“Thank you, Father,” Wendy said, carefully removing her hand as if for the purpose of hugging him. It wasn’t entirely a lie; she did indeed want to envelop Mr. Darling’s large form and rest her head on his side, smelling his aftershave and his general father-ness. Her mother hugged her on the other side and kissed her on the forehead.
They loved her, that was more than obvious.
They just didn’t understand her.
Wendy did make an effort to try to see what the puppy could do.
(With Nana watching in stern disapproval.)
It would run into the middle of the room and then wag its tail like it had accomplished something truly incredible.
It would run up into her arms and lick her chin.
It would scamper along next to a ball that Wendy rolled.
It would not make any actual attempt to stop the ball, grab the ball, fetch the ball, or do anything with the ball aside from barking at it in that tiny yip that made Wendy want to lean over and say “Pardon me?”
Eventually, with two hours until the boys came home, Mother and Father now nowhere to be seen, and nothing else to do, Wendy found an appropriately sized basket, tied a ribbon around it, tucked in Snowball (really, what else could she name it?), put on her coat, and attempted an outing. She left her notebook behind, encumbered with her new pet and umbrella.
Nana also remained inside, aloof and disapproving.
While she felt a little ridiculous, Wendy had to admit that the cold, slightly damp air felt good on her face. Moisturizing, her mother would say. Invigorating, her father would say. The little dog peeped out of the basket and looked around blankly with no actual interest in hopping out and getting a firsthand sniff of the many wonders they passed. Wendy nodded to other walkers, most of whom regarded Snowball with amusement or delight.
And then, down the path, came the demonic Shesbow twins.
They were clad as was their wont: in similar dresses of different hue, similar hats with different flowers, similar parasols with different tassels. Outfits just alike enough to give a nod to the sisters’ ostensible sameness, just a bit off to remind the viewer that they weren’t the same person at all.
Wendy froze and considered heading back the other way, as if she had forgotten something. She could see the steely blue of four Shesbow eyes and didn’t feel strong under their lantern gazes, especially after the caroling party last Christmas.
But they had spotted her, and she had something interesting to distract them with, so maybe it would be all right. Wendy stuck out her chin and walked forward bravely to meet her fate.
“Miss Darling,” Clara said with the beginnings of a coldly amused smile. “It’s so lovely to see you out and about in public, especially after—”
“Oh! What is that you have there?” Phoebe cried, spotting the basket.
“Him?” Wendy almost blew it immediately. Was the dog even a him? She hadn’t bothered to check. “He’s new.”
“Oh—oh, how perfect,” Phoebe simpered, holding out a delicately curled gloved finger. The puppy obligingly sniffed and she practically screamed with delight.
“He’s adorable,” Clara said flatly, to the point as always. “When did you get him?”
“Well,” Wendy said, stalling. She hated the way that, despite the girls’ continually bad treatment of her, she was flushing and eager for any kind word of acceptance. Telling the specifics of the puppy’s origin might spoil the chances of that happening. “The house was feeling a bit lonely, don’t you know? And I thought, well, what I need is a nice little companion to keep me company and to absolutely indulge.”
“Isn’t he the sweetest,” Phoebe cooed.
“I’m gratified to hear you’ve taken on a project like this,” Clara said, tapping her parasol and trying to sound like her grandmother. “Everyone was worried, you know.”
“Worried? About me? Everyone?”
“Oh, please, Wendy. After Christmas it became fairly obvious what your future is. Your brothers will go to university, and you will be stuck helping your parents, and then probably care for your nieces or nephews as their spinster aunt.”
“With cats,” Phoebe added, not looking away from petting the dog. “You would have cats, of course.”
“Quite right, lots of cats.”
“People…are talking…about me? As a spinster? With—cats?” Wendy’s mind was too overcome with this new information to even take offense at it. She was sixteen, for heaven’s sake! She had time. She had just moved out of the nursery not that long ago.…
And to think of a husband? Now? There were so many other things to think about. Balloons and submarines. Airships and pirates. Deepest Africa and farthest Australia. Peter Pan and fairies and mermaids and centaurs…
“But now this,” Phoebe sighed, throwing her hands up at the dog as if there were no words. “You know, Alice has a little dog, too! Oh, we should all go walking together! Wouldn’t that be fun? We could bring a ball, or something like that.”
“He could accompany you to one of our teas sometime,” Clara said thoughtfully. “We have literary ones, you know. Almost like our own salon.”
“I would like that very much,” Wendy responded before she could decide whether or not that was true. Or if she had even been properly invited at all; it almost sounded like Snowball was really the intended recipient of the offer. Then again—literary salon. That was a place for stories!
“You could absolutely meet someone there, perhaps, someday,” Phoebe added. “Someone dreamy, who likes dogs, like you.”
“It’s a project,” Clara said, eyes glittering. “Making you acceptable and finding you a match. But you must promise not to do that thing—not to run off at the mouth the way you do. No one finds that attractive or ladylike.”
“No one at all,” Phoebe agreed. “You really will end up all alone.”
“I don’t want to be alone. I have Snowball now,” Wendy said, trying to make her thoughts come out the way they were flowing in her head. It didn’t seem to be working. “But I couldn’t possibly think of a match. Now. And I can’t help talking—I like stories, and telling them. And really, isn’t there another choice? Besides a match, and spinsters, and cats? Something—else?”
“You’re doing it again,” Phoebe said kindly. She put a finger to Wendy’s mouth. “Shhh.”
And then the sisters nodded to each other, in full agreement, full of themselves and very happy.
“I’ll send round my card,” Clara called as they walked off, arm in arm.
Wendy stood there watching them go and then looked at Snowball, who gazed dimly back.
This could be the beginning of something really big, and quite different. If she could do things properly, her lonely days batting around the house by herself would be over—there would be teas and salons and parties and group dog walks.
And boys.
And dances and happily-ever-afters, where she would attend balls and cotillions, and have a husband and children like Michael and John, and a different, perhaps less lonely old house.
Was that what she wanted?
Was it better or worse than what she had now?
Wendy managed one giant breath.