Susan Of Narnia

Chapter Eight: The Dinner

On the day of the funeral, eight caskets were lowered into the church cemetery—Eustace's parents had their son cremated and his ashes put in a jar so that they could always keep him close by.

Susan hardly cried that day, and if she had, her eyes may have been frozen shut, for the day was miserably cold. Many people came to give Susan their condolences, but she remembered none of their faces. She only heard the buzz of their words.

An middle-aged woman whispered loudly to a group of her friends as if Susan were not just a few feet away. "Quite strange, they say, the whole ordeal."

"How so?" The others asked curiously.

"Well, they say it wasn't a very bad crash. The one car that came loose from the train was all there was—and the only people to be hurt were those connected to the Pevensie family. Everyone else on board had hardly a scratch."

"You don't say? Not even a broken bone? It's a miracle, it is."

"It's true. And they say that, though the young Susan is left entirely alone, she will inherit quite a large sum from that Miss Polly Plummer. She gets everything from the Professor (he only had a small cottage), and her own family, of course, but none of that is comparable to Miss Plummer's fortune."

"Almost a blessing in disguise, eh?" All the woman smiled as if they wouldn't have minded such a thing to happen to them.

"Very much." Agreed the first woman with a satisfied smile.

Susan flushed with anger. Who could say such a thing? She was glad that no one else was hurt—but that was no miracle, for nine people had still died. And those nine were too many. And who cared about the money? Were their memories worth so little that their fortunes were already the talk of gossip?

But Susan had no strength left to fight the gossips. She tried to forget their words as she waited for when she could be free of well-wishing people, so that she might go home and cry over a good cup of hot tea.

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January's frozen rains slushed on into February, and Susan found herself crying less, though her heart was no lighter. Carl would come every day, though he never stayed very long in the evenings.

When February finally came, Carl asked if she might be ready to start attending parties. They both sat in the Pevensie parlor, Susan on the sofa with a think blanket, and Carl on the armchair, his back hunched forward as he questioned Susan.

Susan knew she would never be ready. She found she'd rather remember her family and Narnia.

Narnia ...

Susan found she still believed in the place and always had. She'd just ignored her belief, or pretended the belief away.

"I don't know about parties ... They are so exhausting, Carl."

"I thought you always said they were exhilarating." Carl smirked as if reminding her of some joke.

Susan didn't laugh, but sighed. "Did I say that? Maybe I've finally grown past it."

"My Susan, too old for fun? I'd sooner expect my aunt to take up sailing."

Susan giggled, though it didn't leave her feeling refreshed as old laughter used to.

Carl winked. "What's on your mind? Obviously not parties."

Susan felt she could trust Carl (and if she were to marry him, she'd have to, after all), so she told him, "I think Narnia is truly real—please don't laugh at me yet. It's been so long since I was there that my memories of the place have grown fuzzy. But I know they are memories, not daydreams."