Shades of Neverland (8 page)

They would leave in two weeks time on the Lusitania. For the heartbroken Peter, it would not be soon enough. Therefore, he volunteered to go over early with Mr. Frohman and Mr. Boucicault. They would leave in three days for
Fishguard
, Wales and from there take the Mauretania to New York. Peter was not sure even putting an ocean between Wendy and himself would ease his heartbreak… but he had to try.

As he began to pack, he reflected on his disturbing sleep
.
In his dreams, Wendy had returned his love and at the ball, he had swept her off her feet and into the garden where the two could be alone.
He had been staring into her lovely blue eyes, leaning in, about to kiss her perfect mouth… when from out of nowhere appeared the vilest lot of murderous pirates led by his little dream guide.

Instantly, he knew they meant Wendy harm! He fought as hard as he could but he was no match for them. The pirates strung them up to take back to their Captain. Bound and gagged, Peter could only listen to the horrible things they had planned for his beloved Wendy.

CHAPTER 9

Three Days After the Party

Peter and Wendy hovered together in mid-air above a lovely forest alive with twinkling lights. The night was magical; shining stars above and shimmering fairies below. Face to face they were both dancing and floating at the same time. Twirling with his beloved in his arms, Peter could feel her smooth skin beneath his touch; he could smell her lilac scented hair; sense her sweet breath on his cheek. He leaned in to kiss her. Her lips were warm, soft and welcoming. A perfect kiss that seemed to last for a long time.

When they finally pulled apart the fairies were gone. Dark, stormy clouds hid the stars as heavy drops of rain began to fall. A bolt of lightning pierced the sky right between the lovers. The force of the blast ripped them apart sending them in opposite directions.

As Peter tumbled backward through the darkness, he lost sight of Wendy. Crashing into the churning sea, the whole world went round and gray and wet. Trying not to panic, he let an air bubble escape from his lips and followed it until his head broke through the surface of the turbulent water. There was no land to be seen and Wendy was gone. In vain he called to her, “Wendy! Wendy!”

Somehow, he knew their situation was hopeless. Although sure she had also been cast into the sea, he was certain she was on the far side of the island. With effort compounded by fatigue and the heavy futility of the situation, he began to swim to her. He would find Wendy or die trying…

 
Soaking wet and twisted in his bedclothes, Peter awoke from his sleep, shaken. His lips tasted of salt and the cloying scent of seaweed clogged his nose. Muscles shaking, he pulled himself out of bed and dressed with effort in the darkness. It was nearly morning and he still had one thing to do before he left.

Leaving a note for Griffin, he made his way to Wendy’s cobbled street. This was not the first time he had stood outside No. 14, although it might very well be the last. Despite the chill in the air her window was wide open, as if expecting a visitor. As he had many times before, Peter wished he could fly up to her windowsill and watch her sleep. Desperately, he wanted to behold her perfect face one final time before he departed.

Standing in the predawn quiet, Peter wondered if it were feasible to steal across the garden and scale the trellis nearest her window. Still, if Wendy wanted nothing to do with him he would not chance her waking to find him staring in at her. How wonderful, he thought, it would be to have a cloak of invisibility, to be able to see his beloved without the risk of causing her more distress.

“Peter…”

Peter flinched as a faint noise came drifting down to him from Wendy’s window. He could not be certain, but it sounded as if she’d said his name. Did Wendy know he was there? Was she calling to him? Every muscle tensed. He pressed against the high bars of the garden gate straining to listen. He remained that way, motionless and fierce in concentration, until the morning sun began to paint its colors across the Eastern sky.

In the distance, a cock began to crow, the faint chiming of Big Ben joining its morning song. In an hour, he would be on a train to Wales and by nightfall aboard a ship bound for America. He had yet to say his goodbyes to Griffin and Father. It was time to go.

Peter’s body felt too cold and leaden to move. In spite of Wendy’s revelation of a rival at the party, he hadn’t completely surrendered hope of pursuing her. Therefore, the afternoon after the ball he had made his way to the very same spot. Then, not knowing what else to do, he called out to his beloved in a bold and brazen way that caused the curtains of every neighbor to part with curiosity.

“Wendy!”

He only had to shout for a moment before he was admitted into the Darling household. As fate would have it, Wendy’s good aunt had been in residence. In the very drawing room of No. 14, Wendy’s Aunt Mildred had amiably received him and, under the continued guise of a caring Grand Dame, sealed his fate.

“Mr. Neverland,” she upbraided. “Hollering from the street! Surely you are not so vindictive as to bring scandal to my niece. If you truly care for her as you say, you would not injure her such.”

 
“I would never injure, Miss Darling!” Peter protested. “If only I could speak with her, I am certain we could clear the matter up to your satisfaction.”

The old spinster laid a gnarled hand against her breast. “
My
satisfaction, my fine young actor? I have no fault with you. Indeed, I think you would be good for my niece.” The woman heaved a martyr’s sigh. “Heaven knows how I have championed your cause. Even the inferiority of your station would not be an obstacle, if I believed she truly loved you. But she does not. With all my heart, I did not wish to impart to you that which I now must.” Slipping a piece of parchment out of her skirt pocket, she explained, “This was written by my niece’s own hand.”

