PROLOGUE
1918, Undisclosed POW Camp
How long has it been? Mary thought to herself grimly; her body gently swayed to a consistent rhythm like the tick tock of a metronome on it's lowest setting.
Though she couldn't see it, her eyes weighed down by the numb but violent pounding around her swollen eyelids, she was alone in a dark lit room. Like a pendulum, she hung from the only light barely illuminating the space. Her feet gently hovered over the floor, her wrists were so sore she was sure her cuffs were going to tear her hands right off and a part of her wished it would just do it. She heard the buzzing and clicking of the bulb above her; and was so sure she could feel the flickering but was merely focusing on it so she didn't have to feel the pain. Every damaged organ, every bruise, broken bone, and torn muscle, was so unbearable she imagined it was like being struck by lightning. It was like this for what she felt was hours; maybe days or possibly months. She wasn't sure and it transformed into a slow numb pain that echoed throughout her body. Finally, the worst of it was over, but that would mean…?
She wouldn't think of it. She couldn't think about it. She promised it wouldn't happen. She promised him it wouldn't happen, and though she was motivated to keep her promise, she didn't see any hope of survival; and who would know she was there? No one. They wouldn't, because she shouldn't have been there in the first place. Mary almost chuckled depressingly at it, but another strike of lightning struck through her when she hiccuped the first grin. She tried swallowing it down, but felt a wave of nausea hit her violently in the navel. The fleeting moments of glee lodged itself in her throat, as if refusing to be suppressed. She cringed at the pain, blinking away the tears spilling off her chin, breathing through it before it pulsed into the numb pounding she welcomed.
Maybe I could sleep, she thought, already dozing off, if I do, death could come quietly.
No! She couldn't.
"M-Mistr-ress Mary," she began carefully, so as not to strain her already damaged vocal chords. "Qui- Quite Con-Contrary. How d-does your g-gard-den grow?" She paused. She had to. "With si-silver b-bells and…" Despite her wishes to no longer suffer, she couldn't stop the overwhelming sweetness of slumber which eventually took her.
In her unconscious state, Mary dreamed of the moore and Misselthwaite, but it wasn't the kind of dream that was wild and strange; much like Mary herself. It was a memory that played as if her soul were planning to keep her there forever, and though it was merely a dream, for a moment she was convinced she was actually there.
"HOLD ON MARY!" a voice screamed before the picture came into view, "He's on his way! I promise!"
11 year old Mary looked up at her tear stained face cousin. They left for the moore, just Colin and Mary, on horses they took from the manor's stables. Mary always wanted to see the cliff sides of the moore. She was so excited when Dickon described it to her and was too impatient to wait for him any longer. Especially after he sent Martha with a message stating he was going to be late, and so she replied back to meet them there.
Dickon and I walked through the moore a million times, she thought to herself before she even left the manor, What could possibly happen?
This. This could happen. She thought to herself again as she dangled off the cliff side. Everybody knew Colin wasn't the strongest boy in the world and so it surprised her to know he held on as long as he did. Though he struggled to carry Mary's dead weight over a roar of angry waves; nothing stopped him from holding onto one of her wrists even with sweaty palms. He could feel Mary slipping through his fingers.
"Don't worry," Colin said, trying to sound as reassuring as Dickon, but his face was glossy and strained with fear. His arms shook, pinching his underdeveloped muscles. His body was flat against the cliff's edge and legs wrapped around a nearby tree stump. "I'm sure he'll be here soon. Just hold on!"
Whenever the hell that's supposed to be! Colin's expression seemed to scream, but no. Mary could tell. It's not Dickon, Colin was angry with, but Colin was angry with himself. Why couldn't he be like Dickon? Why couldn't Colin easily lift Mary up? If it were Dickon he'd have no problem rescuing Mary from the danger. She could see all his insecurities within his eyes, as if they were shouting at her.
Finally, Dickon trotted over on his pony, a grin so wide it would usually put the cousins at ease, but when Colin saw it was Dickon, Dickon noticed an expression on Colin like a scared child looking for an adult. "Hey Colin! Watcha' do-"
"DICKON HELP ME!" Colin screamed. Mary's hand suddenly slipped faster and almost slid out of his grip. Immediately, Colin hooked his fingers with hers, only making his hands sweatier but he was more confident he could hold on. Dickon, on the other hand, ran over before he could know what the situation was. Colin had never asked him for help in this kind of extreme and so Dickon's heart pounded painfully in his chest as he ran over to assist Colin in whatever it was he needed. The closer he got to Colin the wider his eyes grew, as he realized Colin was bent over the cliff.
Then Mary came into view, and Dickon kicked the earth so hard he was sure he disturbed the grass beneath him in flying clumps. Usually he was so respectful of nature, but staring into Mary's dark frightful eyes, he realized he didn't care. His heart impossibly sped up as he ran over and slid on his knees to get closer to Mary without falling off the cliff as well.
