by Andrea Jones
With renewed enthusiasm, Wendy surged ahead. “Red-Handed Jill and her Pirate King had more adventures—” She glanced at Peter. Framed by his willow chair, he was cleaning his nails with his dagger. Wendy bit her words. “But I’ll tell the rest of the story tomorrow.”
“Tell it tonight!” shrieked the Twins, their brown eyes eager as they clamored for more. Since there were two of them and only one of Wendy, they could never get enough of their mother’s attention.
“You heard Wendy, boys. That’s the end of Jill for tonight. And tomorrow Wendy can tell a better story. I don’t like lady pirates.”
Wendy frowned. “Peter! It’s a lovely story.” The boys shouted in agreement. Like Peter, they knew what they wanted and how to get it.
But Peter was firm. “It’s a love story. Anyway, Paradise is right here in the Neverland.” He tipped his head and grinned at Wendy. In the light of his smile, even an underground hideout took on idyllic attributes.
She nodded, brightening. “Yes, it could be here. I believe it is.”
Considering the idea, Peter thought for a moment, then said, “But I’ve never seen this Jill with her tiger-tail belt here.” Wendy imagined he might be intrigued with the lady after all, but just as her hopes began to rise, his eyes narrowed. “Nor do I want to.”
“She’s only a legend. But why don’t you like her story?”
“Because she grew up, of course.”
This time, Wendy couldn’t suppress a smile. “Most people do, Peter.”
“But what kind of adventure is that? I’ll never grow up!”
The response from his crew was immediate.
“Nor us, Peter.”
“We won’t, either!”
Secure in his authority, Peter challenged all comers. “Who wants to grow up?”
His band of boys shook their heads emphatically. “Nobody!”
“Who wants to leave Paradise?”
“Not us!”
Peter seized his dagger and jabbed it upward. “I say death to lady pirates!” His henchmen roared approval, and when their cries began to fade, he whipped them up again. “Death to all pirates!”
Partial to the lady she’d brought to life, Wendy opened her mouth to protest, but Curly hopped up and laid a finger above his lip to indicate a mustache. Crooking his other arm, he hunched over and mimed a burly pirate, stamping his boots along the floor. The boys giggled, but not nearly so hard as when upon his ‘death’ by Peter’s knife, Curly smoothed his hair and dusted off his sleeves, which, in spite of Wendy’s care, were so patched as to render the gesture ludicrous. Even in make-believe, Curly was such a gentleman that the boys rolled around the floor, laughing and holding their bellies while the melody of Tinker Bell’s mirth flowed from her hidden room. Shaking off the sting of Peter’s remarks, Wendy, too, smiled again.
Peter placed a hand on Curly’s head, pushing him down into the circle and reprimanding him in mock severity. “You’ve heard too many of Wendy’s tales about ladies and gentlemen in London. From now on, no more love stories. Only children who are getting too old like romance, and nothing is worse than growing up.”
Cozy as it was, the cavern seemed to Wendy to constrict, and she felt an urge to spread her arms to hold its walls at bay. Compelled to speak her mind but reluctant to dispel the others’ humor, Wendy hesitated. Time in the Neverland was so slippery. She couldn’t guess how long she’d been thinking this thought. Weeks maybe, or months. It was a simple idea, but not an easy one to suggest to Peter, for it ran counter to his law. Fingering the nightgown she was outgrowing, she looked around at the gap-toothed grins of the boys’ missing baby teeth and decided that, however capricious Time might be here, there was no escaping it. Her proposal’s moment had come. She placed her faith in Peter’s zeal for adventure and captured Jill Red-Hand’s boldness. The woven roots that formed the walls appeared to recede along with her reticence, and although her stomach flipped itself over, Wendy didn’t flinch.
“Growing up might be an awfully big adventure, Peter.”
Stunned, the boys solidified. They sat like stones. Peter stilled, staring as if Jill’s whip had struck him. The hideout waited and even the hearth fire died down to listen. In the silence, Wendy dared further. “When you grow up, you can fall in love and do important work and see the world and be independent and free.” Pausing, she looked intently at Peter. “I want to do all those things.”
