A/N: I mostly lurk, seldom even reviewing (that is a habit I know I need to change) but it just made me sad to see so much time passing with no Secret Garden fics being updated. I had started work on this story, so I finally decided to just post it and risk the flames in hopes of getting things moving here.
The book is in public domain. Thus, no disclaimer is necessary.
The sun had barely begun to peek out over the horizon when Dickon ventured out to the grounds of Misselthwaite, ready to embark on another day's work in the gardens. The other gardeners thought him slightly daft, he knew. He had often been asked how he could possibly rise so early, when echoes of the night still lingered over everything, casting the manor grounds in an eerie dull glow. Did he not need his sleep like other folks? Why did he insist on working himself so long and hard, only to be rewarded with the meager wages standard for undergardeners?
Dickon was never sure of how to respond to these questions, so he would simply curve his mouth into a smile he knew to be enigmatic, and carry on with his work.
The truth, he knew, was one few would comprehend. Dickon loved his work. If not for his obligation to help his family make ends meet, he would be perfectly content to work for no wages at all. Dickon loved working the earth, just as he loved caring for the many creatures that constantly kept him company.
When Dickon was gardening, with his animals invariably close by, he felt a delightful sense of harmony within himself and in the world around him. This feeling was especially intense in the early morning hours when there wasn't a human soul to be found anywhere, nobody who could interfere with Dickon's profound sense of peace and love for the natural landscape surrounding him.
Dickon would be content to spend the rest of his life in this manner, working in the gardens, day after day, his animals flying and frolicking about him, each one of them enriching the landscape they inhabited with their own unique habits, sounds and behaviors.
If only the enigmatic Miss Mary were free to spend her days gardening alongside him, Dickon's contentment would be complete. As this thought occurred to Dickon, a wistful sigh escaped him. Dickon shook his head, determinedly driving his trowel into the soil beneath him, wishing it could be so easy to drive Miss Mary from his mind. There was no use dwelling on Miss Mary, he knew. As a budding lady of the gentry, she could never be his.
Dickon sighed again as he set his trowel down and began tugging at a stubborn weed. His mind drifted to his favorite fantasy, that of a Miss Mary who was his beau joining him in the gardens, day after day, occasionally pausing in her work to kiss him.
Dickon shook his head again. No. He needed to stop dwelling upon something that could never be. There were several young girls of his own class who had shown an interest in him, two of them servants at Misselthwaite Manor. Dickon valiantly attempted to alter his fantasy, to put one of those girls in the place of Miss Mary, but to no avail. She just kept appearing, stubbornly refusing to be shut out of his fantasies.
"Dickon!"
Dickon looked up, startled. For a fraction of a second, he wondered if this was an extension of his fantasy. Then he came to his senses and realized that the subject of his fantasies was in fact now crouched beside him, tugging determinedly at a weed.
"Good morning, Miss Mary!" Dickon could feel his face curving into a wide smile. "'Tis a graidely day."
"Aye, 'tis graidely," Mary replied, the Yorkshire dialect sounding slightly awkward with her refined accent. Dickon grinned, amused. Having just returned after nearly a year away at boarding school, Mary didn't take quite as naturally to the regional speech as she had when she'd been younger and without the benefits of the education regarded as proper for a young lady. Dickon was not in the least troubled by her imperfect Yorkshire. To his mind, the sweetest melody ever composed couldn't be anywhere near as lovely as the sound of Mary's voice.
Dickon realized that he had been lost in his reverie for several seconds, and Mary was regarding him with curiosity. He felt his face grow warm with what was undoubtedly a blush. He knew that he had to say something before the tension level in the garden could rise any further.
"Does tha think Mester Colin will be coming to the garden today?" Dickon asked, turning away from her under the pretense of working on a particularly troublesome weed. He wasn't about to let Miss Mary see the flush that had risen to his cheeks.
"I expect that he'll be here later this morning, or early in the afternoon," Mary replied, paying no heed to the dirt that stained her fingernails as she dug with the very trowel Dickon had bought for her five years ago. "I saw him on my way out. He was headed to the library to do some reading in one of his botany books. Or was it botany? Maybe it was physics, or geology. It could have been history, if he decided he needed a break from the sciences." Mary sighed. "Heaven knows what sort of book he's buried in right now, my cousin is interested in everything. He did say that he wanted to sketch some of the plants here, something to do with his botany studies, so I'm sure he'll come later today."
Dickon smiled appreciatively, "Quite the scholar, is our Master Colin."
"Indeed," Mary replied, setting her trowel down beside her. "It's been three days since we returned to Misselthwaite, and already Colin has started talking to Uncle Archie about whether he should attend Oxford, or Cambridge University after he finishes school. After completing one year at boarding school, my cousin is already making plans for University." Mary smiled fondly, then sighed. "I don't understand him, sometimes. I'm just so glad to be home. I don't care if the new school term never comes."
