Chapter 2

The grown up toy chest

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Bright rays of golden sunlight poured through the windows, washing over the still-sleeping faces of Lucy and Susan. Edmund was still asleep as well, but he had the blankets pulled over his head. Every now and again, a snore would erupt, proving that he was in deed still alive.

Lucy's eyes eventually blinked open, and she was a bit surprised to see her sister's face only inches away from her own. Suddenly she gasped, sitting up, and turned towards the window. She smiled as she saw a few stray birds flying past, grateful that the horrible weather had finally ceased.

She suddenly remembered how Susan came to share her bed, and slid to the floor, being careful not to disturb her sister. She hurried across the hall in her bare feet, and peeked through the half-open door to the sickroom. Dr. Barnaby was still there, checking Peter's pulse, and looking awfully grave. Mrs. Macready was in the room as well, folding another compress and placing it over his forehead. Peter was asleep as well, but Lucy could tell from the uneven movements of his breathing, that he was still terribly sick.

"Mrs. Macready?" Lucy suddenly spoke, and the housekeeper looked up. "Is…is he feeling any better?" To Lucy, the answer should have been yes. How could Peter not feel well again, now that the weather was so beautiful? Unfortunately, Peter gave a soft groan and moved about restlessly to discourage her hope.

Mrs. Macready crossed the room, placed a firm hand on Lucy's shoulder, and marched her out of the room. "Wake your siblings for breakfast, please. The weather is much too nice for you three to be spending the day lying about like bumps on a log."

Lucy fought a giggle; Susan had used the exact same phrase with Edmund the day before. She could hear Peter coughing…more like, gagging…from behind her, and his weak sobs that followed made tears spring to her own eyes.

"Please," she begged, "he won't die, will he?"

Mrs. Macready gave what Lucy guessed was an attempt at a smile, but it was an awful result. "No," she replied stiffly, "Dr. Barnaby is certain he'll pull through. But he's very ill right now, and is not to be bothered by any nonsense whatsoever. Now, go and do as I asked."

Lucy sniffed, hurrying into her room. Oh mother, mother…she wanted mother! she tried to keep her tears from falling as she approached Susan and Edmund. When she'd woken bth of her siblings, they were pleased to see that the weather had improved. Lucy broke the news about Peter, which nearly sent Susan into sobs again.

"Oh, don't cry," Lucy begged, as Edmund struggled to sit up, grumbling under his breath.

"I'm so afraid," Ssan whispered, as they began dressing. "Mother was always so afraid of Peter getting sick again after he recovered from measles two years ago. What if he doesn't make it this time?"

Lucy chewed on her nail. "Mrs. Macready said he'll get well," she said. "and she's a grown up, so it must be true!"

Edmund snorted as he hopeed about, trying to pull on his shoe. "Grownups don't know anything," he said, once he was sitting back down on the edge of the bed, tying the laces. Susan glared at him, and gave Lucy a hug.

"Oh Edmund, won't you learn to hold your tongue for once in your life?" she asked.

"Peter's not going to die!" Lucy snapped.

"He isn't," Susan promised, hugging her close. "Let's go down to breakfast, before Macready has a fit."

Edmund, sulky as usual, shuffled after his sisters. They eventually took their places at the table, and Susan turned to look at the empty spot beside her...the seat Peter usually occuped. She fingered his napkin softly, which lay folded on top of the china plate.

"Oh, come now...perk up, my dears."

Everyone whirled around as Professor Kirke entered.

"Professor?" Susan asked, as the cook placed a plate of bacon and eggs before her. The Professor sat down at the head of the table, and smiled at each of them.

"Keep your chins up," he added. "fretting and worrying all day won't help things."

Susan forced a smile in return, and looked at Lucy, who hadn't touched her food yet. Edmund, however, was eating as though he hadn't been fed in weeks.

"Have you all been able to amuse yourselves?" Professor Kirke asked. "I suppose you've discovered my toy chest?"

Lucy perked up instantly. "No, sir," she said. "But you...I didn't think grown ups had toy chests!"

Professor Kirke chuckled. "I'm not an ordinary grown-up," he insisted. "When you are all finished, I'll sh ow you. Perhaps you could set up a game of croquet?"

Susan nodded, and lowered her head again. The Professor squeezed her hand softly. "We're taking care of your brother as best as we can," he promised.

