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 Eleven
Dickon walked purposefully from his cottage, intent on making it all the way to Misselthwaite to speak with Lord Craven about the matter of Mary's hand. He'd barely been able to sleep the night before, tossing and turning and waking every few minutes with apprehension and excitement about the day's plans. Though confident he would not be denied his request, Dickon knew it might be awkward for Lord Craven to grant such a thing to a poor servant of his household, and braced himself against a possible rejection. He could still marry Mary, but he did not want her to be an outcast or estrange her from her family.
The entire matter lay heavily upon Dickon into the wee hours of morning and finally, unable to bear the wait any long, he arose. After washing thoroughly, Dickon put on his Sunday best and left his cottage without even eating breakfast. For the first time since he'd lived there, his chores went undone before his journey to the house. He'd never been one to shirk his responsibilities, but today was special and he suffered under the duress of intense distraction. How could he attend to domestic problems and duties when his future shone so brightly on the hill?
A thought arose to dampen his spirits: Colin. Dickon had been conspicuously avoiding his old friend, and he was sure Colin knew it was purposeful. In the past, they'd often taken time to talk or tend the garden, but in the time since they'd returned from the war their relationship had been strained. Dickon suspected Colin resented having to be involved in the thing at all. They'd both seen good men, young men, die horribly painful deaths. They'd seen the suffering in the hospitals and in the field. They'd lost new acquaintances – those boys who might have become friends if they had all met under different circumstances. Dickon, understanding nature so much better than most people could, accepted that these things did happen. He had his share of nightmares and fears because of it, but he preferred to dwell on the woman who had finally come back to him. Colin had no such person in his life who could mirror whatever love he had left in his heart, and so his heart seemed to harden against the world. The world was a scary place that stole from him and destroyed things he loved, and now all Dickon could guess was that Colin had felt he'd lost the one last true love in his life: Mary.
Dickon felt a pang of guilt and hurt as he approached the house, knowing that his relationship with Colin would suffer yet another blow and could perhaps be destroyed by its force. How much could one young man withstand, after he'd already seen so much? For Dickon knew that admirable as Colin could be, the two of them were not cut from the same cloth. Perhaps that is what pulled Mary to him instead of to Colin. They were two distinctly different young men, and for all the riches Colin had or would inherit from his father and family line, he had not been able to acquire Mary Lennox.
Taking a deep breath, Dickon stood outside the front door of Misselthwaite and rapped on it. A few moments later, the door opened and he was face to face with Mrs. Medlock, her eyes rimmed red with weeping. Immediately, Dickon worried for Mary.
"Mrs. Medlock! What's wrong? Has something happened?"
Mrs. Medlock held a handkerchief up to dab at the corners of her eyes as she beckoned Dickon into the front hall.
"I'm afraid Mr. Markham has returned to Lincolnshire," she sobbed.
"Mr. Markham? Th' gardener?"
"Yes," she said, drawing out the word into a half whine. She sniffled pitifully.
Dickon breathed a sigh of relief. "Not to worry, Mrs. Medlock, I'm sure he'll be back…won't he?"
"No, he wont! The topiaries are done, or they are as done as they will be since Ben Weatherstaff refuses to continue work on them."
"The ones for Colin?" he asked, remembering the horse shapes Ben had tried to fashion in the garden.
"Yes, exactly," she said. "Now, what were you here for? Is it time for your wages again?"
"No, Ma'am, I have come to speak with Lord Craven," Dickon said, standing straight and tall.
"He's in his study. Wait in the drawing room, will you? I think your sister is about here somewhere…Martha!" Medlock called through the hallways for Martha as Dickon seated himself in the very familiar drawing room nearby. He, Mary and Colin used to explore the house once Lord Craven had opened it up again after Colin's miracle in the garden. There were no wings locked and no curtains drawn to keep secrets in darkened corners. Dickon knew this house well.
Martha came running into the drawing room, her face bright and cheeks flushed from the exertion. "He's coming!" she said excitedly. "Are yeh goin' to ask 'im?"
"Aye," said Dickon.
"Oh! I canna wait to hear the good news!" Martha said, beaming.
"Stop bletherin' lass, and get thee away before the Master of the House catches thee chatting up the guests," Dickon joked, waving his hands at her in an effort to shoo her from the room.
