Chapter 9

The shadow deepens

Peter and Ethan slept for the rest of the afternoon, the ordeal from earlier that day having exhausted them. When Mrs. Hunt came to wake them around supper, she found that Ethan was already running a fever. "Dear, could you sit up for me?" she asked softly, her heart racing. "I have to take your temperature."

Ethan groaned, coughing and cringing at his sore throat. He shivered as he turned over on his back, pulling the blankets up to his chest. "Where's Peter?" he croaked, noticing that it was dark outside already; he couldn't hear his friend's voice, and wondered if he'd gone home.

"He's still sleeping," Mrs. Hunt told her son calmly. "Though I think I am going to have to send him home tonight." She placed the thermometer under Ethan's tongue, and told him to hold it there for a minute.

"Why?" Ethan asked, nearly spitting the thermometer out, but quickly put it back in.

"Because you're starting to get sick, love. I can tell you have a fever just by looking at you." She brushed his bangs away from his face. Ethan sighed, disappointed that the rest of his week-long holiday was ruined. Peter was technically supposed to stay with them for four more days.

When the thermometer was ready to be removed, Mrs. Hunt slipped it carefully out of her son's mouth, and peered closely at the numbers. She shook her head and kissed his temple, easing him back against the pillows. "Just as I suspected, dear. Can you tell me what hurts, if anything?" she tucked the blankets around his shivering body.

"My throat," Ethan replied weakly. "and my eyes ache."

"Mmmmm. Well, how about I give you a bit of cough medicine to help you go to sleep?"

Ethan wrinkled his nose; he hated cough syrup more than anything, and tried to fight against another fit, but lost rather poorly. Mrs. Hunt chuckled softly, and went to fetch the bottle of dark liquid from the upstairs bathroom. As she headed in that general direction, she stopped into Peter's room.

He was curled into a ball under the blankets when she turned on the night table lamp. "Sweetheart?" she asked, and he coughed once, pulling the blankets close to his neck.

"Unnnh," he muttered, not wanting to move. Every joint in his body, and his throat, too. He sniffed when she gave him a gentle shake, and managed to force himself to turn around. "Oh," he whispered. "sorry."

She felt his forehead, clucking her tongue. "You're starting to run a bit of a temperature too, Peter."

"I want to go home," Peter whispered, and sneezed. He missed his mother; he felt so miserable, and so cold. He wanted Lucy…

"I know. I'm going to phone your parents and have them come get you as soon as they are able."

"'S dark," he whispered, and she nodded.

"Yes, you and Ethan slept all day. But it was to your benefit, I'm sure." She offered him a handkerchief, which he accepted gratefully.

"Is he okay?" Peter asked, after blowing his nose, and coughing again.

"You're both sick," she replied simply.

"Measles?" Peter asked, and she smiled.

"Hopefully God will spare you both, but…I fear the symptoms are already appearing on Ethan. Do your eyes hurt?"

Peter sniffed and shook his head. "Just my head and my throat, I think. And I'm so cold." He gave another shiver, and she tucked him in.

"Well, just try to stay warm, dear, and I'm going to give each of you a small dose of medicine. Then I'll call your mother, all right?"

Peter nodded weakly, hating to be looked after by a complete stranger. He was worried about Ethan, who, despite his wild personality, was still a lot thinner and frailer than Peter in build.

Mrs. Hunt left the room and went to get the bottle of medicine, hearing her son coughing from down the hall. She opened the medicine cabinet and pulled it out, along with a small spoon, and went to tend to Ethan first.

"Mum, my throat really hurts," Ethan sobbed as she approached his bed. "and the light's too bright, Mum."

She bit her lip and turned down the lamp, knowing for a fact that Ethan was showing symptoms of measles. Aching eyes were certainly one of them. "I know, sweetheart. I'll turn it off in a moment, but I have to see to give you the medicine." She poured a spoonful and eased it into his mouth, watching as he made a horrible face. He looked at her pitifully as he forced it down, and nearly choked on it.

