My Darling Love

Chapter 61 –Out of Sight, Out of Mind

"Where there is great love, there are always wishes."

-Willa Cather

With her parents off on their own adventures, Wendy Darling became a regular at her church; she went everyday and attended first, morning, afternoon, and evening mass. Eventually she began going alone -- Mary and George liked God in their life, just did not feel the need to constantly be a guest in His house. Wendy sat in the same spot everyday, the pew nearest the confessional where Father Dunange heard the sins of his parishioners. She arrived at first light and sat there, eyes glued to the front, waiting for him to emerge to light the candles lining the altar. He did, and she would stare, wondering what he was thinking as he knelt and said his prayers before heading to the confessional. At first, he did not notice her, only offering a polite nod, taking his place inside, but soon he became aware of her constant presence, and added a smile to his nod upon entering. Most days, no one had any wrongs they needed to right, so the confessional remained empty with him hidden behind the door, and Wendy, cowardly frozen in her place right outside.

As long as Wendy was alive and walking upon the earth, she would always remember the first time she saw Father Dunange in the flesh. She was attending Sunday mass with her parents, the second service of the day, when he entered and took his place beside the altar boys serving the monsignor who was saying the rite. He was a tall and very handsome gentleman, she hoped he was at least her age, maybe even slightly older, as he seemed to be. He had the darkest brown hair cut short, attractively neat, and she was sure by the waves present, even when neatly trimmed, that his hair could easily grow to long curly locks. And of course he had strikingly angelic blue eyes. His smile fit his face perfectly, warm and comforting. He was built well, with a commanding frame, more of a more like a soldier than a priest. To her, he was the most beautiful human being she had ever seen in her life, aside from the pirate captain who so long had held her heart, and in her eyes, they were identical twins.

"Do you not see the resemblance?" Wendy asked her parents for the one-hundredth time over tea as she held up one of her portraits of Captain Hook she kept in her private collection. Both George and Mary looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders and replied then to Wendy, "I'm sorry, dearest, we just don't see it."

Wendy held up the same exact portrait, sans the pirate attire and curly locks, "This is not Father Dunange?"

Mary leaned in, as did George tilting his glasses for a better view, "I guess that looks like him," Mary replied, unimpressed by her daughter's fancy of a priest, nodding her head.

"Yes. I think you captured his likeness rather well," George added with a smile, faking an agreement, as he couldn't see a thing.

Wendy stared at her parents, shouting, "IT'S THE SAME PERSON IN BOTH PICTURES!"

"No, Wendy, that pirate has long dark hair and a funny hat. Father Dunange is a very well groomed man. And now that I look closer at it, there is something very different in his face. No, George, it is not a good likeness of the priest either," Mary said to George, who shook his head, confused and totally bewildered by both his wife and Wendy.

"How can you say that, I drew the same person, without the hair and the hat and the sword and the hook?"

Mary and George kept their indifferent attitude, "Well, dearest Wendy, that pirate and that priest are not one in the same. Like I said before, you did not draw Father Dunange correctly, he doesn't look at all like that."

Wendy jerked her head closely to the portrait of the priest, "What are you talking about, Mother, this is Father Dunange!"

Mary continued to shake her head, "I told you, Wendy, there is something very wrong with his face. I'm sorry, I just don't see it."

Wendy stomped up the stairs to her private studio in the attic and violently threw both portraits down, inadvertently ruining the one of Father Dunange, smearing off the face from the upper lip down. Then she saw it. Wendy had often wondered in their times together what Captain Hook would look like clean-shaven. She often asked him to remove the moustache and chin hairs he kept so elegantly groomed, he always refusing. "When we are married, I will cut them off, just for you. Without them, I look too … nice."

That day unfortunately never came, and now she knew. Wendy took a pencil in hand and sketched Captain James Hook's face from memory, dressing him in his most imperial and stately pirate garb, complete with hat and hook. This time, instead of spending an hour crafting in great detail the hairs that decorated his face, making him her James, she left his lip and chin bare, making him, at least in her eyes, the priest.

