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Chapter Text

DICKON’S EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY WAS NOT A HAPPY ONE. While it should’ve been, as the boy came of age, it only brought sadness to his family and friends. Knowing he’d be drafted for the war effort sooner than later and not knowing if or when they’d ever see him again. Not knowing if the war would change him so much he would never be able to be himself amongst his animals and garden again.

On the thirtieth of April, Mary awoke with an overwhelming feeling of pure sadness. She was silent as Martha bustled around her, opening the curtains and placing her breakfast down in front of the fireplace. Martha was unnaturally quiet, her jaw tensed and eyes shimmering with thousands of unshed tears. For once, it was Mary who broke the uneasy quiet that had never seemed to befall her bedroom after she’d found the garden.
“Martha,” She said softly. “How… how is he? And mother?”
The young woman straightened, face pinched. “Thy knows ‘im. E’s forgettin’ bout it. On purpose, mind thee. E’s tryin’ ‘is ‘ardest ta be strong fer ev’ryone,”
“Is he coming by today?”
“Course ‘e is. Thy knows e’d never miss-,” Martha broke off, and dabbed at her eyes with her apron.
“I know,” Mary said. “I’ll get ready as soon as I can,”
“E’d like ta see thee,” Martha said. “E said so b’fore I came up this mornin’,”
Martha only had one day off a month and had used it the day before.

As she descended the stairs, both Colin and Uncle Archie were scarce. By this time, Colin was usually badgering her about going outside as Uncle Archie sighed affectionately. Not today.
“Lord Craven thought he’d leave you and Dickon alone this morning,” Mrs. Medlock said stoutly, passing her on the steps. “Colin’s in the library, and will be until the afternoon,” The older woman gave Mary a wary gaze. “Don’t be foolish, girl,” and in a swish of skirts, she was gone.
The young woman chewed on her lip as she continued out of the house. Don’t be foolish, Mrs. Medlock said. Mrs. Medlock had been calling her foolish for almost six years. It was almost laughable if Mary hadn’t understood her meaning.
Dickon would be leaving for the war in approximately a week, and then in the summer she and Colin would travel to London to begin schooling. Don’t be foolish with your last few days with the gardener boy. Mary scoffed and finally appeared outside.

The weather did not in any way reflect how she felt. It was a sunny day, the sky blue as it ever could be. Bluer even than Dickon and Mrs. Sowerby’s eyes, which were in fact very blue.
She followed the path and then began to follow the sound of pipes playing. She did not run, because ladies did not run (that was Mrs. Medlock talking), but she did start rushing. The wind cut into her face, and her hair tumbled down her back.
“Dickon!” She called. “Dickon!”
The pipes stopped.
“Miss Mary,” the boy appeared from behind a bush, Soot perched on his shoulder.
Though she had seen him two days before, he seemed different. Older. Any baby fat he’d had when they first met six years ago was gone, replaced by a tall young man with dark reddish curls. His blue eyes cut into her as she approached.
“Dickon,” She said again, feeling almost out of breath.
“Aye,” He murmured. “Tis me, Miss Mary,”
“I… I’d say happy birthday but,” She frowned. “It’s not very happy, is it?”
He grinned crookedly. “Well, I don’ know bout thee but I was ‘appy ta see the garden this morn,”
“But, you-,”
“Mary,” He stepped closer. “I know thi’ may be one of th’ last days I ‘ave with tha. An’ I wanna enjoy it, much as I’m able,”
She softened and fell into his arms. She hugged him tightly, face pressing into his chest.
“Whenever did you get so tall?”
“Ya’ve always been short,” He responded. “Thought ya knew,”
Little Miss Mary let out a snort. “How rude,” and then he laughed, and she knew that with all her heart she would miss him like she would miss a piece of herself.
“Don’ be sad, Miss Mary. Enjoy the spring,”
“However can I enjoy it when I may never see you again in a week?” She blurted, pushing herself away from him. “I don’t- I can’t say goodbye. I won’t,”
“I know thee ne’er got th’ chance ta say goodbye to tha parents, but ya get ta wi’ me,”
“That’s different,” She said stubbornly. “I didn’t like my parents, so I didn’t care,”
“Good ta know tha likes me,” Dickon laughed.
“I love you,” She corrected, scowling. “Don’t you dare think differently Dickon Sowerby,”
He sobered. “Le’s enjoy ourselves, Miss Mary. I’m still wick, ain’t I?” he held out his hand. She accepted it and squeezed. “I love thee too, tha knows,” He murmured. “Come, to our garden,”

Chapter Text

WHEN THE TELEGRAM CAME, COLIN WAS ALMOST SHAKING. He accepted it from the butler and ripped the envelope open.
Over the breakfast table, Mary stared. The two were staying with Mrs. Medlock’s sister and her family during their time in London. They’d been there for two years, and Mary was very eager to leave.
“Colin,” Mr. Hodgson frowned. “Use a letter opener at least, lad,”
“My apologies, Mr. Hodgson. I’m only praying it’s not bad news,” The boy managed out. For he was very much still a boy, eighteen in but a month. Then he’d be starting in Oxford come September.
“Is it?” Mary blurted.
Mrs. Hodgson gave Mary an exasperated look that resembled her sister’s. Mary ignored her, as she usually did.
Colin didn’t answer as he scanned the letter.
His cousin, sat opposite, was practically vibrating with anticipation. Her hands were clenched tightly around her silver pendant, the last thing he’d given to her before he’d left. How had he died? Had it been shellfire, or an explosion, or-
“Mary. He is alive,”
Her world hadn’t crashed down, and she unclenched her fists. “He’s wick?” She sounded so very much like a child, her voice breathy and quiet.
Colin laughed. “He’s wick indeed,”
“Whatever are you two talking about?” Nancy, the Hodgsons’ eldest, frowned at them. “What does wick mean?”
“A very good friend of ours is still alive, and is coming home,” Colin informed. “So we shall be going as well,”
At that, Mr. and Mrs. Hodgson shot each other with a distinctly “married” look. “What about your education?” Mr. Hodgson said.
“I have finished mine, and am going home. Like I always said I would,” Mary dismissed.
“And I don’t start Oxford for two more months,” Colin said. “So, we shall be returning home,”
“Who is this soldier friend of yours?” Mrs. Hodgson narrowed her eyes. “If it’s the Sowerby boy-,”
“It is the Sowerby boy,” Colin said smoothly. “And his name is Dickon. He shall be coming home to Yorkshire, where he belongs,”
Mary nodded in agreement and started to fiddle with her silver pendant. Colin eyed her knowingly.

Five minutes later, the cousins had left breakfast to start packing their trunks. Mrs. Hodgson looked at Mr. Hodgson and sighed wearily.
“My sister told me that if the Sowerby boy ever were to come home, a marriage would be imminent. I tried my best to dissuade her, while she was here, but…” She made a face.
“Mary’s going to marry a soldier?” James piped up. He was their second and youngest child and had developed a crush on Mary while she lived in their home.
“We won’t be invited if she is,” Nancy sighed. “They don’t like us,”
“Neither much like anything,” Mr. Hodgson said dryly.

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The moors were practically singing to him. They’d be covered in green by now, a blue sky stretching overhead. The garden would be blooming, and Mary-
Dickon made himself wake up at that thought. He did not want to think of her, not in such a dirty place as this. A place where soldiers entered and tried to be healed of wounds, but came out a shell of their former selves, the things they experienced always a hair’s breadth away from any thought. From the trench to the stretcher to the ambulance, to the casualty tent, to the train, to the nuns, to the ship and finally home to England. That was the journey he’d gone on, with a broken leg, shattered arm and ribs, and disfiguring burn scars stretching across the right side of his face and down his neck. And he wasn’t home yet. Home was miles away, enjoying the summer amongst her roses with dark blonde hair falling down her shoulders.
What was the day today? If it were July, her birthday would be coming soon. Her eighteenth. My, how he longed to see her.
“Private Sowerby. You’re awake,” A nurse stopped by his bed.
He squinted up at her. Half his face was bandaged, and so could only see through one eye. She looked stern, hard lines marring her features. She didn’t seem old, rather wearied from the war. He scoffed in his head. They were all weary. Look at him. His body was broken, as was his mind. He could only dream of his animals, garden, and Miss Mary amongst her flowers and on top of her swing. He dreamt of his mother, and his brothers and sisters. Sometimes of his father, but that was rare. He dreamt of Colin and Lord Craven almost more than some of his siblings, for Colin had become like a brother, and Lord Craven like an almost uncle figure.
“Private Sowerby,” The nurse repeated. “If you’re awake, we can see about sending you home,”
“Home?” He said, voice low and rough.
She seemed to melt, smiling kindly at him. Then he realised how young she was—perhaps his age, or even Mary’s—younger than Martha.
“That’s Yorkshire, isn’t it?” She said softly. “I think a friend is coming to take you home. He should be here today or tomorrow,”
“Tha’s good,” He mumbled. “Home. Thought I wouldnae see i’ again,”
“You deserve it, Private Sowerby,” the nurse bowed her head.
“Many lads do. An’ they don’ get to,” He said gruffly. Her face pinched and became hard again.

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“My, don’t you look a mess,” Colin said dryly.
The nurse glared at him as Dickon let out a short laugh.
“C'mon you, Mary’s waiting,”
“Don’ know ‘ow ta break it ta ya, Colin, but I’m a li’l broken,” Dickon said. “May take a bit,”
“Luckily I’m here to help,” The scrawny 5’10 lord rolled up his sleeves. “How should we do this?”
Dickon almost smiled, attempting to sit up and immediately regretting it as his ribs smarted.
“Tha’s an idiot,” Colin rolled his eyes. “Alright. I hope tha ‘ave a crutch wi’ thee,”
“Aye, I does,”
“Grand! Let’s get goin’ b’fore Mary gets contrary,”

Colin flat-out refused to let Mary come inside the hospital with him. So, instead, she was waiting in the cab. It was to take them to Kings Cross, where they’d get a train to York, and then one to Thwaite.
She waited impatiently, scowling and muttering about “stupid rajahs”.
When the door did open, she felt like her heart had leapt out of her chest.
Colin had opened the door, an exhausted and bandaged Dickon practically lying on top of him. The young rajah seemed to grunt an effort to keep him upright (Dickon was quite impossibly tall, and Colin considerably shorter).
“Dickon!” She cried, scrabbling and trying to help.
“Wait a second, Mary,” Her cousin glared. “Move up. Go on, move,”
She moved to the far end, arms reaching out as Dickon gingerly got into the cab. His face was scrunched up in pain, and he gasped as Colin helped him lie down on the back seat. Mary let his head fall onto her lap, and she gingerly cupped his bandaged cheek.
“Hi, Miss Mary,” He mumbled. “‘M glad ta see thee,”
“I’m glad to see you too,” She practically sobbed. He smiled crookedly.
“Yer as pretty as I rem’ber,”
“You are too,” She said. “You’re as beautiful as the day I met you,”
He snorted, then winced. “Tha’s too kind, Miss Mary. I’m a wounded soldier, y’see?”
“You’re you and you are beautiful,” She said stubbornly. “Get some rest, it’s half an hour til Kings Cross yet,”
“Aye,” He said, closing his eye and falling asleep to the scent of roses and heather.

Chapter Text

THEIR SOLDIER SLEPT THE JOURNEY TO KINGS CROSS AND THEN CONTINUED TO SLEEP ON THE TRAIN FROM KINGS CROSS TO YORK.
Mary and Colin had a hushed conversation as he slept.
“Have you written to Mrs. Sowerby?” Colin said.
Mary nodded her head. “I’ve had no response, of course, as we’ve been so quick in getting him, but I’m sure she’ll just be thankful to have him home,”
“I know that feeling,” Colin said ruefully. “I can’t wait for him to be home,”
“He’s been through a lot, Colin. You cannot expect everything to be as it was when we were children,” Mary warned.
“We are far from children, Mary. It is your eighteenth birthday in two days!”
“And then I shall be eighteen, and you will not,” She retorted.
Dickon shifted. “If tha continues arguin’, I won’ be able ta sleep,” He grumbled. Mary stroked his head.
“We shall be quieter,” She promised. “Please, you need rest,”
“Feels li’ all I’ve been doin’ these past weeks is rest,”
“Because you deserve it,” Miss Mary countered. “Please, Dickon. We’ll wake you for tea later,”
“Mmhm,” He hummed, before falling back into his deep sleep.

