Important A/N at the bottom.

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Chapter Four

Dickon made the walk from his cottage to the Misselthwaite gardens in less than an hour. His feet seemed to step more lightly and the thought of seeing Mary again propelled him through the gorse and heather of the moor. He met with Ben Weatherstaff in one of the outer gardens where the older man was clipping a horse-shaped topiary.

“What’s this, Mr. Weatherstaff?” he asked cordially. He’d never seen the ma gar gardener take on such an artistic endeavor.

“Master Colin wanted a “representation” of his horse. I says, ‘I canna do that, Master Colin,’ but he insists. Sends me a man who knows how to do these things – he’s just over there taking tea with Mrs. Medlock.” Ben pointed out toward the house where indeed a small table and chairs was set up. A gray haired man dressed in a suit sat across from Mrs. Medlock. It appeared they had struck up a friendship of some sort as Mrs. Medlock leaned over the table toward him every now and then and laughed uproariously whenever he spoke to her.

Dickon watched the spectacle for a moment. “Who is he?”

“He’s sent here to help us with th’ gardens,” said Ben roughly as he snipped the delicate branches with sharp pruning shears. “Some help he is, too. Carted a half-done horse here and set it down, told me to finish it.”

“He brought that here?”

“Says he grew it in his garden an’ he’ll teach me with it.” The man’s face took on a very sour expression and he shook his head. “Work without a point, lad.”

“Aye,” agreed Dickon. He was not accustomed to trying to craft flowers and trees into shapes unnatural to them.

“Tha’d best hurry and get to that garden before Medlock see yeh,” said Ben. “Or she’ll have thee carving an elephant for th’ve nve next! All their gardens will go to ruin but they will have a right green zoo to look upon!” He spat on the ground next to the “horse.”

“I’ll see you at noonday, Mr. Weatherstaff,” said Dickon, and headed off to the locked garden. He alone had the key now as primary caretaker. Ben had left him to it in years past and Dickon had full run of the place. Now that Mary was home, Dickon wondered if she’d request the key again. It was she who found it those long years ago; it was only right for her to want it, but Dickon had grown protective of it and wasn’t sure he wanted to give it up just yet. He decided to wait until it was requested; he would not offer it.

Dickon set about his work, every now and then stopping to see if Mary might be coming for a visit. There was no sign of her. Dickon kept watch over the house as he ate his lunch under the ivy near the door of the walled garden. Just after twelve, Mary and Colin appeared on the doorstep, dressed for riding. Dickon watched as Colin ordered his horse brought to him and in a few moments he was mounted upon a beautiful stallion. Mary waited by the door as Colin beckoned to her. She shook her head. Dickon ached to know what they were saying – did she not want to go riding with Colin? If not, why? Colin’s voice was carried by the breeze to where Dickon hid; he must have been angry because his voice grew louder and louder until his words were finally distinguishable.

“Please yourself, Mary Lennox!” Colin spat angrily and sped off on his horse.

Mary looked toward the gardens again; there was no way she could see Dickon, he was too well hidden by the ivy. He held his breath as she walked toward him, down a footpath and into the brush. She was humming softly to herself, a tune Dickon did not recognize. He wondered whether he should make his presence known; in only a minute she might tread him him.

He was about to call to her when Mary spoke.

“You’re as contrary as ever, Mary Lennox…Please yourself! Humph! What does he know? He’s just a spoiled little—“

It was at this moment that Dickon shifted and Mary snapped her head to look in his direction.

“Dickon!”

Having been discovered, Dickon stood and straightened his clothing. “Good afternoon, Miss Mary,” he said politely.

“What were you doing there?”

“I was eating a bit before I get back to work.”

“Ah. You should come inside and have cook make you something; we have more than enough.”

“Thank you, Miss Mary,” he responded.

Mary’s attention turned to the garden. “Have you the key?”

“The key?”

“Yes, I’d like to go in.”

Dickon nodded. “Aye.”

Mary went to the door and waited. Dickon followed her and opened the door for her, allowing her to enter first. As she moved past him, Dickon could smell perfume on her hair. He followed slowly behind her, taking care not to seem too eager to be near. He watched as she surveyed the vines and flowers, stopping in front of the pink sweetheart roses that had just come into bloom.

