in heat, pushing it in your face and crying for it, begging me for more. I swear there was times she made me ride so hard I was actually sore from her -- really Peter -- my back hurt for days. Just how you like them that Mary is. Tight and sweet, even after birthing three children, you'd never know."
Harry rose, and then leaned his head toward his brother, "And you, my dearest darling older brother, will never know… Two brothers down, but no more to go, for she would never lay down for you. And even if you forced her to, Peter, you'd still never see the heaven I have in that woman. Poor Charlie never got his chance, but that's just because he's dead. But don't tell George I was screwing his wife, lovely Mary Elizabeth, almost everyday when he was gone from the house, okay, because he doesn't know … I guess you can say my reputation with the ladies is well earned and very much deserved for poor Mary cried like a newborn baby when I ended it with her. She actually told me, Peter, she didn't know how she was to go on without me."
"Your brother Peter is too proud to ask God to be saved. And he must ask forgiveness for his sins and do a penance for all his wrongs, or he will burn in hell. Remember, vengeance belongs to God and no other, so you can't kill him, Mr. Darling. He can ask you for anything, anything. But as long as you do not hear him ask for forgiveness and penance then you are safe," Captain Hook informed Mr. Darling as their pact for revenge and resolution began.
So close was Peter to George as he wheezed and fought for air in his final moments. Yet he was so far away. Peter Darling lay in the deathbed Harry had sent him to by confessing of his (exceedingly embellished) affair with Mary, the only woman Peter Darling ever truly loved, but could not have. George, now up from his night's rest, dressed, with a full belly from breakfast, stood outside the bedroom door carrying on a conversation with his brother Harry. Peter could hear George's voice talking back and forth in his normal tone, unconcerned by the exaggerated heaving Peter was doing to gain his attention. "George, George, please … just a second, that's all I need, there is so much to tell you, please …"
George did not give him a second; a second thought, a second glance, a second chance. He joked with Harry about John's attentions toward a girl with two of her own children whom he wanted to marry, and then adopt the children as his own, and Harry's flirtation with a woman at the grocer's, ending his years of engagement to a pretty woman named Constance who would never set a date. The name of Margaret was mentioned and Peter listened, as George's voice grew fainter and fainter and further and further from him. "Don't go George, please … George …"
George Darling got his wish, not only was his name the last to cross his eldest brother's lips, God himself looked down and with one heavy hand, actually finger and pushed Peter Darling through the mattress straight down to the underworld. Satan was killing time with extra room on his lap for the new arrival he had been waiting rather anxiously for. With a happy bow from the devil up to the heavens above, Peter burned while being mocked and jeered by demons dispatching his punishment all starting at the same point of agony, "George's Mary made love to your brother Harry all of her own free will, over and over and over and over again..."
A joyous event, Peter's demise, turned somber when an unsuspecting John returned home to his mother. Mary had been crying at the kitchen table. She told him of Margaret's fate, and John cried as well. "It's been so long, I never believed, Mother, never, that she went back to Uncle Peter. Not after everything she told me, it just wouldn't have been possible. You didn't know her like I did, she loved me. She loved Martine and she loved the boys, she just was afraid of them. She was afraid they would grow up and be criminal and immoral just like her father and Uncle Peter was. She told me in order for them to grow up good, I would have to raise them, she didn't want any of her experiences with those men rubbing off on them. She was terrified she would damage them by hugging and kissing them, as if that contact with their own mother alone could make them monsters! She pledged her entire life to save Martine; she told me she would give her own life trying to save Martine from the same hells she had lived through. She never wanted the same things that happened to her, to happen to her daughter. I want to believe that's how she died mother. I want to believe she died giving her life for her daughter. To protect her from all the bad in the world, all the evil out there seen and unseen."
"I found both Margaret and Martine." Captain Hook informed Mary one night in the closet. Without her having to ask, she was told, "Margaret is dead, and Martine is alive, if you want to call it that."
Mary was devastated by the news, with no other information she assumed Peter Darling had them against their will, but she was half right.