"I didn't mean to kill her, Mum," Ethan whispered, once she turned the light out and tucked him in properly.

Mrs. Hunt stopped in mid-stride, and turned around.

"What?" she breathed, and Ethan gave another shiver.

"I didn't mean to kill her…she's dead because I didn't listen."

Mrs. Hunt closed her eyes, fighting against tears. "Oh Ethan, that wasn't your fault," she insisted. "The little girl was already very badly off, and probably would have died sooner, had you and Peter not brought her inside."

Ethan's teeth chattered, despite how tightly he pulled the blankets around himself. "I miss Dad," he whimpered, and Mrs. Hunt was certain she would break at that very instant.

"Try to get some sleep, love," she begged. "I have to give Peter a bit of medicine, and then call his parents." She kissed his cheek, which felt so hot. "I'll be back soon, sweetheart," she promised, dashing across the hall again.

After giving Peter some of the cough syrup, she hurried down to the telephone, and dialed the Pevensie's number. This was a cruel change of fate; was it not enough to loose her husband in such a horrible accident? Was it not possible she and Ethan live the rest of their days in what peace they could?

"Mrs. Pevensie?" she finally spoke, when Peter's mother's voice filled her ear. "This is Angela Hunt. I am afraid I have a bit of bad news…"

Susan, Edmund and Lucy were gathered around the parlor when the phone rang, having just eaten supper. Mr. Pevensie looked up from his newspaper as Helen cried, "John!" after a couple of moments.

Edmund sat up so quickly that he whacked his head on the bottom of the chair he'd been lying under, and bit back a curse. Lucy glanced at Susan, who paused in her reading, and watched as her father rushed into the kitchen.

"John, please!"

Mr. Pevensie gave his children apologetic smiles, and he immediately got to his feet, and dashed to where his wife stood in the kitchen. Helen was shaking and white as a sheet, and had to steady herself against her husband. "Darling, calm down," he soothed. "Who was that?"

"It was Mrs. Hunt," Helen replied, and John raised his eyes at his wife. "Peter's sick…they had a mother bring a little girl to the house who had measles. She thinks the boys are coming down with it." She felt tears pricking the corner of her eyes. "She said if we could, to pick him up tonight, before matters got…got worse…" she began to cry softly, and Mr. Pevensie hugged her.

"Helen, it won't do you any good to panic," he said, and she stared at him. "We'll have to send Edmund and Lucy to stay with your sister; it's too dangerous to keep them here if Peter is in deed coming down with the measles. Susan's already had it, so she'll be able to stay and help us."

"What are we going to tell them, John?" Helen asked, her voice very quiet, and he touched her cheek.

"The truth, of course…they're old enough to hear it. But I'll tell them, dear. You sit and have a cup of tea to relax."

"Oh John, my little boy," she choked, and he kissed her.

"We will get him tonight," He promised, and she sat, her eyes following as he left for the living room.

Susan was the first to get to her feet when she saw her father's grave expression, and clasped her hands in front of her.

"Edmund, Lucy…we're going to have to send you two away to Aunt Anna's for a couple of days," Mr. Pevensie told his youngest children, who stared.

"Why!" Lucy cried. "What've we done, Daddy?"

Mr. Pevensie laughed softly. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to forget to feed Murphy earlier," Edmund insisted.

"Don't worry," Mr. Pevensie promised. "It's nothing you did. That was Ethan's mother on the phone…Peter's very sick, and has to be brought home tonight."

Lucy gasped, and Susan began to cry softly, burying her face in her hands. "Is he dying?" she asked, and Edmund stared.

"What...?"

"When did this happen?" Susan asked, wiping her eyes.

"He started running a fever this evening," Mr. Pevensie replied. "Susan, go and sit with your mother, will you, dear?"

Susan choked on another sob and nodded. "I…I don't have to go, do I?" she asked in a small voice, and the realization suddenly hit Lucy.

"I won't," she snapped. "I won't go!"