"Reach f'me, Mary!" Dickon gasped, holding out a hand for her. She had never seen him reach for her in such an urgent way. She had never heard Dickon call her by her first name, and despite the danger she was in, she strangely found herself blushing at him.
Reality struck her hard again when she felt her fingers shaking. "DICKON! I CAN'T HOLD ON MUCH LONGER!" Mary screamed.
"THY WILL HOLD ON!" he yelled angrily at her, surprising both cousins. His voice lowered a bit and spoke in his more comforting tone, ``I know thee can!"
Reassured by his words, she tried to swing herself toward him but Colin's fingers were starting to slip again and Dickon noticed. The colour drained from his face when he suddenly screamed, "MARY!" and the dream was over.
Mary woke up to the sound of a door pushed open; an unpleasant shriek that was similar to nails on a chalkboard. Her skin trembled like a dangerous earthquake, shaking violently in it's already vulnerable state. A soldier walked in; heavy steps echoed throughout the chamber. Mary frantically listened for him, turning her head left and right to try to pinpoint where he was coming from but she could never tell. The soldier looked her up and down, noticing that most of the blood, which covered her, was starting to brown. Blood also fell from her nose, streaming red down her collared shirt and contrasting the slightly earth toned stains. Black and blue bruises covered her head to toe. Uneven bruises swelled like a ball trapped beneath her skin. He just watched her for a while; staring at her like a lion would with his prey.
"M-Mistress Mar-ry," she began again, "Qui-ite c-contrary. Ho-ow d-does your gard-den gro…!" Suddenly something cold tore through her knee and exploded something hot beneath her skin. Mary screamed. She could only imagine her knee cap flying across the room as an explanation to what happened, but she was never sure in her blind state. She grit her teeth to bite back the tears. "W-With sil-ver shells… a-and c-cockles-shells… and p-p…" She screamed again, another sharp pain starting from the small of her back, which radiated across her body in electric waves. She wasn't sure how much of it she could take. "...fuck!..." she whispered under a nauseous gasp; refusing to cry. She would not cry in front of this… this…
Mary wanted to clutch her abdomen and fall to her knees, but her arms hung tightly above her head which bounced loosely off her shoulder; almost swaying in the direction of the light bulb's swing. The soldier was just about to hit her with what would have been a fatal blow to her skull, when she was shocked by a voice.
"Stop," he said.
Mary was alerted by another set of footsteps, but they weren't the same as the first. "Hello Miss," he said in the gentlest tone; even rivaling Dickon's. Whoever this man is, whoever this man was, she didn't care. He slowly walked up to Mary almost in a way Dickon would approach her. She could hear it in his steps. They weren't loud and heavy like the first soldier, but they were soft and empathetic; as if he knew the pain Mary was in and so made light steps so as not to harm her anymore. How dare this man remind her of her beloved Dickon. Dickon was an angel, and Mary was in hell. Angels don't belong in hell, but demons do and the man who was standing in front of her was surely a demon. She felt this way because, though her current emotions for the man were more powerful and destructive than any bomb, she was sure -should she have never met him before- she'd be convinced he had a soul much like Dickon.
Comforted and disgusted by his voice, she tensed when she felt him move in front of her. "How are you?" he asked. Mary didn't say a word. "I'm sorry for the treatment. Cruel but necessary," his voice was soft but passively threatening. She heard the clacking of what she assumed was metal on metal. This was it. This was where the real torturing would start. Mary's breathing labored as she attempted to prepare herself for the worst of it. "I need to know. How many of you are there? Four? Five?"
Mary spit blood in his general direction. It's too bad she didn't see the blood splat in Anti-Dickon's eye. He wiped it off the best he could and smiled at Mary.
"I promise," he said kindly, "while we continue, I promise you, we will leave your pretty face alone." Mary's body jolted and she knew Anti-Dickon was pleased by her reaction. "You may continue," he said.
She's not sure if it was because she needed to keep her promise to Dickon, or it could be that the evil man in front of her confused her vision of Dickon . Either one was a good enough reason to survive this in spite. And so as they continued to torchure her in ways she would rather not remember, she smiled.
She was going to make it out of this. She was going to keep her promise to Dickon. She would not watch another look of horror on their faces. She would stay alive so she would see them in the moore and her garden again.
She smiled at her captures and they stared back as if they heard her thoughts and declaration for survival. They paused when they saw Mary about to say something, "m-mistress mary…"
"Let's go," said Anti-Dickon to the first soldier, "She'll crack. Soon enough."
And with that they left the room as Mary hung by her wrists, "q-quite c-contrary. How does your garden grow?"
.
.
.
RELEASE THE RADICAL DAME
"My true potential had more to do with my willingness to struggle than with my past and present circumstances." -Hope Jahren, Lab Girl
.
