Chapter Three
Wendy awoke to a crash. There was a loud bark , a pattering of feet, and then Michael threw the door open and closed it hastily behind him, letting himself fall back against it with a thump. His eyes were wide.
"I didn't do it Wendy, honest!"
"Didn't do what Michael?" She asked, brushing a hand sleepily across her eyes as she seated herself on the edge of the bed, the lace on her nightgown brushing the floor. She'd been dreaming about the debutante ball and her infamous entrance, and reminded herself it had already been a week, and it wasn't likely anyone remembered anymore. Or so she hoped.
"Break Mother's angel." Michael said, his voice small.
Wendy stopped trying to undo her braid, and turned to look at him, alarmed.
"The painted one Michael? The one with porcelain wings?"
He nodded slowly as Wendy gave a soft gasp.
She jumped to her feet. "Micheal Henry Darling! What in heaven's name do you think you're-" She broke off abruptly, her eyes riveted to his side. In his left hand, half-hidden behind him, was the hilt of a beautiful wooden sword.
Wendy stepped toward it, opening her mouth as if to speak, then promptly closed it again. Her gaze followed the line of the sleek blade downwards, toward the curve of it's rounded point. The blade had been painted a lustrous silver, with time being given to add depth and shine, so that one could almost believe it would wink like real metal in the sun.
"Where did you get that Michael?" Wendy asked, a little breathless. Visions of Hook and his cohorts, of flashing blades and ticking clocks and Peter's laughter swam before her eyes.
Michael grinned widely, the broken angel already wiped from his conscience. "Lou gave it to me as her gift! I think she's alright for a girl Wendy, don't you? Even Mother's never got us a sword!' He charged toward the fireplace, slashing at an invisible foe.
Wendy was momentarily thrown, even as she understood Michael's elated expression at dinner the night before, as he'd eagerly thanked their aunt.
"Lou?" She questioned, taken aback.
Micheal shrugged. "She told me to call her that. May I call you Wen too?"
"You may not." Wendy said laughing lightly, still admiring the sword, longing to touch it, to feel the weight of it in her hands.
"Are you jealous?" Micheal teased, waving it in front of her, before sliding it into an imaginary sheath.
"No." Wendy said quickly, trying to convince herself she really wasn't. It was a child's toy, and she was no longer a child. In spite of herself, she was remembering the countless evenings they'd spent playing pirates, the window seat always the ship, the small drop to the floor always a death leap into dark, alligator infested waters hundreds of feet below. She wondered when they'd stopped, how a childhood pastime could vanish so quickly.
"Wendy?" Michael asked, interrupting her thoughts, his eyes bright. He seemed to read her mind, for his eager face asked a silent question, and Wendy hesitated. Sensing his chance, Michael caught her hand, and pulled her quickly out the door and down the hall.
"I found it in the linen closet, look!" He said excitedly, yanking several winter quilts out haphazardly as he uncovered the top of a wooden chest that Wendy recognized immediately.
Before she could respond, he'd pulled it out and pried the lid open. The capes, the silly hats, the wooden swords, and Teddy-- all were there, waiting to be found. Wendy fell back a step, overcome with an emotion she could not name. Her heart skittered nervously, the objects triggering an excited, tingling sensation within her as memories of their adventures came back, bringing a warm, body wide glow. They were so clear, so permanently etched in her mind, she could feel the rush of wind in her hair as they'd flown over London; the blush on her cheeks at Peter's cool hand in her own, the first glimpse of Neverland between parting white clouds.
It was this Wendy thought of as Michael handed her a sword, and this that unconsciously brought forth a small part her true nature, so carefully hidden inside. She quite forgot the grown up Wendy for a moment, and shrieked with childish delight as Michael lunged at her, and she deflected the blow. They took off down the hall, Michael in hot pursuit as she ran toward the stairs, and then ducked beneath the banister as the wooden blade swished above her head.