"No, they are in Neverland. Peter Pan took Martine away from her home out the bedroom window. Margaret was raising her in a sheltered life; Martine wanted to escape, so Peter Pan promised her that escape. He knew Peter Darling was her father, and he wanted the daughter of Satan's brother. Apparently, Margaret caught them making their way out the bedroom window and latched on to her daughter's leg. The trip to Neverland, the way Peter Pan takes children, is a treacherous one, as not to be followed by grown ups. Margaret lost her grip on her daughter and fell."
Mary was speechless, crying hysterically. "Martine saw her mother fall, and ironically enough, ran away from Peter to find her. She took her to a cave offshore, and hid there. The fall didn't kill Margaret, but it slowly sent her well on her way there. I don't know what Margaret or God for that matter said to Martine so let's just keep that between them, Madam. Anyway, Margaret died a day or so later, and Martine remained with her mother as she promised. The mermaids have been keeping watch over her. As I promised, I will retrieve Margaret's body and send it back to your world."
"But I don't understand, if Peter Pan is a grown up in the real world, who has Wendy hidden somewhere, how is that he had the time to go back to Neverland and steal away Margaret and Martine?" Mary managed through tears.
"Well, Madam, I assume he leaves his post from time to time here and returns to Neverland in the body of a boy. You see, as real as he is, he is still bound to Neverland just like I am. And the truth is, the devil never plays fair. Recruiting Peter Darling's daughter as a helper is your proof on that measure. My guess, he makes an excuse to your daughter and disappears for a few days back to Neverland and everywhere else in the world. And so the good news is that Martine is alive, but the bad news is that she cannot return. She has already begun her transformation."
Mary was holding her head in her hands and perked up at the word, "Transformation?"
Captain Hook nodded his head with his lower lip extended keeping his eyes to Mary, "Oh yes, fairyhood. Where do you think lost children go? If not one end then another or there would be millions of youngsters running about in Neverland. The devil has to put them somewhere or hell would be overrun with children. Between you and me, he has never been very fond of them."
Mary sat up at attention, suddenly her tears ceased, "Millions? The devil? You're really not serious?" she whispered.
"Yes, Madam, I speak of the devil in reality as he is and millions of children. You do not really think Neverland was created the day your children touched down there. Nor do you really believe children are only snatched from London? As far as the devil, Madam, I'm surprised you think a metaphor when I talk of a real person. You've seen him in the flesh yourself. Just like God, he is everywhere. Did your father not tell you George was the devil at one time?"
"Yes," she replied.
"Well, Madam, now you understand his message. Thus the devil snatches children from London and all over…"
It was not the word London or devil that disturbed Mary, is was another, "Snatched?" Mary interrupted with.
Captain Hook continued to nod. "There is a darker side to the story, Madam, would you like to hear it?"
Mary listened to his story with wide eyes, had she had her rosary beads with her in the closet, she would have been clutching them. He finished the true tale of Neverland and his plight with a clarification of sorts. "Maybe 'snatched' is not the correct term to be used. More so, at least as the devil claims, children are only tempted away. You see, by giving those innocent children a choice to stay here on Earth and grow up or go off to Neverland to be young forever is considered fair play. But I say 'snatched' nonetheless, for without the offer of eternal youth and never ending carefree days, which is a complete and utter falsehood all in itself, especially where Neverland is concerned, the thought of that possibility would never cross a child's mind. Most children, believe or not Madam, go eagerly into maturity."
"Now you asked about Margaret, Martine and Wendy, we must understand Pan has to check in with Satan from time to time, and then get back to the real world. So, as you can gather from my dark tale, I am the grand prize. Lucifer wants the grand prize. Lucifer has always wanted the grandest of all victories, and he loves archangels, after all Madam lest we not forget, the devil was once one himself. He genuinely hates any of his former kind that would not join in his rebellion. Really, he cares naught for children. Therefore, my brethren turn those children into fairies to save them from hell, and Pan enslaves them. All that aside, if Pan has convinced him he can deliver me with Gwendolyn as the bait, he can pretty much do whatever he wants with little or no supervision. And that means moving in and out freely from your world and mine."
"But you said he seeks revenge for you loving Gwendolyn and she loving you?" Mary asked grasping his one hand in both her own.
