Two Years Later
OOO
Little Rose's giggles seemed to make butterflies appear in the air. She buzzed around the garden like a baby bee, stopping and sniffing everything. Rose never seemed to tire of the garden, and never seemed to lose a sense of its magic. Her small round hands grasped at flowers as she toddled around from one plant to another. Mary couldn't help but smile as she gazed at her baby girl. Not quite a baby though at a year and a half, and Rose would be the first to correct that she was a "big girl".
Rose looked so much like her father. The copper curls were his and his bright, pure eyes. The rest was mostly Mary. She certainly had Mary's stubbornness. Rose was growing very independent and insisted on doing all things herself. She certainly wouldn't let Ma or Da help her.
"Ma!" Rose rushed to her mother, tripping over her stubby little legs. She held out a daffodil, smiling with a small toothed smile.
Mary smiled, "So beautiful. Thank you." Mary held the flower. "But don't pick too many. We have to let them grow so they can become big flowers."
Rose frowned at this, and toddled back over to the flower bushes. Mary was struck with the heaviness that would so often hit her.
"Are you all right, Mary?"
She gazed at herself in the mirror. She looked breathtaking, but she did not feel beautiful. This was not a happy day. This was not how she had pictured this day. When she woke up, she had gotten sick. Whether from the baby or from nerves, she did not know.
Mary shook her head, "No."
Colin wheeled himself closer, "I know you don't want me…" Mary felt that horrible guilt again. It was a feeling she had gotten quite used to.
She shook her head, "No, it's not that. It's just…" She turned to face him, "Am I ruining your life?"
"What?" He laughed, "No, Mary. You're doing nothing of the sort. What's this all about?" How could he be smiling?
Mary sat on the foot of her bed, "I know you don't want to marry me, Colin."
"Mary…" he said as he came closer. "It's all right. Really. It works for both of us."
"Yes," she sniffed, "a proper business arrangement."
Colin sighed, "If it helps you to think of it that way. Sure."
OOO
Archibald had passed two days after Mary got the letter from the war office. She wasn't sure what she had done to offend the fates, but they seemed well inclined to spite her. Perhaps it was some long payment for how horribly she had behaved as a child. Yes, that was it. It seemed Mary was very bad at holding onto people. First, her parents. Now, her uncle. And Dickon. That one hit her like a thousand knifes to her chest. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. She was empty.
Mary had lost him in the truest sense of the word: missing in action. A side note had read: presumed dead. Not dead, but probably. A death with no body. Mary had thought he might return. But in two years, there had not been a single sign or word of him to be seen or heard.
She had only Rose now. Rose, her living breathing proof of Dickon. A sign that he had been real. A sign that he had loved her. And Rose looked so like her father. And Mary loved Rose as she had loved no one else. It was just as powerful as her love for Dickon, yet entirely different as well. This love for Rose seemed to fill Mary up. Every moment she thought of her, and every moment she loved her. Rose was hers. A wonderful little person just for her.
And for Colin too, she supposed, and Colin was a wonderful father. Mary had not expected Colin to become the girl's father. Mary had expected him to treat her no differently than any other child. He was not the father, in the biological sense, and Mary would in no way expect him to accept that responsibility. Having rivaled Dickon for so long, Mary could not have anticipated Colin accepting, let alone loving, a child of Dickon's. Yet he took Rose on as devoutly as any father. And he took Mary on as devoutly as any husband.
Though Mary was not a very good wife. She loved Colin, but not in the way that a wife is meant to love a husband. Mary knew Colin had once had feelings for her, but those seemed to vanish when Lydia had appeared. Now Lydia was gone, and Colin seemed fixated on Mary once more. And she had married him…but for another reason. And he had agreed to her reason.
But Mary was still a dreadful wife, and Colin was still a wonderful husband. Mary could love Colin. It would be easy to love Colin. He was so patient with her. Never once did he pressure her or give her discomfort. He was always so loving and gentle. He treated Rose like a little princess.
It would be easy to love Colin.
But any time she almost did, she remembered one word: presumed.
Probably dead. But maybe not.