Shadow (Wendy Darling #3)(11)
“But we were playing here, Wendy.”
She needed desperately to be alone, thoughts of Booth and Mr. Whitfield spinning through her mind. She was nauseated and elated all at once, thinking of her first kiss and Mrs. Tatterley’s judgmental expression. “I’m exhausted, Michael. I’m not asking again.”
John walked over to Wendy and, with a cold look, slapped the books out of her hands. “She’s not even sick. She’s sad.” He tilted his head so that he could peer at her face. “Are you sad about Booth? Does he have a little crush on someone else?” His voice was so cruel that Wendy recoiled. Before she realized what she was doing, her hand slapped his cheek with a sharp crack. John stepped back in shock, his hand on his face.
“You hit me!”
Wendy was mortified. What kind of girl slapped her brother? “John, I’m sorry, forgive me . . .”
A cruel sneer crossed his face, but she saw the tears clouding his eyes. “Poor Wendy. It’s not like it would have worked out. He’s a bookseller’s son. You might as well have fallen in love with a gutter rat.”
Unable to hold back her emotions anymore, Wendy let out a cry. “Get out! Get out right now! Please! Go away!” John’s face was smug as she turned away from him.
Michael wrapped himself around her leg. “Stop being mean, John! I don’t want to play with you anymore!”
“Fine.” John threw his eye patch to the ground. “I’m going to find Father. Perhaps he would like some enlightened conversation from one of his children.” With a final glance over his shoulder, John exited the nursery. Wendy threw herself onto the bed, laying her forehead against her arm as a single tear ran down her face. Michael climbed up into the bed and snuggled beside her. With a cry, she curled him against her side. His small hands reached for her face.
“Wendy, why you crying?”
“It’s nothing, Michael.” She wiped her face. “It’s nothing you’ve done. I promise.” Raising her head, she took in her youngest brother’s kind face, every inch lacking the sharpness that clouded John’s. “I will be perfectly fine, Michael. May I have just a few minutes alone? ”
Michael eyed her with suspicion. “Okaaay, Wendy. But Giles will stay with you. For comfort.” He ripped the red scarf off the teddy bear’s head. “See, now he’s just a teddy bear. He’s not a pirate, so you don’t have to be afraid.”
Wendy ran her hand over Giles’s worn fur. “Thank you, Michael.” She gave him a soft kiss on his satin cheek. He turned and scampered out the door, no doubt in search of brighter adventures, or to go annoy John. Arms shaking, she pulled her cream lace dress over her shoulders and untied her corset. She let her maroon stockings fall to the ground and slipped off her church shoes. She searched in her drawer for her favorite nightgown—a worn, light blue cotton one with a simple lace hem and a darker ribbon under the bust. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, using the same blue ribbon that Booth had tugged on earlier, and climbed into bed. With a sigh, she pulled the covers over her head, wanting to disappear, wanting to forget the touch of his skin on her own, the look on Mr. Whitfield’s face, his dire warnings, the cruelty in John’s gaze. She wanted to forget all of it. She pulled out a book from under her mattress, losing herself in a tale of a girl and her secret garden. Eventually, her eyes pressed shut, and she dipped her head against the book pages. Wendy Darling fell asleep, her dreams crushing all around, pressing her into slumber.
Early evening had arrived. She awoke to the sound of rain clattering against the window. Rubbing her eyes, she stared at the ceiling, clutching her blanket to her chest. The rain pounded hard on the window, echoing through the entire room. She could hear her parents bustling around downstairs, probably having dinner with the boys. Perhaps . . . she paused. No, that sound wasn’t rain. She rushed over to the window, her nightgown swirling behind her. Pushing open the double windows, she looked down at the street, where Booth stood in the pouring rain, his hat in his hands. Wendy clutched the window latch, afraid of falling at the sight of his devastated face.
“Wendy! Can you come down?”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I just, I can’t. Not now while my parents are home.”
Booth’s eyes widened. “Wendy, why didn’t you wait for me? Have I done something to offend you? Was I too forward? Have I been improper? Tell me, and whatever it is, I’ll rectify it!” His long shadow cast itself out onto the street, pacing back and forth. She stared out at this boy who had kissed her hours ago, the boy who made her see stars. “Wendy, come down! I just need a minute, please!”
Wendy stared down at Booth, her heart hammering uncontrollably in her chest. She longed to throw herself into his arms, to disappear into the rainy night together, to tumble unburdened into his small, poor bed. Through the blur of her tears, she saw his handsome face, and in his face she saw the weathered lines of Mr. Whitfield’s brow, the concern on his face for his son, a lifetime of work, generations of Whitfields. Would she take his future? Would she tell her parents, something that terrified her? She shrank back a step.
“I . . . Booth, I can’t.”
Booth’s face seemed to dissolve in the rain. “I don’t understand. Why not? Wendy, I’ve come here to speak with your parents.”
“Booth, no! Please don’t.” The rain pelted down on his shoulders, his wide blue eyes looking up at her with suspicion.