Hey guys, I'm so sorry for the lag in updates. I had Thanksgiving holiday, followed by the worst two weeks of finals I have ever had in my life, and then I literally made myself sick from teh stress. But I'm home for the holidays now and back to updating, and here we are with chapter four!
ALSO if you're enjoying this or my other Narnia story "Gemstone," please head on over to Narnia Fanfiction Revolution and nominate me. :) I would certainly be honored!
Chapter Four
The next day, Finchley and the greater London area were blanketed with a solid layer of white. Though it was quickly churned and stomped into an ugly grey sludge in the streets, the front yard remained pristinely untouched until finally, after lunch, Lucy begged,
"Oh please can't we build a snowman?"
"Aren't you thirteen yet?" Edmund teased, rolling his eyes, and even Susan moaned, "Oh, but it's so cold, Lu."
"Well that's no good now, is it?" Charlie sighed, pushing herself up from the couch. "What plan of action is it to leave a house of royalty like this completely unguarded?" Peter's and Ed's eyebrows raised and they looked quickly to Susan who tried to subtly shake her head that no, she hadn't said anything. But Charlie, oblivious to this, continued, "Why, what's to stop anyone from waltzing on in here and kidnapping Princess Lucy right from under our very noses?"
"Actually, I'm a queen!" Lucy giggled.
"All right, Queen Lucy! It's a downright shame. Come, Lucy, I will help you build some snowmen guards."
Ed suddenly laughed, "Well when you put it that way, I suppose I can't in good conscience leave Queen Lucy to mortal peril. And who's to stop someone from sneaking up and attacking you girls while you build? I suppose King Edmund shall have to come and see that things stay sorted."
"Swell!" Charlie laughed, and of course if they were going Susan would come, just for a little while.
"King Peter?" Lucy pleaded, turning her wide eyes on her oldest brother who had been laughing at the joke with them all as he sat on the floor between the fire and Lydia in an armchair.
"I'll be out in a few, Lu."
"Marvelous, now let's get bundled up." So they layered on coats and scarves and hats and gloves and soon even adult Susan was to be found rolling and packing snow to build two snowmen guards to stand on either side of the path. Charlotte had to confess that her eagerness to build the snowmen was because she had never actually done so, but Lucy and Ed were more than happy to show her how to round the body segments and balance them atop each other.
They had almost got one body fully erected when Peter and Lydia stepped outside, both wrapped in their outdoor gear. Lucy clapped to see her brother joining them, but as soon as she had called his name out, he and Lydia strode past.
"We're just going for a walk down the street, Lu, we'll be right back," he offered, holding his hands up as though there was nothing to be done for it. Lydia giggled and whatever slightly apologetic look he had given his sister melted into a grin as he looped Lydia's arm through his and they set off down the street together. Susan and Edmund just rolled their eyes and began work on the other snowman, but it took a nudge and an encouraging smile from Charlotte to get Lucy refocused.
By the time Peter and Lydia returned, the builders had retreated inside to warm their frozen fingers around steaming mugs of spiced cider. Instead two snowguards stood in the yard to greet them, armed with the wooden swords Mr. Pevensie had given Peter and Edmund when they were little boys pretending to be knights. The embers hadn't wanted to stay in the snowheads, so instead Ed had gotten his shoeshine and they'd painted eyes on, and the carrots went several inches into their heads, and a few of the red hard candies Susan had thought to use as mouths had fallen, giving the snowmen gap-toothed grins. Spare scarves had been used –one of Peter's and one of Mrs. Pevensie's—and one wore Susan's old school cap while the other sported a beret of Charlotte's. They were about the least-intimidating guards Peter had ever seen, but still he announced as he entered,
"Well we just barely managed to creep past these guards. It took an awful lot to convince them I'm the high king and all."
"It's because they haven't seen you yet, and people rarely trust royals when they haven't ever seen them," Lucy retorted, then coldly turned her back to him.
Lydia merely praised, "Ah, they are lovely! I love the French one."