"Now do you see it?" Wendy asked Mary while she sat in the parlor reading to George from his favorite book unavailable in Braille. "Wendy, it must be some sort of sin to dress a priest up in a pirate costume." That was the reaction Wendy was waiting for, but it was not her mother who noticed the resemblance, "Mary, look at that, it's that new priest Wendy dressed up in her painting, like at a mask." It was her blind as a bat father.

Wendy danced back up the stairs, gloating as her first student arrived.

"George, you know you can't see your hand in front of your face, however did you see that silly painting? You should not encourage Wendy with such fancies. Anyway my love, it was the other way around. This time she dressed that pirate captain up as the priest." Mary remarked, slapping her husband's arm. George sat up in his chair rather insulted by her comment; he crossed his arms and did not reply. "I'm sorry George, but you know as well as I do--"

George raised his hand, not wanting her apology. "I can see, just not very well, and what harm will it do if we just agree with her. Maybe now she will move on…" Mary touched his arm to interrupt him; she smiled to him without retorting, and continued with her reading.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, it has been months since my last confession, although I'm not sure you can call it that," Wendy began, the first confession of the next day.

Father Dunange had not even had time to dress himself and say a prayer before Wendy bolted in and began speaking. She heard silence and whispered, "Its me, Wendy Darling."

The door between them slid back, exposing the grated window, and in his normal soft tone he replied, "I've been waiting for you to return to me."

Wendy smiled from ear to ear and leaned her face lovingly to the window, whispering, "James, I have missed you so…" She wanted to go on, but Father Dunange interrupted, "My dear child, I would ask that you not address me so informally in this sacrament, as matter of fact you should not call me by my proper title at all, for in this room, I am only standing in for God on this earth. What sins do you have to confess?"

Wendy wanted to cry at that moment, and so she did. She wept in that tiny booth with the window to God open well into mass and after. She missed every lesson with all the children that waited in her parlor that afternoon and well into the evening (they not wanting to leave on the hope she would hold one large class for all her students). Father Dunange sat, offering nothing but his presence to comfort her, as she shed tears of mourning for a pirate captain sent to hell by the devil himself. Wendy never got to say good-bye nor tell him how she felt, she never got to apologize for the years they were forced to live without one another. There was no grave to visit; there was no closure for her. The only part of him she had was what she remembered of him, and that too had faded with time, to her great regret.

As the candlelight of night crept in from under the door, Wendy got up and put her hand to the knob. "So much pain for a woman like yourself to suffer alone, it is the guilt you carry with you, the sins you think you've committed against others and yourself that makes you sorrowful. You must confess them to God, and he will ease your pain and shower you with mercy."

"If I know what I did was wrong, and God knows what I did was wrong, then why do I need to tell him anything?" Wendy shouted to Father Dunange banging her fist on the metal grate hiding him.

"There is a difference between knowing you are wrong and admitting it. God has given us the gift of free will; you chose to suffer in agony. Choose now to let go of it, choose to be healed, choose to admit the error of your youth, and then and only then you will not cry when you remember it."

Wendy sat back down, still in tears and began, "I loved someone more than I loved myself and he loved me the same…" Wendy went on, well into the night. The monsignor regretfully had to interrupt them, offering his apologizes to Miss Darling, who appeared to have been beaten, her eyes and cheeks were so red from weeping and from admitting her wrongs.

The conversation was two-sided, her recounting the intimate details of her youth from the time she first stepped onshore of Neverland. She named her sin, and gave explanation, "I couldn't tell my parents, so I lied. I was afraid they would forbid me to see him again." And Father Dunange, the spokesman for God, would correct, "You could have told your parents and you chose instead to lie, because you knew you were wrong in playing that dangerous game in the first place."