.
.
CHAPTER ONE
"Beauty and the Beast"
"You are a warrior in a dark forest, with no compass and are unable to tell who the actual enemy is, So you never feel safe .." -Anonymous
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" chanted the crowd.
The year was 1913 and Mary's eyes, once a magnificent shade of mocha with specs of gold, were now tragically dulled and aged from exhaustion. There was a vacancy in her eyes, which would usually be perceived as passive aggressive to ward off any potential threats, but were now accompanied by a furrowed brow and a violent focus on a young lady; Mary wasn't entirely straddling. Hovering over the poor girl's waist, Mary balanced herself on a knee and a sturdy foot, inappropriately exposing much more of her legs than her headmistress would like, but she didn't care. Mary swung wildly at the girl, taking any punches herself with complete nonchalance.
It felt good to punch, Mary decided, and to be punched.
Never had she felt more free than to be punched over and over again. Exhilarating really, but that's not why she did it. As much as it gave Mary pleasure to finally break free from her world of proper behavior, expectations, and pre-marriageable responsibilities, it wasn't what started it and it wasn't what finished it.
"YOU'RE A MONSTER! A BEAST!" The girl screamed trying to use her manicured nails to claw Mary's face, "SOMEONE DO SOMETHING!" But no one did anything as Mary continued to tenderize the girl's face with her uneven knuckles. With each throw of her fist, a spray of blood flung into the air and stained her face and uniform. It wasn't until a groundskeeper was ordered to separate the two trouble makers did the flailing of a young Mary Lennox finally stop.
The groundskeeper took Mary to the headmaster's office where she was issued an expulsion. When the groundskeeper asked why she had done it, Mary's words were too mumbled for him to understand, but he noticed a wrinkled up piece of parchment crushed into a furiously tight grip. He silently wondered if that's what started the fight, but after noticing her tears and blood smeared face, he decided not to focus too hard on it should he get caught; and having years of experience working for luxury schools he's made one conclusion. Young ladies can be diabolical.
Though, generally, Mary did not regret her actions, but considering her uncle, who has been very patient with her "unacceptable attitude" toward society, she can't help but feel shame of how her actions must have affected him. After all, that was not the first school she was kicked out of and Mary was so sure it wouldn't have been the last.
On her return home, she silently stared out the window, looking for something that wasn't there. Something that told her she belonged. Somewhere. Anywhere.
…
I wonder wha' Miss Mary is up to?, Dickon thought unconsciously as he ate his breakfast in his humble family home. It had been four months since Mary's last expulsion and he was always hoping she would return, as selfish as it sounded, not that he'd ever want her to jeopardize her future. Most of the time he did well, looking forward to her letters, and writing back just as eagerly. Then he would pace through his normal routine of tending gardens and caring for his animals. He even made some friends outside of his wealthy companions. They were a wild bunch who liked to get Dickon in a bit of trouble, but good lads all the same.
It's only when darkness looms across the Moore and his family is fast asleep, Dickon would wake up and imagine the garden in full bloom and Mary's smiling face looking down at him as if saying, "Why are you sleeping in the garden, Dickon?" and she would giggle which made Dickon smile; and as soon as he enjoyed the vision of his best friend, did he realize she wasn't there, and he'd find himself longing for her return.
In the Sowerby Home, Dickon's mind was so hypnotised by Mary and what life she has without him, Colin, or Misselthwaite, he was blind to the world going on around him. He didn't even hear Martha marching toward the front door.
"Bye, Dickon," she said, moving quickly to the exit, but stopped as soon as she realized her brother hadn't responded back. Dickon picked at his bread, only eating crumbs at a time, his eyes swimming in a distant world Martha could not see.
"Dickon?" She called him, but he did not respond. She dropped her coat on the chair next to Dickon's, leaning on the edge of the table, and paused to see if he would notice her. He did not. Finally she chuckled briefly before shaking his shoulder, "Dickon!" she sang teasingly at her brother. Dickon almost leaped out of his seat, quickly looking up at his sister in surprise.
"Martha! I dinna' hear thy get up," Dickon said.
"Or walk by tha, or call thy name."
He gave her a tight smile of embarrassment as Martha chuckled in amusement .
"Tha. Are beginnin ta remind me o' Miss Mary," Martha laughed. Dickon dropped his head, feeling a burn flush across his face. "What's t' matter with thy?" Martha asked, she had never seen her brother so perplexed.
Dickon shrugged it off, quickly claiming it was nothing, but no later followed with, "Whats tha doin' up so early? Does Master Craven have a guest?"
