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The trio had settled themselves on Mary’s bed. Colin was propped on a fat pillow against the headboard. Mary, feet tucked underneath her, sat beside him. Miss Edmonds had arranged herself at the foot of the bed, having been pulled away from her unpacking by the eager pleas of her new charges. With a tired smile, the governess finally consented to tell them a story from her childhood.
“This, I have been told, is a true story, but you can believe what you will.” She paused to arrange her skirts more suitably. “In a town not far away lived a girl about Mary’s age by the name of Aryllis.”
“That would mean she was my age, too,” Colin interrupted, not wanting to be left out.
“Yes, indeed,” Miss Edmonds patiently continued as Mary glared at her cousin. “She lived in an old house with her mother and her mother’s parents. This house, which was all covered in ivy along the front, was very, very old, and had been home to this family for generations.”
“Was it as old as Misselthwaite Manor?” Colin again interrupted.
“I don’t think so, but it is not important,” Miss Edmonds replied, smiling at his eagerness.
“Do be quiet, Colin. I wish to hear the story!” Mary said, irritably.
“In this house,” Miss Edmonds continued, “on the landing of the great stairway, sat a very handsome grandfather clock. This clock was, as far as anyone knew, as old as the house and had sat in its place since the house was built. The clock had always run flawlessly, keeping perfect time—so perfect, in fact, that people from the nearby town would set their clocks to it.
“It had always been tradition for the eldest man of the family to tend the clock. His duty was to clean, set, and maintain the clock, and then teach his eldest son when the time came.
“Aryllis’ grandfather, whom she adored, was the current keeper of the grandfather clock. Every Sunday he would wind the clock, and twice a year he would clean it. Aryllis and he would always spend time after the Sunday winding, sitting on the landing by the base of the large clock, talking and telling stories. Aryllis never tired of hearing about her grandfather’s youth, or the marvelous stories he would create just for her.
“One day Aryllis’ grandfather said she should learn how to take care of the clock, since her father had died and there was no one else. Aryllis was shocked. Never before had anyone but the eldest man taken care of the great timepiece. She worried she was not capable. He grandfather smiled and assured her she was. Still she worried over her new responsibility.
“Aryllis watched and listened carefully while her grandfather instructed her how to wind and clean the clock. After a few months she began doing it herself while her grandfather patted her shoulder and reassured her she would do just fine.
“Fourteen months went by while Aryllis carefully tended the clock and shared stories and opinions with her grandfather every Sunday. Aryllis looked forward to these special times like nothing else. It was on just such a Sunday that Aryllis woke from an afternoon nap and realized she had overslept. She hurried down the stairs to meet her grandfather for their weekly ‘clock meeting.’ He was not there, so she waited, not wanting to wind the clock by herself. He did not come. After a time she wondered what was keeping her grandfather and went to find him. Her mother told Aryllis he was napping in the parlor and told her to wake him for dinner.
“He was lying on the couch, the room dim in the evening’s fading light. Aryllis gently shook her grandfather’s shoulder. He did not stir. She softly spoke his name. Still he did not move. Alarmed she called to her mother, who found that her grandfather had passed away in his sleep.
“Two days later Aryllis was climbing the stairs after her grandfather’s funeral when she realized she had not wound the clock. With horror, she saw it had stopped. Never before had anyone known it to have ceased its faithful ticking. Aryllis quickly wound it and set its hands to the proper time. With heavy feet and heavier heart, she went to bed.
“The next morning when she came down for breakfast, she found to her horror the clock again silent and still. With tears of frustration, she tried to get the clock to run, but it would not.
“Angry at herself for failing her grandfather in her simple task, she sat down next to the clock and wept.
“’Grandfather,’ she said between sobs, ‘I’m so sorry but I can’t get the clock to run. Please forgive me.’ As she sat crying into her skirts, her mother came to fetch her for breakfast.
“Seeing her daughter’s grief, she began trying to comfort her, but the girl was inconsolable.
“’I failed grandfather. I can’t get the clock to run!’ Aryllis told her mother.
“’What do you mean? The clock is running just fine. See?’ She pointed to the clock, which now ticked smoothly and showed the correct time.
“Aryllis slowly dried her tears and watched the clock for many moments, wondering what had happened. Still without an answer, she went off to breakfast. Aryllis checked the clock after breakfast, and still it ran. Unexplainably, from that day on the clock never stopped running, nor did it need to be wound or cleaned. Somehow, Aryllis knew, her grandfather was still tending the clock, and every Sunday evening she would sit for an hour on the landing, listening to its rhythmic ticking, and think of it as her grandfather’s heartbeat.”
“That can’t be true. Clocks can’t wind themselves.” Colin flipped his hand in the hair, as if brushing the whole thing away.
“Well, the idea is that the grandfather came back in spirit to comfort his granddaughter and continue the clock’s tradition. I think it’s a lovely idea. How about you, Mary?”
Mary thought about this a moment.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen any evidence of spirits or such, but perhaps I haven’t been looking either.” After a slight pause, and a loud sniff from Colin, Mary added, “I did like the story, however. It was different from the ones my Ayah used to tell.”
“Your Ayah was the woman who raised you?” Miss Edmonds asked, trying to remember what little Mary had said about her past.
“Yes.” Mary was overtaken by a large yawn. “I think I had better go to bed now.” She slipped off the bed so she could pull down the covers.
Colin took the hint and relinquished his borrowed pillow as he, too, left the bed.
“Mary! Why don’t we show Miss. Edmonds the Secret Garden tomorrow!” Colin’s delicate features lit up at the spark of a pleasing idea.
“You have a garden that’s secret? Perhaps I shouldn’t go there.” Miss Edmonds began smoothing the blankets around Mary.
“It’s not secret any more, but it was for ten years. We found it last year and brought it back to life.” Mary watched with detached interest as her governess snugged the covers about her. “What are you doing?”
Miss Edmonds paused, surprised.
“I’m tucking you in,” she said, thinking this would explain everything. It didn’t.
“What’s that?” Colin asked, warming his hands by the hearth.
“For heaven’s sake! Haven’t either of you been tucked in before?” Both young heads shook in reply.
“I don’t know if I can explain it. It’s just something that adults do for children. My mother did it for me nearly every night of my life until she was too ill.” She struggled for words, not knowing how to explain this simple act taken for granted by most children.
“It was nice.” Mary was surprised at the pleasure this little moment had brought her. It seemed a warm tingling made her happy and comfortable. Perhaps Miss Edmonds was doing magic, just as Colin and she had done in the garden, and as Dickon did with his creatures.
“Father sometimes walks me to my room.” Colin paused a moment as if considering something. “I would like to be tucked in, too,”
Miss Edmonds smiled, curious at his stiff yet hesitant manner.
“I would be glad to, Colin. Lead the way.”