The next morning Wendy again arrived, and again was in the confessional even before Father Dunange entered. Strangely enough, he did not need her to whisper that she was waiting; he knew the moment he stepped down the aisle and saw her normal seat empty. "Good morning, Wendy, I believe we left off with you back at school, and the bad advice you received from girls you were friendly with."

There were certain parts of her story she found hard to give an account for, this being one of them. At times she felt as though she and Captain Hook were casually speaking like they used to on board the Jolly Roger, her leisurely retelling something of interest in a fanciful way, he correcting her whimsical mind and mouth. Therefore, when there were secrets not even Captain Hook was aware of, like the other boys that took Wendy to bed, she stuttered through with the constant repetition of, "And for that, I am truly sorry."

"It's all right, Wendy, there are many women that have taken other lovers before they were bound to their husbands in marriage. The sin is not accepting and understanding that making love is a sacred act two people share to show one another how much in love they really are. That is why I hear it is so much more pleasurable when the two people committing the act are bound to one another in covenant, and simply not common lovers. It is meant to be more than rubbing reproductive organs together in lust. There is a meaning behind it; it is blessed in the eyes of God. Therefore if it is done with the truest of intentions and love, even in God's eyes it is not a sin without a wedding ring."

After a week or so, Wendy felt so comfortable and comforted she referred to her characters by their real names, "James, that's my name," the priest replied the first time she spoke the name of the pirate captain.

"Whom were you named after?" Wendy was quick with the question, hearing the familiarity that often reared its head in their conversations.

"I was named by the nun that watched over me in the orphanage I was placed in as an infant, she honored me after St. James the Lesser."

Wendy did not know whom Captain Hook was named for, only that his mother's name was Jane, "That's nice to be named for a saint."

The only lie Wendy would not take back or admit was the one of her daughter Jane. She referred to her as "my little sister," even though she felt more and more each day that Father Dunange was truly her James. Members of the church, including the priests and nuns that served there believed Jane to be the daughter of Mary and George. Wendy knew how much her passing still hurt them; they visited her grave daily on their morning walks. Therefore she would not be the one to strip them of their right to her. "Jane Darling, I've seen her headstone in the cemetery, such lovely flowers your mother and father place there."

Wendy went on and on about Peter Pan, so much so that at times she was sure Father Dunange had fallen asleep on the other side of the window. She could tell, her eyes adjusted to the dim light and the barrier that kept them from one another, exactly which position he sat in as she rambled. He sat leaning his elbow on what she assumed was a ledge in his room with his head in his hand, his eyes closed. Wendy spoke of America, Peter taking her away when she found herself expectant, and all that transpired after with him as her escort. Father Dunange would grimace at certain parts, "He told me I was raped by a scoundrel, but that was just another one of his lies," and rub his face with a disgusted expression shaking his head as she recounted others, "I wanted to keep my baby, but he told me I had to give her away for he could never love her like I did. So I put her up for adoption, even though I didn't want to."

There were several points in their conversation where Father Dunange politely asked for a moment of silence, closing the door to her window, leaving her alone in the booth. "I loved Peter Pan so much, he made me happy. I didn't think I could live without him, so I trusted everything he told me …even after I discovered all his lies to me…"

It was a lot more than a moment with that revelation, and Wendy was sure she heard him crying on the other side. He returned and reopened the door to God, and Wendy was quick to speak her clarification, "I did love Peter at one time long ago, but not the way I loved James, never the way I loved James. And I loved him for the wrong reasons. Now that I think about it, I never loved him after I loved James. I only loved his money. I know I was wrong for choosing the easiest path. For that, I am truly sorry."

In the end, Wendy had said it all, "That's all I can remember, do you think I left anything out?"

Father Dunange was silent for a moment and then offered, "Your James, have you prayed for him? I know you have told me you pray for Jane, but what of him? Although he is deceased, you know, you still have to pray for him."

Wendy had not cried in quite awhile, feeling no need to as she acknowledged her mistakes, now her eyes once again burned as they filled with tears. "No, I haven't."