"Yes, he does. So he lies to his master to get what he wants. Madam, he is evil. Every word that leaves his tongue is a lie. He lies to children! Do you listen when I speak, Madam? Remember what I told you? Just because Pan no longer wants something, just because it is not useful to him anymore, doesn't mean I get to keep it. If he even suspects he will fail, he will kill Gwendolyn and send her to hell in my place."
Mary thought that was all she needed to know, but again was half right. "Martine has been in Neverland, watching over a dead body that does not decay. Margaret is preserved, just as Martine is, well, like I said before, her transformation has begun. Martine knows nothing of the time that passed and she has not aged, at least not yet. You absolutely cannot let word of her condition or her whereabouts slip to anyone. The devil has ears everywhere. Part of the reason she is sustained and not completely turned into a fairy is because Pan has to be there when it happens." Captain Hook rose to take his leave back to the Jolly Roger.
"I thought you said the angels enslave them?" Mary asked holding him in place.
"No, madam, I said they turn them into fairies, you know, shrink them, grant them wings, trap them in Neverland, and last but not least, take from them their hearts. That makes them fairies…"
"They take away their hearts?" Mary would not release him to his own world; she yanked him back down kneeling face to face with her.
"Yes, their hearts, Madam. They care not for others, only themselves, thus, they don't need them. Anyway, how else could they live forever?"
Captain Hook touched Mary's cheek with his hand and brushed her hair off her shoulder away from her face with his hook. Captain Hook smiled; trying to give Mary some relief from the frightening nightmare she could not shake herself awake from. "Enslavement comes after the children alter. Pan catches each one by their new wings, he dips them in hellfire to give them a cute little lighted aura and fairy dust and then…" Captain Hook leaned toward Mary's ear and whispered, "He cuts out their tongues so they are unable to speak the truth…"
John sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands for quite some time without speaking or moving. Mary sat with him, holding her teacup, now cold. George entered with Harry, discussing Peter and where he should be buried. George made his way into the kitchen, and without acknowledging John or his loss, informed all present, "Peter died, pneumonia mixed with syphilis, mixed with whatever sins he's committed in his life. We've turned his body over to the undertaker who will cremate it. Then he'll dump the ashes in Potter's field. There is to be no church service, only a notice of his death printed in the newspaper."
Mary looked up to her husband; George was silently celebrating his victory and held his head high, chest pushed out in a presumptuous manner, as if to say he was the undisputed master of the family. "George, you can't cremate the body, it has to be buried intact with a blessing or…"
George rolled his eyes, shook his head and blew out air from his mouth, annoyed at her correction of his well thought out decision, "I don't want to hear your silly religious rubbish, Mary, I really don't care if his coffin is not sealed until the second coming of the Lord, he isn't going to heaven anyway." George turned on his heel and headed back into the parlor. To put the period on the end of his sentence he added as he trolled, "There is no coffin, no headstone or burial place for Peter. It's just a hole in the ground, Mary, for what's left of him to rot in."
Harry turned to John. "I'm sorry, son, for your loss, Margaret was the sweetest girl. She will be missed." He gave John a handshake and his sincerest condolences. "If you need any help making the arrangements, after all, John, Martine..." Harry added, with a pat to John's back.
"No, I'll be fine. I am sorry for your loss as well, Harry, Martine and all. Thank you," John responded, standing up and staring off down the hall to where George was reaffixing his coat to leave. "Going someplace, father?"
George nodded, "For a walk," he turned without another word and made his way from the house.
George didn't need a walk, but he felt leaving his son to his mourning was a fair solution to the situation. George hated Margaret; he had wished she had died in childbirth long ago. He certainly could not tell his wife or oldest son that, so he went for a walk. He should have thought better, and at least tried to make it seem as though he was sympathetic to John, that way he would have been there for the unexpected interruption into the perfect plan plotted to save the Darling family. Instead, he was gone and Mary had to face John alone, for neither Harry nor Captain Hook would be any help.
"I'm moving, Mother, as soon as the New Year is upon us. I will take Caroline and her children to Boston. I've already applied to a bank there, and they are eager to have me. I've been trying to think of a way to tell you, but your disposition has not been what it once was of late. I was planning to take you and the children along, but you yourself said only father could send you from this house. With that in mind, I guess I will only be taking the children then," John began.
