SIX POINTS OF LIGHT
HOOK'S ORIGIN
KALYNN BAYRON
Copyright © 2014 by Kalynn Bayron
All rights reserved. No part of the publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wished to quote a brief passage in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.
For my dad Errol,
“For love and eternity in Neverland.”
Hook’s Origin
CHAPTER 1: THE ARRIVAL
CHAPTER 2: ST.CATHERINE’S
CHAPTER 3: A SECRET
CHAPTER 4: AN IMPORTANT TASK
CHAPTER 5: THE FLUTE AND THE PACT
CHAPTER 6: FLIGHT
CHAPTER 7: GAMBIT
CHAPTER 8: FUN AND BLOOD UNDER THE BIG TOP
CHAPTER 9: A GIRL
CHAPTER 10: REVELATIONS
CHAPTER 11: THROUGH WENDY’S EYES
CHAPTER 12: GONE
CHAPTER 13: TIME GONE BY
CHAPTER 14: A LONG LOST FRIEND
CHAPTER 15: GOODBYE
CHAPTER 16: TIGERLILLY’S CAMP
CHAPTER 17: BAIT THE HOOK
CHAPTER 18: THE CAMP ABOVE THE COVE
CHAPTER 19: A REUNION
CHAPTER 20: NEW BEGINNINGS
CHAPTER 21: SOME TIME LATER
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT from Six Points of Light: The Lost Son
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
THE ARRIVAL
Sister Maddie sat alone in the library, warming her outstretched hands by the fire. She thought about the recent repairs she and Sister Angelica had undertaken on the rectory doors. When the man they'd hired to do the work left with their money, they had been forced to improvise. They’d stripped the doors and repainted them all on their own.
St. Catherine's would never be a sparkling beacon of superiority and privilege like St. John’s, but they’d done what they could, rolling up their sleeves and doing all the work themselves.
Faint footsteps in the hallway caught Sister Maddie’s attention. She glanced up at the library's large wooden double doors as they creaked open.
“Sister Maddie?” a voice called out.
“James, is that you?” asked Sister Maddie.
“Yes, Sister,” replied the voice.
In the shadow of the entryway, a young man stood motionless. His night clothes were soaked through with perspiration, and he looked near to fainting.
Sister Maddie rushed over to him and placed her arms around him. For a boy of fifteen, he was tall, nearly a head taller than Sister Maddie herself, but all skin and bones and sharp angles, with none of the divine plumpness that accompanied most young people. He was often sick, and so, as a result, he had lingered at St. Catherine’s much longer than any of the other children.
Sister Maddie guided him back to the small infirmary where he stayed most nights. He was prone to fever and stomach pains and spent most of his nights tossing and turning while Sister Gerty slept soundly in a wooden rocking chair by the fireplace.
“She sleeps like the dead,” said James with an accusing glance.
“Hush now!” Sister Maddie stifled a laugh. “She’s nearly seventy years old, James. She needs a nap every once in a while.”
She helped James into a dry pair of night clothes and situated him on the hearth of the fireplace while she found clean linens. She stripped off the soaking-wet bedclothes and replaced them with a dry set then sprinkled a few drops of peppermint oil on the dry sheets before helping James back into bed. Sister Gerty began to snore loudly, and this time it was Sister Maddie’s turn to shake her head disapprovingly.
“The good news is that your fever seems to have broken,” she said.
“I guess it has.” Sister Maddie sat at the foot of James’s bed. “Do you think I’ll always be sick?”
“I pray that one day you will know what it means to sleep in your own bed and be free from your ills, James. I pray for that every day.” She indeed prayed for that every day, every night, and every hour.
“Am I being punished?”
Sister Maddie shook her head. “Please don’t say such things. I am sure you are not being punished. Perhaps you’re being tested. Someday, you’ll be able to comfort sick children, too, and help them in their hour of need.”
“Maybe,” James paused for a moment. “Will you sing to me?”
From the time James arrived at St. Catherine's as an infant, Sister Maddie had sung him hymns. It was the only way she could calm him when his fits of crying lasted for hours. The other Sisters became weary of caring for the constantly-crying child so, when they’d realized that Sister Maddie's singing calmed and comforted the boy, she had inadvertently become his primary caregiver. She’d spent hours cradling the boy, and when he became too big to cradle, she sat by his bed and sang to him any time he asked.
While her wish for all of her children was that they would find a loving family, she had cared for James for so long that it felt as if he belonged at St. Catherine's. Sister Maddie couldn’t fathom why a boy should belong in an orphanage for his entire childhood, but she trusted God's plan.
“Of course I will sing to you,” she told him. “I could never decline that invitation.” She settled in to the soft, sweet melody of “Teach Me My God and King.” “’Awake, My Soul, and with the sun/Thy daily stage of duty run/Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise,/To pay thy morning sacrifice.’”
She watched as James's eyes fluttered to a close; his breathing became slow and steady. While still singing in a quiet voice, she took a cloth from the bedside table and dabbed his forehead. His fever had indeed broken; his skin was cool and clammy, but he would perk up over the next few days. She was sure of it.
