The Playwright
Chapter 17
A Newly Discovered Secret

A/N: Okay, the results are in. I am now over 100 reviews, which means there was indeed a 100th reviewer somewhere in there! After deducting 3 double-chapter reviews which were submitted after I said not to throw off my counting, the 100th reviewer is (dramatic pause) XHeartofaDragonX! This is an award very well-deserved. This person is my best friend, and has been since (the very end of) fourth grade. No, it doesn't seem like a long time, but we had 4 awesome years as friends and I hope those years build as we get older, through bad and good. I would like to let Neverland's Sparrow know that if I didn't deduct three reviews, she would be my 100th reviewer. So, if I did or didn't, the award would go well deserved either way.

I would also like to take the opportunity now, to thank the people that made my review count 109 (counting the 3 uncounted reviews this time) instead of just 100. These people are H.M. Chandler, XHeartofaDragonX, Kris, cornishxxxpixie, and Lizella. Thank you!

Now, I have a good ending chapter here, I think. I apologize wholeheartedly for the wait. I haven't been in the mood to type what I'd written in my Black Notebook for a very, very long time. I have been following J.M. Barrie's model of not writing when you're not in the mood. (look back to chapter 4) I've also created a livejournal for my ramblings, so you won't have to endure much more. I will say here, though, that I saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory about a week ago, and I loved it. Anyway, thanks for being so patient with me! I hope you enjoy this!

Much Love, MJ

OoOoO

The end of Emma's story wasn't as happy as that of Peter Pan's story, but an ending nonetheless. It had been a tough year, with Peter's difficulties at school, James's play, and Emma becoming ill so horribly fast. James, sitting in the hard chair of the large room where the Will was being read, thought of the day Emma came for the five of them, at James's house. Then, the prospect of going to live with Emma duMaurier was completely ludicrous, almost insane. He couldn't believe now, that he'd ever thought anything like that.

The room was warm. A comfortable warm. A good temperature to fall asleep in. Michael had already done so on James's arm, and was snoring softly, while Jack and even the man with the Will looked ready to do likewise. Emma had had many friends, and very many treasured items in her enormous house. The length of the list of beneficiaries was almost endless. The man droned on, and as each name was called, someone in the hall's face would brighten. As James looked around at all the very different people in the hall, he thought he could easily write a play, just about a group of people acquiring old, forgotten nothings from an unnamed victim of death. He was sure, though, that he wouldn't acquire anything, himself, as he thought that Emma hadn't had the time, motivation, or reason to add him in her Will. Either that, or he was very, very far down on the list.

Mr. and Mrs. Babcock and Gretchen were there, seated behind James and the boys, glad that they had received the old clock on the mantle that had once belonged to Emma's grandmother, and a painted lamp. They were fanning themselves with spare bits of paper, more relaxed now that they knew that they weren't cut out of their friend's Will. James knew, though, that they wouldn't have, as it seemed that everyone from old, bosom friends of hers, to a man she'd said 'hello' to once in a restaurant, had been given something. Everyone in the room was extremely anxious. James had begun to fall asleep, like Michael, and closed his eyes for a minute, nodding off, but careful to twitch himself back awake. He managed to stay awake long enough, though, to learn that he had inherited Emma's stables.

OoOoO

On the way back from the reading of the Will, James remembered what Emma had said to him back in December, the day she had died. He had been running all over organizing the funeral and burial services, and thoughts of that had covered her instructions, and they had been completely lost in his more urgent thoughts. She had told him to look on the final page of Sylvia's diary. He had no idea of what was there, but was intent on finding out.

James and the boys had decided to continue living in Emma's house, allowing Mrs. Babcock, with her husband and new daughter, the privilege of resuming life in the former Barrie house. So, when James, Jack, Peter, George, and Michael returned to their new home, the playwright raced to his bedroom, pulled the drawer in his bedside table forward, and withdrew from it with care, Sylvia's little blue diary. He sat on his bed and opened the book quickly, smelling the familiar perfume as he flipped pages to the very last one. It was a fairly short entry, and written in near cursive; clearly not the handwriting of an eight year old. James's heart fluttered around in his chest, and he took a slow deep breath to collect himself. Then, he began to read.

OoOoO

After looking out his bedroom window and into the backyard, James found Peter sitting on the bench on the bank of the pond with his journal, writing. He put Porthos on his leash, and went downstairs, and into the backyard. Peter looked up for a second, then back down at his writing, his hand not ceasing its movement. James sat down, and then Peter looked up and gave his guardian a small smile.

"Good evening," he said.

"Good evening," James returned, nodding his head. Peter wrote a bit more, then looked back at James. "What are these stables you mentioned?" The playwright smiled back.

