Second Star to the Right

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “Tootles wants me to read him a story,” the old woman said in a voice that was high and melodic. “He was kind enough to return my book, you see.”

  Faye was dumbstruck. She stood with her hand holding the phone in midair, reconciling in her mind that this was undoubtedly Crazy Wendy, that the elfin old woman was calling her son Tootles, and that her quiet, shy son had actually gone upstairs on his own and told this stranger that he wanted her to read him a story.

  “Wendy!” Jack exclaimed warmly, holding his arm out to usher her and the boy into the front room. “You found our runaway. I should’ve guessed a lost boy would go straight to you. Mrs. Wendy Forrester, meet Mrs. Faye O’Neill, the newest tenant of Number 14.”

  “Charmed, my dear,” the old woman replied with a beguiling smile. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I do so like meeting new people, don’t you?”

  Faye quickly replaced the receiver in its cradle and reached out to take Wendy’s hand. Her bones were as delicate as a sparrow’s and her eyes as animated. She had a curious expression on her face and a way of cocking her head to one side that made one wonder just what the old girl was conjuring up in her undoubtedly clever mind.

  “Yes, it’s a pleasure indeed,” Faye replied haltingly. “And this is my daughter, Madeline.”

  Instead of slouching and firing off a monosyllabic reply, Maddie stepped forward and shook the hand warmly, her eyes aglow with excitement. Faye might have been proud except Maddie exclaimed, “So you’re the one who left the Peter Pan book! You must be Crazy Wendy!”

  Faye sputtered out some apology, but there was no need. Wendy wasn’t the least bit offended. She laughed brightly and hugged Maddie close.

  “Yes, that’s me. But I’m not the least bit crazy, my dear. It’s sad how some people refer to what they don’t understand as crazy. We shan’t let little trivialities like that cloud our way, shall we, child? Of course not. I can see right off that we will all be friends. Great, good friends.”

  Faye found herself nodding in agreement.

  “Very good then. Well...” Wendy looked at the question in the children’s faces. “Sorry to say, I think it might be a bit late tonight for stories. There’s a full moon, and one never knows what will happen on the eve of a full moon. Full alert! Tomorrow is Saturday. Why not come up for tea? Everyone! We’ll have a wonderful visit. Just between friends.”

  She blithely turned to Tom for a reply. “How does that sound to you, Tootles? All right then?”

  Tom didn’t budge or reply but remained holding her hand, smiling up into Wendy’s face with a look that could only be described as adoration. Wendy seemed to have her answer. Her pale, wrinkled face softened. She reached out to stroke the soft, downy blond hair from Tom’s brow, and cupping his chin in her palm, stared deep into his eyes.

  “Oh, yes. You are a special boy. You remind me of another boy I know. He is brave like you, too. And loves nothing more than a new adventure. Oh, I have a great deal of wonderful stories to tell you and the very best games.” Looking up, she included Maddie in her smile. “You, too, my dear girl. Come up to the nursery at four promptly! Two things one must never serve cold: tea and a good story. Ta for now!”

  She turned and slipped through the door, climbing up the flights of stairs with a pace and agility that didn’t seem normal for a woman of her advanced years. Then again, thought Faye, watching her at the foot of the stairs with chagrin, nothing at all was normal about Crazy Wendy.

  * * *

  Faye delayed as long as she could. She ironed Maddie’s yellow sundress so that there wasn’t a wrinkle and endured her daughter’s bottom-wriggling and fussing while she braided her pale hair into a tidy French braid.

  “Almost done,” she crooned.

  Maddie wriggled and leaped from her chair to frown into the mirror. “I hate it,” she said, pulling out the elastic in quick, hasty strokes. Now the elastic was knotted in her hair and her teary cries of anger were a spray of bullets.

  Faye took a deep breath and walked to her daughter, whisking away her hands. “It looked very nice. I don’t know why you choose to look so plain.”

  “What about you?” Maddie fired back. “How come you always look so plain?”

  Faye saw the sting of hurt in Maddie’s eyes and bit back her retort. Instead, she gently tugged the elastic free, then smoothed out the tangled clump of hair with soft strokes of her palm. While doing so, she took a quick glance down at her conservative tan-linen skirt and her prim, white-cotton blouse closed tight around the neck with her grandmother’s brooch.

