Chapter Three
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 manners, 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 tha 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 north west and Mary went to the window to peer out over the grounds.
"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 keeping 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 see 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 you."
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 she catch 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.