"We'll go and see tomorrow, eh?"

"Grandmother took you one day, didn't she?"

"Yes. Yes, it's beautiful there."

"And you rode a horse?" Peter closed his journal, honestly interested in his guardian's answer, and James chuckled, thinking back to winter, and the baggy clothing he was given, when he had visited the horse stables with Emma out in the country.

"I did," he said. Peter smiled, and a long silence followed the brief conversation. James looked out at the pond. It was indeed different that it had been in the winter, with fish and frogs jumping in and out of the glossy pool, rippling the water. Grass had grown up around the edges; it hadn't been cut since a man had come to the house to, a month before the family had left for the cottage. This observation brought to mind that he was responsible, now, for partaking in keeping up all of the little details of Emma's past life on Earth, because, obviously, she couldn't do it for him or herself now. The stables would be a big job, and he'd have to pay very much money to keep the property in working order and in preferable conditions, but he was, though, thoroughly touched that he had inherited it from her.

Then, James remembered the diary, and what he'd truly come to Peter about. He looked at the boy, who had begun writing again, and bit his lip.

"Would you have ever...wanted me to be your father, Peter?" he asked slowly, awkwardly. Peter looked up at the playwright, his gentle smile having been absorbed into his newly darkened face.

"I mean if...your mother..."

Peter's face darkened even more at this. "She wouldn't have," he retorted stiffly. James wrapped part of Porthos's leash around his wrist as his nerves began to act up, took Sylvia's diary out from under his arm, and held it out to the boy next to him.

"What is that?" James nudged it toward him more, and he finally took it, and began to look through it.

"This was my mother's," he whispered finally.

"Read it," James requested quietly. As soon as the words slid off of his tongue, they remained on his mouth, burning his lips. Peter looked at James with his mouth open, his heart beating the way James's had the first time he'd set his hands upon Sylvia's mysterious diary, and flipped another page. His eyes remained on James, though, and he didn't look down at the page he had flipped to for a long time. When he saw the words, he began to read aloud.

"Sixteenth June, 1904. Mother's downstairs talking with our guests while waiting for dinner to be finished. I told her I was going to freshen up, but I remembered this diary of mine. My, what a silly child I seemed to be. A man I met the other day in Kensington Gardens, would object, though. He's in love with the idea of a child, with the innocence they hold, which we adults do not. His name is James Barrie, the author of Peter Pan. He's quite an amazing man, he is. He's a model human being, I think, for all of us. He doesn't pay any mind to what anybody says, and does whatever he believes is right. (I wish the rest of the gritted, straight-backed citizens of our town felt the same way. Sadly, they don't.) My mother continues to be wary of him, but he keeps coming back all the same to play with my boys. They love him dearly, all of them, and I feel that he loves them back just as much. Peter doesn't show it, but I'm certain he's quite fond of him as well." Peter turned the page and cleared his throat slightly before continuing on to the following paragraph. "Overall, our lives have recently changed significantly because of Mr. Barrie. The tone of my household hasn't been as light and giddy since before Arthur died. Michael talked about their last game all through dinner the other night, and I found Jack, George, and Michael engaging in a game of their own in their bedroom this afternoon." Peter's heart caught in his throat as he read over the next line in his head, and his voice filled with tears, and his words came out unsteadily as he spoke. He didn't dare look at James. "And, I think that my feelings may be even stronger. I think I may love him. I'm afraid to, though: Arthur may be looking down at me from Heaven and crying, full of disappointment. I have never wished to disappoint him, when he was alive, or even now, while he's gone.

I do believe that James would be a wonderful father to my boys, and a loyal husband. I do not know what will happen," Peter let out a shaky breath, sniffed quietly, and filled his lungs again with air. "I do not know what will happen, and can only hope that the day will come where Mr. Barrie proposes marriage to me. If the time were to come, I will confess now that I would gladly accept. For now, I shall live life with courage and go willingly in the direction it takes me. That's all I can do, really.

I would write more, but Mother's calling me down to supper. Goodbye, for now. I hope to write again very soon.

With Love,

Sylvia Llewelyn-Davies."

It took a few seconds for the shock to wear off of Peter. He sat with the diary in his hands, reading over the entry to himself and continuing to avoid James's gaze, which he now saw out of the corner of his eye. Finally, he drew up the courage to look up at the playwright.

"Why did you show me this?" he asked quietly.

"You needed to know."

"Why did I need to know?" Peter's voice was rising now. "Why would I wish to know that my mother had abandoned the love she had for her dead husband and had gone on to loving you?"