"Nay," she sighed, her iconic Sowerby grin fell slowly as if she had been trying to avoid the subject. "Mary was expelled from school again. So I thowt I'd go to t'manor early and make sure she's alrig-"
"Can I come?" he asked, just barely interrupting her. Dickon's shining eyes glimmered with surprise and excitement. He couldn't believe it. Here he was wishing he could see Mary again and now she was there like… like magic. He smiled at the thought; the magic was always on their side. Martha, on the other hand, was silenced by the outburst and Dickon blushed knowing he had been rude. He quickly apologized, surprised at himself, and reasoned quietly, "I jus' want ta welcome her."
Martha's eyes widened in amusing patience. "I dinna think tha'll want to see Medlock discipline Miss Mary, but if tha would li' ta walk with me, I'll see ta it Miss Mary knows tha'll be in the garden."
Dickon did not smile upon hearing Medlock's frustration with Mary's defiance but joy was recovered as soon as he heard his sister talk about the garden. He nodded his head and Martha told him to quickly get ready.
It honestly worried Dickon that Miss Mary was kicked out of another esteemed school, but visualizing her happy face looking at him with such wonder and trust, or gently holding her hand as he led her across the beauties of the moor, he swallowed his breakfast and ran to get dressed; and before she knew it Dickon was waiting impatiently by the open door urging her to hurry up. Martha laughed. He was only this way around Miss Mary. Otherwise she had never seen him with such chaotic energy before. He was usually calm and patient as he was to all his other friends, but around Miss Mary, Martha realized he was becoming a bit bolder; similar to Miss Mary's usual energy around Misselthwaite.
As if Miss Mary had taught him how.
…
"You selfish beast!" Medlock cried, swiftly slapping Mary across her already throbbing cheek. The adrenaline high that was keeping Mary from feeling any pain during her fights had all run out and as the hours went by, returning to Misselthwaite, Mary could feel herself become more and more sore. Her chest ached in the worst way, like her organs were cracked pottery still expanding and decreasing in size no matter how much it makes the cracks worse. By the time she made it to the manor everything hurt, so when Medlock hit Mary, she felt every injury she was given and almost lost her footing upon receiving it.
It jerked her head sideways and Mary quickly caught her jaw to stop her head from spinning any further. Her eyes rolled back involuntarily as Medlock continued to lecture her, "Do you not know what you are doing to your uncle's reputation!?" The words stung Mary more than any strike. "He's become a laughing stock! Commonly referred to as the mad shut in with an animal for a niece! I'm happy to see Master Colin is doing well in society. Now he's the only one holding up your uncle's good name!"
They were in the main entrance, and Mary glanced between Medlock and her uncle's study door. It was slightly ajar and Mary could feel a hole forming in her stomach knowing her uncle could hear the whole commotion; doing nothing to stop Medlock's attack. Usually her uncle was the one who brought her home and would try to comfort her as he lectured Mary about how education is a privilege she should be grateful for. This time he sent someone to pick her up, and even as Medlock's voice bounced violently off the walls, he remained silent in his study.
Mary didn't remember much of what happened after that. Only, as soon as it was over, her uncle finally emerged, leaving through the front door and ignoring Mary all together. "Uncle?" Mary squeaked quietly when he walked past her like she wasn't even there. Martha rushed over to dry any tears. There were none. Just an empty expression of shame and regret.
"Miss Mary," Martha whispered comfortingly. She reached up to push some hair out of her face and frowned when Mary flinched. Martha was concerned. Just as much as Dickon has changed, so did Miss Mary and Martha wasn't too sure if it had been for the best. She paused waiting for Mary to respond. They stayed silent for a moment, a mute Mary frozen where she stood. Then all together Mary broke down crying.
"I didn't do anything wrong!" she exclaimed clutching to Martha as if she were the only thing keeping Mary from falling into the pits of hell, "I didn't mean to hurt uncle! I'm sorry Martha! I'm so sorry!"
"Calm down, Miss," Martha whispered to her, holding Mary like a mother would with her child. Martha led Mary to a chair and sat down; desperately Mary curled up onto her lap. "Whateva happn', I'm sure those rich idiots deserved it." Martha usually made a point to not speak this way around Mary, understanding that it was this kind of thinking that got Mary into trouble, but at that moment knew she would feel better if Martha had, and Mary was shaking like a leaf.
Martha had also noticed Mary seemed to progressively get worse the longer she stayed in those schools, but would immediately push the thought away. Mary was a lady and so must learn to be one so that she'll have a safe and secure life. Still, the loyal maid did not feel safe sending Mary away, and often sent the young mistress off with anxiety clenching at Martha's stomach. Especially when she saw the state Mary was in as soon as she returned from school.
Martha smiled, staring down at Mary's innocently hurt eyes. "I know Dickon wanted t' see tha and he's in t'garden as we speak." She noticed the glimmer of hope that dashed across Mary's face but just as quickly as it came, it was gone.
"I don't want Dickon to see me like this," she whispered admittedly, "I look like a beast."