  “Perhaps,” she said, her voice conciliatory, “you and I are alike. We prefer to keep our creativity on the inside.”

  The fire in Maddie’s eyes dimmed, and she visibly softened.

  Faye cupped her daughter’s face and saw in the gawky features the swan that would someday emerge. “You look beautiful. Now go check on Tom, okay?”

  Tom stood at the ready by the door, a silent sentinel with a clutch of posies in his hand. He’d been standing there since four o’clock, sighing heavily.

  “She said to be prompt, Mother,” called Maddie. “Wendy doesn’t want to serve the tea cold.”

  “I hardly think that five minutes will put the tea into the deep freeze. And besides, she’s quite old, perhaps she’s a bit behind schedule.” Faye didn’t really believe that. She imagined that Wendy had had the table set for hours. Or she’d forgotten about it completely. Who knew with a woman so old?

  Faye didn’t want to go upstairs at all. She’d been beguiled yesterday, but today she’d come to her senses. She had no time for such frivolities. This morning she’d been late getting back from the market, there was laundry piling up, and she had hours’ more work before she made her presentation on the Hampton Tea account on Monday morning. Not to mention, Mrs. Lloyd had specifically warned them not to bother her mother. But the children so wanted to go...

  The front doorbell sounded, followed by a scuffling of children’s feet.

  “Jack!” she heard Maddie exclaim. “You’re coming, too!”

  Oh great, thought Faye as she hurried to slip earrings in place.

  “Of course I’m coming,” Jack replied. “Couldn’t abandon my old pal Tom here to an afternoon surrounded by ladies.”

  Faye peeked down the hall just as Jack patted the boy on his shoulder. Her stomach clutched tight as Tom predictably took a step back, glowering. Jack instantly caught on and tucked his hand back into his pocket.

  Tom never tolerated being patted, stroked, or touched by strangers in any fashion whatsoever. Faye knew it would take time for Tom to trust a man again. Maddie, however, ran right up to Jack and wrapped her thin arms around his waist. Faye sighed, knowing her daughter was head over heels for him already.

  Faye stepped into the hall, offering her hand with the detached deportment of old Lady Ashford herself. “You’re joining us for tea?”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Mrs. Forrester was a grand socialite in the old days. I’m sure she knows how to throw a good old-fashioned tea party. I’ve even dressed for the occasion. Dress whites.”

  Faye’s gaze swept over his linen suit, crisp, snowy shirt, and red-striped tie. There was something about a man in a white shirt and tie that pushed all of her buttons. “My, my, my, Dr. Graham. You could pass for a proper English gentleman.”

  “Anything for the ladies,” he replied.

  That Jack would endure the discomfort of starch and collars on a Saturday for an old woman—and a young girl—alike touched Faye in her heart where she hadn’t felt a twinge in years.

  “You look quite dapper,” she said with an edge of teasing in her voice.

  “There’s that word again. It’s a good thing I’m a gentleman,” he said with mock severity. Then with his gaze sweeping over her, he added slowly, “Again, let me return the compliment.”

  “Mom thinks she’s plain,” chirped Maddie, eyeing with suspicion the interaction between the two adults. Faye loo
ked down at her daughter’s narrowed eyes, and if she didn’t know better, she’d swear the little girl was jealous.

  “Plain is hardly the word I’d use to describe your mother.” He looked at Faye’s tiny, slim body wrapped tight in buttons all the way up her long, slim throat and all he could think of right now was how he wanted to undo every one of them.

  “Shouldn’t we head up?” Faye said, not trusting the appreciative look in Jack’s eyes.

  “Right,” said Jack. “I remember something said about being prompt.”

  Maddie shot off an arch, “I tried to tell her.”

  “I’m a little worried that we shouldn’t have put Mrs. Forrester through the trouble,” Faye said in a soft voice behind her palm. “She’s so old, and her daughter was quite clear that her mother was not to be disturbed.”

  “She also said Wendy didn’t like children. You saw for yourself how off the mark that was. Come on, Faye. Stop stalling.”

