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In Thwaite village there was a small, white cottage with toys and sweets and other items set out for sale. Mary bought a bag full of hard candies for Dickon’s sisters and brothers, and some seed packets of foxgloves and poppies carefully tied together with string by the elderly woman shopkeeper. After making her purchases, Mary was wandering in the back of the small store while Colin made a decision about which pen set to purchase. He had become convinced he needed a fine pen and pencil set in a fancy case in order to be a proper student. As her cousin tried to decide between a blue set with a spiral design or a mottled dark green and gold, Mary wandered around the small store. In a dark corner, lying in a wooden bin that smelled of earth, were flower bulbs. Mary picked one up and looked curiously at it.
“Excuse me,” she said to the shopkeeper.
The old woman, smiling widely and stooped over with age and work, turned toward her.
“Eh, dear? Have tha’ a question?” she asked, her voice soft and surprisingly strong.
“What flowers are these, here?” Mary asked, holding a bulb in the air for the woman to see.
“Tha’ found iris bulbs, there.” She paused a moment, thinking. “They be called Gold Flags, by most,” she said. “Would tha’ like a bag fo’ some, Lass?”
Mary thought a moment. She could not remember having seen any iris in the Secret Garden. She remembered what they looked like from her garden books. Mary could not stand the idea of not having every flower possible in her private wonderland. “Yes, please. I will take them all.” Mary carefully folded the five bulbs into a large piece of brown paper the woman gave her. When she was done, the shopkeeper wrapped the paper securely around the bulbs and tied the package tightly with string. Mary paid for her new found treasures and ran to the carriage, her arms full of purchases.
“Colin!” Mary cried, dropping down next to him in the carriage. “I bought iris bulbs for the garden. They are called Gold Flags. We can plant them tomorrow and ask Dickon to help us.” She was half out of breath from excitement.
“Gold Flags.” Colin repeated thoughtfully. “They sound nice. What do they look like?”
“I have some books that picture iris; I’ll show you when we get back,” Mary replied excitedly.
“See what I bought,” Colin said, unwrapping his purchase. “A pen set in its own box. The shop keeper said it was a very fine set, with a mother of pearl and gold-filled case.” He held the items out for Mary to admire. He had chosen the green with sparkling gold patches. “I thought they would be good for my lessons, and taking notes for my scientific experiments.”
“They look very fine to me, but do you really need such fancy things to write with?” Mary closed the pen case and handed it back to Colin.
“I certainly do!” he retorted stiffly. “After all, I am the young master.”
Mary simply shrugged this away. She remembered he had been waited on and bowed to most of his life, just as she had been in India. It was simply easier to ignore him when he put on airs. Mary turned away and watched Miss Edmonds exit the shop, a parcel tucked under one arm.
She slowly made her way to the carriage, tipping her face to the bright sky as she walked. She squinted her eyes and happily blinked at the warm blue sky speckled with fluffy clouds that moved lazily with the gentle breeze. She breathed deeply of the fresh country air.
“May I help you up again, Miss Edmonds?” Archibald Craven asked, appearing at her elbow. He had quietly arrived while she was distracted by the beauty of the day.
“Certainly, Lord Craven, thank you.” Miss Edmonds lifted herself back into the carriage, her hand steadied by Lord Craven’s.
After they were all settled in, the carriage jerked forward, beginning the short trip the Sowerby cottage.
“What did you buy, Miss Edmonds?” Colin asked, looking at the parcel on her lap.
“I bought some stationary and envelopes to write my mother and my friends,” she replied.
“Is it fancy, with a flower border?” Mary asked.
“Not really. I hate to use lovely paper when I have a habit of making mistakes and starting all over again.” Miss Edmonds laughed. “I’m afraid when I write letters, the words come tumbling out of my pen often faster than I can write them. It makes for a mess sometimes.”
Lord Craven chuckled, and tapped his cane on the top of the window, signaling for the ride to resume.
The Sowerby cottage was small to be the home of twelve children and their parents. It sat in the middle of a wide spot of grass on the edge of the moor. A group of children, all Sowerbys, chased and tumbled in play. A lazy curl of smoke rose from the short chimney of the cottage, and bright potted flowers bloomed by the front door. Near the cottage was a tidy garden enclosed by a low stone wall, where Dickon was bent over a well-tended row of herbs. As the carriage wheels crunched to a stop in front of the cottage, Dickon bounced up and bounded over the wall, much like a lanky rabbit. As soon as the carriage pulled to a stop, Mary and Colin leapt out into the middle of a happy sea of children. Everyone was smiling and bouncing with excitement at the arrival of visitors. Mary and Colin had never met the entire Sowerby family. Dickon, of course, was well known, as was Martha. Susan Sowerby, their mother, had visited Misselthwaite Manor as well as the garden. Mary had heard much about the other children from Martha and Dickon, but had never actually seen them. She was nearly overwhelmed with the small crowd of ten young faces. Dickon made his way to the front and smiled at them. His large red lips seemed to take over his face, for the joy he felt was nearly exploding out of him. His greatest friends had arrived in their grand carriage with their new tutor and the Master of Misselthwaite! It was an exciting day indeed.
