“We’re all happy, aren’t we?” said Colin contentedly.

“True enough,” said Dickon, nodding.

“We’re pirates!” exclaimed Mary.

“We’re lords!” Dickon grinned.

Colin threw his hands dramatically into the air. “We are conquerors of this fair and beautiful land! This is our garden and we love it!”

“No, it’s not,” said Mary quickly.

Colin frowned. “What?”

“It’s not our garden,” Mary said. “It’s happy we’re here, but it was made by someone else and it still belongs to them.” She bit her lip and decided it was now or never: she had to tell Colin what she knew. “Come with me. I need to show you something.”

Dickon gave her a concerned look. “Mary . . .”

“I have to show him, Dickon,” she said. “He needs to see.”

“See what?” Colin said warily.

“Come with us,” said Mary.

She and Dickon pushed Colin’s wheelchair through the temple, past the broken statue, through the grove of umbrella plants and the overgrown trees. The wheelchair bumped and bounced over the tree roots. Colin gripped the sides tightly. He’d fallen silent. Eventually, they reached the clearing with the oak tree and the swing.

As they pushed him into the clearing, Mary felt the air go still as if the garden was holding its breath.

As Colin’s eyes fell on the oak tree and the swing, a look of horrified understanding dawned on his face. “Stop! I command you to stop!”

She halted. Colin stared at the swing, his face paler than ever.

“You know what happened here, then?” Mary said softly.

A muscle jumped in Colin’s jaw. “They told me my mother died in her favorite clearing, where she used to have a swing. Is this the place?”

Mary nodded.

Colin started to struggle upright, using his arms to push himself up to a standing position. “Why would you bring me here?”

“Because you needed to see it,” said Mary, shocked at the hurt in his eyes.

“Would you like to see the place where your mother died?” he cried.

“My mother died in a hospital, alone and in pain!” Mary retorted. “I thought you would like to see that your mother died in a peaceful place, a better place. I thought that it would help!”

Colin sank back into his wheelchair. “Well, you thought wrong,” he muttered. There was a long silence. When he spoke, his voice was tight. “Can you fetch me some flowers, please, Dickon? The white ones.”

With an anxious look at Mary, Dickon nodded and did as he was asked.

“And then can you take me home?” Colin continued stiffly. “I don’t want to be here.”