Father Dunange began saying his prayer of absolution, ending with, "Pray for him, Wendy."

Every day, she went in the morning and did not leave the church until nightfall. She canceled all her classes, to her students' dismay, hanging on a sign on the front door of her parent's house, "No more classes with Miss Darling until further notice." She spent her entire day holding his ear in the confessional, each day he gave her the blessing of absolution for the sins she divulged in that day, and a simple penance, one rosary. Now that she was finished, she was unsure of what came next, so she asked him, "Where do I go from here?"

"You go on, Wendy. It is not too late to have what you want in your life. You should get married and have a family of your own. You have made your peace with God, you are in his good graces, pray that He gives you a life you are worthy of."

Wendy left the confessional and took her place in the pew, saying one rosary for penance, and many more for Captain James Hook. As the latest hours came, Wendy still knelt, deep in her prayers. She hadn't noticed the priests that came out and extinguished the candles or put away the sacred artifacts of the church. Father Dunange opened the door to his booth and stepped out, a little surprised to still see her sitting there with the church locked up for the night. He sat down in her pew and waited for her to finish her round on the rosary.

"Wendy, the church is closed, you must go home." He turned his head to her and smiled.

Wendy sat up beside him, and gazed at his face, every feature from his eyebrows to the lines on his lips were the same as her Captain's.

"Why?"

She spoke of his likeness, beginning to cry, and he assumed she meant something different and answered, "Because priests need their sleep too."

"My mother told me when she was a young woman, she prayed to God to send her a husband that she could love and share her life with. He sent my father. And he's a good man who's always loved my mother and his children. Sure, there were times when I hated him, but all children hate their father at one time or another. But in end, all that doesn't matter, because I just ended up loving him again. I wish God would send me someone like my father, someone who works hard for his family and does the best he can. I'm too old to have children now, so I suppose if he were widower or something like that, it would be nice, and I would treat his children as if they were my own. I love children, all children. I'm just afraid when my parents die, I'll be alone. Old, alone and unloved."

Father Dunange handed her his handkerchief, to wipe her eyes. He was speechless, and had to wipe a tear that escaped his eye and ran down his cheek also. "Would you like me to walk you home, Wendy?" he mustered.

She declined, "No, I'll be fine," patting him on his hand as she took her leave.

With Wendy Darling walking home, already alone, Father James Dunange broke down in tears kneeling nearest the front altar. "Please, dearest God, don't let her die old, alone and unloved. Please make the love she feels in her heart and mind real. Send her a husband, bless her with children, watch over her and guide her always."

God was listening, and looked around all of London for someone to fit the description of her intended. Unfortunately, he found no one that fit the bill. Captain Hook leaned beside the Lord's throne with his arms crossed and cleared his throat, loud enough to gather God's attention. "Yes James." James Hook looked down and pointed the tip of his hook in the direction of a man who would be perfect for Gwendolyn on Earth. God thought Himself silly for overlooking the obvious and nodded his almighty head in agreement, causing Captain Hook to roll his eyes and stroll away leaving the Good Lord to it. Feeling Wendy Darling deserved the mercy she wished and prayed for, He made His best choice and gave His blessing.

Christmas, the happiest holiday for the Darlings, brought a houseful of guests which meant Wendy needed to break down her studio and move all her priceless works of art out into the greenhouse for safekeeping. She had begun teaching once again, and the room was cluttered with portraits of Father Christmas and Christmas Trees decorated for the season. John and his wife were coming, bringing with them their six children, two of his, two of hers and two they made together, and all of them would be staying in what was once the nursery. "Six sons, George, all with the last name of Darling." Mary squeezed him tightly in his chair, and called out to Wendy on her way to the bakery, "Make sure you don't take all day picking up the order, your brother and family are arriving this time tomorrow for Christmas Eve and we still have much to do."

