A second beginning set in the same universe as chapter one, "A New Future."
Two-and-a-Half: Waltz of the Flowers
It was during the blur and hum of excitement after the regiment entered the village, people welcoming and some of the young girls giving out mayflowers to the soldiers, that Peter had first laid eye on her. Mouse-like she seemed, ducking her head shyly as she passed out her gift, taken with not a word and barely a glance, and hastened on with her task, slipping from sight. Not at all like the other girls who often lingered with a soldier (eyes fluttering, smile inviting, shifting daringly close) and received an interested second glance and teasing word.
He did not think of her again until, as if by magic, she was there, stammering and nervously offering her mayflowers. He and his friends laughed at her, taking the blossoms and moaning about their luck at not being welcomed by any of the prettier girls, unmindful as she shrank within herself. Peter's laughter died in his throat when he carelessly held out his hand for a flower and a pair of light blue eyes rose up to meet his own green ones. For a moment he felt he was flying back home (how long had it been?), and the sensation left him breathless.
The loud laughter and questioning if he was so intimidated by a little mouse jerked him to the present, and he realized they both had frozen, staring. His smirk lacked its cockiness as the blushing girl shoved a flower into his hand and fled. Irritated by the continuing jokes at his expense, he threw his head back and crowed loudly. When the lads cheered and he became swamped by young girls, he grinned widely.
As the girls fought for his attentions, one told him, "Pay Wendy no mind, has her head in the clouds she does," before presenting him with a flower. Puzzled, the boy discovered that instead of a mayflower, he held gloxinia in his hand.
When Peter entered the meeting hall which served as the regiment's mess hall for dinner on the second night of their stay, a sprig of fern was at his setting, peeking out from under the napkin. He wrinkled his nose uncertainly. The old woman who oversaw the meals had insisted the soldiers always eat at the same place; it must have been deliberately left for him. Why? Who left it? the questions danced in his mind as he fugitively tucked the plant carefully into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Later in his room, as the others slept or had not yet returned from playing cards, the lad sat by the window, turning the fern over in his hands. His expression was a mixture of indifference and puzzlement. He never cared for flowers and plants, found them to be quite boring actually. Yet it made him think of sneaking through the underbrush, anticipating the surprise ambush his band would pull off. And there was something about the fern that tugged at his memory - what, he could not figure out.
The fifth evening he purposely arrived early (no, it had nothing to do with the mystery of the flowers at his setting each night) and discovered the old woman and her helpers still setting the tables. He mumbled an apology and half crashed into a girl carrying a stack of plates as he turned to go, sending her white bonnet flying and a bunch of flowers falling from her apron pocket. Peter steadied her and found himself face to face with the shy little girl from that first morning. He had not been aware she assisted at the mess hall. She looked at him aghast, and her apology was cut off by the old woman's scolding.
Watching her hurry across the hall to the table the woman stood by, the boy shook his head and retrieved the flowers from the ground. Goldenrod, flowering almond, dandelion, and lilac made up the small bunch. By the time Peter rescued the girl's bonnet from the floor, his heart had ceased its racing and he approached her. A corner of his mouth tugged upwards at how she started when he reached her side and with mortification thanked him, accepting back her things. He nodded, surprising himself as he called her "little mouse," and beat a hasty retreat under her stare and the heat rising in his cheeks.
Agrimony waited for him when he returned. This time he was not quick enough to hide the yellow blossom away, and was asked if he now had a secret admirer in addition to his flock of potential sweethearts. He laughed while denying it.
Yet there was an unusual thoughtful air about him as he put the agrimony, besides the fern, gardenia, and lily of the valley, between the pages of his book, faintly recalling parts of a story told by the queen long ago. And when he fell asleep, instead of the serving maid with dark eyes and red lips whom attempted to steal his flower and a kiss – and failed on both counts – it was of hair brown as soil, eyes like the sky, and flying amongst the stars which haunted his dreams.
