"Aye, doesn't it jus' send ye o'er the moon," he said, and sniffed. "Poor Cap'n Hook, he alwus 'ated 'appy endings."
He shifted to a more comfortable position amid the piles of treasure he had appropriated. The trio of mermaids settled at his feet smiled up at him, playing with the gold bracelets on their wrists and the silver rings on their fingers. A fish tail lifted and tickled his chin, causing him to blush.
"Ah, well." He sighed, picking up the oars and beginning to row.
As he did, one of the mermaids found the spare concertina he had scavenged and began to play. Smee sang.
"Yo, ho! Yo, ho! Yo, ho, for a pirate's life!"
An Awfully Big Adventure
And so we come to the final chapter of our story, the one in which we tidy up all the loose ends much in the manner of mothers who straighten up their children's thoughts while they sleep. Traditionally it is not a chapter in which a great deal happens, all the excitement having taken place earlier, but is instead a time for settling back and reflecting. It is also a time for coming home from wherever one has gone, for taking delight in the simple pleasures that ends to journeys bring. So while some would skip on to the beginning of a new tale, those who understand the truths that embody Peter Pan will want to stick around to share in the Banning family's well-deserved garnering of warm fuzzies.
Peter and the children flew all night through the stars that led homeward, guided by Tink's small light pulsing like a beacon. Once or twice Peter was tempted to deviate from his course just long enough to sneak up behind a star and attempt to blow out its light (for old times' sake), but it would have meant staying his homecoming that much longer, and he was too anxious to suffer further delays. He spent his time holding his children close and telling them all the stories he had never shared, the ones that had disappeared from his life over the years, locked away in the adult that had no time for such nonsense. He hugged and kissed them frequently, as if afraid he might never get the chance again, and they laughed at silly nothings and foolish looks. At times they spoke of where they had gone and what they had seen and done, but yawns and the wind's lullabies made recollection difficult, and the words seemed to stray off by themselves like sheep from an untended flock.
Toward dawn, with most of the stars disappeared into the brightening sky and the moon dropped below the horizon, Kensington Gardens came into view, steepled roofs and brick chimneys shrouded in tattered winter mist. Peter's eyes grew so heavy then that he could no longer keep them open.
The last thing he remembered was letting go of Jack and Maggie's hands.
Shadows lay over the children's nursery at number 14 Kensington, layered patches of black that only just now were beginning to recede as morning neared. The china-house night-lights burned steadily above the empty twin beds, casting their small glow bravely into the dark, outlining the soldiers that stood guard before the fireplace, the rocking horse that waited patiently for its rider, the dollhouse where Ken stood ready to serve Barbie, and the books and toys that had given voice to the dreams of the children who played with them.
Moira sat sleeping in a rocking chair at the center of the room. She stirred at times, her fingers brushing at her gown, her lips whispering her children's names. She looked very alone.
Then a breeze blew open the latticed windows, brushing the lace curtains so that the figures of Peter Pan danced as if alive. A scattering of leaves swirled into the room. Then Jack appeared, floating through the opening and settling to the floor like a feather. Maggie, heavy-eyed with sleep, rode piggyback. Together, they stared at the sleeping Moira.
"Who is she?" Jack whispered finally, eyes blinking against his own need for sleep.
"It's Mother," Maggie answered with a yawn.
"Oh." Jack studied the sleeping woman carefully-the lines of her face, the way her arms crooked just so, the hint of kisses hiding at the corners of her mouth.
"She looks just like an angel," Maggie sighed. "Let's not wake her, Jack. Let's just be there for her when she's ready."
They tiptoed across the bedroom floor and eased silently beneath their covers. Perhaps it was their movement on the floorboards, perhaps simply their presence, but Moira awoke almost at once. She blinked, brushed at a stray leaf that rested upon her shoulder, and glanced at the open windows, aware of the' breeze blowing back the curtains; then she rose and walked to close them, twisting the lock into place.
When she turned back, she saw the twin lumps in the beds (cast by shadows, she was certain), and it was almost as if the children had returned. The look that came over her was sad and wistful, and for a moment she could not move, afraid to break the spell.
Then the door opened and Wendy appeared in her robe and slippers, walking slowly, gingerly, leaning on a cane for support.
"Child?" she whispered to Moira. "Have you been up all night?"
Moira smiled and shook her head. "I see them in my dreams so often, just like this, bundles in their beds, that when 1 wake I think they're really there…"
But Wendy wasn't listening. She was staring wide-eyed at the lumps. Moira turned, a frown creased her pretty face, and one hand reached out tentatively.
Abruptly Jack sprang out from beneath the covers. "Mom," he cried, and would have said more except his throat closed up and nothing came out.
Maggie threw back her covers as well. "Mommy," she called, and Moira collapsed to the floor.
The children sprang from their beds and ran to her. She gathered Jack in her arms, holding him so tightly he thought he might break in two. She took Maggie in as well, crying freely now, sobbing as she hugged and kissed them.
"Oh, my babies, my babies," she murmured.
"Mom," Jack said, breaking away, anxious to tell everything. "There were all these pirates, and they put us in a net, and-"
"But Daddy saved us," Maggie interjected. "And we flew! Great-granny, we-"
But Wendy cut her short with a warm squdge and a laugh that silenced the doubtful words that Moira was about to voice. "Pirates?" she repeated. "And you flew as well? How lovely, child. Gracious, it reminds me of the days when Peter and I flew."
And she hugged them again and gave Moira a hug as well.
Not far away dawn's light was just cresting the roofs of the houses, casting pearl streamers on the air and sunspots on the earth. Peter Banning lay sprawled in a snowbank. He was sleeping, his breathing slow and even, his arms and legs cocked in. positions he never could have managed in waking.
Tink, tink, tink, sounded from somewhere close at hand.
He blinked and awoke, sitting up sharply. He had no idea where he was or what he was doing there.
"Jack, Maggie, we're going to fly…" he began without thinking, and trailed off doubtfully.
He took a deep breath and looked around. He was in a snow-covered park. A river snaked its way past not fifty yards off, an early-morning mist rising from its waters like smoke. Hardwood trees towered overhead like sentinels, bare-leafed in the winter season. The air was crisp and bracing and full of breakfast smells.
"And how be ye this fine mawnin', Peter Pan?" a familiar voice asked. "Into some mischief, 'ey?"
Peter whirled in shock to find Smee standing not a dozen yards away, hands on hips and a bag across his shoulder. Except it wasn't Smee-it was a groundskeeper making his rounds collecting litter. And he wasn't addressing Peter at all-he was addressing a statue. The statue was the one of Peter Pan placed in the park near the Serpentine River by the writer J. M. Barrie in the year 1912-Peter Pan crouched ready for his next adventure, playing his Pan pipes, forever the boy who refused to grow up.