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Mrs. Sowerby almost cried with relief as she read the letter. The date on the top left corner read “12th July 1918”, and she knew her eldest boy would be home soon. Just in time for Miss Mary’s birthday, no less. It truly felt like the Big Good Thing was finally looking out for them after four years of war.
“Ma?” Martha called. “Is it good?”
“E’s comin’ ‘ome, Martha,” Susan Sowerby beamed. “‘E’s gonna be ‘ome,”
“Home!” her eldest gasped. “Oh! Wi’ Mester Colin an’ Miss Mary, I’ll venture?”
“Aye. comin’ up on th’ train. I’m sure a carriage from Misselthwaite will go collect ‘em from the station,”
“Thank the lord,” Martha sighed. “Oh, how it’ll be nice to have ‘im ‘ome. And ta see Miss Mary and Mester Colin,”
“I’ll make ‘im my biscuits. Oh, will tha please get ‘is bed ready Martha dear?”
“Aye, I will ma. I’ll go tell ev’ryone as well,”
The mother and daughter beamed at each other.

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Mr. Roach was waiting with the carriage at the station. Lord Craven was sequestered inside, tapping his fingers on his cane almost impatiently. Would Susan Sowerby have space for a young soldier? Would a small cottage with nine younger siblings be a good fit for such a wounded man?
“Father!” Colin yelled. “Do open the door, would you?”
He swung it open, holding it ajar with his cane. He stared almost in horror at the half-dead soldier lying across both Colin and Mary’s shoulders.
“Get him onto a seat, would you,” He demanded. “Boy, you look a mess,”
“Thank tha, Lord Craven,” Dickon muttered, sounding almost sarcastic. Archie didn’t know how to respond to that, so kept silent as Mr. Roach hopped down to help Dickon into the carriage. Mary ducked in first, and helped the soldier ease into a lying position, head on her lap. There was much groaning and wincing involved before Dickon was lying semi-comfortably on the seat.
Colin jumped in, Dickon’s rucksack over one shoulder and his crutch in hand. “Hey, Father,” He greeted, sitting down beside him. “I wasn’t expecting you to come greet us,”
“I haven’t seen any of you in two years, my boy. I was rather looking forward to seeing you,” Archibald Craven replied. “Are you sure you’ll be comfortable at your cottage, Dickon? There are thirteen of you,”
“Aye, I’ll be righ’ a’ ‘ome,” He responded. “It’ll do me good, I ‘ope,”
“I’ll bring you flowers from our garden every day,” Mary promised stoutly. Dickon almost laughed.
“Donnae concern thee wi’ a wounded soldier, Miss Mary,”
Mary frowned, looking almost hurt as Colin and his father exchanged indescribable glances.
“By th’ way,” Dickon started. “Wha’s th’ date?”
“Oh. It’s the fourteenth of July,” Colin answered.
Mary blinked. “It is?”
“Tha’s eighteen tumurow, Miss Mary,” Dickon mused. “And tha forgot?”
“I’ve been busy worrying about you,” She retorted, stroking his face. “And I shall continue to do so,”
Dickon opened his eye and looked at her so tenderly that both Colin and his father felt the need to look away and out of the window.
“And I will concern myself with a wounded soldier,” She added. “Because you can be such an idiot Dickon Sowerby!”
“I wrote to tha didn’ I?”
“Barely!”
“A friend was teachin’ me ma le’ers bu’....” He broke off.
“I’m sorry,” Mary said quietly. “We can talk later,”
“Aye, when I’m not in tha’s lap,” He agreed, before going silent again.

“The carriage is ‘ere, ma!” Jane called. The second Sowerby child had been waiting by the gate, fidgeting anxiously with her apron.
“Dickon! Dickon!” Little Anna May shouted. “Dickon’s ‘ome!” the nine-year-old would’ve started running, if not for Felix catching her round the middle.
The carriage stopped, and Mr. Roach hopped down.
“Mr. Roach! ‘Ello,” Susan Sowerby rushed out of the cottage, the rest of her brood following.
“Ello, ma’am” He bowed his head. “Felix, Phil, mind helpin’ wi’ yer brother?”
The two boys nodded and headed to open the carriage door.
Colin jumped out first, followed by his father.
“Thank thee for bringin’ our Dickon ‘ome,” Martha wept. “‘Ow is ‘e?”
“I’m fine,” He grunted, as his younger brothers eased him out of the carriage. Mary watched nervously, hands tentatively outstretched in case he fell backwards.
“Oh, m’boy,” Mrs. Sowerby gasped. “Oh, my lov’ly boy,”
“Hiya, ma,” He murmured. “I’m ‘ome,”
With those words, most of his family cried. Mary found herself tearing up slightly as she watched Dickon be gingerly taken inside by Felix and Phil.
“We best be off,” Archie said. “I’m sure my children will be by tomorrow, Mrs. Sowerby,” He nodded to her.
Susan smiled gratefully. “Thank tha’, Lord Craven. Thank tha, Colin an’ Mary,”
“May I stay?” Mary almost begged. “Please, mother. I’ll do anything I can to help,”
“Mary-,” Colin started but was interrupted by Martha.
“Oh, please stay Miss Mary! Tha must. Tha’ll be a Sowerby soon, I’m sure,” She clasped Mary’s hands.
The young girl flushed and smiled shyly up at the first woman to ever show her true kindness. “I’m hopin’ so,” She said softly.
Susan Sowerby laughed. “Come then, Miss Mary. I’ll show thee ‘ow ta change ‘is dressin’s,” She took the girl’s hand. “Thank tha both, an’ ya, Mr. Roach,” She nodded to the three men.
“When should we come and get you, Mary?” Colin said anxiously.
“I’ll walk back,” She replied. “Donnae worry, Colin,”
Her cousin squinted at her. His father clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Come, Colin. The Sowerbys are as much Mary’s family as we are,” He said.

Chapter Text

DICKON WAS USED TO A FULL ROOM, BOTH IN CHILDHOOD AND IN THE TRENCHES. Though the room he shared with his siblings seemed even smaller, as all eleven of his siblings, his mother, and Mary piled around his bed. All his brothers had grown in the two years he’d been gone, as did his younger sisters. Both Martha and Jane seemed to have aged, lines starting to interrupt their young faces; he distantly remembers his mother’s face doing the same when he was little, as he gained more and more siblings. He didn’t dare think about how at home Mary seemed to be in the cramped room, comfortable amongst the Sowerby children and calling his mother “mother” like they were truly married, and she was legally a Sowerby. He swallowed and looked up at his mother.
“Wha’s thee’s injuries, then?” She put her hands on her hips, her eyes ever a mirror of his own, inspecting his face.
“Bro’en leg, ribs and arm. Got some nasty burns a’well,” He listed tiredly. He had slept for most of the journey but felt like he could sleep for an age.
“Leave tha’rts brother alone while ‘e rests,” He heard his mother say. “Cmon now, it’s teatime,”

“How do you treat any of his injuries?” Mary asked softly. The younger children had gone back outside, Jane following to make sure they didn’t trample over the garden.
Mrs. Sowerby hummed. “Well, we gotta keep ‘is leg an’ arm straight. Maybe change th’ splint ‘e’s got at th’ minute. Wi’ th’ ribs, he shudn’ move fer a while, til they stop smartin’. His burns, though, I reckon we treat wi’ cold water an’ delicate bandagin’,”
“Should I go into Thwaite an’ buy some bandages?” Mary said. “I could go now,”
“Leave it til the morrow, Mary dear. Tha needs rest, tha’rts been up from London in jus’ two days,”
Mary chewed her lower lip. “I donnae want ta leave ‘im, mother,”
“Tha don’ have ta leave ‘im. If thee doesn’ mind sharin’ beds,”
The young lady shook her head. “As long as it’s no trouble,”
“Eh! Course not, Mary dear. Tha’s practically my daughter, an’ has been fer eight years now,”
“What if he doesn’t want ta marry me anymore?” Mary fiddled with her necklace. “I couldn’t bear it,”
The older woman laughed. “Oh, Mary. Tha may not see it yet, but m’boy still looks at thee wi’ love, even after two years. Now, go rest an’ make sure our boy is,”

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Colin was silent the entire way back to Misselthwaite. Lord Craven didn’t comment and instead looked out over the moors.
“We’re home, son,” Archie said. “Come, my boy. You need some rest,”
“Why didn’t she come home with us?” Colin frowned. “Misslethwaite has been her home for ages,”
His father hummed knowingly. “When you fall in love, lad, I think you’ll understand,”
“I want to understand now,” Colin glared.
“Misslethwaite only became her home, really, when she went out into the garden. Where Dickon was,” Archie said patiently. “You know how eager she would be to get outside. It was only a home whilst her garden and the boy were there,”
“But we’ve spent two years in London together, and she abandons me straight-away,”
“Colin, you know it isn’t like that,” Archie said gently. “You’ve known it since you first met the two of them, I can tell,”
“It feels like they’re leaving me behind,” The young Rajah said. “It was always Dickon first when we were kids. Even after I became less of a spoiled brat. It was always them because the garden was their first love when it wasn’t mine,”
“Then you know why she stayed,”
Colin huffed. “I do. I hate that it bothers me so, but I do look forward to seeing Dickon up and about the garden again. It’d do them both good,”

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The robin flew by his hat, almost knocking it over.
“Hey, thee,” Ben Weatherstaff grunted. “Get back to tha nest, leave me alone,” it twittered in response, hopping over the branch above the old man’s head.
“Thee looks ‘appy,” The gardener noted. “Wha’s tha heard?”
The bird continued hopping, chirping excitedly as it did so.
“Somethin’ bout Dickon Sowerby? An’ Miss Mary?” Ben deduced. The robin’s noises increased in volume, and the crotchety old man laughed. “Thank th’ magic fer tha’! I’ll have ta ask Mr. Roach ‘bout it at tea,”

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“Thee’ll have ta go look at tha’ garden soon,” Martha said. “It’ll be bloomin’,”
“Did Ben continue caring for it?” Mary asked breathlessly, muddy green eyes wide. “He said he would, but his rheumatics-,”
“We all tried our best,” Martha confessed. “We cannae keep it wick as you or Dickon does, but it is as wick as the day thee left,”
Mary beamed. “Oh, thank thee! Thank thee! I must go tell Dickon!”
“Aye, e’ll be glad ta hear it,” Jane agreed. “I must be goin’, Martha. My Albie will be ‘ome by now,”
“Aight, get ‘ome safe Jane,” Martha said. “Tell Albie all ‘bout it,”
“Aye, course I will,” The second Sowerby grinned. “See you, Miss Mary,”
Mary waved and then looked over at Martha curiously.
“Jane married Albie while tha was away. Las’ spring, I believe. ‘E got back wi’ ‘is left leg missin’, but she loves ‘im nonetheless,” The woman explained. “I donnae think they can ‘ave kids now, though,”
“Poor Albie,” Mary mused. “From my memory, he was so good wi’ thee’s siblings,”
Martha nodded sadly. “‘E an’ Jane argued at firs’, when ‘e came ‘ome. She made ‘im see sense,”
Mary nodded approvingly. “I’m hopin’ I won’ have ta do that wi’ Dickon,”
The other laughed. “Well, even if tha does argue, thee’ll be sure ta get thy way. Our Dickon couldn’t say no to thee, Miss Mary,”
Not knowing how to take that, Little Miss Mary blushed a bright red poppy colour and turned away from her old friend. Martha continued laughing at the girl, who had grown so much since their first meeting, where she was a sour yellow-faced child who did not have anyone to like and didn’t have anyone who liked her. My, how the years had been kind to them all, bringing Little Miss Mary Lennox. Martha privately thought that without her, and her brother, both Colin and Archibald Craven would be long dead.