The next few days he was surrounded even more by the village girls with their flirting, flattering, and teasing. There were teas, fruit and baked goods given, locks of hair, offers to do his mending, new handkerchiefs. Naturally, Peter basked in the attention (who wouldn't?), amused by the competition to gain his sole favor. His smile was cocky, stance confident and conceited, crow loud and proud. He exchanged jokes with one, a secret with another (but never that one), danced twice with this one, and drew a picture for that one.
Always somewhere in the corner of his vision and back of his mind was the little mouse-like girl. He never encountered her at the mess hall. Yet he had noted her at the side of a stiff woman (her aunt, he had been told) going down the other side of the street. How her face was open and free when with her friends, her shyness and fear melting away. The skillfulness of her hands at making crowns with flowers. How she wove stories from the air. (Peter thought she told the best stories.)
Then, despite his best efforts, his crow would not be quite as confident, his laugh half-hearted, and his heart would race to a beat he had not heard in a long time. Never had he approached her. She was strange and he did not know quite what to make of her. The closest he dared was during her stories to the children, concealed in the shadows in the back. No, he was not scared of her, nor fleeing from her. She was a little mouse, and he had faced greater, more terrible things than that!
Of course he did not notice her there in the background as he played pretend with the children, the almost understanding light in her eyes as he drew winged beings on parchment, or the rare occasion when she was among the older lads and girls listening to him telling of his adventures. And he most certainly did not feel an unidentifiable pang when, as he had at least one girl on his arm, she passed by without acknowledging him at all, walking beside a dark-haired boy.
The following night Peter was in a bad temper. While that boy had hugged the little mouse for a long moment, and there had been no flower at his place tonight, those things had nothing to do with his mood. (Though the former was strange and the latter boring and silly.) Scowling, he took the agrimony, fern, gardenia, lily of the valley, orange blossom, saxifrage, sweet william, and scarlet zinnia from his book and started toward the roaring fireplace.
Somewhere, it was hard to know if it was distant or near, seemingly a chorus of twinkling voices cried, "Don't, Peter!"
The boy paused.
The afternoon sun found Peter lounging by a stream, oblivious to the children playing in the nearby field and girls laughing as they made crowns with flowers. Lips tugged downward and eyes dim, the boy twirled a daisy between his fingers.
Surprisingly, it was a small squeak that broke through the heavy cloud hanging over the boy. Head jerking up, he discovered the little mouse standing a few feet away, a basket on her arm, looking like a rabbit startled by a hunter. Sitting upright, the boy returned her gaze until she hesitantly stepped closer. He raised an eyebrow, curious that she had not already fled.
Reaching his side, she quietly wished him a happy May Day, took a crown of honey flowers from her basket, and carefully placed it on his head. Before she took more than a step back, Peter without a word swiftly extended to her the daisy he held. Pausing for an instant, the girl accepted it with a whispered thank-you. She studied his innocent expression for a moment, gave a faint shake of her head, and rushed off, calling over her shoulder in response to his calling her "little mouse" that her name was Wendy. Peter simply laughed.
The next day Peter sat in the midst of the children during the girl's storytelling. When she reached the part about Cinderella arriving at the ball, he piped up that she found herself surrounded by pirates. The little mouse had blinked at him. Barely missing a beat she started to describe the pirates Cinderella encountered. When the story's end was reached, with the two of them taking turns as the narrator, Cinderella had defeated the pirates, and she and the prince went off adventuring. There were cries for another story, and, with small smiles exchanged between the two young people, the children were entertained with more adventurous fantasies.
When they parted after the last child had left, with pleadings for the two of them to tell stories again, their faces were bright with a silent agreement. She called him Peter. He bowed over her hand while pressing a soft kiss to it (good form as he had been taught, the queen would be pleased with him).
The boy congratulated himself on his cleverness when his little mouse smiled and nodded in greeting at his hailing her with her nickname as she passed him and his flock the following morning. The dark-haired boy's gaze was curious as he looked at him over his shoulder and then leaned close to confide something to the girl. Peter gnashed his teeth at his back, displeased, becoming distracted only when a girl pulled insistently on his arm.
