Shades of Neverland

by Carey Corp

  I hope you want to know what became of Wendy and whether she recovered from her first encounter with Peter Neverland. By the time she arrived home from the Duke of York’s matinee, she was quite herself again. At least on the outside… Her insides were a jumble of thoughts and emotions surfacing for the first time.

  On the morning of this particular part of our story, she was in the drawing-room, taking her regular instruction from Aunt Mildred. Later in the day, the women of the Darling household, along with Aunt Mildred, were expected at the Whitby’s for tea. Mrs. Darling sat silently by, her sentiments belied only by the twitching of the perfectly conspicuous kiss in the right had corner of her sweet, mocking mouth. Wendy, you should know, had inherited that very same mouth and kiss.

  “This is a test,” Aunt Mildred admonished shrilly. “The Whitby’s want to ensure your moral caliber and refinement is up to snuff. Come Wendy! Let us practice for this afternoon’s event.” She then began to advise Wendy on the genteel art of making conversation without saying anything at all. Wendy, however, kept getting distracted by the old woman’s waddle, which bobbed and wiggled above the ruffle of the woman’s high collar.

  When a knock on the door interrupted the discourse, both Wendy, who’d been fixating on her Great Aunt’s throat rather than her discourse, and Mrs. Darling, who retained yet enough girlishness to balk at the matriarch’s practical lessons, were secretly thankful for the interruption.

  A moment later, Old Liza appeared with a pretty little invitation. “For Wendy, Ma’am.” The servant offered the parchment not to Wendy but to Great Aunt Mildred. You see, the servant had been in the Darling household since she was a slight girl, and she knew on which side of the family their income’s bread was buttered. If not for Great Aunt Mildred, she would’ve been discharged a long time ago. For the Darling’s third child squeaked by so narrowly, Liza felt sure without the good matriarch’s intervention she would’ve been put out on the street so that he could afford to stay.

  “What is this?” Great Aunt Mildred’s face turned fish-like, all pursed lips and narrowness as she inspected the invitation. “It seems,” she said to Wendy at last. “The producer of that theater you love so is throwing a ball.”

  “A ball!”

  It was Mrs. Darling who spoke thus, fortunately taking the attention off Wendy and the tremor that instantly racked her body at the thought of dancing with a certain young actor. Mrs. Darling’s liking for parties was one of her most remarkable qualities. Turning to her only daughter, she clapped her hands in delight, exclaiming, “Oh, I shall have occasion to lend you the necklace that George gave me! It does go so perfectly with your bracelet.”

  Wendy loved to lend her pearl and ruby bracelet to her mother. It did complement Mrs. Darling’s necklace as if they were a matched set; therefore, on many occasions Mrs. Darling had asked for the loan of it. Imagining Peter’s reaction to how fine she would look adorned in them gave Wendy a small thrill.

  “May I go, Aunt Mildred?” Wendy asked, trying to make the monumental inquiry seem trivial.

  “Please, dear Aunt Mildred,” Mrs. Darling echoed. “Mayn’t she go?”

  During this discourse, Old Liza had been quite forgotten until she cleared her throat and with downcast eyes said, “I’m to give the messenger Wendy’s reply, Ma’am.”

  “Of course.” Aunt Mildred crossed to the writing desk, penned a short reply and handed it to the maid. By way of dismissal, she ordered, “Give him this.”

  Liza left with a scowl; for she did not like the look of this particular messenger at all and was eager to be rid of him. Besides being too well dressed, he possessed the dark hair and eyes of a Spaniard. He also kept inquiring into Miss Darling’s health, an inappropriate and annoying impertinence in the old servant’s humble opinion.

  Neither of the Darling women were given the benefit of seeing Great Aunt Mildred’s reply. For a tense moment, mother and daughter agonized over Wendy’s fate; for the girl’s attendance relied not only on the old woman’s agreement but also in her generosity to finance a suitable gown for the event.