"Lucy, you have to be a good girl…it's too dangerous for you or Edmund to stay. Peter has the measles, and neither of you have had it yet…"

"I don't care!" Lucy wailed. "I don't wanna go…Peter needs me!"

"Shut up, Lucy," Edmund snapped. "Dad, is it really serious?"

Mr. Pevensie narrowed his eyes. "Well, he's not sporting spots yet, but he's not feeling very well."

"How d'you know it's measles, then?"

"Because they were taking care of a little girl who had it," Mr. Pevensie replied. "and it's very contagious. So Edmund, take Lucy upstairs and help her pack. Lucy, stop looking at me like that…this is not the time to argue!"

"I want Peter," Lucy sobbed, and immediately dashed away. "I won't let you take me away!"

Mr. Pevensie groaned, and patted Edmund on the shoulder. "Go and pack a suitcase for your sister, son," he said. "I have to go and pick up Peter as soon as possible." He watched as Edmund tore upstairs, and went to where his daughter usually hid when she was angry or upset—in the front hall coat closet.

"Lucy Pevensie, you come out this minute," he thundered. "I have no time for this."

Lucy's sobs were muffled amongst the coats and umbrellas, so it was all too obvious of her location. He pulled the door open, and saw her crouched in the corner. "Please, Daddy," she choked. "Don't make me g-go to Aunt Anna's…I—I won't be in the w-way, I promise…"

Mr. Pevensie reached in and picked his daughter up into his arms, pulling her out.

"Darling, I know you're scared for Peter. I know you would not intentionally be in the way. But it's not a question of interfering…it's the fear that you or Edmund could get sick, too…"

"I'd rather be sick than Peter," Lucy sobbed, and Mr. Pevensie blew out his breath.

"I am sure he would be very happy to hear that, love," he replied. "but as it happens, it would do everybody a lot of good if you went with Edmund. I promise it won't be for very long."

"Aunt Anna pinches my cheeks, and her cat scares me," she whimpered, and Mr. Pevensie chuckled.

"You're a big girl, Lucy. It is high time you began to act like one, all right?"

Lucy hiccoughed. "B-but—if I go away, how'll I know when Peter's better?" she asked, and he smiled.

"We will tell you how he's feeling every day, all right?"

Lucy bit her lip. "Promise?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I promise."

"Well..I s'ppose I'll go," she replied, and he tweaked her nose gently.

"That's my girl," he replied, just as Edmund came down, carrying two suitcases, and Lucy's doll in one arm.

"Did you pack my book?" she asked, and Ethan looked at her.

"What book?" he asked, and Lucy rolled her eyes.

"The fairytale book, silly!"

"Oh…uh…no," Edmund replied, and Lucy made a face at him.

"Well, I'm not going without it," she replied, and rushed up the steps to her room.

Mr. Pevensie went to phone Aunt Anna, who told him it was fine that Edmund and Lucy come to stay with her for a little while.

"I am so sorry to hear about Peter," she said. "Is it bad?"

"Not yet," Mr. Pevensie replied. "But it will be better if he's home with us, in case. I have a feeling he'll be in bed for the rest of the week." Mr. Pevensie crossed his fingers, hoping that was how long it would take for Peter to recover…or less. But Measles had a tendency to become dangerous, and Peter was susceptible to rather serious strains of illnesses.

Lucy came down at last, clutching her book to her chest.

Mrs. Pevensie came to kiss her two youngest goodbye, promising them they would be home soon.

"Tell Peter we love him," Lucy choked, and her mother nodded.

"I will, darling. Edmund…please keep a close eye on your sister, will you?"

Edmund sighed and nodded his head. "Yes, Mum," he replied, and followed his father and Lucy out into the humid night.

Susan came up behind her mother after they left, and leaned against her shoulder.

"Oh Mum," she breathed, after Mrs. Pevensie acknowledged her presence, and allowed her to take her hand. "Peter will be all right…he has to be." She tried to sound more confident than she felt.

Mr. Pevensie brought Edmund and a very tearful Lucy to Aunt Anna's, before driving for the seashore.

