Chapter 10

I'm too vulnerable

There are many different kinds of people, Dickon thought as he lay boneless on the cold hard ground. A cloud of dust rising and swaying as men ran past him, guns on the shoulders, knives out, charging towards the enemy. Dickon heard nothing though, other than a dull pounding in his ears and a high screech. His entire body was numb, but he knew that his muscles were aching terribly- if they were still attached, and his skin was frozen to the touch.

There are those who, like Thompsson, take action before thought and there are those, like Colin, who ponders before doing. Dickon continued, his mind; his only haven from the hell his body was bestowed in, continued to ponder and imagine. He was dimly aware that another body had fallen next to his – most likely not as lucky as he to still be breathing.

There are those who would sell their own mother for a meager piece of bread. Harrison, a vile man who used to sit and brag in the trenches, running his mouth on women he slept with and family heirlooms he sold. Dickon never hated anyone, but that man prodded his nerves in the wrong ways. But then there are those who would work themselves into an early grave for a single shilling. Thompsson. Dickon could remember his gnarled nails and calloused hands, hands of a man who worked every day his entire life to continue living –not just for himself, but for everyone of his loved ones too.

There are good people and there are bad. During the one week of training, the sergeant would scream and preach that it was the Germans who were evil, it was the men on the other side who were vicious and blood-thirsty creatures and by exterminating them we exterminate the evil of the world. Thus making our home a more peaceful place.

There are optimist and there are pessimists. He could recall simpler times, when he was still a boy and running through the great wilds of the moor. During times where light shined bright and dark clouds could never dampen his spirits. Even through the rains he'd run and jump and spin through the moor – but those times were long over and now only thoughts of death and victory loomed over him. He was sure he was going to die on this battlefield and he accepted it.

Yet, we co-exist without fail. A vibrant rainbow of colors, none black and none white. We fight, we love and we survive. That is our way of coping, our way of living. He thought back to the garden, the sweet fragrance of the different rows of colorful flowers, growing wild and free. He thought of the reds, yellows and blues that laced the brown of the trees. He thought of the luscious greens of the grass and leaves.

Beautiful, lively… glorious color. Suddenly, she appeared. Her hair tied into a delicate knot atop her head, braided in certain sections while the short hair by her hairline elegantly framed her red-cheeked face. She spun, her light blue dress swirled against her slender legs, dipping and billowing as it reflected the sun's rays. She laughed, a twinkling angelic sound escaping her lips and warming his freezing body. She called out to him. Her hands stretched toward him as she danced through the garden, blending into the plantage and wildlife perfectly – a goddess of all that was good and rich.

Mary.

She was so close, but he couldn't reach her. His body too damaged, too sore, to do the simple act of reaching out and grabbing onto that god-blessed hand that invited him. He wanted to, from the heavens above to hell's fires below did he want to, but he physically couldn't lift his own hand.

"Soldier! Soldier Sowerby!" Someone dully called, their dim voice shot an arrow though the image, a flaming arrow burned through the image and the wind carried away it's ashes. He wanted to scream, he wanted to call her name. He wanted to find the bastard who shot that arrow and gut him like the fishermen at his village gutted their fish – a thought that scared him to the core.

He slowly turned his head and with glazed, blurred eyes he saw young Colin army crawl towards him. His dirty cheeks were stripped with tears as he hurriedly tossed his slender body over his own, calling him.

Behind him was a red sky, men rushing by armored heavily with their guns heaved over their shoulders. Their bodies leaving behind blurring lines and clouds of dirt.

He wasn't in the garden with his beloved. He was on a battlefield, 3 bullets in his leg and another on his hip; bleeding to death. And Colin had found him; the boy just couldn't let Dickon die with the image of Mary in his mind.

The younger boy roughly grabbed onto his collar and screamed; his mouth moving rapidly as he shouted reassurances. "Dickon! Dickon! Hang in there! We- You'll make it through! Stay with us Sowerby! Don't you dare die! You'll make it thr-" His dim voice faded away and all Dickon could understand was that his rapidly moving lips were continuously shouting reassurances and prayers.

Colin.

It's been a while since he thought of the frail boy at home. Dickon remembered how jealous he was that he had been called because he was poor while as Colin could live comfortably due to his wealth – He wanted to smack himself for thinking so selfishly. This war was no place for a man like Colin. He's body wouldn't handle it and he'd die as soon as he stepped foot in the trenches. The soldiers were rowdy and some were simply horrid. Dickon thanked the heavens and gods above for protecting his cherished friend from such a fate.

