Six Points of Light:Hook's Origin Read online

  “Sister Maddie, it’s going to rain. Can’t you feel it?” asked Peter.

  “Well yes, Peter, I suppose I can.”

  “Why are you out here when you know it’s going to rain?”

  “I'm looking for James. I need to speak with him for a moment.”

  Peter smiled broadly and took her by the hand, pulling her down the pathway. They approached James together.

  “Peter, slow down,” she said sternly. She wanted to speak to James alone.

  As the two drew closer, she saw James look in their direction, and his expression revealed that he was none too pleased. Sister Maddie hoped that his apprehension was due to Peter's presence, not her own.

  “James, old boy! Your nanny has come looking for you!” said Peter.

  Something about the way he said those words gave her pause. It was mean. A taunt. Why would Peter do that? He was mischievous, yes, but not mean. Not outright. She pulled her hand from his grasp.

  “What was that you said?” James glared at Peter as he stood up. His six-foot frame had filled out as his health had improved. His raven hair was now just below his shoulders, though he kept it pulled away from his face, and his green eyes were piercing. Sister Maddie saw Peter hesitate, and at that moment she was glad Peter had accompanied her. She suddenly had a plan.

  “James, I have a favor to ask of you, my dear.”

  “Anything,” he said, not taking his eyes off Peter as he spoke.

  “You are so intelligent, so bright,” she started. “I think you are the finest pupil Sister Angelica has ever had in her arithmetic class, truly.”

  James glanced at Sister Maddie and then returned his gaze to Peter, who was standing just off Sister Maddie's right shoulder. Peter rolled his eyes.

  “I must admit that I thought you and Peter would have been better acquainted by now.” She forced a quick smile. “However, I realize that it has not been easy for you, James. I blame myself. I'm sorry for that.”

  James looked again at Sister Maddie. “What do you need me to do?”

  “I would like you to take Peter under your wing.”

  “Ha!” Peter let out a loud, sarcastic laugh. “Under his wing? Sister Maddie, please. I have more friends than I can count! I'm perfectly all right without James’s help, thank you very much.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  “While, it’s true that Peter has many friends, what he doesn't have is a mentor.” She spoke directly to James but clearly enough to indicate that Peter should listen as well. “Peter won’t be here at St. Catherine's forever. One day, he will have to go out into the world and find his own way. This will require more than just a faithful following. Peter needs to learn how to follow the rules and pay closer attention in class.” Peter shifted from one leg to the other. He turned his nose up, huffing loudly. Sister Maddie turned to him directly. “You need to try harder to learn the things that a boy your age should know, Peter.”

  James took Sister Maddie's hand in his and gave it a quick squeeze. He smiled at her and nodded his head. She knew that James would do as she asked, however begrudgingly.

  Peter stomped his foot hard into the damp grass.

  “Oh, grow up,” said James.

  “What for? I can stay just like this forever, if I want to!” Peter shouted.

  “Time marches on, Peter. No amount of temper tantrums will change that,” James said flatly.

  “I don’t care what you say. Growing up, getting old.” Peter gave Sister Maddie a quick glance. “That is the worst part. I don’t care if time marches on, as long as it doesn’t march my way.”

  “Tell me then, Peter, how can you have one without the other? Do you think time will just pass you by? That it won’t affect you? It’s impossible.” James sounded more annoyed by the second.

  Sister Maddie couldn’t help but smile at this little exchange. She had been correct in assuming that James was strong and smart enough to challenge Peter, and maybe even to make him listen.

  “It can be that way if I wish it! My mother told me it could!” shouted Peter.

  Sister Maddie was silently shocked. He’d avoided speaking about his mother at all costs, so much so that she had begun to feel as if Peter might be telling the truth when he said he didn't remember her. She knew now that she was wrong.

  “Peter, you remember your mother? You remember her telling you these things?” she asked.

