Title: Those Qualities Upon Which Friendship Lives
Author: Mena
Contact Info:
Twitter: LJMomo Yahoo: aquietconscience AIM: aquietconscience (Feel free to IM me when I'm on and introduce yourself!)
Summary: Mary returns to Misselthwaite Manor from boarding school in London more of a lady than ever and Dickon sees her in a new light -- the problem is, so does Colin.
Ship: Mary/Dickon
Disclaimer: The characters in this story were created by Frances Hodgson Burnett and published in 1911 as "The Secret Garden". I do not own the characters. The Secret Garden is now in the public domain and money *can* be made off of it as Susan Moody did with her sequel, "Return to the Secret Garden". This disclaimer applies to all chapters of this story as it appears here at FFN.
Those Qualities Upon Which Friendship Lives
by Mena in the Garden
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I've been working on this story for years now. It currently has 12 completed chapters and it's always in the back of my mind to follow it through and complete the whole thing, though I don't know how many chapters it will be when it's finished.
I'm the same "Mena in the Garden" who runs the Secret Garden Fan Fiction Society on Yahoo Groups and I have a Secret Garden site here: secretgardenfics dot momodee dot com
Thanks for reading and if you'd like to leave a review positive or with corrections and ideas etc. please do. Enjoy.
Chapter Five
The days passed languidly with Dickon tending the gardens with Ben, Colin acting his usual cocky self, and Mary desperate to stay out of Colin's ever reaching grasp. Whenever she had a moment of time, he seemed to be there, tugging at her sleeve like a little child, asking her to look at something he'd written or found. As a youngster, Mary had no qualms about putting her foot down and shouting at the insolent and selfish boy. The years at school gave her copious amounts of self control, but Colin tested her patience and will. She thought the war might have sobered him but soon found that even serving his country did not add a month of maturity to his life.
As for Dickon, he never volunteered information about the war, nor did Mary want to pry. It was over now, and the country was in the process of rebuilding. Dickon didn't seem changed, though Mary suspected he just didn't want to burden anyone else with such a difficult and sorrowful topic. It had always been his way to spare his loved ones, and Mary felt warm inside knowing that he counted her among them.
On a morning cooler than most, Mary lay in her bed surrounded by down pillows and a plush duvet, staring up the white ceiling. A gray specter of a cobweb wafted gently in the breeze just above the window and Mary made a mental note to mention it to Martha. She sat up in bed and stretched, then, throwing her legs over the side of the bed, climbed down and let the chill of the floor seep between her toes. Shivering slightly, Mary pulled a robe around herself and walked swiftly to the window to stand in a pool of sunlight. The rays were warm and delicious, weaving through the golden strands of her hair which was now loose and flowing halfway down her back in soft waves.
A horse whinnied out on the moor and Mary opened the window and leaned out to catch sight of Dickon arriving at the house. He looked up, right at her window without even having to search for it and Mary instinctively hid behind a protective drapery, peeking out from behind its brocade. Dickon stood still for a split second, a look of – was it shock? – on his face before a smile washed it away. Mary stepped away from the window and into the room, her face flushed with excitement. Hurriedly she dressed and ran downstairs to see Martha.
"Martha?" she called into the kitchen.
"She's gone out to fetch some herbs, Miss Mary," said Cook. "What can I get for yeh?"
"Oh, I'm not hungry just yet. I'll have a bite when I get back." Mary left the room before Cook could ask her any questions. She ran down the hallway and straight into a person. A boy. Colin. For a moment Mary almost lost her balance, but Colin grabbed her and kept her upright. In her panic Mary had clutched his arm and now loosened her grip and pushed him away.
"What're you doing running around like that?" he asked, obviously amused that she'd been forced to be in such close proximity to him.
"I was in a hurry, if you must know. What were YOU doing?"
He chuckled. "Just walking to the kitchen. I'm starving! Have you eaten breakfast yet?"
"No; I was about to step outside for a moment. You go on and ask Cook to set something for me and I will be back in just a minute."
"Where are you going? I can—"
"No, no," Mary waved her hand at him dismissively. "You've got to have my place set. I won't be long."
Colin looked at her with a strange expression. "Are you going to see Dickon?" he asked.
