An Opportune Moment
A/N Wow, five reviews so far. To tell you the truth, I wasn't really expecting that kind of feedback, because frankly I thought this would turn out to be worse then my Neverland fic. But I'm glad and relieved at your responses. Thank you. I appreciate them. Now enjoy my next chapter.
Ch. 2
"Well at least your not dead. For that you should be thankful, lady."
"Is she dead?"
"No Michael, she's still breathing."
"George you should have been more careful."
"I didn't mean to hit her Uncle Jim, she was just-"
"Shh, she comin' around."
Her head throbbed like a cannon had just blasted its way to the very base of her skull, and she was afraid to move, for fear that the pain might intensify. She didn't know why it hurt so but she had a feeling the three voices ricocheting and vibrating her head amongst its already present migraine, told her that at least someone knew. She opened her eyes wearily, edging them open slowly to try and succumb the pain.
Her gaze was blurry and multiple as she saw about five people crouching before her. She shook her head slightly to, one could only guess as, relieve herself of her confused and hopefully imaginative mirages that plagued her mind.
But what she didn't expect was that she might have been seeing clearly after all.
"AHHHH!" she screamed as she rolled away from their gazed and stared back at them, and was throughly flabbergasted at the fact that they seemed just as surprised at her reaction as she was.
A coalition appeared to be in her presence as she stared agile at each face and recorded them each in her mind. At first she engrafted, what seemed to be a six year old boy, with sea foam eyes, chubby round childish cheeks and the usual small figure that accommodated his age. Her gaze then rested on what she noticed was a child older than the previous, but not so much. He seemed to be around nine with hazel eyes and freckles sporadically scattered around his face, especially present on his nose. He was taller than the last one and was more lanker when it came to size. The next one, was older again than the previous, probably around eleven, but had a clearer face and was bit more pleasingly plump and had crystal blue eyes . The last child was like tall and lanky, like the second she had noticed, but his face had seemed to have been erased from all childish lining. He had light shining green eyes and a long thin nose. He seemed around fourteen to fifteen years of age. They all resembled each other, as siblings should, but the only real feature that they all shared together, was their dusky hair.
"Are ye alright, madame?" asked a strangely foreign voice. She noticed that it was Irish...no Scottish. She turned to her left and noticed that this stranger was certainly not a child.
His face was sharp and delineated, especially noticeable around where his cheekbones were accentuated. He had a healthy glow on his skin, which was a peachy rose color, and it was clear of any flaws or blemishes. His nose was somewhat cute, where it was long and lean and ended with a slight slope . His neck which, although was slightly covered by a white collared shirt and gray neck tie, seemed to show a masculine sort of strength as she noticed his salubrious Adams apple and the outline clearly defining the cords that connected his neck to his head. He had sleek black hair, which was constricted by what seemed to be simply a thin tooth comb and bottle of hair oil. He wore a simple gray vest and slacks and a chain which she only assumed could lead to a pocket watch of some sort . His long, and what she believed, were gorgeous hands, were with one holding him up on the blanket that she had laid down and the other positioned in his lap. She also noted, with great pleasance, that his lips were coral in color, and seemed to be shaped in what women would refer to as, poetic. They made her lick her lips slightly and she hoped he believed that it was because they were dry.
"Are you alright miss?" he repeated, but not in impatience, more with worry, " Because ye seemed to have been hit generously on the head."
Her eyes met with his concerned gaze and she was rooted to where she sat.
His eyes were, without a bit of skepticism, the most glorious she had ever seen her life. They were a striking chocolate brown, that seemed to resemble that warm feeling you felt on a cold winter's day, after just previously playing in the bitter snow and then basking yourself in the warmth of the fire's hearth. They also seemed to have a fire's erotic glow as its embers diminished the logs that it was fed. She believed that a artist could have just painted a portrait of only his eyes, and would be considered the most creative, prestigious, and talented of his kind. She thought then and there, that Michelangelo's predictions of David being the perfect male form, was thoroughly and completely stripped forth of its title.
And she still didn't know his name.
James POV
She still hadn't answered his question, and he was afraid that the hard ball that the boys had thrown at her head, must have also inflicted damage on her speech. But she was making eye contact that was certain, as he stared into her beautiful sapphire eyes. Her eyes reflected like the sun did off a blue sea as if he was on a beach on a hot day, and not in a park in the first months of spring. They seemed to cascade over him and he was riveted in her searching. And while she was occupying herself with him, he might as well get acquainted with her.