"French one?" Ed asked but Susan elbowed him and Charlotte muttered under her breath, "It's true, Ed. Simply wearing a beret makes you French. Why, when I put mine on, subitement je parle le français!" He laughed so hard he spilled his cider on his lap and leapt up, frightened it might burn something valuable. This got Lucy and Susan to laughing and perhaps it's fair to say that Peter felt genuinely left out as he helped Lydia off with her coat and saw how quickly he had apparently been replaced. And actually, they seemed to be getting along much better under this Charlotte's rule than they ever had under his own.
Peter and Edmund had only enough time to regain feeling in their fingers and toes when suddenly Mr. Pevensie was returning from work early and Mrs. Pevensie was shooing them out the door to get the tree while she and "the girls" cooked supper. Off the boys went, and into the kitchen the girls trooped, though Lydia and Charlotte were instructed to sit and chat while the Pevensie women worked.
Supper was civil, and then Peter and Mr. Pevensie wrangled the tree into its stand and the girls admired the boys' choice, though Ed muttered to Susan and Charlotte, "It was my decision. Peter just mooned over whether you girls were making Lydia feel welcome or not."
Lydia, however, overheard this, and insisted loudly with a bright smile, "Oh they made me feel very welcome! Everyone here is so very kind." Charlotte patted her hand, Lucy coughed, and Susan quickly suggested they get the ornaments out.
Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie –who in the adult world are called John and Helen—sat back on the couch to watch their children with glowing faces as the decorating began, the fire dancing orange and red on the walls. The girls had strung popcorn and cranberries to loop in between the ornaments, and Mr. Pevensie had bought a package of candy canes on his way home from work. There were handmade ornaments from childhood to tuck in among the branches, as well as a dozen glass balls that had always been Susan's favorites. They looked like bubbles frozen and captured for the sole purpose of dangling elegantly from their tree. As a little girl she had spun around in circles and then squinted her eyes so that suddenly it looked like the bubbles were floating again.
"Charlie, what was Christmas like where you grew up?" Lucy asked innocently as she stretched to hang a candy cane on a branch above her head. Charlotte moved to help but realized she actually wasn't any taller, so instead moved so Ed could help.
"Not so elegant as this," she shrugged. "I mean, not as a little girl. We were just a farm family in southern Oklahoma and didn't have much to work with."
"Lydia, what about Christmases in France?" Peter asked.
Lucy glared, "She wasn't finished, Peter."
"All right, sorry. I was just trying to get a cross-culture comparison—"
"Oh, Christmas in France is wonderful!" Lydia exclaimed, bringing her hands together. "We have a tree, too, only much bigger than this, and—"
"How many brothers and sisters did you have?" Ed asked Charlie, who would have felt rude to not answer,
"I was the youngest of six, but—"
"Didn't your oldest sister start having kids young, too? And she was quite a bit older than you."
"I can't hear what Charlie is saying, Peter, could you shut your mouth?"
"I wasn't saying anything, Lucy!"
"—Papa brings home beautiful lace and silk for us to adorn the boughs with—"
"Six! Geez, I can hardly deal with the three I've got—"
"Children . . ." Mrs. Pevensie began, sitting up straighter and sharing a look with Mr. Pevensie.
"America! America!" Lucy suddenly yelled. "I don't want to hear about France, I want to hear about America!"
"Well then move closer to her so you can hear her!" Peter retorted.
"She has a name—"
"I don't care; I don't have to use it; you know who I—"
"—and you're being rude not to use it and I don't care about France!"
"Now you're dragging my friend into this, Peter," Susan suddenly interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest. Peter didn't notice her, though; he and Lucy were staring hard at each other.
"Put the star on the tree, Lucy," Peter offered through his clenched jaw, holding out the top ornament in what read as a completely insincere peace offering. Lucy narrowed her eyes, then let out a frustrated huff and stomped off to the couch, where she threw herself down beside her parents in a decisive pout. They, not knowing what to do, glanced frantically between their children, not quite sure where the peaceful scene had gone wrong.
Charlotte really wasn't offended, though it looked as though Susan was highly offended on her behalf, but she did notice Lydia looking uncomfortable and guilty. She pitied the poor girl, and asked gently, "Have you any siblings, Lydia?"
"Oh, no, it is only myself."
"Well don't be too alarmed. Sibling spats are perfectly common."