He felt a bit numb, as though he were in some sort of dream…a nightmare.

When he arrived at the Hunt's at a quarter to nine, Mrs. Hunt, exhausted, met him at the door .

"He's asleep," she said, swallowing. "But he has a terrible cough."

"How is Ethan?" Mr. Pevensie asked, and she looked at him wearily.

"Doing poorly," she replied, as she led him to the guest room, where his eldest son lay under a thick quilt. His breathing was a bit labored, and his face ghastly white.

"Peter," Mr. Pevensie spoke, touching the boy's burning cheek. Peter stirred and swallowed past his swollen throat, but didn't open his eyes.

Mr. Pevensie moved about quietly, packing Peter's things, and eventually eased the boy awake.

"It hurts," Peter whispered when he sat, and coughed hard into a fist.

"I know, son. I know. I'm going to carry you out to the car."

Peter groaned as he was wrapped in a spare blanket, and lifted into his father's arms. Mrs. Hunt carried the suitecase downstairs, and followed them outside.

"I'm cold," Peter croaked. "Dad, I'm so cold…"

Mrs. Hunt smoothed his damp bangs away from his forehead, and placed a kiss there.

"You'll be home in your own bed soon, love," she promised, and Mr. Pevensie eased Peter into the backseat of the car…so he had more room to lay down.

"Thank you for everything," he told Mrs. Hunt, and she nodded.

"Good luck," she said softly, before turning and gracefully sweeping back into the house.

Mr. Pevensie got into the driver's seat, and reached back to take Peter's hand for a moment. "Hang in there," he encouraged, and Peter gave a soft groan as the engine started. This was certainly not the first miserable noise he made—he let out a soft whimper everytime the car hit a bump, and was barely half conscious by the time they reached home.

Mrs. Pevensie, who had been sitting by the parlor window waiting, was up on her feet and out the door as soon as the car pulled into the narrow driveway. Susan followed her, and the two dashed outside to give Mr. Pevensie a hand.

"Oh my God," Susan breathed as her father lifted her eldest brother out of car. Peter was clinging to Mr. Pevensie's neck, barely acknowledging his sister when she went to take his hand.

"I'm afraid the journey did him in," Mr. Pevensie said softly as he carried his son inside and straight up to bed.

"Susan," Mrs. Pevensie told her daughter, "fetch a bowl of water and a rag…and extra towels."

Susan didn't hesitate, and ran into the kitchen immediately.

"'M so tired," Peter croaked as he was eased into bed, and tucked in.

"I know, love," Mrs. Pevensie told him, smoothing his burning forehead. "Just try to rest."

He coughed and groaned again, turning away. "Thirsty," he whispered, and Mr. Pevensie went to get a glass of water from the bathroom. Both came back at the same time, and when Mrs. Pevensie tried to encourage Peter to sit up and take a sip, he didn't want to.

"No," he whimpered, and Susan bit her lip.

"Sweetheart, you just told me you were thirsty…please try to take a sip."

Peter groaned and allowed his mother to ease the glass against his lips, but only managed two sips before collapsing against the pillows.

"Good boy."

Mr. Pevensie took the glass and set it on the nightstand, shaking his head sadly. "Susan, it's getting late," he announced, and his eldest daughter looked up, wide-eyed. "Perhaps you should retire to bed…it'll be a long day tomorrow."

"I…" Susan began, but closed her mouth when she saw her mother's expression. "Oh…"

"Darling, you won't do us any good at all by not getting sleep," Mrs. Pevensie encouraged. "We'll need you to be awake and alert tomorrow."

Susan bit her lip, watching as Peter tossed and turned for a bit, relaxing a little when Mr. Pevensie put a hand on his shoulder.

"All…all right, Mum," she whispered, and received a hug from her mother.

"Good girl. John, take her to bed, will you?"

Mr. Pevensie nodded, and put an arm around his daughter's shoulders, allowing her to kiss Peter's cheek softly before shuffling out of the bedroom.