Martha smiled again and scuttled off, a mess of giggles.
Archibald entered the room and immediately greeted Dickon as he would a son, putting his hand on the young man's shoulder and smiling kindly.
"Dickon Sowerby, what can I do for you today?" asked Archibald, taking a seat opposite Dickon, who had stood when his elder entered the room. "Do sit down, boy."
Dickon lowered himself back into his chair and wrenched his cap in his hands nervously. "I've come to thee on account of Mary Lennox," he began. "I 'ave summat to ask thee concerning…"
"Concerning?" Archie inquired, steepling his fingers.
"'Tis about Mary's hand, Sir," said Dickon, staring into the older man's eyes with determination. "I've come to ask thee if tha would give a blessing—"
"Are you asking to marry Mary Lennox?" Archie leaned forward in his chair, his face blank and his voice strong.
"Aye, Sir."
"And you've asked her?"
"Aye."
"And she has accepted you?"
"Aye."
"Colin – have you told him? Does he know of your intentions?"
"He knows nowt, Sir." Dickon grew uncomfortable with Lord Craven's questions. He could not tell if the man was angry or concerned or happy – or all three.
"I know tha would like Mary to be cared for good 'n' proper by a young gentleman, but I promise thee that I do love her and I would do my very best by her always," Dickon said, hoping to swap Archibald's decision in case it was not in his favor to begin with.
"Yes, I am concerned about her welfare, but that isn't a problem as I have written her into my will and made sure that she will not be destitute. Gone are the days when young girls were left under the thumb of the first born heir. No. Mary shall be provided for, that is not a significant worry. And you are a hard worker, are you not? I have evidence enough of that. Still –"
Dickon bristled. Even though Lord Craven seemed on the verge of giving his blessing, something held him back.
"I know how Colin feels about Mary. This will be a terrible blow to him." Lord Craven sat back in his chair, silently pondering as Dickon waited patiently across from him. "I don't see how I can deny Mary what she wants. I promised to be her guardian and she has grown into a fine young lady." He stood and paced the room slowly. "There are concerns, yes, but I can not justify imposing my will on Mary. I fear, though, that this may bring pain and ruination upon Colin. He just isn't as he was…I'm sure you know that. None of us are the same now." He stopped speaking and stood by the window, gazing out over the front grounds. "When do you plan on being married?"
"We have not spoken on a date yet, Sir," replied Dickon.
"Right," said Archie, with a faraway look in his eyes. "You will need time to discuss these matters, of course. I can hire people to help in the preparations, etcetera. Next spring, perhaps?"
"It does seem a long way off," Dickon said, thinking of the months in between which he would have to spend alone in his cottage.
"Yes, yes it is. Well, we will see," said Archie. "I think you and Mary need to speak to Colin about this; I don't think it would be proper for him to hear it from me – or worse, from one of the servants."
"Aye, Sir. Mary and I will do that," Dickon assured him. He was not looking forward to that conversation, but Colin would find out sooner or later, and sooner was always better and gave Colin more time to recover.
"There's no need to say this, Dickon, but welcome to the family," Archie said, and reached out his hand for Dickon to shake.
Dickon stood and Archie clapped him on the back in a brotherly fashion as he shook his hand.
"Thank you, Sir," Dickon said, smiling for the first time since he'd entered the room.
"You look as I did on the day Lily and I married. It is like the feeling of Christmas morning when all your life is awaiting you and there is fresh and unmarred snow outside to record your first steps into the world together and the greatest gift has just been given to you. I remember it so well…" Archie trailed off, and then sighed. "You'd best find your intended and work out some of those details, now."
Dickon nodded, still smiling, and thanked Lord Craven once more before exiting the room. He was so excited that he stood outside the door for a few minutes, not knowing whether to find Mary or Martha, or if he should go home and tell his own mother the good news first. The answer was made for him as Mary appeared in the hallway, her face lit up with a broad smile.
"Dickon!" she cried, running the last few steps into his arms.
Dickon held her tightly.
"What did he say? Though I think I can tell from the smile on your face that he's assented," she said coyly.
"Th'art right, lass," he said.
Mrs. Medlock entered the hall and coughed loudly. "Mary! Whatever are you doing with that boy? This is most…" She could not seem to squeeze the words out, but her face was a look of horror and shock.
