Further Up & Further In

Flowers For Her Grave: Chapter 3

Susan Pevensie was like most girls, but she hadn't always been. Her childhood friends could still remember how she acted around the ages of 12 and 13; she sat up too straight and used too many words. She'd been too bossy, and too serious, and too wise. It had been off-putting, but now she was different. She was older, and quieter, and more fun. She went to parties and met young men and joined them on dates. She seemed, by all appearances, happy.

And certainly, she thought she was.

There was a name on the tip of her tongue that she couldn't move past her lips, and it wasn't the name of God, but it carried the same weight.  There was a twitch in her hands as she braided her hair, as if she meant to do it another way, and even now sometimes she was surprised by how young her face was at 20 years old. It was all nonsense, of course, like the way her head felt too light as if something ought to be weighing it down, and the weakness in her arms that sometimes surprised her. See? Nonsense.

Peter and Edmund and Lucy seemed to think they had it all figured out, of course, but she didn't believe them. How could she? They were obsessed with games and fairy tales, and as much as Susan loved the three of them, she couldn't abide it. She blamed everything she could on their apparent madness, and she worried about them to no end. (They worried about her, too, but she didn't pay them any mind. They were the silly ones. She was just being logical.)

Peter called her sometimes, cautious and patient like he always was, and asked her to join them for supper. "We're going to see Polly and the Professor, and Eustace and Jill are coming along, too."

Her heart would lift at the invitation, and deflate just as fast. She knew what it meant when this particular group was called together, and she knew it wasn't just another dinner party. So she'd groan, and berate him, "Is this about your magical land again? Peter, I've told you-"

"Please, Susan. I know you don't... that is, I know you don't care about Narnia like we do. Even so, it's such good fun for all of us. And we miss having you around. We miss you, Su." There was something funny about the way he said it, as if he was holding back more than he was saying. Where he said care, Lucy would've said remember. He'd nearly said it himself. As they both paused, Susan could hear the anticipation through the phone.

Oh, shut up, Peter. I'll come. Of course I'll come.

The words slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor. Where had she said that before? I'll come. Of course I'll come. But even as the words echoed through her mind, she found herself turning him down, like she always did. "No, Peter. You know how I feel. I won't keep entertaining childish fantasies just to please the lot of you."

Again there was a pause. Echoing promises. The hint of what Peter hoped to say. But whatever it was, he didn't say it. "All right. I'll tell the others not to expect you."

It unsettled Susan, the way he didn't fight back. The way he said "all right," even as his breath hitched, and let himself hang up. He was her big brother; her anchor. He was supposed to hold her steady. He was her shield. She still remembered when the war ended, and the way she and Peter had spoken.

"I'm glad it's over," Susan had said, though the pit of it still remained in her stomach.

"I am, too."

"I say, Peter, just in time, too. Any longer and you would have been sent off to war as well. You could've ended up anywhere! Then what would you have done?"

Peter's voice was hard. Stern. Too grown-up, even at 18. "I would have gone. I would have fought." 

"But Peter! This was a war! Don't be silly. What if something had happened to you?"