Till You Love Me Too
By: 1000th Ghost
*This story is dedicated to me. More specifically, this story is dedicated to seven-year-old me who, while laying on the old two-mattress bed with the yellow and white plaid sheets that used to be in Bobby's (which is now Charlie's) room, decided that she was going to be a writer. She thought up three stories about The Secret Garden's Mary and Colin (her very first "couple", from when she was four), and she fantasized for months about writing these three stories and storing them in a clay pot that she would keep hidden in a "house" in the woods. She attempted to make a clay pot; all she could find was something resembling Play-Doh, and the pot ended up about an inch high. She decorated it with the back of a green marker cap. The three stories themselves, unfortunately, were never written, and the first and third cannot even be remembered. She always told herself that "someday" she would write that second story, and then she would be an "official" writer. One night, she had a dream about Mary and Colin making out under two umbrellas in a hallway. When she woke, she figured that it was a sign that she should finally write the story. She started the story on 9-9-09 at 9:09pm. She strongly attempted to record the story as she thought of it at the age of seven. Thank you, seven-year-old me, for deciding to be a writer. This one's for you!*
"Hope whispers, and I will follow
Till you love me too."
-The Secret Garden (Winter Light)
The bell rang.
It hadn't rung in at least two months, possibly more; time seemed to have slowed or sped up into simple, blissful existence. Hours and days and weeks blended together into an array of flowers and laughter and children enjoying the lazy days of summer. There was no need for bells alerting servants that the needs of a spoiled, invalid boy must be dealt with at once.
And yet the bell, just starting to display cobwebs from its neglect, was ringing loud and clear. A maid who happened to be dusting nearby stopped to marvel at it, then a cook, then a butler, until almost the entire staff of Misselthwaite Manor stood gawking around the suddenly shocking ordinary object.
When Martha arrived, she too stared and listened but only for a matter of seconds. Then she turned to the dumbstruck crowd, stated, "I'll just go and see what he wants, then" and shooed them back to their previous tasks.
Her matter-of-fact manner was enough to jar the household out of its stupor, but she wrung her hands nervously as she walked, then ran, to Master Colin's bedroom, certain that something had gone terribly amiss.
And indeed it had.
"I can't walk," the alarmingly pale boy informed her.
"What do you mean, you 'can't walk'?" Martha inquired skeptically.
"I simply can't." There was a slight tremor in his voice, as if he were trying to hold back a sob. "It's as though I never went to the garden and never learned how. When I tried to stand this morning, I found I hardly had the strength to lift my head."
Martha bit her nails and bobbed up and down on the balls of her feet a bit, her simple, Yorkshire mind attempting to come up with an approach. She had taken on Mrs. Medlock's role since the older woman's departure and tried to convince herself and the staff that she was as practical and knowledgeable as she had been. But faced with something like this-
"Bring Mary to me," Colin said, interrupting her nervous indecisiveness.
It seemed like a fantastic idea if only because there was no other idea at the time, and she hastened away as fast as her legs could take her.
She could hear the screams when she was still two halls away. By the time she reached the girl's chamber, the shrieks were so deafening that she was convinced she would never be able to hear properly again.
Mary lay on her lavish bed, still in her nightgown, her hair a disgrace, her face red as the roses that grew in the garden, and her eyes set into a look of pure fury.
"Why did it take you so long to come, Martha?" she demanded. "And why can't I move?"
"Y-you…" She trailed off. "You cannot walk either?"
"'Either'? Who else can't walk?"
When Martha didn't answer, Mary screamed again, and the bewildered housekeeper shouted, "COLIN!" and covered her ears.
"Colin?" Mary's eyes grew large, her own predicament suddenly forgotten. "Colin can't walk? How – but – are you sure?"
"Oh, Miss Mary, I can't understand any of this!" Martha exclaimed, practically in tears. "Should I…I…send for the doctor? And for Lord Craven? And – Colin asked for you, miss, he thought you could help him-"
"Well, I can't help him when I can't get out of this bed, can I?" Mary snapped. Then she sighed, and her features softened slightly. "I'm sorry that I'm acting so brash, Martha. I've been screaming for over an hour hoping someone would hear me, and I suppose it's made me angry – oh, but poor Colin! It doesn't make sense, he just learned to walk, he's so strong now, poor, poor Colin!"
When the doctor arrived, he was shown first to Colin who asked him to, "Please ask Mary how she is doing" and then to Mary who replied, "What a ridiculous question. I'm doing just as awful as he is."
