Title: A Chance to Grow

Author: Mena

Chapter Seventeen

After dinner, Colin and his father sat down for a talk in the study while Mary and Martha talked and giggled their way up the stairs to Mary's room where they would undoubtedly talk about Martha's new good fortune and the upcoming train ride to London for Mary. Colin could tell by his father's expression that neither father nor son was going to enjoy this conversation.

"How are you, Colin?" asked Archie. "Has anything been resolved?"

"So you know all about what's been troubling us?"

"I think everyone knows, at least at the manor. I haven't been pleased to know that rumors have been spreading into town about you and your choice of company."

"Don't worry, Father. I've stopped all that so the rumors will be just that – rumors. There's no truth to any of it now. I'll not be visiting the pubs, either."

"I'm glad to hear it." Archibald steepled his fingers. "It's very important, how we appear to others. It may seem superficial, but it is one of the bedrocks of our society. Do be careful, Colin. I fear I haven't given you proper direction…"

"No, it's not you. It's my own fault, and I'm taking care of it. Things just got out of hand. It hasn't been easy on any of us. The war, getting back to 'normal' life and now Mary coming home. I don't think I was prepared for it, or thought maybe it would be different," Colin said almost to the air rather than to his father. He stared at the table for a long while.

"None of us were prepared, my son. Life tends to just throw things our way and we have to deal with it as it comes. When your mother died, I—" He paused. "I made many mistakes, too. Perhaps not in the same way, but mistakes they were all the same and you were the victim of my weakness. I never intended it."

Colin knew his father was trying to reassure him, make him feel better. They'd discussed this before, years ago.

"Do you still feel guilt over it?" asked Colin.

"Sometimes, yes. We lost so many years."

"Do you think…do you think it's wrong for me to pursue Mary?" Colin looked at his father pointedly.

"You know she is already promised to Dickon. At this point I don't think it would do any of you much good to continue this. Perhaps if it had been different I could give you my blessing, but as it stands the choice is hers and she has made it."

"Not as far as I am concerned," said Colin.

Archibald gave his son a stern look. "Meddling in it will not give you what you want. She would hate you for it in the end."

"I just mean to show her that I love her. When she went away, I thought I could forget her and she would find someone to marry from London society. Wasn't that part of the reason you had her sent there, to that school? Admit it, father. You didn't want Mary to choose Dickon or me. You sent her there to get her away from us."

The truth that Colin had known in his heart was finally out on the table, though he hadn't planned to spring it on his father under such circumstances. It was a fact he'd tried to ignore or bury, but he knew when Mary left that she didn't really want to go and Lord Craven had insisted on it for her own good. Those few years away had driven a rift between the childhood friends, and Mary had returned with no London suitor or fiancé as Archibald had hoped. His plan had backfired because Mary's heart had remained at Misselthwaite.

Archibald put his hands up to his face, almost as if to shield himself. He drew them down and laid one on top of the other, his elbows on the table. Speaking into his hands, he confirmed Colin's suspicion. "Yes, that was at least part of it."

"Why, Father?"

"You needed time, Colin. We all did. The war isn't something we can just brush under the carpet and pretend never happened. You remember when Dickon was drafted, how Martha and Mary cried. We all worried for him and I knew it was just a matter of time before they would be coming to draft you as well. When you were finally taken from us, it was the last straw. I could lose my only son, Susan Sowerby her eldest."

"Mary and I had grown closer after Dickon left for the war," Colin said.

"Yes, you did. I was glad that she at least had some comfort but at the same time we all knew it was borrowed time. The closer you became, the harder it would be when you had to leave.

Mary was miserable." He leaned forward and spoke quietly. "Don't you think it would have been unfair to keep her here under those circumstances? The house would be so quiet with you gone, and asking Mary to spend her days only with Medlock and Martha or visiting church and garden day after day…a young girl needs more than such a life. And what if the worst had befallen us? What if one – or both of you hadn't returned? I had hoped she might find it in a busy place like London where she could meet new people. I should have sent her off to Canada for all the good it did…London turned out to be less safe than I'd assumed. I should have taken us all away from Europe for a while but no one knew when the war would end."

Everything his father said made sense; of course he wanted the best for Mary. Colin had been so involved in his own matters, his own feelings that he hadn't seriously considered what life was like for Mary here at home while he and Dickon were participating in the war. He also hadn't thought about how much harder the war would have been for Dickon since he was such a gentle soul and not cut from the same cloth as soldiers. He'd seen more, having been drafted sooner. Colin's youth had spared him and his experience was limited to only a few months of training and being away from home before the war thankfully and finally ended. Had it only been a little more than a year since the armistice? The conference in Paris was still underway, and many issues still hadn't been resolved. On the world front, the Great War was still a bitter brew. At home, individual lives were forever changed though people seemed to be going about their daily business as if partial somnambulists. How petty his problems sounded in contrast to all they had been through and survived. Love could unite, but could also tear apart.