He wanted to see them. He wanted to hold them close and never let go again. He wanted to be home at the moor, the war done and over – lives sparred and peace once again.

With a grim smile Dickon idly felt his lips move, forming words that went unheard to him as his mind faded away to a black abyss. "Colin, Mary, I'll see you in the garden."

He wasn't ready to die just yet.

Mary sighed deeply as she stepped out of the cart. She nodded towards Frank, a sharp motion of lifting chin and bringing it down. "Please, I'll retrieve my own bags." She said, her eyes looking up at the elder man with a light shine. She didn't wait for his response.

Without another word she went to the trunk of the cart, opening the small compartment and collecting her bags into her arms, with frail limbs she elbowed the compartment door shut and retreated towards the manor. "Thank you for the ride, Frank." She called over her shoulder as she entered the large building. Maids hustled around her, asking to take her bags and if she had enjoyed her trip, others – the more nosy ones – pondered on why she returned so quickly and if anything exciting happened during her travels.

She ignored them though. Quickly walking up the stairs, 2 at a time, and nearly running down the maze-like hallways. She didn't care about the well-dressed man she nearly bowled over in the hall away or wondered over who that strange man was. She simply ran. Her dress swaying and furling about her as she did so.

Finally reaching her door, she grabbed the knob and yanked the wooden door open. She quickly dropped her bags on her bed before rushing back to shut her door with a resounding slam.

She sighed deeply once again as she sat at her desk. Her eyes dully gazed at the drawings of roses and flowers that littered the desks surface. The German shuttle was a harsh reminder of the war, of the men who were out there fighting with their lives on the line – of the man she had come to love.

Unconsciously, she plucked a quill from her desk and dipped it into the small bowl of ink. She pulled out another parchment and began to draw. Her slender fingers grasped the handle of the quill delicately as she drew black lines across the rough surface of the parchment.

She worked in silence, her mind a million miles away as her hand ran across the sheet of white, curving and straightening, darkening and lightening. Her nimble fingers worked long and hard until finally a proper image was presented.

A sharp knock broke her away from her musing. She turned around sharply. The quill gracefully lifted off the surface and was held tightly in her palm, its ink dripped onto the desk.

"Who's there? I'd rather not be interrupted!" She called to the door. Swiping at a strange chill on her cheek before realizing that the liquid was tears. Her eyes widened as she quickly glanced at her work, gasping at the figure showing.

Dickon.

Dickon's bright whole-some smile was smiling up at her as his wide eyes were crinkled with joy, his unruly hair stood at odd places as roses surrounded him. The image broke through her heart as she glanced towards the last of the roses that was gifted to her, only 6 of the 11 remained – the twelfth had yet to be found.

The door opened and shut behind her, drawing her attention, but not enough for her to turn around. "I said that I didn't wish to be disturbed, leave now." She demanded, her voice taking up a more royal tone as she reached forward and gently – barely touching – stroked the soft petals of the remaining roses.

"Is that any way to greet your cousin, Miss Lennox?" A familiar deep rotted voice sounded from behind her. The voice alone caused a freezing chill to sweep through her body.

Colin, no, not now. I'm too vulnerable. I can't handle him right now.

She breathed in deeply, and released before calmly discarding her quill and rising from her seat. She patted her skirt before turning towards her cousin, a determined, walled up look in her honey eyes.

"Colin, welcome back. I trust your travels have been well." She commented, her voice neutral, nearly emotionless as she grabbed hold of her lady-etiquette that was shoved down her throat in school.

Colin scrunched his face as though he'd smelt something foul before throwing his body across her body – his manner as carefree as it had been before their blow out.

"Argh, tiring! I've managed to go through with business deals here and there, but its excruciating hard now with that war going on. It's foolish really, those men out on that field dying for what really? A medal of some sort? A trophy? Do they have any idea how bad this is for business? We should have invested in weaponry instead of plantage and what not." He murmured.

His words were the last push over the cliff. She couldn't stop the tears that ran or the anger that flowed.

"How dare you?" She snarled, her voice taking on a new low point. As her disappointment and anger radiated heat waves from her body. Her brow furrowed as her eyes grew blood shot. If looks could kill – Colin would already have died 4 times and be buried 30 feet underground, his corpse th feast of maggots and other creatures.

Colin rolled over and flinched back from her intensity. "Mary?"

She stepped forward, her hands furling into tight fists by her side as her spine straightened – looking like the angel of death.