Martha wiped away any remaining tears and smiled more reassuringly, "Tha knows Dickon wouldn't think tha' of thy and even if thy were a beast with fangs and claws and a thick fur cover'n thy's whole body," she teased, growling at her humorously. Then she let her smile fall into a gentle, and supportive expression, "He would love thy all the same."
Mary was silent again and Martha took the opportunity to tickle her sides and just as Martha hoped, it caught Mary off guard and her frown flipped over into a smile. "Stop Martha stop!" She pleaded, laughing hysterically but intensely clutching her side, "It hurts!"
Martha immediately stopped but still smiled lovingly at her. "Alrigh'. Theur go off now and dinna get into any'mor fights or I'll have ta discipline thee myself." Mary laughed a loud gasp, like a weight had just fallen off her shoulders. She could finally breathe, and felt the warmth of reassurance flow through her. She hesitated for a moment to thank Martha but struggled to find the words. It didn't matter anyway. Martha saw it in her eyes. She smiled sincerely at Mary and spoke softly, "Go on now Miss Mary."
At that, Mary turned to leave but Martha's smile slowly faltered as she witnessed Mary hesitantly walk toward the Manor's doors. It made Martha sad for it seemed her eagerness to rush toward the gardens, like a wild horse galloping across a plain, might be a thing of the past. As soon as she joined society they tried to tame her. There was once a time Martha believed no one could break her and now she could see the cracks forming on Mary's expression.
…
Mary was alone in the garden and Dickon was nowhere in sight. He must be with Colin, she thought to assure herself. As she waited, she thought about what she learned in school. That some people believe if a child had died of illness, or during childbirth, the Gods would grow daisies on their grave; so as to cheer up any grieving parents.
Mary liked to believe this. She liked to imagine all kinds of good parents and the horrible pain it would cause them to lose something as precious as their own child. She imagined parents would squeeze their child against themselves, almost as a desperate attempt to bring them back to life. She could almost see their tears spilling on the faces of pale lifeless little human beings and feel their grief when the realization hits the poor parents: their child will no longer exist in the physical realm.
Don't misunderstand. She did not think this way to be cruel but instead she merely wanted a moment to believe anyone would cry for her at all. For a long time, most of her life in fact, people would call her spoiled, bitter, nasty, ugly, etc. They never had anything nice to say and now that she had friends, she felt shakingly insecure that it might be true.
Which is ridiculous! She thought furiously to herself as she pushed her tiny shovel into the soil. She wasn't really paying attention because too much of her focus had seeped far into her thoughts and now she had none left for the flowers she was beginning to stab. Uncle Archibald, Martha, Colin and Dickon like me just fine, she thought. Gently blushing unknowingly at the last person she named. Trying to calm herself so she can actually enjoy the beautiful day, instead of sully in the memory of her own parents… and the disappointment she gave to the only guardian she thinks would cry for her. She couldn't breathe and so took a very deep breath and held it in. A little while later and the fast pulsing in her chest began to slow. Mary finally released the air, sending little tingles of relief all over her body, and her mind was silent again, but only for a moment.
Mother and Father would never cry over me.
It was the fact she had been trying to avoid ever since she learned to love and the questions that would soon follow. Why didn't Mary's parents love her? What did she do? Did she deserve it? She must have, because at least those who took care of her would tell her how much they hated her, but her parents didn't even care enough to form an opinion.
Why!?
It was right when Mary thought this question, she was just about to throw all of her anxieties, all of her unanswered questions, all of her anger into the soil of the Secret Garden, and a hand shot up to grab Mary's wrist before she had the chance. With very little time to fully adjust to reality, Mary reacted, and threw her free hand in the direction of the attacker. It was a swift, sweeping, and precise motion that even Mary wasn't ready for; the loud clapping sound it produced on the attacker's cheek. Only when Mary opened her eyes, did she realize who she hit. It was none other than Dickon.
She slapped him so hard Dickon fell to the ground. The red mark on his face, and tears threatening his eyes. Mary was shocked, tears already streaming down her face. "I'M TELLING!" Colin, who had just made himself known to her, yelled as if it amused him.
Oh God! She thought, as she watched her cousin run off. Her uncle was going to be furious with her. MARTHA was going to be furious with her! Mary froze. She felt her heart stop. Mary is used to feeling unloved by her parents and honestly that's ok, but… the possibility of her uncle thinking this way of her or even worse… Martha?
She felt her pulse start to quicken again.
Mary was sure she was a beast, and perhaps she should start accepting that she might be one. Maybe she could do what her parents couldn't and start protecting those she loves from herself?