Harry knew of his intentions, so he said nothing only returning to the parlor to give John and his mother privacy. "I mean my children, Joseph and Edmund. I would take Jane too, but she is yours and I'm sure you will not part with her, even if it is best not to separate her from her brothers."
"John, you can't take Joseph and Edmund away, they think you are their uncle, they have no idea George and I are not their parents. Please, think of them," Mary urged, holding John by the arm as he shook his head. Just like his father, he was the boss of his own family and no one, not even his mother, could sway his own well-made decision.
"I am thinking of them, Mother, you and Father have done a fine job this far, but what will you do when they get older? You are getting older yourself, and so is Father. There is a great big wonderful world out there, and I want them to see it. I grew up my whole life here; I want them to have more than that. Caroline has two boys, and we are going to enroll them in school there; I will do the same for Joseph and Edmund. Perhaps together, we can finally be a happy family. You always said you wanted us to be happy. Mother, Joseph and Edmund are mine. Not yours. Not father's. They are coming with me."
Mary was speechless; she didn't know what to say or how to respond. John was right; Joseph and Edmund were his children, and not theirs, no matter how much she wanted to believe they were. Her two sons by George were grown and gone. John, a successful banker, was headed to Boston, and Michael, decorated in his military services, was asleep in the ground.
"Whatever will you tell Jane of her brothers?" John had a question and an answer; "You wouldn't have to tell her anything if you let her come with me."
Mary shook him off without reason, until he demanded one. "Because she does not belong to anyone, John, not you nor your father nor I nor Wendy. But as long as she is alive, she will remain here in this house."
That response infuriated her already saddened son, "What, am I not good enough to raise your daughter?" And words only said in anger and resentment seem to seep out at the most inappropriate of times, "The way Wendy turned out, a tramp spinster marrying a man for his money, I would be expecting you to beg me to take Jane away."
John often forgot where he sat, in his parent's house. He also often forgot to whom he was speaking, especially where his mother was concerned. Mary often had to remind him of both, and she did now with a slap across the cheek.
"Its seems I failed all my children in one way or another. If your grandmother Josephine were alive, she would tell you that it was my original sin with your father that made you what you are, ungrateful. But I think it was more so that we just loved you too much. We felt it best to let you go off and make your own choices, whatever they were. And when they blow up in your face, whom do you blame? Not yourselves, for that would mean you would need to take responsibility for your actions. No, you blame your parents. I think it rather amusing at times, your father and I were such horrible parents, yet in the times when you need us the most, neither you nor your sister ever had any trouble asking mommy and daddy to fix it."
Mary rose from the table and glared down at John, who was just as defiant staring up. "I am so sorry, John, for Margaret. I truly cared for her. But you cannot take Jane; she is our responsibility and not yours, nor any other human being's. I can't stop you from taking Joseph and Edmund, maybe you're right, maybe they need their father to raise them, and I commend you on your choice, that in fact you are that man. And so you have made a choice, and with that choice lay a duty, and that duty is, you will have to tell your children. We never lied to Jane about Joseph and Edmund. She knows they are not her brothers, she only calls them that because she pretends they are."
That was not what John wanted to hear; indeed, he was hoping mommy would fix it and make it better as she always did. For a moment John began to second-guess his choices, and Mary, his mother, gave him strength, "John you will be a wonderful father and guide to those boys. They love you, they look up to you, and all they have ever wanted was your attention. It is a good thing that you have finally decided to give them all they will need from you. The hardest part will be taking them away from Jane. But Caroline seems a fine woman and doting mother. If she is willing to raise your sons as her own, as you will do the same with her children, I am sure you will grow together and become a very happy family. God will hear our prayers, and he will ease our hearts and make it better." Mary now retook her seat, clasping John's hands in hers. "Now, what of Martine?"
"Margaret had it put in our will that if she died, she wanted me to send her to a convent and let nuns raise her, how ridiculous!"
Mary bit her lip, and raised her eyes to heaven in thought, "Margaret was her mother John, if that is her wish for Martine, you should honor it. We will cross that bridge when we come to it."