Her dark molasses colored hair was pulled back into a bun, but from her previous attack, some hair had been shaken loose and now draped in dark curls down the sides of her face. Her face was a light pale white, as if she was incapable of catching the rays of the sun. But her cheeks which were thin and finely emphasized, were a pleasant shade of pink, like the blossoming pink rose in the height of summer. Her nose was thin and pointed at the end, and her lips were thin and pink, but was being worried by her teeth, which showed some conflict that she seemed to be having within herself.
Her light rose dress failed miserably to diminish the way her body was structured. Although she was a bit thin and somewhat lanky, she still accommodated the luscious womanly curves apparent on a woman, especially around her hips. Her dress was light and loose and as she as sat there, it clung to one side of her, revealing those predicted curves.
She was very beautiful. And he couldn't help but loose his train of thought, or whatever thoughts he had left.
"What did you say?" her voice, unlike her petite figure, had an edge of strength and boldness to it, along with her curiosity.
Original POV
James cleared his throat awkwardly, hoping that she hadn't caught him staring at her, and answered,
glad that she wasn't a mute, "I asked you if you were all right."
"Oh... um, well, my head hurts quite a bit, but I should be fine now, thank you." her voice was familiarly arranged with the dialect found most common among the English people.
"Well that's good to hear." he said with a pleasant smile, and she found that she wished his face would keep that way forever.
"Well at least your not dead. For that you should be thankful, lady." said the youngest.
"Well, hello. Actually I am very thankful. And who might you be, young sir?" she said, turning her attention back toward the four young gentlemen.
"I'm Michael. I'm sorry you got hit with the ball, but I'm too short, and George is too tall and when he threw the ball, I was to small to catch it."
"Well that's okay, I'm sure you wanted to catch it. You didn't know when George threw it that it would hit me."
"Did I say that? I didn't mean to tell I didn't." his eyes widened in terror at that thought that he just told a forbidden secret that never really existed.
"Excuse my brother miss. He can certainly talk an ear off." said the oldest, who scolded his brother with a stone look.
"Well that's all right. Your George ,aren't you?"
"Correct ma'am. Sorry about the ball." he said, his face wincing slightly at remembering that he had done it.
"It's all right, no permanent damage done," she said, waving away his apology with the flick of her hand.
"And you are?" she said, turning toward the eleven year old.
"I am Jack, pleasure to make your acquaintance madame," he said politely and a bit stiff like, as he reached for her hand and kissed it.
"The pleasure is all mine good sir." she said cheerfully, wishing all children could be this polite.
"Hey, what did I tell ya about that?" the man said crossly as he stared at the young boy.
"Sorry Uncle Jim." Jack said gloomily as he dropped her hand.
:"What's the matter?" she asked, perplexed that a child would be in trouble for being courteous.
"Oh, it's just, that Jack tends to be a bit too friendly to the women he meets.":
Completely understanding, she chuckled a bit and said, " Oh, you like older woman do you?"
He blushed and looked down awkwardly at his feet.
"And you? What's your name?" She asked to the last one, who was being extremely quiet.
"Peter." and silent once more.
"Oh, well, nice to meet you Peter." she said and he took her hand and shook it limply once, and then released it once more.
"Well I think you boys have fulfilled your apologies, so I'll ask you kindly to go retrieve my hat from Porthos' mouth." he said, and they all turned and seeing the canine with their guardian's favorite hat clutched in his mouth, they yelled in protest and ran after him as he scurried away.
When they had finally disappeared, she turned back toward him with a appreciative smile.
"Thank you for helping me. Your boys are quite wonderful, and very polite, despite, um, certain reasons."
He laughed then at her notion of Jack, and she couldn't help but relish the sound. His low baritone was very soothing and she wished that she could think of something else that would make him laugh again.
"Yes well, they learned well from their mother."
"Are you their father?"
His eyes seemed to have glossed over in a abrupt sadness, but he quickly recovered, and smiled slightly, "No, I'm not. Just their guardian."
"Oh. So their mother...Oh I'm so sorry." she said, truly being so.
"That's quite all right. We loved her dearly." he answered, as if regretfully, and a silence erupted between them.
Moments passed as they watched the children continue their fervent attempts at chasing Porthos, and then something hit her as she realized how rude she must have been not formally introducing herself.
"Oh how rude of me," she clucked her tongue in disapproval, and James abruptly brought his attention back to her, "I haven't even introduced myself.