Peter’s eyes reflected the fervor of her own. “I’m independent and free, but I have no use for the rest of it!”
Wendy loved the passion that stirred him. She wished she could believe the passion was for her. For the moment, she took what satisfaction she could from simply inspiring it. Inhaling a calming breath first, she accomplished a reasonable tone. “You’re a wonderful boy, Peter. You’ve always been independent. The rest of us are different. We’ll have to depend on you always, unless we choose to grow up.”
The children blinked. They were used to hearing Wendy soothe Peter. She often teased him. She had never incited him before.
Peter jumped to his feet and bent over her while the boys shrank back. “That’s how it should be! I’m the captain of our band. You do as I say and you’ll always be safe.”
Supporting herself on the arms of her chair, Wendy rose and stood to face him. “But there have been times when the boys and I had to depend on ourselves.” Accustomed to attributing the noblest motives to Peter, she softened her voice. “I know you want to keep us safe. You care about us.” Care might grow up to be love, in Time. Seeking evidence of this notion, she unearthed it, not from his words, but from the intensity of his regard.
“And it should never change. We’re a family, make-believe or not.” He plunked down in his chair and flung a leg over its arm.
Wendy was touched, yet determined. “But I’m learning all the time how to get along. One day I’ll want to do as I decide, like Red-Handed Jill.” Each boy stared with open mouth. “That is the day I’ll grow up.”
Peter leaned forward. “If you’re to stay with me, Wendy, you won’t ever grow up. That’s my law. I’ll never be made to be a man! Not one of my boys ever has! What about the rest of you?”
Peter’s troops mustered. Like him, they knew what they wanted, and how to get it.
“Aye, aye!”
“Never grow up!”
“Peter’s our captain! Hooray!” The tension broke like a dam, and the boys bathed in the waters of their former security.
Wendy sat down. She wouldn’t allow him to see that she was shaken. “All right, Peter. I understand. I hope you’ll try to understand, too.”
Peter did understand. He understood submission. Whether it was real or imaginary didn’t worry him. Glad once again to rule unchallenged, he smiled broadly. He darted to the mantel, and applying the reverence he awarded all his trophies, elevated his acorn. Holding it out to Wendy, he waited, then lifted her hand and placed his offering on the pale altar of her palm. He brought his face close to hers so that she felt his hair brush her own. “You belong here. In Paradise.” He drew back, and his green eyes cajoled her. “You must stay with me, Wendy. We’ll always need a mother.” That much, he understood perfectly.
“Yes. You all need mothers.” Every one of her brood, after all, was just a boy. But what did Wendy need? She looked down at the acorn in her hand. Wrapping her fingers tightly around it, she felt the arrow’s notch eating into her skin. With his kiss in her hand and his needs clearly satisfied, Peter winked at her and resumed his throne.
John, amazed at his sister’s nerve in sparring with Peter, could see she required cheering up. He administered the best medicine he knew. “Tell us another story, Wendy.”
“Yes, yes! Another!”
She had grown fond of these boys. Still rebellious, she wondered if that form of growing was against Peter’s law, too. She struck the thought aside and sought a smile for them. She found it, one of those that was always so ready. She lost it, and found a fraction of another. “All r
ight, dears, I see that you should have a story. A mother knows.” She aimed the acorn at John and fired it with force. John caught it and hurried it back to the mantel like a hot potato while the other children awaited their mother’s next yarn.
Wendy gritted her teeth, but she was magnanimous. She was a queen. Buying time, she pretended to search her mood for a story, but quite naturally, the darkest one of all came instantly to mind. “I’ll tell another pirate story. And to make Peter happy, this one involves no ladies— yet.”
A hush fell over the hideout. Peter was unaware he’d just been bitten by a certain Pirate Queen’s tiger, and his faith in his Wendy was restored. Her breathing was shallow, but she began, fiercely.
* * *
“Now I’ll tell you the tale of the blackest pirate of them all.”
Collective gasp. The boys knew who was coming.
“This is the tale of the terrible Captain Hook!”
The fire spat, the Twins sniffled, and Michael cried. The power of the man was that strong.
