The Hidden Garden
a retelling of The Secret Garden
edited by Jane Mouttet
Chapter 11 – Someone to Share the Secret
For a few minutes, Dickon stood quietly, looking around the garden. Mary watched him closely, curious to see what he would do next. He began to walk around softly, even more lightly than Mary had when she first entered the hidden garden. His eyes took in everything—the gray trees covered with climbing vines, the tangled bushes, and the stone benches surrounded by tall flowerpots.
“I never thought I’d see this place,” he whispered, amazed.
“Did you know about the garden?” Mary asked.
He nodded but quickly made a “shh” gesture. “We have to talk softly,” he whispered. “Someone might hear us and wonder what we’re doing in here.”
Mary quickly covered her mouth. “Oh, I forgot!” she whispered, feeling a little scared. “Did you know about it?”
“Martha told me there was a garden no one ever went into,” he replied. “I always wondered what it looked like.”
His eyes sparkled as he looked around. “Just imagine all the bird nests that will be here in spring. No one comes near this place, and the birds have plenty of trees and roses to build in. I wonder why all the birds on the moor don’t nest here.”
Mary, without thinking, touched his arm. “Do you think there will be roses?” she asked softly. “I thought maybe they were all dead.”
Dickon smiled and pointed at a tree. “Not all of them!” he said confidently. “Look here.”
He took out a knife and carefully cut a small branch. “Some of this wood is old but grew new last year. See this brownish-green shoot? That’s new.”
Mary touched it gently. “Is it really alive?”
“Alive as you or me!” Dickon said proudly.
Mary beamed. “I’m so glad! I want all the roses to be alive. Let’s count how many are still alive!”
They hurried around the garden, checking every tree and bush. Dickon showed Mary how to tell the difference between the dead branches and those still alive. He cut away the dead parts with his knife and explained how they could make the plants healthy again.
After a while, Dickon spotted something unusual in the grass. “Look at that!” he exclaimed, pointing.
Mary blushed a little. “I did that,” she said.
Dickon knelt down, grinning. “You did good work! A gardener couldn’t have done better. These are crocuses, snowdrops, and daffodils. They’ll grow tall now that you’ve cleared space for them.”
Mary smiled shyly. “I’m getting stronger, you know. I don’t feel tired when I dig anymore. I like the smell of the earth when it’s turned up.”
“It’s good for you,” Dickon agreed. “There’s nothing like the smell of fresh dirt, especially after it rains. I go out on the moor when it rains, lie under a bush, and listen to the drops falling. It’s my favorite thing.”
“Don’t you ever catch a cold?” Mary asked, amazed.
Dickon laughed. “Not me! I’ve spent my whole life running around outside, just like the rabbits. I’ve breathed in too much fresh air to ever get sick!”
They continued working in the garden, trimming the plants and clearing the weeds. As they worked, Mary felt happier than she had ever felt before.
“Will you come again and help me?” Mary asked. “I can help too. I can dig and pull weeds. Please, come again, Dickon!”
“I’ll come every day if you want me to,” Dickon promised. “Rain or shine. It’s the best fun I’ve ever had!”
“If you help me make the garden alive again, I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you!” Mary said, overwhelmed with joy.
“You don’t need to thank me,” Dickon said, grinning. “You’ll get stronger and learn how to talk to the robin just like I do. We’ll have lots of fun together!”
He looked around thoughtfully. “We don’t need to make the garden too neat, do we? I like it the way it is, with everything growing wild.”
Mary nodded eagerly. “Yes, let’s keep it a secret garden. It wouldn’t feel the same if it were too tidy.”
Dickon agreed, but he also noticed something strange. “It’s odd, though,” he said. “It looks like someone’s been here, trimming the plants. But how could they have gotten in? The door was locked, and the key was buried.”
Mary didn’t know what to say. It was a mystery to her as well.
They continued working, planting seeds and planning where to put new flowers. Mary remembered a song that her cousin Basil sang to tease her. “Do any flowers look like bells?” she asked.