  After a pause befitting the Matriarch’s stature and influence over the situation, Great Aunt Mildred magnanimously declared, “I suppose, it never hurts for a young lady, who has yet to make her social mark, to partake in respectable society.”

  At this, Wendy and Mrs. Darling clasped hands and began to dance about the room in a gay romp. It reminded Wendy of the lovely dances they used to have in the old nursery when she was still a child. Back then, Mrs. Darling would pirouette so wildly that all you could see of her was her kiss, and then if you had dashed at her you might have got it.

  “Mother,” Wendy asked, when they finally stopped to catch their breath. “How did you know you were in love with father?”

  The enigmatic kiss in the corner of Mrs. Darling’s smile grew deeper. “Why it was love at first sight, dear.”

  This was an apt statement. As a girl, Mrs. Darling has been bursting with romantic sensibilities. When she finally decided she was ready to fall in love, Mr. Darling had the distinction of being the very first to arrive on her doorstep.

  The way Mr. Darling won her was this: the many gentlemen who had been boys when she was a girl discovered simultaneously that they loved her, and they all ran to her house to propose to her except Mr. Darling, who took a cab and nipped in first, and so he got her. This confirmed Mr. Darling’s notion that love-at-first-sight sometimes had more to do with positioning than providence.

  “How wonderful,” Wendy sighed, Great Aunt Mildred and her odious lessons momentarily forgotten. “Love at first sight.”

  As Wendy floated from the room, Great Aunt Mildred’s eyes narrowed in shrewd speculation. Until that moment, she had not the least bit of concern in letting her great niece attend Mr. Frohman’s ball. Suddenly, the occasion seemed rife with peril. If the girl had ulterior motives… Still, she had given her word that Wendy could attend and she would stand by her promise. However, that didn’t mean that certain precautions couldn’t be taken.

  Great Aunt Mildred had ulterior motives of her own, you see. Those motives, when coupled with manipulation, could make even the most well-meaning matriarch a formidable adversary. And the art of manipulation was, after all, a skill that the old woman had perfected in spades.

  Unsure if she was awake or dreaming, Wendy watched as her night-light blinked and gave such a yawn that all the other night-lights in the house yawned also. Before they could close their mouths, they all went out. Although she wasn’t afraid of the dark, she did not want them to go. For night-lights are the eyes a mother leaves behind to guard her children.

  There was another light in the room now, a thousand times brighter than the night-lights, but in the time we have taken to say this, Wendy, herself, issued a great yawn and nodded off. In the second before reaching oblivion, a shadow flitted across the light and began to sob.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Way of Things

  As is the way of things, fate often conspires to intervene where we, ourselves, are incapable of action. It was no different for Peter and Wendy. Unable to transcend their own faults, the Heavens had decided a ball would be just the thing to bring the two together. For no difference in stations or circumstances could thwart the will of Divine Providence.

  Wendy admired herself appreciatively in her full-length mirror. The neckline of her new rose-colored gown dipped just low enough, the waist cinched just tight enough, and the tulle and satin beaded skirt just full enough that her form achieved a perfect hourglass. Her shiny, golden curls were fastened with pearl combs, a perfect complement to the ruby and pearl jewelry set. She colored her lips and pinched her cheeks, and then smiled in awe. For the first time in her life, she felt as beautiful as she looked—more than beautiful, she felt radiant. For the first time she could remember, Wendy felt free.

  It was love.

  She finally understood what Aunt Mildred and her elders spoke of so enviously. It had been a month since Peter Neve
rland triumphantly claimed the London stage; and with it her heart. Love of Peter had opened up a completely new life for her, one brimming with exciting possibility. Without him, she would probably already be Mrs. James Christopher Whitby II. But Peter filled every day, tantalizing her imagination with the promise of tomorrow. Long pleasant hours were spent imagining the life they could have together as husband and wife.

  We would be remiss not to point out that in these imaginings a tiny part of Wendy’s makeup desired to mother Peter as well, but she squelched the feeling as childish. She had yet to admit to herself the want of mothering is an elemental part of the attraction every young woman feels for a young man and such urges should never be discarded as immature. Wendy, of all people, should have known that.

