Chapter 14

A Valley of Shadows

Edmund had never seen his father so furious when he marched him to his bedroom after breakfast the following morning. Peter grew feverish again through the night, tossing and turning fitfully in his sleep.

"What were you thinking?" Mr. Pevensie yelled, shaking his youngest son once the door closed. "You knew how vulnerable Peter was! Do you not even have the least bit of common decency your mother and I have been teaching all of you? Or have you completely ignored us? What?"

Edmund sat on the edge of his bed, staring up at his father with blank eyes. He was still furious with Peter for having put them through such torment, for having to stay at Aunt Anna's when clearly he had every capability of helping his parents take care of his brother. "If Peter relapses, Edmund, we are holding you accountable," Mr. Pevensie growled. "He's already running a temperature again after it took so long to break. I insist you think about what you've done, and I hope the conclusion you reach is a bit more intelligent than the behavior you displayed."

Edmund stared as his father walked out, slamming the door behind him, and he took a shaky breath. He looked at the photograph take of the six Pevensies the previous year, and saw Peter standing behind him, beaming with pride at the camera.

Thankfully Peter did not actually relapse, but he sunk into a deep depression over the next couple of days. He refused to eat or drink, and did not speak when one of his family members came into the room to check on him. When he wasn't sleeping and curled into a tiny ball beneath the blankets, he stared blankly out the window, watching as the sun rose and set, day in and day out.

"What d'you want to be when you grow up, Ethan?"

"I want to be a doctor, like Dad."

Peter felt tears filling his eyes as he remembered one of their last real conversations together. They'd spoken about growing old together, but that was not going to happen. Ethan was dead- he was gone, and he was never coming back. The reality of the situation made him feel numb, and so cold. Without Ethan, was it even worth continuing to live?

On the third day of his ghost-like attitude, the Pevensie parents stood in the kitchen discussing the situation. "I'm getting worried, John…Peter is going to make himself sick all over again if he keeps this up. He's not taking in any food, and he's already half-starved from the measles."

"This is very hard on him, Helen. But I agree, it is getting to a dangerous point. We'll try to coax him into eating a bit of supper this evening, and if he doesn't take that, then I fear we may have to take him back to the hospital until he snaps out of it."

"If he does," Mrs. Pevensie whispered, and felt her husband hug her tightly.

Lucy, meanwhile, sat by her brother's bed despite the fact that he refused to look at her speak to her, and kept a sketch pad on her knees. She worked hard on a sketch, her tongue sticking out slightly from the corner of her mouth. When Susan came into the room with a tray, she encouraged Lucy to let them alone for a time.

"What are you drawing?" she asked, glancing at Peter, who was laying on his side with his back to them.

"Can't tell you," Lucy whispered. "It's a secret."

Susan raised an eyebrow as her little sister closed the pad and scurried out of the room, looking sadly at her brother as she went into the hall. When she was gone, Susan sat down on the chair, and pulled it closer to the bedside.

"Mum made you some chicken soup and a biscuit for supper," she said softly, not surprised when Peter refused to move. "Please, Peter…you have to eat something. Even take in a bit of tea, just how you like it, with a teaspoon of cream." She held the teacup between her fingers, and felt her lips trembling when Peter continued to lay very still. The only sign that he was still alive, was the very small up and down movement of the blankets. "All right," Susan added after a few moments of silence, and set the tray on the nighstand. She smoothed her skirt and folded her hands on her lap. "Fine, then… I'm going to sit right here until you say you're hungry."

Peter knew she was there; his eyes were open, but he wet his lips and swallowed, his throat painful and swollen from crying.

You don't understand, he thought. Neither of his family did. My best friend is dead. My only friend is dead. Ethan was in deed Peter's one true friend. Sure, he had a number of acquaintances at the boarding school, but they came and went. Ethan stuck by him no matter what happened, and Peter refused to let him go that easily. He had been taken away too fast; it wasn't fair!

He coughed weakly, shifting under the covers, and Susan felt her heart constrict.

"Peter, please," she whispered, her eyes watering. "You're scaring me."

When Mrs. Hunt called the fourth day after Peter discovered the news of Ethan's passing, she informed Mr. Pevensie of the funeral arrangements. "I have decided cremating him will be best," she said, her voice very strained. "however, I do want to have an open casket ceremony, so he may be honored."

"I understand," Mr. Pevensie replied. "Angela, I…we are fearing for Peter's health over the matter. I realize it is normal to grieve after such a loss, but I think his depression is quite serious."

Mrs. Hunt was quiet; she had a feeling Peter would react very strongly to the news, for they had been having such a good time before the tragic circumstances. "Perhaps I may be able to help," she said softly after a few moments of silence, and Mr. Pevensie cleared his throat, watching as Lucy sat at the kitchen table, working on her drawing again.

"I couldn't ask you to do…"

"It is the least I can do, John. The boys were inseparable, and if I know Peter, loosing Ethan is probably like loosing a part of himself."

Mrs .Pevensie came to stand beside her husband, wrapping an arm around his waist, and he held her tight.

"Thank you," he replied. "We would appreciate it." When he hung up, he looked at Helen. "Angela Hunt is coming to see Peter," she said, and Lucy lifted her head from her work, her eyes wide.

"Oh, John," Helen breathed. "Is that necessary? The poor woman."

"I think it is," John replied seriously. "I think Peter needs to talk to her."

Mrs. Hunt arrived the next morning, dressed in black, and was immediately greeted by Mrs. Pevensie with a strong hug. "I am so sorry," she replied, and Angela smiled faintly, allowing Peter's mother to lead her into the kitchen.

