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.
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Chapter Six
Dickon knew he shouldn't have stood so closely to Mary, but she seemed so inviting and when she leaned back on him he had to fight the urge to turn her around in his arms and kiss her feverishly. No, he couldn't do such a thing. She was his friend; she was in an upper class; they had been in public; Colin had been there. It would be been terribly wrong and an insult to the Craven family who had treated Dickon and Martha with such generosity and kindness through the years.
He thought about that afternoon just three days before, unable to remove it from his mind. Mary had certainly acted comfortable near him and he dared to dream that perhaps she wouldn't have protested if he had been forward. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part; after all, what had he to offer the girl? A cottage. In the near future, even a horse. After Misselthwaite and a fine boarding school, Dickon was certain Mary would find his offerings paltry and insignificant. Still he took hope in the way she treated Colin. Although not his way to take any sort of pleasure in another person's suffering, he could not help but feel a sliver of satisfaction when Mary turned Colin away. She had asked to come visit in the garden just the evening before and Dickon assured her that it was her own garden and she was to come and go as she pleased. He wondered now if he'd misinterpreted what she'd said, or whether he read too much into it in the first place. There was no doubt she wanted to be near him; just the previous morning she had come out for a walk, passing the tree where Dickon took his lunch. He watched her go by, neither saying a word. It was almost as if she were teasing him, beckoning him to follow or chase. He stayed rooted to the base of the tree and allowed her play the game.
This fine morn Dickon helped Ben with the hideous topiary which had now lost an ear in a shearing error. Dickon consoled the older man, who was visibly agitated and using blue language to describe his new tasks.
"Mr. Markham this, Mr. Markham that!" spat Ben, waving his pruning shears around haphazardly. His oversized gardener's hat tilted to one side of his head, making him look a bit like a street bum on a drunken rampage. "I've 'ad about enough of Medlock's jabbering about 'im."
"I've never seen her so taken," surmised Dickon, looking back toward the manor.
"Taken ain't the right word, lad," said Ben disgustedly.
"We'd best not say the 'right word' aloud, then," replied Dickon with a smirk. Ben could go on sometimes but Dickon took his attitude in stride.
"Oi, 'ere he comes again," said Ben, peering toward the road leading up to the courtyard. "Tha'd best run off before that Markham fella gets ahold of thee as well."
Dickon lingered for a second until Ben waved him away. He didn't like leaving the older man to deal with the new system of pruning Mr. Markham had been teaching but it was always best not to further agitate old Ben Weatherstaff. He liked having things his own way.
The sun shone down in between graying clouds that moved in stealthily from the west. The landscape intermittently darkened then lightened and so on until Dickon reached his cottage. The area had been described as desolate by Mrs. Medlock at one point, but Dickon called it comfortable and had always been the sort of person who enjoyed quiet and solitude. He could make himself comfortable in any setting if needed, but Dickon always preferred a soothing, languid pace if at all possible. The tiny abode and its surrounding area were in sharp contrast to what Dickon endured during the war. The garden had helped heal him of many a foul memory and spiritual scar as it had for his friends before him. Colin had been protected during the conflict and never saw action. Dickon surmised that Colin lived more on the surface than Mary did, conflict or not. The only things he could internalize were things entwined with his own fortune and feelings. So the garden had served its purpose in Colin's life and was now open to future visitors in need of its magic. Dickon hoped he would never forget or turn his back on it as Colin had.
The interior of the cottage was furnished and decorated modestly, its color provided by wildflowers carefully placed in the few sunlight areas near the windows. The structure consisted of all of two rooms: the living area with hearth and kitchen adjacent, and the bedroom. Behind the cottage stood a small shed which had been built to house Dickon's tools and other supplies. A privy stood off in the distance. It was a far cry from the crowded home he once shared with his mother and siblings. The solitude could be stifling and it was at these times Dickon sought out the company of his many animal friends or trekked to the gardens and helped Ben Weatherstaff. He had no friends his own age save for Mary and Colin, and for the past few months Colin had grown away from him. Mary had been taken away. He mourned her loss for many weeks after and now it felt as if he had never ceased pining for her though he knew there were times when he was so occupied he could think of nothing but the task before him.
His task at the moment was to chop some firewood and arrange the shed before heading back to Misselthwaite. He accomplished these things before noon and arrived at the gardens just after. Martha found him and brought him a sandwich for lunch. An awkward silence descended between brother and sister as Dickon consumed his meal.
"Miss Mary's away," said Martha curtly.
Dickon's interest piqued. "Away?"
"Aye. Off to Leeds with Master Colin, Mrs. Medlock and Mr. Markham from the gardens."
"Why 'ave they gone?"