Mary felt a panic rise inside her at the mention of Dickon's name. It's not as if she should be ashamed to go see her friend, but Colin made it seem that there was something unsavory in her motives. Quickly, she truthfully informed him of whom she was going to meet.
"Ah, Martha. She's with Dickon in the garden, I think." He paused. "Come to breakfast, Mary."
"I'll be back in just a moment, Colin."
"Would you like me to walk with you?"
"I think I know the way to our garden," she said with a smile. "It hasn't been that long."
"Right." Colin turned and brusquely walked away towards the dining area.
Once outside, Mary turned into the wind and headed for the garden, suddenly unsure of why she wanted to speak with Martha in the first place. Having Martha around would make being near Dickon easier – she could tell he suspected something by the way he'd looked at her last. She'd tried to broach the subject of going into the city, but as usual Colin made his entrance. At first Mary thought it might be best to talk to Dickon in the garden, surrounded by the magic; maybe he'd understand her feelings toward him. She didn't want to end up intimidating him or making him think she expected his affection in return, but she hoped that the looks he gave her were a clue to what lay behind his eyes. She felt as if something were about to give, something that had been building and building for years.
The door of the garden opened and Martha stepped out with Dickon in tow. Both were laughing, their cheeks glowing. Drops of rain began to fall and the wind picked up as Martha grabbed her skirts about her and trudged toward the manor.
"Martha!" Mary called, and the girl turned to her.
"Mary! What is tha' doing out in this? Come on now, the storm's a comin', lass."
Martha took Mary's arm and led her back toward the house. Mary looked over her shoulder to see Dickon behind them, about to walk down the hill.
"Dickon!" she shouted. "Come with us!"
Mary felt Martha squeeze her arm momentarily and when she looked over at her, Dickon's sister gave her a wink.
"I'll be in the kitchen," she said, rushing up to the house and leaving Mary a few feet from the door.
Mary waited for Dickon to reach the house, then led him inside. "You weren't going to run away that easily, Dickon Sowerby!" she said with faux haughtiness. "You've been avoiding me since I arrived."
"Avoiding thee?" asked Dickon incredulously. "Nowt o'th soart!"
Giving him a smirk, Mary turned and walked down the hallway toward the dining area.
"Have you eaten yet?" she asked.
"Aye, early this morn, at dawn before I went out to tend my animals."
"You can have something here if you like. Colin's waiting for me to dine with him but you know how he can be. I'd rather like the company." Mary left this statement open ended, giving Dickon a hint or two. She knew he was sharp and would pick up on the message, but she also knew he was intensely private and wouldn't say anything about it outright. She liked playing her little game with him.
Mrs. Medlock appeared, rushing into the hallway and beckoning Mary and Dickon inside with a swift wave of her hand. "Mary, do come along, girl. Your Uncle is coming home and I want you to meet Mr. Markham from Lincolnshire; he's come to help with our gardens a bit. Hurry now, eat your breakfast!"
Mary and Dickon seated themselves at the long mahogany table where Colin sat lazily playing with his food. He looked up momentarily when they came into the room but acted as if his eggs were far more interesting than anything that had been said by Medlock on the way into the room.
"Colin," Dickon said, greeting his friend.
Mary noted how Colin stiffened. He didn't seem himself. "What's the matter, Colin?" she asked plainly.
"Not a thing, Mary Lennox. I'll have you know I am quite fine, thank you. I've just been waiting here for ages all alone, my food has gone cold and only now you show up with –"
he stopped.
"With?..." Mary urged. "With what?"
"Not with what," Colin snapped. "With whom."
Shooting a confused look to Dickon, Mary stammered, "I—I don't know what you mean, Colin. Aren't you glad to see Dickon? I've invited him to eat with us. I didn't think I needed to ask permission as we're all good friends…"
Colin chewed on his lip as his cheeks visibly colored yet he said nothing and would not raise his eyes to deign to look at Mary nor Dickon. Mary watched him, afraid he might launch into a tantrum just like the ones he'd had as a child. Won't he ever grow up? Mary thought.
"Colin," she began slowly. "You're not behaving like a gentleman."
"'Tis all right, Miss Mary, I'll go if Colin wants me to." Dickon rose from his seat just as Cook came out with a tray of food.
