The Neverland Girl

by Dash Hoffman

  Jynx was fond of ignoring the other cats and taking in the world that existed just outside of their home, but with the arrival of the fuzzy orange kitten, that had changed. She’d taken him under her paw, and watched over him more than the other cats did.

  Oscar poked his head in the door and looked around; his green eyes wide and his whiskers twitching as he sniffed the air. His fur was fluffy and unkempt, sticking out in nearly every direction. His gaze touched on Tao, Sophie, and Montgomery beside the fire, and on Jynx in the window, who turned her head and looked at him patiently, but he stopped when he saw Marlowe on the red cushion beside Alice.

  The kitten padded over slowly and sat at the foot of the chair, looking up at Marlowe, whose attention was on Alice.

  Alice reached her fingers to a dark cubby hole in the inner shelf of the desk, just beneath the slats of the roll-top, and pulled out a colored seashell. It was shaped like an open lady’s fan, and its warm shades resembled a spring sunrise: a rosy blush at the base blended into peach and then to a soft, buttery yellow that faded into a smooth vanilla crème at the scalloped edges of the shell.

  Oscar meowed at her. She smiled down at him, lowering the shell for him to examine. He sniffed at it tentatively as she spoke quietly to him.

  “My husband George gave this to me. He brought it from far away and he told me that he kept the other half of it, knowing that the two halves would always make a whole, even when they were apart. We really were one, he and I. I guess we still are, and we’ll always be.”

  She waited until Oscar was satisfied with his inspection of the seashell, and then she returned it to its place in the cubby box in her desk.

  With a wistful smile, Alice picked up her phone and cleared her throat as she gazed at a photograph on her desk of the man she was calling. The phone at the other end of the line rang a few times.

  “This is Edward Perivale.” The man’s voice came through deep and strong.

  “Hello, Edward. It’s mother.” She smiled happily. She was always glad to hear his voice; it brought his face directly to the forefront of her mind, along with many of the sweet memories she had of him.

  “Hello, mother. How are you doing?” He asked, sounding distracted.

  She curled her fingers tighter around the phone. “I’m well, thank you darling. I was hoping we could have dinner soon. Perhaps tonight, if you’re all free.” She didn’t want to use up any more of his workday than she had to, and got right to the point.

  Her son sighed heavily. “Mother, this really is the worst time. Annabel has a meeting, Eddie is playing in a match, and I’m right in the middle of a deal at work that needs all of my attention.”

  Alice pursed her lips together, looking up from her desk to the window before her, watching as rivulets of raindrops rolled down the glass.

  “Well… perhaps I could go to Eddie’s game. I’d love to see him play in a match.”

  “No, mother, he’s riding along with some of the other boys, and neither Annabel nor I will be going to this one. It’s clear on the other side of the city. It wouldn’t work for you to go.” His tone was strained and weary.

  With a deep breath, she set her shoulders back a little. “Is there another night soon when we could have dinner together? I miss you all, and it would be lovely to see you. I really did move to the city just to be closer to you, and it seems like I don’t see you much more now than I did when I lived in the country.” Alice willed herself not to be dejected.

  He breathed out a long sigh. “I have no idea. There’s no night I can think of right now. Perhaps Annabel can look at the calendar and try to find a time. We’ll have to figure it out later. I really do have to go. I’m quite busy at the moment.”

  Alice stared at the window, not seeing anything past the rain water washing all down the pane. “Of course. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  “Bye, mother.” Edward answered shortly, and hung up.

  Alice sat in silence, holding the dead phone to her ear, and closed her eyes. Swallowing hard, she pushed down the emotion rising in her heart. With a shaky sigh, she set the phone back on the desk and lowered her hands into her lap, clasping one around the other.

  Her hands were old, and her skin pale; the darkness of her veins showed through here and there. Her fingers, once slender and pretty, were a bit more knobbly at the knuckles. There were delicate crepe paper lines where the skin had once been smooth. She began to lose herself in the years she could see on her hands.