“Tis thee’s birthday, tumurow,” Dickon said. Mary looked over at him, hands in a basin of water as she wet some bandages for his face.
“Tis indeed,” She confirmed. “Are thee comfortable wi’ me removin’ tha’s bandages?”
Dickon looked at her. She did not know how to react to the look, for it was not one she’d seen him ever express. It seemed like he was drinking all of her in, both frustrated and angry at his situation, two emotions that Dickon had seemed to gain during his two years at the front lines. There was a hint of warmth in his blue gaze, however, which made her feel flustered.
“If tha wishes,” He finally said, throat bobbing. “If tha still wan’s ta-,”
“I still want to marry you, Dickon Sowerby. I have since I was eleven years old when I realised how much I loved you,” She said fiercely. “And do not dare fight me on whether I do or do not love you, because I very much do,” She faltered slightly. “But if tha doesn’ wan’ me-,”
“Mary,” He said gently. “Why wouldn’ I wan’ thee? Tha’s the queerest lass I’ve ever met,”
“Tha’rt the queerest lad I’ve ever met,” She responded hotly, cheeks flushing poppy. He grinned crookedly, and she felt even more warm.

Dickon squeezed his eyes shut as Mary’s soft hands started to unwrap the bandages on his face. Her unblemished hands were cool over the marring of the right side of his face. He heard her sharp inhale as the bandages were taken off. The last time he’d seen his face, it was not a pretty sight.
“My soldier,” She said softly, voice small. “My poor beautiful soldier,”
He didn’t respond and instead cracked his eyes open. She leaned over him like an angel, blonde hair unbound from the usual tight pins that held it above her shoulders.
What made him take a sharp breath was the look she was giving him. Her eyes shone with thousands of unshed tears, the muddy green echoing the greens he had seen so long ago in their garden. The greens of the grass, of the leaves and the crickets. He was truly home now.
“Don’t cry,” She spoke. “You’re beautiful, Dickon,”
“Tha don’ need ta lie ta me,” He croaked out. “I’m a scarred soldier, Mary,”
“You are Dickon Sowerby, and you are whoever you want to be. Not how you think you are,” She said fiercely.
He looked at her. “I’m glad tha didnae change much, in London,” He said.
She sniffed. “How else could I possibly change? I believe I grew to be the best version of myself when I was ten years old, thanks to you,”
“Wasn’ jus’ me,” He argued. “Tha changed cause thee wan’ed ta. If tha didn’ wan ta, thee’s stubborn eno’ ta not. Thee changed cause tha foun somethin’ ta change fer. Th’ garden, an’ the robin,”
“I changed for you and Martha too. You, Martha and your mother are the first people I ever liked, and I wanted you all to like me too,”
He grinned again. “Well, thee succeeded wi’ tha’. Tha’s a Sowerby in all but name,”
“Well, I’m just waiting,” She said. “I’ll wait forever if I have to,”

Mrs. Sowerby found Mary sat beside Dickon on the bed, his uninjured hand in hers. She recognised the look of both adoration and desperation the young miss was giving her eldest son. She knew it well, as it was one she had used in her husband’s last days.
“Mary, dear,” She said quietly. “Did tha take th’ bandages off?”
Mary turned and nodded her head. “I don’t know how bad it is,” She murmured. “He’s asleep now, I thought fresh air might be good fer th’ burn,”
The mother inclined her head and moved to the other side of Dickon’s bed. She let out an involuntary gasp. Her boy’s once smooth brown skin was marred by burns, stretching from his forehead and down his neck. His curls, already short, were clipped so it wouldn’t touch the raw area of his injury. The wound didn’t make him less handsome, but it made him seem even older. Susan Sowerby held her hands to her face and choked on a sob as the true terrors her eldest son had gone through began to envelop her. He was just a boy, and look at him. Just over twenty years old, and he’d seen more than anyone ever should.
She didn’t notice Mary’s movement until the younger woman wrapped her arms around her waist.
“I know,” The little miss said. “I know,”
Mrs. Sowerby hugged the small girl to her side and started crying silent tears. Mary joined her, and neither spoke as they gazed down on the animal charmer, sleeping softly covered in scars and bandages no one should ever bear.

Chapter Text

THE NEXT TIME DICKON WOKE, MARY WASN’T THERE. He tried sitting up and immediately regretted it.

“Tha’s an idiot,” Felix deadpanned. “Thee’s gotta stay in bed, thy knows,”

Dickon sighed. “Aye, I knows,”

“Good,” His brother huffed. “Honestly, Dickon,” Felix had most certainly grown in the two years since he saw him last. He also knew Felix’s birthday would be coming by soon, his eighteenth. A scary thought for them all, truly. Come November the twelfth, his little brother would be an adult who would be drafted in the same war that sent him home broken.

“Don’ look at me like that,” Felix said. “I’m not th’ wounded soldier ‘ere,”

“Tha migh’ be, inna few months,” Dickon said stubbornly.

Felix drew his mouth into a hard line. “Well, donnae thin’ bout it,” He snapped. “I cer’ainly don’,”

“Where’s Mary?”

“Wouldn’ tha like ta know,” Felix said. Dickon shot him such a dark look his younger brother edged away from his bed slightly. “Blimey, Dickon. I don’ mean no harm,”

“Sorry,” Dickon said ruefully. “I jus’…”

“She’s thee intended, I knows,” Felix said. “She’s downstairs wi’ ma. Ma’s makin’ a fuss bout her birthday an all,” at his mention of Mary’s birthday, Felix soured. “She gets ta enjoy her eighteenth, bloody women,” He muttered.

Dickon eyed him. “While I can’ disagree wi’ thee, don’ curse bout her,” He warned. “‘An d’ya really want women ta be on th’ front lines?”

“Can’t say I wan’ anyone on th’ front lines,” The seventeen-year-old retorted. Dickon snorted.

“Aye,” He agreed. “Not a sight fer anyone,”

Felix watched his brother curiously as his eye glazed over slightly. His face had been rebandaged whilst he was asleep, and Felix couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t glad that his brother’s scar was hidden from sight. He didn’t think he was ready to see the true physical consequence of war just yet.

“Are tha goin’ back ta Misselthwaite fer thy birthday?” Florence asked curiously. “Doesn’ Mester Colin an’ Lord Craven miss thee?”

Mary hummed. “Maybe they do, but I’m comfortable here for the moment. I may go out to Misselthwaite this afternoon though, to see my cousin and uncle. And also my garden, and Ben Weatherstaff,”

The thirteen-year-old nodded, apparently appeased, and went back to peeling potatoes.

“I’ll come back wi’ thee, Miss Mary. I’m sure Mrs. Medlock ain’ ‘appy bout me bein’ gone fer so long,” Martha piped up.

“That’d be great, Martha, thank you,” Mary smiled. “I’ll be back tomorrow, I’m sure. If my roses are out, I thought I’d pick some for Dickon,”

“I’m sure he’d love that, Miss Mary,” Martha said.

Mary put down her knife. “I think you should stop calling me Miss Mary,” She declared. “Please, just call me Mary. You’re practically my family now,”

Florence laughed. “Tha’s right! I keep forgettin’, seein’ as tha’s still a Lady,”

“I couldnae possibly-,” Martha blustered. “Y’re a li’l miss, an’ have been since I met thee!”

“Call me Mary,” Little Miss Mary said, only slightly contrary.

“Alright, Mi- Mary,” The older woman sighed. “Le’s continue wi’ the potatoes, an’ then thee can go say good-bye ta Dickon,”

“Appy birthday, Miss Mary,” Dickon said softly as she entered, holding a bowl.

“Thank thee,” She said brightly. “I brought tha lunch. I’m goin’ back ta Misselthwaite in a bit, but I shall be home tomorrow,” She placed the bowl on the table beside his bed.

“Home, eh?” He mused.

Her eyes widened. “Oh! Yes. Home, to you,” She flushed. “If tha wishes,”

“Mary,” He said gently. “Thy knows I wish thee more than anythin’. In fact-,” He swallowed. “I have a gift, fer thee. I’m hopin’ tha’ll accept it,”

She gazed at him, looking slightly dazed. Was- was he talking about what she thought he was talking about? He moved slightly, wincing, and picked up a small box from behind his pillow.

“Dickon,” Her hands covered her mouth, eyes shining.

“Trus’ me, Miss Mary, I wish I cou’d go down on one knee,” He said, feeling shy and vulnerable. “Bu’ I also want thee ta know my wishes as soon as poss’ble. So, Mary Lennox, will tha marry me?” He held out the box for her. “I cannae promise much, but I can promise I’ll try an’ make thee as happy as thy can be,”

She took the box with trembling hands, opening it slowly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’ open it, either,” He said ruefully. “Bu’ I only have one workin’ ‘and, so,”

And Little Miss Mary took out the ring that nestled comfortably in its little box and slipped it on her left ring finger.

“It was Mother’s, she gave it ta me this morn,” Dickon continued nervously. “An’ god knows I wanted ta propose to thee in th’ garden, bu-,”

Mary surged forward, kissing him soundly on the mouth. After getting over his surprise, he kissed her back, hand moving to hold her waist. Her hands cupped both sides of his face.

“Twas perfect, Dickon Sowerby. I love thee,” She said. “Thank tha’, fer comin’ back, an’ fer lovin’ me,”

“What else was I supposed ta do? I’ve loved thee since we were children,” He responded. “I cannae wait ta marry you, Miss Mary,”

“Once you’ve healed. We shall marry in the garden,” She declared. “What does thee think?”

Dickon grinned his crooked grin. “I cannae imagine marryin’ thee anywhere else,” He agreed.

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“Miss Mary! ‘Appy birthday ta thee,”

“Ben!” Mary’s eyes lit up. “How are thee? An’ thy’s rheumatics?” She beamed.

The old man barked out a laugh. “Cannae complain, Miss Mary,”

“I’ll see thee later, Mi- Mary,” Martha said. “I should be lookin’ fer Mrs. Medlock. Hullo, Ben,” She nodded to the groundsman, before rushing towards the house.

“So, ‘ow was London, li’l Miss?” Ben Weatherstaff queried.

“Boring,” She said instantly. “It’s awful, truly. Nothing really grows in London, and the sky is always grey,”

“An’ thee likes blue verra much, I can rem’ber,” Ben’s eyes twinkled. “It’s good ta see you ‘ome, li’l Miss. Would thee like to see tha’s garden?”

“Please!” She said, eyes lighting up. “I told Dickon I’d pick him some of my roses if they were in bloom,”

Ben raised an eyebrow knowingly. “How is th’ boy?”

“Alive. He’s a li’l broken, but it can be fixed,” She said.

“Not all of it will be fixable, Miss Mary,” He said knowingly. “Trust an old man,”

She deflated slightly. “Aye, I know. I meant his injuries,”

“I may come over with thee when you go back,” He said. “See ‘ow th’ boy is,”

“I believe he would like that verra much,” Mary said honestly. “I’m goin’ ‘ome tomorrow, wi’ Martha. Tha can join us if thy wishes,”

“Aye, I do,” He said. “Sowerby home is thee’s home now, is it?”

Mary held up her hand, eyes shining happily. “Aye!”

The old man laughed. “I shoulda known. I shoulda known the firs’ moment I saw thyseln wi’ ‘im,”

“Mother says she knew from the beginning,” Mary said. “I haven’t talked to Colin or Uncle Archie yet, though- oh! I need to go see them!”

“Tha go, I’ll be prunin’ th’ flowers when thee comes back,” Ben Weatherstaff promised. “Go see thee’s cousin an’ uncle,”

Colin and his father were just finishing lunch when Mary came bursting in.

“Mary! Welcome home!” Colin greeted. “Happy birthday, by the way,”

“Thank thee verra much!” She said brightly, sitting down opposite him.

“So he’s proposed?” Archie said dryly.

Mary nodded. “But an hour ago!” She held up her hand. “Isn’t it pretty? It was mothers, Dickon said,”

“Congratulations,” Colin said brightly. “How is he?”

“I believe he’s healing, now that he’s home,” She said. “You can come visit tomorrow, I’m sure. I’m staying tonight, then going back home tomorrow,”

“Mary, your home is here,” Colin said. “Do you not think that anymore?”

“My home is where Dickon is,” She said obstinately. “And it has been that way for years. Mother’s teachin’ me how to cook and ta sew and ta make sure I can be the wife he deserves,” She beamed.

“Tell him we’re looking forward to having him back in the gardens,” Archie said. “And truly, Mary, I am delighted about your engagement. I know you and Dickon will be very happy, as Lilias and I were.” He smiled wistfully.

“Thank you, Uncle Archie,” She said sincerely.