She held out her hand and said, " I'm Erin McKinley."
He took her hand and shook it. "That's Irish isn't it.? You don't sound it."
"Oh well, my ancestors were Irish, and I've lived here all my life, so I've adapted to this dialect. And you are?"
"Oh yes how roguish of me. I'm J.M. Barrie."
Her eyes widened slightly and her mouth hung in surprise.
"James Barrie, the author?"
"Yes." was his response.
"Oh my God!" she screamed appreciatively and he jumped in surprise."
"What?" he asked, clearly confused at her sudden change in reaction.
"I am such a huge fan of yours. I especially loved Peter Pan, and your play. I've seen it twice"
"Oh," he chuckled in relief, " well, thank you. It's always nice to meet a fan."
"Well, since you know of me profession, how 'bout yerself."
" I'm a journalist."
"A journalist?"
"Yes, I know, woman aren't really considered writers." she said cooly. Just like every other man I've met.
"No, no, you misunderstand. I didn't mean my tone to sound like that. I think women can be very intellectual and well-versed writers. It's just that you don't find or hear, for that matter, about that many of them. Especially journalists. That very good for you."
"Well thank you. I'm glad you think so." Well, I guess maybe not like every other one.
"So what paper or magazine do you write for?"
"Um, the uh, British Weekly." (Not an actually newspaper)
"Oh really, well I read that all the time."
"Well, I'm sure you have read some of my articles, but uh, you wouldn't know it because I write under a pen name."
"Why?"
"Oh well, it's not really my choice."
His eyes knitted together and she continued, to relive him of his confusion.
"You see, I'm not really," she said, moving her hands around, as if searching for the right term, " supposed to write in that newspaper, legal rules. So if I write under a nom de plume, as they say, no one at the company knows that I'm a woman, and my articles get published."
He stared a her for a while, his mouth slightly open and his eyes scrunched together as if he was thinking rather hard about something. Finally, lifting his eyebrows a bit, he said, " That's insane."
"Yes it is. But it's the only way I can do what I want for a living." she answered to his notion in agreement.
"Well, what's your pseudonym?"
"Eric McKinley."
"Ah, so you give them your address and the name, and then they send you the money."
"Yes. Sometimes I have to go and get it, so I pretend I'm married to him."
He laughed again.
"So you're married to someone that doesn't exist, or are you actually married?" he said trying to catch a glimpse at her right hand, but they were folded neatly in her lap, left over the right.
"Actually, no, um, I'm not."
"You, not married. I find that hard to believe." he said with a knowing smile.
"Flattery doesn't work on a girl like me. No, I...just never wanted to be married." she said with a slight shrug.
"But surely you've been asked."
"Nope."
"Never?" he said, disbelieving.
"Not everything is always as it seems. You of all people should know, Mr. Barrie."
"Touché, Ms. McKinley." he said, nodding his head in apology, causing her to chuckle.
"Got it Uncle Jim." Peter said, happily, as he produced James' now very dirty and beaten chapeau.
"Thank you very much boys." he said, gingerly grabbing it with two fingers.
"Well, it the greatest pleasure in meeting you today, Ms. McKinley."
"The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Barrie."
He stood up, still with the hat in hand, and said, looking at her she stood up too.
"I hope we meet again sometime."
"As do I Mr. Barrie."
She watched him take Porthos' leash, and him and the boys, whilst talking animatedly about their recent escapades, retreated to their home, and said with a smile and a sigh,
" As do I."
A/N Hey that rhymed. Well I hope you enjoyed that. Oh just so, if anyone didn't figure it out already, nom de plume means in french, literally, "name of pen" or pen name. Now press the little button on the bottom of the screen and R&R savvy.
Thank you's to:
Dawnie-7: Thank you, but I think my Neverland Prolouge was a lot better. I'm glad you like this story so far.
Meredith A. Jones: I'm glad you like this story so far. Thanks for the review
H.M. Chandler (ANONYMOUS): Thanks for the review babe
Erin: Thanks for the review. I'm glad you really love this story. But maybe it's about you. Hmm. I hope you enjoyed this one. And I'm expecting a review.
H.M. Chandler: Thank you, I was hoping someone would think that. I was trying really hard to thinh of a reason for this, besides the fact that I have a very egotistical friend (lol). Yes I took the idea from that very lovable pirate captain. I'm glad, because I thought it would be funny. But for the way this story will go, it seemed appropriate. I'm glad you caught on. I can be very random at times.