Autumn Nights - A Narnia Oneshot Challenge

Love's Timekeeper

Prompt: Sweater/jumper

~Autumn, 1928~

Anne Pevensie folded the small, cream jumper and tucked it away in her hope chest, heaving a sigh. It had been Peter’s first jumper, purchased last year in September. Oh, how she had cried when she realized it no longer fit the chubby, toddling boy stacking blocks beside her. 

“Why don’t you dress Susan in the jumper?” her husband had reasoned, cradling the back of her head as she sobbed into his shoulder. “It should be about her size.” 

“No, it wouldn’t be the same—” she cried, “it’s a boy’s jumper.” 

It wasn’t. They both knew it wasn’t. There was absolutely nothing about the jumper that indicated it was meant for a boy. That wasn’t the real problem. 

John laid his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back to make eye contact. “Hey,” he said, gently, wiping away one of her tears with his thumb. “I’ve an idea. How about you put the jumper away in your hope chest and perhaps, if we ever have another boy, he can wear it.” He gently massaged her upper arms. “How does that sound?” 

She sniffed, nodding. “I think that might be okay.” 

“Good.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, you know.” 

Anne giggled, childlike in her contrasting emotions. She kissed his nose. “I love you, too.” 

But now, kneeling on her floor, an odd ache gaped in her chest. Not the sharp pain of a few days prior. No—subtler than that. A wound, a sore, an itch made by the knowledge of Time—of time marching steadily onward, of Time slowly changing the world, slow enough you barely notice but when you do you wish you could dig your heels into the ground so hard that the earth would cease its spinning for a moment. Freeze—

Susan gave a little cry. Anne was on her feet in an instant, looking over the edge of the crib, cooing at the perfect little cherub, born with a headful of dark curls, just the opposite of her towheaded brother. 

"Oh, my little lily-girl, don't cry," she scooped the baby up, holding her against her shoulder, patting her back. "Mummy's here, dear."

"Mummy," Peter whined, looking up from his blocks with a deeply disgruntled expression. He motioned to his chest, then lifted up his arms. "Up, up!" 

"Oh, I see," Anne gave a crooked smile. "The Little Prince wants attention too, does he? Can't let his sister take all of the spoiling?"

Peter pushed himself to his feet, wildly unsteady, and stumbled just far enough to grab his mother's legs, keeping himself up right. He bent his head back, staring up at her, whimpering. 

"Okay, okay," she laughed. "Have it your way." Bending over, she expertly scooped him up, balancing one baby on each hip, Susan's blankey falling to the floor. 

Anne sat down in her rocking chair, adjusting thel affection-gremlins on her lap. She rocked them, humming softly. Peter gave a contented little sigh, and snuggled into her chest, closing his eyes. Susan, wide awake from her nap, poked curiously at her brother's face, baby touches so soft he didn't seem to notice. His breathing deepened, matching the cadence of his mother's heartbeat, his ear pressed to her chest, listening to the lullaby of the womb, the song he knew so well. Anne kissed his head, letting her lips linger there for a moment, pressed against his downy locks, soft with infancy. A tear slipped down her cheek. 

Perhaps she had found a way to stop time, after all.