Mary Lennox

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A busy weekend and a case of writers’ block made me late to the party this week. As always a hearty ‘thank you’ to Karen Rawson and J Hardy Carroll.

When I saw that we’re in Yorkshire this week, my mind went to one of my all-time favorite books, ‘The Secret Garden” by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I searched Google for information about the author who was a progressive woman of her day. Alack and alas, the pieces just wouldn’t come together for a biographical flash. As a child and, even now, I like to daydream sequels. So today, just for grins and giggles, I dashed one off.

The photo I chose is a garden in Yorkshire Dales.

Genre: Daydreamed Conception

Word Count; 150

IT’S NO SECRET

Colin sniffed a rose. “Springtime in Yorkshire. I miss it.”

Mary knelt to pull a weed from her uncle’s grave. Standing, she brushed dirt and leaves from her swollen belly. “He loved this garden so. If it’s a boy we’ll name him Archibald. ”

Dickon kissed her. “A grand name our little ‘un.”

Colin’s eyes welled. “There’s magic in this place.”

Mary swallowed. “Must you go?”

Colin squared his broad shoulders. “I’ll stay until the christening, Cousin Mary. My patients depend on me.”

At that moment, a woman with gleaming curls entered the garden and embraced Mary. “Am I late?”

“I hope no one minds,” said Mary. “I invited Teresa to dinner.”

Colin flushed. “Pleased to meet you—Teresa.”

“Dr. Craven.” She offered her hand. “Mary says you have a thriving practice in London.”

“I—I’m moving back here soon.”

Dickon’s lips curved upward. “Aye, there’s magic in this place.”