For the longest time, I couldn't decide whether to post a sequel to "Truth" or to just add more chapters to it. My reasons for creating a separate sequel were simple: The story goes off on a new tangent. It is now Marjorie's story, not Susan's or Lucy's. Also, "Truth" already had a good ending and since I always have trouble with endings I wanted to keep it as an ending. Still, I am posting more chapters instead of making a sequel because it's more sensible. The story will not make sense to anyone who has not read "Truth" first. And it's more fair to those who have story alerts for "Truth."
When Susan closed the door behind her, Marjorie suddenly felt alone despite the seven other girls in the room.
There was a silence.
"Good show," Elizabeth remarked and several girls burst into giggles. Agatha did not laugh. The others could find this amusing because it wasn't their party. Agatha assumed an expression of deep hurt.
"Lucy didn't even thank me for the good time she was having," she said, tearfully.
"Her idea of a good time is probably bedtime stories and pretend games," Elizabeth said scornfully.
"I suppose, I shouldn't have invited Lucy," Agatha said mournfully, still suffering over the insult. "I was afraid she would not enjoy a party of this sort but Su insisted. Now Susan is also gone and the party is spoiled." She waited for a denial of this statement to come and sure enough, it did.
"Oh, Agatha, of course, it's not spoiled," Anne said, putting her arm around Agatha's shoulders. "It's been a lovely party and we're just getting started. Think of it this way: Susan has learned a lesson today. She has learned not to overestimate her sister's maturity. Lucy is still a child and she needs to learn…"
"She needs to learn to control her temper, that's what she needs," Alice said. She had not understood the conflict between Lucy and Susan and not understanding something always made her bad-tempered. "She said she hated us, spoiled little pig!"
Marjorie fervently wished for Susan to come to Lucy's defense. But Susan was gone and Marjorie felt that she really ought to say something. So she swallowed and timidly ventured, "Don't speak of Lucy that way. She's my friend."
The moment she said it, she felt her face heat up and regretted ever opening her mouth. What sort of childish remark was it anyway? A couple of the girls giggled but Agatha stood up and put her arm around Marjorie and said, "You're perfectly right, dear. I don't wish to hear anyone putting down Lucy at my party. It wouldn't be right." Marjorie smiled in surprised gratitude but she didn't see Agatha wink at the others over her head.
This gave birth to a new game that if Agatha had a chance to name, would be named, "Humoring Marjorie." Following Agatha's example, each girl suddenly expressed an interest in Marjorie's affairs, asked her a multitude of friendly questions and gushed over her answers, all the while suppressing giggles and winking at each other. Marjorie was pleased and flattered. She chattered on and on to Emily about how she had finally drummed up enough courage to sign up for swimming lessons.
"You've sure got pluck, Marjorie!" Emily said and downed a whole cup of tea in an attempt to suppress the laughter that kept bubbling up in her.
At eleven, Agatha announced that the party was over. Yet, the girls remained behind sleepily, each not wanting to be the first to leave. There was a belief among them that if you were the first to leave a party, the others would almost definitely talk about you and criticize you once you were gone. Marjorie did not know about this belief and said it was time for her to go back to her room, feeling it was only polite to leave now that Agatha pronounced the party over. She thanked Agatha for the party, Agatha embraced her dramatically, managed to look desolate at her leaving and burst into laughter as soon as the door was closed behind her.
"Amusing isn't she?" she asked the others, still giggling.
"Hilarious!" gasped Emily.
"And too stupid to realize it!" added Alice.
"I am so glad you invited her, Aggie!" Elizabeth said.
"Oh, I haven't laughed so much in months!" Anne declared. "We shall have to see more of her! I propose we let her sit with us in the dining hall tomorrow."
Upon leaving Agatha's room, Marjorie suddenly remembered Lucy and felt a wave of guilt come over her. What sort of friend was she, enjoying herself while Lucy was upstairs crying in her room? Susan had said she would comfort her but still…I'll check on her, Marjorie told herself. She's probably asleep but all the same, it's right to check on her. She slowly walked down the dark and silent hall and up the dark and silent stairs, suppressing a yawn.
The door was slightly ajar. Marjorie peeked in silently. Lucy and Susan sat on the bed, talking in hushed tones. The only light came from the small electric torch that Lucy was holding. Yet, even in its' weak light, Marjorie could she that both Lucy and Susan had been crying. Red noses are quite visible, even in the semi-darkness. Susan was holding a sheet of paper.
"You see," she was saying, "We need to write up a list of responses to dangerous questions. Honest responses," she quickly added, warding off Lucy's next question, "But appropriate responses that won't cause an uproar and won't lead the others to believe you're mad. For example, today you could have said that the greatest Christmas gift you ever received was medicine that helped Edmund when he was very, very ill. It's just a matter of careful phrasing, like when you write up a law. Only the responses will have to be vague if they're to be both honest and safe. Oh, Lu, you look so mournful, don't you like my idea at all?"
"It is a good idea," Lucy admitted with a sniff. "But I wish the boys were here. They are so much better at proper replies and things of that sort."
"I should like to think I was quite good at it too. I was known throughout Narnia for my tact, wasn't I?"
"Then why didn't you…make…make use of that tact at the…party?" Lucy asked, beginning to cry once again and desperately trying to stop.
"Oh, Lu." Susan put her arm around Lucy and pulled her close. "I'm sorry. I told you I was sorry."
As Susan stroked Lucy's hair, Marjorie backed away. It hurt her to watch the two of them. It hurt her to find she could not understand what they were discussing. It hurt her to see the trust with which Lucy leaned on her sister's shoulder. Why? Was she jealous of Lucy for having an older sister to depend on? Or was she jealous of Susan for being Lucy's older sister, who would always be closer to Lucy than Marjorie could ever hope to be? She couldn't know why she was jealous, she could only stand there, feeling it. Whatever, they were doing, she wasn't part of it.
Marjorie turned and walked away.