"Colin was in a terrible dither about getting' away from the 'ouse and takin' Miss Mary to see the sights of the city. Tha's what he said and Medlock didn't give a hint of protest! Taken with that fellow from Lincolnshire, she is. 'ead's right up in the clouds!"
"When will they return?"
"I don't know. Could be hours. I wanted to tell you because—Mary had asked for you earlier when you were away at your cottage."
Dickon nearly choked on a sliver of bread.
With a knowing look, Martha continued. "I don't mean to be a gossip but seeing as 'ow you're me brother and all I think it only right to say that the girl fancies thee as much as thee fancies her. Forgive me for saying it aloud, but there it is."
A blush rose in Dickon's cheeks and he lost the ability to speak as no words came to him for a few seconds. Gathering his wits, he replied, "I wish I could deny my feelings but I haven't been as –" He searched for the word.
"I know," Martha interjected. "It's been plain as day written all over thy face." She leaned in close and whispered, "'an it is the cause for Colin's foul mood these past few days since Mary's return."
"Is that why he's taken her to Leeds?"
"Aye…I think he's green with envy, as green as the garden you've tended so well."
"I should be more careful, then," Dickon said almost to himself. "Tis not my place to interfere with Miss Mary and her suitors."
"Not thy place?" Martha all but shrieked. "Master Colin may one day 'ave this 'ouse but I daresay he will never 'ave her heart!"
"Tha shouldn't say such things, Martha. We are but the help here, we are not in their league and we are not family. Tis a delicate matter and we mustn't speak of it again. Promise me you will not mention this to her. She mustn't know how I feel. I would be made a fool."
Martha shook her head. "Does thee think she doesn't know? She would have to be quite blind not to see the way your eyes light up whenever you lay them on her countenance! On the contrary, you make her a fool if you think she hasn't already fallen in love with thee!"
"Martha!" Dickon admonished his sister. "Speaking of this is improper. I must leave you to your own devices if you insist on the subject." Though he wanted nothing more than to hear of Mary's affections for him, Dickon cautioned himself about propriety and the simple fact that because his sister said it was true did not make it so. Mary had not spoken, and Dickon himself resolved he would never take the liberty, either. Torment though it was, he had to endure.
"Please yourself," Martha said, her voice registering hurt.
"Come, Martha, I don't mean it like that," Dickon assured her gently. "Tha knows I can not speak. I am in no position. I would not have us banished from this home and insult its Lord."
Martha nodded. "I should have held my tongue. I've ruined it all," she said, her head bowed in penitence.
"Tha mustn't think on it. There has been no harm done. We mun go about as always. Not a word upon Miss Mary's return. Not a word to any soul."
Martha agreed and returned to the house, head hanging low and shoulders slumped. Dickon wished she'd never revealed such things to him, for now he could think of nothing else. Trapped in an in-between place of longing, lust, love; unable to reveal his feelings, unable to prevent Mary from being courted by others. He could only sit by and watch.
* * *
"Mary, child, watch your skirts!" Mrs. Medlock cautioned. "There is mud from the recent rains!"
Mary Lennox gathered her skirts as she stepped from the carriage, taking Colin's waiting hand to help her down to the street. He steered her away from the small random puddles of water and guided her to the shop. Mary allowed it but hoped he would not read more into her simple display of manners – she worried that her cousin had taken a strong liking to her and had lapsed into a sort of courtship in which she had not willingly taken part. Upon entering the shop, Mary extricated herself from her cousin's arm and moved forward amidst the displays. To her chagrin, Colin kept pace beside her with precision.
"Quite a shop, isn't it, Mary?"
"It is lovely," she replied politely, not admitting that she had seen shops of exceeding grandiosity in the city of London.
"I wish Father would have come with us, but he's just home so he is, I suppose, getting reacquainted with the place."
"He had been gone for quite a while. I expect no less. He wants to relax." She paused, treading carefully with her next statement. "We might have asked Dickon to join us; I am guessing he does not often come to the city."
Colin's attitude darkened. "What would he do here? He certainly can not make purchases. He is a mere country boy, Mary. Why waste thought on him when we have the city at our feet?"
"Why do you speak about him that way? He is our closest friend!"
"Things have changed, Mary."
"Only because you have made them so, Colin. If you wish to please me, you must never forget our dear friend Dickon and his family who gave us so much. Do you not recall his hand in your cure?"
"I was never ill to begin with!" Colin's voice rose and other patrons turned to look at the couple.