“I shall start looking for cottages for you,” Her uncle continued. “It shall be my wedding gift,”

“Uncle Archie-”

“Mary, dear. You are my niece and I want you comfortable. I shall find you a cottage, and we shall all help you settle,” He said gently. “Now you are eighteen, you have access to your parents’ wealth. It should be enough to help you settle when you’re first married, though Dickon will have to get to work, of course,”

“It’s a bit early to talk about this, but thank you, Uncle,” Mary said. “We won’t be married for months yet, he’s still healing,”

“You shall be married here, of course. In the garden,” Colin said.

She nodded. “Yes! We agreed that, at least, b’fore I left,”

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Ben Weatherstaff was where he said he would be; Pruning back the ivy over the garden’s walls. The robin was perched on top of the wall, chittering away.

“Y’re a right annoyin’ li’l thing,” the man grumbled.

“Hello, robin!” Mary said brightly, coming down the path. Colin followed her in a jog. The robin flew down to her and continued chirping excitedly.

“I’m home! Dickon is too, but he’s in bed because he’s not very well,” She explained. “So only me at the moment, I’m afraid. I know thee likes Dickon much more than thy likes me,”

“Good ta see y’haven’ changed, Miss Mary,” Ben Weatherstaff said goodnaturedly. “Turnin’ into yer fiance b’fore me own eyes,”

“I can’t believe you became at home again so quickly,” Colin said, mouth stretched into a smile. “I am in awe, Mary,”

“It’s the garden. I’m always at home in my garden,” She said. “I’ve missed it,” She spun around, gazing around at every inch. “All it needs is Dickon to see it,” She said. “I’ve missed thee, my garden,”

Ben and Colin gave each other knowing, amused looks. The garden was a lot more than a simple garden, and everyone knew it. It was a true place of magic, healing three souls thought to be lost forever. Two of which found solace outside of it, whilst the last stayed content inside with her newfound family.

Chapter Text

MAYBE IT WAS TOO EARLY TO PROPOSE. They’d only been back just over a day, after all. Maybe he should’ve waited til autumn or even Christmas. On her birthday the day after they both got home was far too early. Especially seeing as the first time they even saw each other after two years was only three days ago (that felt like a lifetime ago, now). 

“Stop ye’ thinkin', lad,” Mrs. Sowerby chided over her knitting. Dickon looked over to her. 

“Dya think I proposed too early, ma?” He asked. “We only saw each other af’er two years a few days ago an’-,”

“Dickon, m’boy, I love thee verra much but tha’rt bein foolish,” Susan Sowerby tutted, putting her knitting down. “Ya’ve been in love wi’ each other since ye both heard of each other. Maybe you didnae realise it, but Martha, tha’ father an’ I knew one day thee’d be bringin’ ‘er ‘ome wi’ a ring on ‘er finger. Ya’ve known each other fer close to a decade, m’boy, I donnae thin’ yer rushin’ in the slightest,”  

Dickon pursed his lips. His mother rolled her eyes. 

“I don’ think I can talk tha outta this,” She said. “‘Opefully Colin will come by wi’ Mary on the morrow,” 

“Aye, I’d like that,” Her eldest son said distantly. 

“I think everythin’ is gonna start soon,” Jane said. “I can feel it in th’ air,” 

Felix made a face. “Yeah, right,”
“I really can,” She protested. “Its’s all been too perfect, yannow? I reckon Dickon’s gonna realise somethin’ an’ I dunno whether Mary’ll be able ta get ‘im out of it,” 

“Dickon never says no ta Mary, Jane,” Phil said. “It’s never happened ever. Y’know wha’ they’re like,” 

“Dickon’s been away two year, Phil,” Jane retorted. “All I can say, is I feel a storm brewin’, an’ I don’ wanna be ‘ere when it comes,” 

“Ever since tha got married tha’s gotten stranger,” Felix decided. Jane hit him with her tea towel. 

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“You really walked this yesterday?” Colin said, disbelief evident in his tone.

“Aye, we did Mester Colin,” Martha said. “Was a lovely day, yesterday,” 

Mary nodded, grinning over at her cousin. “Walking is good for tha’ Colin,” 

He shot her a mock-glare. “I walk,”

“Don’t complain then,” 

“I was not complaining!” 

Mary raised her eyebrows, and he stuck out his tongue at her. 

“Come now, I see th’ cottage!” Martha exclaimed. “Oh, li’l Anna May is out there wi’ Rose and Richie,” 

At that, the cousins looked over and brightened at the sight of the children playing in the garden without a care in the world. 

“Ma! We’re ‘ome!” Martha called, opening the front door. 

“Good ta see tha’,” Mrs. Sowerby greeted. “An’ Mary an Mester Colin! Come in an’ greet our Dickon, come on,” she bustled around, and practically shoved Colin towards the bedroom’s door. Mary laughed at the boy’s expression. 

“May I get a vase or a jug for the roses, mother?” Mary queried. “I brought some for Dickon, see?”

“Aye, of course dear. You know where ta find them,” Mrs. Sowerby smiled. Mary nodded, and walked over to the kitchen. 

“I better go back to tha’ ‘ouse straight-away, ma. Mrs. Craven only let me ‘ave the mornin’ off, an’ I won’ be able ta come back for another month or so,” Martha informed her mother. 

“Oh, Martha dear, I’ll walk part of the way wi’ thee,” The woman said. “Go on, Mary, Mester Colin,”

“Aye, Mrs. Sowerby,” Colin responded. 

“I’m home!” Mary said brightly as she entered the room. “Bought some roses,” She added, showing the man the vase. 

Dickon looked up from his notebook. “Ah, I missed both of tha. Th’ roses look beautiful,” He greeted. “‘Ow’s tha’s father, Colin?” 

“Father is well, thank you,” Colin said. “How have you been doing?” He added, sitting down beside the bed. “You look dreadful,”

The soldier snorted. “Thank tha’,” 

“Colin,” Mary chided. “Have you had anythin’ ta eat yet, Dickon?” 

“Aye, some porridge this morn,” He confirmed. “I’m well, Mary,” 

“Have tha’ taken your bandages off yet?” She persisted. 

Dickon gave her a hard look, and she froze. 

“Okay,” Colin coughed. “Mary, why don’t you go help Jane manage the young’uns? I haven’t had a chat with my best friend yet,” 

“Very well,” she said, her face drawn. I’ll be back later. " She glanced at her fiance before disappearing through the door. 

Colin looked back over at his friend, who was staring after her with a grimace marring his features. 

“She’s just worried, “ He said. 

“I know,” Dickon muttered. “Ev’ryone is,” 

“I’m worried too,” Colin added. 

“Tha’s not treatin’ me like china though, are tha?” The older man let out a long sigh. “Treadin’ round on eggshells, I swear,” 

“You’ll have to tell her you’re not actually mad at her, because she can’t deal with the thought of you being angry,” Colin said. “I don’t think it’s ever happened,” 

Dickon made a face. “Why’d I ever be angry at ‘er? She’s Mary,”

“I don’t know,” The younger said dryly. “I’ve been angry at her plenty of times. She can be a right minx, you know,” 

“Tha usually deserves it,” 

Colin snorted. “Tha’s not wrong, I guess,” He dismissed. “Mary’s not one I’d describe as delicate, unless it’s about you,” 

His friend shot him a confused look, and he grinned. “Dickon, I don’ think tha understands ‘ow much tha ‘elped both of us as children. And even my father!” Colin chuckled. “Without tha, I think both my father and I would be in a grave. An’ lord knows bout Mary!” 

“She was nice enough when I met ‘er th’ first time,” Dickon said. “Martha liked ‘er,”

“But tha was in the garden wi’ ‘er whenever thee could. As the garden flourished, she did,” Colin said wisely. “Sometimes I don’t understand, I admit, but the garden was more of a sanctuary for you and her. It was simply a stepping stone for me, because I believed in something higher than it. You two are content in the garden, much happier, whilst I wanted to escape it all entirely. I love the garden, but it wasn’t for it I got better. It was for my father and my mother, I suppose. I wanted to see the world, which I guess is why I was such a bitter teenager,” He laughed. “I was quite jealous, really. Mary being so happy in a simple garden with the gardener boy. I think I understand a lot more now, though. The garden is yours and Mary’s, and it’s where you fell in love,” He smiled pleasantly. “I’m happy for both of tha, you know. So is my father,” 

Dickon’s expression had become thoughtful. “I didnae think about any of tha,” He admitted. “Sometimes I get scared, cause of ‘ow much I do love ‘er, an’ the fact that I’m jus’ a gardener boy an’ she’s a lady who’s bein’ schooled in London, so far away from anythin’ I knew,” 

“You’ve been much farther now,” Colin said gently. 

“Aye,” Dickon’s jaw tensed. “I never wan’ ta go out of Yorkshire again, I’ll tell tha that,” 

Colin pursed his lips. “I know I can’t dissuade you from that,” He said softly. “As much as I’d love you to change your mind, I know I shouldn’t. You’ve seen and experienced so many things I could never think of, and wouldn’t ever want to. Thank you for your service, Dickon Sowerby. But thank you more for coming home to all of us,”  

“Stop frettin’, Mary,” Jane tutted. “Thee’s gonna tear up all tha’s sewin’,” 

“He’s never looked angry at me before,” Mary said sadly, picking at a stitch. “I didn’t want to upset him, I really didn’t mean to,” 

“When tha goes up later he’ll be apologisin’, jus’ tha wait,” Felix said wisely. “Ev’ryone knows tha can’ do a thing wrong in ‘is eyes,” 

Mary scrunched up her nose. “But married couples should argue, shouldn’t they? It shouldn’t end with me always gettin’ my way cause ‘e doesn’ like seein’ me sad,” 

Jane and Phil exchanged a look. 

“We don’ know ‘im much, really,” Jane said slowly. “E’s really changed, Mary, y’see? Tha’s gotta learn ‘ow ta treat ‘im now, cause e’s rather different since ‘e got back ‘ome,”

“I know. I just hope-,”
“Mary! Come on,” Colin opened the room’s door, poking his head past it. “Please don’t think he’s angry with thee, tha knows he can’t ever be,” He laughed. 

Mary worried her lip between her teeth, lay her crosstitch down on the kitchen table, and followed her cousin. 

Chapter Text

THE FEELING OF APPREHENSION WAS ONE SHE’D NEVER FELT WHEN SHE KNEW SHE WAS SEEING DICKON. She was always happy, excited, sometimes even nervous but the joy she felt when she got to see him and learn how to cultivate plants usually stamped down that feeling pretty quickly. 

“You’re pathetic,” Colin informed. “Truly pathetic,” 

She shoved him. 

“I get the message, bloody hell,” He grumbled. “I’ll be with tha’s siblings. Do act with propriety,” And with that, he disappeared back out of the room. 

Mary fidgeted nervously with her shawl. Dickon watched her silently. 

“I’m not mad at tha’,” He finally said. “Y’just…” 

“I’m sorry!” She burst out, rushing forwards. “I don’t know how to treat a wounded person, an’ I’m really trying to learn! I forget tha’ thee can get annoyed if I’m jus’ always frettin’ about an’ treatin’ tha like glass or anythin’ an’ I’m real sorry Dickon, I’ll try my hardest to be better,” Her eyes shone. 

“Mary,” He said heavily. “Tha’s not doin’ anythin’ wrong, love,” 

The endearment was new, and her cheeks flushed a pretty poppy colour. Dickon grinned. 

“I’m not used ta not bein’ able ta do everythin’ on my own,” He said. “I don’ like ta see tha’ doin’ somethin’ I should be able ta do,” 

Mary soured. “Dickon, you’ve broken over three bones and have been in a trench for two years. I think you deserve some relaxation, even if it coincides with healing. And I can do things as well, thank you very much. I may be a lady, but that donnae mean I can’t do things. Especially for thee, when tha’ deserves it so,” She scowled down at him. His lips quirked. 

“I don’ reckon ya’ve ever raised tha’s voice at me,” He mused. 

She fluffed out her cheeks. “Tha’s verra hard ta get mad at,” She grouched. 

“Ah, so it’s not jus’ me who cannae say no?” He raised his eyebrow. 

“It’s not hard to see I’m as gone for you as you are for me,” Little Miss Mary folded her arms. “You’re very difficult to say no to,”

“I don’ ask tha for much,” He said. 

She shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I can’t tell when tha wan’s somethin’,” 

“Are tha’ lookin’ forward ta Dickon an’ Mary’s marriage too, Mester Colin?” John asked. 