  “Did she tell you you could fly, too?” asked James sarcastically as Sister Maddie gave him a quizzical look.

  Peter stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat and fidgeted with his feet. As he looked down, his sandy hair fell in front of his eyes.

  “It’s all right, Peter,” said Sister Maddie.

  “It’s not all right! She left me here! All by myself with no one! I have questions! Who am I supposed to talk to? You?” He pointed his long, bony finger at James. “I want to know things! It’s not all right!” Tears sat precariously on the edges of his lower eyelids, threatening to spill over at any moment.

  “Your mother was sick, Peter,” said Sister Maddie. Sick. Yes, that term would have to suffice for now. “The best thing she could have done was to bring you here to live with us.”

  “Was it? Was it what was best for me? Or for her? She was selfish! To leave me here with no explanation. I want to know how to—” He stopped short, pressing his lips together and clenching his jaw so that the muscles in his temples bulged.

  Maddie was sure he was about to say something else but caught himself. What kind of secrets was Peter hiding? She saw Peter for what he was: a deeply troubled young man. She also saw that James understood her worry. She watched as he studied Peter.

  Peter saw their concerned faces and his emotions bubbled over. “Just leave me alone!” he shouted then stormed off, mumbling to himself.

  “Peter, where are you going? There’s a storm coming!” Sister Maddie yelled after him. She looked to the sky where dark, ominous clouds were closing in. The wind was whipping up the grass around them, giving it the appearance of a gently rolling wave.

  “I will go after him. Please go inside, Sister Maddie,” James said, running off in the direction Peter had taken.

  “Do be careful, James!” she called after him, her voice lost in a clap of thunder that shook the ground. She then hurried inside, putting her trust in James to return Peter safely.

  ***

  James

  James was running now. The crisp air burned in his lungs and made him cough but also made him feel alive. So much more alive than he could ever remember feeling, in fact. It was exhilarating to feel so free after so much time spent cooped up in the infirmary. His legs, long and lean and aching, carried him to the edge of the largest and most closely-packed thicket. It was more like a small forest. The Sisters didn't allow the children to play there, and so it came as no surprise that, as he stood at forest’s edge, he saw Peter wading into the trees several paces ahead of him.

  “Peter!” he yelled.

  Peter turned and looked back at him, a great toothy smile masking all the pain that had been so evident only a short while ago. James saw how the smile was all mouth and no eyes.

  “For God’s sake, Peter! There's a storm coming! We have to go back!”

  Peter just turned away and disappeared into the trees.

  James took several steps past the tree line then looked back and saw a mass of black and gray clouds overhead. The wind had whipped itself into a blustering, deathly cold gale. Rain drops began trickling down, and while the canopy of trees gave some measure of cover, it would be impossible to escape the wet altogether.

  Suddenly, there was a bright flash followed by a loud crack! The hair stood up on the back of his neck as electricity pulsed through the air. There was no turning back now. He’d be caught out in the open, if he tried to double back. He’d told Sister Maddie he would go after Peter and return him safely, and so he pushed on.

  Thunder boomed overhead; the rain was now coming down in sheets. James was
already soaked through to the bone, but he trudged on through the thick underbrush, calling out for Peter.

  “Peter, please! We have to go back!” he shouted. His voice was barely loud enough to compete with the storm's thunderous cry.

  He tried to head in the same direction Peter had gone, but the trees were close together, and everything looked the same, no matter which way he turned.

  Crack!

  Lightening pierced the treetops and struck a tall willow tree, slicing through one of its thick branches like a hot knife. A puff of smoke rose up and outward where the lightning had struck. James stopped dead in his tracks. The wind blew harder; great puddles rose up all around him, the ground unable to absorb the downpour. He felt water seep into his shoes, the numbing cold penetrating each of his toes and creeping up his leg. His bones ached.

  “Peter!” he called out again.

  A tremendous groan rippled through the air, and he looked up to see the injured branch of the willow moving downward in a slow, terrifying motion. It was going to fall on him.