John was comforted by his mother's words only a moment before, but now he was simply aghast at her suggestion, "Have you gone mad mother? You think I would actually turn Martine over the church just Margaret was afraid of her own shadow? Really mother! I really think you should reconsider keeping Jane, lest she turn out the same way Wendy did! I will be back later today to gather up Joseph and Edmund's things. As far as Martine, you are not her mother and I and I alone will cross that bridge when I come to it. Good day." John pulled his hands from Mary and stalked from the house without even a "good-bye!" to his Uncle Harry.
Harry followed quickly to the door on John's coattails after hearing the ruckus of loud voices in the kitchen. He shouted to his nephew, "I will cross that bridge when I come to it because Martine is MY DAUGHTER, NOT YOURS!" He slammed the door on John, and turned to see his sister-in-law, Mary.
Mary also stood up, and walked after John, catching his departing figure stamping up the sidewalk down the street. "I know she is not really my daughter, Mary, but it is my name on her birth certificate. When she comes home, and she will come home, I will see that Margaret's final wishes are honored."
Mary hugged Harry as he cried for his own loss. "Who are these children?" she said through her own tears. "I hardly know them anymore. It's so odd, they came from my body, I carried them with me for months, and now it is as if they could not be further away from me. Why is that?" Mary asked her questions out loud expecting hear Harry to respond, soothing her misery.
Instead, she heard Captain Hook standing in the doorway, "Take heart, Madam, John is simply confused in his feelings. He had thought he could make a fresh clean start away from a wife he had grown to hate, for her fear of men. And then to find her dead from a fall from the sky, well, now he is filled with guilt. And a little jealousy."
Harry was responding to Mary, consoling her with a silly explanation about being a man and needing to cut apron strings, but Mary did not hear one word only repeating what Captain Hook had said, "John jealous?"
Harry looked up as he was speaking, wringing his hands, a habit all Darling men had, "Well, John, could be jealous Mary. That is, he is jealous that you and George lived a simple happy life from the very beginning, and here he is only a couple of years away from thirty, waiting for that happiness to begin. He often forgets you and George had hard times too. When he was a small boy, it is only the good times he remembers. As a man with his own troubles, he turned blind eyes to his parents' struggles, thinking it easier to just pretend you and George live a true fairy tale life. And you and George rarely ever let the child see your own private battles within your marriage. It took John months to realize what truly happened the night you and my brother 'quarreled' as George called it. And before that Mary, the only time the children saw your outward arguing was…"
"Listen to your brother-in-law, Madam, he speaks the truth," a very impressed Captain Hook stood with his arms folded across his chest. "And the apron strings, that is also correct, very good, sir, keep going."
Captain Hook fell silent and urged Mary to do the same as Uncle Harry rambled on, "I know George has this open door policy with the children, and that could be the problem, too. You and George had to struggle and earn everything you had, that made you appreciate it all the more. The children are a little spoiled, Mary, and that's not entirely your fault. George insisted on having all this money put away for rainy days that never came, and with his over abundance of wealth, well, your children are going to want to spend it for you. Take Wendy for example …"
"Oh yes, Madam, take Wendy as an example …" and Captain Hook began his own dissection of the wrongs Wendy created for herself, Harry's voice receded. "Wendy is torn between two lives, the life she wants for herself, and the life she feels others want for her. The problem with this is she does not know which is which anymore, and is confusing them both as one and the same."
Captain Hook said nothing more and only yawned as Uncle Harry yammered on, "She probably had a young man she loved, but felt you and George would never approve, and that's why she stayed away for so long. Then she picked another more to your own liking, and convinced herself she loves him just the same as the other. Now she knows in her heart that he is not her true love, but if he keeps telling her that he is the man her parents want her to marry, well, she takes the wrong man and makes him the right man, knowing she's wrong."
Captain Hook broke into applause with that revelation, courtesy of Harold Darling. "Now I see why you love this man the way that you do, Madam, I really like him as well. When all is said and done, Madam, may I make him a pirate?"
Captain Hook did not wait for Mary to respond, he raised his hand to shush her, and then turned him attention to the door that had just blasted open.