Jemima both dreaded and anticipated the next afternoon and meeting with John Fields and his sister. She had fussed over the fact her gown would be the same and that they would undoubtedly notice. But she forgot to reckon with the fact that the mirror provided her with a new fashion.
Gone was the dowdy checked gingham dress; now she wore a dark blue velvet spencer to go with a circumspectly white gown. In her reticule she found more money and a small, pocket-sized book as well as an embroidered handkerchief. She thought perhaps she might make the book a present to John Fields and the handkerchief to his sister and was quite pleased with her behavior.
However, this pleasure was short-lived when she reached the threshold of the familiar house. The anxiety she had been harboring all day grew into monstrous proportions, and she began to wonder if continuing her masquerade was prudent.
Still she continued on, as the servants showed her through the expanse estate of the Fields's. She tried not to look the fearful kitten she felt, but she knew she was trembling in all her limbs.
She was shown into the drawing room, where John waited, reading a book on the sofa. When Jemima entered, he rose and bowed and then took her hand without invitation. He showed her to the sitting room, where Mrs. Murdstone sat on a very comfortable-looking chair, flanked by a nursemaid and two children, who were making so much racket Jemima thought they might be ill.
John started to laugh at the scene, and Mrs. Murdstone replied fearfully, "Oh, good, John, you are come. Hello Miss Jellicle--you've caught us in the middle of a catastrophe--dear Charles there has captured a mouse--" she motioned to her young son, who held the squeaking creature by the tail and was terrorizing his young sister and the nursemaid "--and we cannot get him to put it down!"
Jemima could hardly understand a word Mrs. Murdstone had said, for the words had fallen out of her mouth in an unorganized hurry. But she understood the situation. John understood but was too amused to do anything about it. Jemima held out her hand authoritatively to the boy. "Hand him here, Charles."
Mrs. Murdstone went from pale to flushed. "Don't touch it, Miss Jellicle!"
Jemima paid no attention to the warning, for she was, of course, not afraid of mice. The younger sister and nursemaid were howling with fear and Mrs. Murdstone looked as though she would faint and John was nearly suffocating with laughter, so it was up to Jemima to bring order.
She transfixed the boy with her worldly eyes, and he handed the wriggling rodent to her.
Jemima had an urge to devour the mouse but knew stuffing a diseased vermin in her mouth in front of people was not as etiquette dictated. Instead she opened the nearest window and let the creature scurry out. The room was silent in disbelief. Jemima wondered what the strong sensation in the back of her eyes was and why she wished to repress it.
But it was gone when John clapped loudly, shattering the silence: "Well done, Miss Jellicle!"
The boy Charles began to laugh uproariously, and his sister followed suit, but the nursemaid just fainted. She was revived and took the children away.
Awkwardly Jemima and John stared at each other. Then Jemima reached into her reticule and nervously handed the book to him. "It's agift. For your trouble." She gave the handkerchief to Mrs. Murdstone, who blew her nose on it.
"We thank you, Miss Jellicle," John said repressedly, but the warm fire of affection kindled in his eyes made Jemima scratch the top of her head--where her ears would have been--in her habitual nervous gesture.
"Would you like to share dinner with us, Miss Jellicle?" Mrs.Murdstone asked loftily.
"Yes," Jemima answered, thinking greedily of the mouse.
John was somewhat surprised at the way Miss Jellicle inhaled her meat and did not even glance at the vegetables, despite his sister's admonishment they were good for the health. However, her novelties only made him admire her more. He could not explain it, but there was something so coquettish and kittenish and mysterious and artless about her--he was drawn to her.
After dinner, Mrs. Murdstone retired awhile into her boudoir and gave John much-desired time alone with Jemima. Although gratified by John's requesting her company and all the attention he was paying to her, Jemima felt uneasy being alone with him. She liked him a great deal and yet could never say as much. It was against propriety.
Her uneasiness dissipated somewhat when he showed her into a parlor--or the remains of one--for now the room had been completely ravaged by plants growing mismatchedly out of pots, artifacts of Greek and Roman eras looming beseechingly here and there, and a number of texts and paintings. It reminded her strangely of the Abandoned Garden.
