People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own… they were longing for a better country.
Hebrews 11:14, 16a
Susan Pevensie had always been known as a gracious girl. "What a lovely daughter you have!" was the most common phrase she heard from her parents' many acquaintances whenever her mother pulled her into the parlor to be introduced. She would smile and sit prettily on the chair in the corner, daintily sipping a cup of hot chocolate while Mum poured tea for the guests. Yes, she had always been very mature, very grown-up for a twelve year old. And when they had been sent into the countryside for the summer, she had taken over the role of mother, always making sure that her siblings were clothed and fed and not arguing over something silly. But now she was home, and as Susan placed her suitcases in her closet, she couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Finchley was so… safe, thank goodness.
Well, maybe not quite safe, she thought as the house shook and rumbles from the distant shelling could be heard. But comfortable. Yes, comfortable was the right word. Glancing over to Lucy's side of their shared bedroom, Susan smiled at the sight of the contents of Lucy's suitcase strewn all over her bed, and Lu nowhere in sight. It was a good thing that Su was used to straightening up her sister's side of the room, and didn't mind doing it either. Orderly was good. Neat was good. Control was good. And it felt good to be in control.
She picked up a dress of Lucy's that had fallen slightly under the bed, then a stuffed rabbit, then a storybook of King Arthur. Hanging the dress up in Lu's closet and placing the rabbit on the windowsill, Susan was about to place the book on her sister's bookcase when she paused, looking at the cover. Then she shook her head and laughed at herself. To think that she had actually thought that the young King Arthur resembled Peter! The sun was shining through the window, and had glinted off of the mythical ruler's crown, making it appear to glisten. His sword, too, looked like Peter's blade. Susan groaned, forcing herself to put the book down. How could she be giving into her imagination like that? England wasn't Narnia, and it never would be. There would be no going back.
It wasn't as if she hadn't tried. Peter and Ed thought that Lucy was the only one who walked the halls of the Kirke house in the middle of the night, knocking on the backs of closets and wardrobes. But Susan had too. Pushing back coats, squeezing into tight places, even climbing the rickety stairs up to the attic… all ending in failure. There were nights when she would cry herself to sleep at night, closing her eyes and hoping it was all just a dream; that she would wake up back in her chamber in Cair Paravel, twenty seven again. Because growing up was hard, but it was easier when you were a queen. A beautiful queen at that. But she was no longer a queen, and she was no longer beautiful, and she had to grow up all over again.
Her mother didn't make things easier. Since they had returned from the Professor's, all Mum could talk about was how Peter had done such a fine job of taking care of his younger siblings, how Peter was looking so much like their father, how Peter was growing up so fast. Susan knew she was being unfair, but she felt as though no one really cared anymore. Since she was no longer beautiful or in her twenties, kings no longer sought her hand in marriage. Since she was no longer a queen, there were no balls to host or exotic realms to visit. And since she had a mother again, she no longer held the same authority over her siblings she had before. For goodness sake, she had to go to school in a few weeks! School, for Queen Susan the Gentle – it was unthinkable.
Susan sat down on her sister's bed, blinking back unwanted tears. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't! There was no use crying over what couldn't be, and Narnia couldn't be anymore. She was almost sick of the way Peter would always bring up the subject. He always rambled on about how wonderful it had been to be a king – as if she needed a reminder! At least Ed was quiet, thoughtful. He didn't go on and on about their lost lives. But the change in him was unsettling. It was a reminder that something had happened, that it wasn't just a dream or some silly game they had made up. It was real. She had lived for fifteen years in a place where animals talked and stars sang and a crown was upon her head. Lucy had made her a crown less than a month after their return to England, a crown made out of some pieces of wire Lu had found somewhere in that maze of a house. "Here, Su, try this on. Doesn't it remind you of…?" Lucy had laughed. But Susan knew that nothing could replace the feeling of her real crown, the one that had been placed on her head so many years ago. A lifetime ago. No matter what Lucy said, they weren't supposed to be back.
If only her siblings would have listened to her when she tried to dissuade them from investigating the lamppost. Then she wouldn't be cleaning up after her sister, wouldn't be crying, wouldn't have to worry about Dad or school or how the girls she used to be friends with would react to what the neighbors called "Susan's snobbishness". Instead she could be visiting Aravis at Anvard, or shooting archery out at the range with Lucy, or even searching for the one man whom she would not decline, whose hand she would graciously accept. It's hard to be gracious when you have to get used to eating porridge and fish and chips, or wearing scratchy wool skirts, or remembering that you are younger than everyone. Going from queen to schoolgirl is not an easy transformation in the least.
Her head ached, so Susan tried stretching out on Lucy's bed. There wouldn't be any of Mrs. Badger's tea to calm her nerves, no laughing dryads to lift her spirits. Just the sounds of war in the distance, and the imminence of the next school term, and the fact that they weren't even anywhere near the wardrobe, so how on earth could they get back?
Closing her eyes, she tried to picture the castle, tried to walk through its rooms and courtyards and gardens. But all she could see was the Lion, pacing back and forth on the beach below the towers of Cair Paravel. And the last thing Susan wanted to think about was Aslan, because wasn't it His fault that they had been returned? After all, only Aslan had the power to make the portals between this world and that passable. So she refused to dwell on Aslan, no matter how much Lucy begged her to speak of Him.
"Su? Are you alright?"
Susan opened her eyes and sat up, seeing Edmund standing in the doorway. "Yes, yes," she said quickly, wiping at her face, "I'm fine. Just cleaning up after Lucy."
Ed came into the room a few steps, and then stopped to look at his sister. The ten year old wore the probing look that had often crossed his face when deliberating over some complex battle tactic. "You know, we all miss it too," he said quietly.
Susan looked up at him, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Wh-what do you mean?" she asked, trying to calm her voice.
Ed sat down next to her on Lucy's bed. "Peter misses being king so much, Susan. Lucy wants so badly to see Tumnus and the Beavers again. I don't know what I am going to do without Aslan as my guide. And you can't hide what's in your eyes, the loss. But we all have each other. And our story is just beginning, Su. I can feel it." He awkwardly placed an arm around her shoulders, and for a moment she didn't push him away. But then she rose to her feet and headed towards the door.
"You know what, Ed? It might be best if we just don't talk about Narnia at all."
Because how else could she survive in this world if just behind a doorway there stands a better one that can't be reached?
Note: I don't want this story to come across as saying that Susan was pulling away from Narnia immediately after leaving it, but I think that she would probably have been the most angry sibling over their departure. I hope that the verse at the beginning is an indication that, though she may not admit it to herself in her anger, Susan felt the pull towards Narnia and Aslan just as strongly as her siblings...