“I don’t remember these,” she said, touching the petals gently. “Are they new?”

“Aye,” replied Dickon. “Me mother thought they were fair the colour of the ‘blush on a young girl’s cheeks in spring’. She said thee would like them.”

“And I do. Thank her for me, will you? And thank you also for putting them in. They’re easily the most beautiful roses I’ve seen.” Mary walked further on to the crocus and lilies. “We did not tend to a garden in school. There’s very little space for such things in the crowded city. I think most of the girls could have used a bit of earth, though. It did wonders for me.”

Dickon listened to her muse aloud, almost to herself. Her face showed the intensity of thought as one has when recalling the past.

“Of course,” she said as she turned to face him. “I can’t say it was the entire garden by itself. You and Colin and Martha – even Mrs. Medlock, Ben and the others all played a part.”

“And the Magic, Miss Mary,” reminded Dickon.

“Yes. That, too. It was ever so long ago. At leit sit seems that way now. We’re all grown up.”
She sighed, plucking a blossom from one of the cornflowers that carpeted the north section of the secret garden.

Dickon couldn’t tell if Mary favored one person over another as she named them but took a bit of pride in that he was mentioned first – after the garden, of course. These little things stood as signs that perhaps she thought of him in a different light, or maybe she always did. He would not allow himself to reveal that he’d loved her for many years, though this confession lingered on the tip of his tongue and at times his heart felt it would burst with the revelation. Now, there was Colin to think about -- Colin who had status and money; Colin who could offer Mary so much more by way of material possessions and creature comforts.

The marriage of cousins was now more frowned upon but Dickon was not sure this would stop Mary and Colin if they were in love. Yet he had no evidence of such devotions; Mary seemed more annoyed with Colin than anything else.

Dickon abandoned this train of thought when Mary approached him. She stood just a foot away from him and looked into his eyes and Dickon thought he could be taken in by her gaze forever. “Dic“Dickon, I wanted to tell you something,” she began.

At that moment, Colin’s voice could be heard over the stone walls and Mary started. She quickly stepped away from Dickon and looked expectantly toward the door where Colin appeared a moment later.

“Mary! I was wondering where you’d got to.” Colin entered the garden and nodded to Dickon, then turned back to Mary.

Dickon watched this interaction curiously; Colin, trying to impress her and Mary, inching away from him and toward the door.

“You should’ve come riding, Mary – you missed everything!” Colin rambled.

Mary looked to Dickon exasperatedly.

“Come on, now, let’s get inside and have some tea—“ Colin said, reaching for Mary’s hand which she pulled out of reach.

“I’ll be right in,” she said, dismissing Colin with a curt wave.

“Don’t dally around here, Medlock’s expecting us and I have so much to tell you about my horse – he was so spirited today I was nearly thrown. Of course I’m far too good a horseman for that to happen but—“

“Yes, Colin. I’ll be right along.”

Colin nodded to Dickon again and turned on his heel, visibly agitated.

“I’ll talk to you later, Dickon, if that’s all right?” she asked.

Dickon smiled good naturedly as Mary exited the lush garden. What had she wanted to tell him? He’d almost cursed Colin in his mind when they were interrupted. He thrust his hand into his pocket and fingered the item still safe and sound in his possession. The key to the garden. Perhaps he held much more than just the brass key to a magic garden; he could only hope that he would one day hold Mary’s affection as well.




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A/N I'm not all that happy with this chapter but I'm still working out a few things. I'm sorry it's taken me ages to update. I've been extremely busy with much work and just haven't had any time to really ponder the story. So far I have left out references to WWI. Thank you for the beautiful reviews and your loyal readership. I will try my best to get you another chapter soon and start some of that good old fashioned lovin' soon ;)

All comments welcome. If you leave yur email with your review, I will send you a note when I update. Thank you so much for the GREAT reviews. It is so kind of you all to take the time to guide me on this little journey that I've always wanted to explore. I hope this story fulfills what you're looking for in a SG fic.

I will be adding more variety of location and developing the characters more and getting those secondary characters a bit more involved, too.

Thanks again,
Nee

PS Ashley, you're absolutely right! I edited Chapter Two to reflect that Mary does not have the key. I'd forgotten about that! Thank you so much for pointing it out:)