Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a fairy, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping
than you can understand.

 

“Stolen Child”-Yeats

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

‘Dickon was wrong’, Mary thought vaguely, “I could never get sick of roses.”

 

She was standing outside of the Secret Garden, looking up at the pillars of the encasing walls and even amongst the highest trees it could not escape her attention that the laughing roses were peeking through the looming leaves. Honeysuckle wove its lace along the foliage-encrusted scene, its scent flying upon its rugs of gentle breeze. The ribbed-caged leaves stroked Mary’s cheek as she pushed through the willowy wines that ensnared the oak door. With a hard push she was able to free the door, aware that it would not be locked. Not with Dickon tending the garden. Her heart thumped curiously at the thought, and because of this Mary barely had time to acknowledge the erupting beauty that sprung joyously from its prison of secrecy.

 

Every sense was consumed by mind-numbing serenity, her entire body seeping with petal-kissed beauty. Mary’s heart constricted at the very image, her eyes watering for a moment as she gazed upon the silent perfection. The air itself was shimmering. She bent down and took off her India-designed slippers, revealing her pearl-laden feet. She daintily skipped down the entrance stairs, her pale fingers brushing the wild stems springing from the passing branches. She placed one hand over her straw hat to prevent it from being knocked down and the other to slightly push away the incoming branches. Mary peeked through the foliage, a smile lighting her innocent face as her eyes settled upon the magic that had saved her as a child. Finally, spring had awoken from its slumber. Wild flowers jumped gaily amongst the lavender thicket, towering trees guarding its Queen. It was a fey-rimmed realm.

 

Enchantment was sprinkled throughout the Garden as though Aphrodite herself blew her kiss. Sunlight reflected off each sprite-pecked petal, springing off and shimmering against each bouncing particle of golden fairy dust. Mary closed her eyes, savouring this sweet sense of innocence. Scarce was heard amongst this fair-swept enchantment, coupled with the sweet music of the rustling branches, the swaying swing and red-breasted robin’s on the stately earthworm prowl. The rippling of the silver-crested pond nearby lay seemingly motionless, though Mary was quite certain that a mystical goddess was in fact living at the bottom of the blue depths. Mary could see her now, in fact. Her hair spread out amongst the moving ripples, her silver eyes staring up in delight trying to catch rays lacing in and out like flighty birds through the pond. Her blue skin was enveloped in its silvery scales, her bubbling laughter frothing the surface. Willow trees hung gaily throughout the Garden, suspended by sweeping magic. Halos of sunlight danced in chaotic rhythm to the beat of Mother Nature, laughing gleefully. Rays of hazy sun drifted through the foliage and rested lazily upon moss-ripened glen.

 

Mary cocked her head thoughtfully. ‘Where was Dickon?’ She continued along her path, searching with a confused air. Her spicy brown eyes scanned the mystic-glossed Garden in search of the boy, amusement fading away into curiosity. She stepped on her toes and peeked through various branches, but no sign of her older friend was in sight. Mary wandered about for a moment or two, her eyebrows quirked in thoughtful concentration, before she moved up towards the majestic swing, by far the highest point in the Garden. But with a quick glance around she sighed with restrained disappointment. Perhaps he had errands to run, ever since he was employed as full-time help at Misselthwaite, it was slowly becoming a rarity that she had the chance to meet with him here.

 

Mary’s finger played restlessly against the coarse rope of the swing in frustrated silence. Everything was changing. These days it was as though Dickon was purposefully avoiding her, politely refusing to look her way. However Mary knew that they were still connected, especially when she would catch his intense gaze staring at her from afar. It meant nothing, she was sure. She knew the sad truth that adulthood would be in their near futures, especially with the coming of that damned corset. But even if they would one day wed and grow apart, to Mary, Dickon Sowerby would forever remain the lovable boy who could charm animals.

 

With another swift glance ahead of her, Mary shook her head in silence and moved towards the swing. As she was about to sit down, she was entirely oblivious to the rustling of the branches behind her. She was aware, however, when she felt the comforting pressure of two sturdy hands clasping her around her slender waist and lifting her up into the air. Her straw hat was flung to the ground. Mary let out a surprised shriek as she was suddenly off her feet and thus clutched the arms that held her up in terror, her knuckles whitening in shock.

 

“Put me down, put me down!” She cried, half laughing.

 

She heard a boyish laugh from behind her, and instantly she relaxed. She could recognize that Yorkshire lilt anywhere. Still chuckling, Dickon set her down and instantly swerved away as Mary swivelled to punch him lightly in the arm. She ignored the flip in her stomach and instead clapped him on the arm.

 

“You, you swine!” Mary cried, a smile lighting her face. “You scared the living daylights out of me! You’re acting just like Colin, you know.”

 

Dickon feigned mock despair and knelt down and clasped his hands together, as though begging for forgiveness. He first tipped his own cap in respect, then proceeded to pick up her strayed straw hat and held it up like a peace-offering.

 

“Forgive me Miss, I saw tha’ standin’ there and thee were as pretty as a robin, so I though’ to meself, now there’s a maid who would fancy a flyin’ lesson as well.”

