"Rosie, come back here!" Mary said teasingly as she chased her little girl around the garden. Rose giggled, determined to run away from her momma, the tickle monster. Rose always had energy to spare. No one needed any tea or coffee with her around. She bounded around faster than a banshee.
"Chase me!" Rose smiled when Mary stopped to rest.
Mary grinned, "You run on now. Momma needs to rest."
"Okay, momma," Rose said, turning to run off on her own. Mary was never too wary of Rose in the garden. She was better with it than even her mother was. Mary had begun to walk to the bench. She would sit and rest while Rose wore herself out. Then they would go in for tea and Rose would nap. It would be perfectly normal and perfectly ordinary.
But normal and ordinary days often have a way of being turned on their heads.
"Mary?"
She froze; literally, Mary could feel every ounce of her blood to turn ice in one moment. This was impossible. It was certain that she had imagined it. Mary had often imagined these things, only to wake up in her usual bed next to Colin. But she had woken up already, hadn't she? Yes, she'd awakened to the maid bringing her breakfast. She ate eggs while Colin read the paper. It was perfectly ordinary. Mary couldn't have dreamed something so ordinary. So most certainly, she was awake.
"Mary." The voice was louder now. It spoke in a certain tone, with no air of a question. Mary couldn't be imaging this voice now. Somewhere off to the side, she heard Rose laughing as she chased a rabbit round the garden. Did Rose hear the voice too? Mary felt an urge to grab Rose and leave. This was an intruder.
But not really, Mary reasoned. The garden was as much his as it was her's. As was Rose too, she imagined.
Mary could not face him. She could feel tears on her face but did not remember crying. If Mary faced him, she did not know what would happen. God, she had dreamed and dreaded this. Of course she still wanted him. Mary wanted him more than anything. But to leave Colin would be cruel. To take Rose from him, even worse.
"Mary, it's really me. I'm here. I'm really here."
Mary turned around, and he was there. He was really there. He looks different…of course he does. He seemed taller, or perhaps Mary had remembered him shorter. His face was stronger, and his hair had grown a bit unkempt. A white scar ran down his right cheek. All sense of boyishness was gone, replaced by some stronger power she'd never seen before. Words formed in her mind but seemed in no hurry to come out of her mouth. He was crying too, she noted.
"Momma!" Rose bounded through the tension like a bright ray of light. Hand outstretched with a flower, the little toddler ran off balance to her mother. Mary wiped her eyes, and quickly smiled to her baby girl.
"My dear," Mary picked her up on instinct. Rose was never too keen on that, but stopped fussing the moment she spotted Dickon.
"Momma…" Rose said warily, her small arms wrapping around Mary's neck. Her little hands clung onto Mary, so small and so trusting. A little girl who trusted that Mary was her mother and Colin was her father. Yet her true father stood right in front of her, and she was afraid. Wasn't that funny?
"Is this?" Dickon choked as he gazed at the little girl. His face was entranced as he reached out to touch her coper curls. Coper curls so very much like his own. But in a moment, he dropped his arm, straightening back up. Mary couldn't stop staring at him. He was real. He was real, and yet she couldn't speak. She was filled with the same terror as walking into a room full of strangers. He's not stranger…but wasn't he? She'd missed so much. He'd missed so much. There was this peculiar lurch in her stomach as though snakes were uncoiling inside of her. Mary hadn't felt this feeling in a long time, yet she knew she had felt it before. It consumed her, as her eyes focused like a pin point onto Dickon's face. It was then that she was certain that the love she had felt for him before had never truly left. She felt it igniting like a wild fire in her breast.
"This is Rose," Mary finally spoke, but would not meet his eyes. To meet his eyes would make her weak, and she needed every ounce of strength left inside of her. That lurch wanted her to run to him, to let him take her in his arms and not let go. She wanted to embrace him, and to kiss him, and to cry with him. But to do so was unthinkable now. To do such a thing to Colin was evil. It was cruel and it was wicked. Mary had spited Colin for Dickon once before, and she certainly couldn't do it again. Not after how amazing he had been. Not after the love and support he had given her and Rose.
Colin was in love with her. Mary wasn't in love with him, yet she could not spite him in such a way. It was cruel. It was wicked.
"Rose," The word played on Dickon's lift like a pipe tune. He removed his cap, "It is ever so good to meet thee."
Rose pulled back from her mother, turning her head to look the strange man in the eye. She cocked her curious face to the side, as if deciphering who this funny man was. The sweetest smile broke out of her round face, and Mary's heart broke inside of her as Dickon smiled back.