"What is this?" she asked.
He shrugged contemplatively. "My experimentation center."
"What?"
"I grow my plants here--since there's no room for a garden up front,you see," he smiled. He led her to a plant. "Close your eyes," he commanded. "Go on, close them." Obediently she did, and he gently took her slender hand and put it around the plant. "What does it feel like?"
"Fuzzy!" Jemima squealed.
"Now smell it," John said, his grin as big as hers.
She did. "What is it? It smells very good!"
John laughed, and she opened her eyes. "It's rosemary, my dear. Rosemary for remembrance."
"And what should I remember?">
"Remember only that--" John stopped short. "Never mind."
"What's wrong?" Jemima's lovely eyes held only sincere confusion, and this confounded John more. He could not say what he wanted to; it was too improper and it was too rapid.
Instead he turned on her with an almost diabolical look. He would prove to himself what he felt was not love. "Miss Jellicle, it's strange, but I've never heard your name before. Is your family from London?"
Jemima ducked her eyes. "No, sir . . . We . . . We're from New York, actually. My father moved us back to London . . . three years ago."
"And your father, who is he? Butcher, baker, candlestick-maker?"
Jemima understood the mocking tone at once. "My father, sir, is a gentleman. He was elevated by . . . uh . . . the Regent to the position of knight." She tried her best to seem insulted. "How dare you presume otherwise?!"
John ignored her. "And where do you live?"
"I hope you don't think me capable of giving my address out to> strangers.
Stranger. John felt that wound. "And why did you hurry off last night?"
"Mr. Fields, I did not come here to be interrogated," Jemima mumbled.
John then understood there were things he could not ask her. Everyone had their secrets--God knew he had his--and Jemima Jellicle's werenot to be touched. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you," he said stiffly and promptly wandered off.
Jemima felt slightly sick. She found her way to the study, where Mrs. Murdstone sat at the piano forte, playing a very pretty melody.
"Do you play, Miss Jellicle?"
Jemima could not smile for now she felt unwell. "No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Murdstone. I have not had that pleasure."
Mrs. Murdstone raised her own eyebrow. "I don't suppose you sing, either?"
Jemima regained a little of her color. "A little."
Mrs. Murdstone hummed softly to herself. "Would you please give me a sample?" The request surprised Jemima very much, but she obliged:
"Daylight, see the dew on the sunflower
And a rose that is fading,
Roses wither away,
Like the sunflower I yearn to turn my face to the dawn
I am waiting for the day."
Mrs. Murdstone looked vaguely confused upon the completion of thesong but she said nothing except, "That was . . . exceptional, Miss Jellicle. You have a real aptitude for song." Jemima demurred, and Mrs. Murdstone excused herself to see "if my Charles has poked his eye out or something."
Shrugging, Jemima explored the study, which consisted of escritoire and rows and rows of books. She stared at their pictures with a slowly warming heart. She began to wonder if her excursion through the mirror was as fruitless as chasing the images of a book. She refused to think so, for moonlight had led her to John Fields, and she had always trusted moonlight.
As if reading her thoughts, she heard the door open and two pairs of shoes walk in. Cautiously she waited behind the bookshelves, too curious to show herself.
"She's a peculiar girl," she heard Mrs. Murdstone say.
"She's wonderful," John defended.
"She's peculiar," his sister insisted. "She touches mice, doesn't touch vegetables, can't play the piano and sings like cats--"
"Would it make any difference to you if I thought I cared for her?" John's voice trembled in indignation.
"We know of no connections, no family whatsoever," Mrs. Murdstone countered. "She's a nice-tempered chit, but she has nothing else."
"Exactly," John continued. "She is a natural artless, wonderful person, and I've never met anyone I liked so much."
"John, you've only known her for six hours."
At this, John was silent, for it was true.
His sister retreated toward the door. "I'm going to find our guest and see if I can't interest her in some mint mouth-paste. Her breath smells like fish."
"Is it true?" Jemima found herself asking aloud after Mrs. Murdstone had left. She stood behind the bookcases, smelling the old book smell, musty and vaguely comforting.