"Aye, Mester Colin's dreams was allus far beyond Misselthwaite. Full of big plans, is our Mester Colin."
"Yes," Mary replied, then fell silent. She didn't mention what Colin had told her one Saturday, as the two of them explored the streets of London, talking about their friends and their classes at school.
"I've been thinking quite a bit lately, Mary," Colin had said, as they exited some shop filled with highly expensive and completely useless trinkets that served no purpose beyond looking impressive and inciting jealousy in less prosperous acquaintances.
"When do you ever stop thinking?" Mary had teased. "Is that supposed to be newsworthy?"
"Very funny," Colin had remarked dryly. His tone had then grown serious, "The more I learn about the wider world, the more I realize just how limited and provincial Yorkshire really is. I'll be honest with you, Mary. I doubt I'll wind up spending much time at Misselthwaite after this. I feel like I've seen all there is to see there. I'd much rather stay here, with this whole city to explore filled with fascinating museums, great libraries and fine institutions of learning."
Mary smiled slightly in spite of herself. Even in the most casual of conversation, Colin had a remarkable knack for sounding like a professor, a quirk she knew that his schoolmates were forever good naturedly teasing him about.
After a moment, Mary sobered as the impact of Colin's words hit her. "But, Colin," she had protested. "Wouldn't you miss the grounds of Misselthwaite, our garden especially?"
"Of course I'd miss that," Colin had replied. His large gray eyes, which were slightly bloodshot from yet another night spent reading for hours in dim candlelight, now grew pensive. "I could still come back a few times a year to visit, though. Naturally, I would want to see the Secret Garden in the Spring, when everything is in bloom. Still, missing the garden seems a small price to pay when in this great city, with all the opportunity it has to offer."
Colin would be leaving the manor again in a few days' time, having accepted a friends' invitation to spend the rest of the school break in his London home. Mary had received similar invitations, but had declined them. She intended to spend as much time at home as possible, working in the secret garden, preferably with Dickon by her side. She had found the separation from the gardens to be much as she imagined it would feel to be separated from one of her limbs, excruciatingly painful, sometimes to the point of being unbearable. She loved the land, and it pained her to be away from it. She knew that Dickon felt much the same.
Privately, Mary couldn't help but wonder how Dickon felt about her. She knew that her feelings about Dickon were far more intense than those of friendship. She also knew that in the long run, she could not follow up on said feelings, unless she was willing to doom both herself and Dickon to a lifetime of being outcasts. It saddened her to think that the two of them could never hope to build a life together.
Mary turned her attention to Dickon, who was now busily pruning a rosebush. It fascinated her to see how his sky blue eyes seemed to grow brighter when he was engaging with the natural world, whether he was working the earth, or caring for one of the many creatures who seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Dickon had his sleeves rolled up, revealing the taut muscles of his arms, which seemed to pulsate slightly as he worked. Mary felt heat rising to her face. Had the temperature just gone up, or was the source of the sudden warmth she felt something else entirely?
As if he sensed her gaze on him, Dickon turned to look at her. A contemplative look came into his eyes, as he gazed upon her. He appeared to be considering something. Mary studied him, curious.
After a moment, Dickon's mouth curved into the infectious smile that appeared so often in her dreams. Mary returned the smile, and without a word, she drew closer and came to stand next to him. For a moment, her shoulder and his forearm touched. Mary felt a shiver pass through her, in spite of the warmth of the summer day. It was several seconds before she found the presence of mind to pull away. She looked up at Dickon. He was still pruning the rosebush, but something had changed in his posture. He glanced briefly at her, then hastily turned away, pruning with renewed determination.
Watching Dickon work, Mary wondered if he had felt something as well. The thought rose within her like a warm sun, casting its powerful glow on everything in sight. They might have no hope of a future together, but Mary had not entered society yet. For now, on this warm summer day in their Secret Garden, the two of them could be together and pretend that the outside world, with its strict societal divisions, did not exist.
For a time, Mary and Dickon remained side by side, working together in their garden. They spoke, intermittently, mostly about the various plants growing in Misselthwaite's many gardens and of the various goings-on among the staff at the manor. At times, both fell silent. During those interludes of silence, the two exchanged frequent glances, their eyes communicating far more than any words could.
As the morning sun rose higher, Dickon moved away, "I'd best be seeing to th' kitchen gardens. I've work to do there. I'll come back when I finish," He held her gaze several seconds longer than was strictly necessary. After a moment, Dickon extended a hand, and briefly allowed his fingers to brush hers. He then turned away and hurried out of the garden, leaving Mary alone. For a moment, she stood still, staring at the fingers Dickon had just touched, then she pressed the fingers to her mouth. It was several minutes before Mary could bring herself to resume her work in the garden.