At that moment, Dr. Barnaby made an appearance, with Mrs. Macready at his heels. "The boy is asleep," he announced. "I really must be getting on my rounds. Thank you, sir, for your hospitality."

Professor Kirke nodded. "We'll contact you if the need arists. Thank you, as well."

Mrs. Macready led Dr. Barnaby away, leaving the dining room in silence once more.

After breakfast, Professor Kirke led the remaineder of the healthy children to the cupboard where he stored all of his old toys and games.

"Wow!" Lucy gasped. "You certainly are a silly grown up!"

Susan nudged her shoulder in warning, but the Professor did not seem bothered by her comment at all. "Oh come now!" he chortled, "I am not half so bad as that!" he stepped aside, and Lucy was the first to dive in and explore the contents.

Susan touched her elder's arm,and they went to speak in private. "What did the doctor say about Peter exactly?" she asked. "Is he very badly off?"

Professor Kirke smiled again. "He is fairly ill, and will have to stay in bed for the remainder of the week...or more. The doctor thinks he'll go through a bad spell, but he should pull through."

Susan wet her lips. "My brother had measles two years ago, and the doctor said he wouldn't be as strong as he used to be. Peter nearly died."

Professor Kirke patted her on the shoulder. "Have faith, Susan. Peter certainly seems to have a good bit of strength hidden inside of him."

Susan nodded, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

"Let's play tennis!" Lucy gasped, holding a racket.

"Or soccer," Edmund replied. "Tennis is for girls!"

Lucy stuck out her lower lip. "Is not!" she looked at Susan.

"Cricket is a fine sport," the Professor spoke up, and Suan glanced at him. "I have played before, I think," she said. "It's like baseball, isnt it?"

The Professor nodded. "Yes, only you roll the ball so it bounces instead of throwing it. Anyway, I'll be sitting with your brother if you require anything."

"But...sir!" Lucy gasped. "What about your work?" she remembered how strict Mrs. Macready had been about refusing to let them disturb the Professor, though he seemed so kind and caring, that it was hard to believe he would have minded being bothered.

In response, the Professor chuckled. "Again, don't worry. I've traveled enough that I've learned to make my work transportable." he gave Lucy a wink, and then ordered the children outside. " After thanking him, they hurried down the steps, trying to be as quiet as possible. The sunshine felt so glorious, and Lucy, clutching the balls, skipped across the wet grass.

"It is so pleasant, isnt it?" she gasped, setting her burden down, and twirling about, watching as her dress made an umbrella shape in the breeze. Susan smiled at her, setting down the bats, and lifting her face towards the sun.

"So who shall go first?" Susan asked, and Lucy jumped up and down.

"Oh, do let me," she said, "let me go first!"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "I'm older, so I'll go first," he snapped, and Lucy glared.

"Edmund, let Lucy go," Susan ordered, and Edmund scowled.

"I hate the way you order me about," he muttered, shoving a bat into Lucy's hands. "I'll bet you cant hit this ball more than a foot," he added sarcastically, and gripped the object in his palm. Lucy shouldered her bat, her lower lip sticking out in a pout.

"Edmund, just throw the ball and stop teasing her," Susan growled, sitting down on a dry patch of grass by one of the birch trees. Edmund rolled the ball, and to his surprise, Lucy hit it smack across the lawn. Susan squealed and clapped her hands, watching as her sister ran to first base. "That was brilliant, Lu!" she nodded to Edmund. "You go next, then. See if you can't beat that."

Edmund still stood watching with surprise at the length of Lucy's hit, and blinked when Lucy encouraged him to have a go.

"Move aside, girls," Edmund eventually told them, blowing into his hands and wiping them dry. "Let me show you how it's really done!" he stepped forward, his chest puffed out, and took a swing.

Upstairs, Peter lay in bed, tossing and turning fitfully. He'd begun vomiting repeatedly, though, since he hadn't eaten much over the past twenty four hours, it was mostly dry heaving.

Professor Kirke sat beside him, ready with a basin, and blotting the boy's cheeks and forehead with a damp rag. "Susan," Peter gasped, his head feeling as though dwarves were mining for gold inside of it. He was thoroughly embarrassed at having to be looked after by a complete stranger. He wanted to tell Professor Kirke that he was able to look after himself, thanks, but he was too weak to start an argument.

"My poor lad…try to relax now," the Professor encouraged.

"I need my sister," Peter croaked. "Please." Susan's presence was comforting, despite the fact that she was two years younger than he.

