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Mary joined Colin in the garden that afternoon as Martha secretly cleaned the forgotten room. While it was fun to have a secret, Mary decided it was even better to share it with someone. She was not surprised to find her cousin also in the garden, nor was she bothered to see him angrily tugging at weeds and muttering to himself.
"Did you have tea and cake this afternoon, Colin?" Mary asked as she took a place next to him at the herbaceous bed by the walkway.
"I was not in the mood," was his curt reply.
"Dickon says we should not be upset but instead hope that everything is well with Miss Edmonds. I’m sure she will return when everything is taken care of," Mary said encouragingly as she straightened a lopsided thyme plant. “I was angry, too, this morning when I found out she was gone.”
“I don’t care,” Colin muttered.
“Yes you do, or you wouldn’t be upset,” Mary countered.
“I won’t get to use my new writing set, now, is all.”
“Yes, you will, just not right away. Don’t be so marred,” Mary scolded, using the Yorkshire word for spoiled and ill-tempered.
“I’m not-“ Colin stopped, knowing she was right. “You sound like Mrs. Medlock.”
“I’ll stop if you do,” Mary offered, trying a small smile.
“Fine. I suppose it really was an emergency to make her leave so quickly. Father will make sure she comes back.”
Colin carefully he plucked the leaves from a bushy weed, dropping them into the pile of his pullings from that day’s work. The children sat in silence for a bit, listening to a slight breeze play among the tree branches and leafy vines of the roses. A bird twittered somewhere nearby. Mary began picking up fallen twigs and leaves that lay among the plants and flowers.
"Do you miss them?" Colin asked, turning toward Mary who was a few feet away. "Your parents, I mean."
"No. Not really," Mary replied. "Why would I miss them when I hardly knew them? I do sometimes miss my Ayah, but she was just a servant, not like a mother. Sometimes, though, sometimes I do wish I could hear my mother’s laugh again. She had such a light, musical laugh. I used to watch her from my nursery window when she would walk out onto her porch to visit with guests. She was like a lovely painting, not quite real. She would smile and everyone around her would smile, except me. I would get angry because she never smiled for me."
"They say my mother laughed a lot too," Colin said, looking at the old tree that his mother had fallen from that sat broken and ignored in the far corner of the garden.
"What about you?" Mary asked. "Do you miss your mother?"
"I never knew her, but from what I’ve been told, I miss what I could have known." Colin got up and stood watching the old tree, as if wondering what it would be like if things were different. "I miss her just because she was my mother."
Mary understood what Colin said and did not say. When someone dies, even if you do not know them that well, he or she can still be missed for what could have been or what should have been.
"Have you ever touched it?" Colin asked.
"Touched what?" Mary stepped up beside him.
"The tree. The tree my mother fell from that killed her." Colin replied, walking a few steps toward the tree. “It’s the only thing dead in the whole garden.”
"No. Why would I want to? It’s just an old, rotten tree." Mary watched as Colin began walking to the back of the garden where the tree was nearly hidden in the shadows.
"I want to. I want to look at it," Colin said. "I think if I touch it a kind of magic might happen, like in the fairy stories when an enchantment has been put upon a castle. Perhaps if I touch the tree the spell will be broken."
"What spell?" Mary asked. "It’s a tree, not an enchanted castle." Worried, Mary followed her cousin.
When the children reached the tree, Colin stood staring at it for a while. It was strange, after all these months in the garden, that he should just now notice the tree that was so closely associated with his mother’s death. The tree, in reality, was just a large trunk with a moldering broken limb lying on the ground covered in creeping ivy and a thick carpet of moss. It seemed unnaturally quiet in that corner of the garden. Ivy and roses formed a living canopy overhead. Thin rays of sunlight poked through here and there, dappling the ground with bright, shifting patches.
"They say my mother was sitting on a large branch that formed a seat, and that the branch broke,” Colin said, looking at the nearly hidden branch at his feet. With the tip of his shoe, Colin poked the large piece of wood. "Not much to see, now, is there?"
"What did you expect, Colin?" Mary asked. "You already said you don’t believe in ghosts."
"Yes, I did. And no, I don’t, but I did think it would be bigger at least." Colin left the broken branch, going to the bent old trunk.
Over the many years it had grown into a broad Y shape, with one arm broken off. It now resembled an upside down L. Colin stood as tall as possible, balancing on the tips of his toes so he could see level with the bend in the tree that once formed a seat. Curiosity got the better of him and he decided to climb the tree, just as his mother used to do when she sat in it.