"We must go now," Mary's words flung ice upon the smile. She could not do this. Her heart could not bear anymore. It had already bared too much to be torn anymore. Mary couldn't talk to him now. It was too sudden. Too unexpected. She hadn't seen him in two years, and he appears now as though he'd never gone at all. Mary had played with ideas of him returning, but never thought on the repercussions. They were too sad, too hard. It wasn't something she could think on now.
"Mary," Dickon reached out and she turned away once more. Rose babbled curiously as she bobbed in her walking mother's arms. "Mary, I know you married Colin. I understand. I'm not here to-"
"Dickon, I can't talk right now, I just can't." She walked faster. Quicker. Trying to keep up with her racing heart.
"Mary, please-"
"Not now," she said. "T-tonight. I'll meet you here tonight and we'll talk then." She had stopped, and could hear the grass crinkle as he walked nearer to her. She could feel her strength weaken.
"I must go," Mary dashed for the door.
Over her shoulder, Rose yelled a sweet, "G'bye, sir!"
OOO
She'd been distant all through dinner. It wasn't a completely odd thing, or something to raise much alarm, but Colin noted it nonetheless. Though this was a different sort of distant. Usually Mary was a bit tired at dinner, especially after spending time in the garden, and wouldn't be much for conversation. Colin was fine with that; that was understandable. But Mary today seemed more focused. Her brow furrowed and her eyes looked heavy with the weight of something awful. Whatever it was, it was taking her full attention, and seemed to be saddening her in doing so.
She'd left the table like a rocket as well, saying she needed to go see Rose. Perhaps something had happened to Rose in the garden. Mary was always bereft if Rose scrapped her knee or poked her hand. Yes, it was certainly something like that. Nothing to be too concerned about. Of course that didn't stop his worry. She was his wife, it was his duty to worry about her. So he promptly followed her off to the nursery, expecting to find her cooing over Rose in her usual way.
But instead she was seated on an ottoman, crying into her gloves.
"Dearest, what is wrong?" He wheeled himself over to her. At the sound of his voice, her head popped up like jack-in-the-box and she reached to wipe her tears.
Mary always did that. She hardly spoke to Colin about anything. He'd wake up to her crying many times in the night. He'd try to comfort her, and she pretend to sleep. Mary didn't trust Colin with her feelings. She didn't trust Colin with many things. He placed his hands on her knees, and she sighed loudly.
Mary shook her head, "I…" She started, "Dickon came into the garden today."
"D-Dickon?" Colin stammered. Impossible, he is dead. Not dead, missing. He could be alive. Well, he is, and he seduced your wife in the garden. Colin, you're being ridiculous. Listen to her. "He's alive?"
Mary nodded, "I was there with Rose and he just appeared. And I panicked. Colin, I couldn't speak…I…I just left with Rose. It was rude…but…I couldn't…"
"Oh," Colin breathed. Good, he's gone. He won't come back. Mary is my wife. She'd my wife and he cannot have her and…
That's cruel. You know she loves him. She married you for Rose. She doesn't love you as you love her. You know that. And if you love her, you should want her to be happy. Colin groaned at these infuriating thoughts.
"But," Mary said calmly. "I told him I'd meet him tonight in the garden. To talk."
"Oh," Colin said again. Now I'm the one who cannot speak.
Mary grasped his hands, "I won't if you don't want me to. Colin, I don't want to hurt you. I'd never aim to hurt you."
He shook his head, "You should talk to him. Find out…what happened."
"Yes," Mary agreed fervently. Her grip had begun to turn his hands red. "I will. That's all, then I'll be back. All right?"
"Yes," Colin said with a small smile. They're just going to talk. That's all. Just talking. "I love you."
Mary blinked, and he watched a small smile grow on her lips. She leaned forward and kissed him. Their kisses were brief, but Colin treasured them all the same. With that she stood, leaving him alone with a sleeping Rose in the nursery. It was just then that he realized she didn't say she loved him back. And he'd just sent her to be alone with her former lover.
He dropped his head into his hands, Colin Craven, you are the world's biggest idiot.
OOO
"Hello," Mary said. The small phrase made her feel like fainting. She was dizzy the whole time she walked to the garden. Never had the length felt so long before. Every step made her feel more and more lightheaded. With every pace she wanted to turn back. With every pace she wanted to run faster. Her body was so full of contradictions that she felt she may explode. Mary wanted to kiss him. Mary wanted to embrace him so bad she felt as though her skin would peel off if she did not. Yet she could not. She could not hurt Colin.
I cannot hurt Colin. I cannot hurt Colin. I cannot hurt Colin.
Dickon rose from the bench, wearing the same clothes from earlier. A crisp white shirt with brown pants and suspenders. He had on a coat now, and his cap, and it finally occurred to Mary that it was cold outside. She was quite cold. She should've worn a coat as well-
He took off his hat, "Mary." Dickon moved closer, at a rather alarming pace. Mary felt as though her heart were going to tear from her chest.
