Mistress of Misselthwaite

Chapter 4

Mary let out a gasp. 

The lovely garden she'd once played in sat in disarray. The carefully weeded flowerbeds were overgrown with thick weeds that had choked out the flowers trying to grow. The rose bushes lay bare and a deep brown color that made Mary believe they'd truly died. 

The pear and apple trees were covered by ivy so thick they had no leaves of their own. What few flowers had bloom were wilting now, and their petals lay scattered across the ground. The tree canopy that had once covered the majority of the open space was completely free of leaves, leaving long, bar-like shadows on the ground. 

Look at the garden now, Mary couldn't help but think this was what London looked like after an air raid. She swallowed the lump in her throat, wishing desperately to cry, but she had not been one to cry as a child, not even when her parents had died. Now, Mary resolved that she would not waste tears things that could not be fixed, and she definitely would not waste them on those that could.

The garden was not beyond repair. It wasn't possible to restore it to its former glory before the season ended, but by next spring, Mary was certain the garden could be beautiful again. 

"Cousin Mary!"

Mary jumped as Colin's voice startled her out of her melancholic reverie. She turned around and reached for the door knob just as it twisted from the other side. Mary stepped back as Colin opened the door. 

He hadn't thought to move the curtain of ivy aside, instead reaching through it to grip the handle and leaned with the door as it opened. It had left Colin completely entangled in ivy with only his head visible on Mary's side of the garden.

"What on earth are you doing here?" he asked. "One of the maids told me you'd gone out at the crack of dawn!"

"I couldn't sleep. So, I came and visited Ben Weatherstaff," she explained. 

Mary gently pushed Colin into the path outside the garden, freeing him from his leafy chains. She ducked beneath the ivy and stepped onto the path, closing the door behind her.

"I wish I could have slept longer," Colin complained. "But Father insists we rise early with the war. Although, I'm not sure what he thinks we'll do."

"You are quite spoiled, aren't you?" Mary scoffed.

Together they walked down the lane of walled gardens and back to the kitchen gardens in relative silence. 

"Did you come for something?" Mary finally asked.

"Oh, yes," Colin said, breaking out of his strange, quiet stupor. He held up a basket. "Breakfast. The maid said you hadn't eaten, and I thought it would be nice to go out to one of the gardens and have a picnic."

Mary smiled, her irritation from earlier having all but vanished. They continued past the manor and went along the orchard path, where, upon finding a nice cherry tree, spread out the blanket in the basket and placed all the things the kitchen maid had packed for their breakfast.

There were croissants and two thick slices of ham. No clotted cream because of dairy and sugar rationing, but plenty of cherry and peach preserves made from the gardens and rationed quite judiciously throughout the last few years of war.

The two ate their fill in silence. Whatever Colin had come for, for Mary was sure he wanted something, was not discussed while they were eating, and when they had finished, both seemed nostalgic and so their talk turned to childhood whimsy.

Despite his nonchalance, Colin seemed saddened by the state of the garden, too. "I had not thought it would go unkempt," he said, stretching his back out along the trunk of the tree. "I had not imagined we had so few workers."

"It's the war," Mary murmured, enjoying the shade. She sat up straighter with determination. "I'm going to fix it. I'll bring it back to life."

"Like when we were children." Colin leaned over to her with a gleam in his eye. "With me in my chair, cushions and blankets arranged like a throne. We had a jolly time, didn't we? Keeping it a secret? Do you remember how we used to taunt the footman that he wasn't carrying me correctly? I didn't want Father to know I was getting well. I wanted to tell him myself."

"We were quite naughty children," Mary admitted with a laugh. "Sometimes I think we had no right to be that happy when we were such terrible, wicked creatures."

"Don't say that. Doesn't everyone deserve happiness?"

Mary was too overcome with the past to answer Colin's question. "Of course, the fun began long before I met you," she said. "There was Martha with the skipping rope, and Dickon with my gardening tools. We spent many happy days in the garden, working away while the robin watched. And you remember Dickon's Magic. Animals followed him everywhere. It was never dull with him."

Colin's face had grown cold. "Don't speak to me of Dickon," he said petulantly, suddenly pulling away from her. 

"Must you be such a nasty boy? Dickon always loved you. Why, he even helped you, when you were learning to walk!"

At this, Colin softened. "I know. It's just that... Mary, why am I a boy?"

She laughed. "The same reason that I'm a girl."

"No," he persisted. "I'm not a boy any longer. I'm a gentleman."

"Are you?" She raised an eyebrow. 

"Don't laugh at me, Mary. You—you're not a girl. I'm not a boy. Couldn't you see me as something other than a boy?"

Colin was quite pitiable with his desperate tone, but a deep longing in his eyes made Mary whisper, "Yes," even though she didn't know just what she was agreeing, too.

Colin could see the confusion in her face and huffed. "Never mind." He gathered up their basket. "I must get back to the house, but please stay as long as you like."

Mary laid back on the blanket, resting her hands on her stomach. 

What a peculiar boy Colin was. How could they be anything other than a boy and a girl?

Above her, the robin landed on one of the cherry branches and chirped at her as if asking the same question.