AN: As promised, I'm posting the fourth and final chapter of this quartet. This is Susan's. I feel like I deal with Susan's post LB state way too often, so I'm going to try stay away for awhile. :) This is the conclusion, so it was meant to convey an overall theme... it's the longest of the four chapters.
Chapter Four
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" Then, after an awful pause, the deep voice said, 'Susan.' Susan made no answer but the others thought she was crying. 'You have listened to your fears, child,' said Aslan. 'Come, let me breathe on you. Forget them.'"
Prince Caspian C.S. Lewis
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Seated across from her Aunt Alberta, Susan knows she ought to make some sort of small talk. Not only is it proper of two relations, but Susan acknowledges the inconvenience surrounding Alberta's presence on this journey. As difficult as her aunt may be, Susan is grateful for the experience and, though ill-suited, companionship she provides. Bracing herself, Susan mentions the weather and the lovely practicality of Alberta's charcoal hat.
Her own head donned in the black of mourning, Susan holds Lucy's hand as the girls console their new friend, King Lune. He has lost a wife and a son. Susan knows that grief fades, but she cannot comprehend the loss of her own family.
A shriek draws Susan's eye to a compartment across the aisle. She sees a brief flash of color and hears the clamor of a scuffle. From experience, Susan knows the sounds of two brothers wrestling where they should not.
Peter and Edmund tumble into the atrium where Susan is seated with her advisors and several visiting dignitaries. Still boys, only Peter has the good sense to right himself and apologize. Edmund is too busy laughing at the jam smeared across Peter's tunic.
Aunt Alberta is not inclined to chat, and Susan is rather relieved. Tucking her ankles to the side, practical Susan pulls out the novel she brought along for the train ride. It is one of Lucy's and filled with glorious tales of fantastic creatures and dashing knights. Susan knows such dreams comprise every girl's fantasies, but it hurts too much to consider such tales a possibility much less a reality.
Lucy whirls into Susan's room, cheeks flushed with joy as she describes another evening spent with her long-time suitor. Smiling coyly at Susan, she reveals her engagement. Delighted, the two sisters dance around the bedroom until they are out of breath.
The dreariness of London speeds by, the train an unstoppable force. Susan thinks that she should feel some sort of aversion towards trains, but she knows them to be necessary. The logical one, Susan always knows the facts. She has spent her whole life dealing in the little details that make all the difference.
Susan crumples a piece of parchment and tosses it at Edmund. They have been seated at this table for over four hours staring at the same documents. Edmund sighs dramatically, and Susan wonders if they'll ever discern this encoded letter. Probably not, she thinks. All the same, it's their job, and they're a team.
The train begins to slow, and Susan's heart plummets. For a second, she wishes with all of her heart that Professor Kirke had not mentioned the 'Pevensie children' in his will. The last of those four, she has a responsibility and intends to claim what is theirs. It's what Peter, Edmund, and Lucy would want. She knows this, but Susan is scared. She is afraid that the memories will return, that this time the emotions will not be quelled.
Peter holds her as she cries. He strokes her hair and whispers comforting words. Susan does not want to leave his safe grasp, but they can never return to Narnia. She must face this world. Susan knows that she cannot hide behind her brother forever. Instead, she tucks away the emotion.
Professor Kirke's cottage is walking distance from the train station, so Alberta and Susan begin making their way toward his home. Susan remembers the way. She, Lucy, and Edmund came here once before to visit Peter. As they approach, Susan notices the massive tree planted firmly beside the house. Her heart wrenches a little more.
Susan sits at the base of the tree, weaving a daisy chain. Peter is sprawled beside her, Lucy's head pillowed on his chest. Occasionally, a shower of crinkled leaves blanket the siblings, and above, Edmund apologizes insincerely. Inevitably, Lucy mentions Narnia—the place Susan has not considered since she left for America. Susan knows the truth, but Narnia is not real here. Continuing her crown of daisies, Susan ignores Lucy.
The cottage is dusty and cluttered. No one has been here since the Accident. Beside her, Alberta clucks disapprovingly, and the two women pick their way around the stacks of books. The will was hardly specific, and when Susan mentions this to Aunt Alberta, Alberta shrugs noncommittally and comments about the foolishness of the masses. Surprisingly, this quip offends Susan. Alberta knew nothing of the professor or the experiences that shaped his lifetime. Suddenly, Susan realizes that Alberta knows nothing about her or her own life. Susan has been hiding behind a mask of logic and practicality.
Of the nine headstones before her, there are three that Susan refuses to look at. She can't for fear of completely losing herself to heartbreak. Susan knows that grief at the funeral of a family member(s) is expected, but the pain she feels at the loss of her best friends is incomprehensible. Instead, she stares firmly at her black skirt, afraid to look at anything that would render memories of her brothers and sister.
Susan leaves Alberta standing in the doorway and wanders slowly through the three room cottage. Gently, she fingers familiar objects and worn furniture. Memories threaten to engulf her, but Susan keeps her mind reigned in. She knows that once she relinquishes her power over her emotions, the chances of regaining such control are highly unlikely. Wandering through the second room, Susan trips over a water-stained, wooden trunk. A cloud of dust coats Susan, and she rubs her shin before gingerly opening the trunk. A familiar smell permeates the room.
Lucy stares at her angrily, the open Wardrobe door a testament to Susan's lack of belief, to her devotion to facts. Moth balls speckle the floor, and the only thing Susan sees inside of the Wardrobe are rows of fur coats.
A gasp escapes Susan's lips as her fingers stroke the soft fur that lays neatly folded inside of the trunk. Pulling the coat from its resting place, a smile finds its way onto Susan's face as she holds up Edmund's coat. She chuckles slightly as she remembers her little brother mucking through the snow in a girl's coat. The next is little Lucy's. It's ripped at the sleeve, and Susan guesses that this is from Peter's attempt to maintain his hold on Lucy while floating down the Great River. Susan pulls out Peter's, though she is now too excited to give this third coat a thorough onceover, for she knows that hers must be next. Forgetting any reservations, she quickly tries her own coat on, giggling at the short sleeves and unseemly hem.
Susan doesn't know how these coats got back to their proper places, nor does she know how the professor knew which coats they had "borrowed." The coats removed from the trunk, Susan finds herself staring at four wooden Lion's heads. Positive that these carvings hail from the Wardrobe, Susan can no longer cower beneath a façade of knowledge. Clad in the fur coat that witnessed the beginning of the adventures, Susan realizes that the hardest things to remember are the things that are really worth knowing. Susan remembers Narnia and her King, and there is but one balm for the pain such memories unleash. For her doubt, Susan will endure a life of grief as she awaits a world void of such sorrow. In this, she places her hope, for Susan knows Aslan.
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"The man who thinks he knows something does not yet know as he ought to know."
1 Corinthians 8:2
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AN: Thanks so much for reading this quartet. I certainly didn't do the greatest job at updating quickly. I hope to return to The Golden Age shortly, though I think I want to re-vamp it a bit. We'll see though. Thanks again and let me know what you think.