"Of course," Professor Kirke replied thoughtfully, just as Peter reached under his pillow for a fresh handkerchief. In the midst of his other miseries, he'd been sneezing like mad all morning long.

"HehCHUSHHH! KuhSHEEH!" he attempted to give his nose a great blow, but it only made his nose itch all the worse. "HehKSHHH!" he groaned, exhausted.

"Try sitting up and giving a blow," the Professor suggested. "Laying down will just make the congestion worse."

Peter did as recommended, leaning against the headboard. He took a deep breath, and blew as hard as he could, finally clearing his nose somewhat. The Professor squeezed his shoulder gently. "Good boy. I'll go and fetch your sister, then."

Peter nodded his thanks, coughing hard into a fist. He was still coughing when Macready came by after the Professor left, and she stood watching him with a slight scowl on her lips.

"Looks to me like you'll need to take down some cough syrup," she spoke, after he let out another, "EhkSHUUUH!" He sniffed, sliding back under the covers. No doubt Macready would present some foul tasting stuff, but he did not want to defy her.

"All right," he croaked, and she stalked out.

"EhSHAH!" Peter sneezed a fifth time, cursing under his breath, as well as cursing his luck. It wasn't fair that he had to get sick now of all possible times, when he and his siblings were so far from home. Even if the Professor could write to mother, he was certain she wouldn't be able to get to them, given the situation.

Mrs. Macready eventually returned, carrying a dark bottle and a spoon. He gulped, trying to keep his expression as stoic as possible when she came to his bedside. "I don't believe in this nonsense that medicine should taste good," she told him, as she poured the murky green liquid into the spoon. "Medicine has a specific job to do, no matter what the taste." She set the bottle on the nightstand, and eased Peter into a sitting position. "Down the hatch, then." she ordered, and taking a deep, shaky breath, Peter accepted the spoonful of foul substance.

It tasted like over-cooked cabbage, and, had he not been fighting against looking like a baby, he would have spat it out instantly. He held it in his mouth for a moment, dreading the feeling of the liquid sliding down his already swollen throat. Susan and the Professor and Susan came upstairs, and he swallowed the medicine quickly. "Urgh," he gasped, accepting a glass of water.

"Oh Peter," Susan whispered as he chugged the drink down gratefully. When he sat the glass down and flopped back against his pillows, he smiled weakly at her. "I'm here," she soothed, stroking his forehead. "I'm here."

Peter took her hand, coughing hard into a fist again.

"Will you be all right sitting here for a time?" Professor Kirke asked, and Susan nodded.

"Yes, we'll be all right, sir. Thank you." She kissed Peter's hand, pressing it against her cheek. His skin was so clammy and cold, and when she felt his bare feet beneath the blankets, they were like ice.

"Then I shall be in my study, dear. Please, feel free to come fetch me if you need anything, or Mrs. Macready."

Macready gave a stiff nod, following her employer out of the sick room. When they were gone, Susan began rubbing one of her brother's feet, trying to warm it.

"Are the others all right?" he whispered, and Susan smiled at him.

"Edmund and Lucy are outside playing cricket," she explained. "They're both just fine, Peter."

"I'm sorry," he croaked, and she cocked her head to the side.

"Whatever for?" she asked.

"For being laid up like this." He pressed the back of his wrist against his still-running nose, and fetched another fresh handkerchief. "Mother wanted me to be the one to look after you, and I've failed her."

Susan cringed as he blew his nose again, and she kissed his hot cheek. "Peter, you couldn't help falling ill. I know you're feeling really badly about yourself because we're living in a stranger's home, but no one minds caring for you."

"Macready…" Peter began, and Susan gave a snort.

"Macready my foot. She must have had a difficult childhood if she can't stand us. The Professor clearly doesn't mind our being here, or our trying to have fun. I wouldn't take anything she says to heart."

Peter closed his eyes, taking another deep breath. "I promised Lucy I would spend time with her as much as I could," he whispered. "I did promise I would play hide-and-seek with her one day. She was so excited to be going to such a big house, and I told her there were probably hundreds of rooms to hide in."

Susan pulled the blankets up to his neck, tucking them tightly around his sides. "Lucy is fine. You just worry about getting well." She kissed his forehead, and he stroked her cheek softly, after she let go of his hand.

"I'm so lucky," he said again, before slipping into sleep again.