Mary bid him to sit down and glared at Colin. "Colin Craven you look at me when I speak to you!"
Colin appeared startled at Mary's tone and looked up at her. Mary held his gaze steadily. "We're all of us friends and I won't have you two carrying on this like. Whatever it is – I don't want to know about it but you had best resolve it. Your father is coming home and I am sure he won't want to see you acting this way to your friends. If you insult Dickon, you insult me." She took a deep breath and waited for his response.
Colin huffed slightly and looked heavenward for a brief moment, clearly exasperated. "I've no quarrel with you, Dickon." His voice rang flat in the vast room.
"Nor I with you," said Dickon.
Mary took pity on her cousin and softened a bit. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting, Colin. I thought I would make it back sooner." She did not mention that she'd been gone only a couple of minutes and clearly Colin was exaggerating in a desperate ploy for attention. Silently she resolved never to agree to meet with Colin anywhere again, just to avoid such a conflict in future. She did not wish to be treated as a tennis ball in an ego match between the boys. Mary was not a prize to be won; her choice had been made long ago and it was only a matter of figuring out whether or not Dickon shared her feelings and how to go about it. And how to deal with Colin when he found out. Surely she would not be able to hide her affection and preference for Dickon; Colin already suspected, it was clear through his attitude.
Mary and Dickon ate in silence, punctuated now and then only with the clink of a spoon on china. Colin stood abruptly and left the room without a word.
"I'm so sorry," Mary said.
"It isn't your fault, Mary. Tha mustn't think it. He's just – he's what me mother calls 'ornery' right now. He'll be all right."
"I can't say I agree, Dickon. He was terribly vexed, didn't you see? When his face gets all red like that I'm sure he's going to simply pop right open. It's frightening. He's ever so much more than ten – I don't think I could scream back at him if he took to it."
"Tha's changed; Colin – he's still the same."
Mary looked into Dickon's eyes as he said this and found herself caught up. She felt as if there were something pulling her to him, something invisible and strong. She held his gaze just a moment too long so that the simple glance took on a new meaning. He didn't look away but held her there as if he, too, recognized this new connection.
Mrs. Medlock again seemingly apparated into the room, excitedly trying in vain to enunciate. She pat herself on the sternum rapidly in a gesture of needing to catch her breath, and Mary broke eye contact with Dickon to stare at this new spectacle before her.
"What is it?" asked Mary, concerned for the woman's health. "Are you all right, Mrs. Medlock? Do you need a doctor?"
"Lord Craven –" was all Medlock could choke out.
"Is he here?" Mary coaxed, putting her linen napkin on the table next to her plate and stepping around from the table. She tried to interpret the older woman's frantic gestures as Martha ran into the room.
"Lord Craven is outside!" she exclaimed happily, leading the group down the hall and out the front door to greet the master of the house.
Mary stood back on the step as Mrs. Medlock and Martha approached Lord Craven's carriage. Colin had already attacked the cab and babbled nonstop to his father about his horses and the new topiaries being installed. Dickon came up behind Mary, partially hidden from the group in the courtyard. The scent of earth permeated Mary's senses and she instinctively leaned back comfortably into Dickon's arms. "It is such a beautiful day," she said with a sigh.
"Aye," Dickon whispered, his mouth ever so close to Mary's ear.
A shiver ran through her body from head to foot and the tickle of Dickon's warm breath on her skin gave birth to new sensations and ideas. Mary closed her eyes for a delicious second and when she opened them she was met with the stony gaze of one young Colin Craven. Mary hastily stepped forward, bringing distance between herself and Dickon in an effort to camouflage an already lost situation.
"Welcome home, Uncle Archie!" she said, smiling cheerfully.
"Mary Lennox!" cried Lord Craven, taking her in a warm embrace. "Dear child, it has been so long. It's so good to see you again. I do hope they are treating you well at school," he said.
"Yes, Sir," said Mary, following the entourage into the house again. Her thoughts played back to a moment ago when Dickon had all but kissed her and a blush rose in her cheeks.
"You've gone all red, Mary," stated Colin with a nasty curl to his voice. "You'd best be careful out in the gardens. Don't spend too much time outside and wear yourself down."
Mary refused to look at him; his message was quite clear – and she had no intention of heeding his warning.