Further Up & Further In

Flowers For Her Grave: Chapter 7

She had to will herself to look in the box. It had been tucked away in her closet for years, and at the time she had thought she'd leave it there forever. Now she knew better.

Susan Pevensie was 26. Her family was gone. (Dead.) But she was better now than she had been when she first lost them, and she had decided that she would move on better if she took some time to appreciate the items she had hidden away in the box. (Not that "better now" meant much, of course. She was still alone. She was still sad. It was not the kind of thing she would get over, but now she thought she would live through it. In that little way, she was better now.)

Carefully, she removed the lid, and looked quickly over the items inside. First: a torch which Edmund had received on his last birthday. He received one nearly every year; some kind of long-forgotten joke between the four of them. Peter was always quick to remind him that he could never have enough torches, but Edmund had a penchant for losing them anyways. Slowly, with the barest of grins, Susan lifted it, and put it aside. 

Second: a medal that had belonged to Peter. Susan had blocked out the history of it, like she had with the rest of the war and her brothers' military service, but Peter had been proud of it. For what was he awarded it? Some great act of valour or courage or leadership, she had no doubt. Oh, if only she'd payed better attention. Susan ran her thumb over it fondly, and carefully set it next to Edmund's torch. 

Third: a bible, thick with extra papers, which stuck out the edges. Lucy's.

Susan's eyes welled with tears, and she placed the box down on the floor in front of her. Deep breaths, she told herself. In and out. 

She sat for a few more seconds, and then allowed herself to pick the bible up. Susan couldn't remember holding it before for more than a few seconds, but she ran her fingers lovingly along the spine and pages, imagining Lucy's own fingers doing the same. Lucy had loved this book. Susan had hated it. It had caused so much animosity between them, especially in the end. You beg me to remember, but there is nothing there!

Susan shivered, remembering the harsh words they had exchanged the night before the accident. She wished she could forget them. She longed to take them back. She yearned to be forgiven. 

A chord struck within her, and she knew for a moment that forgiveness was in the book she held. That was what Edmund had always told her, and she wanted to believe Edmund now, even if she hadn't before. But dare she?

She allowed her fingers to open to a random page. In doing so, she noticed how well-worn the pages were, and she considered once again how much Lucy had loved the book she now held in her hands. But all at once, she was disappointed. She scanned the page, and did not find the forgiveness Edmund had promised her. Instead she noticed a little pencil mark under two lines: "This is the day the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24. 

Had Lucy done that? Well, of course she must have. But why? Would she have done the same if she had known she was going to die in a random accident at 17 years old? Was that a day worth rejoicing in?

Over the years, so much of Susan's anger had given way to grief. But now she felt the flicker of rage once again. What had been the reason? Why had Lucy and their brothers gone to the train station that day? Oh, it was on the tip of her tongue! It was some sort of game, but Susan could not remember its name.

She did remember that she had decided not to play.

Let us rejoice and be glad in it. 

Susan looked up the page and saw another line of pencil. "It is better to take refuge in the LORD than to trust in princes." Psalm 118:9. This one made Susan chuckle, or very nearly. She remembered how Lucy had liked a couple boys in her younger years, and the times she'd done up her hair in an effort to impress them. But it also crossed her mind that Lucy had gotten over most of them quickly. They were rather stupid boys, as most young men were at that age, and Lucy didn't give them more credit than was due. Susan had admired her for that.