Dickon held his face. The sting rang on like the dead tone on a telephone. He studied her expression. It twisted and contorted into different emotions of grief, shame, shock, and strangely enough Dickon also saw acceptance. "I-I'm sorry, Dickon," she whispered. The tears rolled down her cheeks in fat drops, but her face was calm. She almost looked grown up as she continued to speak, "I'm So sorry." And at that she ran out of the garden and headed into the moor. Dickon wasn't sure what happened, he's not sure why Mary hit him, but she's one of his very best friends and he wasn't going to let her run off without explaining herself.
"Mary!" Dickon called to her as he chased the adventurous and brave (and pretty) mistress of Misselthwaite. Dickon blushed at the idea of him referring to Mary as pretty, but he couldn't help himself, he wasn't blind and Dickon had never made friends with a girl before. Usually girls didn't like getting their hands muddy or working diligently on plants and animals no one else cared about. Mary was different. She wasn't just a girl. She was a Lady, and yet she never minded getting her hands dirty or caring for animals who had nothing to offer her back in return. He never met a girl like her before and it often made him feel slightly reserved when speaking to Mary. He didn't like thinking about it, because of it being unallowed, but the thoughts broke into his brain and decided to stay awhile; and once they were there, he couldn't make them leave. Even the slight mention of Mary had him blushing and he would immediately try to avert his attention to something else… anything else.
He couldn't imagine what Mary would think if she could read his thoughts. If she knew he thought she was pretty and brave and smart and… just amazing. She was his very best friend, but it was something he never communicated before.
"MARY!" He yelled again before she disappeared in the horizon.
…
*A FLASHBACK OF
THE GARDEN TRIO*
1911
(A week after Archibald finally entered the garden)
Dickon Sowerby felt privileged to have friends like Colin and Mary in his life. Never before would he think any one from their class would even spare him a glance and yet there he was in their garden, helping them tend it and laughing about jokes only the three of them understood.
"A Lovely Little Lady does not scrape her shoes, she speaks low and light. She does not eat food but broth, because a lady would know such behavior would not be right ," Mary recited, her back straight and her hair pushed back. She attempted to look more like a lady with humorous intent; exaggerating her facial features and speaking in a very overdone posh accent. Dickon almost fell over laughing. It was a game they played. Dickon and Colin would pick a subject and Mary attempted to think of a cute little rhyme to recite just like in school; purposely making herself sound as ridiculous as all the other ladies in her school. "If you see such a woman, do beware, because she'll never hold her tongue or comb her hair. She'll kiss your face…"
Mary suddenly leaped at the boys and ran after them pretending she was going to kiss them. They immediately ran away and they all ran around the garden as if Mary's kiss would infect them in some form or fashion. First Mary ran after Colin, cruelly understanding he was the slowest boy when comparing him to Dickon, and she swiftly dodged every obstacle as Colin struggled to keep a gap between him and his cousin open. He stumbled over his feet, and weezed loudly. Mary slowed down so Colin wouldn't try so hard to win. She simply wanted to play with him, not kill him. She diverted her attention to the other boy, who was hiding behind one of the pillars and had temporarily exposed himself when he peaked over just a bit.
She narrowed her eyes and took off toward his direction. She targeted her sights on him when he escaped the pillar and ran, more skillfully than Colin, all around the garden. He was careful not to knock anything down. A few times he had to catch himself to prevent himself from falling into the garden beds, still faster than Mary…
...but not smarter.
She purposely chased him. Leading him to an area of the garden that couldn't be escaped. A dead end. The only dead end. The walls were tall and many of them crowded the garden creating almost like alleyways, which could easily get you lost if you weren't paying attention. Again, horribly, it was simple to lead Dickon to The Dead End without him knowing, and Mary smiled, feeling a foriegn sense of integrity. As soon as Dickon realized what had happened, he turned around ready to escape the dead end, but Mary was right behind him. He laughed impressed with her and quickly looked for a way out, but his smile slowly fell when he realized they were alone.
It dinna matter, Dickon thought automatically; unsure as to why he noticed it in the first place.
"She'll kiss your face," she said playfully, walking toward him. It was at this moment Dickon saw something in Mary's eyes. Something he didn't see before, or perhaps he had but usually he could easily ignore it out of ignorance. Now he couldn't look away from eyes glowing of confidence, assurance, and bravery. He'd always admired this about Mary, but while Mary slowly approached him, locking her gaze with him he realized he liked the way Mary looked at him right then; though he didn't understand it. Mary's smile fell a little as she slowly walked closer and closer.
There was no escape unless Dickon was willing to push her down. He was not. He would not. He'd never. "And leave a mark." She kissed Dickon's cheek and he felt warmth exploding from where she kissed him rolling through him like a high tide. "For a man who has her lips would always have her heart." She continued to stare at him as if she were trying to tell him something and she desperately wanted him to understand.