Colin inclined his head. “Of course. I should’ve seen it earlier, really. It was always them, back when we were children,” He mused. 

“Prob’ly good tha didn’ realise til recently,” Phil said. “Tha’s a jealous sort,” 

“Phillip!” Jane chided. “E’s Mester Colin, no’ a brother!”

The young Rajah didn’t respond and instead looked contemplative. 

“Before Dickon went away,” He finally said, interrupting the siblings’ quiet bickering. They paused to look over at him. “I was still quite self-involved. I suppose I still am, of a kind. My first instinct is to always think about how something will affect me, and then if I think it’ll be bad, I’ll get sulky. I am self-aware, but I was much worse two years ago. The years that I saw Mary go without Dickon, and her garden, seemed to open my eyes to them. I may still be jealous, for they are my friends and they are in love, but they also have the garden and are content with that, whilst I want to explore like my father did,” 

“Tha’ll find someone one day, I’m sure,” Jane said. “A nice lady you found in London,” 

“All the ladies I found in London were quite affronted by my cousin,” Colin snorted. “She never liked it and grew incredibly sour. I believe it was much like she was when she first came here. Quite an odd sight indeed!” 

“Mary’s made fer ‘er garden, an’ won’ wanna be anywhere else,” Felix said wisely. “Been obvious since the day I met ‘er,” 

“I think Mrs. Medlock tried to get Mrs. Hodgson to make sure Mary would marry someone in London,” Colin mused. 

The Sowerby siblings turned their heads to him, eyes wide. 

“Ehh?” Jane gasped. “No one there would be good enough fer ‘er! I’ll tell tha,” 

“I do know for a fact that James, the Hodgson’s son, liked her,” Colin continued. “Our time in London feels years ago, now, when it was only about five days,” 

“What was it like?” Elizabeth Ellen asked curiously. “All th’ pretty dresses an’ that?” 

“A lot of rich people trying to forget that there was a war on, if you ask me,” Colin muttered. “Real bunch of… er…”

“Tossers,” Phil said helpfully. Jane thwacked him on the arm. 

“Right there,” Colin agreed. “Mary hated em, cause they’d never show their actual face. Y’know how she is, hates anyone pretending to be someone they’re not,” 

“What’s the point in acting?” Felix scowled. “Glad tha’s come ‘ome,” 

“Aye, I’m glad too. Goin’ to Oxford in a few months though,” The young lord hummed. “Hope the people there are a good lot,” 

“Is anyone tha knows goin’ ta school wi’ thee?” John asked curiously. 

Colin nodded. “Aye, I’ve got a few friends goin’. I’m hopin’ they don’t ask too many questions bout Mary whilst I’m there,” 

“Why would that be a problem?” Florence piped up. Colin looked over at the thirteen-year-old. 

“Colin an’ Mary are a lord an’ lady, Flora,” Jane said sensibly. “They’re not supposed ta mingle wi’ us,” 

Florence screwed up her nose. “I forget bout that,” She said. “I cannae remember a time wi’out ‘em,” 

“Neither can I,” Rose agreed. The older siblings exchanged looks. Of course, the younger ones didn’t, John was only six when they met little Miss Mary and Master Colin for the first time, and Phil decided he didn’t much remember the eight years he’d had without the two in their lives either. 

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Mrs. Sowerby entered the bedroom balancing a bowl of water in hand. Colin stood apprehensively behind her, arms outstretched in case anything dropped. 

“Dickon, lad?” She said, looking over to her son. 

He raised his uninjured hand to his lips in a shushing motion. 

Mary was curled up beside him, head on a pillow and not quite touching him. She was sound asleep, dark blonde curls falling over her shoulders and splayed across the sheets. Mrs. Sowerby smiled fondly. 

“She’s been a right state, worryin’ bout thee,” She said quietly, bustling over to her son. “Ow are tha’s injuries?” 

“Eh, havenae changed,” The man said. “Bandages on me face is a right bugger, though,” 

Susan Sowerby clicked her tongue. “Donnae say such words,” She said. “I’ll take it off though, get some cold compress on it,” 

Dickon nodded. “Come over ‘ere, Colin lad, hold out the bowl fer me,” His mother gestured him forward. 

He stumbled over and stood awkwardly on Dickon’s other side. 

Mrs. Sowerby gingerly took off the bandage surrounding her son’s head and placed it in Colin’s outstretched hands. At the sight of his best friend’s face, the young Rajah let out a sharp breath. 

“Ain’t the worst a soldier ‘as come out wi’, Colin,” Dickon murmured. 

“I suppose it’s not,” He said quietly. “It’s still…”

“A right shock, eh?” 

Colin flushed. “Aye, I suppose so,” 

“Hold still, Dickon lad,” Susan Sowerby tutted. “We wan’ this ta be cleaned an’ fer thee ta not get an infection,”

“Aye, ma,” 

Chapter Text

MARY SLEPT FOR THE MAJORITY OF THE AFTERNOON. Dead to the world, and didn’t wake up as Mrs. Sowerby and Felix helped Dickon clean himself with damp towels. 

“I admire her,” The mother had laughed. “An’ I envy her parents who didnae have ta deal wi’-,” She stopped, and immediately frowned. Dickon watched his mother as she grimaced and lightly slapped her own wrist. “Mustn’t think such things,” She said. “Not bout Mary,” 

“She’s jus’ real tired, ma. Normally she doesn’ sleep too well,” Dickon said. “She used ta talk often eno’ bout bein woken by Colin cryin’, when she first got ‘ere,” 

Mrs. Sowerby smiled sadly. “The poor dears,” 

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The next month and a bit went by in a flurry of bandage changing and the blue skies over the moors ever darkening, as it drew closer to autumn. After Colin’s eighteenth in early August, he began packing and preparing for his upcoming first year at Oxford. 

Whilst he was doing so, Dickon’s injuries began healing. 

“Just walk to me,” Mary said excitedly. Dickon was standing up, half leaning on Felix’s shoulder but the fact that he was standing was the most exciting bit. 

“I’ll try,” He said hesitantly. “Felix, I thin’ I can go on my own,” 

“Alright. I’ll be right behind tha,” His brother slowly moved back. Dickon clenched his jaw but remained on both of his feet. Mary almost jumped in pure joy. 

He started to make his way over to her, shuffling slightly and taking a few minutes. He did manage to reach her, hands clapping over her shoulders. 

“Thee’s walkin’!” Mrs. Sowerby cheered. “Ah, it’s a lov’ly sight. Tha’ll be walkin’ over the moor in no time, I’m sure,” 

“Opefully so,” Dickon said. 

“Not hopefully,” Mary said, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. “Your arm is basically all healed now, and I’m sure your burns won’t have to stay bandaged soon!” She smiled brightly up at him. 

“I missed holdin’ thee,” He said quietly. Her grin grew. 

“Tha’ll be able ta hold me properly soon,” She assured. “Jus’ a few more months,”

He squeezed her and bent down slightly. 

“Dickon Sowerby,” She chided, eyes alight with amusement. He grinned and kissed her quickly, before straightening. 

“Tha’s uncle is gonna start demandin’ thee stay at the manor, if he could see tha’s,” Mrs. Sowerby said exasperatedly. “‘Onestly. Tha’s will be married soon eno’, I’ll wager,”
“In the spring of the new year, I’m thinking,” Mary said. 

“Sounds perfect,” Dickon agreed. “Can I sit down?” 

With the coming of September, it meant that the Sowerby children were becoming scarce around the cottage. John, Florence, Susan Ann, Rose, Richard and Anna May all had school as Martha, Jane, Felix, Phil and Elizabeth Ellen all found work. Whilst his siblings didn’t have the same ‘magic’ with living things, Dickon’s brothers Felix and Phil were both employed with Misselthwaite; just not amongst the gardens. Felix became one of the stable boys, and Phil worked down in the kitchens. Jane and Elizabeth Ellen, however, had started work at the local village pub. The landlord and his missus were nice enough, and always welcoming to new employees. 

“It’s weird, an’ quiet,” Dickon said. 

Mary and Mrs. Sowerby looked over at him from their knitting. 

“I cannae wait ta get back ta th’ garden, an’ th’ moors,” He continued, hand tightening around his mug. 

“I’m sure tha’ll be up an’ about proper sooner than later,” His mother ventured. “Say, when is Mester Colin goin’ ta Oxford?”

“Day after tomorrow,” Mary informed. She frowned. “Oh, blast. Have I done it wrong?” 

Mrs. Sowerby looked over. “Missed a few stitches, dear,” 

“Thank tha mother,” 

Dickon pursed his lips and looked out the window. “I wonder how th’ animals are,” He said softly. 

“Let’s go on a walk,” Mary said suddenly, dropping her knitting. “Come on, Dickon. I know you want to. I shall bring your crutch as well, in case… yes. Come on, put your boots on,” 

“My arm an’ ribs are basically all healed now, Mary,” 

“I know, but tha’s gotta be careful. Don’ wan’ anythin’ ta stop tha from healin’,” She said stubbornly. “So no runnin’ off,” 

He chuckled. “Aye, Miss,” 

“I mean it,” She warned, tucking her hand around his arm. “And be careful of the-,”
“Mary,” 

She faltered. “I’m being overbearing again, aren’t I?”

“Jus’ a li’l,” He bent slightly and kissed her head. “I know tha means no ‘arm,” 

“Sorry, I just don’t want to see you bedbound again. It doesn’t suit you,” 

Dickon smiled sadly. “I donnae like it much myseln, truth be told. Much prefer bein’ able ta do things,”

“I know that your animals have missed you. Captain’s got a little home in the garden now, and Soot lives in one of the trees. When we head over to Misselthwaite, we’ll go to the garden first,” 

“Aye, of course,” 

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Colin was very excited, the morning he would be off to Oxford. 

“Mary is coming to say goodbye, isn’t she?” He asked Martha anxiously. 

She laughed. “Aye! Indeed of course. She’ll be by soon, I’m sure, wi’ Mother,”

“It’s a shame Dickon can’t make it over yet,” He frowned. 

Martha’s eyes twinkled. “Eh! I thin’ thee could be surprised, Mester Colin,”
“What is that supposed to mean?” He demanded. 

“But a surprise, Mester Colin. I must go an’ see if Mrs. Medlock needs anythin’,” 

Colin looked confusedly after her as she left him in the hallway, bustling down into the servants’ quarters. 

“Colin! We are here!” Mary’s voice carried up from the foyer. 

“Be right down!” He yelled back, beginning to run through the hallway and down the stairs. 

“Colin you’re an adult!” He heard his father say exasperatedly as he sped past the older man.

“I’m not at university yet, father!” He laughed in response. 

He skidded to the front door, where Mary was. 

“Dickon!” He exclaimed, for his friend was standing beside her. Mary’s arm was tucked neatly in the boy’s arm, and she grinned. 

“Aye, Colin. I’m up an’ walkin,” Dickon said. 

“It’s great to see! Oh, this is the best news!” Colin beamed. “How is your arm? And your ribs?”
“Practically all healed up, jus’ a few twinges. Can’ walk anywhere too far though, I’ll need ta sit down soon,” 

“Thank you for coming to see me before I go, then. It means a lot, truly,” Colin said. Dickon inclined his head. 

“Dickon, lad, how good to see you on your feet,” Archibald Craven said, walking over to the small party. And Mary, it's always wonderful to see you.” He smiled down at his niece. 

“Hullo, Uncle Archie,” She said brightly. “I do hope Colin hasn’t been too much of a pain whilst he was packing,” 

Colin let out an annoyed squawk at that, as his father and Dickon both chuckled. 

“When’re tha off, then?” Mary said, sipping her tea.

“Probably just in another half hour,” Colin replied. “Phil’s helping Mr. Roach get the carriage sorted,” He turned to Dickon. “Your brothers are a good sort,” He said. “Good workers,”

Dickon nodded his head. “I’ll be sure ta tell Mother,” 

“So, when did you start walking?” The boy asked. 

“Ah, but a week ago? Maybe a li’l more?” Dickon looked over at Mary. 

“Aye, it was late August,” She confirmed. 

“Has it been that long since I visited?” Colin frowned. “I’m sorry,”

Mary shrugged. “Hadn’t noticed,” 

Colin pouted. “I don’t think you two should be so close, you’re not married yet ,” He said sourly. 

