Mrs. Medlock spoke. “She’s here. I’m sure of it, sir,” she said, and her voice was warmer than Mary had ever heard it before. She and Mr. Craven looked at each other over Colin’s head and a tear fell down Mr. Craven’s cheek. With a groan, he hugged Colin as if he would never let him go. Eventually, he pulled back.

“Forgive me, Colin. I should have visited you more, and then I would have realized you did not need the medicine. But it was . . .” He swallowed. “Too hard for me. I am sorry, so very sorry.”

“It’s all right, Father,” Colin said, his eyes bright with tears. “I understand. You have been in a prison as much as I.”

His father looked at him wonderingly. “How is it that we are taught by our children?”

Mary exchanged looks with Dickon. We have all taught each other, she thought. And the garden had taught us most of all.

Colin’s voice became brisk. “Enough of this. Tell me, Father. How do you like our garden? Would you like me to give you the grand tour?”

A smile lit up his father’s face. “Yes, Colin,” he said, clearing his throat and nodding. “I believe I would like that very much.”

With a grin, Colin began to hobble around the garden, pointing out the different plants to his father and Mrs. Medlock. Mary smiled at Dickon as they followed on behind, with Hector trotting at their heels.

23

Four Months Later . . .

Mary, Colin, and Dickon sat on the bank of the stream, dangling their legs in the clear water while Hector nosed in the bushes beside them. Spring had passed, and the garden was a riot of summer flowers—tall hollyhocks and Canterbury bells, scrambling roses, twining sweet peas and honeysuckle, beds of lilac lavender and pink geraniums and joyful bright yellow and red dahlias. The gate to the garden stood open all the time, and the house was a very different place. Mary’s uncle had dedicated himself to rebuilding it, opening up the old rooms, organizing the builders and decorators, his soul coming to life again as he constructed a new home from the ashes of a prison. The plan to send Mary away to school had been dropped on the day of the fire, and now Mr. Craven used the books in his library to teach Colin and Mary about the world.

He had employed more staff so Mrs. Medlock, Martha, and Mrs. Pitcher didn’t have to work so hard, and the house was a bustling, happy place again. Dickon was now the official gardener. He could still slip through the mist like a shadow but was more often to be seen strolling through the grounds, whistling, with Hector at his heels.