I've been re-reading the Secret Garden, again. I just keep going back to it.
In the Dead of Night
She had thought him a queer, common boy. He thought her the queerest lass he'd ever met. But they liked each other, nonetheless. Their friendship had remained strong over the years. Even when she was sent to school in London, they wrote letters to one another. He had informed her of training to tend to the animals in Thwiate. She had informed him of the awful girls at school. Upon her return, it was as if nothing had ever changed. She wore fancier petticoats and dresses of fine silk, but she had rushed to her room, changing. In a simple cotton dress she had run back outside, bursting into the garden.
It was then that Dickon knew she hadn't changed. And that she had become even more beautiful than he remembered. Her golden hair that reached her waist was tied up in braids. She had become rounder. Not "fatter" as she put it when she was ten. Just softer. He thought she looked angelic, but there she was, digging into the dirt with her hands, dainty gloves tossed aside.
She had regarded him in slight surprise. He had grown. His round face had some angles to it. His mouth was still wide, his nose still up-turned. And his eyes still the most lovely shade of blue she had ever seen. She was still sure he was a woodland spirit. He towered over her in height, and spoke in that Yorkshire way she admired so much.
Now they were together in the dead of night. In the small church in Thwaite village. With Martha and her husband Lucas as witness, Mary Lennox became Mary Sowerby. She regretted that the wedding had to be done in secret, but knew of the objections. Heavens, there were objections when Mary had announced that she didn't want to marry Lord Craven's friend's son. He was a nice enough man. But he was so boring and unaffectionate. He only cared for his profession, law. By marrying Dickon, she would give up her inheritance. And the large manor. She didn't care.
Just one look from Dickon had her heart fluttering and her stomach in knots. A simple brush of the hand when gardening made her stop breathing.
The dim candelight illuminated them. Dickon wore his nicest suit and Mary wore a white dress. The lace details were intricate, covering her arms and bodice. They stared at each other as the priest spoke, eyes boring into the other's. She looked down, blushing. Wife. She would finally become his wife.
The ceremony ended almost as soon as it began. Dickon smiled, taking his bride's small hand.
"Tha' looks beautiful," he whispered into her ear.
She blushed more profusely, squeezing his hand.
Martha and Lucas led them outside to the carriage that would take them to the small cottage Dickon had purchased with his meager wages. Martha hugged Dickon tightly, congratulating him. She turned to Mary, doing the same.
"Tha's my sister, now," she smiled.
Mary nodded. The Sowerbys were always like family. Colin was wonderful, but he was away at medical school. She had written him of her intentions and he had written back with congratulations. He promised to speak to his father to see if he'd reconsider disowning his dear cousin. That was the threat Archibald Craven had made. Disownment. How could she be disowned, though, when she had a family in the Sowerbys?
Her and her new husband settled into the carriage, still holding hands. Before they knew it, they were at the tiny, one-roomed cottage. Dickon helped her out of the carriage and promptly lifted her off the ground, carrying her. He pushed the door open, carrying her over the threshhold. He placed her back on the ground gently. Mary closed the door behind them before throwing her arms around Dickon's neck.
"I love thee," she said, caressing his cheek.
"And I love thee," he said, kissing her softly.
Despite them having stolen a few kisses before, this one was different. They were not in the garden, but in their home. It felt more intimate, more private.
"I think," she said quietly between kisses, "that I fell in love with you before I met you, and I never realised it. When Martha would talk about you to me when I first came to England, I could not wait to meet you."
"She told me stories about thee, too. The princess from India," he recounted with a smile, his blue eyes shining.
"And then, I met you, and you were even more wonderful than I imagined. Sitting beneath the tree, charming animals" she laughed a little.
"What?" he asked.
"I thought you were a beautiful angel," she blushed, "because your eyes are the same blue as the moorland sky.
Dickon's bright blue eyes danced under the soft light of the candles and he brushed his calloused thumb across her cheek, kissing her.
"I wish," she mumbled between kisses, "I wish I never went away to London, that we were together sooner."
"We are togetha' now. That's enough. Now and for the rest of time, my Mistress Mary," he said quietly.
"I am Mrs Mary Sowerby now, Mr Sowerby," Mary corrected him with a smile.
"Indeed, tha' is. Forever," he nodded in compliance.
The End! I felt like I needed to write something a bit happier than 'Zombie'. Please review.