"Do one about Medlock!" Colin demanded through quick breathes, breaking the silence. Mary awkwardly turned around and found Colin clutching a hand against the wall to hold him up. Dickon continued to stare at Mary and fondly remembered the time when he and Mary sat on the swing while Colin took pictures. He still had that photo. Mary smiled at Colin, straightened her back and spoke just as she had before, as if what she did to Dickon never happened and Dickon couldn't help but touch the warm spot where she kissed him.
"Misstress Mary, Quite Contrary, Medlock had the unfortunate pleasure to meet," she spoke proudly. Colin laughed and so did Dickon. But while Colin was on the floor laughing, Dickon listened with laughing eyes, his heart beating louder than Mary's ridiculous impression of Medlock and though he enjoyed her poems, he suddenly liked looking at her more.
Dickon always thought Mary was prettier than the girls in his class but that must because she's rich. It was the only explanation he could come up with. Other girls of Mary's class were stunning, in a way, but Mary had always been the prettiest he's ever seen. Even if others hadn't agreed. He tried to snap out of it, but after a while all Dickon could do was stare at her and watch while Mary made Colin laugh until he had tears falling down his cheeks.
*End of Flashback*
…
An orange glow radiated across the moor, telling Dickon that it was no longer morning, and he had been looking for Mary for more than a couple of hours.
I should go home, he thought, thinking of his mother and how angry she'd be if he returned home too late. Then he thought about Mary and all the ways she could hurt herself if she were alone. Distressed. Did she know of the dangers of the moor late at night?
He noticed that everytime Mary would return from school something about her would change. He couldn't explain it but it was as if she were pushing those she loved away from her. As if a storm would fly over her head, and the longer she attended those schools, the harder it was to settle those storms. This was the worst he's ever seen her.
He missed the old Mary. The Mary who ran around the moor performing poems she'd make up for his and Colin's amusement. Finally Dickon spotted a lonely shack, just barely standing up, and hoped she would be there. There was a small untamed cobblestone path leading up toward the shack. The structure of the building moaned in instability and creaked when Dickon carefully opened the door. That's when he heard the soft sobbing and saw the beautiful girl sitting on a moldy hay bed; her back facing him.
Slowly this time…
… he reached for her shoulder and before he could touch her, spoke so softly it wouldn't even startle rabbits. "Mary?"
Mary tensed and curled tighter toward her center.
Her feet dangled above the dusty stone floor, paralyzed on the bed like a long forgotten toy waiting to be returned to its original owner. A breeze, which invaded the house through little holes in the walls and ceiling, gently pushed Mary until she swayed to the melodies of its currents. Peering over her reflection in a dark puddle beneath her, she looked over her face and frowned at how misshapen it was.
I can't let Dickon see me like this, she thought, but made no effort to move. Maybe it was because she didn't want to lie to Dickon, maybe she just needed him to know how she was doing, or maybe she wanted an excuse to cry into him and let her worries melt away. Given how horrible she felt, at least it was a genuine excuse. Her face proved that.
Her left eye had finally swelled into a horribly ugly welt which closed it shut. The bruising extended across her temple to her ear. Her lip was cut and swollen and there were smaller bruises and cuts all over her body.
I am a monster, she thought in horrible realization. Tears pooled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. I'm a monster.
Suddenly, Mary sucked in a breath as visions of her mother swarmed her thoughts. She remembered things about her past she thought she'd forgotten about. Memories of a two year old Mary reaching out for her mother only for her to, quite literally, push her away. Then she remembered crying and only then would Mary's mother pick her up, but only to get Mary to stop. She knew it wasn't out of affection, because she never held Mary but simply carried her around (until Mary fell asleep) like a vase. Her mother always hated her. Always thought she was ugly.
Maybe she hated me because I was ugly.
She must not be ugly anymore, she concluded; and yet, though girls hated her, boys certainly did not and Mary was the only girl the boys didn't mind joining their games. She was so used to "being ugly" she didn't think they would possibly like her for her looks. She thought they liked her for her personality, but then they began confessing imaginary notions of love, telling her how beautiful she was.
As if trying to see what they saw, she looked closer at her face and, upon closer inspection she had another horrible thought, Dickon won't think I'm pretty anymore. She imagined him walking into the garden and finding Mary's horrible face too hideous for the flowers. He would kick her out and tell her to never come back.
Then her head snapped up, embarrassed by such a silly thought. Granted, she didn't know if Dickon actually thought if she were pretty or not, but she knew he wasn't the kind of boy to say or do such disgusting things.
"Mary? Did I do sumthin' wrong?" Dickon said. Something tore Mary's chest, ripping it apart at the question the moor angel asked. "I'm sorry. I dinna mean ta upset tha." Her face burned in shock, and she bit her palm so she wouldn't break into tears.