  The subtlest sound of a cleared throat pulled her from her reverie. Alice blinked and drew in a breath, turning in her seat to look behind her. Henderson, her butler, was standing there. All of the cats looked at him. At his feet was another cat that had followed him into the room.

  It was a very fat calico cat, whose fur was white, with big splotches of orange and black all over, from his nose to the tip of his tail. His face was flat and had the slightest look of being pushed in, which only served to make his cheeks look wider and rounder.

  Bailey looked up at Henderson expectantly, watching him closely. The fat cat was always hungry, and he had developed the habit of following Henderson around until he was fed, when it was close to mealtimes.

  Henderson’s coat was black, and the longer tails of it hung down at the back while the front was cut short at his waist. He wore a white button up shirt with a small tidy black tie, set crisply at his neck. What little hair he had left was combed over to one side, and his narrow body stood at attention. His lean face was turned up ever-so-slightly in sincere concern.

  “Excuse me, Madam, I was coming in to ask about your evening meal tonight. I… couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. I apologize, I hadn’t intended to eavesdrop.” He lifted his thin eyebrows a little.

  She gave her head the merest shake. “Not to worry. It’s fine, Henderson. I think I’d like beef tonight, and whatever Fran wants to make with it.”

  He nodded and turned to go, but stopped after a step and faced her once more.

  “Madam… if I may… as I understand it, there is a new group coming together at the little church beside the park, just down the lane. It’s a Widows of War group. They are forming to help each other and to do service in the community where it’s needed. I wonder if that might be of some interest to you. I have no doubt you’d be quite a helping hand to them, if you joined them. I think they’re accepting new members until three this afternoon.” He gave her a hopeful and encouraging smile.

  Alice smiled back at him. “That sounds like a good group, Henderson. Thank you for mentioning it. I believe I’ll go have a look and talk with them. Perhaps there’s something I can do. Maybe I could be of some use.”

  Henderson gave a slight nod and left the room with Bailey waddling close behind him, meowing at him. The cats shared looks amongst each other, and turned to gaze up at Alice.

  She rose from her chair and glanced down at the phone on the desk. “I guess since my son is too busy for me, I’ll go see if this Widows of War group could use some help.”

  Alice reached the library door and turned her attention down to Marlowe, who was right at her heels, where he always was.

  “Marlowe, dear, it’s raining. I doubt you’ll want to go. You’ll get wet.” She spoke with a tender half-smile.

  He looked up at her expectantly and pawed gently at her foot.

  She sighed in resignation. “Very well then, you can come, but don’t complain about your fur getting soaked. You won’t let me put a raincoat on you, and the best I have is the umbrella. Sure you won’t stay? No? Well, maybe you’ll be all right.”

  The corners of her mouth curved up a little more. “Come on then. Stubborn boy.” She chuckled quietly and they walked to the table by the front door together.

  Alice pulled on her mismatched gloves and her brightly colored purple coat. She dressed well, but she couldn’t deny the flair of spice and sass that had flowed through her all of her life.

  Besides, she thought to herself as she set her mat
ching purple hat decked out with ribbons and flowers atop her head, if the Queen of England could go around dressed in every color and look wonderful, so could she.

  Giving herself a peek in the mirror, she leaned in a little closer and considered her reflection, just as she had been considering her hands earlier.

  When she was younger, she’d had dark hair and fair skin, rosy cheeks, and full lips. She’d been quite a belle. Time had drawn itself around her slowly and carefully, etching every moment, happy and sad, good and difficult, into her face. There were smile lines framing her mouth, and laugh lines extending from the corners of her eyes.

  She had been happy for most of her life, and it showed. Her cheeks were fuller than they’d been in her youth, and the dark color in her short hair had faded to nearly all white, but her brown eyes were as warm and kind as they had always been, and she had a welcoming smile for anyone who took the time to look at her.

