She gestures for Timothy to follow her, moving as swiftly as she can without making any noise. At the border of the trees, Timothy pauses. His expression is serious, his eyes wide in the drenching moonlight, and Jane is struck with the sudden fear that he means to turn back.
“This does mean we’re friends, doesn’t it?” The question catches her off guard; a sound rises in her throat that might be a laugh or a sob, but she turns it into a cough to excuse her watering eyes. If Timothy can be brave and fierce and sweet then so can she. Whatever they do to leave this place, they’ll do it together.
“Of course we are.” Jane thinks for a moment then draws herself up and extends her hand for a formal and proper shake, which seems to her a very grown-up thing to do. “I’m Jane, and it’s a great pleasure to have your friendship.”
Timothy beams, pumping her hand enthusiastically.
“Hullo, Jane,” he says. “It’s very good to know you and be your friend.”
LONDON 1920
Wendy stands on the steps of St. Bernadette’s trying not to fidget. After years in plain clothing designed to erase her shape, the skirt she wears is too heavy, her waist too pinched, the heels on her boots too high. They’re her own clothes, but they don’t feel like her anymore. They might as well belong to a stranger.
She has to consciously still her hands and not pluck at her sleeves or smooth her skirt to surreptitiously touch the reassuring pockets that are no longer there. The first thing she’ll do once she’s free of this place is sew herself a whole new set of clothing, ones with proper, deep pockets everywhere she can fit them.
The thought calms her, but only for a moment. Michael and John are bringing her home today. She’s spent three years yearning for freedom, and now that it’s within her grasp, she isn’t ready. What will she do without Mary? What will she do with this man, Ned, whom her brothers have chosen as her keeper?
John has made it clear she must become the very model of a marriageable woman. This is not only a chance at a normal life for her but for him as well. Wendy knows she’s been a burden, but before she goes off to her new life, she wishes they could speak honestly as brother and sister. It’s been such a rush since John delivered his news. She still doesn’t know for certain why John chose Ned for her rather than some other man. Or perhaps he is the only choice, and her brother is that desperate to unload her.
And what of Michael? Does he like Ned? Consider him a friend? She trusts John to speak to Ned’s breeding, but Michael might tell her honestly whether Ned is a kind man, whether he laughs easily or is serious all the time. Or at least he might have once upon a time. Now she isn’t certain whether Michael is willing to speak to her at all. John informed her they were both coming to collect her, but does Michael want to be here, or is John dragging him along?
Wendy thinks back to the last time she saw her youngest brother outside St. Bernadette’s. She’d broken him with her insistence that he remember Neverland, reducing him to tears. Had she sought to help him or herself? She still isn’t sure. At the time she’d thought, perhaps, that remembering something good might help him, and she’d begged him to see the world from her perspective, but she’d never once tried to see it from his.
How much he must have forced himself to forget just to survive, how much the war had taken from him. But back then, she’d refused to let up. She’d pushed, even when his hands shook, when his eyes grew wild, when he sobbed. He’d shouted at her to stop, and she’d shouted right back at him.
If she’d relented, perhaps John never would have brought her to this place. The image is burned in her mind even now—John standing between Michael and herself, light reflecting in his glasses and erasing his eyes. Even so, she’d seen his expression— stricken. He’d been afraid—of her, for her—and she’d left him no choice. He’d needed to put her away to protect their baby brother, something she should have done herself, but she’d been so stubborn and certain she was right.
Wendy looks toward the iron gates. The path leading to them is a pale scar against the green. When she first arrived at St. Bernadette’s she would have blamed Peter for the way she treated her brothers. If he hadn’t abandoned her, if he hadn’t stolen them all in the first place… But no. It is time to take responsibility for herself, to protect her brothers the way she always should have.
“Mary has come to bid you one last goodbye.” Dr. Harrington’s voice jolts Wendy from her thoughts.
He’d agreed to her release easily, happy to be rid of her, Wendy is certain. She doesn’t miss the disapproval in the doctor’s eyes, but to his credit he steps aside to give them at least the illusion of privacy. This is the moment she’s been dreading most of all, and when she turns, Wendy’s pulse lurches. Mary looks small framed against the hallway leading back into the asylum. In all the time Wendy has known her, Mary has never looked small. She’s big enough to contain worlds, courage and love Wendy can’t even fathom. Panic rabbits through her. She can’t do this. She almost grabs Dr. Harrington by the lapels of his immaculate suit, telling him she’s changed
