AN: An idea that popped into my head after watching the movie. I haven't read the book in ages, but the movie resurfaced my love for Mary and Dickon as a couple. It took me forever to write! Review!
It was a warm summer day at Misselthwaite manor, the first Saturday in months clear enough to be spent outside. The sun was shining high in the bright blue sky, casting a warm, yellow glow around the garden where, sat on the swing, Dickon and Mary were chattering away, small smiles on each of their faces.
Martha lowered her eye to the camera Master Colin had lent her that morning. Because Miss Mary was so fond of Martha, and beautiful days like this don't happen very often in Yorkshire, Master Archibald had given the maid a day off to spend with her friends. Martha covered her head with Dickon's heavy leather jacket and squinted into the eye hole.
Click.
"So you think you're so fast, then, do you?" Mary said, suddenly a lot louder than she had been before.
"Aye, lass. I'm faster than thee, no doubt," Dickon replied smugly. Martha chuckled. Her bother should know better than to challenge the always competitive girl beside him.
"We'll see about that!" Mary jumped up from her seat on the swing and began to run around the garden, staying close to Martha, but going far enough away to give Dickon some room to run. He chased her through the garden, replying quickly to each of her witty remarks about his speed, smiling widely every time she let out a very un-Mary-like giggle.
Click.
Mary had changed quite a lot since her discovery of the garden. With the event of her fourteenth birthday, she seemed to change from a child into a young woman nearly overnight, and now only weeks from her fifteenth birthday, she was truly blossoming into an adult. She was taller, for one, abandoning her petite childlike frame all together and taking on one that greatly resembled her mother's, slender and shapely. Her hair was longer and darker, more of a brown now than a red, falling in graceful waves down her back.
Mary had long grown tired of having ankle length dresses bunching around her when she was knelt in the garden, and, against Medlock's strict orders, had fashioned herself a new gardening dress with a pair of scissors and Martha's sewing machine. An old green dress that had once been one of her most annoying ones, Mary trimmed with the scissors up to her knee, a very inappropriate style for a proper English young lady, but easy to garden in, nonetheless.
Mary ran around the garden, thankful for her shorter, simpler dress as it made it easier for her to run away from her advancing friend. Dickon chased Mary around the garden, thankful for her shorter, simpler dress as it gave him a better view of her legs.
Dickon was growing older as well, tall and handsome, tanned and muscular, looking a lot older than just sixteen. He had kept his stocky, Yorkshire boy build as he aged, his blue eyes still bright and happy. Dickon's love for the outdoors hadn't ceased as he grew older; if anything, it had grown. He spent more time outside than ever before, chattering away to the birds around him whenever he had a spare moment.
No matter how many times Mary denied it, Dickon's legs were longer than hers, and he caught up to her quickly, wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning her in circles. Mary pounded against his hands in mock anger while laughing so hard it pained her.
"Who's faster now?" Dickon teased, twirling her around. Mary couldn't reply; she was laughing too hard to get a single world out.
Click.
In mid-twirl, Dickon tripped over a root from a nearby oak tree and fell to the ground, taking a very amused Mary with him. Both screwed their eyes shut as they dropped to the ground, and when they opened them again, they found themselves lying on the grass, a giggling Mary below a chuckling Dickon, one arm on either side of her shapely body, staring up into the others eyes and trying not to laugh too hard at the situation they were in.
Click.
And slowly, as if some strong magnetic force was pulling them together, their faces drew closer, and their lips met, soft and curious, simple and beautiful.
Click.
Martha moved her eye away from the camera and pulled Dickon's coat from over her head, deciding to leave the young couple alone, picking up the brown box and turning to head for the door. She was stopped, however, by a loud squeal coming from behind her.
"You'll never take me alive!" Mary cried to Dickon, who was chasing her through the garden again.
"We'll see abou' that!" Dickon replied, arms outstretched, only inches away from his laughing best friend.
Martha chuckled and marvelled at how much the pair had changed in the last few years. Mary had softened significantly over time, growing more playful and silly than anybody had expected her to be. Dickon was less shy than before, thanks to Mary's newfound audacity, and wasn't afraid to call her out on the things she did wrong, or chase her around the garden when in the mood for something childlike to do.
Life at Misselthwaite Manor was simple and sweet for all who lived there. Not a care in the world rested upon the shoulders of the three teenagers who resided there, and thinking back to the events of the day, Martha knew she would never doubt that, smiling quietly to herself as she sat in her room, peeking out of the window at Mary and Dickon, walking slowly up the hill to the house, hand in hand, chattering away to each other once again, this time, with silly smiles plastered onto their faces.
Martha set back up the camera, covered herself with her apron, squinted into the eye hole, and rested her finger on the small button that, once pressed, would capture that moment forever. She sighed, chuckled, and pressed it.
Click.