Wendy shrugged her shoulders and shook her head; convinced her mother was going senile. The maids and housekeeper were making the place spotless; the cook was doing all the cooking, with the exception of the Christmas goose George and Mary were to prepare together. The grand party Mr. and Mrs. George Darling had planned for family and friends on Christmas evening was completely planned, which included over seventy-five guests crowding themselves into her parents' modest home for drinks, music, dancing games, and a jolly good time. Wendy casually strolled to the bakery around the block, the same one her Grandpa Joe used to own. As she put her hand on the door, she suddenly wished she would have thought better of her dress, hair and face, for inside was Father Dunange picking up an order for the church's soup kitchen.

"Hello, Wendy," he greeted her with his hands full of bags.

"Need a little help?" she offered, taking some of his burden. She noticed he only wore one glove on his right hand, the other left uncovered, "Oh no, I think you lost your glove," she said, holding the door with her foot so he could exit.

"No, I only wear one glove," he quickly responded, looking off down the street. "I haven't seen you in church lately, have something else better to do on Sundays?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

"No, I teach on Sundays," she replied, strolling along with him carry half his load back to the church.

"What do you teach?"

"I teach art, you know, drawing, sculpting, that sort of thing." She kept her eyes to the pavement in front of her, trying her best not to meet his eye. In truth, she didn't teach on Sunday mornings, it was just too painful for her to see him, a constant reminder of the James she lost.

"Well, I imagine you would teach art. You have such a creative imagination. It's good that you use your talents to help others." They remained silent for the rest of the way to the rectory, James dropped his bags down in the church kitchen then relieved Wendy of her burden as well.

"Thank you, Wendy," he said, he too not wanting to catch her eyes. They both nodded to one another, with Wendy turning to leave alone.

"Wendy," Father Dunange addressed her to capture her attention, "Would you like to volunteer to work the soup kitchen on Christmas? I'm running it this holiday season." With his head tilted upwards, his eyebrow rose in anticipation of her answer, smile at the ready, Wendy was forced to close her eyes. The image of him standing that way on deck of the Jolly Roger asking her stay onboard as Red-handed Jill played over vividly in her memory.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that." The same expression of disappointment at her decline shadowed his face, and he offered a small smile of understanding. "I must go home and clean out my studio, my brother and his family are coming to stay until the New Year, and they will be spending their nights in the old nursery."

Where Captain Hook would bow at her and let her go with that, Father Dunange stepped forward, "Do you need help? I have some free time this afternoon. The nuns and parishioners won't let me near the ovens."

Wendy, surprised by his response, looked up and nodded her head with a bashful smile. "Yes, that would be lovely, do you know where I live?"

"I'll assume you can take me there yourself. I can go now. And then maybe on Christmas you can help me." He did bow with a raised brow, and again she smiled.

They walked together, first back to the bakery, "My grandpa Joe used to own this bakery," and then to her house, "I've lived here almost my entire life, just like my mother before me."

Wendy fluttered into her house calling for her mother and father, "Father, this is Father Dunange from church. FATHER DUNANGE! FATHER JAMES DUNANGE! FROM CHURCH! HE'S THE PRIEST FROM CHURCH."

She pointed to her ears and rolled her eyes, George giving the same gesture to his daughter signally he was not hearing a word she was saying. "My father's hard of hearing. My mother is the only one his ears seem to work for." She bit her lip smiling awkwardly to the priest. On the walk over, he'd told her she could call him James, and was now squinting at the ringing in his ears caused by her shouting. "Sorry." She grasped his hand and led him to where Mary was descending the stairs.

Mary was talking to her daughter, not paying attention, she rambled, "Good, you are finally back You are going to have to work all day and night to clear out that nursery, I told you, and you should have started that weeks ago. Some of those paintings you should either sell or give away, there isn't even a space to walk in. I thought you said the children were taking their projects home over the holiday? I have no idea where you are going to store all that stuff up there. You have the attic filled up just as much as the nursery. I guess you could use the greenhouse. And to make matters worse, now with all your sculptures lying around collecting dust, I'm surprised someone has not yet fallen and broken a limb," when she saw Father James watching her.

