Mary
Lennox hadn’t expected to feel so differently toward the boys when she came
home. She meant for it to be like old times; even as they grew older she barely
recognized the changes but here they were now in full force, daring her to try
and overlook them. Dickon and Colin had become men. When had it happened? Did
they look that way when she’d last visited? She couldn’t remember. It all felt
so sudden, as if the winds had shifted and time quickened its pace.
The girl’s school she attended had been very careful about girls being taught
properly. Each morning they were awakened at the same time and each night they
obeyed the “lights out” and drifted to sleep on command. Classes in the
disciplines followed breakfast and classes on deportment and beauty followed
after. There was a prescribed way to do everything: how to handle a spoon, how
to sit, walk, speak. She’d relearned all of
mannmanners, shucking off the habits of diversity and randomness that nature
had taught her through the garden. Nature forced a bloom to grow in any
available space, but society did not agree with its philosophy. Girls had to be
trained, not allowed to grow or run wild. Mary missed the calm of an unordered
day, a day wholly her own with no restrictions, no goals to meet.
Now she had her two boys, her two men: Colin, ever the slightly obnoxious, and
Dickon, always the genuine and true. She loved them both but not equally. She’d
had to admit to herself years ago that her heart
tended to soften for one over the other but she’d never let it show. Colin
would not tolerate it if he knew; he was a jealous sort, never wanting anyone
else to have what he could not. Mary suspected this
fire inside him helped him finally get out of bed and walk so many years
before. She’d spent so much time with Dickon then, just the two of them,
tending to the garden day in and out. Sickly and weak, Colin stayed in bed,
seething. He’d always be so angry when Mary came to visit – not happy to see
her again but angry because she had left him to begin with.
This was precisely why she liked Dickon more than Colin. Dickon never showed
jealousy or spite. He worked hard without complaint, offering to take on more
if it meant easing another person’s burden. He could almost read Mary’s mind;
on many an occasion he would show up at just the right moment: when she needed
tools, he brought them. When she needed seeds or a watering can or advice, he
provided. He spoke glowingly of her to his mother and siblings so that when
word came back to Mary through either Martha or upon visits from their mother,
Mary felt very warm inside. This contrasted with Colin, whose favorite person
to speak glowingly of was always Colin.
Mary did not begrudge him his selfishness at first, for she had known what it
was to be selfish and why. Colin had been a prisoner of fear for so many years;
it was only natural that he needed to learn how to relate to other people. Now,
so many years later, he had not seemed to have grown out of it as Mary had
hoped.
And so she went on, secretly harboring a greater love for
Dickon Sowerby, the boy who was as poor as any servant, who could never offer
her the life of status and privilege that her education had sought to secure.
She’d thought no one could tell; she thought her secret was buried so deep it
was not to be found out, but she was wrong.
On the night after her arrival, Mary and Martha busied themselves in Mary’s
bedroom, putting away dresses and other clothing and toiletries. At Mary’s
insistence Martha tried on one of her gowns, a hazy white dress that reached to
the floor.
“Oh Miss Mary, it’s grand! I feel like a Princess!”
Martha said as she spun around, admiring herself in the mirror.
“It suits you,” said Mary cheerfully.
“Eh I’ve got no use for it, tho’,” Martha said sadly. “’as
thee been out in it? Do they take thee to great dances and balls?”
“I’ve been out on occasion but the school is very careful about such things.
We’re always watched.” Mary said this in a somewhat whispered and mysterious
voice. She knew Martha would be intrigued, and she was right.
“Ooh!” Martha all but squealed.
“They think they’re preparing us for society but what I think is they want to
marry us all off.”
“Don’ you want t’ get married, Miss Mary?” asked Martha as she carefully
changed back into her own black and white maid’s clothing.
“I don’t know. It sounds all well and good but what if you don’t love the man?”
“I wouldn’t marry a man I didn’t love – seems almost unnatural!”
“That’s what I think about it, Martha. I don’t think a man I should want to
marry would be caught up in whether I could balance a book on my head or not.”
“A book?” Martha asked, befuddled. “Why would tha’ want to go ‘round with a
book on tha’s head?”
Mary laughed. “It’s meant to teach you to stand up very straight. Like this.”