“Mother’s usually with us,” Dickon responded. “But if tha thinks…” He looked over at Lord Craven.

“I am wary,” The man sighed. “But I also know I shouldn’t separate you two. God knows how Colin handled Mary for two years without you, lad,” 

Mary pinked and Dickon rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. 

“I donnae how I managed meself,” He said. “Nothin’ grows out in the trenches. It’s jus’ death,” 

His three companions sobered, looking over at him. His face had darkened, and his mouth was pulled into a grimace. 

“Maybe we should head home,” Mary said softly, putting a hand on his arm. “Or did you want to go out to the garden before we went?” 

“Th’ garden, I’d like ta see if b’fore autumn really comes,” He answered. 

“Well, I suppose this is goodbye until Christmas, eh?” Colin said. “Please act with propriety, and I hope you’ll be fully healed by the time I get home,” He clasped Dickon’s hand in goodbye. 

“Aye,” The man responded stoutly. 

Mary hugged her cousin over the coffee table. “Enjoy yourself, don’t go full rajah,” Her eyes twinkled. Colin rolled his eyes and nodded. 

“Yes, Mary,” He said. “Now go out before it gets too late,” 

“Hullo, Miss Mary, an’ our own Dickon Sowerby! ‘Ow are tha’ lad? Sorry I haven’ been o’er ta see thee, y’know ‘ow the rheumatics is,” Ben Weatherstaff was pruning the roses as the young couple entered the garden. 

“S’all good, Ben,” Dickon said. “It’s good ta see thee up an’ about,” 

“Not much can keep me away from th’ garden,” The old man’s eyes twinkled. “An’ look ‘ere! Th’ animals, I didnae know half of ‘em were here,”

Slowly, Dickon’s animals had emerged from various spots in the garden. Captain jumped out of a bush first, then Soot flew down onto Dickon’s shoulder. At the sight of them and the garden, the soldier began to laugh.

Mary smiled softly up at him. The garden was truly a magical place, and she was glad Dickon could see it before it got too cold out. He seemed to relax, shoulders loosening as he greeted his animals with a smile gracing his features. The hollow cheeks and eyebags seemed to lessen as the garden lit up in blues and greens around him, and he came to life. 

Her cheeks coloured poppy as she watched him. Dickon’s place would always be here, amongst the garden and the animals who lived there. 

Chapter Text

AS AUTUMN ROLLED IN, THE NIGHTS BECAME DARKER. And with that, came little opportunity to take the trek up to Misselthwaite. Dickon started working more on his little garden, as Mrs. Sowerby continued to teach Mary how to cook and manage a home. 

However, with October, came a new wave of Spanish Influenza. 

Susan Ann, Rose, Richard and Anna May were living with Jane for the moment, whilst the Sowerby cottage was under lockdown. Felix had been sent home from Misselthwaite with a cough, which slowly descended into a high fever. In turn, the influenza had spread to Elizabeth Ellen, John, Florence and Mary. It seemed Dickon was still the same child he ever was; unable to catch anything. This meant his mother started to rely on him much more, due to him being the only other able-bodied person in the house. 

“I need more cold towels, Dickon lad. Flora’s fever is ever so high,” Mrs. Sowerby called to him from the bedroom. 

“Aye, ma!” he called, picking up a bucket and heading outside. Although the situation was not good, the repetitive motions of taking water back and forth from the well were good for his muscles, which had become lax from months of disuse. 

“I feel so much like I did when I was little,” Mary mused. 

“How so, Mary?” Elizabeth Ellen asked softly. The three girls were in the same bed, and the two boys in another. 

“I was an ill child,” She said, shifting under the blankets. “Frail and sickly, I remember my Ayah-,” She broke off, coughing. This in turn resulted in the rest of her ill roommates breaking down in heavy coughs too. 

“I sent a letter to tha uncle, Mary. ‘e said ‘e would send Dr. Craven over ta take a look at thee all,” Mrs. Sowerby bustled into the room. “I’m sure it’ll blow o’er soon, my loves,” 

“I donnae feel well, ma,” John said softly. “It donnae feel like any flu I’ve ever ‘ad b’fore,” 

“I’m sure Dr. Craven will have an answer fer us all,” Susan Sowerby smiled down at her children, her blue eyes smudged with tiredness. 

Dickon sat down heavily, drawing a hand over his face and sighed. 

“It’s gonna be a hard night, Dickon lad,” His mother clapped a hand over his shoulder. “I donnae think if all of ‘em are gonna pull through,” 

“Donnae say that, ma,” He said sharply. He’d heard that phrase too many times over his two years in France. He never wanted to hear it again.

Mrs. Sowerby looked at him sadly. “I’m sorry, boy,” She said softly. “I donnae what else ta say,” 

“I need to go out t’the moor,” He said. “I’ll be ‘ome later,” 

“Take somethin’ ta eat wi’ tha, then,” She said. 

“Aye, ma,” 

“Mary, love. Y’gotta eat somethin’,” Mrs. Sowerby murmured. “Wake up, lass,” 

The girl’s eyes fluttered open and she stared hazily up at her adoptive mother figure. 

“I’m tired, mother,” She said. “I’m really tired,”

“I know. Tha’s just gotta eat somethin’, so thee doesnae wither away,” 

She sat up slowly, wincing as her head moved. “It’s hit so quickly,” She said quietly. “Where’s Dickon?” 

“He went out, lass. Couldnae cope wi’ it,” Mrs. Sowerby answered. “Few hours ago, now. I shouldnae be worried about ‘im, but,” Her brow furrowed. “No matter how grown any of ‘em are an’ ‘ow much they’ve gone through, I’ll still worry,” 

“I suppose I’ll understand that feeling one day,” Mary said. “That is…” She frowned. 

“Now, Mary dear, tha’ mustnae think like tha’,” Susan Sowerby chided. “Won’t do anyone any good, lass,” 

“Hard to think otherwise,” 

Mrs. Sowerby only looked sadly at her almost daughter. If she died of this influenza, she did not know how any of them would cope. It would be like losing a daughter for her, and the same for Lord Craven. All her children would be losing a sister, and so would Colin. Susan Sowerby did not want to think about what would become of her Dickon. 

Selfishly, for him, all he could think about was what he would become if Mary succumbed to her illness, like his own father had done five years ago (and her parents eight years ago). Whenever he did go into the sick room, which admittedly had only been a couple of times to help his mother with cleaning and feeding, it reminded him far too much of any of the hospitals he’d been in over the two years at the frontlines. The smell of the sick was not a pleasant one, and it did him no better here in Yorkshire than it did him in France. If he closed his eyes and lost his tether on reality for just a moment, the dales of his childhood, the ones that had raised him into a young man, would become the dark mud of the trenches that raised him to be so, so different than who anyone expected him to be. He was a soldier, and he had survived it. ‘It’ was the curious thing; what had he survived? And had he, really? He still saw things at night, both behind closed eyes and in the pursuing blackness of the night, when his nightmares did wake him up. Could you really call something a nightmare if you’d already lived through it? A nightmare was an indescribable thing that causes you fear, but it never became a reality.

He took a deep lungful of air, and looked out to the sky. Misselthwaite stood grandly in the distance, ever dark and moody, a sharp juxtaposition to the gardens that surrounded it. Even now, in autumn, they were beautiful in their magnificence. 

“Ey, Dickon,” 

The boy turned his head, for even at twenty years old he felt so much like a boy. Ben Weatherstaff was there. Why was Ben Weatherstaff there?

“Tha shouldnae be walkin’ this far, should tha?” Dickon panicked, getting to his feet. 

The old man drew himself up, straightening his shoulders. “And should tha?” He said testily. “Now now boy, if I can walk, I will,” 

“Influenza is rampant though, ain’t it?” Dickon sat back down on his rock. Ben shrugged, sitting down beside him. 

“I’ve lived a long life, boy. Don’t you worry about me. My insides are iron,” His eyes twinkled, as they ever did. Dickon conceded that point. Ben was more Yorkshire made than he was, even if he didn’t understand the animals and the plants as he did, he was still made of the same strong and stocky stuff. “Now, what are tha doin’ out ‘ere? I hear Little Miss Mary has th’ flu,” 

Dickon’s jaw tensed. “Aye, that she does. An’ four of my li’l siblin’s,” 

“I’m sorry ta ‘ear that, lad,” Ben said heavily. “‘Ow are tha farin’ wi’ it?”

“I donnae think I matter ‘ere, it’s happenin’ an’ I’m not ill meself,”

Ben snorted. “Tha always matters, boy. Thee’s livin’ wi’ ill people, an’ tha’ll tha’s family,” 

“My ma is gettin’ the brunt. Carin’ fer em all. I jus’... try an’ be useful,” Dickon swallowed. “I missed th’ outdoors. Moor feels fresh t’day,” 

“Aye. a nicer outdoors than tha got used to, I’m sure,” Ben mused. Dickon shut his eyes and sighed. He’d been doing that a lot in the few days since the cottage had gone under a ‘lockdown’ of a sort. 

 “All I can think about when I see tha is ‘ow unlike thyseln you look,” 

Dickon looked over at the old man. “I don’ think I can go back. Ta who I were, b’fore,”

Ben met his eyes. “Tha can always become a new version of thyseln,” He said, almost wisely. “It’s ‘ard, ta get back ta life after somethin’ terrible, but tha has got ta wanna get better. If not for thyseln, but for tha’s pretty little wife-ta-be an’ tha’s mother,” 

“I was tryin’, Ben. bu’ all I can think of now is ‘ow much like the ‘ospital my ‘ome feels, an’ ‘ow worried I’m gonna lose me family an’ Mary all in one, like ‘ow I lost some of me friends,” 

“Not all tha’s family is ill, Dickon lad,” Ben said gently. “If th’ ill ones do go, tha’s still gonna have a family,” 

“Wha’s th’ point in tha’ family if I donnae ‘ow ta be wi’out Mary?” Dickon said sharply. “I didnae think I’d ever ‘ave ta learn, even while in th’ trenches an’ in France. She was always safe, an’ tha’s wha’ mattered,” 

“Tha feels guilty ‘bout worryin’ bout thy’s bride more than tha’s siblin’s,” Ben said. Dickon went a red colour, and he scowled down at his feet. 

“I’m a ‘orrible man,” He grumbled. “I’m ‘orrible,” 

Ben shrugged. “Dickon, she’s tha’s wife-ta-be. Thee loves ‘er more than anythin’ else, I ain’t surprised this is ‘ow tha’s feelin’, an’ neither will th’ rest of tha’s family. They understand, I’m sure. Then, when tha has children, they’ll be th’ ones tha loves th’ most, an’ Mary’ll be second. Tha’s how nature works, Dickon lad,” 

“‘Ow am I supposed ta go back to the Dickon who is at one wi’ th’ moor, when I ain’t at peace wi’ myseln no more?” 

Ben Weatherstaff drew a deep breath. “Tha’s simply got ta learn, ‘ow ta make things grow again. Wait fer Spring, an’ tha’ll find tha’rts way. Tha’s Dickon Sowerby, an’ if there’s anyone who can make things grow, it’s thee. Tha was trusted with newborn babies as a child, an’ tha’s still as gentle as ever, jus’ a li’l more rough ‘round th’ edges. Trust thyseln, lad,” 

“Tha didn’ seem ‘orrified by me face,” Dickon said in response. Ben looked at him. 

“Tha’s still th’ Dickon Sowerby I ever knew,” He said stoutly. “Even wi’ a half-burned face. Tha’s still a handsome lad, an’ I’m sure Little Miss Mary tells tha that as much as she can,” 

Surprisingly enough, or maybe not at all, Ben Weatherstaff’s gruff yet gentle manner always eased his discomfort. Dickon laughed. 

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She could feel the sudden heaviness of the mattress, and could hear Flora’s breaths start to become fewer and fewer. 

And then, silence from the girl to her left. 

“Flora?” Elizabeth Ellen managed out. “Flora?” Her voice was rough, a texture like sandpaper. Her little sister made no response. “Flora?” 

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Mary stirred, eyes cracking open. “Liza?”

“I think Flora…,” 

Mary fully opened her eyes at that, and looked at the girl beside her. Flora’s chest wasn’t moving, and she wasn’t grimacing anymore. Her face was relaxed, and her body seemed unnaturally still. 