Mary pulled away from him and walked brusquely past Mrs. Medlock and Mr. Markham, both of whom were oblivious to the conversation that had just taken place between the cousins only a few feet away. The older couple was more than taken with each other and a few pieces of fine Waterford crystal laid out on a velvet cloth. Mary caught part of Markham's conversation as he explained the facets and cuts and costs of Irish crystal as Medlock beamed and sighed breathlessly. Stepping outside the shop, Mary felt a great relief. That relief was to last only a moment, for her cousin had followed her.
"Do go away, Colin. I do not wish to speak to you."
"Come now, Mary. It's not as bad as that. You know what I meant – about Dickon. I meant no offense."
"But you did offend!"
Instead of an expected apology, Colin offered a curled lip and furrowed brow. "Have at it, then," he spat. "Live like a pauper in a tiny cottage with nothing to your name but a spade and pack of seeds!"
"I'd rather that than you and your sour disposition. I'd rather be penniless and marry for love than to be consigned to a life full of every kind of wealth and have to wake up to your face each morning and your heartless and empty words!" She hadn't meant to be so candid, so cruel. Forgetting her schooling, she had brought to mind things that a woman should never suggest to a man. Waking up to see him every day? Surely he would be reminded of the possible activities that precede waking and sleep. She'd also almost told him outright that she loved Dickon.
At that moment, the door opened and out stepped Mrs. Medlock and Mr. Markham, ending Mary's attack on Colin and preempting his reply.
"Come now, girl, we've another shop to see! I am to find a suitable gown for you…" Medlock rambled.
Mary allowed herself to be shuttled from shop to shop for the next two hours, enduring Medlock's chastisement for her preoccupation of mind. She simply could not concentrate on anything but what had transpired between her and Colin. Would he tell Dickon upon their return? Though Mary suspected Dickon fancied her, he had never made his intentions plain, and so she was to presume there was no greater affection between them than that of good friends.
The drive back to Misselthwaite proved almost unbearable as Colin fumed and Medlock and Markham cast their manners to the wind and commented incessantly on every tree and rock they passed, critiquing each shop and its wares, each tiny town and passerby. Upon her return Mary ran to the sanctuary of her bedroom. She heard Colin stomp past her door, clearly disturbed. When she was called upon to come to dine, Mary refused. Martha brought her a tray later in the evening, and the two young ladies sat down together as they had so long ago.
"Martha," she said in a conspiratorial whisper, as if the walls themselves could hear her and transport her message to the ears of Colin or worse, Dickon. "I have been harboring a secret all this time, and I wish to share it. You must promise me that you will never utter a word of it to anyone. Do you promise?"
Martha stared with wide eyes at her mistress. "I promise thee, Miss Mary," she said. "Not a soul."
Mary took a deep breath. "It concerns your family, Martha. I do hope you will not think I am taking liberties. You must know there is no understanding….I fear I am in love with Dickon."
"Oh Miss Mary!" Martha said, her mouth pulled into a glorious smile. She clutched her hands together and bounced in her seat.
"Calm yourself, Martha! Please! No one must know!"
"But Dickon—"
"You mustn't tell him – you promised!"
"No, no, Miss Mary I would never betray thy confidence. I am so happy, I can not hide it!"
"Nothing will come of it, dearest Martha. I simply needed to confide it, I did not mean for you to take an active part in these affairs. I don't—." Here she paused. "I do not expect anything from Dickon or you or your family, do know that. There. I've said it."
Mary trusted Martha not to betray her secret, but something about the maid's gleeful response prompted questions she did not dare ask. Could Dickon have feelings for her in return? Would Martha know this? Did Martha think them a suitable match?
"I know there is no hope," Mary said before Martha could speak. "We are not suited to one another in terms of possessions and status. Medlock would not allow it, even if it were a mutual affection, which I do not presume to know. Why do you bite your lip so? You are about to bleed yourself!"
Martha could scarcely contain herself. "Oh Miss Mary, I'm not to say anything."
"Should I take your unspoken news to be in harmony with the smile that creeps across your face?"
"Aye!" Martha grasped Mary's hands across the table. "He's in the garden, Miss."
Mary stood and went to her window. Opening it, she looked out over the gardens as the first few drops of evening rain fell in to settle on her brow. A summer breeze stirred faintly as the sun began its descent behind the horizon.
Martha joined her at the casement. "He'll be heading home soon, Miss Mary."
Mary looked at her friend, then out over the land again. "He will have a long walk in the rain," she thought aloud. "I could lend him my horse for the journey." After a space, Mary asked Martha to fetch her overcoat and wait by the kitchen door out back. She did not want anyone within to see her leave the house, especially Colin, who would think only of scandal.
Sneaking through the house had not been necessary for many years but Mary found that memory served her well and she was able to reach the outside without incident. She left Martha in the kitchen and pulling her coat around her, set off to the secret garden as the weighty raindrops began their descent to the ground in earnest.