All she’d done was drown in that blue gaze. Until, at last, Captain James Hook had slowly reached down, his tall, strong body bending over hers, as he gently lifted her tiny tea cup from its saucer and held it up for her.
She’d taken it, almost automatically, unsure of what else to do. And in a continued silence, she’d sipped the sweet tea as Hook had straightened, turned away, and left the cabin, bidding her a good afternoon as he’d shut the door behind him.
It had surely been hours.
She’d spent them wandering around the cabin, shamelessly going through Hook’s belongings. She didn’t know what else to do. Her thoughts were spinning end over end and it was all she could do to distract herself.
She had the terrible urge to write – to purge herself of the chaos that was whirling within her, to bleed her confusion onto paper through her fingertips and if she didn’t occupy her fevered brain with something else, she was bound to give in to her yearnings and steal Hook’s ink well and feather and start scrolling poems and prose all over those ancient parchment maps he had laying on his captain’s table.
The knock came again and Wendy realized that she’d just been staring at the door, not answering.
“Yes?” She finally ventured, her voice a little softer than she’d have preferred.
“Miss Wendy?”
It was Smee.
“Yes, Smee.” Wendy took a deep breath. At least the first mate wasn’t his captain. And she could use the company. “Come in.”
The door opened and Mr. Smee poked his head in. “Er, sorry for the intrusion, Miss Wendy, only the Captain has declared that we’ll be going ashore soon an’ ‘e wanted me to check on you – see if there’s anything you’ll be needin’.”
“We’re going ashore? What for?” she asked as Smee came fully into the enormous cabin and closed the door softly behind him.
“Well, miss, we’ve been frozen here on the Jolly Roger for quite some time, an’ the crew is well due for a bit of shore leave, if you want the truth of it. Why, Cookson is certain ‘e can make a right nice bit of cloth from the Geramine flower, if ‘e can find any; they bloom in the Spring in Neverland, you know. And I do think that Arnold be gripin’ so much these days ‘cuz ‘e misses the rum ‘e buried somewhere along the banks of Crocodile Creek. And poor Skylights needs a good piece o’ dry wood to fashion a new set of teeth out of-” Smee cut off, as if realizing that he’d probably given Wendy more information than she strictly needed.
And then he smiled a reassuring smile and came to sit down beside her on the bed. “Well, you get the idea, anyway.”
That was one of the peculiar things about Mr. Smee, Wendy realized. He possessed that strange kind of easiness about him that was automatically trustworthy. If any other pirate had attempted to come and sit down beside her on the bed, she would have quickly scuttled to the other end of the mattress or jumped up and moved to the opposite side of the room, all together. But, as it was, she simply stayed where she was seated and waited for Smee to say what he was obviously preparing to say next.
“I’m willin’ to bet that you’re a might bit confused about all this sunrise business now, aren’t you, miss?”
Wendy chewed on her lip. That was putting it mildly. She nodded, and then asked, “What are you going to do with me?”
“Oh, don’t you worry, now.” He gently patted her on her jean-covered thigh and then folded his hands in his lap. “The Cap’n won’t allow no harm to come to you. He just needs some time to figure some things out, is all.”
In other words, thought Wendy, Hook has no idea what to do with me.
And I’m stuck with these pirates – and so are my brothers.
“Are my brothers okay?”
“Indeed, miss. They’re in the galley eatin’ a fine cooked meal right now. You can join ‘em if you like.”
“I’m… not really hungry,” she answered, honestly. She looked away to glance at the array of belongings Hook had lying about the large cabin. “What are all of these instruments for?” There was a grand black piano in one corner of the room, complete with melted wax candles sitting atop it and sheets of un-played music, waiting on the shelf. At least a dozen stringed instruments of various make and size sat resting on cushions and leaned against the book shelves. And wind instruments of different lengths and origin hung on clasps along the walls.
But Hook had only one hand.
At this question, Smee’s expression darkened. His head dropped ever so slightly and his gaze found some unseen, distant spot on the floor. “The captain was a very talented man, ‘e was.” His tone had lowered, becoming more subdued. His entire round body, in fact, seemed to have deflated. Like a balloon leaking helium.