"What are you doing?" Mary asked in alarm, as the boy put his hand on the tree and began to pull himself up.
"I’m going to sit on the tree, like my mother," Colin replied haughtily.
"That seems rather silly, don’t you think? What if you fall like—?" Mary stopped herself from saying the rest.
"I won’t fall," Colin confidently replied.
“How do you know? You’ve never climbed a tree, have you? Less than two years ago you couldn’t even walk!” Mary argued, exasperated.
Mary watched anxiously as Colin reached his destination and arranged himself against the remaining branch of the tree. His propped his feet against the stub that remained of the fallen branch.
"See?" Colin said, triumph shining in his dark eyes. "I did not fall."
"Not yet," Mary responded. "How is it up there?"
"The breeze is cooler and just a little stronger. Oh!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I can see nearly the whole garden from here! I can see the paths and the flowerbeds, and the benches. I can see everything!"
"Really?" Mary asked, suddenly wishing she could be sitting in the tree as well. "Is it wonderful? Does it look magical, like it did when we first brought you?"
"Oh, yes!" Colin said in one long breath of excitement. "It looks just like a secret garden should look. Imagine, this is what the robin sees every day. How wonderful it must be!" Colin leaned to the side to see if he could look over the garden wall. Putting his hand on the mossy branch behind him for balance, he stretched as hard as he could, but the wall was just too high for him to see over without standing, and he felt that would not be the best idea.
As he moved his hand to reposition himself, he felt the moss give way under his hand. Carefully he pulled the green blanket away, revealing a hollow area in the tree.
“There’s a hole in the tree up here," Colin told Mary.
"Really?" Mary carefully leaned against the trunk and tried to pull herself high enough on her toes to see what Colin had discovered.
In the meantime, Colin had begun poking around in the dark recesses of the hollow. As his finger slipped deeper in, he felt something. With great care, he wrapped his fingers around his discovery, pulling it from its hiding place.
"I found something!" Colin exclaimed, examining it.
"What is it?" Mary asked, her voice loud with excitement.
"No need to shout, Mary," Colin replied, still scrutinizing the item. "It’s a handwritten book, like a journal or diary."
Mary tried to see what Colin was holding, but only became frustrated as Colin seemed intent on keeping the discovery to himself. She could see he had the book open, and that the cover was worn leather, but that was all that was visible from her position. As Colin continued to examine the book, he became very still, his body tense.
"What is it, Colin? Is something wrong?" Mary asked, sensing something was not right.
"It’s my mother’s. It was, that is," Colin said quietly.
Mary sucked in her breath, surprised by the significance of the find.
“Can you read it?" Mary asked breathlessly.
"Of course I can read it,” Colin replied a bit testily.
“I mean, it is ruined?” Mary ignored Colin’s temper. She had gotten used to his ways and moods.
“Yes. No. There are poems, and dates with things written after them. The writing is a bit faded toward the beginning and end, but it’s all still readable." Colin slowly came down from the tree, holding the book out to Mary. "Look."
Mary gently took the volume. Its leather cover was spotted from sitting for years in a moist place. Overall, however, the small book was quite intact. Mary opened it to a page at the middle and began to read out loud.
"’May 29. I find sitting in this tree relieves my burdened back, easing the discomfort my ever-expanding middle had brought me. I am not one to complain, however, as I am delighted to be so near such a joyous event as motherhood. Archie is beside himself with delight and flits about me like an attentive mother bird.
“‘The day is fine and warm, today. The sky is so blue it seems to have lifted in height, high enough to reach forever. The flowers have begun their symphony of blooms, painting the garden a delightful variety of colors. I find great pleasure in each one, and in keeping them happy as they do me.’"
"Stop," said Colin quite suddenly. "I want to read the rest myself." Suddenly, for reasons he could not explain, Colin felt the intense need to be alone with his mother’s journal.
"All right," Mary said, watching her cousin with curiosity. "Can I read it after you?"
Mary handed the book to Colin, who took it as if receiving a sacred text.
"We’ll see," Colin said. "I just want to see what she says, what she was like. I’m going to go in now and read it."
Mary watched as the boy walked slowly through the garden to the green gate entrance. He held the diary in both hands, his head bent toward it. As the gate closed behind him, Mary glared at the old tree behind her.
"Stupid tree. You just can’t stop causing trouble, can you?"
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****
That night Martha was clearing the supper dishes as Mary sulked by her window. Martha had been watching the girl mope about all evening, wondering just what had gotten into her again.
"Does tha’ tutor’s leavin’ still vex thee?" Martha finally asked.