  Snap!

  The branch gave way and fell down in a fluid, swooping motion. He covered his head with his hands and waited for impact. Then he felt a force jerk him backwards, and he fell into a large puddle. The branch crashed down not a yard from where he lay on his back. He looked up, and standing there was Peter.

  “Come on!” he shouted, extending his hand. James grasped it, hoisting himself to his feet as Peter turned and started off into the forest.

  “Not that way, Peter! You're going the wrong way!”

  Peter turned and yelled something back at James that he couldn't quite make out, then turned back and started off again. James had no choice but to follow him.

  He trudged after Peter for some distance, his legs aching and his lungs burning with each breath. The thunder had moved off into the distance. He counted the number of seconds between the lightning flashes and claps of thunder, calculating that the worst of the storm was now several miles away though the rain was still falling.

  “Peter, I can’t go much further.” He slowed his pace and came to a full stop, doubling over to rest his hands on his knees. Peter stopped, too.

  “It’s not much further,” he said.

  “Peter, where are we going?”

  “Come on. It’s just ahead.”

  Peter led James onward and the two soon found themselves in a small clearing at the center of which stood an enormous oak tree with iridescent green moss covering its northward-facing side. It was as tall as the rectory itself and maybe taller. Its lowest branches were above James’s head. Its large, thick roots snaked up from under the ground, giving the illusion of a mass of eels just breaking the water's surface. The upper branches fanned out and shaded most of the clearing.

  Peter ran towards the great tree while James followed at a much slower pace. He didn’t trust Peter, and he had seriously considered that he might be walking into some type of trap.

  Nonsense, he told himself.

  He watched as Peter approached the trunk of the tree and then promptly disappeared.

  “Peter!” James called out in a panic. Where had he gone off to now? As he approached the tree, he saw that there was a man-sized opening covered by a thin sheath of loose moss.

  “Come on, James!” he heard Peter's voice call from inside.

  James hesitated. He had never been keen on confined spaces, and joining Peter in the trunk of an old tree didn’t seem like a smart idea. Raindrops were still pelting the top of his head, though, and the cold was absolutely numbing. He couldn’t stay out in the rain much longer without catching his death of cold, so he ducked into the opening and let the mossy curtain fall behind him.

  The interior of the hollow was dry and, much to his surprise, massive in size. The open area within the tree was the size of a large room. Peter had already set to work lighting candles perched on little bits of wood and roots sticking out from the ground.

  It appeared that he had been collecting objects of every different sort to spruce up the inside of his hiding place. There were dozens of books and small wooden toys strewn about. In the corner was a small rocking chair that James recognized: Sister Angelica had put it out with the rubbish some weeks ago. Peter must have salvaged it and repaired the broken slats in the armrest.

  “What is this place?” James asked, still trying to take it all in.

  Peter laughed. “This is the Crow's Nest.” He pointed up to a piece of wood that hung precariously from a rusty nail. The words Crow's Nest were scrawled across it in chalk.

  “Did you bring all of these things here?” He clenched his jaw to keep from shivering. Peter reached into a small wooden box and handed him a blanket which James tossed around his shoulders before sitting down on the ground.

  “I did. So, what do you think?”

  James didn't want to say what he was really thinking. It seemed strange that Peter had gone through so much trouble to create this little hideaway when he had a perfectly good room in the boys’ wing at St. Catherine’s.

  “It's nice. Is this where you are when Sister Maddie can’t find you?”

  “Sometimes.” A small smile crept onto Peter’s lips. “Don't you dare say a word, James. Not to Sister Maddie or anyone else.”

  James couldn't see why it would be a cause for concern to anyone. The boy had a tree house in the woods, which seemed like a normal thing for a young boy to do.

  “Peter, I can’t see how your little tree house would be of interest to anyone, but if it makes you feel better, I promise I won’t tell,” said James.

