The Little Mermaid (Faerie Tale Collection) (12 page)
IT WAS AS HE was flying above the rooftops over Kensington Road in London that Peter Pan first spotted the beautiful Wendy Darling in her bright blue ruffles and fetching white lace hat. She was walking with another girl and twirling her dainty parasol to the side and not above her head like she was supposed to.
In fact, in the precisely seventeen and half minutes Peter had been spying on the girl, as she traipsed along the fashionable trail of Hyde Park during the midday stroll, she had nearly hit three unsuspecting men with her twirling, and one old biddy of a grandmother—all huff and nonsense. The woman practically had the thing poked in her eye, so of course Peter could understand the growling reprimand associated with such an incident.
However, it was Wendy’s shocked and blushing apologies that caught his attention. For though she was most decidedly sorry for nearly maiming each of her victims, her giggles grew louder with each unintentional attempt once the person was out of earshot.
It was that smile, that unabashed way she tossed her head and laughed up at the trees that nearly stole his heart. The silly girl could not have been more than sixteen at the most, just a year or two younger than him, but my goodness, to see such freedoms among the snobbish British aristocracy was so refreshing. Her friend did not share in the humorous situation as much as she did, and so Peter spent little time admiring her. Instead, he passed another good half an hour inconspicuously, bounding and flitting from rooftop to rooftop until she eventually headed toward a side street and then home with her friend. The delightful girl was still chatting and chuckling from time to time.
As he stopped at the house across the road, he watched as she handed her weapon—er, parasol—to the butler, and then his jaw dropped at the beautiful red hair pinned beneath the hat she took off just before stepping inside the fine, stately home.
What was it about a female with ginger hair that made his breathing change?
Peter flew around the house a few times until he located her exact bedroom. It helped when the maid opened the window leading to the little balcony and he could hear the girl chattering inside.
That’s when he first heard her name.
Wendy.
Except he thought it was Windy. And he didn’t know why, but something inside his heart began to glow all warm and fuzzy. The boy who could fly with the wind and a girl called Windy. It was too perfect.
He was destined to like her before they had even met. Now, to find a way to speak with her without anyone being the wiser would be a bit trickier . . .
LATER THAT NIGHT, once the darkness fell, he approached her balcony again. This time, Peter flew right up to it and peered inside. It was a mild night and the window was still open, so he stepped over the railing and stood there within the shadows.
The space was only a few feet, just enough to allow the doors to open and maybe for someone to step out. But nothing more than that.
In the room, he could make out the faint glow of a gas lamp near a pink canopied bed. There was definitely someone talking, but it was very methodical, like the person was reading aloud. A faint breeze caught the nearest curtain, bringing it out onto the balcony, and for a moment, Peter was able to see the room quite clearly. There, on a padded chair near the mantled fireplace, sat the girl with a book in her hand. She was reading to two boys in pajamas sitting on cushions below her, both being very quiet and listening with rapt attention.
From what he could tell, it was some sort of adventure story about a treasure and pirates. He grinned. This girl had the makings of the ideal woman. No one could be more suited to him than a female who did not mind a bit of adventure every now and then. He slowly slid down the side of the balcony and listened to as much of the story as he could.
When she stopped in the middle of an exciting bit, he almost protested right along with the two boys.
“Wendy! You cannot stop now. We must find out what happens. We must!”
“Hush, John. It is time you went to sleep.”
Another voice popped up with, “We do not want sleep. Not in the middle of such tyranny!”
“Michael, come now. You know Mother and Father will be especially upset if I do not get you into your room before they return this evening. Now, shoo, you two. Hurry along.”
“But what about the pirates?”
Wendy laughed. “This chapter is over. I promise to read the next to you tomorrow night. The same as I do every night.”
Peter leaned his head against the glass. There was something so intriguing about the girl. Her voice was heavenly, but it was more than that. Perhaps it was her motherly instinct, or her patience with her brothers, or even her kindness in reading to them . . . She seemed like such a gentle, caring soul. Just these scant minutes with her today and already he could see she was unlike anyone he had ever met before.
He sighed. Was it normal for a seventeen-year-old to feel the tuggings of belonging like he did? Was that not for dimwitted, sensitive people? To be always lingering about, wishing for more? Peter had been more the type to jump into a battle than to contemplate life and her mysteries and all that he might be missing.
Why should he feel as though anything were missing? He simply had the best life that could ever be.
He heard the door shut and he peeked inside the room once more to see Wendy approaching the window. Gah. He quickly crouched and then sprang away.
He hung above the edge of the roof as he watched her walk outside and glance first one way down the street and then the other.
“It is all right now. You may come out of hiding. The boys are abed,” she said to the air around her.
He heart stopped. Was she speaking to him?
“Boy, I know you are there. You have been following me all day, and now I wish you would at least show yourself so I may sleep tonight without imagining you to be much more frightful than you are.”
Peter froze. Honestly. He had never ever been caught. In all the days he had traveled and zipped about London, no one—that he knew of—had ever been any wiser. And yet, after just one short day, this captivating, audacious girl was calling him out.
He watched the top of her head as she sighed and tapped a foot. “I am waiting . . .”
Where had this enchanting creature been all his life? He could not help himself—he chuckled and then clutched his mouth with his hand to stifle it, but it was too late.
Wendy whipped her head up and gasped as she stared directly at him.
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The Little Mermaid
Jenni James © copyright 2014
All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
StoneHouse Ink
2014
Boise ID 83713
First eBook Edition: 2014
Cover design by Phatpuppy Art
This book was professionally edited by
Tristi Pinkston
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published in the United States of America
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