"How dare you insult those men? How dare you dirty their hardships with your filthy selfish words. Your business can go into shambles and leave you penniless while as those men will always have Honor and Self-worth for protecting their country and their loved ones. You know nothing of hardship, you know nothing of death. You vile, sickening, selfish bastard. Leave my chambers at once before I make you do so."

Again, her voice readopted her story-like, mystical tone that had the blonde man shivering and listening with undivided attention. "M-Mary? What's wrong? I don't understand.

She chuckled unemotionally. "Of course you wouldn't understand, you ignorant cockroach. You who have been shielded and feared all your life. You wouldn't know anything about death, only the thought and faint memory." With jagged steps she approached her door and yanked it open. She presented the empty door war with a wave of her arm. "Leave, Colin."

And he did. Confused and dazed.

"I don't understand what I did wrong?!" Colin shouted as he paced back and forth in his private library, his two good friends sat in his 2 one-seated sofas and sipped freshly brewed tea. Their eyes following the confused man pacing in front of them. "One moment I'm telling her a little about the trip and my view on the war and the next she turns into an angered Indian story-teller, telling me I know nothing of hardships! She knows I hadn't been able to walk until I was 10 years old – I probably would have died on that blasted bed! What does she know?! That woman is infuriating!" He huffed as he threw himself onto his larger sofa, back first, and covered his eyes with his arms. I just can't win with that woman!"

Mr. Howard snorted as he placed his cup back onto the small plate that sat comfortably on a little round table. He stretched his limbs as he stood up, walking towards the massive bookcase and read through the different titles. "Well, it all depends really." He commented as a certain book caught his interest and he pulled it out to read its content. "What did you say about the war?"

"Yeah, Colin!" Mr. Dawn exclaimed, using his first name as a means to calm his friend down. "I know you said that there haven't been any servants disappearing because of the war, but you have been gone for a while, perhaps a friend of hers has been shipped away."

Colin tensed as his mind reeled. No…

There was a moment of silence before he bolted into an upright position. He flung his legs off the sofa and scrambled towards the door, ignoring his friend calling to him. He yanked the door open with a wild look in his eye, startling a poor maiden who was cradling a basket of linen.

"You!" He exclaimed as he took long strides to look down at the petite, frightened woman. "Do you know where Dickon is?" He asked harshly, knowing that everyone in Mizzeltwaite knew Dickon – the friendly chap that he is has helped many animals and people alike and has gotten quite the reputation.

The woman's eyes grew mournful as she shook her head in disbelief, his own worry growing as a knowing feeling nagged on him.

"S-sir," Her voice timid as she clutched tightly onto the basket, she must've had a strong English heritage fore there was a very little of the local accent in her manner of speech. "Dickon Sowerby had been called into war months ago." She said with a quiver in her voice. "The mis-mistress had been very depressed 'til the point of falling ill. We all thought you knew and traveled to get away from the heaviness and grief in our hearts."

Colin's breathing stopped, his body tensed like stone as his eyes turned as cold as the icy depths of the alps. He shook his head as he backed away.

"No… no, Dickon is here. He couldn't be called into w-w-w-" He daren't say it. A cold shock went through his body, his actions and Mary's reactions all coming together. A puzzle finally been solved. Mary was in great pain due to the loss of their childhood friend.

And he felt that pain and understood it completely.

DISCLAIMER: *Drum roll* And the Ownership for The Secret Garden goes to Soaring Ke-*Ahem, cough cough* Oh, my… well, this is embarrassing, there seems to have been a misunderstanding. Miss Soaring Keys has never and will never own the beautiful novel, The Secret Garden. That privilege belongs to only Frances Hudgson Burnett… My Bad.

AN/ *sigh* What a let down, stupid announcer dude getting my hopes up and shooting them down… *pouts*

Anyways, super sorry for the late update, your reviews and suggestions warm my heart and really help get this story running. I'd like to apologize to HalloweenSpell for not responding until now. Your suggestion about her falling in love with Colin is a very entertaining story, but it's not really what I've had in mind. Though don't worry – there's still plenty of chapters left and I'll do everything in my power to entertain you all with the best of my abilities. Oh, and Sassyk100 – You warm my heart and I just wanna cuddle you! Thank you so much!

Last chapter I had said I am no good with romance – I'm really not. But for this chapter I tried amping up my game and just laying on some romantic angst. It was hard and, I won't lie, I scraped this chapter many many many times. Starting over and over and over again. But I got my mojo back and I couldn't stop writing. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

Plotbunnies are tired – give them a review for their hard work.