  When she moved a hesitant foot forward, he said reassuringly, “Wendy’s a dear heart and not the least bit crazy. We’ll all have a good time, your children will experience their first proper British teatime, and who knows? You might even get some ideas for that tea campaign you’re working on.”

  “Well,” she said, looking into her children’s upturned faces, “then I guess we’d better hurry. We don’t want a cold story now, do we?”

  The relief on their faces was palpable. Tom tore out the door and up the stairs like a cavalry soldier charging the top of the hill, ignoring Maddie’s strident shouts for him to slow down. The great stairs thundered under their feet.

  “Wait one minute,” Faye said in a rush. “I just thought of something.”

  She ran upstairs to her bedroom and rifled through her drawers. She knew they were in there somewhere. Nylons and bras littered the floor, but there in the back of the drawer she found them. White kid gloves—just the thing! She tugged her fingers into the tight slits as she ran down the stairs.

  Jack’s eyes sparkled in appreciation of her gesture, and he gallantly offered Faye his arm. They were playacting a bit, she knew. He being the gentleman in his suit and tie and she the lady in her gloves on their way to formal tea.

  “Shall we go?” Jack asked.

  Although unsure of the game’s rules, she accepted his arm and allowed him to escort her up the grand staircase to the third floor.

  Wendy’s door was slightly ajar, and from within she heard the sudden high peal of laughter. Curious, Faye pushed open the door slowly.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she stepped into a blur of soft blues, gauzy whites, and the faint tinkling of crystal. It was as though someone had changed the camera lens from sharp and clear to romantic and hazy. Faye moved away from the door, her head turning from left to right taking it all in, stepping lightly as though there was glass beneath her feet. This wasn’t a rabbit warren of attic rooms at all. It was a charming, picturesque, sun-drenched aerie!

  Her gaze was immediately drawn to an arched alcove across the room. It was bordered with an intricate fairylike trellis and had a large, mullioned window that was flung open to the fresh air and the sweet garden below. Nestled beneath the window was a charming window seat with plump velvet cushions and tasseled pillows, littered with books. What a perfect place to cozy up for a read, or, Faye thought with a pang of sympathy, for a chat with the evening stars. Looking out the open window, she felt as though she’d shipped off and was floating somewhere high above the city, up where the air was thin and sweet and smelled of... She sniffed. What was that? Cinnamon! Yes, sitting on the table was a three-tiered platter of freshly baked pastries with melting icing.

  “We’ve been expecting you, haven’t we, children?” Wendy called out in that melodic voice of hers. “You look quite lovely, my dear. That is such a becoming brooch.”

  Faye flushed with pleasure, inordinately pleased. “Thank you, Mrs. Forrester.”

  “Oh, do call me Wendy. Mrs. Forrester always makes me feel so old. I don’t feel old... And Jack,” she said, waving him forward. “My, how handsome you look in your suit. So tall and grown-up.” She sighed, almost sadly as she took his hands and contemplated the man.

  “Well, do come in and make yourselves comfortable,” Wendy exclaimed again, fluttering her little hands. Faye thought she looked all the more like a dainty sparrow, all brown dress and white hair and bright eyes.

  Faye strolled through the large, airy room in a wide-eyed daze while the children played with a set of figurines on the carpet. There was so much that was charming and quaint that Faye couldn’t take it all in. The antique furniture was beautiful but an odd grouping of periods and styles. Faye supposed that Wendy had selected these pieces from all the others when the house was converted simply because they were her favorites. The chairs were a collection of trumpet-shaped legs, tufted armrests, and tassels in amusing places. An immense overflowing bookcase filled one wall. Another wall was dominated by a scrolled, white-marble mantel topped by a fanciful hanging cabinet. The trestled, spindled concoction had a layered arrangement of open shelves and glass closets that were as amusing as they were functional. Faye brought her hand to her cheek, sighed with awe, and felt drawn to it.