“Stay there, Liza. I’ll go get mother,” Mary said. “Don’t touch her,” 

“Aye,” The girl said softly.

Mary sat up slowly, wincing as the room moved around her. 

“Mary what’re tha doin’?” Felix grumbled. “Tha’s ill,”

Little Miss Mary ignored him as she managed to her feet, using the wall of the cottage to get to the door. 

“Mary get back ta bed,” Felix said again, sounding not-at-all threatening. She swung the door open and stumbled out into the main room.

“Mary Lennox! What are tha doin’ outta bed?” She’d never head Dickon sound so angry yet so worried. She flailed forwards. “Tha needs ta go back ta bed,” He caught her easily.

“Flora,” She said. “She’s…,” The woman looked up at her fiance. He stared at her, blue eyes wide. 

Mrs. Sowerby bustled over, face ashen. “I’ll go an’ look, Mary dear,” She skirted around Mary and into the bedroom. 

Mary slumped against Dickon, breathing heavily. “I don’ feel well,” 

“Aye, tha donnae look well,” He agreed. “Tha’s gotta get back ta bed, love,”

“Tha seems stronger,” She said instead. “Are tha gettin’ better?”
He sighed. “Aye, Mary. Tha needs ta go to bed, darlin’,” 

She scrunched up her nose. “Tha needs ta put me down b’fore tha’s injuries start up,” She slurred. 

“Let’s get tha sat down fer now,” He sighed, placing her on a chair by the kitchen table. “How’s tha’s fever?”

She looked at him through her lashes, muddy green eyes dark and hazy. “Not good,” 

“I didnae think it would be,” He mused, pressing the back of his hand against her forehead. “Tha feels ‘ot, still,” 

“Dickon, lad, could tha go to th’ undertakers?” Mrs.Sowerby appeared at the doorway, shaking. 

He immediately straightened. “Aye, ma,” 

Through the haze of her sickness, Mary watched as the man she loved evolved right back into the role of a soldier, and half-expected him to salute to his mother before he left the cottage. 

“Flora an’ John are both gone. I moved Elizabeth Ellen an’ Felix ta chairs while we wait fer the undertaker,” Susan Sowerby said, looking older than she ever had. 

Dickon nodded sharply, and marched out of the door. 

“Come sit, mother,” Mary said. “I cannae do much, but tha needs ta sit,” 

Mrs. Sowerby let out a sharp exhale and practically collapsed in one of the chairs. “My babies,” She said quietly, pressing her hands to her face. “I donnae know what ta do,” 

Mary watched her sadly as the elder woman began to sob. 

Chapter Text

THE UNDERTAKER ARRIVED AND TOOK THREE BODIES AWAY WITH HIM. Whilst Dickon had gone to collect him, Felix had succumbed to his fever.

“I’ve got ta clean th’ sheets, or throw ‘em away,” 

“Ma, tha needs ta rest,” Dickon said gently. “I can do it,” 

Mrs. Sowerby looked at him. “Tha’s jus’ recovered,” She trembled. 

Dickon’s heart was breaking more with each coming day. To see his mother like this, frail and weak, was earth shattering. And all too similar to when his father passed. 

His jaw locked. “I can do it, ma,” He said again, but more roughly. 

“Aight, son. Take a break if tha twinges a bit,” She relented. “Don’ bother Mary or Liza, now,”

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Monday 28th October 1918

Dear Cousin, 

Before you ask, I do in fact feel better than I did. I suppose it might be shock, that means I felt able enough to write to thee. 

When the influenza hit the Sowerby cottage, I think many people (including mother) immediately knew not all of us would survive it. And, sadly enough, this is true. Out of the five of us who caught the influenza, only Elizabeth Ellen and I remain. I noticed Flora’s stillness first, so managed to get out of bed in order to alert mother and Dickon. When mother went into the room, she came out explaining that John was gone as well. She sent Dickon off to fetch the undertaker, to which he obliged. He seemed so scary in that moment, Colin. He became straight and I suppose like a soldier. It makes me worry for his health even more, I know he’s gotten better physically but his mind is a different matter entirely. When Dickon did come back, the Undertaker had to take Felix as well, for he had passed whilst we were waiting. The funeral, I think, takes place on the 10th November, if you would like to ask for absence to come up for it. 

It’s an awful place to be at the moment. I’ve never seen mother so… broken. I suppose it may be similar to when Mr. Richard died, but we were too busy to notice that, I guess. I remember Dickon being sad, and trying to make him feel better (looking back, I’d be surprised if Dickon actually liked us during those months he grieved). 

I am sorry to only be imparting bad news, but I suppose they’re things you must know. Dickon says he’s only happy Felix didn’t live long enough to be killed in a worse way when he would’ve enlisted come November. I cried quite a bit at that, I admit, and he seemed to tense even more. His shoulders are always hunched, and it makes me worry more. Dickon says I shouldn’t  be worried, for I am still the sick one, but nonetheless it is my job to worry, isn’t it? 

Moving onto more positive things (I hope), how is Oxford? Have your friends continued being entitled snobs? - I will not apologise for referring to them as such- and more importantly, have you been enjoying yourself and your classes? 

We all look forward to seeing you come Christmas, for as I write I do in fact feel better than I have in weeks. 

Your father sends his love (assumedly, I haven’t been able to see him since early this month)

Love, Mary Lennox

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Friday 1st November 1918

Dear Mary, 

I am sorry to hear about the losses of Felix, John and Florence. Please send Mrs. Sowerby my condolences. I shall ask for a period of absence (most likely the 8th to the 11th) in order to come up and give my respects to the three of them. 

I am, however, relieved to hear that you are recovering, however selfish that may be. I’ve been worrying since father sent me a letter disclosing your catching of the influenza. 

Do not apologise for only imparting bad news, for it is all important. I’m glad Dickon is getting better and walking more, but I do also admit to being worried over his welfare. As his best friend (Soot does not get that title as he is a crow), I tell you simply just be there for him. He has tried to push us away slightly, but I don’t think I need to tell you to refuse. Be your contrary little self, Mary Lennox, and he shall be swayed I’m sure. 

I shall ignore your insights into my friends, for I like them. They’re enjoyable company, and a riot in conversation. You’re simply contrary, and hate all the people we met in London. I suppose I can’t blame you, even though you were a right sour little thing, because of the fact we were away from home and Dickon was fighting on the front lines. 

They do ask about you, sometimes, you know. I haven’t revealed anything telling as of yet, but they will find out one day as they are my friends, so will come and visit Misselthwaite in the next few years. I’m sure I can fend them off until after your wedding, however (that is not an invitation to put the wedding off, for you are far too impatient for that, and I imagine so is Dickon). 

Just so you know, James Hodgson has been bugging me awfully about you and whether you will return and if you have truly married. I have not told him of your plans, but I think the Hodgsons will be coming to visit at some point next year. Hopefully you’re married before then, eh? 

Classes are truly enjoyable, and I am having fun. Sometimes I forget about the war, and then I start to feel guilty. Shouldn’t I have gone with Dickon? I know I only turned eighteen in August, but I still feel dreadful for being able to skirk away from the duty. 

Send my regards to father when you do see him next, unless that is the funeral. Then I shall greet you all at once. 

See you in just over a week, cousin (that isn’t a threat, even if you may see it as one)

Love Colin Craven

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“Does tha hate me fer livin’, when tha’s siblings did not?” 

Dickon looked down at Mary sharply. His blue eyes seemed uncanny to ice as he stared. She worried her lip between her teeth, tugging her shawl closer to her body. They were in the garden, as it was the first day she felt like her old self, and she wanted to see how it was faring as winter neared. 

“Does it make me a bad person fer only prayin’ thee survives?” He returned. “Aye, I confess tha was th’ one I wanted ta feel better th’ most. Ol’ Ben Weatherstaff found me one day, an’ explained tha’ it made sense, fer tha is th’ one I wanna be wi’ til our last days. Mary, thy is th’ one I love most in this world. Please donnae forget tha’,” He reached up and cupped her face in his hands. She felt smaller as he looked down at her, and her eyes shone.

“How are tha feelin’?” She said. He exhaled. 

“Not great,” Dickon admitted. “My li’l siblin’s are dead, Mary love. It ‘urts, and it ‘urts me ta see ma in so much pain,”
“Was she like this when your father died?” Mary asked quietly. 

He moved his hands to hug her waist, pressing his face into her hair. “I tried not ta see it. I came outside as much as I could, ta get out of th’ ‘ouse. Losin’ ‘im were one of ‘er last straws, methinks. An’ now,” His throat bobbed. “Wi’ Felix an’ John an’ Flora dead, she’s lost an’ther straw. I donnae know ‘ow she keeps livin’, wi’out da. I don’ know ‘ow I’d live wi’out tha,” 

Mary hugged him tightly. “Cause she ‘ad ‘er children ta love and look after. I suppose one day we will love our children more than we love eachother,” 

“I confess, I cannae wait ta meet our children,” Dickon said softly. “Bu’ I donnae know if I’d survive if any of ‘em died, or if tha did,”

“I think we’re too young ta think of our children dyin’, Dickon. An’ it ‘urts ta think about,” Mary said, jaw suddenly tense. 

“Aye, I knows. I jus’... I donnae know wha’ ta do fer my ma. An’ ‘ow ta ‘elp ‘er,” He sighed. Mary reached up and cradled his face in her hands. He hissed slightly as her thumb brushed his burn scar.

“Tha jus’ needs ta be who tha is,” Mary said firmly. “Tha’s mother knows ‘ow much tha wants ta help ‘er, but fer now th’ pain is far too fresh fer ‘er ta truly think ‘bout it,” 

“I know,” He said. “Losing and burying people hurts,” 

Her breath caught. He smiled at her sadly.

“I don’ know th’ pain, of buryin’ one’s child, bu’ buryin’ ones friends ‘urt enough. Losin’ three children would feel like agony,” 

Mary didn’t know what to say to that , so leaned up to kiss his jaw. “Thank you for coming home,” She murmured against his skin. “And I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am that you had to leave in the first place,” 

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“Good to see you amongst the garden again,” 

Dickon turned his head away from his flowers. “Aye, mester Colin,” He tipped his cap. “‘Ow was th’ journey?” 

His friend rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I thought you’d be happy to see me,” He said. “Journey wasn’t too bad, I’m just thankful to be home,” 

“Aye, I get th’ feelin’,” Dickon mused. “Have tha seen Mary yet?” 

Colin shook his head. “Father told me she was here,” He looked around. 

“She’s botherin’ Ben Weatherstaff,” Dickon’s lips pulled into a smile. Colin grinned at the sight. 

“Of course she is,” He snorted. “I’ll bet ‘e was thankful whilst she was away,” 

Dickon immediately tensed. 

“Oh, curses!” Colin yelped, pressing his hands to his mouth. “I’m so sorry Dickon. I was really trying to cheer you up, I swear it!”

“Aye. I know. Mary’s jus’ on th’ other side of th’ garden,” He went back to inspecting the flowerbeds. Colin grimaced. That was a clear dismissal, something he wasn’t used to. If he were any younger he’d most likely have a fit, but thankfully the boy had grown somewhat. He left Dickon to his plants and traipsed through the garden in order to find his cousin. 

“Tha’s a strong lass, tha knows?” 

Mary pulled a face. “I’m not really,” 

Ben Weatherstaff levelled her with one of his looks. “Look ‘ere, Miss Mary,” He said. “Tha may not wanna admit it, but tha’s been through a lot. Tha’s a strong lass,” 

“I don’t see how I’ve been through a lot,” She said stiffly. “My life has been wonderful and privileged,” 

“Miss Mary, tha came ‘ere, ta the middle o’ th’ bloody Yorkshire moors, from India! After tha lost tha’s parents an’ ev’ryone tha ever knew. Then tha had ta learn ‘ow to live in England, an’ ‘ow ta be a good child rather than a sour ‘un,” He chuckled at that. “Tha really were the queerest lass,” 

Mary scrunched up her nose. “Dickon says the same thing,” She muttered. 

“We both means it in th’ best way, Miss Mary,” Ben clapped her on the shoulder. “Then tha found th’ garden, an’ tha started ta bloom. Goodness knows tha only started bloomin’ after our Dickon lad started ta ‘elp thee,” 

“I don’t see how any of this is relevant,” She was blushing a pretty poppy colour now, which heightened Ben’s amusement. 