“Give ‘em some room, now!” Susan Sowerby came out of the cottage, wiping her hands on a sackcloth towel.
The smell of fresh baked bread followed her as if it were a perfume. The warm smell seemed to wrap itself around the woman like a favorite, comfortable sweater. Susan walked through the children as if she were parting a laughing sea. Her smile was genuine and welcoming and made Mary sigh happily inside her head.
“Hello, Mrs. Sowerby! We’ve finally come for a visit!” Colin announced.
“Tha’ has, indeed, Mester Colin,” Susan Sowerby replied. “An’ tha’ brought some with thee.” she added, approaching Miss Edmonds and Lord Craven with a welcoming nod of her head.
Mary remembered her manners before Colin and introduced everyone.
“Mrs. Sowerby, this is my Uncle Mr. Craven, and our new governess Miss Edmonds,” Mary said. “Miss Edmonds is from London and is teaching Colin and me some very wonderful things.”
“A pleasure to meet tha’, Miss Edmonds,” Susan responded warmly. “And fine to see tha’ again, Mester Craven.”
“Mrs. Sowerby, the pleasure is mine,” Archibald Craven replied, carefully bending in a polite bow. “Thank you for allowing us to visit on such short notice. As I said in my note yesterday, the children lack contact with others their age. I have been neglectful of their social needs.”
“Well, they’ll have plenty o’ that wi’ mine,” Mrs. Sowerby laughed. “Let ‘em jump an’ run an’ play ‘till they drop!”
For the next five minutes, everyone was introduced to Dickon’s many brothers and sisters. As each was introduced, they bobbed a polite curtsy or bow. After introductions, the eldest of the group, Elizabeth Ellen, went inside to help her mother cut the warm bread and make sure the butter, marmalade, and fresh cream, were all laid out. In all the excitement, Mary almost forgot the candies she had bought in town. Ducking back into the carriage, she grabbed the carefully wrapped parcel. A great chorus of joyful sighs and giggles erupted as Mary untied the string and unwrapped the paper. Each child had two candies clutched happily in his or her hands when Susan came back out to announce refreshments.
“Tha’ did’na have to do that, Miss. Mary! What a kind child tha’ are!” Susan exclaimed upon finding out what her offspring were so happy about.
Mary was startled by this statement. She had never been called ‘kind’ before. In fact, it had never occurred to her that what she was doing was anything more than fun. “Perhaps,” Mary thought to herself, “I’m not so disagreeable or sour anymore.”
After much bread piled thick with butter and marmalade or dipped in rich cream, Mary and Colin were taken out to the small shed behind the cottage. It was very tidy, as far as sheds go. The floor had been neatly raked, kindling and wood had been chopped and stacked against the far wall, and in the corner was a wooden feed box with the lid up. On first inspection it appeared to be empty, but it was not.
“I ha’ a surprise for tha’ two,” Dickon said to Mary and Colin. He quietly approached the bin, motioning for them to follow. “Take care, now, an’ don’t be too loud.”
With slow, careful movements, Mary and Colin peeked into the bin. Inside, nestled comfortably on clean warm hay, was a mother cat and four little kittens all snuggled together in a furry ball. The mother cat softly purred and kneaded the air as her babies fed. Mary sucked her breath in, delighted. She had never seen real kittens before, only illustrations in books.
“How old are they?” Colin asked quietly.
“A month, just. I was going to tell tha’ just after they was born, but I thought to wait ‘till tha’ could see ‘em tha’ self.”
“Are they yours?” Colin asked.
“Eh, a cat owns itself,” Dickon laughed. “Tha’ may touch them gentle, if tha’ wants.”
Mary and Colin quickly looked at each other. Mary was the first to slowly reach into the box and carefully lift a black and gray stripped kitten from its resting place. Holding her breath, Mary cradled the tiny animal. Its warm body seemed so fragile in her hands. The fur was fine and silken. She gently stroked its little head and ears, a joyous smile on her face.
“Is this right, Dickon?” Mary asked.
“Tha’s doin’ just right, Miss Mary. Make sure to support its head. The muscles in a body that young aren’t strong just yet,” Dickon said.
Dickon smoothly removed a white and black patched kitten from the box and handed it to Colin.
“Hold it in tha’ crooked arm, just so,” Dickon instructed, placing the tiny body into Colin’s waiting arms. “How does tha’ like that, Mester Colin?”
Colin watched the small furry being with wonder. His eyes widened as a the kitten let out a wavering mew.
“Did I hurt it?” Colin asked with deep concern.