"It's all right, Mrs. Medlock," Mary reassured the woman. "We're to be married! Isn't it wonderful?"
"I-I don't know what to say," Mrs. Medlock stammered. "Has your Uncle given his approval?"
"Yes, I have, Mrs. Medlock. And I would like you all to come with me into my office for a moment if you please." Lord Craven led the way as the fray followed him. They passed Martha, who was hiding on the stair, and Lord craven beckoned to her as well. "Come along, Martha."
Once they were all safely inside the room, Lord Craven closed the door and spoke quietly. "You all know that I have given my blessing to Dickon and Mary, but I want to be sure that none of you aside from Dickon and Mary tell Colin about this. Do not breathe a word of it to anyone else inside or outside this house. These children are the best of friends and I want their relationship to stay that way. You all know how easily feelings can be hurt."
"Of course, Lord Craven, I wouldn't dream of—"
"None of that, Mrs. Medlock," Archie said sternly. "I don't want platitudes and excuses. Just do what I ask of you. That is all."
Mary walked over to her Uncle and hugged him. "OH, Uncle Archie, I'm so very happy. Thank you! Thank you!"
Archie pulled back and cradled Mary's face in his hands. "Is this what your heart desires, child?" he asked.
"More than anything," she replied.
"Then I am happy for you," he said, holding her close once again. "I can not believe that you are now grown, and getting married. I thought perhaps, long ago, that Colin might—"
"He will be all right, Uncle. I shall talk to him. Everything will be put to rights. We must pray, as well."
"Yes, of course." Archie nodded. "I do every day."
"I think he's been hurt by the war – he's been hurt badly and he doesn't know how to fix it. And…I'm not sure I can help him, but I will try."
"You did it once, my dear girl. You and Dickon together, and the garden."
Mary smiled and parted from her uncle to stand beside Dickon. Martha stood nearby, her face aglow.
"Oh, Martha, you look like you will simply burst!" Mary laughed and held out her arms. Martha flew to her, bouncing up and down and doing a little jog, she was so happy.
"Oh Miss Mary! We shall be sisters! I couldn't be more happy!"
Once the party had dispersed, Mary turned to Dickon. "We must find Colin and speak with him at once."
"Aye," Dickon agreed, taking Mary's hand. "We mun look for him – the others don't know owt about where he may be hidin'. I think tis best to check the garden."
"I doubt he'll be there, but let's have a look. I really want to speak with him today. Letting this go on will just be a torture that I don't want him to go through."
"Does tha think he would still be friends with us?" asked Dickon seriously.
"I should hope so, but it will take time for him to heal. I do care for him, Dickon. I feel so guilty that I just can't love him the way he wants me to, or the way he loves me. I wish I could make everything better and I want him to be happy."
"Ah, he knows that, lass. Colin's not fighting thee – he's fightin' hissel'. Tha mun know how he does like thee to be happy since tha has shown him the way, but he has faced the world beyond Misselthwaite an faced it unprepared." Dickon walked beside Mary toward the garden, careful not to make any overt gestures showing that they were anything more than friends, though he knew Colin was not a fool and would surely know already what had transpired. He felt apprehensive about confronting Colin, but it had to be done.
They found Colin in the secret garden, sitting near the small pool of water where the birds so liked to bathe and play.
"Colin," Mary said, approaching him.
Colin looked up and upon seeing his friends, immediately stood. "Hello," he said without emotion. "I suppose you've come to tell me the good news?"
Mary was taken aback for a moment. "Good news?"
Colin shook his head slightly. "There's no use in playing games, I already know. You said as much when we last spoke." He turned to Dickon. "You've asked her, then?"
"Aye, if tha means what I think tha means," Dickon replied tentatively.
"Well then, there's nothing more to say. Of course, I could say I'm happy for you both, but you know I'm far too selfish for that. Good show, Dickon," he said, reaching out his hand in congratulations. "To the victor go the spoils."
Dickon eyed Colin's outstretched hand and slowly reached out to clasp it in a firm shake. "Colin," he said. "I never set out to take owt from thee; we fought on th' same side, you and me."
"Not in THIS war," replied Colin, turning on his heel and walking straight out of the garden and out of sight.