  With a gentle tug on the edge of her hat and a nod of satisfaction, she picked up her umbrella cane with the bird’s beak shaped handle, and reached for the door. She held it open as Marlowe lifted his tail and stepped out with her into the misty rain.

  They walked side by side along the road. She was careful to avoid stepping into puddles so that she didn’t splash water onto Marlowe. He held his head up; his eyes wide as he kept watch all around them, his ears alert and pointed sharply. She carried the umbrella over them both, though she wasn’t sure just how much good it was at covering the cat beside her.

  They had just rounded a bend in the road when Alice stopped short and gazed at a spot on the pavement opposite them.

  She peered closely and frowned. Marlowe stood beside her, staring at the place where she was looking, and then turned his head up to her with curious eyes.

  “Marlowe…” she began quietly, leaning her head slightly to the side as she spoke across her shoulder to him, “did you see anything over there… just now?” She blinked a few times and peered harder.

  “I was certain I just saw some kind of little animal over there, but there’s nothing there now. I could have sworn…” she trailed off and bit gently at her lower lip.

  Alice finally turned away and gazed down at Marlowe, who tipped his face back up to her. “Did you see anything?” She asked again. He meowed and waited for her.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she raised her brows and shook her head. “It must have been a trick of the light. Could have sworn I saw… something.” Her eyes narrowed in puzzlement for another moment, but then she shrugged and began on her way again.

  After a short walk, and carefully crossing one street when the cars had stopped, they made it to the church.

  It was a small building made of gray stone blocks and set with stained glass windows that had been in place since before Alice’s grandmother had been born. A single narrow bell tower rose from one end of the church, housing an old brass bell that rang out on Sunday mornings.

  Reaching for the worn handle on the thick, old oak door, Alice eyed Marlowe seriously.

  “Now, you won’t be allowed in here. I’m sure they’d have a fit. Who knows if their church mice have claimed sanctuary, but you’ll have to wait outside for me. I won’t be long. Stay right here and don’t go off anywhere. I’ll be back soon enough.”

  Marlowe meowed and sat at the side of the doorway; his eyes locked on her as he curled his tail around himself.

  The overhang above the door reached out far enough that the cat wasn’t being rained on. Alice gave him one last look and stepped into the church.

  Through a door to a room off the side of the foyer, she saw a small table where a young woman sat with a few stacks of papers and a cup filled with pens.

  The young woman had mousy brown hair pulled back into a sloppy bun. Her thin lips were pressed together in a hard line. She lifted her hazel eyes and stared over the top of the squared glasses perched at the end of her narrow, upturned nose.

  “Can I help you?” She intoned coolly.

  Alice gave her a warm smile. “I hope so. I’m looking for the Widows of War group. I’d like to learn a little more about it and sign up for it. Is this where I-”

  The young woman pulled her head back in exasperation, giving herself a double chin as she did so.

  “Ma’am,” she interrupted swiftly, “I don’t really think there’s anything that you could do for the group. It’s designed for a younger crowd. I think you’re just a little too old to try to do any of the things that we do in this group. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

  Taken aback, Alice blinked. “Well, I realize I might not be quite the same age as some of the ladies in the group, but I can certainly-”

  The young woman cut her off again. “We just don’t think it would be a good idea. We’re only looking out for your best interests.”

  Alice gazed intently at her. “What is your name please?”

  “Deborah.” The young woman answered in a snappy tone.

  “Well, Deborah, you keep mentioning this ‘royal we’ that you seem to be speaking for. Is there anyone else running the group with whom I might speak?” Alice maintained her decorum as best she could.

  Deborah folded her hands and leaned toward Alice, glaring above the rim of her glasses and answering with a bossy, impatient tone. “There is, but she’s not here right now, and I do speak for the group.”

  Alice felt the rare flickers of annoyance and frustration ignite in her. “When might I be able to speak with this person?”

  “Not anytime today.” Deborah smirked with satisfaction. “By the way, I just thought I’d point out to you that your gloves are mismatched.”