She shut her eyes, "Please, do not touch me." Mary listened as he stopped moving. "Dickon, I… I am very happy you're here, but you mustn't touch me." The silence felt thicker that freezing water. The air felt cooler that a glacier. She shouldn't have come at all. She should've done something less painful with her time, like disembowel herself. Or burn her hair off.
Dickon finally spoke, "Can tha not look at me either?" She could hear a gruffness in his voice, "Did Colin say tha couldn-"
"No," Mary paced around him, close to the bench he had just vacated. "No, but it is because of Colin."
"Because tha…loves him now?" Dickon's voice spoke to break her heart.
"I've never been in love with Colin," Mary said factually. "But I can't…be with you. Colin and I are married. He took me and Rose in. I couldn't do something so cruel as to…" The last words were choked in a sob. Damn, Mary reached her hand to stop the tears. She had meant to be strong. She had meant to be cold and aloof. Never had she been good at it before.
"Oh my Mary…"
I'm not your Mary anymore, she wanted to say. Instead she just cried like some idiot damsel in distress. Control yourself, Mary. Then Dickon placed his arm upon her shoulder, and she couldn't help but turn into him. Two years of tears seemed to pour from her and she clung tightly to Dickon's chest. He softly touched her hair and the remaining, feeble walls inside her began to crumble. This was her and Dickon. This was nothing to be fearful or wary of. This was her Dickon come back for her. He loved her and she loved him. It was easy and simple. "I've missed thee so much, Mary."
"I've missed you too," Mary admitted quietly. Her hands ran over his back. He was familiar. He was strong. He was her's.
Selfish. Selfish. You can't do this to Colin. Colin had been so good to you, you cannot betray him.
But I want…
It doesn't matter what you want. You've been selfish your whole life. Be selfless now.
Mary pulled away again, "We should talk." She said abruptly. Dickon raised a brow as she quickly floated to the bench, taking a seat in a swift deflation. "Talk about what's happened."
"All righ'…" Dickon trepidatiously sat down next to her, placing his hands lightly upon his knees. "Tell me about Rose."
"Tell you about Rose?" Mary said with a small smile. She felt so much older than when they had parted but two brief years ago. So much had happened.
Dickon nodded, "I want to know about our daughter." He took her hand when he said the words. A warmth rose there that felt to wonderful to take away. It was only hand holding. She wasn't being unfaithful to Colin. I'll let him hold my hands, but I won't look at him. That's what I'll do. He can't affect me if I don't look at him.
Mary began talking about Rose. She spoke of the day she was born in one of Misslethwaite's small bedrooms. It had hurt like nothing Mary had known, but the pain faded the moment she saw Rose's face. She'd heard people talk of how a mother's love was unfathomable and like nothing else in the world. She hadn't really believed it until she felt it herself. To have a something so small and loving that trusts and adores you was like nothing else in the world. To have something that was so entirely yours… They also said children grew up far too fast, and Mary found that to be just as true. Weeks blurred to months as she spent time with Rose. Her first word was 'Ma' and her second was 'Pa.' Rose had been enchanted with the garden from the first day Mary set her lose in it. To Rose the garden seemed an unfathomably large jungle of curiosities; she never grew bored inside of it.
Colin was a wonderful father as well, Mary had to mention. Mary couldn't have Dickon thinking that Colin had mistreated his daughter. Colin was as devout a father as any other, and loved Rose like any father. Perhaps this will help Dickon to understand. To help him understand that I cannot… Mary turned her head to him to find him crying once more. His head drooped down, shoulders hunched like Atlas's. Her hand's squeezed his, though she wished to reach out for his face. You can't do that Mary. You can't embrace him in such a way.
"We're okay, Dickon," Mary cooed quietly. "Everything's all right."
"I just wish I could've been there," he whispered back breathlessly.
"Where were you?" She asked.
You weren't supposed to ask people about their time in war, but it was different now. Mary had to know why he had gone missing and where he had been. She had spent too many nights wondering about his fate in a faraway land that she needed to know what had truly happened. Mary wanted to know why she'd didn't get to marry him. Why Rose didn't know to call him dada…
"I was badly injured in France," Dickon began after a while. "Tis how I got this," he pointed to the scar on his right cheek, "but I hit my head awful bad as well. Couldn't remember who I was, so Dickon Sowerby got reported missin' 'cause I didn't know I was him." He began stroking Mary's hands gingerly. Just innocent comfort, Mary told herself, nothing to worry about. "I was in a hospital there for a long time. Then I started working there because I didn't know what else to do."