"Not in this house," Peter hissed, then turned and strode angrily upstairs.
"Wait for it . . ." Edmund ordered, pointing at the ceiling. Four seconds passed before they heard the door slam and he laughed, but no one laughed with him.
Mrs. Pevensie was standing now and insisted, "Honestly, children, I don't know what just happened, but I –Lydia, Charlotte, this doesn't apply to you—but the rest of you!"
"Oi! Not me, too," Edmund insisted. "I say point the fingers at Peter and Lucy."
"Me! Why, Peter's being an absolute beast," Lucy insisted.
"Enough!" Mr. Pevensie interrupted, rising as well. "That will be quite enough. Will someone put the star on the tree and we'll call it a night?" In the silence, Charlie grabbed the star from where Peter had tossed it onto the armchair, then stood on the foot stool to perch it on top.
"This is my fault, isn't it?" Lydia moaned in French not much later when she and Charlotte were alone, preparing for bed.
Charlotte shook her head and replied in English, "Oh, you can't assume that. This is my first time, too, so it's just as likely my fault. But really, it is quite normal for brothers and sisters to spat like that. Really. Don't feel the least bit bad about it."
"Thank you. I'll try not to lose sleep," Lydia sighed, then gave Charlotte a tight hug. "You are a sweet doll. I am so grateful you are here with me. Only knowing you speak French will brighten my mood." Then she rolled over and went to sleep, leaving Charlotte wondering how Lydia had known she spoke French.
In Paris, though, Charlotte had become accustomed to late nights out, and so after tossing and turning for some time decided to embrace that she would not feel tired for a few hours yet. The Pevensies had several bookcases in their living room and the fire was not quite dead, so after slipping on a robe, Charlotte tiptoed down and soon was trying to engage herself in a book. She had never been much of a reader, though.
A noise in the kitchen made her peer around the chair, which she had turned to face the almost extinguished fire. A moment later, Peter emerged with a glass of water. His eyes widened when he saw her, surprised to be caught.
"Sorry, did I make a racket?"
"Oh, no, you're all right," she assured him, which he apparently took as leave to come closer.
"What are you reading?" he asked casually, sipping his water.
"Trying to read," she corrected. "And not doing so well. I'm afraid I've spoiled myself to a lifestyle that's far from content to sit by a dying fire and read books into the night."
He cracked a small smile, "So I hear."
"Well, of the things you hear, the bad things are all lies and the good things are all true," she assured him. "And the name is Charlotte, by the way. Or Charlie. I'm not sure we've met proper; I saw you struggle with my name earlier." She held out her hand and he gave her a suspicious look before shaking his head and chuckling. "All right, then, I was only being polite."
"Oh, I'll shake your hand," he laughed, reaching forward and doing so. "But I know who you are. I was just so mad . . ."
"So I heard."
Apparently Peter had been waiting for just someone to give him the chance to vent, and Charlie just happened to be that person. He quickly blurted out, "I don't know what's gotten into her! She's never been like this before. But . . . well-" he suddenly gave Charlie a suspicious look. "You aren't just Charlotte Auburn, though, you're also the girl Lucy has latched onto."
"I am."
"Which means you probably know precisely what's got her so upset."
"I do."
He pursed his lips in thought, then offered, "I have a domino set, if your book isn't too intriguing."
"I would."
"Would?"
"Rather play dominos with you than try to read," she laughed, returning the book to its shelf. Peter retrieved the set from his room, then resurrected the fire while Charlie set their playing space up on the rug before it.
They played mostly in silence for a few minutes before Peter, on Charlotte's move, mentioned, "I'm sorry I interrupted you earlier, by the way. When you were talking about America."
"That's all right. I didn't much want to talk about it anyways."
"Why not? Damn, I'm stuck . . ."
She shrugged, "I just don't want to be thinking about my family at the holidays when I can't be with them, you know? We're scattered to the winds. I'd much rather think about here and now, about Paris and now London."
"Susan mentioned Paris has a lot of unhappy memories for you too."
"So you wanted to know about Lucy?"
"Sorry," he winced. "I didn't mean to mention anything bad."
"You didn't; just stepped on my toes a bit."