"Mother, this is Father James, from church." Mary quickly fixed her hair and smiled pleasantly to him, offering her hand, which he gently shook.

"It's nice to see you again Mrs. Darling." They stood staring at one another for a moment too long, Wendy noticing something odd in both their expressions.

"MARY, MARY HELP ME. I CAN'T GET UP FROM THE CHAIR!" George bellowed at the top of his lungs, and Mary broke their gaze, rushing past them, "Excuse me, my husband needs me."

"Wendy, help me!" Mary called to her daughter, as Wendy and James were halfway up the stairs. George was stuck in his chair and Mary was without the strength to lift him. Age had taken a lot from George, and now Mary not only needed to rely on herself, but their daughter as well.

"Allow me," James offered as he eased George to his feet.

"Oh look, Mary, a younger version of myself. Good man," George remarked, patting James on the shoulder as he gained his footing. "Now what was I getting up for?" George asked, gazing around the room, "Mary, did you call me to supper?"

Mary chuckled to herself, offering a contented smile to James, and replied, "No, George, you just finished lunch." George nestled back into his chair and flipped opened his book, "Good, because I'm still full from breakfast. Turn on the Victrola, Mary, and take a rest, you're getting too old to be running about this house like a youngster."

Wendy nudged James, tugging his jacket to direct him back to her studio, leaving her parents alone in the parlor. Out of nowhere and quite unexpectedly George whispered to Mary with them out of sight, "Mary?"

Mary was knitting a baby blanket of pink and shot George a quizzical expression, "Yes, George?"

George straightened himself in the chair and turned to his wife, "Wendy should get married, don't want my only daughter to die a spinster. Maybe that young man will want to wed our Wendy. They could live here and raise a family. It would be nice to have some granddaughters to add to the brood."

Mary smiled to George and then to the stairs, and then returned to her knitting. George was waiting for a reply so he called out, "MARY!"

Mary giggled and shushed George, "I'm right here beside you."

He scoffed at her silence, "Well then speak up woman! What do you think about that young man and our Wendy?"

"George, that man is a priest," Mary responded, holding his hand.

George leaned back and closed his book and spent some time staring at the ceiling above them with a quizzical face of ignorance as to what was going on. Poor George slumped down and over to Mary who was still knitting, "Why would he be a priest, Mary?"

Mary shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know, George. I guess he went where the Lord sent him. Some men are called to the priesthood, just like others are called elsewhere, or so I am told."

George squinted his eyes to his wife, "Are we talking about the same thing, Mary?"

Mary bent into George and whispered, "Maybe, what are you talking about, George?"

George grinned at Mary, not wanting to give up something in his mind if she was not aware of what he spoke of, "I'm talking about the man Wendy has a fancy for. He is a priest? I thought he was a pirate captain?"

Mary put down her knitting and gave her husband a very questionable expression, "A pirate Captain George? Are you feeling yourself today? Father James is a priest. That is why I told you we should not be encouraging Wendy. Although it is possible he could have been a pirate captain at one time George…what do you think?" Mary offered with a mocking grin and a giggle.

George touched her cheek, "Oh, so now you are a jokester. Are not all the paintings our daughter creates of a pirate captain?" Before Mary could reply, George spoke up, "Forget I said anything, Mary, you're right -- a priest is a priest, and they go where the church sends them. Although I must say, it would be rather humorous to have a pirate captain for a son-in-law. Maybe it is Wendy that is not feeling herself. I wonder what time John and his family will arrive tomorrow?"

George went back to his book, not really reading and Mary went back to her knitting, not really doing that either. Mary looked back the stairs as Wendy and James came down with their hands full of her materials, and James making his way to the kitchen winked to her on the sofa. "I'm not sure what time John will be in, I hope he arrives for lunch…George, do you want to go out, maybe do some last minute shopping for the stockings?"

"Get your coat, Mary, I'll hail a cab…"