  She carefully examined the small porcelain figurines, similar to the ones in her own flat. Only these were not mere animals. She recognized Peter Rabbit in his blue coat, Puss ’N Boots standing cocksure in his signature boots and rakish hat. Rat, Mole, and Toad clustered together with fishing tackle, dainty Alice, clumsy Pooh, and of course in a place of honor stood Peter Pan fighting Captain Hook. An old black-silk top hat filled the left-corner shelf, and in the right sat a very old and very used teddy bear missing one eye. A lower shelf held a beaded tomahawk with a long tail of shredded leather straps. Stepping closer, she peered inside the center glass cabinet where the smallest treasures nestled. Faye held her breath, finding a small locket that shone in burnished gold, an etched silver box that held a spool of white thread and a single needle, and an empty square of bright blue velvet.

  “I had his thimble resting there for the longest time,” Wendy said wistfully at her shoulder.

  Faye turned to look at the old woman quizzically.

  “But the selfish boy took it back!” she snapped, eyebrows raised in exclamation.

  Faye’s mouth slipped open, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say. She looked helplessly for Jack. She found him bending low, nose almost touching the wall, to peer closely at one of the painted figures. Faye’s attention was immediately diverted. Such murals! Each wall swirled with a hand-painted depiction of some place or event from the adventures of Peter Pan.

  “Who painted them?” she sputtered.

  Wendy replied matter-of-factly. “Why, I did. I painted them myself. Not all at once,” she scoffed. “Couldn’t have done that. Oh no, it took me many years. Bit by bit as the whimsy struck me. I painted that one soon after I returned,” she said, pointing to the mural across the room that showed an enormous tree and, beneath it, a rabbit’s warren of rooms fit for young children.

  Faye raised her brows. “Returned from...”

  “The Neverland,” she replied. “Isn’t that what we were talking about? And that one after my second trip,” she continued, pointing to the mural of a lagoon swimming in blues and greens where an imposing pirate’s ship was docked. Sunning themselves on clustered rocks nearby were several ruby-lipped, pastel-haired mermaids. “I did so love the mermaids. Aren’t they the loveliest things?”

  Faye turned to Jack again. Chin cupped in his hand, he was still staring intently at the boy in the mural. Maddie and Tom clustered near, studying the murals with shining eyes.

  “Were there really mermaids?” Maddie asked, her voice doubtful.

  “Ever so many,” Wendy replied. “They were quite saucy, however. Sad to say it took me the longest time to befriend them, and then only because...”

  “I think we’ll wait to hear about the mermaids,” Faye interrupted. What had she gotten herself i
nto? She didn’t like the gullible expression on Maddie’s face, or the serious one on Wendy’s. “Uh, Jack?” she called out. “What are you doing over there?”

  He straightened and turned to them, his face troubled. “It’s this mural. This boy.”

  “Which boy is that, dear?” Wendy asked, coming directly to his side. “There are so many.”

  It was true. When Faye looked closely at the murals she noted that hidden in small tree stumps or in leafy branches, floating in clouds, fighting duels with pirates and chasing Indians, were boys. The faces of countless, small boys of every description, peeked out from every nook and cranny.

  “Who are they?” she asked.

  “Those are my Lost Boys,” she replied guilelessly. “There have been so many over the years that I like to paint their faces so I won’t forget them. Dear, sweet boys, every one of them.”

  “Lost Boys? What do you mean, Lost Boys?” Jack asked.

  “Why, the boys who came to me to find a home, of course.”

  “Ah, boys from the Boy’s Home,” Faye responded, relieved it was making sense.

  “Yes,” Wendy replied. “All my boys.”

  “What is it, Jack?” Faye asked.

  He looked into Wendy’s pale blue eyes, so wise and knowing, and felt a shiver go through him. He was more convinced than ever that Wendy Forrester was the key to unlocking his past.

  Pointing to one gamin-faced boy with a cap of lush curls and large brown eyes peeking out from a tree stump he said, “I never noticed this boy before. Who is he?”

  She frowned and shook her head. “Oh I don’t remember all their names, dear. I can’t say as I love one more than another. Except, perhaps for one...”

  “I’d really like to know if you remember this boy,” he said with urgency. “You see, I just found out that I was adopted from your boys’ home, Wendy.” He paused, watching her closely. “Small world, isn’t it?”