Till All the Seas Run Dry - a sequel to 'The Secret Garden'
A story that will warm the heart and stir the memory
Availability: Usually despatched by return of post
Front cover: The sea runs dry near Ingleborough in Yorkshire
Paperback - 284 pages
John Owen Smith; ISBN: 1-873855-28-1; October 1998 (revised edition 2002)
Associated title: Come Home Kathleen by Susan Webb
Inside Flap . Back Cover . Contents . Excerpt . About the Publisher . Further information
Mary found Colin's horse tethered to a tree near the top of the crag, quietly grazing. His ears went back when he saw them, but he continued nibbling. She could already hear the roar of the waterfall, as she dismounted and tied Pendragon to another tree, a discreet distance from Prince. She climbed to the top of the crag and felt her way along the path until the cascade came into view. She stood still, looking down into the ravine and she caught her breath. It was indeed a beautiful sight, the sunlight making the water droplets sparkle like diamonds, forming a brilliant rainbow. But it was not that which made her gasp. There, standing poised on a rock, looking into the deep pool, was Colin, and he was stark naked ...
For those who have read and enjoyed The Secret Garden, this sequel will have a special appeal, in which Mary, Colin and Dickon meet again at Misselthwaite ten years later. Will their childhood friendship survive in maturity, despite the trials and difficulties they face, or will each find their own separate path? A story that will warm the heart and stir the memory.
Chapters 1 - 28
Prologue The door was now quite covered by ivy, difficult to find unless you knew exactly where to look. Colin's fingers felt for the niche in the high wall where he had hidden the key. He might, if he had not been so preoccupied, have wondered at the ease with which the key turned, for the secret garden had been locked up for years. A feeling of aching nostalgia swept over him, for the place was in a similar state of wilderness as it had been when he'd first seen it sixteen years ago, the day Mary and Dickon brought him here, as a boy of ten in a wheelchair. There was the bower where he and Mary had so often sat, the entrance now almost obscured by a wisteria. Yet he could see someone had been here recently. The grass was knee high, but the roses had been pruned and there was a semblance of order about the place. Plants were not overgrown by brambles or choked with weeds. A wistful smile hovered round Colin's sensitive mouth. History had a habit of repeating itself. Twenty-six years ago his father, driven crazy by grief after his wife's death, had locked up the place and buried the key. The garden had remained hidden for ten years, until his cousin Mary discovered it the year she first came to Misselthwaite and brought it back to life. She'd brought him to life too, for he shuddered to think what might have become of him had she not found him that stormy night, from which time he'd begun to grow into a normal healthy young man. It was recollections of a later time that caused him grief. She'd loved this garden, yet she'd abandoned it and him too. And it was his own fault he'd lost her. Her spirit filled the garden. She was everywhere! The honeyed scent from the wisteria was evocative. He could see her bending over a rose to inhale its heady perfume, her cheeks flushed from her recent efforts, soft golden wisps had escaped her bun and fallen round her face. He could hear her voice calling his name, feel the warmth of her body in his arms, her soft lips against his own.... He'd thought he was over it, all that, for he'd tried to put the past behind him and begin a new life. He should not have come, but something stronger than himself, some force he was powerless to resist had drawn him in here. Maybe the garden really did have magical properties - he'd always half believed it had. He sat down in the arbour and gave in, letting his mind drift back, thinking not of his childhood, but of a more recent time, about eight years ago, when Mary was a grown woman and he first realised he was in love with her....
About the Publisher
John Owen Smith was born in 1942 and trained as a Chemical Engineer at London University, but spent most of his working life designing commercial Information Systems for the paper-making industry. Following redundancy, he 'fell' into researching and recording the local history of east Hampshire, where he now lives. His own output of historical community plays, lectures, articles and books includes:-
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