Mary took one of her books from her trunk and walked across the room carefully,
showing Martha how she was taught to stride without allowing the book to fall.
“Oh, it gives thee a regal air, it does,” said Martha without a hint of mirth.
“Does it?” Mary sighed. “I suppose it has a point, but I don’t want anyone who
thinks of those things so seriously. It’s fun to play,
but I don’t want a lifetime of it. I don’t think I can balance a book for that
long, anyway.”
“Tha sounds like Dickon now,” said Martha. “He doesn’t care for such things.
Give him a garden to tend – he’s good with people as well.”
At the mention of Dickon, Mary bristled. She didn’t want Martha getting too
close to her secret. Though she remained silent, Martha continued.
“I know he cares for thee as much as for his own family, Miss Mary. I can see
it in his face whenever tha’s around him. Canna you see it as well?” She did
not wait for an answer. “When thee came back to us yesterday
– I haven’t seen him happier in months.”
“Was he?” asked Mary, turning from Martha to hide her face, lest it give
her away. “I hadn’t noticed. He seemed the same old Dickon to me.”
“Aye! Tha hadn’t seen him before – when he heard thee would return to
Misselthwaite, he worked that much harder in the garden to make sure it was
ready for thee.”
“And Colin? Did he help?”
“Dickon likes to say he does but I canna say I’ve seen Colin near the garden as
of late. He takes riding lessons and occupies himself with rides into town.
Dickon stays on the moors most of the time though he will run an errand or two
for Mrs. Medlock when he’s needed. He lives in a cottage now, did you know?”
Mary turned to face Martha, her brow furrowed. “What? Doesn’t he live with your
mother anymore?”
“No, Miss Mary. He’s gone from us now – the children
have all grown so there’s no room anymore. Your Uncle found a tiny cottage on
the edge of Misselthwaite and gave it to Dickon in return for his work on the
grounds with Ben Weatherstaff.”
“Where is this cottage? I never knew of it before.” Mary’s curiosity was
piqued. She’d roamed the landscape of Misselthwaite over her tenure there as a
child but had not romped upon any kind of cottage in any direction as far as
she could see or walk.
“It’s quite far. Takes Dickon quite a while to come up here but he says he
doesn’t mind it.”
“Which direction from the house?”
“Just northeast –no, northwest. There—“ Martha
pointed
“I can’t see anything,” she said.
“Oh no, yeh canna see it from here at all.” Martha joined Mary at the window.
“But see that tree there off on the ‘orizon? If tha walks to that tree and
steady on for a good hour, it will come upon thee before thee knows it.”
“Is he there now?” Mary asked. She had an inkling to
take a night trek just to satisfy her hunger of curiosity. There was no way
she’d be allowed out what with Mrs. Medlock keep a close eye on her and being
so afraid of disasters (“Young ladies do not go out alone after dark, Mary
Lennox! Who knows what could happen?”), but she yearned to go all the same.
“I suspect so,” answered Martha. “Did you want to have a walk?”
Mary thought she picked up on something in Martha’s voice – not accusing, but
curious. “Me? Whatever for?” Covering her motives was
not Mary’s strong point.
Martha gave her a look of playfulness. Then she winked. “I may not be the
housekeeper yet,” she said. “But I do keep an eye on the house.”
“What does that mean?”
“I can keep a secret,” Martha said conspiratorially.
“I have no secrets, you know that. There’s nothing to confide.” Mary crossed
the room, suddenly tired of being questioned. “I’m quite tired right now,
Martha. Would you mind leaving me to retire? I will you you in the morning.”
Martha’s face fell. “’ave I offended thee, Miss? I didn’t mean to – I talk too
much an’—“
“No, no,” Mary reassured her friend. “It’s not you. I’ve just had so much to
think on of late. You understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, Miss Mary,” Martha replied, the hurt look still lingering in her eyes.
“None of that now, Martha. I’ll see you in the
morning.”
“Wouldst tha’ like help in dressing for bed?”