There was an ardent battle of slashing swords down the curving steps, as they twisted and turned, avoiding the blows and trying to inflict their own. When Michael triumphantly jabbed the tip of his sword at Wendy's chest, her weapon clattered to the floor, and she let herself fall with a moan; clutching the wound dramatically. He jumped toward her, ready to deliver the final swipe, when he suddenly slipped and fell.
It was at this moment that Mrs. Darling found them, bright-eyed and laughing as they lay in a heap on the floor. Her eyes widened as they fell on Wendy, her nightgown in a tangle and her hair undone, wearing an expression her mother had never seen, or if she had, did not remember. It was a look of youth, and of happiness, but most of all, it was a look of a memory secretly enjoyed.
Mrs. Darling paused at it, studied it for a moment, unaware of how long it had been absent from it's wearers face. It was a motherly effort on her part, but a futile one, for such expressions are never meant to be shared nor deciphered, and what Wendy thought of as she lay there smiling remained her secret alone.
"Wendy!" Mrs. Darling said finally, her daughter's unkempt appearance and current state of lying comfortably on the floor, reminding her of the scolding she'd been about to give.
Wendy, previously unaware of her mother's presence, sprang guiltily to her feet.
"I was just coming to get you... your father would like to see you in the study." Mrs. Darling said hesitantly.
Something flashed in her eyes, and Wendy did not miss it.
"Yes, Mother." She said quickly, still flushed from her embarrassment at behaving so carelessly.
Mrs. Darling watched her go, and when her daughter had disappeared down the hall, Michael was quite sure he heard her whisper;
"I'm sorry, dear."
Wendy paused before the cherry wood doors of the study, her intuition flickering. She felt almost as if her sense of perception had been heightened today, and could perceive an unease in the atmosphere of her home that she had never noticed before. She considered what her father might want to say, and unable to think of anything bad, proceeded into the study without further thought.
Mr. Darling was sitting as his desk with his spectacles lowered, absorbed in a large book. At Wendy's entrance, he raised his head, and pushed the glasses back up his nose. He motioned for her to sit down, and she did so, curious over the unusual formality.
"Yes, Father?" Wendy asked.
He gave her a weak smile, then leaned toward her, interlacing his hands on the desk as his brow furrowed.
"Wendy..." He began, then sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly."I don't know how to tell you this my dear. In fact, I don't want to tell you this, but it must be done." He gave her a look, then focused on a spot above her head, and continued.
"My sister...your Aunt Louise, has, as you may have noticed...slightly altered ideas of, how shall I put this? Women's roles in society. Yes, that's it exactly. She is a free spirit and always has been, a sort of black sheep of the family in many ways." He paused. "She has a way of...believing in things that ought not be believed in, or at least openly advertised to be believed in by a woman, no less. It's not something I hold against her Wendy, but it's not something I agree with either. She has many...ambitions and ideas that I do not find acceptable, and it is for this reason that..." He paused again. "Can you understand why I am telling you this?"
Wendy shook her head, though she was suddenly anxious over what it was he wished to tell her.
Mr. Darling stood up, avoiding Wendy's inquiring gaze as he busily polished his glasses. "Your mother and I discussed this all last night, and we both agreed it's for the best. We know your aunt's heart was in the right place, as were her intentions, but it simply isn't proper. You're a young woman now, Wendy, and easily influenced by those around you." He looked up. " My sister is a charming, well meaning woman, but the fact of the matter is, she has not made many well-advised decisions in her past. I do not wish you to think that everything she says or suggests is in your best interests. It is for this reason... we have decided...I'm sorry Wendy, but you cannot go to Scotland this summer."
In that moment, a dream Wendy had long cherished shattered, and the face staring back at Mr. Darling went white. She looked at him, wordlessly, too stunned to respond.
Mr. Darling was still speaking, explaining his reasons; that he did not want Wendy following in his sister's footsteps, traveling the world unchaperoned, and as a spinster at that.