John didn't sound at all surprised to hear the voice coming from seemingly nowhere. "What?"
"Did you really mean that you think I'm . . . a wonderful person?"
Her words were inexplicable, impertinent, without any commonly accepted form of sense in them. And yet they made John uncommonly happy, for they were meant just for him. "You've outwitted me at everything else, Miss Jellicle; what do you think?"
Jemima was quiet. She could hardly think at all. The consequences of these hasty words reeled back inside her. She could not mistake them.
"Will you appear, Jellicle Queen?" John said jokingly.
Jemima smiled radiantly. "Let us play a game, Mr. Fields. Let us pretend that I am a mouse and you are a cat. And the only way for you to find me is to chase me."
For John it was like recalling childhood days of running with moronic pleasure and no fear of punishment; for Jemima it was like being home again. They chased each other round in circles until they were dizzy, running for what seemed like hours. Then they collided into each other and couldn't breathe for laughing.
"I'm sorry--your riband's come loose," John said, taking the fair-colored silken thread from Jemima's long dark hair, which fell onto his palms like a waterfall. Gently, he caressed the sweet waves of her hair, and they embraced, tentatively at first, then firmly.
Jemima felt a strange sensation in her cheek, as if it were burning,and she pushed John away in an attempt to case the bright red color she had turned.
"What is it?" John asked.
Jemima smiled languidly and touched her cheeks. "It's nothing. I've never blushed before."
John laughed his laugh and asked, "I don't suppose you have wept either?"
Jemima shook her head. "No."
John held her close. "And you've probably never felt a kiss, I daresay." He gave her no chance to answer for then he kissed her. There were many things Jemima liked about being human, but a kiss,she had to admit, was the best of all. There was nothing so intimate ina cat's world, where everything was laid out in the open. There were few secrets and few confessions but this kiss was all in one.
"I have now," she whispered.
The bliss was short-lived when Jemima recalled she'd promised Electra she would go off with her to meet some new cats early in the morning!
"What's wrong?" John asked, not relinquishing his grip on her.
"I must go, truly, I must!" Jemima pleaded.
"Jemima," John said in a tone not to be disregarded, "you disappear at dusk and don't return until midday. Please stop being Cinderella for one night. Or at least tell me where you go!"
Jemima wrenched away, running from the room. "Stop!" John cried,this time angry and pained. Jemima dashed through the house, unable to say goodbye. "I love you, Jemima Jellicle! There! Will that stop you?"
"I must go," Jemima whispered and ran with all her speed out of the house and down an alleyway. John followed her.
"Will I never see you again?" he begged. "Jemima? Jemima! Jemima!"
The next day was dark and promised rain. John Fields was used to bad weather; he lived in England, after all. But that day the somberrain seemed meant for him, a shocking slap in the face. For John had always been used to going to women at his leisure, but when Jemima did not come at noon, he was mad with anticipation.
He had endured countless arguments from his sister, who was convinced he was going insane, to wish to align himself with a penniless girl of no name or any background. They had quarreled extensively, and he refused to back out from his conviction he would marry Jemima Jellicle the second she returned to him. His sister brought up every pointagainst the girl, but he paid no heed for he had fallen irrevocably in love with her.
Unfortunately, the same had befallen Jemima. She had tried to stay away because she knew what she was entering was a dangerous game. But this did not stop her when she knocked on the door of the Fields's house.
Today she was wearing the most marvelous gown of all but it was in vain. Its magnificent folds of violet silk were no protection against the rain, and the crystals about her neck and hair were lost among the raindrops.
When she clasped John in her arms, she exclaimed, "I'll get you all wet--!"
"I don't care," he replied, kissing her. "Don't ever leave me again or I shall really go mad without you." He attempted a faint laugh.
"Don't say such things," Jemima cried. "I can't stay with you."
"You must," John insisted. "I'm going to marry you today and--"
"You'll do nothing of the sort," Mrs. Murdstone cut in. She addressed Jemima. "You're a nice person, Miss Jellicle, but you know as well as I do that you and John cannot be together. You have your own reasons. Now please usurp his illusion and tell him the truth."