"But yes, Lucy. Why is she being like this?"
Charlie shook her head, "Boys really are dense, aren't you?" When he protested, she continued, "It should be obvious. You bring a girl home that no one knows about and suddenly you don't want to do anything with your siblings. Lucy feels completely left out and replaced by Lydia."
"What? But why?"
"I just told you," Charlie rolled her eyes. "Everything is Lydia this, Lydia that. I'm not blaming you for that. I've been newly in love; I understand. But I've also been on Lucy's end and it's just hard to realize that your brother has grown up and you're still a kid and no longer number one in his life."
"Luc will always be number one in my life," Peter insisted.
"Practically? Or sentimentally?"
"I don't even know what that means," Peter laughed. "But I get your point." He stopped to figure out his move, then asked, "But what can I do about it?"
"Just try and be the same brother you were. You can do that and include Lydia. In fact, all you're really doing is keeping your siblings from getting to know her at all. Unless that's your plan, but really she seems perfectly normal to me."
"It's just strange bringing a guest into the family. Trying to balance family and Lydia when really . . ."
"All you want to do is spend time with Lydia?"
"Yeah," he admitted, staring down at the pieces shyly.
"Well there's no reason you can't see her for the rest of your life, but you definitely don't want to alienate your family in the process. You can spend time with everyone at the same time, though, without letting it change you. Susan has—"
"No, Susan is so different with you here. Out building snowmen in the cold . . . that's very unlike her. She's certainly changed for the better, thanks to you, I suppose."
"No, probably thanks to Paris. It's a fun city. Have you ever been?"
"Once, for a weekend. It was all right," he shrugged, then gasped, "But don't tell anyone! Su would kill me if she knew I was there and didn't ring her."
"My lips are sealed," she promised, pantomiming locking her lips and tossing away the key.
A few more turns passed before Peter asked, "But what about you? You said you were in Lucy's position. With all your brothers or—"
"No, it was hardest with one in particular. He and I were extremely close."
"Like me and Lucy, I guess. But did you ever come to like his . . . his fiancé or wife?"
"Is that what she is? Your fiancé?"
"No!" he quickly answered. "Not . . . yet."
She laughed and patted his hand, then mused a bit more somberly, "I believe she was good to him. I haven't heard from her in a long time. Things happened very quickly once they got engaged, and then he was off to the war and I was off to Paris . . ."
"And you're still close now?"
"He, um, actually died a few months ago," she shared, her eyes suddenly boring intently into the black dots on the domino pieces.
Peter inhaled sharply, "Sorry. Susan told me . . . I should have assumed—"
"It's all right. You shouldn't have assumed anything. And we were very close, yes."
"Well that's good, at least."
"I guess."
"Better to have loved and lose—"
"Never give grieving people quotes," she snorted. "They sound hollow. And besides, whoever said that clearly didn't keep losing."
"If it makes you feel any better, you have now apparently replaced me in my own family. All hail High Queen Charlotte." Charlotte liked that very much and laughed.
"You just need to relax and have fun. Lydia would probably appreciate it, too. She was worried tonight that all the fighting is her fault, and you certainly didn't help her with your little one-liner earlier."
He frowned, "Right. She's sensitive . . . well, actually, she's usually rather oblivious to it all, but she feels awful when people are unhappy around her."
"I noticed that. She's a sweet girl."
"She is," Peter agreed and looked genuinely pleased to hear it from Charlotte. "Seems I'm simply surrounded by sweet girls."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment about me as well as Lucy and Susan."
He snorted, "Oh, you Americans. All you do is take and take."
"Hey!" Charlie laughed and threw a domino, pegging him square in the chest.
He glanced at it, then grinned, "Ooh, thanks, just the one I needed!"
"Fine, that was your Christmas present. Enjoy. Now my go."
By the time they were out of pieces, score had completely been forgotten and the fire was dying again, and when Peter offered to clean up Charlie let him, bidding him goodnight and scurrying up through the dark house to her bed beside Lydia. The French girl was snoring to wake the dead. 'I hope Peter knows what he's getting into with this,' Charlie laughed to herself before plugging her ears, rolling over, and dozing into a fitful sleep logged with memories of home.