“None at all, Mester Colin. The little ‘un just wants the warmth o’ his mum again.” Dickon smiled reassuringly.
“Their claws are sharp, like tiny needles,” Mary said, placing a finger under a small paw and watching the five miniature claws poke down.
“Tha’s because they’ve not had time to dull them. They be bright and sharp with newness.”
“Oh, how I’d love to have a kitten,” Mary sighed. “I always wanted a pet in India, but I was never allowed.”
Mary held the kitten close to her cheek, smelling the hay in its fur. Its soft hairs tickled her nose. The kitten’s bright yellow eyes blinked at her, as if wondering what this creature was and why it could not finish its meal. It squeaked in protest and batted at Mary’s nose.
“I think it wants to go back to its mother,” Mary said.
With more than a little reluctance, she replaced the kitten in its soft nest where it quickly found its mother’s milk and resumed its meal. After the kittens had fallen asleep, Dickon led them on a tour of the nearby moor. The grass was thick and freshly green, inspired by the warm sun and nourishing rains of the past few weeks. Patches of purple heather sweetened the air with a light honey scent. Skylarks darted on the gentle breeze, gracefully swooping back and forth as if dancing a merry jig. Yellow gorse bloomed brightly here and there like scattered patches of gold. The afternoon sped away as the children played a lively game of Blind Man’s Bluff then wandered the moor, listening to Dickon talk about every flower, every bird and insect, and all the animals he knew. By the time they returned to the carriage, Mary and Colin were wind ruffled and pleasantly exhausted.
“Nothin’ is better for the body an’ soul than a run on the moor,” Susan Sowerby said as the children bid their good-byes and climbed up into their seats.
That evening ended the perfect day with a lively reading of the next installment of Robinson Crusoe. The hero now had the assistance of a native man named Friday. Everyone except Mary was intrigued by this character. She had seen many dark skinned people in India, and to her they were not strange or different in the least. Colin and Martha, however, had never seen a person of color before, and they both found this turn of events thrilling. Mary remembered when she had first arrived at Misselthwaite and Martha had thought she would be a dark skinned native. Mary had been furious and had thrown herself down onto her bed and into a fit of frustrated crying until Martha had apologized and begged her to stop. Mary now found the memory mildly amusing, but at the time she had been furious. After the tea was drunk, the lemon cakes eaten and the dishes collected by Martha, everyone said their good-nights and went off to their rooms. Mary quickly followed Martha down the hall, trying to catch her.
“Martha!” Mary called quietly. “Martha, wait!” The young maid halted, waiting for Mary to catch up.
“Did I forget somethin’, Miss Mary?” Martha asked, balancing the large tray on her hip.
“No, I just wanted to ask if you had found out about any little girls at Misselthwaite, like Amelia.” Mary asked.
“I haven't found Mrs. Medlock in a mood to talk just yet, but don’t worry, I will,” Martha replied. “Have a good rest, Miss Mary,” She said and hurried away with the heavy dishes.
That evening no one had trouble getting off to sleep, but Mary soon found herself in a strange dream. She was wandering the moors, lost and frightened. She was looking for something but could not remember what it was she needed to find. As she walked, she began to hear a voice calling to her. At first she thought it was her mother. Mary called back, beginning to run after it. As she ran, Mary realized the voice was Miss Edmonds’, calling for her. In her dream Mary left the moor and entered a maze of gardens, all with green doors and ivy covered walls. Everywhere she went, Miss Edmonds’ voice called to her. At last Mary opened a garden door and found her tutor sitting in the middle of a rose garden. She was wearing a flowing silk dress with beautiful lace. It fluttered in the breeze as she got up and began walking away. Mary called out to her, but the woman did not respond. As Mary ran after her, Miss Edmonds turned a corner, disappearing from sight. Mary tried to follow but could not find her. Panting, Mary woke abruptly and sat up in bed. It was a meaningless dream, making no sense to her, but disturbing nonetheless. She could not understand why the dream bothered her so, but sleep would not come again. She tossed and turned, fretting the bed into a mess. Finally Mary gave up and got dressed, thinking a walk might make her tired enough to sleep again. She would visit the Forgotten Room. Taking a small lamp to light her way, Mary quietly made her way to the tapestry-hidden door. The corridors were still and silent, the only light a small halo around her from the flickering flame of her lamp. Her feet made soft paddings on the old carpet of the halls. Carefully Mary pulled the hanging back and entered the room.
“Perhaps reading a while will relax me,” Mary said to herself.
She carefully selected a volume of fairy stories from the shelves and settled into the rocker by the window. The sleeping quiet of the manor wrapped itself around her like a blanket. The room had an even more mysterious quality in the still of the night. Mary wondered how long it had been since someone had been there at this late hour. How long had the little bed been empty and the hearth cold? For the first time in many years, the room was not alone in the darkness. Mary, the book open on her lap, fell asleep in the rocker.