“Then tha ‘ad ta ‘elp Mester Colin. An’ tha did. Then thee ‘elped Lord Craven,”

“Dickon did way more than I ever did,” She disagreed. “Ev’ryone knows it,”

Ben raised a brow. “Ah, but tha started it, didn’ tha? Tha was th’ one ta talk ta Colin an’ befriend ‘im. Then tha was th’ one who ‘elped him wi’ ‘is father, an’ all,” 

His companion pursed her lips, evidently disbelieving. “Miss Mary, tha knows tha’s a good person, don’t thee?” He said softly. 

“I don’t feel like a good person,” She grouched. “I was such an awful child, and I don’t feel I can apologise to anyone enough,” 

“Tha’s how thee were raised, Miss,” Ben said. “Th’ main thing now is tha has admitted ta bein’ awful, an’ tha has grown t’be a better person,” 

She looked up at him. “If I was so good a person, I’d know how to help Dickon and his family,” She said, swallowing. 

“Miss Mary, now tha’s bein’ contrary,” He chided. “No one knows how ta ‘elp wi’ grief. Ev’ryone experiences it different, see? Jus’ be there, an’ they’ll appreciate thee,”

“That is exactly what I told her,” Colin said primly, appearing from behind a bush. Mary shrieked, grabbing onto Ben’s arm as he roared with laughter. 

“Also, I think I got Dickon into a bad mood,” He grimaced. “I was jus’ tryin’ ta… anyway,”

Mary smiled sympathetically. “He’s not doing great,” She said. “I feel like I’ve ‘ad many conversations ‘bout it all wi’ ‘im, but I donnae know if anythin’ is ‘elpin ‘im,” She frowned. “I’ll go see if he’s okay,”

“How about a hello first?” Colin said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes and hugged him. 

“Good to see you Colin. Thank you for coming. Dickon does as well, but he won’t tell you that for another few days,” 

Colin sighed. “I thought that may be the case,” 

Chapter Text

HE FORGOT HOW MUCH HE HATED THE TIGHTNESS OF COLLARS. In the army, they’d have to wear them collared up to the throat, in order to have a semblance of professionalism. And, at funerals, he had to wear it the same way. His nicest clothes were his army uniform, which were the cleanest and softest they’d ever been, through his mother’s washing. 

That didn’t make him feel comfortable, per say, but the smells on the fabric being of home rather than a battlefield made him feel the most comfortable he’d ever been in them.

When he left the bedroom buttoning up his coat, he caught Mary’s eyes. 

She’d started living more at Misselthwaite, now that she had recovered and Lord Craven had decided to attempt some kind of propriety. She was dolled up prettily, a  collar of her own closing around her throat with a dark coat wrapped around her black dress. Her hair was pinned up under a black hat, purple flowers decorating the rim of it. 

Her eyes shone with something he couldn’t discern as she stepped forwards and finished buttoning his coat for him. 

“I’m sorry,” She said quietly.

“S’okay, Mary love,” He replied, catching her hands before she withdrew them from his chest. “We’re gettin’ through it,”

She looked at him, eyes narrowed. He was honestly trying his best, for his ma, Mary and the rest of his siblings. It was hard, and awful, but the days were getting shorter and he felt something good was just beyond the horizon. 

“Can tha ‘old me while they go in th’ ground, Dickon?” Anna May asked quietly, tugging at his jacket.

“Course, Anna,” He said, heaving her up into his arms. He’d been regaining his strength little by little, and now was thankful his arm or ribs didn’t smart as he held his baby sister.  

“Wha’ ‘appened exactly ta tha’s face?” She queried, putting her hand over the scar.

“Got burned by somethin’ real bad. It’s lucky I can still see an’ ‘ear,” He answered. The nine-year-old frowned. “Tha’s awful,” 

He shrugged. “I’ve seen a lotta men come off worse, so I’m quite thankful really,” 

She cocked her head to the side. “Is that during the war? While you were away?”

“Aye, Anna. Now, let’s be quiet fer the priest, li’l love,” Dickon murmured. She hummed and turned her head to look over at the priest. 

Beside them, Mary rested her head against Dickon’s shoulder in a silent support. 

“Thank tha,” He said quietly to her, and she smiled tightly in return, cheeks already wet with tears. 

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DAILY MAIL ANTI WAR SPECIAL

Monday, November 11, 1918

GERMANY WAVES THE WHITE FLAG

KAISER ABDICATES - REVOLUTION IN BERLIN - ARMISTIC TALKS UNDER WAY - DELEGATES BLINDFOLDED AND TAKEN TO FOCH

BUGLER CROSSES LINES: 

At noon a German major with an NCO held a large white flag. The bugler blew frequent blasts. 

The French major whose battalion was occupying the line received the enemy major with military etiquette. The German said he had come for instructions as to how parlementaires should proceed, and asked for confirmation that firing would be stopped until the passage had been safely made. 

[...]

The French were cheerful but in no mood for fraternising. The Huns protested, ‘Armistice! The war is over!’ The French compromised by accepting the lot of them as prisoners. 

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Archie almost slammed the paper down. 

“I say, father,” Colin frowned over the table. “Whatever is the matter?”
Mary eyed her uncle suspiciously as she buttered her toast. “It’s not bad, is it?” She asked anxiously.

To both of their surprise, Lord Craven smiled. 

“It is the best news,” He assured. “The war is over,” 

Colin dropped his fork and Mary her toast. They gaped at the older man. 

“Daily Mail this morning,” He threw the paper over to his son. Colin caught it easily and smoothed it out on the table. 

“It’s about time,” He said. “Everyone can start to come home,”

“Not everyone,” Mary corrected, her face pinched. “Think of all those who have died under an unmarked grave,” 

Archie and Colin exchanged looks and grimaced. 

“Yes. you’re right,” Colin conceded. “But it means no one else has to die,” 

“That’s true,” She murmured. “I should go see if the Sowerbys know,” 

“You can go after you finish breakfast,” Her uncle said. “Mary, I do think we need to have a conversation-,”

“In the new year, Uncle,” She said. “I’ll be off then,” The little miss got to her feet, took the paper and left the room.

Colin looked over at his father, who sighed. 

“It’s a good day, Colin. We must rejoice,” He said. “Then I can discuss the finer parts of marriage without a scandal with your cousin,”

“Without a scandal?” The boy lifted his tea to his lips. 

Archie gave him a dry smile. “If people think she and Dickon aren’t being correctly chaperoned, they will think she’s pregnant,” 

At that, Colin choked on his tea. 

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It was gone ten by the time she got to the cottage. Not forgetting manners, she rapped her knuckles on the door as she got her breath back. It was five miles from Misselthwaite, and she had admittedly done a very fast walk in order to get there before eleven. 

“Mary, what’s tha doin’ ‘ere?” Elizabeth Ellen blinked at her. “Isn’ Colin goin’ back ta school later?”

“Have you seen the news?” She asked breathlessly. 

The girl frowned “What news? Is it good?” 

Mary nodded her head. “Look!” She handed the girl the paper. Elizabeth Ellen unfolded it and studied the printed words. After a few seconds, she looked back at Mary with wide blue eyes. 

“11:11 today?” 

“Mmhm!” 

“Oh, Mary!” The sixteen-year-old threw her arms around her. “No one else has to die!” 

“They don’t,” Mary said, hugging her back tightly. 

There was a shuffle of footsteps inside the cottage, and Phil’s face appeared looking confused. 

“Wha’s goin’ on?” He demanded, looking at his twin sister for an answer. “Why’s Mary stood out ‘ere? It’s almost winter,” 

Elizabeth Ellen looked abashed. “Ah I’m sorry, Mary. Come in,” 

“Mary dear, we weren’t expecting to see you today,” Mrs. Sowerby said, greeting the girl with a kiss on the cheek. “How goes it?” 

“The war, mother. It’s over,” Mary said. “Germany is signing a treaty in Versailles. The fighting is going to stop,” 

Susan Sowerby smiled sadly. “Well tha’ is good news, isn’t it?” She mused. “Issa pity Felix…” the woman swallowed heavily, blinking rapidly. “Well, it means no one else is gonna lose their son,” 

“I thought I’d better come and tell you all,” Mary said anxiously. “I thought…”

Mrs. Sowerby cupped Mary’s face. “Tha’s a lovely girl,” She murmured. “Beautiful inside an’ out. Thank tha fer thinkin’ of us,” 

“Of course- what-,” 

“Mary,” Dickon said suddenly, and Susan Sowerby let her hands fall from the girl’s face. “Did tha come o’er ‘ere on tha own?” He frowned. 

“Dickon! I brought news,” Mary sped forwards. “The fighting is going to stop. Germany surrendered!” 

Her fiance considered that, catching her round the waist. “Means no one is gonna ‘ave ta face buryin’ a son wi’ no body,” He said quietly. 

“It officially starts at 11:11 today,” Mary said quietly. “I just…”

“Thank tha fer comin’ ta tell us,” Dickon kissed her forehead. “D’ya want me ta walk tha back ta Misselthwaite? I can say bye ta Colin then,” 

Mary nodded. “If you think your leg will be okay,”

He smiled softly down at her. “I’m healin’ proper, Mary love. It’s been four months since tha got me, an’ almost five since I got injured,”

“I feel like the new year will give us all a new fresh start,” Mary said quietly. 

Dickon hummed. “Aye, it prob’ly will. It’ll be good fer us all,”

The young couple fell silent as they walked arm in arm across the moorland of the late morning. 

“Mary,” 

She looked up at him. “What is it?” 

“I know I already asked thee, but I wanted ta ask again,” He said, seeming nervous. She watched him through her lashes as he lowered himself down onto the grass. 

“I love tha more than anythin’. I thank thee fer bein’ there fer me these past few months,” He held her hand tightly. “Thank tha fer helpin’ us wi’ the losses. An’ fer not givin’ up wi’ tha’s own illness,” 

“Of course,” She said softly. 

“I cannae promise much, an tha knows it. I can promise tha a family, an’ somewhere where tha can feel safe an’ loved. I also…” His throat bobbed. “Tha knows I’m not th’ same, since I got ‘ome, but I’m tryin’ my best. An’ I think I’ll feel better bout it all someday, but it won’ be fer a long while. I… I went through a lot, tryin’ ta survive in order to get back here with thee. Jus’... don’ give up on me, I suppose. I cannae wait ta marry thee, if tha’ll still ‘ave me,” He grinned crookedly, and it almost met his eyes. 

Mary’s heart leapt, and she smiled down at him. “Dickon Sowerby, tha’s the queerest lad I’ve ever known,” She murmured, crouching down and cupping his face. “I love tha, unconditionally,” 

He leaned into her touch and looked at her. The blue eyes were ever a place of comfort, mimicking the sky above the moor. If she ever doubted her home, she only ever needed to look into his eyes and feel at peace at her place in the world. “I cannae wait ta be tha’s wife,” She informed. “We’ll ‘ave our fair share of strife, I’m sure. Jus’ never doubt my love for you, because if I hadn’t have met you I donnae think I would’ve known what it would’ve felt like,” 

“I adore tha, Miss Mary,” He said quietly, their foreheads touching. “I cannae wait ta be tha’s ‘usband,” 

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Archie let out a very exasperated sigh when Mary and Dickon came traipsing into the library. Both had mud on their knees, and were grinning almost comedically. 

“Please don’t tell me you did anything stupid,” He said to his niece and her beloved.

“He proposed to me again,” Mary said, smile widening. “I think everything is gonna be okay, Uncle Archie,” 

He surveyed her with a fond look, one a father would give his daughter. “I think it will be too, Mary dear,” 

“Where’s Colin? Dickon said he’d say goodbye to him before he went back home,” Mary looked around. Colin, an ever constant in the library, was not there. 

“He left whilst you were out, I’m afraid. He’ll be home in a month though, so don’t worry,” 

Mary made a face and Dickon snorted. 

“I best be off then,” He said. “I’ll come by on Friday, Lord Craven,” 

Archie inclined his head. “Of course, Dickon. I’m sure my niece is looking forward to it,” 

“Have a safe trip home, and give my love to your mother,” Mary said, kissing her fiance on the jaw. 

“Course,” He replied, smiling down at her and then nodding to Archie before leaving the room.