“Be brave, my hearties, for you never know when you’ll meet him. You must be prepared— if anything can prepare you for that kind of shock. Captain James Hook, the lion of the sea, the scourge of sailors everywhere. The tyrant of the Jolly Roger, which lies at anchor, even now, in Neverbay.”
This was too much for Michael, who ran screaming to Wendy’s lap. She held him, but she was merciless.
“Hook is handsome and haughty. He has a mane of wavy hair, like a lion’s, only black and more civilized. He cultivates a glossy goatee, and wears a heavy golden earring. Hook displays perfect manners, being very well-bred. His voice is silken, his costume beautiful, ever so elegant. But looks can be deceiving. As beautiful as he appears, his heart is cold. And as cold as his heart is, his smile is warm and gracious. He could melt you with it.”
The boys thought this a bit much and became restless. Wendy, however, was a consummate storyteller. She knew her audience. “And his eyes are the blue of forget-me-nots— until he strikes to kill! Then, they burn red! That is when you know you are about to die.…”
Now all were crying, except Michael, who fell asleep. Peter glowed.
“The young James Hook was bo’sun to Blackbeard. Buccaneering was mother’s milk to him. When he’d looted enough booty and learned all the pirates’ tricks, he jumped ship to go his own way. But Blackbeard challenged him to a furious duel. By that time, Hook was a master swordsman, and he carved a mark on his captain’s cheek. Then Hook struck out on his own and commandeered the Jolly Roger, that infamous ship, the savage of the sea, with its powerful big gun, Long Tom. He took on the crew, but chose no mate, for Hook is a solitary man, and beset by Darkness. He brought with him his own bo’sun, the brawny redheaded Irishman, Smee. Mr. Smee is like rum, they say— strong and sweet— but after a fight, he’ll wipe his spectacles before his sword.
“Hook’s crew is a treasure trove of miscreants who, in admiration of their ingenious captain, have sworn loyalty to the bitter end. Among them is the handsome Cecco, an Italian brigand, bedecked with jewelry and full of bloodlust. And there’s Cookson, and Alf Mason, and Gentleman Starkey— Starkey is one of the most horrible of Hook’s pirates. His face is scarred from teaching fencing, and he still carries the ruler he brandished among the terrorized children he once taught at school. And there’s Bill Jukes, tattooed from stem to stern. And the huge black man, whose name is so dreaded in his native Africa that no one but Hook dares to speak it, even here! And oddest of all is Noodler, whose hands are on backward. But… at least he has hands… for Hook has but one!” Wendy, always the professional, paused for effect. It arrived on cue.
“Where Hook’s right hand ought to be is a deadly iron claw. As you can imagine, he uses it to great advantage in dueling. That hook is feared by his enemies and his own men alike. But, you’re wondering how he lost his hand.”
Breathless, the boys bent to hear.
“He lost it in battle, with Peter Pan!”
The children jumped up and cheered. “Hooray for Peter! Brave Peter!” Peter went further and crowed. Michael drooled.
“Hook is afraid of almost nothing.” Wendy mixed metaphors in her excitement, “Only one sight curdles his black heart. The only thing in the world Captain James Hook can’t abide is the shedding of his own blood. That is why he dreads the crocodile, who tasted it once before, when Peter fed him Hook’s hand, rings and all. That croc would like nothing better than to finish him off. Which would draw a lot of blood and cause Hook to faint.
“So you see, the wily pirate captain had his bo’sun, Smee, wrap a ticking clock in a bundle of meat and bind the lot in one of his fine linen handkerchiefs, for scent. Smee threw it to the crocodile. The greedy beast swallowed it, and now Hook is warned by the ticking whenever the croc is on his trail. Thus it happens that the notorious captain lives on, searching the Island without respite, seeking to cut down a certain wonderful boy and his band.”
Wendy allowed time for the drama to sink in, then couldn’t bring herself to break the mood. “Swallow your medicine, boys, or I’ll take out my whip and make you walk the plank! Now, into your bunks.”
Peter bounded up, and in token of a hook, shook a crooked finger. “Avast, maties! Belay that order. It’s to the brig with you swabs. Stay below or, shiver me timbers, I’ll give you ten of the best!”
“Aye, Cap’n!”