“Lilies of the valley do,” Dickon replied. “And there are flowers called Canterbury bells and campanulas.”
“Let’s plant some!” Mary said excitedly.
As they worked, Mary realized something. “Dickon,” she said, “you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met. I like you a lot.”
Dickon smiled his big, warm smile. “I like you too, Mary. You’re a strange little lass, but a good one.”
Mary was happy to hear that. She felt like she had found a true friend in Dickon. When the big clock struck noon, Mary realized it was time for her lunch. She sighed.
“I have to go,” she said sadly. “You’ll have to go too, won’t you?”
But Dickon shook his head. “I’ve got my lunch right here,” he said, pulling a bundle from his pocket. “Bread and bacon—plenty for me!”
Before she left, Mary asked one last question. “Whatever happens, you won’t tell anyone about the hidden garden, will you?”
Dickon smiled, his mouth full of bread. “Not a word. You’re as safe as a bird in its nest.”
And with that promise, Mary felt more certain than ever that her secret garden was safe.
Chapter 12 – Mr. Craven Returns
Mary ran as fast as she could to her room, excited and slightly out of breath. Her hair was messy, and her cheeks were pink from running. When she opened the door, she found Martha standing by the table where her dinner was waiting.
“You’re a bit late,” Martha said, noticing Mary’s rushed appearance. “Where have you been?”
“I’ve seen Dickon!” Mary said, her eyes bright with excitement. “I’ve seen Dickon!”
Martha grinned, clearly happy. “I knew he’d come. How do you like him?”
“I think he’s wonderful,” Mary said determinedly.
Martha looked surprised but pleased. “Well, he’s a good lad, but we never considered him handsome. His nose turns up a bit much.”
“I like it that way,” said Mary, feeling sure.
“And his eyes are so round,” Martha added thoughtfully. “But they’re a nice color.”
“I love that they’re round,” Mary insisted. “They’re the exact color of the sky over the moor.”
Martha smiled proudly. “Mother says his eyes turned that color from always looking up at the birds and clouds.”
“But he does have a big mouth, doesn’t he?” Martha teased.
“I love his big mouth,” said Mary firmly. “I wish mine looked just like his.”
Martha chuckled. “It’d look funny on thy little face! But I knew you’d like him when you saw him. How did you like the seeds and garden tools?”
“How did you know he brought them?” Mary asked, surprised.
“I knew he would. He’s that kind of lad,” Martha said confidently.
Mary didn’t ask any more questions, even though she was curious. She was too excited about the seeds and tools. The only time she felt nervous was when Martha asked her where she would plant them.
“Who did you ask about planting them?” Martha inquired.
“I haven’t asked anyone yet,” Mary admitted.
“Well, I wouldn’t ask the head gardener,” Martha advised. “Mr. Roach is too grand for that.”
“I haven’t seen him,” Mary said. “Only the under-gardeners and Ben Weatherstaff.”
“Ask Ben, then,” Martha suggested. “He might be crabby, but he’s not as bad as he looks. Mr. Craven lets him do what he likes because he made Mrs. Craven laugh when she was alive. Maybe he’ll help you find a corner to plant your seeds.”
“If no one else wants the space, then no one could mind if I used it, could they?” Mary asked hopefully.
“Of course not!” Martha said. “You won’t do any harm.”
Mary quickly finished her dinner, eager to return outside, but Martha stopped her.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” Martha said. “Mr. Craven’s back, and I think he wants to see you.”
Mary felt her excitement vanish. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. “Why does he want to see me? He didn’t even want to when I first arrived.”
“Mrs. Medlock says it’s because of my mother,” Martha explained. “She met Mr. Craven on her way to the village and stopped him. She said something about you that made him want to see you before he leaves again tomorrow.”
“Is he leaving tomorrow?” Mary asked, relieved. “Oh, I’m so glad!”
“Yes, he’s going away for a long time. He may not come back until winter,” Martha said. “He likes to travel.”
“Oh, I’m so glad!” Mary repeated. If he were gone until winter, she would have all summer to watch the secret garden grow without anyone knowing!