Jemima sighed abysmally. "She's right, John. That mouse may love that cat but where would they live?"
"But we're humans," John said, with a trace of humor.
Jemima shivered. She had thought about telling him the truth but now she knew he would never accept it. She pulled away from him." "I will marry you," John raved. "I don't care where you go or what you do, I will marry you."
"For shame, John!" Mrs. Murdstone cried. "You have always been odd, that I could understand; but you are going too far! You're frightening me!" she added harshly.
"I must go now," Jemima whispered. "I know it's hard for you to understand, John, but I do love you and I have to keep you from me. The things about me that I hide from you--I do that for a reason. To protect you!"
Jemima felt hot tears, and she had never felt them before. And she hated the sensation. "I'll come back someday."> "Will you?" The words hung desperately in the air and choked John. "Oh, God!" he cried, dashing his hand on his forehead. "How can I believe in beauty when she has left?"
"Look to the moon, and I'll always be there," Jemima muttered and departed into the rain and out of the mirror.
Electra wondered what it was like to cry; after hearing Jemima's wretched story she would have shed tears now if she could. She now looked on her friend as a totally different creature. In loving a human and one so unattainable, Jemima had proved she was beyond kittenhood. John Fields had been right when he had called her a Jellicle Queen,for that is what she had always been. Only everyone had been to limited in their visions to see her as anything except that which her physical form had taken. This love was a way of setting her soul free, like removing the hood of a captive hawk. Electra ached for her.
The sun was high in the sky, and electra supposed everyone would be looking for them. The Abandoned Garden seemed less of a magical place now, the weeds pressing the sunlight into unreadable amounts. Electra could think of nothing to say.
She hugged her friend in the cat version of an embrace, and they trembled together. "So Moonlight was your only friend after all."
Jemima closed her eyes in agreement.
"You've got to tell him. John Fields." The name Jemima had uttered so tenderly sounded so strange in Electra's mouth. "You've got to tell him," she repeated, as if it would make a difference.
"And watch him laugh at me?" Jemima asked.
"The truth will make everything else stand still," Electra advised. "It's all that's to be done. If he laughs, at least you've told him. He'll know. You'll know."
Jemima nodded feebly. "Suppose he still wants me. Then what?"
"Then you decide. Stay with him or leave." The clarity in Electra's voice must have convinced Jemima. She did not protest or say anything.
Finally she asked beseechingly, "Tell them, won't you, ‘Lectra? The whole thing. All of it. In case--" her voice trembled "--in case I don't come back."
"You really love him, don't you?" The question was unnecessary but Electra was awed that her friend could give up so much for a man.
For a human.
Electra told them. They listened to her with their eyes wide in engrossment, for never in the history of cats had anything so extraordinary happened. Their faces went expressive with emotions of wonder, melancholy, and love for their dear friend. No one knew what to do or say; they were all incredulous if they should blame themselves for not paying enough attention to her, or if fate had procured her life to be this way. Not a single one doubted her devotion to this man, this human, and none of them expected her to return.
But she did. Two days later, Jemima returned to her tribe with no explanation. Her friends and family would have asked innumerable questions except that she introduced a new cat beside her as Hesperus.
They understood then.
She was happy. She was radiant. Hesperus--so he was then called--was happy.
The seasons passed and soon Jemima bore her own brood. She continued to walk by moonlight, but seldom alone.
And they never forgot the Abandoned Garden.
THE END
This AUTHOR'S NOTE has nothing to do with the above story. It's an announcement of a hiatus of sorts. I love writing CATS fan fic and I have made so many friends and had so much fun writing my stories. However, I'm out of ideas. I have a couple of very faint ideas I could pursue, but right now I think it's best to turn my attention to my novels. Don't worry, I'll be back. I love CATS and the fan fic too much to quit! I want to thank you for taking the time to humor an eccentric teenager and my special thanks goes out to Chasm, for all those encouraging words, and to Elektra, Little Demeter, and Jemimus, for dealing with me. And also to everyone who was kind enough to tell me they liked my stories. And to all those who got "A Memory or Two" third place in the Jellicle Fan Fic Awards.