“Aye, aye!” But Curly tripped over the Twins, and Peter towered over him, wrathful in his play.
“Mr. Tootles! Fetch me the cat-o’-nine-tails!”
Tootles looked to Wendy, inquiring. It was becoming a habit for the boys to seek her approval before carrying out Peter’s more questionable schemes. She complied with Peter’s directives whenever possible, and since the cat was only pretend, she fell in with this one, sanctioning the command.
“Captain’s orders, Mr. Tootles. Bring out the cat!” But Wendy was glad Peter was too busy buccaneering to notice his authority being challenged. As it happened, the dreaded punishment proved unnecessary, as all the children vaulted into bed without its persuasion, pursued by Peter’s imaginary hook. Unnaturally soon, they fell quiet, huddling together under the skins and shivering, for Hook and his pirates loomed. Neverbay was much too near.
Sighing after her exertions, Wendy collected her sewing and settled next to Peter, who had already lost all traces of piracy and sat smoking a make-believe pipe by the fire. She watched the light flickering on his face, first bright, then dark with shadows. It lit the room in the same way, she noticed, establishing safe havens, then causing foreboding figures to appear in farther corners. The interplay of cheer and gloom didn’t seem to affect Peter, but for some reason it made Wendy uneasy. She must be tired.
“I wish we hadn’t quarreled, Peter.”
“Quarreled? We only said it wrong. We really agree, don’t we?”
“People can’t agree all the time, but it doesn’t change how we feel about each other.”
With all his accustomed confidence, Peter smiled at her. “I feel the same way I did that first night, when I made you mine.”
Wendy felt the blood rush to her cheeks. The way he talked!
Squinting at her, Peter cocked his head. “You look a little different, though.”
“Something about my mouth, maybe? Can you see it?” Lightly, she touched her kiss.
He laughed. “I see your mouth, it’s still there!” Her words sparked his curiosity. “Is that the beginning of a new story?”
“I hope so.” But Wendy shrugged. She didn’t really expect a different answer any longer, but she still believed. She went on with her mending. Everything was the same as that first night. And yet there was something new, something both terrible and wonderful hanging over her. She couldn’t identify it. Had it started with the quarrel, or just before? The changing firelight brought it near to her mind, then danced it away again. It was just a feeling.
Wendy’s spirit sought to overcome it. “Pirates are dreadful creatures, but I
would so like to go to sea like Red-Handed Jill. Imagine the grandeur of the sea beneath our feet, the white wings of sails above. Only think of climbing aloft to taste the wind, casting off toward adventure!” But when Wendy saw Peter’s eager face, she regretted whetting his appetite with this flavor of the maritime. The sensation she sought to banish only stole closer.
“That’s a good idea! I’ll commandeer the Jolly Roger for you, Wendy! And this time we’ll win her.”
“But, Peter—”
“You weren’t here yet when we last attacked. We only killed a couple of pirates that day, but once the boys and I have slain Hook and the rest of his men, we’ll sail the Seven Seas and have nautical adventures. I despise all pirates, but it’s great fun pretending to be a pirate captain!”
Pretending. Wendy smiled, pretending she meant it. “Valiant Peter, to dare such a thing for me.”
But the feeling crept out of the shadows, and now it was fear. Peter did not distinguish between real and make-believe. He might in truth make another attempt on the Jolly Roger, and the story she told tonight was one of the true ones, much too dangerous to enter.
She couldn’t warn Peter of the risk. He was a boy, he was so full of himself. Warnings would only make him more eager to prove his daring by rekindling trouble with the pirates. She didn’t understand the intensity of his feeling about them, either, why he couldn’t leave them— leave Hook— alone. Instead of the cautionary talk she usually employed, she tried a different tack.
“Peter, why do you hate the pirates so?”
“Huh! Because they are pirates. They don’t play by the rules.”
“Your rules? Because they’re grown up?”
“Any rules!” He scowled, his countenance black as any buccaneer’s.
“You mean because they’re free to do whatever they choose?”
Peter rallied, more earnest than she’d ever seen him. She thrilled to witness the fire blazing in his eyes. “I mean they are the only creatures on the Island I can’t find a way to tame.”