"Do you think I blame you for all of this, Father? I don't. It just happened this way; it wasn't anyone's fault. There wasn't anything that could have been done. If Mary had stayed here, you're right – she would have been even more affected by it all."

Archie looked at his son tenderly. "I know you love her, Colin. To see someone you dearly love with another man is painful, but pursuing her when she is at last happy – that isn't love at all." He rose from the table. "Think on that, Colin. For your own sake as well as hers."

Colin sat silently for a long while after his father had left the room. He'd always been a selfish sort, but his father was right. It wasn't really love if you put yourself and your own feelings first. Things would never be put to rights; one of the trio would always be on the outside looking in. The question was whether he could allow himself to be that person again, who had to sit back and watch others laugh and love after all the years he'd already been consigned to that unfortunate and miserable state. Why was the sacrifice of one necessary for the happiness of the others?

The room grew darker and the clock ticked away each minute as Colin pondered his feelings. Martha found him sitting in the dark, still at the table. Her shriek startled him and he jumped.

"Oh I'm so sorry; I thought the room was empty!" Martha exclaimed, her hand on her chest. "Would you not like the candles lit, Master Colin?"

"No thank you, Martha. I was just leaving. I'm sorry I startled you."

"Do you need help packing for your trip? I helped Miss Mary an' we just finished hers."

"Tomorrow morning would be fine, Martha."

Colin headed up to his bedroom to ready himself for retiring but a flicker of light down the hallway caught his eye. The sun had set and the lamps were now lit along the hallway but this light came from a room he understood to be empty. Curious, Colin investigated the light and was surprised to find Mary in the room, holding a lantern up to a tapestry and poking it with her index finger. "What on earth are you doing, Mary?"

Mary started and turned to face him, shining the lantern in his direction. "Oh, Colin! I didn't hear you come in." She turned back to the tapestry and poked it again. "Is this brocade?"

"You're the educated lass, didn't they teach you things like that in school? Men don't know anything about fabrics, or shouldn't I daresay." He paused, and then continued. "What are you doing in here, anyway? We don't even use this room. You can't possibly have come to inspect the curtains at this late hour."

"I used to come in here years ago – there's an adjoining door that was always locked but Medlock finally surrendered the key so I would come in and sit in the window and read. It's a corner room so the light lasts longer at the close of the day. I only just had to light this before you came in. I've been feeling a bit melancholy and didn't want to go straight to sleep just yet. I tried to catch the sun in here for reading but I've too much on my mind."

"I never knew you used this room," said Colin, wondering what other things Mary had done that he knew nothing about. She could have explored the entire house from top to bottom for all he knew. "Was this before or after we first met?"

"For a while after I came here, Medlock confined me to just my room and then when she found me wandering around she locked me in. I started complaining after a while so she gave in and allowed me access to this room. I suppose she felt it was wrong to keep a child locked up and having two rooms to play in somehow made up for it."

"I never had the notion that Medlock minded keeping children locked up," said Colin.

Mary looked at him carefully. "I'm so glad things have changed, then. She's not half as frightful as when I met her. I still remember the carriage ride after she picked me up at the station."

"You were here for some time before we even met," said Colin.

"I really did think it was a ghost crying. You kept me up many nights with the covers pulled over my head. I can't tell you how relieved I was once I found you were real." Mary smiled at the memory.

"I'm sorry for that, I didn't know. I didn't know there was anyone new in the place. They kept everything from me, even my father."

"To be fair, you were a terror to behold."

"Yes, I was. I hope I've improved since then?" He asked it as a question, wanting to draw Mary out. She moved to the center of the room where a small table and chairs were set up.

"You've improved in many ways," she said.

"I sense that you don't admire your handiwork very much?"

"My handiwork? Your cure was you, Colin. We just guided you but you did the work of it. And whatever you still need help with is also your own to remedy. Other people, they only seem to help. It's more an illusion than anything else. We're essentially alone in the world when it comes down to it."

"How depressing; you sound like I used to feel."

"It's just the way life is. Everything's been built and studied and set in motion and we just play along. Society people, common people and everyone in between." Mary walked to the door and out into the hallway. Colin joined her and they walked slowly down the corridor.

"You used to be happier, Mary."

"Yes, we all used to be happier. I have moments now but things have been going so strangely and so wrong, I don't know what to think anymore. I shouldn't even be talking about this with you."

"Why not?"

"We haven't exactly been getting along. Since I've returned so much has happened, I feel as if I'm just meeting you all over again."

"I'm sorry for all that, truly. I care about you but my feelings were so strong that I stopped seeing you and only saw what I wanted."

"But what you want hasn't changed, right Colin?" she asked.

"I can't deny that I'd love for us to be together, but it seems that to have it would cost us all dearly." They were silent for a time, then Colin confided that he had stopped seeing Catherine for good and would not be visiting the pubs anymore.

"That's wonderful, Colin. I liked the old you much better – the one I knew after the Magic but before all of this terrible folly began."

"I'm still that person, Mary. I just got a little lost for a while."

"So have we all," she said and without missing a step, took his hand. It was more than he could have hoped for.