Later, Colin arrived with his sketchbook. Mary continued her work, as Colin alternated between examining various plants and meticulously sketching in his book. There was no need to make conversation; the two cousins were like siblings and quite content to work in companionable silence.
At long last, Colin set down his sketchbook and got to his feet. "The garden really is lovely in the summer," he remarked, thoughtfully studying his surroundings. "I'm not sorry that I decided to spend a week here before heading back to London."
Mary set down the hoe she had been working with, and came to stand next to her cousin. "I do wish you'd stay longer. We'll all miss you here."
Colin laughed. "Come on, Mary, you're not going to miss me that much. You see me often enough in London, and you already know that I'll write you so often, I'll wind up driving you mad."
"Only if all your letters involve lengthy essays on science and history," Mary teased.
"Duly noted," Colin replied, "I will endeavor to limit myself to one essay per fortnight."
"I can accept that," Mary crouched down and resumed her gardening.
"Besides," Colin crouched down a few feet away from her and began weeding. "There are others here to keep you company. I know that the staff around here have missed you. I stopped in the kitchen garden where Dickon works before I came here, and we chatted for a bit. He told me that Martha in particular misses having you here to talk to. According to him, Martha finds Misselthwaite quite dull without you."
Mary smiled, and privately wondered if there were any other Sowerbys at Misselthwaite who missed her when she was away. She laughed softly, "I missed her, too. I missed many of the servants here."
"And they undoubtedly missed you," Colin told her, taking up the trowel. "I got the feeling that Dickon quite missed you as well."
Mary turned to Colin. He was watching her thoughtfully, but said nothing. After a moment, Colin turned back to the soil below and began digging. Mary returned to her work as well, and the two cousins resumed their companionable silence. After some time had passed, Mary spoke again. "I wonder how different everything will be now."
Colin turned to look at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Mary paused, thinking about how she might best articulate her confused thoughts into words, "This might not matter much to you, since you're here so briefly this time, but I can't help but notice how differently so many of the servants address me now. I mean, I'm being treated with more respect, in a way, but it feels odd. I feel like I'm supposed to be different now, too, but I'm not sure how."
"You are different now," Colin's tone was reflective. "I mean, we both are. I know that a year away at school has changed me a bit, and it's changed you a bit, too, whether you know it or not."
Mary considered her cousin's words, "I suppose I am a bit different from how I was, now that I've read more books and had some lessons on manners and etiquette. I'm still myself, though, and I feel as though I'm expected to be a different person entirely."
Colin was watching her with the same thoughtful expression he had worn before, "Exactly what is worrying you, Mary?" he asked.
"I don't know, exactly," Mary replied slowly, "I've always been so … free in my manners, ever since I've been here, going out to the gardens to work, chatting with the servants. Since I've been back here these past few days, I've been behaving the same way I always have. I know that Pitcher is watching, and Mrs. Medlock, not to mention Uncle Archie. I can't help wondering what they're all thinking. I can't help but wonder if I'll now get into trouble for behaving the way I always have."
Colin laughed, "Mary, do you really care about any of that? If you do, you're more changed than I thought."
"I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to care about those things," Mary remarked, mildly puzzled. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Just that, as long as I've known you, you've never cared much about what you're supposed to do." Colin replied. He spoke slowly, as if carefully thinking out every word of his answer. "You've always been one to break the rules, and that seems to be what works best for all of us. If you followed the rules, this garden would still be locked up. We would never have met, because no matter how mystified you were by the odd crying noises, you would have never gone looking for me. I'd probably be dead by now, and even if I was still alive, I'd still be a miserable, hysterical invalid, probably more wretched than ever. My father would still not be taking much interest in either one of us, or anything else, either. You probably wouldn't even know Dickon, because he only came after you asked for the gardening tools you never would have thought to ask for if you hadn't found your way into the Secret Garden. Misselthwaite Manor would still be the same dark, lonely place it was when you first arrived here, and you'd probably be even more miserable than you were then. Breaking the rules has always been what suited you best, Mary. Things have changed over these past five years, but I can't quite imagine that changing."
Mary didn't reply, but continued her work in the garden while pondering her cousin's words. Indeed, breaking the rules had always suited her. As she became less of a child, and more of a young woman with every day that passed, she wondered if that could stay the same. She wasn't sure what would change, and what would stay the same, and she didn't know when or if she would figure that out. For now, Mary decided, she wouldn't worry about that. She would just continue her work in this garden that held so many precious memories for her, and let the future happen when it may.