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Thoughts of Dickon and Sounds in the Wind

 

It was winter on the moor. All the trees were barren and stiff, and the ground was covered in a light, feathery snow. The wind whipped wildly around the outer walls of Misselthwaite Manor. A bright fire burned gaily in the fireplace around which sat Mary and her cousin Colin. They had been talking all night as neither one could sleep with the storm raging on outside.

            Mary got up from her sitting position and walked over to the latched windows. Taking the window coverings in her hand, she pulled them aside and squinted out into the sea of whiteness. “It’s terribly frightful out there.” Even inside, she had to talk loud to be heard over the whistling of the wind. “Hear the wind?”

            “Yes Mary.” Colin sounded impatient and bored. He always sounded that way.

            Mary eagerly went on. “Isn’t it something? The wind?”

            “What ever are you talking about cousin?” He turned from the fire and joined Mary by the window.

            “Why, the wind Colin, the wind.” Her cousin stared blankly at her. “ Oh never mind. It’s not important.”

            “I don’t understand you sometimes Mary.”

            Mary scowled at this and flopped onto the floor. The heavy drapes fell back to the window with a loud ‘thud.’  Why did Colin have to be so simple minded? He never looked deeper into things. He always just saw the outside. After five years at Misselthwaite Mary had learn that it was rather hard to convince Colin of anything that required too much imagination. Whenever she tried to share something beautiful with him, like the wind tonight, it went right over his head. He was content with having his father back, and he wanted nothing more.

            If Dickon were here, he would understand what Mary heard in the wind. Dickon found all the wonders in everything. That what was so perfect about him. She sighed at the thought of Dickon and thought back to the garden. It was Dickon who had taught her how to see everything in nature; how to make things grow. Just as with every passing moment her love for him grew stronger and stronger.

            “Mary? Mary?” Colin was calling to her.

            “Wha- oh, Colin. Yes, what is it now?” She hated when her cousin became demanding and sour like he was now.

            “Do you want some tea?”

            “Isn’t it a little late for tea?” Actually, tea would have been very nice, but he was starting to irritate her and she felt the urge to do the same to him.

            “Well I just thought it would be nice.”

            “You have your tea Colin. I’m going to bed!” Mary proclaimed as she quickly stood up and made her way to the door.

            “To bed? Whatever for?” If there was one thing Colin hated, it was being walked out on like Mary was doing now.

            “Yes Colin, to bed. It’s what one does when one is tired.”  She put an exaggerated expression of fatigue on her face. “Good night.” She gave a stomp of her foot to further frustrate her cousin and spun on her heel, her skirts twirling around her ankles.

            Halfway down the hallway she ran into something. “Eh, Miss Mary, is tha’ you?”

            “Sorry Martha.” Mary grinned at the young maid. “It’s awfully hard to see in the corridors.”

            “Right ye are Miss. I was just comin’ down to fetch ye. I thought it was about time you two got some rest.” She held up her lantern and said in her usual, cheery manner, “And I brought ye a light. I knew it would be hard to find yer way back with most of the lights blown out from the drafts.”

            “Thank you Martha.”

            “Right, well come along then Miss.”

They walked silently through the damp corridors. Martha was right; a chilling draft swept its way through the old house. The lantern flickered and the light softened, but at last they had reached Mary’s room. “In yeh go then Miss.”

“Good night Martha.” Mary gave the girl a hug.

“Good night Miss Mary. Sleep well. An’ don’ forget to close the curtain around yer bed to keep warm.”

“Alright Martha. Thank you again.” Mary entered her room and listened as Martha’s footsteps slowly died away outside her door. She slipped out of her dress and pulled on her nightgown. The cold swept over her like a fever and she immediately got into bed, pulling the curtains closed and burying herself under the covers.

“Much better,” she mused to herself.

The wind was now howling outside. Mary shuddered to think about how cold it must be out beyond the walls of Misselthwaite. Once again she found herself thinking about Dickon. ‘I do hope Dickon is not out somewhere on the moor. No, he would have known the storm was coming. I’m sure he got back home before it hit.’ But she found herself worrying about him all the same. She was muttering to herself, trying to reassure his safety. ‘Dickon knows what he’s doing. He’s so smart, so perfect…” She was drifting off to sleep now. ‘Mmm, what a queer wind.’

Above the howling, the soft, melodic tune of a flute had reached her ears. But the night had consumed Miss Mary, and the song was lost on her slumber.