"Listen to me, Peter. Wouldn't you think it wise for me to show you this, so that you'd know it while living with me as your guardian? I didn't much take pleasure from the idea of you reading it either, but I wouldn't very well like to keep secrets from you; especially when it comes to something like this." James paused a moment, remembering how he hadn't shown Emma Sylvia's diary when he'd found it, and a shiver cut, like a razor, down his spine. His voice dropped slightly. "I showed you as soon as I found out. I only read it just over a half an hour ago." Peter looked out toward the pond and remained pensive for a very long time before speaking again.

"Did you love her back?" he muttered. James, who had begun to scratch Porthos behind the ear, and was startled by the sudden sound of Peter's voice, looked at the boy carefully, convincing himself that the question he had just heard had really been asked.

"Yes," he said finally, "I loved her very much."

Peter nodded. He wasn't sure what he wanted his reaction to be now, or what it should have been, for that matter. He looked down at the diary for another moment, closed it, and suddenly rose from the bench.

"I'm going to go get ready for dinner," he explained, and departed from the scene in the direction of the house, the diary stowed protectively in his ghost-white hands.

A/N: Yes, this chapter was very short, but very significant, as you can tell. If I were to put the Epilogue in with this, though, it would be too long of a chapter, so I am waiting on posting the Epilogue...until I write it. I'm glad to have finished this chapter, though, as I know you have all been waiting for an update, and I'm glad to have one more chapter down! The last one, you should like. It wraps everything up, and gives the story a nice completeness. Please, please, please, PLEASE continue to stick with me until the very end. Now, here's a long string of Review Replies for you - look for your name! I hope you enjoyed the update, and I hope to see over 5 more REVIEWS. (sticks tongue out)


REVIEW REPLIES FOR CHAPTER 16:
(and 2 and 3)

oi-oi-oi - Well, if it weren't for KatrinaKaiba, you'd be the 99th reviewer. Because of her, I have to deduct 3 reviews. She reviewed an author's note to piss me off, and then she reviewed twice for one chapter, and then something I found a long time ago. But anyway, I hope you got to read chapter 16 and liked it, and are seeing this here, in 17. No, NT story won't be written. But, if you've seen Cinderella Man, I'm writing a story based on that that you may read. 2 chapters of it are up already. I also wrote a A Beautiful Mind poem, and of course, other stuff will be out, so you won't completely lose track of my writing! Thanks so much for everything.

Neverland's Sparrow - Yes, I killed. lol. Thank you for all the comments. I'd say if death should happen, it should be artfully done. Let your story be an example of that, not mine. I know you'll still be here through to the Epilogue!

(for review for A-N) Yes, you are permitted - the 100th reviewer thing has ended. My nameless situation is clearing up a tiny bit...as long as I'm not put under more stress. I thank you for your support through all of this and hope you enjoyed the update! Epilogue on the way...I hope I'll be in the mood long enough to finish it quickly.

Lizella - Oh, I'm sorry hahaha. I had to, it was a strong idea I had. I was also surprised at the number of reviewers liked her too! I'm glad they do, too! Hope to see you in a review at the very end!

Kris - Aww thanks. I'm glad you think I'm brilliant! Now, see, a lot of people abandon my stories. I'm glad I still have a lot of people that don't, and I'm glad you're one of them!

(for review for A-N) Hah no, I'm not sick of you. And I'm glad you agree with me! JKR definitely deserves to be on Britain's list of most powerful women! Thanks so much for your support - and now I'm setting aside the Polish project and starting something new called Bishop Hill. I'd like some luck on that - it's been complicated to plan out!

XHeartofaDragonX - Yes, almost over...I am very sorry, dear. Yes, that is a deal. Yes, you will read mine. Yes, you are lazy. Yes, I am kidding. Yes, I am glad you enjoyed the flashbacks. Yes, Mr. McLimans is rising from the dead to partner with me to correct the world's horrible English. Yes, you are Amy, and yes, I love you!

H.M. Chandler - Aww. I'm always so glad when I hear that people cried while reading something of mine. I hope you do read other stuff, and I think maybe you should do a sequel, if you have ideas! But, only if you have ideas, because if you don't, you'll find yourself battling a severe bout of the infamous Writer's Block, and it'll be no fun. So, if you do write a sequel, I'll be eager to read! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

(for review for A-N) Thanks so much! The performance went great, and camp was fun - after I got over missing my computer to death and missing being home. I don't like being away for too long. At the end of camp, I realized I'd forgotten what my parents looked like hahaha! Anyway, thanks for stickin' with me, I really appreciate it.

cornishxxxpixie - (for chapters 2 and 3) I'll look for your oneshot update! I'm glad you continued to read through chapter 3...um...I hope you get all the way here to see your reply, though! Thanks, anyway!