Darling's Garden

Although dreams only last seconds, to the mind they last forever, and those that are remembered when we wake also last forever. Even once lost they are still there. They sit in an unknown place until they are found again. So is the cycle of dreams.
There is not just one realm for these dreams, but many. Sometimes they can be reached even though the dreams in them are lost or once were lost. Some of the dreams, inside and outside of these realms, change us and our reality. These realms may be such as the island called Neverland and the inhabitants of it such as Peter Pan and Tinkerbell. It is children who create these dreams, thoughts and realms. The dreams that we talk of are lost when the children grow up, but you see, not all lost dreams are really lost. It is the children's children who recreate the dreams and add something of their own onto them. Only the children can see these realms and dreams as reality and bring them to life. So it is sad when a child misses this calling. However, not many miss these things and they know them to be true.

Angela Darling knew all this well, except she knew not how to make it reality. Her realm was a garden filled with beautiful flowers, vegetables, fruit trees, waterfalls, ponds, and life. Her garden was her comfort, surrounded by a gate that protected her from the outside dangers. Her friends were the animals, they loved her so, she cared for them, as well as the garden. Each day the garden grew larger, which was good, for it meant that he imagination and the dream it self was growing as well.
She loved the dream very much, so it was a shame when it ended each morning. However, the thought of sleeping and dreaming once again kept her going.
So her story began one morning, when her quest would begin and her dream would soon become reality. Her dream's reality, however, would also meet up with another person's dream and its reality that is contained in the same realm as Angela's dream.

~~~~II~~~~~~II~~~~

Angela combed her tangled hair. She saw her reflection in the mirror, her brown eyes staring back at her. They seemed to be telling her that her dreams had no use and would never be real. Yet Her heart told her something different, that she should never give up hope.
It was the year 1860, being proper and clean mattered greatly. 13 year old, Angela knew this, she was growing fast. Now considered a young lady, she would soon be old enough to marry, and it was her duty, for the family's sake to marry into a wealthy family. These thing mattered to the average household, even the servants wished it, and richer masters meant better pay, although many were slaves and not paid at all.
Angela, however, had no care for the matters, although cleanliness was still important to her. This was why she sat, every morning, brushing the tangles pout of her hair.
Still she did what she was told and was sure to act proper, kind, and respectful. She loved her parents with all of her heart, her mother especially. Her mother was the one who had introduced the concept of gardening to her. It was her main hobby. Although it was a dirty one, it helped her to have patience and taught her many values.
Her father did not think it much of a great thing, but he enjoyed the beauty and results of what his wife and daughter did, as well as their gardening skills.
"I married your mother because I love her, but I fell in love with her extraordinary gifts and strength," he would say, "She is different than the other ladies, your mother is. I suppose that is why I love her so much, no matter how much I dislike gardening, I support and respect it in all ways because of your mother."
Every morning such words and similar ones ran through her mind as she sat combing her hair, making sure to look her best.

"Good morning, Angela, dear. You look very nice this morning," her mother told her as she entered the dining room to eat breakfast.
"Morning, mother," Angela replied.
The room was medium sized. The red, maroon colored walls were plain with frames circling the brown ceiling. Paintings of scenery and ancestors hung on the walls as well. A few small tables were about the room, some with drawers, others of them were there just for decoration. In the middle sat a large, beautiful, hand-crafted table mad of the most excellent and finest wood available. On it sat a fine table cloth. On top of that sat a silver fruit bowl in the center of the table and plates and silverware were also set perfectly about the table, the amount of them matching with how many chairs were at the table, which sat about 8 people.
"We changed your piano lesson to 11 am today. I expect you do not mind," her mother said with a gesture for her to sit down.
"Yes, I suppose that is fine, mother," she replied, "I had that dream again last night."
"The one about the garden?" her mother asked, Angela had told her mother about her dream several times before.
"Yes, it has not changed much. Strangely nothing ever happens in it. Although I find it very content and comforting, it does seem to be getting boring," Angela remarked.
"But it is peaceful, is it not? You have already admitted that," questioned her mother.
"Yes, it certainly is better than real life," Angela said.
"All good dreams are better than real life. Unfortunately we all lose hope of our dreams becoming reality when we grow up," she sighed and gave a pleasant look at her daughter, "that is why you are so lucky to still be young," she laughed, "I envy you, my daughter, how silly am I?"
"You are silly my dear," Angela's father, entering the room.
"I hardly envy you, my husband," Angela's mother said, flipping her hair back.
Catherine Darling was a dear soul, and a loving mother. Her blue eyes shown bright and peered into your heart. Her light, brown hair was long and thick, always clean, always perfect. This day she wore her hair down, curled, with a clip to hold back a bit of it. She was not like other ladies, she did not have the hobbies other woman had, she wore her hair differently, and she cared nothing of what others thought of her. This was why she was loved so much.
The Darlings were good people, so although they lived in the south of the US, and had slaves, they treated them kindly and never referred to them as slaves. They paid their slaves and considered them equal with the other hired help. They also gave them quarters to live in that were clean and nice, not dirty and scarce of furniture like it was with other slaves at other homes. They were good masters, well looked upon by others.
"They are having another discussion today on slavery," her father announced.
Her mother gave a slight chuckle, "sounds more like a debate to me," she commented.
He gave his wife a stern look and continued on, "I will be leaving home early today to go into town for that."
"Honestly, you would think we are going into a war here," Catherine said, laughing a loud chuckle to herself.
"Breakfast is ready," Mary, the cool and Kitchen servant announced.
Mary left the room for a moment and came back in with a tray and many large plates. She took the top off of the larger platter, revealing such foods as eggs, bacon, sausage, and ham. The food smelled of wondrous things, making their mouths water. Their cool was very good at what she did.
"Some do wish to start a war, dear. They claim that it is more than an issue of slavery, and this I do believe is true," Thomas, her father, told them as Mary put food on their plates.
"Father, what if a war does begin? which side would we be on? With Abraham Lincoln as president, will it not stir the debates on these issues even more?" Angela questioned.
"Forgive me child," he said, putting his silverware down from eating, "we should not be discussing such things in front of you. You need not get involved."
"Actually, I find it interesting," she told him.
"It is not a girls place, none the less a child's place to have place in such things, even your mother…"
"Nonsense, Thomas," Catherine interrupted, "I am a girl and I have place in such things!"
"As you should not…" he began.
"Yet you let me!" she said with a spark to her voice.
"Your boldness is what I fell in love with, my dear, but this is our daughter. Must we concern her with such talk at her age?" he finished.
Angela was laughing at this the entire time. Her parents often did this and it was always her job to end it. It was all fun to listen to the political conversations and arguments over her future. However, it never mattered to her parents and most of the time the silly conversation would come to an end of its own.
"Listen to us, babbling about such thing. Aren't we silly? Angela, are we not?" Catherine asked her daughter.
"Yes, my mother, we are always silly," Angela replied.