  “Swear it!” Peter held his right hand over his heart.

  “I'll do no such thing. You will take my word or nothing at all.”

  Peter seemed much too serious about keeping his hideout a secret. In fact, James thought Peter was much too serious about a number of things. There was no hint of humor on his face when Peter told James he could fly, and there was no hint of humor now.

  “I guess that will have to do then,” said Peter, lowering his hand and stuffing it in his pocket. He sat down in the rocking chair, his hair plastered to his head from the rain and his pale skin shining underneath the mass of freckles that covered his nose and cheeks. “Sister Maddie is your mother isn't she?” he asked as he rocked back and forth.

  “Of course not.” James wished that were true, but it was not. He was confounded by how much Peter’s demeanor had changed once inside the treehouse. He was much more calm, almost innocent, but James felt as if that was not his true self. It was an act, and who Peter was under all of his falsities was still a mystery to James.

  “Well, of course she's not your real mother, but she's the closest thing you've got to one, right?”

  “I suppose that's true.” He felt uncomfortable sharing such intimate details with Peter. “I don't know why Sister Maddie feels that you and I should be more closely acquainted, but she seems determined to push us together.”

  “Ha!” Peter laughed. “She does, doesn't she? Sister Maddie always knows best, isn’t that right?”

  James detected a hint of sarcasm. “If she knows best, why do you seem hell-bent on disobeying her?”

  “I don't mean to,” said Peter looking down. “I just can’t stay in those stuffy old rooms any longer. All they talk about are rules! I can’t stand it, James. I just can’t stand it.”

  James stretched out his legs in front of him. “Rules are meant to keep you safe. The Sisters aren't trying to, well—what is it you think they are trying to do, Peter?”

  “Isn't it obvious? They want us to grow up! To do grown-up things. And I don’t want to do any of those things. They don’t interest me one bit.”

  “Peter, that is just how things work. We all have to grow up sometime,” replied James.

  “No.” Peter pounded his fist hard against the arm of the chair. “No, we don’t, and I choose not to.”

  James lifted the blanket off of his shoulders and placed it on his lap. “Peter, you’ve said over
and over you won’t grow up or that you don’t have to. It's not possible, Peter. You must grow up,” he said matter-of-factly. He thought Peter was too old to still be clinging to the fairy tales he must have heard as a small child.

  “Do you want to know something?” asked Peter. His tone and demeanor had changed again, and he became very serious. James wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Peter had to tell him.

  “I'm not sure.” James pushed his hair out of his face and pressed his lips together to keep any further comments bottled up tight.

  “Yes you do. Who doesn't love secrets?”

  “You have a secret then?” James was not surprised. “And you mean to share it with me?”

  “I think you don’t know how to believe me,” said Peter.

  James was entirely confused.

  “You’d believe me if you knew what I know,” Peter said coyly.

  “Peter I—” James was about to make up an excuse to leave when Peter stood up from the chair and walked to one of the interior walls. He removed a small wooden-framed painting of a pirate ship that was hanging there. James could make out that just behind the picture was a hollow, and from it, Peter produced a small rectangular object covered in a dingy cloth.

  He sat down on the floor directly in front of James then uncovered the object, handling it as if it might break. James could see it was a book of some kind but with no markings on the cover or spine. Peter handed it to him.

  “My mother left this the night she brought me to St. Catherine's. It’s a journal,” he said.

  James took the small book from him. It was bound in brown leather, and its pages were filled to bursting with journal entries. It was tattered and ragged, its pages yellow; its spine looked as if it would split in two at any moment.

  “This is the key,” said Peter.

  “The key to what?”

  “To living not just forever but forever young.”

  James turned the book over in his hands.

  “Peter, I don’t know what to say.” James glanced at the hollow’s door. I could just walk out.

  “No, don't say anything,” said Peter. “I know you don't believe me. But just... if you could read it, you would understand. I know it.”