She trailed off at the end of the hymn, hoping the boy had settled into a restful sleep for the night. “’Direct, control, suggest, this day,/All I design, or do, or say,/That all my powers, with all their might, In Thy sole glory may unite.’”
Sister Maddie thought that the love she felt for the children of St. Catherine's was the greatest gift God had ever given her. It wasn't until she’d met this dark-haired boy with eyes like green aventurine, however, that she’d recognized God had given her an even more important blessing. James would never be adopted. She knew this in her heart: his needs were too severe, his illnesses prolonged. That caused her a great deal of sorrow. However, in her pain she’d found what she believed was the meaning behind it all. This motherless child who had been discarded on the steps of St. Catherine's like a bit of rubbish with only a note reading James Cook had stolen her heart and allowed her to feel the full depth of love, of compassion, and of selflessness. She had no children of her own, but this boy filled that empty place in her heart like no other.
As Sister Maddie sat watching the boy sleep, she heard a raucous noise coming from the entrance hall. She glanced at the large grandfather clock in the hallway and found it was nearly midnight, far too late for anyone to be roaming the halls. She stood and, after making sure that James hadn’t been disturbed by the noise, walked towards the source of the commotion.
Entering the hallway, she expected to see a child, perhaps Ben, who always had such trouble sleeping. Instead, standing in the main entryway was a woman along with one of Sister Maddie’s fellow nuns. Tall and thin as a sapling the stranger stood, drenched from the rain, distraught, clutching a small boy in her arms. She trembled as she tried to stem the flow of tears cascading down her chee
ks.
“My dear, please, calm down.” Sister Angelica pleaded with the weeping woman.
“What is going on?” asked Sister Maddie as she hurried to Angelica’s side and discovered that the boy was soaking wet, too. The woman’s eyes were wide with what Sister Maddie could only identify as fear. “Please, there’s no need to scare the boy. Let me find him some dry clothes.” She extended her arms and smiled at the trembling woman.
“I can never go back!” she screamed.
“Please, stop yelling. The children are sleeping,” Sister Angelica said.
Sister Maddie raised her hand in Sister Angelica's direction, a plea for patience, which was a virtue Sister Angelica struggled with in her old age. Sister Maddie turned her attention back to the woman and found her to be young, with a lovely, soft face that showed no signs of sickness, as was often the case when young women brought their children to St. Catherine's. She looked healthy and able, but the hollows just under eyes were deep. She appeared tormented. The young boy she clutched in her arms was spindly, just like his mother. Sister Maddie thought he may have been eight or nine years old.
“Please,” said Sister Maddie again, this time a bit more sternly. “Let us help you.” She extended her arms again, and this time the woman placed the child in them. To Sister Maddie's amazement, the boy appeared to be sound asleep. The woman then set her bag on the floor.
As she cradled the child, Sister Maddie looked at his mother again. She had been wrong about the meaning in her eyes. It wasn't fear. It was complete and utter despair.
“My dear,” said Sister Angelica a bit more soothingly, “you don't have to go back to any place that doesn't suit you. You are safe here.”
At those words, the woman dropped to her knees and began to sob.
“You don't understand!” she wailed through an avalanche of tears. “I can't go back. I can't! But I want to, God I want to go back!”
Sisters Angelica and Maddie looked at each other, puzzled. Determined to let the boy continue his undisturbed sleep, Sister Maddie turned to take him to the library, and as she did, she heard a sound escape Sister Angelica. It was a sharp, quick inhalation. Sister Maddie turned back to see a look of abject horror plastered across Sister Angelica's face. From her coat pocket, the woman had drawn a glinting silver dagger and was holding it by the hilt with the tip of the blade pressed over her heart.
“No!” said Sister Maddie. “This is not the way.”
“If I can never go back, I have nothing to live for,” said the woman. She looked at the sleeping boy and a small smile flickered across her lips. “Tell him I love him and to never grow up. Never grow up, Peter.”
The young woman looked up, closed her eyes, and plunged the dagger into her heart.
Sister Angelica's scream sent the orphanage into a panic. Sister Gerty came running, and some of the older children, whose rooms were closest to the front entry came out into the hallway to see what was happening.
The woman fell into a heap on the floor as blood drained from her body and gathered in the ruts of the uneven floor. Her skin turned a sick, pallid shade of gray and her eyes, blank and glassy, rolled to the back of her head.
Sister Angelica screamed for Sister Gerty to call for the doctor. Sister Maddie whisked the sleeping boy away to the library, for fear he would awaken to see his mother lying lifeless on the floor. She closed the double doors behind her and collapsed in front of the fireplace, clutching the child to her chest. Gently, she laid him down and, despite finding her legs unsteady and quivering, returned to the hall to see what could be done for this boy’s mother.
As she looked down at the young woman, she saw that there was no life left in her. She knelt and stroked the woman’s hair, saying a silent prayer.
What pain you must have endured, she thought.
When the doctor arrived along with the constable, she gave a brief recollection of the events that had taken place then excused herself and went to check on the boy.