“No, I think I’ll manage, thank yo
W
With that, Martha left the room and Mary again approached the window. The small
dot of a tree on the horizon held her attention for quite some time as she
tried to devise a way of getting out without being seen. No ideas came. Even if
she could get out, what would she do when she arrived at the cottage? Simply
knock on the door and tell Dickon she’d been out for a stroll in the black of
night and had lost her way? Surely he’d insist on bringing her straight home to
safety. Surely he wouldn’t invite her inside…
Fantasies swirled in Mary’s head, scenarios playing out vividly in her mind,
all culminating with Dickon being glad to see her, inviting her inside. A
delicious thrill of the forbidden rose in her and for the first time Mary let
herself experience it without the usual fire of guilt serving as an anesthetic.
She dared to let her mind skip ahead to what the cottage looked like, where
Dickon slept, what he might be wearing. Would shech hch him in his
nightclothes? Would he have bathed and if so, would he have gone for a swim or would
he have a wash basin or tub to fill with heated water? Silly thoughts of minute
and meaningless details kept Mary’s mind occupied as she changed for bed and
finally slid between the covers and lay her head down on the plush pillow. It
was then that she began to think of what it would feel like to be in Dickon’s
bed -- forbidden, indeed…and that was when sleep took her, melding away the
fantasies and replacing them with mingling voices and shapes, random places and
faces -- the inventory of dreams.
A/N Thanks, Katherine for your review. I took your advice and came up with this
chapter. It's all off the top of my head but I hope it is all right. :) All
suggestions and corrections completely welcome. I tried to make this from
Mary's POV this time around. I'm not sure I want to try and do it from Colin's
-- I don't think I'd like to be inside hiss head:)
For Orin: About the "flowery" speech, it's the
--------------------------------------------
"Who is going to dress me?" demanded Mary.
Martha sat up on her heels again and stared. She spoke
in broad
"Canna' tha' dress thysen!" she said.
"What do you mean? I don't understand your language,"
said Mary.
"Eh! I forgot," Martha said. "Mrs. Medlock told me I'd
have to be careful or you wouldn't know what I was sayin'.
I mean can't you put on your own clothes?"
"No," answered Mary, quite indignantly. "I never did
in my life. My Ayah dressed me, of course."
"Well," said Martha, evidently not in the least aware
that she was impudent, "it's time tha' should learn.
Tha' cannot begin younger. It'll do thee good to wait
on thysen a bit. My mother always said she couldn't
see why grand people's children didn't turn out fair
fools--what with nurses an' bein' washed an' dressed an'
took out to walk as if they was puppies!"
--------------------------------------------------
I'm trying to preserve the dialect but I know it can be hard on the eyes to
deal with a lot of it. It's a good question -- should I continue with the broad
-------------------------------------------
Dickon laughed so that he was obliged to stifle the sound
by putting his arm over his mouth.
"I know tha' thinks I'm a queer lad," he said, "but I
think tha' art th' queerest little lass I ever saw."
Then Mary did a strange thing. She leaned forward
and asked him a question she had never dreamed of asking
any one before. And she tried to ask it in
because that was his language, and in
was always pleased if you knew his speech.
"Does tha' like me?" she said.
"Eh!" he answered heartily, "that I does.
I likes
thee wonderful, an' so does th' robin, I do
believe!"
"That's two, then," said Mary. "That's two fo."
."
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The book was published in 1911 and I've read many publications that say it is
set in 1911 though I don't think the year is stated in the book itself. Frances
Hodgson Burnett created Misselthewaite Manor after a country estate she stayed
in called Great Maytham Hall in
Photos and info here:
http://www.aboutbritain.com/GreatMaythamHall.htm
http://www.tryonpalace.org/pages/classpgs/d9_footpg.html
http://gen.culpepper.com/places/intl-eng/rolvenden.htm
-----------------------------------------------
On to the problem of The Great War. It started in August of 1914 -- this story
takes place in 1919. The war had ended in 1918. The big questions are: would
Colin and Dickon have been drafted to fight? In 1914 Dickon would have been
approximately fifteen years old. Is thattoo young to be drafted or to serve?
Colin would have been 13. Now Dickon would have been 17 in 1916 and 18 in 1917
so I don't know if he could escape serving in that time period but I need to
find out how the British went about that sort of thing. Unless I make this story
an AU and skip the Great War all together. I think Colin might have been able
to escape it being only 17 when the war ended. in this
story Dickon is about 20 (or will turn 20 very soon) and Mary and Colin are 18.
Thoughts?