(no subject)

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

If Ben Weatherstaff thinks it strange to see a young blonde woman following Mary Lennox through the garden paths, he grumps and keeps it to himself, as he has many other strange things he's seen over the years (although with rather more frequency since Miss Mary came to live at Misselthwaite.)

Mary herself marches with purpose until they reach the secret door, but she opens it softly, and her steps become gentler, too, once she enters the garden.

"Here it is."

Comments

[called_lioness]

Lucy's smiling as she pushes the door that much more open and follows the smaller girl.

"Oh, Mary. It's lovely."

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

Of course it is.

Fierce: "It is the loveliest place in all the world."

[called_lioness]

"Yes. Oh, yes, Mary, it is."

And Lucy means it.

"Please show me about?"

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

"This is how I first saw it."

Mary's voice is pitched low.

"Standing right here - I thought it all was dead. The roses had not bloomed and I did not know they were wick; nothing was alive. There were weeds all over. But Dickon came and showed me -"

She moves over to the climbing rose vines, hanging wild over the walls.

"- how it all was wick. And would grow after all. And here is the tree where the robin's nest is; it was the robin showed me the garden. I cleaned out all the weeds around it to let the flowers grow."

[called_lioness]

"You did very good work."

Her fingers are tracing over leaves and petals.

"I should like to stay in here forever."

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

Mary's glance at her is a little sour.

It does not help, when she says things like that; it only means Mary hopes, when she knows that it is foolish too.

"But you cannot." Flat.

[called_lioness]

"If I were alive, I would."

That's soft and honest.

"But even if I weren't leaving the bar, Mary, I--I'm still dead, dear."

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

"I know," Mary says, and looks over at the roses.

They've passed the period of their brightest bloom, though there are a few left on the vines, still. They're well-tended, and so they last.

"You are not wick."

[called_lioness]

"...Come here, Mary," Lucy says after a moment, crouching a bit.

"Please?"

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

They're in the garden.

Mary comes over without hesitation.

[called_lioness]

Lucy wraps her arms around Mary without another word, pulls her closer and holds her tight and wishes and wishes that it were different.

It's not.

But she can wish.

"You," she says finally and quietly in Mary's ear, "are everything I could ever want in a little girl. That anyone could want. You are brilliant and fierce and believe in things and love with all your heart. And when you didn't understand why I wanted to have a child, I didn't know--I didn't know how to say, but oh, Mary, it's because I love you so very much and I wish I could have a little girl like you. Because just knowing you makes me so very, very proud and filled with love. And if I could--oh, if I could make it different I would. I would. But I can't, and all I can do is love you and pray for you and promise that I'll come if you need me. I will. And I will always and forever love you, Mary Lennox."

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

Mary is - not exactly silent, by the end of this; Mary's never been a silent weeper. She sniffles a lot, and her nose runs, and she raises her hand up over Lucy's shoulder to wipe her eyes, furiously, over and over, angry at herself for crying and at Lucy for making her.

She doesn't say anything.

But she holds on, with her other hand, as tight as she possibly can, and the grip probably hurts Lucy's arm.

[called_lioness]

"I love you," she whispers again, and she's sitting on the ground, skirt bunched around her, as she pulls Mary into her lap and holds her that much closer.

It hurts.

She doesn't want Mary to let go.

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

Right now, Mary's not letting go unless she's pried loose.

Which will be soon - too soon - but it's not yet.

[called_lioness]

"Oh, Mary," Lucy whispers, and "I love you," she keeps whispering, and mostly she holds Mary--like she did before, like she always wants to--and rocks her as she sits on the ground of the garden.

It can't possibly be long enough.

But it's what they have.

And in a while, Mary's arms will loosen, and in a while Lucy will let her go, and both will stand up and walk a bit more around the garden.

And then they'll go back to the bar, and it's that much closer to leaving.

But for now, Lucy rocks Mary, and she hums brokenly through tears, and she wishes.

And for now, they hold on.