Opening the letter, Peter scanned the few lines intended to repulse him, his face clouding with each word. It was Wendy’s handwriting, for it matched the elegant script of her
r.s.v.p.
perfectly. (It would do us well at this juncture, to remember by whose hand the reply to Mr. Frohman’s grand ball had been issued.) In accordance with Peter’s very nature, it never occurred to him to doubt the authenticity of either document. He had no experience with persons who, under the guise of respectable advice, forged letters and manipulated others into doing their will. The elders in his own life were forthright, the very pillars of integrity. So we cannot fault him for what he did not yet know. Peter would learn of life’s deceit soon enough.

We will not recount the message other than to say it was most ruthless and unforgiving in its sentiments. Words, after all, are merely scribbles of ink on parchment. Even hurtful words are neither sticks nor stones. What is important to note, is the letter achieved its desired effect.

Rigidly, Peter refolded the paper and handed it back to the sympathetic Grand Dame. “If this is how Miss Darling feels,” he said stiffly. “I shan’t trouble her any further. Please tell your niece I shall never bother her again.”

Poor Peter! He had no way to discern such flagrant lies. In that moment the remaining vestiges of his boyhood conceit were crushed.

Now as the cock heralded the rosy predawn over the London skies, Peter took one last look at the open window and let two great tears escape down his cheeks. His shattered heart had not yet hardened in the wake of life’s cruel lesson. And try as he might, he could not hate she whom just days before he adored with his whole being.

He wanted to shout,
“I will always love you! I will never be the same without you!”
Instead he clenched his eyes shut and whispered, “Goodbye Wendy.” Full of regret, he hurried through the waking streets with every intention never to return.

Wendy was being tossed to and fro. She had lost track of how much time had elapsed since the storm had ripped her from Peter’s strong arms and flung her into the cruel sea. She had called his name with all her strength. “Peter! Peter!” But he was gone. The rolling waves were growing more violent, filling her mouth and nose in a relentless assault. Her body burned with the effort of trying to keep her head above water but she would not surrender. As long as Peter was coming for her, she would continue to fight-until her last breath.
 

The next wave crashed over her with violent force and for one disorienting moment the whole world was liquid. As she surfaced, choking on salt water, Wendy thought for the first time that Peter might not be coming to her rescue. Another wave engulfed her, but the sea mattered little in the face of Peter’s abandonment. Drowning in despair, she knew she would not last long alone…

 
“Wendy, wake up!”

Disoriented, soaking wet, tangled in her bed linens, she was being vigorously shaken from side to side. Having been in bed for three days, ever since she returned from the ball, it took Wendy a moment to realize she was not experiencing another horrifying dream. She opened her eyes relieved she was not being accosted by waves again but by her dear friend, Maimie.

“Wendy, wake up! I have been telephoning for hours. You look terrible! You’re drenched. Are you ill?” Although invited, Maimie, swamped with wedding arrangements, had not been able to attend Mr. Frohman’s Ball. In fact, she had not spoken with Wendy since the day their invitations arrived.

Wendy pulled her bed sheets over her head in self-pity. “I’m dying, Maimie. Just let me be.”

Vexed, Wendy’s dearest friend yanked back the covers. “What is happening? I go to Perrin Hall for a fortnight to make wedding preparations and everything goes to pieces in my absence. Even you!
 
I had anticipated returning to find you in a state of sublime bliss. Instead you are dying and the entire company of The Three Musketeers is headed to America.”

The shock of her friend’s revelation caused Wendy to bolt out of bed. “Peter is leaving?” she cried.

Maimie took her friend gently by the shoulders. “Peter is gone…hadn’t you heard? He leaves for New York tonight on the
Mauretania
. He is already en route to Wales.”

Poor Wendy! If only she had known how close Peter had been in the last few days—in her parlor, below her very window—perhaps she could have summoned the courage to follow her heart. To speak to him and explain why she panicked.

So what if her Aunt disapproved? Why should Wendy care if Aunt Mildred’s bank account ruled their household? She should have risked everything for love—for Peter!

Sometime in her past she felt sure she’d been a much braver Wendy. If only she could go back in time to find herself and ask the brave Wendy what to do.

She sank to the edge of her bed shivering uncontrollably. “Maimie, he cannot go! What will I do without him? How will I continue to exist?”

In the end, it was the courage of her dearest friend that lent her strength. “Go to him,” Maimie urged sitting and wrapping her arm around Wendy’s damp shoulders. “Or better yet, go with him!”

Wendy shook her head negatively, “What would I say to him?”

“What is in your heart?”

“Love.”

“Then say that. What else really matters?”

Wendy regarded her dearest friend longingly. “Oh Maimie, if only—”

“If only
what
? We can catch him in Wales. My parents are away in the country. I have their motorcar and driver downstairs. I have already told your mother and aunt that I require your assistance at Perrin Hall. But if we are to do this thing, we must leave now. This very instant!”

Wendy did not waste time on words. She jumped up from her bed, grabbed her slippers, wrapped a shawl around her nightgown and headed for the waiting motorcar. Maimie could scarcely keep up.

Apart from leaving Wendy, saying goodbye to Griffin was the hardest thing Peter had done in his young life. Although his brother would have accompanied him to
Fishguard
, Peter insisted they say their farewells at Paddington Station. In return, Griffin had insisted on carrying his brother’s bags the entire way.

When the time came, the brothers, who never lacked for conversation, struggled for words.

“Griffin?”

“Aye, Peter?”

“Take care of Father.”

“Aye, Peter.”

“I am not sure that he really understands…”

“He understands you better than you think. And he loves you.”

“You and Father are the world to me.”

“Aye, Peter.”

The train whistled.

“Griffin?”

“Aye, Peter.”

“Will you promise to do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Go to the matinee each Saturday. Write to me about her.”