 

Mary burst out laughing and turned around abruptly, snatching her hat back in the process. Still chuckling, she walked away from the swing, towards where the Princess of India sat enshrined by a meadow of lavender flowers. Pausing for a moment, she turned back still holding her straw hat, and spoke up, purposely flaunting a snobby voice.

 

“And here I was, thinking that you were such a fine gentlemen, and this how my kind thoughts have been repaid. Well, oh odious one, you may depart from my divine presence, as I prefer to have my royal feet stay forever loyal to the ground.”

 

With that Mary swung around and walked away. Dickon stood up slowly, a crooked smile sketched along his boyish face. He had to admit, he was acting quite enthusiastic today. He was not himself, but he was never truly himself whenever he was near Mary. Dickon stared as she gently lowered herself amongst a thrush of lavender flowers, her pale blue muslin lace spreading along the ground like spilled honey. Her chestnut hair was straying in fine wisps around her hair, and he felt his gut clench. Mary leaned down and plucked a flower, gently twirling it to her nose. However all was not perfect. There were times when Dickon could trace every emotion that would pass through Mary, though these days she seemed to be guarded. But as she plucked another flower, he could notice a flash of fretful sadness disappear like lightning across her face. His face drew into a more serious attitude as his eyebrows bunched together in a more confused state. He slowly walked up to her, wondering what could be the matter.

 

Mary saw him coming out of the corner of her eye, sighing at her trembling heart. His lean, sturdy body was no boys, and definitely no gentleman’s either. He was dressed in his work pants, suspenders wrapped over a thin material shirt, the top unbuttoned revealing part of his upper chest. Mary shifted over so that Dickon could lower himself down beside her, crossing his legs. Flowers enveloped them like an enchanting toxin. He took off his cap and placed it on the ground, revealing his mussed brown hair. Dickon stared at her, waiting for a moment to catch her eye. Mary donned him a wavering smile. Dickon usually knew best to give her space during times like this, such as whenever she talked about her parents, but he felt as though this were different somehow.

 

“Miss Mary, t’is somethin wrong? Tha’ seems to be distressed today.”

 

Mary stared at him in surprise, her face pale. Did he know about her feelings? Good God, it would be horrendous if he had any clue. Dickon gazed at her with friendly concern, waiting for an answer. Mary sighed; she might as well tell him part of the truth. The previous amusement slowly drifted from her eyes as she plucked yet another flower from the ground. Her face was drawn with apprehensive weariness, her eyes taking on a sad form.

 

“I’m to be introduced into society, Dickon. I’m going to have a coming-out ball next week. Apparently, according to Miss Medlock, I am that of an age to show the world that I am now a woman.” Mary laughed at this statement. “Though I feel like a child most of the time anyway.”

 

Dickon didn’t even blink an eye.

 

“Why, Miss Mary, why are tha’ so saddened by this? Yeh get to dres’ up nice and fancy, an’ I know you well enouh’ to know that thee sometime’ dres’ up in tha’ mam’s dresses for fun, this time t’is for real.”

 

Mary flung the lavender flower to the side.

 

“You don’t understand, Dickon. This isn’t about playing dress-up in my mother’s evening gowns. It means that I am to show the world that I am an adult. I don’t want to grow up, I don’t want to go to debutante balls and pretend I’m happy.”

 

Suddenly she became nervous, looking down shyly.

 

“It also means that I am to begin looking for marriage prospects. Miss Medlock is quite adamant that I marry and marry well. I, I don’t…”

 

For the life of her Mary could not finish her sentence, instead staring away at the swaying swing. She caught a glimpse of Dickon’s face, pure stoicism. All he did was stare at her softly, his eyes softening in concern. Mary could not resist a stab of disappointment. What did she expect? An outraged cry, a body trembling with anger? Dickon didn’t say a word, just continued to stare at her unwaveringly. She felt tears well up in her eyes, he didn’t care, and he never would. Mary stood up abruptly, the lavender petals lying on her lap swiftly falling to the ground, falling from grace. Dickon got up slowly, his eyes never releasing hers. He was taller then her, and Mary refused to strain her neck to look up to him, instead staring at the door.

 

“I, I should go. Miss Medlock would like for me to have a gown fitting as soon as possible. Now is as good as a time as any.”

 

She let herself have one single glance at him.

 

“Goodbye Dickon”, she said softly, turning around and hurrying out the door.

 

As soon as Mary left the gardens she burst into tears and ran as fast as she could to the manor, in case Dickon would see her crying. However, if she had remained a few moments more in the encaged doors, she would have noticed how Dickon hadn’t moved from his spot, staring vacantly at the door. His fists were clenched and his body was tense with surprised emotion. His beautiful blue eyes, normally so full of life, were dull and cold as any Yorkshire winter.

 

 

I actually feel the need to apologize about this chapter, I think it’s kind of dumb, but right now it is 2:00 in the morning so please forgive me. I believe I represented Dickon in a completely different way then I wanted to portray him, so don’t be surprised at possible future changes to this chapter.