The Garden was wearing its best spring attire that morning. It was draped in silks of pink roses and necklaces of violets. A perfume of the finest lilies filled the air. The sunrise shining over the hedges was so gorgeous that you wished it would never end.

Mary wished it would never end. She wished that it could just stay morning forever.

She didn't come out to see the sunrise all that much. It was always too early and the mornings were too cold.

This morning was different. Mary had to get up early.

She had to see Dickon before he left for France.

Mary wished that there was not a war. She wished Dickon hadn't volunteered. He wasn't even old enough. Tall enough to pass for eighteen, but hardly past sixteen in truth.

And now he was leaving. Off to God knows where in France doing God knows what.

Mary had to stay. Mary had to stay and prepare for her debut in two years. She had to become a proper lady.

She couldn't see herself worrying about things as frivolous as dresses in a time of war. It all felt so...selfish.

Mary tried not to dwell on it too much as she sat waiting in the garden, her blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

A rustle to her side signaled Dickon had arrived.

He looked so handsome in his uniform.

His funeral attire, thought some cynical part of her. She put the thought aside as quickly as possible.

"What time does the train leave?" Mary asked quietly.

"Eleven," Dickon answered with his Yorkshire lilt. How she'd miss his wonderful voice.

With Dickon off to war and Colin at college, Mary was all alone at Misslethwaite.

Mary nodded, "Little less than an hour then."

"I've time," He replied, coming towards her. The uniform made him stand more upright. "Train station isn't far."

Mary nodded once more, pulling at her blanket, "I've brought something for you."

She managed another small smile at Dickon again.

Mary thought about when he told her he had enlisted last week and how her heart had stopped when he said it.

"I can't jus' sit aroun' while everyone else is out fightin'," he'd explained. "It's my duty to go."

Mary knew that. Everyone young man felt that way. War was a place of honor. A place where men do heroic deeds and sing peppy songs.

But Mary had also seen the men who had returned. They had no honor left. They sang no peppy songs.

Mary pulled off the string she'd had around her neck. A key brass skeleton key hung from it like a charm.

Dickon looked a bit perplexed as she put the key into his hand.

"I had another key to the garden made," Mary said. He was about to speak but she put up a hand. "It didn't cost much, honestly." Gingerly, she clasped his hands over it, "The garden is as much yours as it is mine. Probably more so."

Dickon shook his head, "It's always been tha's, Mary. But thank you for the key." He looked down and she noted that their hands were still together. Neither one of them pulled away. "I've got somethin' to give thee too."

Mary looked up a bit quizzically. Then, with a concentrated face, Dickon leaned down and kissed her right on the lips.

It wasn't passionate or sensual or anything like that. It was just a simple, sweet, brush of a kiss that felt as light and soothing as gossamer.

It only made her sadder.

"Promise you'll come back," Mary said seriously. "Promise."

"I promise," He promised. "I'll keep that promise. I'll come back, Mary. I will."