"No. I’m sure she has a good reason for leaving. I just hope she has a good reason to return," Mary replied, not looking away from the darkening landscape outside.
"I’m sure she has, Miss Mary. She wouldn’t leave without good cause, from what I’ve seen o’ the lass. An’ what better reason to return than two fine children as tha’ self and Mester Colin?"
As the maid gave the fire one last poke for the night, Mary sighed heavily behind her. Martha sat back on her heels, looking over her shoulder.
"What is it, then?" the older girl asked, tisking.
"Nothing," Mary replied without moving.
"Eh! Don’t give me that, Miss Mary. I know a weighty sigh when I hear one. As my mother would say, ‘share the problem an’ share the burden’."
Mary pondered the situation for a moment before replying.
"I can’t," Mary said, sullenly. "It involves someone else, and I don’t think I should talk about it."
"Eh! Then why bother wi’ it? Let it go." Martha said, getting up and putting the iron poker back in its place with the other fire utensils. "There’s not any use fussing over problems a body can’t fix, as mother would say."
Martha picked up the dish-laden tray and moved toward the door.
"Your mother has a lot to say, doesn’t she?" Mary asked, turning from the window.
"Aye, she does. An’ she’s always right," Martha answered, her chin lifting with pride.
"Always?" Mary asked, a small smile creeping to her lips.
"Always. A body learns a whole lot havin’ ten children." Martha gave her friend a quick wink, then left with the dishes to tend to her other duties.
Mary sat staring at the closed door for quite a while, thinking about her problem. The truth was, she was jealous of Colin. He had the diary, something of his mother’s that was almost as good as talking to her. He also had the knowledge that his mother would have loved him, had wanted him. Her mother had done neither. She did not need a long lost diary to tell her that. Then again, Mary thought, perhaps that made his loss even worse than hers. He could miss what he knew his mother would have been, when Mary could only wish her parents had been as caring and giving as Colin’s mother had been. For the first time in her short life, sitting in her room at Misselthwaite, Mary understood what regret was. She had never been sorry her parents had died. She had only felt bothered because she had had her life disrupted. Now she knew she could not miss what she had never had, but she could regret not having it. Restless, Mary got up and opened her bedroom door. The hall was silent. The stillness of evening had fallen like a comforting blanket over the manor. Even the downstairs sounds from the servants were nearly undetectable rustlings. A muted laugh, a quick cough or two, and an occasional footstep or distant chair scrape were the only sounds. Mary retrieved a small lamp from her bedside table and quietly closed her door. She quickly walked through the deserted halls to the Forgotten Room.
When Mary slipped through the hidden door, she immediately saw the difference a bit of cleaning could make. The floor glowed with the pride of freshly washed wood. The dressing table was dusted, the closet and chest by the bed were freshly oiled, and a different spread had replaced the tattered silk of the former covering. Mary went over to the chest she had found the doll in and opened it. Carefully folded on top was the age-abused bedspread. Martha must have gotten the new spread from the chest also. Mary smiled, pleased with new vitality of the forgotten room. For the next hour, Mary passed the time finishing the book of fairy stories. Closing the book, Mary picked up her lamp from the floor beside her place in the rocker and replaced the book on its shelf. Yawning, Mary decided it was time to retire for the night. As usual, Mary peeked from behind the tapestry to make sure all was quiet before leaving the room. No sooner had the door of her bedroom come into sight, when she noticed someone, or something, sitting on the floor by her door. Mary was alarmed at first. The dark hall seemed very lonely all of a sudden with just her and an unknown waiting outside her room. As she neared, the someone lifted his head and Mary saw that it was Colin. The delicate lines of his face were drawn together, and his face was flushed, as if he had been crying.
"Colin! What are you doing here?" she asked, her slippered feet stopping beside him.
"I was reading the diary with her picture above my mantle and I just..." Colin stopped, quickly wiping fresh tears away.
"Do you want to come in?" Mary asked, opening the door for him.
"Yes," Colin replied, in a very small voice. "Could you read it with me? It might not be so hard if you’re with me. When I read her words, it’s just as if she’s right out of reach. Like she’s there but not. I think it was easier when I didn’t know her at all."
Colin slipped past Mary and settled at the foot of her bed, holding the small book in his hands and staring at it. Mary quietly closed the door and set her lamp back on the night table, feeling angry at herself for being jealous of him earlier. The fire had gotten low, so Mary added a few small pieces of wood, just enough to keep the chill away. Martha had shown her how to make a fire and tend it, so she would not get cold on winter nights. Joining her cousin on the bed, Mary waited for him to speak first.