  Glancing down at her hands, Alice turned them over as she inspected her gloves. “Yes, they are. How crass of you to mention it.” She answered, looking back at the young woman before her. “I’m wearing them anyway, though. It’s a sign of taste, which apparently comes with age.”

  Deborah stood up; her cold, hazel eyes locked on Alice. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do for you here. I think you’re just a little too old to be looking into something like this. Perhaps you should focus on acting your age and doing things that people your age do.”

  Alice’s mouth fell open slightly as she gasped. “And just what age would that be? How should I act? Should I stay in bed? Indoors? Should I just be done with my life since I’m so old? Well I’ve got a thing or two to say about that, Miss Deborah! I’m a long way off from the grave, and I have a lot of living yet to do. There is quite a bit that I could do for others, especially for the Widows of War group! I’m not about to stop doing anything that I can do, just because someone else thinks that I shouldn’t!”

  She was about to go on, but Deborah went to the door and stood beside it expectantly as she gestured for Alice to leave.

  “Thank you for coming in.” Deborah sneered icily. “It’s raining. Perhaps you ought to go home, where you should be.”

  Alice clamped her mouth shut and strode briskly through the doorway. As she passed the young woman, she snapped, “If the group offers a class on manners you should sign up for it!”

  With her chin high and her fingers closed tightly around the handle on her black bag, she pushed open the old oak door of the church and stepped into the fresh afternoon air. The rain had stopped, though it was only a brief break. Marlowe was sitting just where she’d left him. He meowed; his brown and gold eyes steady on her.

  “Well, that didn’t go well at all.” She grumbled in irritation as she planted her umbrella cane on the ground. “Let’s find a little spot. I need a few moments to gather myself.”

  Marlowe and Alice walked away from the church and down a pathway that meandered into a park. After a few turns, they came to a bench beneath a tree that looked to be a mostly dry spot. Alice sat and placed her bag on the bench, and Marlowe leapt up gracefully beside her.

  Blinking back hot tears, she patted Marlowe on the head and opened her bag to dig around in it.

  “I guess I’m not much us
e to anyone anymore.” She sniffed as she pulled out a dime-store romance novel and set it beside her purse, going back into the depths of the bag.

  “I used to do so much. I was really active and involved with so many things.” She sniffed again and pulled out a butterscotch candy, setting it on her lap before reaching in once more.

  “That wretched woman in the church practically told me my life is at an end. She said they have no use for me. Perhaps she’s right…”

  Alice trailed off and finally pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from her bag before she pushed the romance novel back into the folds of it. She clutched the cloth in her hand and brought it to her eyes and nose.

  “Maybe there is nothing more I can give to my community. My son and his family have so little time for me, and now the Widows of War group doesn’t want me. I just feel so useless! I can’t give anyone anything if they won’t let me, can I Marlowe?” She asked in a thin voice as she worked at swallowing her emotion, and rubbed her fingertips over his head.

  He moved closer to her, purring and nuzzling his face into her hand as she petted him. With a half-smile, she tilted her head and her voice softened.

  “Thank goodness I have you and all the other cats, and Henderson. I don’t know what on earth I’d do without all of you.”

  The two of them shared a long and quiet moment together, save for his loud purring. She opened her butterscotch candy and popped it into her mouth, rolling the wrapper between her gloved fingers. Eyeing them thoughtfully, she frowned.

  “She didn’t like my gloves. Just because they don’t match. George bought one of these pairs of gloves for me when we were on our wedding anniversary holiday in Paris one summer. She didn’t know that, did she? How could I toss away something as sweet as that just because it doesn’t match? I was silly and I lost one of the gloves, but I still want to wear them, so I just wear a different glove on the other hand. It’s not as though I’m ever going to get another anniversary gift from George again. I think short-sighted people can’t appreciate the beauty and true value in things they don’t understand. Last time I saw him, I was wearing this glove… he held my hand and kissed my cheek just before he left. Wearing it, I can almost feel him holding my hand again. I’m not about to give that up just so my gloves will match.”