  Unfortunately, preoccupation with love and the challenges of being grown left little room in her head for reflection. Under obligation to her patroness aunt, she constantly juggled thoughts of Peter and James. Just last Saturday Wendy had returned from the matinee to find James waiting for her in the garden. Still under the enchantment of Peter Neverland, James seemed even more lackluster, and the comparison served to strengthen her resolve. She listened as James calmly recounted his professional accomplishments to date and then just as dispassionately asked her to become his wife.

  Her cool reply had been equally as impassive. “James, I am flattered. But now, I cannot.”

  She meant I know now what can be possible in life. I know how it feels to love with one’s entire being and I cannot go back. Now, Peter has come into my life and no other will satisfy me. James, she suspected, took her to mean that it was merely a matter of timing and perhaps there would be a chance sometime in the future, so he did not press her further. Her refusal was easier than she had ever dared hope.

  While refusing James had been easy, explaining her actions to her elders took considerable more effort and skill. She knew that Aunt Mildred and her mother, who was under the old woman’s influence, would certainly challenge her decision. Therefore, she sought the most formidable ally in the household, her father.

  While the bearish Mr. Darling was thick skulled and socially inept, he did have quite a gentle spot for his only daughter. Since all fathers are reluctant to be replaced in their daughter’s lives by husbands, Wendy appealed to his fatherly vanity.

  As Mr. Darling sat at his desk engaged in calculations, Wendy decided to soften him up by asking about his favorite subject. With a coy smile, that she hoped conveyed the proper balance of interest and ignorance, she inquired, “How is business, Father?”

  Pausing in his work, he indulged Wendy with a patriarchal smile. He didn’t expect Wendy, or any female for that matter, to grasp the complexities of business but he did rather enjoy being an authority on the subject. “Stocks are up and shares are down,” he said. He was one of those deep ones who know an awfully lot about stocks and shares. Of course no one really knows, but he quite seemed to know, and all the women in the Darling household respected him for this. Even odious Aunt Mildred.

  With a small sigh, Wendy replied, “I suppose soon, I shall have to rely on James for such important information.”

  While one hundred percent in favor of Wendy making a favorable match, and as much as he approved of her intended’s profession as a banker, Mr. Darling did not particularly like the idea of someone else becoming the expert in his daughter’s life. The thought of her looking at some other man with all respect and admiration she currently held for him caused a sharp sensation, much like heartburn, to seize his chest.

  “James is an intelligent lad,” he extolled. “But he lacks the experience only decades of hard work can provide.”

  “You are so wise, Father.” Again Wendy sighed, this time with more force of emotion behind the gesture. “If only I didn’t have to leave you so soon. If only I had a little more time.”

  There is a soft, secret place in a father’s heart that can only be touched by the wishes of a daughter. Wendy’s entreaties burrowed into that spot and took root. Until now, Mr. Darling had viewed the matter of Wendy’s engagement as a societal concern. You see he had a passion for being exactly like his neighbours, and since all of their daughters had married young and well, he could allow nothing less for Wendy. He had his position in the city to consider.

  Fortunately, the spot in his heart that only Wendy could influence overshadowed external concerns, making it easy to acquiesce. Such fondness Mr. Darling felt for her as he patted her hand and offered, “You need not leave until you are ready, child. You are barely a woman and hardly a spinster. If you require more time with your family, you may have it.”

  “Thank you.” Wendy kissed her father sweetly on the cheek. Having nearly everything she wanted from him, she let agitation chase the smile from her face for her final request. “Oh dear. How can I possibly tell Mother and dear Aunt Mildred? They will be so terribly disappointed with me. I cannot bear to be the cause of such upset. I don’t suppose you might tell them for me?”

  I am responsible for it all, thought Mr. Darling. I, George Darling, have allowed my only daughter to be pushed into marriage and banished from her home. Mea culpa, mea culpa. You see, he had had a classical education, and embraced every opportunity to ensure it did not go to waste. Even the unpleasant ones. Ever predictable, Mr. Darling told his daughter to take all the time she needed and not to worry; he would speak to the ladies.