"It would be quite scandalous if she didn't stay with respectable families wherever she went, and even then, it's still frowned upon. Her reputation is upheld my me, and our family's high standards, but there is always gossip. You have to see Wendy, that I am doing this for you. I could already see it last night, the way you listened to her speak, that you were enchanted by her way of thinking. To go to Scotland... it would be the worst possible decision Wendy, especially now, what with propositions for your future by certain individuals already being spoken of. That this traveling idea for young women is somehow appropriate...there is nothing worse then getting fanciful ideas into a young persons head."
"Father," Wendy said shakily, unable to bear it anymore. "May I go now?"
"Yes, you may. But you do understand, don't you?"
"I understand Father." Wendy got out, her lips trembling.
But she didn't. Not at all.
Wendy walked slowly up the stairs to her room, the once short hallway now impossibly long.
Even in her shock, Wendy's quick mind understood the implications of this first refusal, and foresaw several doors of opportunity formerly open, slam shut. Her biggest mistake she realized, had been in always assuming her parent's would support her decisions, and agree with any dreams she had for her future, traveling among them. She now saw this was not so. They had planned it for her already, and they expected her to grow up and get married like everyone else. This denying of her wish to travel, this was the first step, in what they no doubt deemed 'the proper way' of setting her straight on what she was allowed to do.
Wendy was so confused, her confidence in her parents so shaken, she considered a mad urge to pack up her things and run far away, to a place where the freedom she so desperately longed for could finally be found. But of course no such place existed, and she doubted she'd ever find the courage to really leave home, as she suspected Aunt Louise had. If Mr. Darling had intended for his daughter's view of their aunt to be marred with her supposed "unacceptable ambitions and ideas" he was sadly mistaken, for though Wendy's dream was crushed, she admired her aunt all the more for perservering with hers.
Dinner that evening was a very quite affair, everyone but Michael silent. He remained oblivious to the tension, and chattered happily until John, who could feel something was amiss, told him to be quiet. Wendy, unable to endure the silence any longer, asked to be excused almost immediately after finishing her meal. Aunt Louise, who was wearing a very sad, but thoughtful expression, sent a Wendy a glance. Her bright green eyes were unusually subdued, but a hint of their sparkle still lingered, as if she had not given up on her mission for Wendy to see the world just yet.
Wendy, very lost in what appeared to her to be a dark, unkind world at the moment, missed the look, and went quietly to her room. She lay in her bed for what seemed like hours, unable to sleep, tossing and turning as the lights inside the house went out one by one.
She had finally fallen into a restless slumber when something in her subconsciousness stirred, and she awoke suddenly. The nursery was silent as Wendy gazed around her sleepily, her eyes landing on the moonbeams splashed across her coverlet from the window. The faint gong of the father clock in the hallway downstairs sounded beneath her, and she counted twelve rings before the house was once again still.
She was again teetering on the shores of sleep when a faint tap startled her awake once more, and she sat up, her heart fluttering nervously. She hesitated, then pushed back her blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She waited, then stood up and walked quietly toward the window, hardly daring to breath, a familiar feeling stirring inside her.
She peered through the glass, at the silent rooftops of London beneath her, and the pale moon that hung in the sky. It was only then that she noticed a loose tile tapping against the side slope of the roof with every sway of wind. Disappointment overwhelmed her, and she turned, her eyes landing listlessly on the fireplace, and then on it's blackened embers. On a sudden longing for warmth, she walked over and removed the grate, and was in the midst of reaching for the poker when a soft breeze blew down the chimney, stirring her hair. She moved closer, looking curiously at the soot trickling down the chute when quite suddenly, someone tumbled into the room, knocking her onto the floor.
Her eyes opened, dazed, and then widened as her heart leaped and she gazed up into the grinning face suspended above her.
"Hullo, Wendy."
Thanks to all my awesome reviewers ;)