Before Mary could ask any more questions, Mrs. Medlock walked into the room in her best black dress. A brooch with a picture of her husband was pinned to her collar.
“Your hair is a mess,” Mrs. Medlock said, frowning. “Go brush it, and put on your best dress. Mr. Craven wants to see you in his study.”
All the excitement drained out of Mary. She felt stiff and nervous again, like the plain, unhappy child she had been when she first arrived. Without a word, she went into her bedroom, and Martha helped her change into her best dress and brushed her hair. When she was ready, Mrs. Medlock led her down long, unfamiliar hallways to Mr. Craven’s study.
When they reached the door, Mrs. Medlock knocked, and a voice inside said, “Come in.” Together, they entered the room. A man was sitting in a large chair by the fire. Mrs. Medlock spoke softly.
“This is Miss Mary, sir.”
“You may leave her here,” Mr. Craven said. “I’ll call for you when I need you.”
Mary stood quietly, feeling small and nervous. Mr. Craven didn’t look like she imagined. He wasn’t ugly, but his face was sad and tired. His dark eyes looked like they couldn’t focus on her properly, as if his thoughts were far away.
“Come here,” he said, his voice gentle but tired.
Mary slowly walked closer. He stared at her momentarily before asking, “Are you well?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Do they take good care of you?”
“Yes,” she repeated.
He rubbed his forehead as if something was troubling him. “You’re very thin.”
“I’m getting fatter,” Mary replied, trying to sound polite.
Mr. Craven looked as if he was barely paying attention to her. “I forgot about you,” he said. “I meant to send you a governess, but I forgot.”
Mary gathered her courage. “Please,” she started, her voice trembling, “please don’t make me have a governess yet.”
Mr. Craven seemed surprised. “What do you want, then?” he asked.
“I want to play outside,” Mary said quickly. “It makes me feel strong, and I’m getting fatter.”
He thought for a moment. “Where do you play?”
“Everywhere,” Mary replied eagerly. “Martha’s mother gave me a skipping rope, and I skip and run. I look to see if things are growing in the earth. I don’t do any harm.”
“You couldn’t do any harm,” he said kindly. “You can do what you like.”
Mary felt a lump in her throat. “May I?” she asked softly, stepping closer.
He looked at her, seeming more worried by her anxious little face than before. “Of course,” he said. “You can do whatever makes you happy. Is there anything else you want? Toys? Dolls?”
Mary took a deep breath. “Might I… might I have a bit of earth?” she asked, her voice trembling with excitement.
Mr. Craven looked startled. “Earth? What do you mean?”
“To plant seeds in. To make things grow,” she explained, her heart pounding.
He was silent for a moment, and then he smiled faintly. “You can have as much earth as you want. Take it from wherever you like.”
Mary’s face lit up with joy. “May I take it from anywhere, as long as it’s not wanted?”
“Anywhere,” he replied. “Now go. I’m tired.” He rang the bell for Mrs. Medlock. “Goodbye. I’ll be gone all summer.”
Mrs. Medlock arrived quickly, and Mr. Craven spoke to her. “Let Miss Mary run about as she likes. Don’t watch over her too much. She needs fresh air and freedom. Mrs. Sowerby will come to see her now and then.”
Mary could hardly contain her excitement as she followed Mrs. Medlock out. As soon as she reached her room, she found Martha waiting.
“I can have my garden!” Mary cried. “He said I could have it anywhere I want, and I don’t have to have a governess for a long time! Your mother is coming to visit me too!”
Martha beamed. “That’s wonderful!”
“He’s a nice man,” Mary said thoughtfully. “He just looks so sad.”
Excited to return to her secret garden, Mary ran as fast as she could. When she arrived, she found that Dickon had already left, but the tools were neatly placed under a tree. Feeling slightly disappointed, she noticed a piece of paper stuck to a rose bush with a thorn. She smiled when she saw what it said, printed in big, rough letters:
“I will come back.”
Miss previous chapters of The Hidden Garden? You can read them here.
Come back next week for the next chapters in The Hidden Garden.
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