Title: Those Qualities Upon Which Friendship Lives

Author: Mena

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.

Chapter Fourteen

Dickon left the manor and headed out to the gardens to start his work for the day. Just as he reached the garden wall, he remembered that he'd neglected to feed his menagerie of animals back at the cottage. Since Mary had been at the cottage, she was all he could think about. Silently scolding himself, Dickon set his gardening tools down by the wall and wiped his hands on his trousers. Even though he'd soon be entering into what was known as "polite society" through his union with Mary Lennox, the birds, labs and other creatures he cared for couldn't be left to their own devices. He'd continue tending to them, getting his hands dirty and caring for the gardens to earn his keep.

He headed back toward the cottage, hoping to make it there and back before Mary came to find him at lunchtime. Walking in the dewy field behind the manor, Dickon looked down at his well worn shoes and noted that they needed replacing. Much of his clothing had been mended time and again, and Dickon's embarrassment at his lowly means hit him full force. He wondered if perhaps he wasn't the best choice for a husband for Mary. Surely she could do far better with her education, ability and manners. She was accepted and acceptable, where Dickon felt he belonged in the background. Conflicting thoughts swirling in his mind; he loved Mary, she loved him, but was their match wise?

Stomping his foot down to rid his shoe of a bit of mud, Dickon's happy dreams faded and were replaced with a good dose of reality. If he loved Mary so much, why bring her down? Why offer her a cottage when she could have an estate? Why just one small garden when she could own dozens? And all the animals around, she'd think she lived in a zoo rather than a home.

Then there were the problems stemming from his time serving in the war that he never spoke of to anyone. How he sometimes bolted awake at night in a cold sweat, how he had developed a sadness that swept through him as it never had before. It was a fight just to retain his own self in those moments, to recognize that war had changed him but hadn't taken away his identity. He saw the same effects in Colin when they'd returned. No one else seemed to notice; they may have thought he'd simply regressed to his old childish ways, but Dickon knew better.

Each of them had to deal with their experience, and each did so in a different way. Dickon had seen young men simply give up on life, become non-functioning after the war. He vowed to never allow his grief to overwhelm him to that point. There had been so much bitterness, and he had never been bitter in his life. The war was over, and he wanted to leave it in its place. He'd done his duty and now intended to live a peaceful life once again. To do so felt like denying the truth or ignoring the sacrifice so many young men had made, but it was necessary for survival. Bringing his new problems into Mary's life would be unforgivable; she would be better off marrying someone who had been fortunate enough to have not been involved in the war, if such a young man existed.

A small sense of resentment had glimmered deep within Dickon; he did not want to have to change his ways or his personality in order to fit into society's world. Mary would want him to attend parties, functions, to travel. In the blush of love all of the things he had forced himself not to acknowledge had now come bubbling to the surface and would not be pushed away so quickly or easily. He would have to speak to Mary about it, sure in part that she would agree with him and perhaps then their engagement could end before more arrangements were made. Then again, Mary would most likely fight to stay with him despite it all, resigning herself to a life more contained and more simple than was right for her.

Dickon set about feeding the animals, hoping that work might relieve some of his troubles. For the first time since they'd met, he was unsure of his relationship with Mary Lennox.

* * *

Colin Craven rubbed his fingers together, lost in thought. He'd retired to the library and sank into one of the oversized leather chairs, preferring to be hidden among the shelves than in his sunny bedroom. He assumed Mary would be leaving the manor after breakfast to search for Dickon. She'd been spending time away with him at his cottage and Colin hadn't yet come up with a way to separate them. Not that it would do any good to attempt such a thing, since Mary had her heart set on his old friend.

Colin had felt the sting of betrayal before, but never had it hurt so deeply or left him with such a need for vengeance. When he'd first heard of Mary's intentions toward Dickon and that Dickon returned her affections, he was shocked. Why would she give up the privileged life just for Dickon? Who was he, anyway? He was not a skilled horseman or gentleman. He wasn't even a scholar. Dickon spent all of his time with his nose in the bushes and the dirt, how could he ever hope to satisfy Mary's needs? Colin scoffed at the match. The marriage would fail, of that he was sure. When it did, Mary would come running back to him. Sure as he was of this eventual fate, Colin did not want to wait the days, weeks or months it might take to come to fruition. Preventing the union would speed up the process, but it was near impossible to execute. Dickon could do no wrong in Mary's eyes. Anything Colin tried would only make him look even worse to the woman whose love he craved.

Then there was the matter of Catherine. Taking up with her hadn't been in his best interests, but at the time his thoughts were clouded with drink. It was meant to be only one night, but that night had turned into weeks. Although Colin had told Mary that he harbored no feelings at all for Catherine, he did pity the girl. Unlike other prostitutes hardened from years of work, Catherine was new to the field and still quite young. She still walked with her head held high, as if she were a proper lady. Their meetings were more opportunities for Colin to confide his problems and listen to hers rather than for "business" transactions. Money changed hands but more often than not Colin did not care to sleep with her. He felt he was paying her more for her time than anything else. Bedding a woman he didn't love brought him no solace, and now that Mary knew about the little affair he felt it only served to drive her further away. Maybe that's what he wanted in the first place. Conflict stewed in him and pushed his emotions in all directions. One moment he loved Mary, the next he despised her. The next moment he never wanted to see Catherine again and blamed her for Mary's rejection and then he found himself in Catherine's waiting arms, ending his night not with bliss but with tears which she so patiently endured and tried her best to quell.

Colin's first meeting with Catherine was quite unintended and had come about after a long night of drinking. He and his so-called friends (really just a group of young men who had nothing better to do than waste their father's money at the pub or gambling tables and with whom Colin could indulge his unmet needs by way of women, ale, and carousing) had been forcibly ejected from the pub for rowdy behavior and wandered the streets in need of warm company – which they readily found. Now Colin could not stop himself from running to her whenever he became angry or resentful – or lonely. She bore the brunt of the intensity of his feelings and accepted it all without question or complaint. She even seemed to care for him, holding his hand or petting his hair as he fell apart in her arms.

He would have to put an end to it, this relationship with Catherine. Not immediately, but eventually. For the time being, he needed her too much and hated himself for his weakness. The day lay before him, empty as any other day and waiting for him to give it meaning. Days otherwise spent with Mary or Dickon were now spent in town, at the pub, with Catherine, or in the library where he perfected the art of brooding. Now and again he went riding but lost interest when he realized he had nowhere meaningful to go. His life had been too wrapped up in Misselthwaite; even during the war. He hadn't made any true friends while in the service, and longed every day to be home again.

Home again he was, and never had he thought he would feel so unwelcome -- like a stagehand making himself seen during a play. Even his father and Mrs. Medlock, Ben and Martha were wrapped up in Mary. He should have been chosen, not Dickon. He should be in the middle of that whirlwind of planning, the joy and the excitement of what was to come. Now he simply existed on the periphery. Perhaps he should have stayed in his bed and never learned to walk. It was Mary who started the process of healing him, and without her he felt stripped of everything he'd worked so hard to gain. What was it for, without her?

A short knock sounded at the door, rousing Colin from his reverie.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened and Martha stepped in. "Begging your pardon, Master Colin." She curtsied.

"Yes, what is it, Martha?"

"Dickon," she said and then paused. "Me brother would like to speak with you."