Tonight there was a primrose at his place, and he tucked it onto the front of his jacket instead of hiding it away like all the others. He was surrounded by happy thoughts, and only the tidings that the regiment would be leaving the day after tomorrow dampened his sense of flying.
To his disappointment the little mouse was not with her friends making flower chains as was her custom when he sought her out. The others claimed she had mentioned taking a walk and motioned towards the edge of the forest.
He found her easily, seated by the stream, absently tossing pebbles into the bubbling water. She rose at his approach and walked with him, nodding at his news (word spread quickly through the village). He shared his excitement about leaving on the morn, wondering about the journey, what they will find at the capital. Running out of breath, he turned to her expectantly.
Smiling almost sadly, the girl pointed out the children will miss him, particularly as they wished to hear the two of them tell more stories.
Will only the children miss him, Peter asked, eyes twinkling.
Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she claimed he knew very well many shall miss him, the girls for instance.
And she?
Wordlessly she nodded, and gave him a heliotrope and sweet pea flower from her apron pocket, her eyes sliding away from his. In return he solemnly presented her with a ragweed branch. Peter watched her frown in puzzlement, turning the weed in her hand for a moment, before suddenly growing still. Her cheeks first turned red as an apple and next drained completely of color. Her name was halfway out of his mouth as he caught a swift, panicked flash of blue eyes, and then she was sprinting off. It took a heartbeat until he was running after her. Despite the uneven ground and his unfamiliarity with the area, his longer legs gave him the advantage and in a short time he caught the girl by the arm and carefully pushed her against a tree trunk.
She trembled, from exhaustion, mortification, and something else. Gulping in air, Peter bent his head to see her face. There was that old look from their first meeting, fearful and ashamed, shrinking into herself. In defeat waiting for the laugher at her being the fool, having his fun at her expense.
Instead of laughs and mockery he gave her reassurances – her regard genuinely, completely was returned. How he kept all her flowers, was jealous of the boy she was with (John, her brother it turned out to be), realized what the flowers meant when he remembered being told of such old practices once, and unexpectedly found himself falling in turn as he gaze lingered on her and she plagued his thoughts and dreams. In between his words he placed chaste kisses on her hands, brow, cheeks, and top of her head. And when his little mouse, his Wendy, looked up at him with trust and belief, he felt he had reached his quest's end.
The main square was afire with activity and noise and tension: the regiment was leaving shortly. None of it pierced the bubble surrounding Peter and Wendy in the middle of it. Her gaze was clear, sad as she handed him eucalyptus and edelweiss and requested in a trembling tone he be careful.
The stars in his eyes changed to two hot sparks as his expression grew nearly offended, huffing he shall return. He will not lose her that soon or easily, he promised, tone softening, if she will wait for him.
Her smile was brilliant and answered enough for Peter.
As he gave her a forget-me-not, his lips gentle against hers sealed the promise.
Flower meanings in order of appearance:
Mayflower – Welcome
Gloxinia - Love at First Sight
Fern – Fascination
Goldenrod (Solidago) - Encouragement, Motivation , Good Fortune, Success
Flowering almond - Hope
Dandelion – Faithfulness, Happiness
Lilac – First Love
Agrimony - Thankfulness, Gratitude
Gardenia - You're Lovely, Secret Love
Lily of the valley - Sweetness, Humility, Purity
Orange blossom - Innocence, Eternal Love
Saxifrage - Affection
Sweet william - Perfection, Grant me one smile
Scarlet zinnia – Constancy
Honey flower - Sweet and secret love
Daisy - Innocence, Loyal Love, I'll Never Tell, Purity
Primrose - I can't live without you
Heliotrope - I adore you, Devotion
Sweet pea flower – Departure, Goodbye
Ambrosia (ragweed) - Your Love is Reciprocated
Eucalyptus - Safeguard, Protection
Edelweiss – Courageous
Forget-me-not – True Love, Memories