Susan and Lucy each hugged her as well, and Edmund merely stared, unsure of what to do or say. He had already caused enough damage to the family, and they were not really speaking to him--only when necessary.

"Peter is up in his room," Mrs. Pevensie explained. "He's making himself ill all over again by not eating."

Mrs. Hunt clucked her tongue sorrowfully, and made her way up the steps to the sick boy's bedroom, finding him curled into a ball, his blanket pulled over his head. She reached over and touched his shoulder, rubbing it gently. "I'm sorry you're feeling like this, dear," she said softly, and he suddenly jolted, startled by her voice. He let out a soft moan and turned very carefully over on his back, revealing a flushed face and red-rimmed eyes.

"Mrs…" he croaked, his voice hoarse, "Mrs. Hunt?" he allowed her to ease him into a sitting position, and she pulled him into a tight hug.

"Your parents are very worried, Peter," she said. "Why aren't you eating, honey?"

He shrugged. "Not hungry. Don't see the point," he added, and she smiled faintly.

"It is not easy for me either," she replied. "Peter, I lost my husband and my son a little over a year apart. I know what you are going through, darling…I know how much it hurts."

He swallowed, allowing her to take his hand, and lowered his head. "Ethan would not want you to be like this," she continued. "He was in so much pain, Peter."

"But why did he have to die?" Peter whispered. "He was too young…"

"God clearly wanted him for some greater purpose," she replied. "What that is, we'll never know until we see him again in heaven. But you are still alive, Peter, and you have a family who loves you dearly. It is hurting them terribly to see you wasting away like this."

Peter choked on a sob, and rested his head against her chest. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to him, watching as he blew his nose and wiped his eyes. "Will you take a sip of water for me?" she asked, taking the glass from the nightstand and handing it to him. "And I would appreciate it if you did attend Ethan's funeral next week. I will warn you that it is going to be an open casket, so you will see the body, but I think it is a good way for you to receive a bit of closure."

Peter sipped very slowly from the glass, hiccoughing between swallows. The water tasted so sweet on his tongue, and so refreshing as it slid down his throat.

"I will," he croaked. "I promise." He sniffled and heard a noise, seeing Lucy standing in the doorway. "Oh Lu," he whispered, parting from Mrs. Hunt and opening his arms wide. Lucy gasped, dropping her sketch pad, and immediately flew across the room and into them. She allowed him to hold her close, and burry his nose against her hair.

"I suppose I will go and tell your mother that it will be all right, then?" Mrs. Hunt asked, and Peter lifted his head, nodding.

"Thank you," he said, and she kissed his cheek.

When she left the room, Lucy burried her face against her brother's chest, so grateful to have him recognize her. "I was so scared," she choked. "I was so scared, Peter."

He rubbed her back gently and released his grip, shivering a little. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I've been so selfish." He blew out his breath, allowing her to take his hand. When his mother came upstairs a few minutes later, he embraced her as well, and closed his eyes when he heard her cry softly.

"Might I have some soup, Mum?" he asked in a very quiet voice, and she gazed into his eyes.

"Thank God," she breathed. "Oh, thank God." She kissed his forehead. "Of course you may have some soup, sweetheart. You had us worried half to death." She brushed his hair away from his eyes, checking for a fever. "And your temperature seems to be back to normal again."

Peter rubbed his nose with the handkerchief, feeling very drained. "Mum, I…I do want to go to the funeral," he said softly. "I owe Ethan that much."

Mrs. Pevensie frowned. "Well, you're still so weak from your illness, baby, so I'm not sure if that will be possible," she said. He hadn't gotten out of bed since his return from the hospital, and if the funeral was to be held Monday afternoon, she did not know how he was going to make it…for it was already Thursday.

"Mum, please let me go," Peter begged. "I don't have to stay for all of it. But I just want to see…" he swallowed. "I know about the body," he added quietly, and his mother gave him another hug and kiss. "B-but…it j-just looks like they're sleeping right?" He hadn't been to a funeral before, or seen a dead body, either. Of course, after reading all sorts of adventure stories, the first image that came to mind was one that was bruised and beaten after a battle or a nasty duel. However, Ethan certainly hadn't been in a fight.

Mrs. Pevensie smiled weakly. "Yes, it does. All right, darling. But right now, you must focus on resting. You've been through quite an ordeal." She stood, and touched Lucy on the shoulder. "What kind of soup would you like?"

He thought for a moment, not sure what his stomach would be able to handle at this point. "I suppose chicken soup," he replied, and she nodded.

"Lucy, let your brother rest," she said, and Peter shook his head.

"I want her to stay with me tonight," he said, and Lucy opened her mouth and closed it again. "Will you, Lu?" he added, and she nodded eagerly, crawling into the bed and under the covers.

Mrs. Pevensie shook her head slowly and picked up the sketch pad that had fallen on the floor, setting it on top of Peter's dresser. When she was out of ear shot, Lucy looked at him with a small smile. "Ethan's in heaven, Peter," she said, and he sniffed, laying back against the pillows. "He's watching over you, I know it. He'll make sure you're okay."

Peter kissed her cheek and allowed her to lay against his shoulder. He took Mrs. Hunt's words into consideration, and he knew Ethan would want him to continue living as he had been before.

He and Lucy lay in silence until their mother returned with the bowl of broth, and she instructed Lucy to be very careful when she fed it to her brother. Peter took very small spoonfuls, enjoying the feeling of the hot liquid as it coated his empty stomach. He soon grew weary again, and, when he finished most of the bowl, decided that it was time to go back to sleep.

"I love you, Peter," Lucy whispered as he snuggled down under the covers, making sure Lucy had enough room on her side of the bed.

"Love you too, Lu," he whispred, and she turned out the lamp, allowing the room to dissolve into darkness.