Don't be silly! Mary wanted to scream angrily. Angry at herself for making Dickon feel this way. She wanted to tell him that she was the monster not him, but when she tried to open her mouth, nothing would emerge. She heard Dickon take a step toward her, his hand still slowly making its way to Mary's shoulder, "Mar-"
"I don't want you to see it," she said bitterly. "I just want to be alone."
"Miss Mary," he spoke so softly she could feel the comfort and warmth of his tone. "Don't keep secrets from me. Thy never had before."
Mary could feel her lip tremble, but she swallowed it back, and blinked into the sky through a hole in the ceiling, "Dickon? Am I a monster?"
Dickon was surprised by this, "Now why would thy ever think sumthin' as silly as tha'?" His fingers barely brushed her shoulder before she shrugged it off.
"Maybe I'm a beast," she continued, "Or evil-"
"Who's goin' around sayin' such horrible things!?" his voice raised a bit but not enough to spook Mary. He realized his hands had clenched into fists and shamefully flexed his palms to relax them. It wasn't like him to allow his emotions to respond out of his control. No matter to what degree; and made a note to watch it.
Mary took a deep breath and slowly turned her head to show him and just as she feared all the color drained from his face.
Dickon couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Who would…? Why would…? Then he remembered his sister telling him how he wouldn't want to see Miss Mary disciplined, but No! It wasn't Medlock. She wouldn't dare. "Miss... Mary," he tried to say in-between breaths. "Why is there so much blood on thy's clothes?"
Mary looked down and saw that she was indeed covered in blood. It didn't help any anxious beliefs she'd been harboring, shyly looking away from Dickon's shocked expression. Mary felt exposed as if all the ugliness inside of her, a part of her she tried to keep Dickon away from for as long as possible, was now clear as day; wearing it, like a sick trophy.
"D-Did Medlock…?"
"No!" Mary explained quickly. Though she wasn't Mary's favorite person she wouldn't want to get Medlock in trouble for something she didn't do. "Medlock may have slapped me but she didn't do this." Mary gestured to her swollen eye. Dickon flinched at what Mary said about Medlock. He's seen Medlock slap his sister on more than one occasion, which was infuriating enough, but the idea of Medlock hurting his best friend too sparked fire in his chest unlike ever before. Untrusting of himself and his new temper, he waited for her to speak again. Pleaded her, with his eyes, to speak again. Mary sighed and continued. Her voice softer than any whisper; Dickon could just barely hear it. "I was in… a fight… at school."
Dickon's eyes widened. He reached out to her again, as carefully as he had the previous time, and with his thumb traced the bruises across her face. "T'young lady from thy's letters?"
Mary slowly nodded.
"Miss Mary, now why would tha' do sumthin' as silly as goin' around fightin'?"
Mary sucked in a breath and pulled away from his touch, "It wasn't as if I were provoking them. I haven't spoken a word to either of them, but then…" She sucked in a breath and dropped her face into her hands. She took a deep breath and shot her head up to look at him in the eye.
Mary just stared into his worried face and remembered all the great times they had those days in the garden, before she was forced to go to school. Exploring the moor, running around in their garden, and she wanted to smile at all of it, but she couldn't because as she was looking into his shining blue, angelic eyes, she realized she just couldn't do it. She couldn't explain to him why the fight started.
It would hurt him.
It was best just to take the blame and call it a day. "But then," Mary continued, "They did something I didn't like and I punched her and didn't stop punching her." Though he was shocked the Mistress would strike anyone, Dickon didn't buy it. He knew she wasn't lying to him but she was hiding a much deeper truth.
"Mary," he said.
She dropped her gaze back to the ground."She made fun of you Dickon," Mary whispered, hoping he wouldn't hear it, "She ruined my only photograph of you."
Dickon noticed his heart beating faster. He knew he was Mary's best friend but he never thought she'd do something like that? "Eh!? Don't get in trouble for something as silly as that. I could get thy another picture."
Mary stood up abruptly, "It's not about the photograph, Dickon!" she paused. "You're my best friend." She blushes, "My only friend."
"Well then thy should get more friends so thy doesn't burn down the school for my sake."
Mary involuntarily burst into laughter. She still felt vacant but hearing Dickon's words, it glowed something warm in the center of the void.
"I'm sorry Dickon. I didn't mean to hit you," she said, but it didn't feel enough. He deserved an explanation, "I was startled."
"Thy startles easily these days."
"I'm alright," she said. Her very first lie to Dickon, and he saw right through it.
"Are thee sure?"
She wiped her eyes, "I will be. I will always be okay."
"Aye," he said unconvinced.
Mary does not lie to Dickon. Not usually and as she lied she tried to stop herself, but she knew she wouldn't have any answers to Dickon's questions. The lie was more to delay the truth. Perhaps she could make her lie come true and he'll never have to know her pain. Because she would do that, if it was for him.
…
Sorry about the dialect and overall accent, but love it hate it, don't understand it… PLEASE REVIEW! :)