Susan to Lucy, or
BrokenKestral to Scarlett Cash
Dear Lucy,
Tact would bid me point out I could not forget my younger sister, and the letter was unnecessary for that reason, but necessary for another (being homesick). But truly I wish I were there, so we could sit and talk about Aslan, and you could forget both our going away and the company you are now keeping.
I do not know if Edmund shared my latest letter, but there are many differences between England and the Americas, though not as many as exist between our wold and home. You would like many of the Americans, for they share the eagerness that rests in your spirit. On the voyage over—and never have I missed knowing the stars so much, for the stars mid-ocean are as bright on clear nights as ever the stars in Narnia were, but I knew few of these—many of the sailors were American. They have cabin boys too, and ours was a lad named Tommy. Do you remember the Squirrels of Narnia, bounding here and there? Tommy joined the ship (with only his father's permission, I'm sad to say) because he loves climbing things, climbing up "rigging" with alacrity, taking over lookout duties (the sailors only pretend to let him, and that only at the passengers' insistence), and aloft as much as he is on deck or below. But he laughs with the rising roughness of the wind, climbs higher as the waves peak, and swings on ropes as the ship descends to the valleys. Oh, Lucy, sometimes I am frightened! For the seas and storms of our own world were not those of the ocean, or perhaps it is only that I am smaller, and they did not seem to me so large. Tommy reminds me of my valiant sister, and I brace myself against them and smile at mother. Poor mother; father grew quite seasick on the voyage over, and much of her time for the first few days was taken with his care. Poor father too; his academic mind quite struggled with the idea that he could not fully control his reactions; but all our sailing on the Splendour Hyaline well equipped me to deal with it. Mother was grateful for the relief.
I regret to write there have were no mermaids. I wonder if, perhaps, the presence of half-human creatures on our ship taught the merfolk not to fear, and if, without them, mermaids sought the safety of the depths long ago. Our own wars in England might teach other races to be wary of our weapons, and our presence. For many brave actions are not visible from the sea, while pirates and battles are rife.
Tact will be of little use in your situation, I fear. I almost recommend sitting back and letting Edmund "wallop," as you put it. There were many times when gentleness was not the appropriate response, and our brothers' sternness—or your own—worked much better. Such stern means might be necessary if his life is to amount to more more than misery experienced, and misery made.
I told Edmund I would write to you of people, but I"m afraid there's little time left now. Do write to me as often as you choose; your letters are a welcome sound of home.
All my love,
Susan