"How did you remember?" Mary asked when he paused. He shut his eyes, his copper curls falling around his face. His face was more chiseled than before. Any hint of a boyishness gone and replaced by the focused look of a man.
He looked at her, "I remembered thee first, then the garden, then Martha, and Misslethwaite, and…everything else. Well…" He smirked, "I never really forgot thee. The women in France are…more forward, but I never gave into then, 'cause I knew I already had someone."
Mary felt those knots in her stomach growing taught once more. This was torture…this was a worse pain than giving birth. To have Dickon right here next to her, and to not be able to have him. To do what she wished was wicked, to turn her back and leave was good. Yet her heart told her the opposite. She would die if she couldn't kiss him, just die.
"No," Mary pulled back as he leaned in to her. "No, Dickon. I can't. I'm sorry. I wish I could, but I cannot." He nodded silently, moving further away from her. Her hands felt cold without his there. "I…I should go back inside." Dickon didn't move to stop her as she stood from the bench, away from the air that was addling her judgment. Yes, the air was much clearer up here. The air was much clearer away from him.
Then he stood, "So what now? Do we pretend we don' know each other? I canna do that, Mary. I canna."
"Well, I can't be around you, Dickon," Mary turned back indignantly. "I can't be around you without going mad from wanting."
Dickon threw his arms out, "If tha wants me, then take me!"
"I couldn't do that to Colin!" Mary's voice was quite large now, silencing all other sounds of the garden. Her face felt more flushed than it had been. The space between them had grown much smaller, and Mary felt his gaze burrowing down into her. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him, and knowing that made it all the harder to not give in. "He took me in, Dickon." Mary said quietly. "He didn't need to, but he did. He's been so good to me. I can't spite him."
He cupped her face with his hand, and this time she didn't shy from the touch. "You're drivin' me mad, Mary Lennox."
Mary met his gaze, "I'm sorry. There's just so much to think on."
"I understand," he nodded, his clear eyes so deeply peering into her own. Mary had never wanted to be kissed so much in her entire life. He dropped his hand, "I'm not verra happy about it, but I understand." His hand's clasped her own for one more moment, "I love thee, Mary."
Mary clutched his hands tighter as her insides crumbled away. Slowly, she brought his hands to her lips and kissed them lightly.
"I love you too," she said. "I need to go back inside before this gets any more painful." They clasped hands once more before she turned her back to go.
It was like he was leaving for war all over again.
OOO
Mary looked like a skeleton when she entered. Colin, unable to sleep, had sat up in the library, waiting for her to return. The look upon her face made his stomach churn in guilt. You haven't anything to be guilty of, an indignant voice in his head said. He dismissed it, turning to focus on his wife. She spoke before he could.
"We only talked," Mary met his eyes directly, no hint of a hesitation. She seemed to be blaming him for something. Perhaps he'd been right to feel guilty. "Nothing more. He'd explained where he'd been. I talked about Rose. I left."
Colin stammered, unable to form a word.
Mary kept her icy stare, "I'm very tired. I'm going to stay in my room tonight." Mary was gone, as though she'd only been a phantom all along. Colin swallowed, feeling the ice of her glare settling upon his skin like a dusting of snow.
Mary still wanted Dickon. Mary would always prefer Dickon. Colin was able to delude himself for two years, but Mary had never really been his wife. All the while, she'd loved Dickon and tolerated Colin. Just like old times. Mary would never be his…at least not the way he wanted her too. And now she hated him, because he was what was stopping her and Dickon being together. But she's my wife, the indignant voice spoke up again. She is mine. I married her, not Dickon. She honors me, not him.
Mary's never been convintional. If she wants Dickon, she will find a way to have him.
Colin remembered all their years together. Their fun years of children had transformed into the confused years of adolescence. Mary and Dickon found each other so fast. They found their fates and they found their paths. They'd bravely paved their own way, and there was no spot for Colin upon it. Even Lydia had moved on without him. She was out to do wonderful things in this world; Colin would've slowed her down.
He wasn't one for adventure, or romance, or daring. A grand life to him was having a family and keeping an estate. This new area of renaissance seemed to have no place for him and his old fashioned ideals of life. Everyone else was moving on. Everyone else was opening new doors. And every time they did, Colin was left out in the cold.
Colin rolled his chair to his bedroom. Down the hall, he could see a light coming from Mary's door. He should go talk to her. Obviously, she was upset. He needed to talk to her. That's what a husband was supposed to do. He was supposed to fix things and make it all better. Yes, Mary and him would talk and everything would be fine.
He began rolling himself nearer, and the light shut off as Mary closed the door. Once again-as always- Colin Craven was left alone.