  How Wendy loved him for his faults!

  Since neither her mother nor outspoken Aunt Mildred had said one word to her, she concluded that her father had been most persuasive. In fact, her female relations had been surprisingly compliant. When she asked for a new gown, her Aunt summoned the dressmaker at her own expense, while her mother offered to help her with her hair.

  Dressed in her finery, Wendy felt as if she had stepped through the looking glass. The tight ball of dread in the pit of her stomach at the prospect of her future vanished, making everything seem vibrant and new. Even the woman staring back at her in the mirror was a beautiful and very grown-up stranger.

  Still under the spell of the mirror, she picked up the invitation from the bureau and ran her fingers over the raised elegant gold script.

  You are cordially invited to the home of Mr. Charles Frohman for a grand ball to celebrate the success of The Three Musketeers.

  The whole company would be there, including Peter! Her heart began to pound in anticipation as she carefully tucked the invitation into her handbag and held it to her breast.

  Taking a step back toward the center of the room, Wendy dropped into a demure curtsey before practicing the Boston Waltz in long gliding steps. How would it feel to be in Peter’s arms at last? Twirling across the floor, she imagined for the hundredth time the monumental conversation she would have with Peter later that evening. Perhaps the most important conversation of her life.

  Mid-spin, Wendy halted. With a small frown, she stepped toward the foot of her window. Scattered around the floor were a curious assortment of leaves that has certainly not been there when she went to bed. You see, even from infancy Wendy had always been a tidy child and the trait had merely increased with age.

  Kneeling for closer examination revealed they were skeleton leaves, but she was sure they did not come from any tree that grew in England. She peered at the floor for marks of a strange foot and, finding none, stood to inspect the window itself. She looked through the weathered pane into the garden below. It was a sheer drop of thirty feet, without so much as a spout to climb up by. The trellis, of course, stood near, but it appeared unmolested.

  Yet, something about the leaves seemed familiar. If only she could recall the previous night’s dream. Reaching through the thick veil that separates the waking from dreams, she recollected sobbing. Something had come too near, trying to break through. An elusive shadow…

  If you or I had been there, we should have seen the shadow was the Neverlands in the guise of a boy very like Wendy Darling’s kiss. He was a lovely boy, clad in skeleton leaves and the jui
ces that ooze out of trees; but the most entrancing thing about him was that he had all his first teeth. When he saw she was all but grown-up, he gnashed the little pearls at her.

  Wendy, unfortunately, remembered naught about her dream visitor but the sob of his shadow. In the street below, a motorcar chug up the lane and braked to a stop outside no. 14. Mysterious dreams and leaves forgotten, her heart skipped a beat and she took a moment to regain her equilibrium. With one final check in the mirror, a very grown-up Wendy descended to the waiting vehicle that would deliver her to her destiny.

  If only she had not put away her childhood so neatly, she might have recognized the shadow. She might also have heard the quiet voice beseeching her from the nursery. For the voice of her inner child pleaded to come along. Had she taken young Wendy with her, she might have recognized the boy of the skeleton leaves on sight…and in doing so, discovered her true destiny.

  For the hundredth time Peter straightened his black bowtie. He ran his fingers through his thick, unruly hair and practiced a dazzling smile into the upstairs hall mirror. The dashing gentleman in the tuxedo who smiled back at him possessed a self-assurance that bordered on cocky. And why should he not be considering the recent triumphs in his life?

  Peter was living in a dream. Overnight, he had conquered the London stage. Invited into the best parlors, introduced to an endless array of wealthy, eligible daughters, he was suddenly the toast of high society. Welcomed and adored by all he met, he could do no wrong.

  Tonight, Mr. Frohman had orchestrated this ball as much to celebrate the success of Peter as the play. Theatre patrons were clamoring for the company of Peter Neverland. He knew the fame was not really real, just another kind of play. Nevertheless, Peter found it intoxicating!