In the library she found him just as she had left him. This boy, who had become another lost child for her to care for, slept peacefully; he seemed blissfully unaware of the horrors just outside the library doors. What had his mother called him? Peter, was it? Yes: Peter. Peter would be safe here. She would see to it.
Sister Maddie couldn’t sleep that night. She sat watching the boy as he appeared to dream, his closed eyes fluttering beneath the lids, small whimpering sounds escaping him every hour or so. She prayed and cried, the words of Peter’s mother repeating over and over in her head.
“I can’t go back!”
The woman had been the most desperate person Sister Maddie had ever seen. Her eyes had been so wide and so full of pain. Sister Maddie pitied her and prayed that she was now at peace. With her head bowed and her hands covering her eyes, she barely noticed James slip in through the doors.
“Sister Maddie?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
She wiped her face and smiled at him. “Yes, dear. I’m all right.”
James watched the sleeping boy as he stirred inside his cocoon of warm blankets.
“Would you like me to look after him so that you can get some rest?”
“No, you need your rest much more than I do. Please go back to bed. I will come check on you soon.”
She couldn’t help but smile at James. What a caring young man he’d become. He was smart and, despite his near constant state of ill health, optimistic. He’d confided in Sister Maddie his dreams of becoming a sailor or an explorer. He’d read every book he could get his hands on, and Sister Maddie had added volumes of new books to St. Catherine’s library to satisfy his love of reading.
James nodded and returned to his bed in the infirmary.
Sister Maddie took up her post in the sturdy wing-backed chair by the fire to keep vigil over the sleeping Peter until morning broke through the stained glass windows. The boy stirred and sat up, looking around with eyes as blue as the sea.
“I’m very happy to see you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep,” said Sister Maddie.
“Yes, I feel much better,” said Peter.
“Were you feeling ill dear?”
“No, just tired.”
She leaned close to the boy. “My child, I have some things to share with you that will be hard to hear, but I am here with you, to help you. It’s about your mother.”
“What about her?”
“My boy, I’m afraid she’s gone to be with God.”
“You mean she’s dead,” said Peter flatly.
Sister Maddie was taken aback by how calm he seemed. “Well, yes, she’s gone.”
“Well, it’s for the best.”
Sister Maddie looked into the boy’s eyes. Perhaps he didn’t understand; maybe she hadn’t been clear. “Peter, your mother has died. Do you understand what that means?”
“Of course!” He stood up and threw the blankets on to the floor. “She’s dead. Gone. It’s for the best.”
Sister Maddie had seen many children react oddly to the deaths of their parents. Each reaction was different, but Peter’s reaction was downright bizarre. She decided not to press him at that moment. In time, he would come around, and she would be there when he was ready. Still, she couldn’t describe the feeling that came over her when she looked into his eyes, so deep and blue and empty.
“Are you hungry?” she asked him, trying to put her thoughts elsewhere.
“Yes, I’m very hungry,” said Peter.
CHAPTER 2
ST.CATHERINE’S
St. Catherine's had a reputation, and as reputations go, it wasn’t a good one. St. Catherine’s was a place for misfits, for outcasts, for the unwanted. Children who had a good chance of being adopted went to St. Michael's or even St. John's. Never to St. Catherine’s. This place was for those children who didn't fit in anywhere else.
Sister Madeline, or Sister Maddie as most of the children called her, knew better. She knew that the children who came to St. Catharine’s were innocent and deserved to
be loved and nurtured as much as anyone. Perhaps even more than the others, due to their often desperate circumstances. She welcomed each one of them with open arms and an open heart. Many of the Sisters who worked in the orphanage with Sister Maddie shared this sentiment, and those who did not moved on quickly. God forgive her, Sister Maddie was joyous when these unfeeling women left. She prayed for forgiveness. She knew better than to rejoice at such things, but she couldn't help herself. Sister Maddie loved the children more than anything besides the good Lord himself.
Though benefactors were scarce, Sister Maddie had done everything she could to make sure the children who found their way to her wanted for nothing.
St. Catherine’s sat on a plot of land several miles from the town of Holindale, tucked neatly into the rolling hills and thicketed lands that harkened back to a time gone by. The bucolic setting was something out of a fairy tale. The property had been a nunnery but was converted into an orphanage by Sister Maddie's father, the late Judge Percival Huntington.
Within the legal system, her father dealt with matters of family law. It was his great misfortune to have seen things that made him intimately aware of the suffering and chaos that often clung relentlessly to orphaned children as they were shuffled from one family to the next. It was for this reason that he carried with him a sincere sense of empathy for all children who’d been left without parents to care for them and a deep desire to help them in any way he could.
He purchased the abandoned nunnery with a sum of money he had put aside to fund his own retirement. His wife thought it an act of pure lunacy and had even taken it upon herself to call the family physician and have her dear husband thoroughly assessed. Judge Huntington had, of course, been physically and mentally sound and set to work renovating and restoring the derelict building. It took him four years to finish, doing much of the work himself. Maddie took over the running of the orphanage after her father died; since then, she had done her best to keep it up.
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