The rather stumped doctor concluded that nothing could be concluded and that it was strange, wasn't it? Perhaps the boy was simply having a relapse, and perhaps the girl had caught his illness. Perhaps they were both pretending; a childish joke.
Whatever the case, they were both obviously suffering from the same ailment, and the doctor advised extensive care for both until a verdict could be reached.
The servants were not terribly excited by this news and mentally prepared themselves for resuming their "sickly Colin" duties. Mary, however, they were not entirely sure about.
"Put her in bed with Colin," Lord Craven – who had returned from a business trip as soon as word reached him – suggested. "They can keep each other company, and it will be far easier to care for them if they are in the same place."
A few of the elderly women were shocked, and Martha was sure Mrs. Medlock would have fainted from the mere notion. But she looked at Lord Craven knowingly and saw a twinkle in the corner of his eye, a small reminder that the great romancer everyone thought had been buried with his Lilias was still alive and well.
When Mary was carried into the bedchamber, she found Colin propped up amongst his multitude of pillows, looking very much like the Raja she still sometimes accused him of being.
John laid her down on the right side of the bed and tucked the blankets around her, and she did nothing but scowl at her smug cousin.
She was in a horrible mood and had been since she had discovered her sudden immobility. She was not used to it and hated how hopeless it rendered her, but Colin – who had unexpectedly had his newfound vigor stolen from him – shouldn't he feel even worse?
What reason did he have for smiling so self-contentedly?
"I'm so, so sorry, children," Lord Craven said earnestly, giving them each a kiss on the forehead. "If you need anything at all, just ring the bell."
"Yes, thank you, Father," Colin said, a bit hastily it seemed to Mary, as though he was impatient for her uncle to leave the room.
Lord Craven and John exited and closed the heavy, wooden doors, and Colin turned to her.
"Are you mad at me, Mary?"
"Mad at you?" She paused. "No. I'm mad at the world but not you particularly."
"I'm glad. They think it's my fault, you know. That I gave you this."
"Don't say that, Colin!" she commanded, turning on her side to face him and jabbing a finger at his chest. "There never was anything wrong with you, and you know it. You were just weak-"
"And you made me strong again, cousin Mary," he said, flattening her hand until her palm lay against his chest.
"I-I didn't do anything," she stammered. "It was the garden and-"
His heartbeat was so frantic under her hand, and she never would have imagined the once pallid, frail Colin to have such firm, muscular-
"It was you. Thank you," he said sweetly, and she couldn't help but smile. "It won't be so bad," he reassured her, and she couldn't help but wonder if she would ever get her hand back. "We can be…together."
Mary felt herself blushing against her will and looked to her captured hand rather than his smoldering, gray eyes.
"I want us always to be together," he had said.
He had asked her to marry him. No, not asked. He had informed her that it would happen. At first she had dismissed the notion as ridiculous simply because they were cousins, but when presented with his steadfast, against-all-odds pleading…
"We are together," she had replied.
And kissed him.
That night, they had fallen asleep together after looking at photos of his father and mother in the garden. Photos of two, young lovers, and he remarked that he thought his mother was beautiful.
He had said before that Mary looked like his mother…
"We are together," she said again because she could think of nothing else to say.
"Yes."
Then he closed his eyes, and in a matter of minutes she felt his breathing slow. His fingers loosened their grip slightly, and she could have easily pulled her hand away had she wanted to.
She didn't pull her hand away.
She marveled at his ability to fall asleep so quickly and then realized with a start that she had never observed her cousin sleeping before. She could not remember who had fallen asleep first the night of the photos but knew for a fact that he had woken first. Her first sight when her eyes opened that morning had been his contented, adoring, self-pleased smile, and she felt as though he viewed the intimacy of their innocent sleep as an accomplishment.
She wondered how long he had stared at her before she had woken.
But now it was her turn to stare, and stare she did. She memorized every detail of his still-thin face, relaxed into a peaceful expression that she was sure he would have kept hidden had he known she was watching him. She traced his visage with her eyes until the sun glinting off his golden hair began to sink, and her eyes, unbeknownst to her, slid shut.
The clatter of dishes against a tray raised both of them from their dreams.
Colin seemed very relieved that she was in fact still in his bed-
"-I dreamt that you had left me," he told her.
It was not at all what he had dreamt, but it would be entirely inappropriate to share what he had.