"Can you read it to me?" he finally asked.
"Are you sure?" Mary asked.
"Yes." Colin slowly handed the journal to Mary. "Perhaps it won’t be so terribly hard if I don’t look at it and see her writing."
"All right, then." Mary opened the book. "Where should I start?"
"At the beginning. I didn’t get very far." Colin lay down across the bed and closed his eyes as Mary began to read.
"’April 22. I have been at Misselthwaite Manor for one year now. Archie is simply wonderful. He and I walk for hours in the gardens. He seems to never tire of listening to my thoughts and feelings, and he always has a caring smile for me. I’m not sure that Mrs. Medlock likes me that well, but I shall strive to win her over with endless charm and cheer. The flowers are coming to life all around, painting the gardens with bright color. The roses are not ready to bloom yet, but I know they will be lovely soon.’"
Mary stopped reading and looked at Colin. His face was still, relaxed. Mary wondered if he had fallen asleep.
"Are you stopping so soon?" he asked, slowly opening his eyes.
"No. I was just making sure you were not bothered yet," Mary replied. "I will continue for a while, until it gets too late."
"’April 27. For the past months I have been tending a garden I have adopted as my own. It is a lovely, ethereal place, magic in its beauty. Birds sing at me as I walk the grass paths, and every day I find new buds and delicate green stems appearing from the earth. It is a splendid garden, with high walls and plenty of spaciousness. I have planted many roses there, and will delight in the glorious blooms later this year. It has been drearily wet for the past ten days, and my patience is wearing thin. Archie and I sit in the library together, reading whatever catches our fancy at the time, and I truly enjoy it, but I simply cannot wait to get out when the rain stops.’"
"She really did love the garden us much as we do," Colin said, staring at dark boards of the ceiling.
"It sounds as if she liked it here very much, especially being with your father," Mary replied.
"Do you think we should tell father of this when he returns?" Colin asked, turning his head to look at her.
"I don’t know." Mary said thoughtfully. "He might get upset and take it away from you."
"He might. But he might like it, too. He has a right to know, don’t you think?" Colin watched his cousin’s brow wrinkle while she wrestled with the question.
"Yes." Mary finally answered. "He does have a right to know. He does still miss her after all." Mary watched Colin as he thought about her answer. The firelight flickered on the walls and ceiling. Colin sighed softly to himself.
"You’re right, of course. He does have a right to know. And he would likely be grateful to have it." Colin thought a moment more. "Perhaps we could read it together." He paused a moment, still staring at the ceiling. "He might want to do that alone, however." Colin was now thinking aloud more than speaking to Mary, who waited quietly until her cousin had sorted out his dilemma. "I will tell him of the diary; there really is no other choice. It would be wrong of me to keep it from him."
Mary nodded her agreement, relieved he had solved his problem without getting upset as he used to do.
"Do you want me to keep reading?" Mary asked.
"Yes. Just for a little while. When you read I can almost see her writing in the book. I can almost pretend she’s really here." Colin turned his face away, toward the flickering flames in the hearth. His cousin had seen him cry before, but now it seemed different. For the first time he was embarrassed by his tears.
Mary opened the book again and resumed reading. She read for quite a time, until the fire had nearly flickered out, and even the moor outside her window was still with the deepness of night. At first Mary thought her companion had fallen asleep, but when she stopped, he opened his eyes.
"It’s getting late, I suppose," he said, feeling the pull of sleep on his eyelids.
"We really should get some rest." Mary looked at the dimly glowing glass of her windows. With the darkness behind them, they reflected ghostly images, that shivered in the lamplight. She could see Colin and herself reflected in the windowpanes. "It will be a nice day tomorrow. Dickon could show us some birds’ nests and baby lambs on the moor, if we asked him."
"That sounds nice," Colin said, covering a yawn with the back of his hand.
Mary handed him the journal and he slipped off the bed. At the door he paused, thoughtful.
"Someday we’ll get married, too," Colin said, cocking his head to one side. "I wonder if that’s really the best thing to do."
"What do you mean? Of course it is." Mary said, perplexed.
"Well, think about it. When you love someone enough to marry them, you would worry about them all the time. It seems that not falling in love would be easier,” Colin mused.
“I don’t think you can control that, unless you never went anywhere or met anyone,” Mary countered.
“I did that, remember?” Colin stated. “Then you arrived. I didn’t have to leave. Maybe the people you need just find you.”
With that, Colin went off to bed.