"It's been days now, Colin," she said matter-of-factly. "If I hadn't left before, why would I leave now?"
"I'm sorry to wake you," Lord Craven apologized kindly, "but it's best if you keep your strength up. You should both eat something."
The children sat up against the massive pile of pillows behind them, and Lord Craven placed the glistening tray on their laps.
"Father, we have servants to do this, you know," Colin chided, and Mary giggled into the sticky bun she was biting.
"Yes, I know, but I wanted to see for myself if there was any improvement." He paused. "Is there?"
Mary and Colin looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously.
"We've been sleeping," Mary informed him, and he nodded.
"Yes, yes, rest is beneficial. As is nourishment – please, eat."
Mary continued to help herself to the multitude of goodies placed before her, but Colin only picked at a chicken leg. His eyes devoured his cousin rather than his dinner, and somewhere between grasping a bite and bringing it to his mouth, his mind would wander, and his hand would be distracted from its task.
Lord Craven watched his son in amusement and then remarked, "She looks very much like my Lilias, Colin. I can see why you fancy her."
Mary's eyes grew large, and she expected an embarrassed rebuttal to sound from her cousin, but Colin merely smiled and agreed, "She's beautiful, Father, isn't she?"
"You are so like me," Lord Craven teased, reaching over to tousle Colin's hair. Then he left the room, leaving Mary to bask in the aftermath of what should have been an awkward conversation.
Somehow, it wasn't.
Even when they both reached for the same grape, and their fingers touched, and she removed her hand, and he picked up the grape and brought it to her lips, and she chewed the fruit – sweet with a taste of him –, it all seemed so incredibly natural that she thought nothing of it.
"You kissed me once, Mary," he told her. "Kiss me again."
"No," she said stubbornly.
He knew perfectly well that he could not tell her what to do, after all.
"Then I will kiss you. It's only fair that I return the favor," he reasoned.
He leaned over before she could think to move away and placed a chaste peck on the corner of her mouth.
"I'm not finished eating," she informed him, but unfortunately, the tray was almost empty. She slowly consumed the few bites of sausage that remained then picked up the tray and placed it on a table near the bed. "Now I'm going to see if I'm stronger," she said quickly, before he could speak.
If she was moving and occupied, it would make it difficult for him to-
-to what?
She ignored her train of thought and attempted to raise herself onto her hands and knees.
It was simple, and she was shocked.
"Look!" she exclaimed as she crawled in a small circle and then crawled deeper under the bed's comforter and sheets until she was entirely hidden from view. "Are you making this magic?" she jokingly asked Colin, and his muffled reply came from somewhere above her.
Up and down the bed linens she journeyed, imagining it was a lush, dense jungle – her garden – and that she was walking instead of traveling like an infant.
It was great fun for a few minutes, but just as her make-believe vision became its most enjoyable, she felt a slight panic settle in her throat. The sheets were too overgrown, and where was the head of the bed?, and she wanted to break through the surface and see the light and Colin.
She inched her way through the suffocating maze, and suddenly she found Colin's bony leg. She climbed up using his lean frame as a guide until her fingers were in his hair, and she was directly on top of him.
"I-I got lost," she attempted to explain.
He did not appear surprised by her unusual location and put his arms around her waist. He raised his head to hers and looked at her curiously before kissing her again. She did not fidget or rebuke him, and he parted his lips slightly. His tongue danced across her lower lip, and she giggled.
"Dickon may be able to charm animals," he whispered in the space hovering between them, "but I know how to charm you."
Something in the back of her mind mused that she had seen less and less of Dickon since her uncle had found his son walking in the garden – she had hardly given him any thought at all in weeks.
"Dickon moved out of the way for Colin," she realized. "Even Dickon knew that Colin and I should be 'together'."
"I used to think no one wanted me," she said aloud.
He blinked and waited for her to continue.
"But you always did."
"Of course. I love you," he said, and his tone was so plain that it was obvious – so obvious –, and why had she not just loved him too?
This time she initiated the frantic kiss, and her mouth opened eagerly when he asked permission.
"Mary," he panted, his breath hot as he slid a shoulder of her nightgown down and placed his lips against the bare skin. "This is a new kind of magic."
"I believe we can walk again," she said, before gasping at his exploring hands.
"Oh, yes. We can walk. The magic worked."
The fact was evident for both of them, yet neither felt the desire to leave the magic of the bed.
The End